Supernatural Bundle: What a Dragon Should Know / When Darkness Comes / Jacob
Author: Alexandra Ivy
Date: 2011-01-02 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Romance; Paranormal Romance; dragons; Anthologies; Paranormal
Description: Since time began, there have been Nightwalkers--the races of the night who live in the shadows of the moonlight. Love with humans is absolutely forbidden, and one man makes certain to uphold this ancient law: Jacob, the Enforcer. . . For 700 Years, He Has Resisted Temptation. But Not Tonight. . . Jacob knows the excuses his people give when the madness overtakes them and they fall prey to their lust for humans. He's heard everyone and still brought the trespassers to justice. Immune to forbidden desires, uncontrollable hunger, or the curse of the moon, his control is total. . .until the moment
Publisher: Zebra Books

A Vampire Bundle: The Real Werewives of Vampire County, When Darkness Comes, Real Vamps Don’t Drink O-Neg, & Hunted by the Others

Alexandra Ivy, Angie Fox, Jess Haines, Tami Dane and Tawny Taylor

KENSINGTON BOOKS
www.kensingtonbooks.com

Table of Contents

The Real Werewives of Vampire County

When Darkness Comes

Real Vamps Don't Drink O-Neg

Hunted by the Others

Books by Alexandra Ivy

WHEN DARKNESS COMES
EMBRACE THE DARKNESS
DARKNESS EVERLASTING
DARKNESS REVEALED
DARKNESS UNLEASHED
BEYOND THE DARKNESS
DEVOURED BY DARKNESS

And don’t miss these Guardians of Eternity novellas

TAKEN BY DARKNESS in YOURS FOR ETERNITY DARKNESS ETERNAL in SUPERNATURAL

Books by Jess Haines

HUNTED BY THE OTHERS
TAKEN BY THE OTHERS
DECEIVED BY THE OTHERS

Collections

NOCTURNAL
(with Jacquelyn Frank, Kate Douglas, and Clare Willis)

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

THE REAL WEREWIVES OF VAMPIRE COUNTY

ALEXANDRA IVY ANGIE FOX JESS HAINES TAMI DANE

KENSINGTON BOOKS
www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

WHERE DARKNESS LIVES - ALEXANDRA IVY

CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9

MURDER ON MYSTERIA LANE - ANGIE FOX

CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10

WEREWOLVES IN CHIC CLOTHING - TAMI DANE

CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10

WHAT’S YOURS IS MINE - JESS HAINES

CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13

EPILOGUE

WHERE DARKNESS LIVES

ALEXANDRA IVY

To Don, who kept me sane with plenty of fresh cheese and much-needed comfort when I was drowning in snow ... love ya!

CHAPTER 1

Sophia was a female who took pride in being idolized by her fellow pure-blooded Weres.

Why shouldn’t they worship her?

Not only had she managed to produce a litter of four healthy daughters during a time when the Weres were hovering on the brink of extinction, but one daughter, Darcy, had managed to mate with Styx, the King of all Vampires, while another daughter, Regan, had wed Styx’s most trusted vampire guard, Jagr, and a third, Harley, had landed Salvatore as a mate, the current King of Weres.

She was literally choking on royal sons-in-law.

And if that wasn’t enough, her fourth daughter, Cassandra, had been revealed as a prophet, the rarest of all creatures. Although she was currently missing, dammit to hell.

Sophia took equal pride in her reputation as being the “bitch of all bitches.”

It was a reputation she’d worked hard to earn and the primary reason why she’d hesitated before she’d returned to Chicago to purchase the sprawling brick house in the chi-chi neighborhood near the shores of Lake Michigan.

She didn’t want anyone thinking she’d become all mushily maternal in her old age. Okay, she might be secretly delighted that her daughter Harley was expecting her first litter of children. And there might be the teeny-tiniest desire to settle into a lair near her family.

It wasn’t like she was going to sit around knitting booties.

Hell, she’d just opened a high-end strip club with the finest male Were dancers to be found in the Northern Hemisphere. Sophia’s Menagerie would soon be known as the one and only destination for women of discerning taste.

Human or demon.

And of course, she’d already managed to cause a stir among her snotty neighbors.

Without undue vanity she knew she was drop-dead gorgeous.

Her hair was a curtain of pale gold satin that tumbled to the center of her back. Her face was heart-shaped with fragile features that were dominated by a pair of pure green eyes. And her slender body, which was currently attired in skintight leather pants and barely there halter top, could (and often did) stop traffic.

But it was the smoldering sexuality that heated the air around her, along with the predatory hunger in her smile that made the men trip over their tongues when she was near.

And made women detest her on sight.

The flutter over her arrival had definitely added a spice to her move to the stuck-up, overly pretentious gated community.

And earned her an enemy.

Sophia shook off the unwelcome thought as she stomped across the tiled floor of her foyer to yank open one of the double oak doors that was framed by high arched windows.

“Go away,” she growled.

Ignoring her warning, the tall, raven-haired Were attired in a black Gucci suit with a white shirt and blue silk tie brushed past her.

Salvatore, King of all Weres, looked like royalty with his arrogantly handsome features and golden eyes that glowed with the power of his wolf. His hair was slicked into a short tail at his nape, and his lips curved into a sardonic smile.

“Is that any way to greet your favorite son-in-law?” he demanded, folding his arms over his chest.

Sophia planted her hands on her hips, not about to be intimidated. Salvatore might be her king, but she’d already gone above and beyond when it came to duty to her people.

She was done taking orders.

“Have you found Cassandra?” she demanded, referring to her missing daughter.

Salvatore grimaced. “Not yet.”

“Then you’re not my favorite son-in-law and we have nothing to discuss.” She motioned her hand toward the still open door. “Ta-ta.”

“Cristo, Sophia.” Salvatore frowned, his Italian accent more pronounced than usual. “Why will you not be reasonable?”

It was a tediously familiar argument.

“By reasonable I assume you mean, ‘Why won’t I be a good girl and allow myself to be incarcerated in Styx’s dungeon?’ ”

The king snorted. “Hardly a dungeon. I might not like the leeches, but not even you can deny Styx’s lair is the finest piece of real estate in Chicago. It makes most museums look shabby.”

It was true.

Styx and Darcy’s lair, which was only a few miles to the north, was a sprawling mausoleum filled with acres of marble and gilt and priceless works of art.

Her own home was half the size, but as far as she was concerned it was far superior.

The long sunken living room was decorated in shades of pale gray and silver with a glass wall overlooking the pool and distant tennis courts. The kitchen was large and airy with a breakfast nook and an attached dining room. A curved double staircase led from the foyer to the master suite upstairs, which had a bed large enough to accommodate a football team and a built-in whirlpool that would make any Were purr in pleasure.

And her bathroom ... it was every woman’s fantasy, with a shower that ran the entire length of one wall, while the tub was deep enough to drown in.

No way in hell was she giving up her comforts to hide in the basement of a leech.

Or at least, that was the story she’d given her daughters when they pleaded for her to join them.

And she was sticking to it.

“It’s cold,” she informed her unwelcome guest. “And it’s crawling with bloodsuckers.”

“Your daughters are all settled in.”

“Good. They need your protection.” She was genuinely relieved to know that Darcy and Harley and Regan were safely hidden. If only Cassandra was with them she could at last breathe easy. “I, however, do not.”

“These are dangerous times, Sophia. Even for a pure-blooded Were.”

She rolled her eyes.

Yeah, King of the Obvious.

There wasn’t a demon alive who wasn’t aware that the Dark Lord was threatening to return from his banishment and unleash all hell. Or that there were all sorts of nasties crawling out of the shadows.

Which was precisely why her daughters were currently being hidden in Styx’s lair.

And why she wasn’t about to put them in any further danger.

“I’ve been taking care of myself for centuries.”

Salvatore studied her stubborn expression.

“You don’t have to anymore,” he said at last, his voice soft. “You have a family.”

Once those words would have given her a rash. Now it made her heart warm with a strange emotion.

Hell, maybe she was getting old.

“A family is like medicine.” She twisted her lips into a sardonic smile. “Best in small doses.”

The golden eyes flared as his wolf prowled close to the surface.

“I’m also your king. I could make joining us an order.”

Her smile widened, edged with a warning that made the large predator pale.

“And I could tell Harley about those nymph triplets that you—”

“Fine,” he abruptly interrupted, headed toward the door. “Be careful.”

“What danger could I be in here?”

“Trust me, evil can lurk anywhere.” Salvatore paused on the wide veranda to glance toward the distant homes surrounded by their perfectly manicured grounds. “Even suburbia.”

Sophia managed to hide her tiny shiver.

“Concentrate on finding Cassandra,” she said. “If I need you, I’ll call.”

“Take care of yourself... .” Salvatore tossed her a mocking grin. “Granny.”

Sophia narrowed her gaze.

Okay, she might be tickled pink that Harley was pregnant, but there was no way in hell she was putting up with “granny.”

“Call me that again and the litter Harley is carrying will be the last babies you’re capable of producing.”

With a chuckle, Salvatore headed toward his BMW, which was parked next to her low-slung Lamborghini.

Sophia watched his departure with a faint frown.

She hadn’t expected Salvatore to concede defeat so easily.

Which could only mean one thing.

This particular battle wasn’t over.

Sophia’s Menagerie was a two-story brick building that discreetly blended in with the more conservative businesses that lined the quiet Chicago street.

Once inside, however, there was nothing discreet about the crimson carpet and shimmering gold wallpaper. Or the Venetian chandeliers that spilled light over the padded booths that were arranged to face the low stage.

There was an atmosphere of indulgent luxury that lifted her club above all others.

Well, that and the insanely gorgeous male strippers who could send an entire audience of women into a frenzy of screaming excitement.

Entering through the back door, Sophia made her way past the dressing rooms to the main floor, a satisfied smile curling her lips as her employees scurried about, preparing for the upcoming flood of customers.

This place might be just another strip club to some people, but for her it was her tangible display of independence.

She halted a moment to appreciate the sight of Dmitri and Dominic practicing their dance routine. The twin Weres had recently immigrated from Russian and were so exquisitely handsome it was a wonder they hadn’t melted Siberia.

Tall and slender with short, spiky blond hair and ice-blue eyes, they moved with the liquid grace of all pure-bloods. Combine that with the tiny fur G-strings that were the only thing covering their pale, perfect bodies ... yummy.

Then her smile twisted as she caught sight of the man standing near the edge of the stage, his hand reaching toward Dmitri. Or was it Dominic?

Troy, prince of imps, was a large, muscular man with the build of a professional wrestler and the fashion taste of a drag queen. At the moment he was attired in silver spandex pants and a see-through jade shirt that gave a nice glimpse of his broad chest.

His long, brilliant red hair flowed down his back like a river of fire and his emerald eyes danced with a wicked sense of humor that was contagious.

He was like an exotic butterfly that oozed a blatant sensuality.

“Mmm ...” he drawled as Sophia halted next to him, his gaze never wavering from the nearby dancers. “Delectable as always, my love.”

Reaching out she slapped his hand. “No touching the merchandise, Troy.”

The imp pouted, but, dropping his arm, he turned to face her. “But you know how I love them tall, blond, and furry.”

“You love them any way you can get them.”

“True.” Troy ran his hands down his shirt, licking his lips. “A wise imp swims with the tide.”

She snorted. Troy did a lot of swimming with the tide. Which, of course, meant that he had connections throughout the demon world.

And that was precisely why Sophia had contacted him a few days before.

“Did you bring what I asked?”

With a chuckle that should have given her ample warning, he gave a lift of his hand, motioning toward a nearby doorway.

“Don’t I always deliver?”

Her lips parted, but her words were forgotten as a man stepped from the shadows.

No, not a man ... a pure-blooded Were, she quickly corrected, catching the feral scent of his wolf. And so sinfully gorgeous that he made her heart slam against her ribs.

She covertly clenched her hands as he strolled forward. What the hell was wrong with her?

Her entire life had been filled with handsome, powerful men. All of them anxious for the opportunity to impress her. Whether it was to earn the right to breed with her. Or just to enjoy a few wicked nights of pleasure.

But she couldn’t recall ever feeling as if she’d just stepped off the edge of a cliff and was plummeting through thin air.

Was that why she couldn’t breathe?

More than a little disturbed by her unwelcome reaction, she warily studied the stranger.

He was handsome, but it wasn’t the polished elegance of her dancers.

The blue-black hair was cut short, as if he couldn’t be bothered to mess with it, but the severe style only emphasized the stark male beauty of his face. His skin was the rich bronze that came from Latin heat and his eyes more black than brown.

He was taller than her, perhaps six foot, but he was thick with muscles that rippled beneath the skintight black T-shirt that was matched with a pair of black combat pants.

Ruthless.

The word whispered through her mind at the same moment his potent heat wrapped around her, inflaming her blood with a pulsing awareness she hadn’t felt in decades.

“Good ... God,” she muttered.

Troy cleared his throat, doing a piss-poor job of hiding his amusement.

Jackass.

“Sophia, this is Luc. Luc, Sophia.” The imp waved a languid hand toward the massive Were. “Isn’t he just to die for?”

Sophia’s gaze clashed with the burning black gaze, her skin suddenly feeling too tight for her body.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

This Were was trouble with a capital T and the very last thing she needed.

Tilting her chin, she allowed her gaze to slowly skim over the body that begged to be licked from head to toe, deliberately allowing her lips to curl into a sneer.

Neanderthals like this were always hyperarrogant. An insult to his pride and he’d be out the door right quick and in a hurry.

“I asked for a bodyguard, not a stripper wannabe,” she mocked.

The dark eyes narrowed, but instead of the chest-thumping and the fast exit she’d been hoping for, he stepped even closer, the rich scent of male musk teasing at her senses.

“Good, because I’m not into public displays.” His voice slid over her like hot chocolate, smoothly decadent. “Of course, if you want a private performance you could ask me nicely.”

Oh, she wasn’t going there.

Not even in her mind.

“What I want is protection, not another pretty boy,” she said between clenched teeth, shoving her hands against his chest as she prepared to leave.

Let Troy deal with the muscle-bound fool. She was through.

Only she wasn’t.

Even as her palms slammed against his chest, his fingers captured her wrists in an unbreakable grip. At the same time he was spinning her around, jerking her until her back was pressed hard against his chest and pinning her arms across her chest.

“I know what you want,” he growled, his face buried against her neck left bare by her red halter top.

She shivered, telling herself it was outrage at being manhandled and not white-hot excitement at the brush of his warm breath over skin or the feel of his body pressed so intimately against her.

“I’ll let you two play.” Troy chuckled, wiggling his fingers as he moved past them. “Ciao.”

“Troy,” she snapped in disbelief. Surely the imp didn’t intend to leave her alone with this ... psychopath?

Evidently he did.

“Don’t worry, I’ll send you my bill,” he assured her, sashaying out the door.

“Idiot,” she muttered, her wolf prowling restlessly just below the surface. It wasn’t angry, it was ... on edge. As if it sensed something momentous was about to happen. Which was as disturbing as the ease with which he’d captured her.

“Can we talk now?” he asked softly.

“Not until you let go of me.”

“If you insist,” he taunted, his lips brushing against the pounding pulse at the base of her throat before he slowly released his grip.

Holding her head high, Sophia refused to glance in his direction, instead heading across the crimson carpet.

“We’ll finish this in the privacy of my office.”

She sensed him fall into step behind her. “You’re the boss.”

“Actually, that has yet to be decided.”

Despite his bulging muscles and impressive fighting skills, Luc wasn’t stupid. Hell, until this moment he’d always prided himself on being the most intelligent Were in the room.

Now he had to wonder if he’d left his brain back in Miami.

Not that it was entirely his fault, he swiftly assured himself, his gaze trained on the finest ass he’d ever set eyes on as it swayed across the room. A man would have to be a saint to think clearly when face-to-face with Sophia.

Even warned of her lethal beauty, he’d been stunned by his first glance at the delicate features that looked as if she was barely out of her adolescent years and her slender body that was shown to advantage in her leather pants and tiny halter top.

He’d expected a hard, jaded female who would turn him off with her bloated conceit. Not an exquisite woman who attempted to hide her vulnerability behind a brittle shell. Or one whose emerald eyes held a haunted fear.

The man in him wanted to haul her into the nearest bed and teach her the true meaning of howling at the moon. The wolf in him wanted to toss her over his shoulder and take her to the safety of his lair.

It was his wolf’s reaction that was most troubling.

Lust he could handle.

But possession?

It was addling his wits and jeopardizing his mission.

Grimly he shoved aside the disquieting thought.

He was here with a purpose. It was time to get on with it.

Following her into the private office, he reached to pull out the folded sheets of paper he’d tucked into his back pocket. His first order of business was making sure he was hired as Sophia’s bodyguard.

Of course, he wouldn’t say no to an invitation for a more ... intimate arrangement, a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

It would certainly make it easier to keep an eye on her.

His eye and so much more ...

His cock hardened and with a muttered curse he turned his attention to his surroundings. Anything to keep himself from pouncing on Sophia and spreading her across the wide walnut desk.

The room was spacious with wooden shelves along one wall that held a stunning collection of priceless Fabergé eggs. Across the room a marble fireplace was framed by two cream leather wing chairs that matched the low sofa beneath the window. The floor was covered by a Persian carpet. And the drapes were a soft peach velvet.

He wasn’t surprised by the muted elegance of the room.

Although Sophia was currently dressed like a biker chick, she possessed an air of sophistication that was as much a part of her as the smoldering sexuality.

A lethal combination.

Directly on her tail, Luc smiled wryly as she hastily moved to put the desk between them, turning to send him a glare of frustration.

He wasn’t the only one battling an unwelcome attraction.

Idiotically pleased by her reaction, he tossed the papers on the desk.

“Here.”

With a frown she leaned forward, studying the papers without actually touching them. Did she fear they might bite?

“What’s this?”

“My references.”

She skimmed the top page, her head abruptly lifting. “Miami?”

“Fun in the sun,” he murmured. “You should give it a try.”

“I’ve been to Miami.”

“Not recently,” he said with absolute confidence, his gaze gliding over her milky white skin. Would it taste like cream? “I would have known if you were in my city.”

“Your city?”

“Mine.”

She studied him with a blatant suspicion. “If you’re such a big shot in Miami, why would you want to travel to Chicago to become a hired thug?”

He shrugged. “It suits me to be out of Florida for a few weeks.”

The emerald eyes hardened. “Female trouble?”

“Does it matter?” he demanded. “The imp put out the word that he was willing to pay top dollar for a seasoned bodyguard. I’m the best there is. End of story.”

“No, it’s not the end.” She tossed his glowing references in the trash. No doubt where they belonged. He’d forged them on his way to Chicago. “I’m a long way from hiring you.”

He moved to perch on the corner of the desk, folding his arms over his chest.

“What’s the problem?”

“You aren’t what I need.”

A small smile curved his lips. She sounded ... petulant. “Do you even know what you need, Sophia?”

Her jaw tightened. “I know what I don’t need. A conceited ass who pisses me off.”

He battled back his wolf. Now wasn’t the time to prove he was a dominant male who was worthy of her respect.

He needed Sophia to believe that she was in charge.

“The imp wouldn’t have chosen me if I wasn’t the best at what I do, would he?”

Her lips thinned. “There’s more to being a bodyguard than just muscle and fighting skills. I need someone who can blend into the background.”

“I can blend.”

“Is that a joke?” She threw her hands in the air. “You look like you should be invading a small country.”

He glanced down at his black T-shirt and pants. He’d deliberately left his Glock and two Uzis in the car. Of course, he had his handy-dandy S & W tucked in a holster at the small of his back.

“What exactly does that mean?”

“It means that you’re not right for the job.” With a lift of her chin, she rounded the desk and headed for the door. “Sorry.”

With a speed that was shocking even for a pure-blooded Were, Luc reached out to snag her arm, twirling her around so she was standing between his spread legs.

They were nose to nose, electricity crackling in the air between them.

A heady combination of aggression and pure sex.

“You know what I think?” His voice was husky.

She could have broken his grip. He might be physically stronger, but she wasn’t helpless. Everyone knew there was nothing more dangerous than a pissed-off female Were.

Instead she met him glare for glare.

“I don’t care.”

“I think you’re scared.”

She stiffened, her eyes glowing with emerald fire.

“Let. Go.”

“You’re scared because you want me.”

She wanted to deny the truth of his words. He could read it on her exquisite face. But she wasn’t stupid. Even if he couldn’t feel her telltale shivers at his touch, or see the way her eyes dilated when they slid down his body, he could scent her arousal.

“I’ve wanted—and had—countless men over the years,” she informed him. “Big deal.”

He growled, his wolf not pleased at the thought of her with another lover.

“You’ve never had a man like me—” he started to assure her, abruptly freezing as he caught the flicker of light out of the corner of his eye. A scope reflecting in the sunlight. “Mierda.”

Acting on pure reflex, Luc shoved Sophia to the ground and landed on top of her, covering her with his larger body.

She cursed, but before she could try to throw him off, the sound of a gunshot echoed through the room, followed by an explosion of splintering glass.

Luc remained motionless, waiting for another shot. When nothing happened, he at last pulled back to run a searching gaze over Sophia’s pale face.

“Are you hurt?” he growled.

She gave a shake of her head. “No.”

“Good.” With one fluid motion he was on his feet and sprinting to leap through the broken window. “Stay here.”

CHAPTER 2

Stay here.

The damned Were was delusional if he thought he could order her around like a pet dog, Sophia told herself, swiftly rising to her feet and following him through the shattered window.

Okay, he’d saved her life. And while it annoyed the hell out of her that she’d needed his protection, she was willing to offer her gratitude.

But that didn’t mean he was going to go around snapping out commands and expecting her to obey.

Some bastard had just tried to kill her and she was going to find who the hell it was.

Then she was going to rip out their heart and feed it to the vultures.

Or at least that was the plan.

Managing to get through the window without slicing open a major artery, Sophia paused as she realized that Luc had already crossed the street and entered the three-storied brick office building.

Holy shit, he was fast.

And wicked strong.

And so gloriously, spectacularly male that he made her ache in all the right places.

Which, of course, was why she was so twitchy when he was near. And why she was so reluctant to hire him as her bodyguard.

Even if she would rather bite off her tongue than admit it.

Realizing that the gunshot had already attracted unwelcome attention, Sophia forced herself to walk at a steady pace across the street and into the building where the shooter must have taken aim at her. Humans were always so easily spooked. A few gunshots, even when they weren’t the target, and they were ready to panic.

It made her long to shift and really give them something to fear.

Muttering beneath her breath at the realization that her attacker could be halfway to St. Louis by now, she pulled open the glass door and entered the empty lobby.

Cautiously she sniffed the air, catching Luc’s enticing scent that blended with the humans that filled the building. But there was no hint of another demon in the area.

Could it have been a mortal who had taken a shot at her?

Puzzled, Sophia ignored the bank of elevators and pulled open the door to the stairwell. She hesitated only long enough to make certain nothing was lurking in the shadows before moving up the metal steps tucked against the wall.

She had only a second of warning before Luc was vaulting from the top floor to land directly before her.

Show-off, she silently muttered, even as her blood stirred at the grace of his movements and the power of his male body.

Then, reluctantly lifting her gaze from the impressive width of his shoulders, she met his burning black glare.

“What part of ‘stay here’ don’t you understand?” he snapped, his voice pitched to ensure it wouldn’t echo.

She slapped her hands onto her hips. “I’m the boss here and I don’t take orders from you.” Her expression hardened. “Or anyone.”

“Surprise me,” he muttered.

“What?”

“It’s my job to protect you,” he growled, stepping so close that his heat seared over her skin. “And if that means giving you orders then you’ll obey them. Got it?”

“Why you ...”

Brushing past him, she headed up the stairs. She bypassed the second floor, knowing from the angle of the bullet currently lodged in her desk that it must have been fired from the third floor. Personally she preferred her kills to be up close and personal, but she was a trained marksman.

Continuing upward, she sensed Luc directly behind her.

Hell, she more than sensed him. The pinpricks of his anger were biting into her skin, warning that his wolf was prowling close to the surface.

A powerful wolf, she inanely acknowledged.

One that was more than a match for her own.

Trying to shake off her distraction at his proximity, Sophia halted on the top floor landing. Before she could reach for the doorknob, however, there was a faint squeak on a stair below them.

The sound had barely reached her ears when Luc had her shoved up against the wall, caging her with his larger body. At the same time there was the deafening crack of a gunshot followed by a nerve-shredding screech as a bullet pierced the thin sheet of metal exactly where they’d been standing less than a second before.

“Por Dios.” Pushing back, Luc ran a searching gaze over her tense form. Once assured she was injury-free, he moved to glance over the railing. “Stay here.” He turned his head back to glare at her with eyes that were more wolf than human. “This time you’ll do as I say or I’ll handcuff you to the door. Got it?”

Without bothering to wait for her response, the idiot was leaping down the stairs, pursuing their trigger-happy attacker with a reckless disregard for sanity, self-preservation, and the basic laws of gravity.

Not that she should bother being worried.

Luc was obviously a trained thug who probably spent a large portion of his day chasing after crazies. If he wanted to take a bullet or two to prove he was a big, strong Were, then let him.

Except he had saved her life, a tiny voice whispered in the back of her mind.

Twice.

She at least owed him a thank-you before he got himself offed, didn’t she?

That was the only reason she was pacing the cramped landing instead of returning to her club and getting on with her day.

“Pain in the ass,” she muttered beneath her breath, her head snapping around as Luc jogged easily up the stairs.

“Were you saying something?” he asked, a faint smile toying at the edges of his mouth.

She ran a swift gaze over his magnificent body, refusing to allow herself to linger on the rippling muscles and the broad shoulders that were displayed to perfection by the tight T-shirt.

He was unharmed.

That was all that mattered.

“Did you find the shooter?”

“Nothing.” His jaw clenched with frustration. “Whoever it was managed to enter and leave the building without leaving a trace.”

“A witch?”

“Impossible to say without further information.” He shrugged. “I’ll do a more thorough search when the building closes for the night.”

She cleared her throat. “I haven’t thanked you.”

Expecting him to gloat, Sophia was caught off guard when he abruptly stepped forward, grasping her upper arms as he regarded her with a fierce glare.

“I don’t want you to thank me, Sophia. I want you to let me do my job.”

She shivered as the heat of his hands seared against her bare skin, her wolf growling in low approval.

Traitor.

“I haven’t given you the job.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard any number of rumors about you, but none of them mentioned that you were stupid.”

She stiffened. Until this moment she’d never given a damn what people said about her.

Who cared if she was known as an immoral, heartless slut?

Now she scowled at the thought he might be judging her without ever knowing the truth.

“What rumors?” she growled.

“That you’re the Queen of Bitches.”

“True.” No point in trying to deny that. Not that she wanted to. “What else?”

The dark gaze skimmed over her face. “That you’re exquisite.”

“Also true.”

“That you were blessed with four pure-blooded daughters. An amazing gift to our people.”

She lowered her gaze. Although the word of Cassie’s talent of prophecy, as well as her recent disappearance, weren’t state secrets, they hadn’t yet become common knowledge.

The fewer people who knew, the better.

“Yes.”

“And that you’re a survivor,” he continued, ignoring her sudden wariness. “Which was why you were smart enough to seek help when you needed it.”

She lifted her head with a wry smile. “Slick.”

“Skilled,” he corrected, frustration still simmering in his magnificent eyes. “And unfortunately late to the party. Take me back to the beginning.” His brows drew together as she hesitated. “Sophia?”

She ground her teeth. Dammit. He was a wolf on the hunt.

He wasn’t going to let this go.

“I’m not really sure,” she muttered.

“Something spooked you or you wouldn’t have felt the need for a bodyguard.”

“It’s all been so ... childish.”

His hands loosened their grip so he could run his fingers lightly up and down her arm, sending a series of pleasurable quakes through her body.

“Childish?”

She struggled to keep her mind on track. Not easy when her thoughts were being consumed with how quickly she could have him stripped of his clothes and pressed against the wall.

The things she could do to that fantastic body.

Mmmm.

His eyes dilated as the spice of her arousal filled the air, his body tensing with an answering hunger. With a low curse, she wrenched her mind back to the conversation.

Where were they?

Oh yeah, her murderous stalker.

She shrugged. “It started with spiteful notes left on my door.”

“What did they say?”

“The usual. ‘I hate you.’ ‘Go away, bitch.’ ‘Whore.’ ” Her lips curled in disgust. “Something a juvenile human would do.”

“What else?”

“My tires slashed. A dead rat left in my swimming pool.” Her gaze shifted past him to the bullet hole in the floor. A few more inches and she would have been skewered. “At least until today.”

His frown deepened, his expression distracted. “Strange.”

“Strange that someone tried to shoot me, or strange that they hadn’t tried before?” she asked dryly.

“It usually doesn’t escalate so swiftly.”

She forced herself to hold his questioning gaze at his unnerving perception.

It wasn’t bad enough his mere touch could make her wolf pant with need, he also had to be intelligent?

“You mean the attacks?”

“Exactly.” His hands shifted so his thumbs were brushing the sensitive line of her throat, pausing over the unsteady beat of her pulse. “It’s a hell of a leap from scribbling a nasty note to pulling a trigger. Most people never progress to that point. And those that do take longer than a few days to go from catty to psychotic.”

“Hmmm.” Her expression was noncommittal. “I see your point.”

His eyes narrowed. “When did you receive your first threat?”

“A few days after I moved into my new house. Two weeks ago,” she promptly answered. “I assumed it was a jealous neighbor.”

“Nothing before then?”

“Lots.” Her lips twisted wryly. “I am the Queen of Bitches, remember? But most of my enemies have the balls to face me, not creep around like an angst-ridden adolescent.”

He gave a slow nod. “Tell me about your neighbors.”

“I’ve only met a handful.” She hadn’t been particularly concerned by the lack of a welcoming committee. “Most of them are mortal. Big yawn.”

“But not all?”

“No. There’s a vamp who has a lair directly behind my tennis courts.”

His thumbs skimmed up and down her throat with an intimacy that should have made her wolf snarl in warning. A Were’s neck was considered off-limits to all but their most trusted pack mates.

Instead she battled the urge to tilt back her head and offer her tender flesh to his teeth.

Christ, what was wrong with her?

“A vamp wouldn’t waste their time with notes and tire slashing,” he said, his gaze following the path of his fingers, a glow deep in his eyes. “You piss one off and they go directly for the throat. Literally.”

“Kirsten’s barely out of her foundling years,” she informed him. “She’s still at the mercy of her human emotions.”

He seemed to dismiss the vamp, although Sophia didn’t doubt he’d tucked the info in the back of his mind.

Nothing was allowed to escape this Were’s notice.

Not the most comforting thought.

“Anyone else?”

“There’s a nymph down the block.” Sophia grimaced. “She’s always polite in public, but I sense that she has no intention of becoming my BFF.”

“She might be responsible for the drive-by harassments, but nymphs aren’t usually bloodthirsty.”

“You haven’t seen how possessive she is of her current lover.” Sophia shuddered. There had been a fanatical glint in the nymph’s eyes when she’d introduced her boyfriend to Sophia, her hands clinging to him with an embarrassing desperation. “It’s creepy.”

Luc lifted a dark brow. “Lover?”

“A cur.” Curs were humans who’d been bitten instead of being born a pure-blooded Were. They were capable of shifting, but they couldn’t control the shifts as a Were could, and they weren’t immortal, although their lifespan was greatly increased. “Well, more or less.”

“What does that mean?”

“He’s been turned, I can smell it, but he’s a pathetic excuse for a cur.” The image of his short, pudgy body and pasty face turned Sophia’s stomach. “He’s an embarrassment to curs everywhere. I’ve never encountered such a timid creature.”

He stepped forward, pressing her body against the wall. “Not your type at all.”

“You know nothing of my type.”

Lowering his head, he allowed his lips to brush over the racing pulse at the base of her throat.

“I know I’m it.”

Hell, they both knew he was it.

She was going up in flames from a mere touch.

What would happen if he actually kissed her?

Not about to stay around and find out, she shoved her hands against his chest.

“Ugh,” she muttered, marching around him and down the stairs.

It was bad enough that she’d spent the day dodging bullets. She wasn’t going to make it worse by becoming another victim to Luc’s fatal charm.

She had no doubt there were enough of them littering the streets of Miami.

Luc finished his sweep of the office building and was pulling his black Mercedes SL550 Roadster past the uniformed guard who was opening the gates of Sophia’s neighborhood when his cell phone beeped.

A glance at the flashing ID and he grimaced, knowing he couldn’t ignore the call.

Turning up the car stereo, he put the phone to his ear. There were too many demons with superior hearing to take chances.

“What’s up?” he demanded, sighing at his caller’s response. “Sí. I’m headed back to her house now.” His jaw tightened. “No, she doesn’t suspect anything. Not yet. But she’s too smart for me to fool for long.” There was another burst of sharp words. “Yeah, I got it. I’ll keep in touch.”

Tossing his phone into the passenger seat, Luc parked his car at the end of the tree-lined street. Then, briefly considering the benefits of shifting, he gave a shake of his head and jogged toward Sophia’s house.

He’d already called his wolf to search the office building. His human form couldn’t begin to match his wolf senses, but while he was stronger than most Weres, he didn’t want to waste unnecessary energy.

Not when he couldn’t be certain he wouldn’t need to protect Sophia.

Reaching the nearly half acre of parkland surrounding Sophia’s house, he did a swift search of the grounds, including the pool house, before entering her home through the patio doors.

He’d checked through her living room, a guest bedroom, and the fully equipped gym before heading to the kitchen.

Not surprisingly, he found Sophia leaning against the marble counter, her arms folded across her chest. She would have sensed him the moment he entered her yard.

Halting in the center of the ceramic-tiled floor, Luc allowed his gaze to run over her slender body barely covered by a lacy red camisole and matching silk shorts.

He bit back a growl, his gaze lifting to the beautiful face framed by the pale golden hair.

The lust he didn’t mind. What male wouldn’t be hot and bothered by the sight of a gorgeous, half-naked female?

But the sense of recognition from his wolf, as if she ... belonged to him, was unnerving.

Especially when the emerald eyes were glowing with a warning that was far from welcoming.

“Do your duties include breaking and entering?”

He deliberately glanced toward the door leading from the breakfast nook onto the patio. A dew fairy could break the flimsy-ass lock.

“No, but they include an inspection of your alarm system.”

She snorted. “I’m a pure-blooded Were. That’s all the alarm system I need.”

Scowling at her nonchalant tone, he turned back with a glare of frustration.

Dios.

Did she know how her seeming lack of concern was challenging his wolf to do whatever necessary to protect her?

“Obviously not if some lunatic has managed to wander around your place without getting caught,” he growled.

“The lunatic always trespassed when I was at the club.” She allowed her gaze to drift down to his heavy boots and back to his narrowed eyes. “At least until tonight.”

“You need an alarm system.”

She heaved a purely feminine sigh of exasperation at his stubborn expression.

“Did you find anything at the office building?”

He moved past her to open the fridge and pulled out a bottle of perfectly chilled beer. Twisting off the cap, he downed half of it in one swallow.

“I found that the secretary from the insurance claims company is staying late to burn the midnight oil with the janitor.”

“Midnight oil?”

He smiled. “And that the loan officer is sleeping on the couch in his office. No doubt his wife kicked him out.”

Her gaze lingered a tantalizing moment on his lips before she was visibly squaring her shoulders.

“Fascinating.”

“That was just the first floor.”

“Did you find any clues that might lead us to my stalker?”

“Nothing.” He polished off the beer and tossed the bottle into the recycle bin. “Which means they’re very, very good. Or very, very lucky.”

“So you basically have jack squat?”

He ignored her taunt, moving until he could grasp the counter on either side of her hips, effectively trapping her.

He was going to get answers.

One way or another.

“Actually, I have a question.”

She stiffened, her power swirling through the air. Oddly, however, she made no move to shove him away.

“Let me get this straight,” she mocked instead. “You break into my house at an ungodly hour. You help yourself to my private stash of imported beer. Now, having absolutely zero information for me, you expect me to play Twenty Questions.” She tilted her chin. “And, for the true cherry topper, I’m supposed to pay you a weekly wage for the privilege?”

His gaze swept down to the delectable glimpse of her breasts beneath the red lace.

“Yeah, but I’ll throw in the night of mind-blowing sex for free.”

He heard her heart miss a beat, the scent of her ready response more enticing than any perfume.

Still she held herself rigid, clearly as wary as he was by the potent force of their attraction.

“What’s your question?” she asked huskily.

“Tell me what you’re hiding from me.”

Her eyes widened before she was hastily smoothing her expression.

“Hiding?” She lifted her brow, trying to brazen her way past his question. “What the hell makes you think that I’m hiding something?”

“A pure-blooded Were doesn’t hire a bodyguard just because she’s being harassed.”

The realization had struck him as he watched her flounce away from him in the stairwell. He’d started to halt her retreat then and there to demand an answer, but the rigid line of her spine had warned she wasn’t in the mood to cooperate.

And in truth, he’d still been so cranked at being led around like a dunce by the mystery gunman that he knew he was bound to make matters worse if he tried to pry the truth from her.

Now he wasn’t going to leave until he knew exactly what the hell was going on.

“My son-in-law made me promise I wouldn’t kill any of my neighbors the day I moved in.” She tried to hold her ground. “He didn’t say I couldn’t hire someone else to kill for me.”

“Dammit, Sophia, I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me,” he snapped. “Tell me.”

They glared at one another, the air filled with a sizzling heat as they both fought a silent battle for dominance.

At last Sophia muttered a curse, sensing his grim determination.

“The harassment has been annoying, but I would have ignored it if I hadn’t started feeling like I was being hunted,” she grudgingly confessed.

“Hunted.” He latched on to the revealing word. “Not followed?”

A shadow darkened her beautiful eyes. “It’s been more than some pervert lurking in the bushes and peering in my window.”

“Explain.”

“I can’t.” Her sharp tone didn’t entirely disguise her unease. “I just know that there’s been someone shadowing my movements for the past week. And there have been”—she turned her head to glance out the window, as if hoping to hide her expression—“incidents.”

“What incidents?”

“One day I was crossing the street and I was nearly run over by a car. The next day I was jogging through the park and I was attacked by a rabid pit bull. Then, two days ago, I was nearly brained by a stone urn that fell from the top of a building I was walking past.”

Luc’s fingers tightened on the granite counter, his wolf enraged by the mere thought of someone terrorizing this female.

His female.

When he finally got his hands on the stalker, he was going to make the coward very, very sorry.

“Why didn’t you tell me this from the beginning?” he demanded, his voice thick.

She turned back to stab him with a glare. “In case you missed the memo, I’ve been trying to get rid of you, not give you a reason to stay.”

No, he’d gotten the memo.

His brooding gaze slid down to the sensuous curve of her mouth before returning to the emerald fire burning in her eyes.

“And you thought if I discovered someone’s been trying to kill you instead of just harassing you that I would be more likely to stay?”

“Of course,” she said, regarding him as if he were being particularly dense. “You’re an alpha.”

“True.”

“Which means you turn into a caveman when you think there’s a damsel in distress that might need your protection.” Her gaze warned him not to even try to deny the truth of her words. “I don’t blame you. It’s all that testosterone rotting your brain.”

As if being drawn by a magnet, his gaze returned to her lips, all too easily imagining the havoc they could wreak as they moved down his body.

“It does more than rot my brain. Do you want me to demonstrate?”

CHAPTER 3

Hell, yeah.

She wanted him to demonstrate so badly she could barely breathe.

Which was exactly why she needed him gone.

Becoming involved with an alpha male was insanity under the best of circumstances.

Add in an unknown maniac trying to kill her, and her wolf’s bizarre need to mark him so that every other female would know he was off-limits, and it became a recipe for disaster.

“See?” she accused as he stroked his lips over her cheek. “Caveman.”

He shifted to nip the lobe of her ear. “There are benefits.”

Oh ... Christ.

She could already feel the benefits. They were melting through her body, making her knees weak and her hips press with restless need against the hard thrust of his growing erection.

In a minute she was going to rip off his clothes and push him onto the ceramic tiles.

Or maybe onto the breakfast table.

She wasn’t particular so long as it was hot and sweaty and lasted until she was too sated to move.

Vivid images of straddling that bronzed, perfect body had her abruptly shoving him away so she could head for the door.

“It’s late, go away,” she muttered, ignoring her wolf, which snarled in frustration.

She didn’t truly expect him to obey her order. Luc was a Were who would do what he wanted, when he wanted. But she hadn’t expected him to actually sweep her off her feet, cradling her against his magnificent chest as he headed toward the nearby stairs.

“What the hell?” she rasped.

“You’re right. It’s late.” He smiled down at her furious expression. “You should be in bed.”

A jolt of white-hot excitement speared through her.

Dammit.

She narrowed her eyes. “Do you think I won’t hurt you?”

“I’m your bodyguard.” With astonishing ease he carried up the curved steps and down the hall to enter her bedroom. He never paused as he crossed the silver carpet that accented the black and white décor. At last reaching the ebony slipper bed, he laid her on the white and black striped comforter and straightened to study her with a hooded gaze. “It’s my duty to tuck you in.”

She pushed herself into a seated position, leaning against the pile of silver pillows.

“Your duty?”

The dark eyes ran a hungry survey down the length of her body, his own body tense as he struggled to leash the desire pulsing in the air.

“There might be a bit of pleasure mixed in.”

She shivered. Not only from the rough edge in his voice that warned he was holding on by a thread, but by the possessive glow in those dark eyes.

“I’m not getting rid of you, am I?” she breathed.

“Do you want to?”

“I don’t like Neanderthals.”

“I can be as sensitive as the next guy.” His gaze shifted to the expanse of pale skin exposed by her tiny camisole. “With the proper motivation.”

She could physically feel the heat of his gaze, caressing over her with a searing pleasure.

Dammit, why couldn’t he be just another stunningly hot guy whom she could use and abuse and toss aside when she was done?

“You’re going to try to boss me around,” she accused in frustration, “telling me what I can and can’t do—”

“I’m going to keep you alive,” he interrupted.

“I won’t be caged.” She shook her head. “Not again.”

She regretted the words as soon as they slipped from her lips, abruptly turning to study the original Rembrandt etchings that hung on her wall.

“Sophia.” She felt the mattress dip beneath Luc’s considerable weight as he perched on the edge of the bed. When she refused to acknowledge his presence, he reached to cup her cheek in his hand and tugged her to meet his searching gaze. “Talk to me.”

“You’ve done your duty, now leave me alone,” she snapped.

His thumb brushed her lower lip. “Sophia.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to tell me why you think I would try to cage you.”

She gave a restless lift of her shoulder. “It’s just an expression.”

“It’s more than that,” he stubbornly insisted. “Tell me.”

“Luc.”

“Please.”

She stilled in surprise. She’d bet her favorite Hermès handbag that this man had never said the P word more than once or twice in his very long existence.

The fact he’d lowered his pride to use it now undermined any hope of resisting his soft plea.

“You know the history of our people,” she hedged, feeling dangerously vulnerable.

“That covers a lot of ground.”

“For far too long we have hovered on the edge of extinction.”

“Yes, but that is all about to change now that Salvatore has destroyed the demon lord,” he pointed out, referring to the King of Weres’ recent battle with the demon who’d been draining them of their powers for centuries. “Already our strength is returning. Even those ancient powers that have been nearly forgotten.” His lips twisted into a rueful grin. “Dangerous powers.”

“I suppose you’re referring to Salvatore discovering that Harley is his true mate?”

He nodded. “As I said ... dangerous.”

Sophia had to agree with him.

True matings between Weres had become nothing more than a distant legend until Salvatore’s shocking bond with Harley. Now there were rumors of more and more purebloods becoming mated.

What would it feel like to know she was irrevocably tied to a mate?

That never again would she desire another in her bed?

She told herself that it was a horrifying thought.

And she almost believed it.

“Salvatore seems disgustingly pleased with himself, and I have to admit Harley is content.”

His fingers traced the line of her jaw. “But you’re still haunted by our past?”

Haunted?

It sounded dramatic, but Sophia couldn’t deny it captured the memories that refused to leave her in peace.

“I was one of less than a dozen females capable of becoming pregnant,” she abruptly admitted.

He stilled. “A breeder.”

“Nice,” she muttered, oddly offended by the term used for those rare fertile females.

“Sorry.” He grimaced. “I never considered the burden you must have carried.”

It had been more than a burden. Without their usual powers, the Were females had not only become increasingly infertile, but they’d lost the ability to control their shifts during their pregnancies.

It had nearly been the end of purebloods.

“When a race is trying to survive, we must all do our part,” she said, doing her best to keep the lingering pain hidden.

Typically, Luc wasn’t fooled.

“And we all must bear the scars,” he said softly, something in his voice suggesting that he had a few unwelcome memories of his own.

“Yes.”

He studied her in silence, his fingers continuing to wreak havoc with her senses as they stroked along her cheek and then tenderly tucked her hair behind her ear.

“How many children did you lose?”

She flinched at the low question. “Hundreds.”

“Oh ... cara.”

Her eyes lowered, unable to bear the sympathy gleaming in the dark eyes.

“I swore I was done when Salvatore convinced me to try one more time.” Her gut knotted. She wanted to forget those days of being nothing more than a breeding machine, expected to try and carry a litter year after endless year. “He wanted to alter the DNA of my babies so they couldn’t shift and would be more likely to carry a child to full-term.”

“And spare them the pain you endured.”

Her lips twisted. “That was the plan.”

“And it worked.” There was an unmistakable pride in his voice. “The entire Were nation celebrated your four miraculous daughters.”

“Who were promptly stolen from the nursery,” she reminded him, unwilling to reveal her confusion of emotions when she’d manage to produce her daughters, only to have them disappear. The anger, the dread, the overriding fear that made her emotionally distance herself from the children whom she’d never been allowed to hold in her arms. “I spent the past thirty years searching for my daughters.”

“And now?”

“Now it’s ‘me time.’ ” She met his steady gaze with a stubborn tilt of her chin. “No responsibilities, no one depending on me, no one trying to control me. Got it?”

Luc got it.

He really did.

This female had spent her entire life with the fate of her people resting on her shoulders.

Was it any wonder she was so skeevy to maintain her independence?

Unfortunately she was in danger.

And even if he wasn’t plagued by an ever-increasing need to protect her, he would be bound by his duty to keep her safe.

Regardless if it meant forcing her to accept his help.

And making an enemy of her in the bargain.

He hissed at the strangely painful thought, his hand shifting to trace the line of her slender throat.

“I got it, cara,” he gently assured her, “but it doesn’t change the fact that someone’s trying to hurt you.”

She made a sound of annoyance. “Which is why I hired a bodyguard.”

He smiled, his wolf smug as she allowed his fingers to savor the satin skin of her neck.

It was an intimate touch that spoke of trust. And to his wolf ... possession.

“So at least you agree that I’m hired?”

“I suppose,” she muttered. “God only knows what Troy would come up with next.”

“Good.” He ignored her blatant lack of enthusiasm. Once he was certain she was safe, he would concentrate on teaching her the pleasure of having him as her personal bodyguard. “Then tomorrow you pack a bag.”

He felt her heart leap beneath his fingers. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m taking you to Miami.”

She swore, batting away his hand as her eyes glowed with a dangerous power.

“No way in hell.”

He swallowed his growl at her direct challenge. It was time for reasoning with the female, not ... what had she said? Going caveman on her?

“Once I know you’re out of the line of fire, I can concentrate on locating your homicidal neighbor.”

“No.”

“Sophia.”

“No,” she repeated, an edge of finality in her voice. “I just moved into this house and started my business. I’m not going to run and hide like a gutless mist sprite.”

“It would only be for a few days.”

“You can’t know that.” She held his gaze, silently warning him she wouldn’t be screwed with. “It could take you weeks or even months.”

His teeth clenched. “Then stay with one of your daughters until I’ve cleared up this mess.”

“And put them in even more danger?” She shook her head. “No way.”

His fingers encircled her neck, not in a threat, just an expression of frustration.

“You are ...”

“The boss.”

Their gazes clashed and Luc swiftly shifted through his limited options.

He could physically force her to go to Miami. He had the brute strength and the training necessary to manhandle all but the king.

But even as the thought raced through his mind, he was dismissing it.

He knew without a doubt that turning her into his virtual prisoner, even if it was for her own good, would break something fragile inside her.

“Obstinada,” he breathed, leaning down to yank off his boots.

Then, ignoring her sudden scowl, he rose from the bed to strip off his T-shirt. He had tugged off his belt and was unzipping his pants when she found her voice.

“If you’re auditioning for a position at my club, I have to warn you we only take experienced dancers,” she rasped.

He shrugged, pulling down his pants and kicking them aside to stand in nothing but his black satin boxers.

“If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed ...”

“Then he gets kicked in his nuts?”

He stretched out on the mattress beside her, hiding a smile as he caught her covert gaze ogling his thickly muscled legs before lifting to linger on the broad expanse of his chest.

She might want him gone, but that didn’t keep her from lusting after his body.

And frankly he was good with that.

For now.

“I can’t protect you if I’m not close to you.”

“That doesn’t include sharing my bed.”

“As a matter of fact it does.” Lying on his back, he tucked his hands behind his head. “At least until I get a security system set up.”

She bent over him, her expression hard even if she couldn’t disguise the scent of her smoldering arousal.

“If you have to stay, then you can sleep in another room.”

“Too far.”

“Then use the chair.” She pointed toward the charcoal-gray chair set next to the window. “There’s an extra blanket in the closet.”

“What’s wrong, Sophia?” he teased. “Afraid you can’t keep yourself from jumping me in my sleep?”

Unexpectedly the emerald eyes darkened, as if he’d injured her.

“Despite the rumors you claim to have heard about me, I don’t spread my legs for every man who crosses my path,” she said stiffly.

Dios.

Regretting his thoughtless words, he lifted himself onto his elbows, regarding her with a somber gaze.

“That was never a rumor I heard, and I wouldn’t believe it if I did.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Sophia, I’m here to protect you.” Her lips parted and he hastily pressed a finger to halt her angry words. “Hold on. I’m not going to insult your intelligence by denying that I want you.” He allowed his hunger to simmer in the air, the heat stirring the satin strands of her hair. “Desperately. Or that I’m going to say ‘no’ when you finally accept that I’m irresistible.” With an effort he leashed his aching desire, needing her to realize that she would always be safe in his care. Physically and emotionally. “But until that moment, I don’t expect anything from you but your cooperation in keeping you alive.”

Her expression remained suspicious. “You intend to spend the night with me and not have sex?”

Both wolf and man groaned at the mere thought of the long hours ahead, but his smile never wavered.

“I can keep our relationship platonic if you can.”

It was a direct challenge.

One no wolf could back down from.

Her jaw clenched. “The boxers stay on.”

His smile widened. “You’re the boss.”

Turning her back to him, she reached to switch off the Tiffany lamp.

“Christ, I must be out of my mind.”

CHAPTER 4

It was late afternoon when Sophia woke.

Considering that dawn had already crested when she’d at last fallen asleep, it was no surprise she’d slept late.

It was, however, a surprise to realize that she was not only wrapped in Luc’s strong arms, but that she’d molded herself so tightly to his body that she might as well have been a damned barnacle on the bottom of a ship.

Her head was tucked beneath his chin, her ear pressed over the steady beat of his heart, and she had one leg thrown over his hip.

Pathetic.

Sensing he was awake and well aware of her embarrassment, she tilted back her head, intending to slay him with a heated glare.

Instead she forgot how to breathe.

Holy ... shit, but he was beautiful.

Achingly, shatteringly beautiful.

Helplessly her gaze wandered over the chiseled male features that were only emphasized by his heavy morning beard and his tousled hair. The high cheekbones, the wide brow, the near-black eyes that could make a woman melt at a hundred paces.

It wasn’t until his lips parted to reveal the teeth that were shockingly white against his bronzed skin that she was reminded that she wanted to punch him in his perfect nose, not ...

Other things.

Wicked, delicious other things.

“If you intended to use this side of the bed you should have said so last night,” she informed him, shifting her hands from his back to press them against his chest.

He smiled at her with a lazy satisfaction. “You were the one who wanted me to be more sensitive.”

“I said I didn’t want you acting like a caveman,” she corrected. “Besides there’s nothing sensitive in groping me while I’m asleep.”

His hands drifted over her hips, touching her with a familiarity that should have been offensive, not exciting.

“You were whimpering and tossing around until I at last took you in my arms,” he claimed. “Once I had you tucked against me you slept like a baby.”

Her lips parted to deny his ridiculous claim, only to snap shut as a vague memory flashed through her mind—a nightmare in which she was being chased through a dark forest by an unseen enemy.

Muttering her opinion of arrogant Weres who should be neutered, she shoved her way out of his arms and headed toward her bathroom.

“I need a shower.”

“What about breakfast?”

“Do I look like Julia Child?” she demanded, pausing to send him a warning scowl. “Don’t even think about opening this door.”

He grinned, looking edible as he tucked his hands behind his head, the satin sheet falling down to reveal his wide chest and washboard abs.

“I could scrub your back.”

Fiercely refusing to allow the tempting image to form in her mind, Sophia slammed the door shut and turned the lock.

Not that she thought Luc would intrude into her privacy. He might be overbearing when it came to protecting her, but he would never force himself on an unwilling woman.

Why would he?

He no doubt had an entire harem waiting for him back in Miami.

Refusing to consider why that thought made her wolf snarl, Sophia yanked off her camisole and shorts before entering her shower and turning the cold water on full blast.

A half an hour later she was dressed in a tiny yellow bikini with a matching sarong that fell to her knees tied around her slender waist. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail and her expression was defiant.

She hadn’t chosen her favorite swimsuit to make Luc forget those females she was now convinced he must have left behind. That would be downright childish, she told herself as she made her way toward the delicious aroma of frying onions, garlic, peppers, and fresh tomatoes.

It was just that she always spent a few hours by the pool before heading to her club.

Of course, if it did make his jaw drop, then she wouldn’t complain.

Her cocky smile lasted until she stepped into the kitchen to catch sight of Luc standing beside the stove still dressed in nothing more than his silk boxers.

Instinctively her hand lifted to make sure no drool was dribbling down her chin.

Holy crap.

Most women would sell their souls to walk in and find this bronzed god fixing them breakfast.

Including her, she abruptly realized.

For a crazed moment she considered the pleasure of walking across the floor and wrapping her arms around his narrow waist to press herself against his back.

Then abruptly she recalled he wasn’t here because he’d been mesmerized by her charm. Or even because he thought she was hot.

He was here because her life was in danger. And while she didn’t doubt for a minute he would be more than happy to fulfill a few of her deepest fantasies, she would be a fool to think she would be anything but a convenient female body he was willing to use until it was time to move on.

She didn’t know why the thought should make her suddenly so grumpy, but she did know her fingers itched to toss a few of her Baccarat crystal glasses.

Instead she forced a casual smile to her lips as she crossed to the breakfast nook where the table was already set, complete with fresh roses from the garden.

“Making yourself at home?” she drawled, settling on a padded wicker chair.

Efficiently plating a mound of golden scrambled eggs that he covered with his chunky tomato sauce, he crossed to set it in the center of the table. Sophia breathed deeply, catching the spicy aroma of chilies and cumin and chopped oregano.

“You should be thanking me,” he murmured, taking a seat across the small table, his grin distinctly wicked. “I’ve had women begging on their knees for a taste of my huevos rancheros.”

That wasn’t the only thing they begged for, she silently acknowledged, piling her plate high with scrambled eggs before taking a sip of her freshly squeezed orange juice.

Heaven.

She glanced up to catch him watching her with an unreadable expression.

“Shouldn’t you be rigging up my alarm system or something?”

“We need to talk first.” He nodded toward her plate. “Eat.”

She rolled her eyes at his commanding tone. “Are you going to give me a treat if I roll over and play dead?”

His lips twitched. “What do you want from me?”

“Ask me, don’t order me.”

“Do I get credit for not throwing you over my shoulder and hauling you back to bed?” Heat blazed in his eyes as they skimmed down her nearly naked body. “That’s what my inner caveman is urging me to do. And my wolf agrees.”

So did her wolf.

It didn’t mind a bit of caveman.

Not when the end result was some raw, spectacular sex.

She shoveled the eggs into her mouth, barely taking time to savor the bold flavor as she cleaned her plate. Anything to distract her from the aching void between her legs that was becoming nearly unbearable.

Once finished, she pushed away her plate. It really had been delicious and she crankily wondered if there was anything that wasn’t perfect about this Were.

“What do you want to discuss?”

Having polished off his own plate, Luc settled back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest.

“A party.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want you to host a party.”

She slowly narrowed her gaze. “What kind of party?”

He gave a sudden laugh. “Not the kind you’re thinking of.”

“Now you can read my mind?” she muttered, pretending the maddening image of Luc floating in her hot tub with a covey of water sprites pleasuring his naked body hadn’t just flared through her mind.

He leaned forward, his hand reaching to cover hers. “I told you I’m not into public displays. Especially not when it comes to sex,” he assured her in a voice filled with husky promise. “I like it mano y mano with lots of privacy and lots of time.” The dark eyes flashed with sinful amusement. “And occasionally handcuffs.”

“Handcuffs?” She pretended his light touch wasn’t sending molten need through her veins. “Do you need restraints to acquire your dates? Or to keep them from escaping?”

He lifted her fingers to his lips. “Someday very soon I’ll show you exactly what I do with them.”

With a low groan she snatched her hand away. In a minute she was going to be knocking aside the table and crawling over him like a sex-starved harpy.

“So why do you want me to host a party?”

He shrugged, the amusement lingering in his eyes. “It’s the most convenient way to gather all your neighbors at one time so I can question them.”

“You think they’ll confess to being a homicidal maniac over apple martinis?”

“It’s easier to read people when they’re in a group,” he explained. “If I do door-to-door interviews they’ll be on guard.”

“No shit,” she muttered, her gaze skimming over the heavy muscles of his chest.

Even dressed he would be the sort of unannounced visitor who would make her neighbors hide under their bed and call the cops.

His smile widened. “This way they’ll feel more comfortable.”

“And more likely to give something away?”

“That’s the hope.”

She had to admit it made sense, she acknowledged, rising to her feet.

As he said, her neighbors were more likely to let down their guard during the course of a party. Especially if she could score a bottle of nectar from Troy. A few drops in her guests’ drinks and their inhibitions would be lowered. Perhaps not to the point of revealing their most intimate secrets, but they would be more inclined to “share.”

“Fine.” She cleared her throat as he straightened, his muscles rippling in the afternoon sunlight that slanted through the glass wall. “I’ll send out the invitations.”

“You aren’t really going to serve apple martinis, are you?” he demanded, moving to stand way too close.

“How am I supposed to explain your presence?” she abruptly demanded.

“I’m your latest lover, of course.”

She snorted at his ready suggestion. “You could be my brother. Or the pool boy.”

His hand lifted to skim along her hairline, following the curve of her ear.

“I’m not nearly pretty enough to be the pool boy, and we don’t want to shock the natives if I happen to do this in front of them.”

A part of her knew a kiss was coming. She also knew she could halt it by taking a simple step backward. Instead she tilted back her head to meet his descending mouth, her lips parting in invitation to the deep, hungry kiss.

He groaned, his hands gripping her hips as their tongues tangled in a silent dance of mutual need.

An enthralling pleasure blasted through her, making her arch against his hardening cock as her hands ran a restless path over his powerful back.

He was so deliciously warm.

And male.

Starkly, unapologetically male.

The kiss deepened as she rubbed her aching breasts against his bare chest, her blood on fire with the need to feel him plunging deep inside her body.

As if sensing her desperate desire, his hands skimmed up the curve of her waist, cupping her breasts to tease her sensitive nipples with his thumbs.

She growled her approval, arching toward his insistent caresses as her hands slid beneath the satin boxers to cup the hard muscles of his perfect ass.

Laughing softly he nipped at her lower lip before whispering against her mouth.

“This isn’t at all brotherly.”

Busy thanking the gods that she wasn’t related to this intensely sexy Were, Sophia was taken off guard as a brick was tossed through the window over the sink.

They both stiffened in shock, but Luc swiftly recovered and was immediately out of her arms and sprinting toward the French doors leading onto the back patio.

Sophia felt a brief flare of fear at the realization he was unarmed as he charged after the trespasser only to grimace as the backlash of his power sizzled through the air. Even without shifting there were few demons who could match his strength.

And if he went wolf ...

Well, she pitied anyone stupid enough to stand in his path.

Of course, a silver bullet could bring down the mightiest Were, an anxious voice whispered in the back of her mind.

A voice she hastily squashed.

Luc could take care of himself. She refused to even consider the thought of him being hurt.

Clenching her hands, she turned her attention toward the shards of glass littered across her floor.

Dammit to hell.

What was it with people busting her windows lately?

They were not only a pain in the ass to replace, but they left a mess that she was in no mood to clean.

Picking her way over the glittering shards, Sophia reached to pluck the brick from the sink, not at all surprised to find a note scribbled on the back.

“Leave or die.”

Predictable. Tacky. And downright cliché.

Tossing the brick onto the countertop, she moved to retrieve a broom, sweeping up the broken glass and dumping it in the trash.

She’d just finished when Luc returned, his eyes glowing with the fury of his wolf.

“Anything?” she demanded, although she already knew the answer.

“No,” he growled, his frustration thickening the air until it was difficult to breathe. “Whoever threw the brick had already taken off, and there are too many scents to pick out a specific person.” His jaw knotted as he struggled to leash his emotions. “I do know it wasn’t a human.”

“How?”

He moved to pick up the brick, testing its weight as his gaze skimmed the words of warning.

“Unlike a demon, they would have to be standing in your yard to pitch this through the window. There’s no way they could have escaped before I could catch them.”

She nodded in agreement. “Then that narrows down the options.”

“Not far enough.”

Sensing his self-disgust, Sophia frowned. “What is it?”

“There’s something off,” he growled.

“Off?”

“If someone genuinely wants you dead they don’t warn you,” he muttered, throwing the brick into the trash.

He was right. She was trained well enough to know that the best assassin was the one who moved through the shadows and struck before their prey ever sensed the danger.

“The gunshot was genuine enough,” she pointed out, sharing his confusion.

“So was the bullet.”

“Yeah, the bastard ruined my desk.”

“I went back to dig it out.” His expression was grim. “It was silver.”

She shivered. “I suppose crazy doesn’t always make sense.”

He looked like he wanted to bite something.

Hard.

“What are your plans for the day?” he abruptly demanded.

She shrugged. “A few hours by the pool and then off to the club.”

“I’m calling a security firm to install your alarm system.” He prowled toward the door. “Don’t leave without me.”

Ignoring the crowd of drunken females who screeched in wild abandon at the male Were gyrating on the stage, Luc leaned against the carved oak bar and sipped his Cognac.

No one would blame him for being in a foul mood.

Not only was he no closer to discovering who was trying to harm Sophia, but he was so tormented by his raging lust he could barely think.

Mierda.

This was supposed to be a simple job.

Get in, fix the problem, and get out.

That’s what he did.

He fixed problems.

But from the instant he’d caught sight of Sophia, the job had gone from simple to simply insane.

Proving his point, his gaze skimmed over the mingling crowd, landing with unerring accuracy on the golden-haired female who was responsible for his current discomfort.

She looked exquisitely elegant in a silky ivory pantsuit.

The jacket was perfectly tailored to her slender frame, the plunging vee neckline revealing the lush curve of her breasts. The pants clung to her long legs before flaring above a pair of three-inch heels.

Her pale hair was pulled into a smooth knot at the back of her head, the style perfectly designed to rouse his wolf into a near frenzy as he pictured his lips and teeth nuzzling down the length of her neck.

Wondering what she would do if he tossed her over his shoulder and headed for her office, Luc’s pleasant imaginings were interrupted as he watched a red-haired imp move to stand beside Sophia.

The tall fey looked a bit like Troy, but his hair was cut short and his far more bulky frame was covered by a black Armani suit instead of spandex. A smile touched his handsome face as he bent down to whisper something in Sophia’s ear.

A growl trickled from Luc’s throat as his fingers clutched the glass he was holding until it shattered.

Ignoring the Cognac that spilled over his hand, Luc prowled forward, his gaze locked on the fey who appeared unaware he was toying with death.

The crowd parted before him, the females giving tiny gasps of nervous excitement as they avidly watched him cross the room. He was indifferent to the stir of interest caused by his tight T-shirt and black slacks and the fluid grace of his movements.

He had only one thought in his mind.

Halting directly behind Sophia, he reached around her just as the fey was intending to take her hand. He grabbed the fool’s wrist, barely repressing his urge to crush the bones beneath his fingers.

“Touch her and I’ll make certain you never use that hand again,” he warned, his voice thick with his wolf.

“Shit.” Pale green eyes widened as the imp regarded him with a startled alarm. “Who the hell are you?”

“Luc.”

“You work here?”

Releasing his grip on the imp, Luc wrapped his arm possessively around Sophia’s waist, his chin resting on the top of her head.

“My only job is pleasing Sophia.”

Holding herself rigid, Sophia covered his hand with hers, covertly allowing her claws to dig into his flesh.

A tiny warning that she wasn’t pleased by his public claim.

“We’ll finish our discussion tomorrow, Andrew,” she smoothly promised the wary imp. “My office?”

“Four o’clock,” the fey murmured, cautiously waiting for Luc’s tiny nod of agreement before backing away and disappearing into the crowd.

Smart imp.

He obviously had enough sense not to piss off a Were. Especially not one in heat.

Of course, a female Were was equally perilous.

Tugging out of his grasp, Sophia turned to stab him with a furious glare.

“Are you demented?” she hissed.

“Odd.” His lips twisted. “That question has been running through my mind with growing frequency.” He nodded toward the fleeing imp. “Who was that?”

“My liquor distributor, who was giving me a very sweet deal until you came stomping over here like Conan the Barbarian,” she rasped. “What were you doing?”

Ah, now that was a loaded question.

For the past centuries Weres hadn’t been jealous creatures. The overriding need to produce children had destroyed the instinct to find that one special companion.

Was it any wonder he was as baffled as Sophia by his urgent desire to make certain that every male in Chicago understood this woman was his property?

“Have you considered the fact that you opened this club at the same time you moved into your new house?” he hastily improvised.

“So?”

He waved a hand toward the stage where yet another overly pretty Were was stripping off his clothes.

“So your mysterious stalker might be someone you met here.”

Her lips tightened, but it was obvious that she was considering his words.

“And how does pounding your chest and publicly branding me as your latest bimbo help?”

His brows lifted. “Bimbo?”

“Don’t push me.”

He shrugged. “Now everyone knows they have to go through me to get to you.”

“Great.” She didn’t appear particularly pleased by his logic. “What if they decide to lie low until you leave? Then I’m back to where I started.”

“But I’m not leaving,” he assured her, moving forward to trace the line of her stubborn jaw. “Not until I’m absolutely certain you’re safe.”

Perhaps sensing that nothing short of death was going to pry him from her side, she heaved a sigh, her gaze shifting to the horde of females who were studying him with a rapt attention that was intended to be reserved for the entertainment.

“So much for blending in,” she gave in with a sour frown.

He smiled, his finger lowering to follow the plunging neckline of her silk jacket.

“You were right to begin with,” he murmured, his voice thickening as she gave a small shiver of pleasure. “I don’t blend.”

CHAPTER 5

The human caterers had arrived precisely at eight to transform the back patio into the predictable cliché of an oriental paradise.

Paper lanterns were glowing near the pool. Black and red tablecloths covered the long buffet tables that were lined with platters of sushi. And cheesy silk fans had been placed on every chair to be given as party favors.

Not Sophia’s usual style.

She preferred champagne and caviar.

But considering one of her guests was quite likely trying to kill her, this was as good as it was going to get.

She did, however, manage to get her hands on the nectar she needed, and liberally dousing the drinks of the nymph and her cur lover, as well the vampire, she’d done her best to ensure that the party wasn’t a complete flop.

Not that it was necessary, she sourly acknowledged, watching the flock of women fluttering around Luc like bees to honey.

But then, why wouldn’t they flutter?

He looked like a bronzed god stretched on a lounge chair beside the pool wearing nothing more than a black Speedo that left nothing to the imagination.

The half dozen female mortals were so enthralled by the sight they were actually kneeling next to the chaise, as if they were worshipping him, while the dark-haired vampire with brown eyes and pale, pale skin had planted her ass on the edge of the chair, leaning forward as if afraid that Luc had missed the pair of boobs she had barely covered in a scarlet bikini.

Whose stupid idea was it to make this a pool party? she wondered in disgust.

Oh yeah, hers.

And why?

Because of the damned Were who had spent the past four days practically ignoring her.

Standing near the French doors that led to her kitchen, Sophia heaved out a frustrated sigh.

She supposed she should be pleased.

Hadn’t she made it clear she had no intention in sharing her bed? Or her body?

But after the alarm system had been professionally installed, and Luc had moved into the guest room down the hall, she hadn’t been nearly so relieved as she should have been. And she’d been even less relieved when he began disappearing for hours on end, popping in and out without warning.

Was he hunting for her mysterious stalker? Or had the fact that there hadn’t been any more attacks given him the excuse to find another woman to ease his lust?

She told herself she didn’t give a damn even as she’d abruptly decided to hold the party by the pool. Why not show off her new hot pink Dolce and Gabbana bikini? But even as she sent out the invitations she’d suspected that her reasons were a lot less about vanity and a lot more about Luc.

Stupid werewolf.

Sipping her apple martini while she imagined the pleasure of shifting so she could more easily rip out the throats of the twits paying homage to the man driving her nuts, Sophia abruptly caught a whiff of an approaching nymph.

Turning her head, she watched the auburn-haired woman with smoke-gray eyes halt at her side.

Victoria was lushly curved like most nymphs and at the moment was displaying those curves to full advantage in a black strapless one-piece swimsuit that was cut down to her navel.

The female smiled as her gaze shifted toward Luc. “You never mentioned that you had a lover.”

Sophia barely swallowed her snarl.

Get it together, Sophia, she silently chided herself.

The opportunity to question this female was precisely why she’d agreed to hold this stupid party.

“My private relations are just that... .” She pinned a cold smile to her lips. “Private.”

“If you wanted privacy then you should never have moved into this neighborhood,” the nymph drawled. “We are incurably curious and far more interested in one another’s lives than our own.”

“Isn’t that a little pathetic?”

“Perhaps.” A sly expression crossed the nymph’s pretty face. “Of course, I do understand your reluctance to share. He’s yummy.”

“Obviously you’re not the only one who thinks so,” Sophia snapped as Kirsten ran a provocative finger down Luc’s bare chest.

Victoria wrinkled her nose. “That vampire should be staked and left for the sun.”

Sophia was thinking more along the lines of ripping off her head.

Quick and easy.

“Not a big Kirsten fan?” she instead forced herself to ask.

“She’s a whore.”

Sophia lifted a brow at the sharp edge in Victoria’s voice. “Don’t hold back. Tell me how you really feel.”

“She pretends she has no interest in my Morton, but I’ve seen how she sniffs at him when he’s near.”

“She’s still a foundling, no doubt she sniffs everything with warm blood.”

“Really?” The nymph sent Sophia a mocking smile. “Then you don’t mind that she’s currently latched on to Luc?”

“Of course not.” It was a miracle that the words didn’t choke her. “I trust Luc.”

Victoria snorted. “Don’t lie. You want to toss the bitch into the barbeque pit and watch her go up in flames.”

Sophia hastily squelched the delicious image.

Focus, Sophia. Focus.

“If I do decide I need to defend my territory, I’ll confront her directly.” She narrowed her gaze. “I have no tolerance for creatures who attack anonymously.”

The nymph paled, hastily backing away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Sophia rolled her eyes. The stupid female might as well have tattooed “guilty” across her forehead.

Grasping her upper arm, Sophia yanked her to a halt. “Don’t run away, Victoria. We have so much to discuss.”

“Please,” the nymph pleaded. “Don’t hurt me.”

“That all depends on you,” she growled. “Confess and I won’t kill you here and now.”

The silver eyes shimmered with terrified tears. “How did you know it was me?”

“I’m a pure-blooded Were.”

Victoria frowned at Sophia’s deliberately vague response. “The witch promised me that the amulet would disguise my scent completely.”

A disguise amulet.

That’s how the woman had waltzed into her yard without leaving a trail.

“Why?” Sophia demanded.

“You know why.”

It was Sophia’s turn to frown, her gaze moving toward the short, stocky male cur built like a fireplug. He had brown hair and pale eyes with unremarkable features.

“You can’t possibly imagine I would be interested in Morton?”

Victoria sucked in an offended breath. “He’s perfect. Why wouldn’t you want him?”

Where to start?

Sophia picked the first one that came to mind. “He’s a cur.”

“So?”

“So Weres and curs don’t mix,” Sophia snapped. “Now tell me why you’ve been harassing me.”

The nymph licked her lips. “I ...”

“What?”

“I didn’t like how Morton watched you when he thought I wasn’t looking.”

Sophia swore. “So you thought you could badger me into leaving?”

“It was worth a shot.” The nymph shrugged. “I couldn’t physically force you to leave.”

“And when that didn’t work?” Sophia pressed.

“I don’t understand.”

“Did you decide on a more permanent solution?”

There was a stunned silence before Victoria at last gave a slow shake of her head.

“Permanent?”

“Running me over in your car?” Sophia suggested sweetly. “Releasing a rabid pit bull to attack me?”

Victoria lost another layer of color. “I’m in love, not insane.”

“Not much difference,” Sophia muttered.

“Perhaps not, but I know that none of those things would actually kill you,” Victoria said. “Only piss you off.”

Her words teased at the edge of Sophia’s mind, but for the moment she was too preoccupied to sort through the sensation that she should be disturbed by the comment.

“A silver bullet through the heart would be lethal,” she pointed out.

The nymph held up pleading hands. “Look, I left a few notes, a dead rat, and slashed your tires.”

“The brick through my window?”

“Yes, the brick,” she admitted. “I’ll pay for the damages if that’s what you want.”

Sophia gave the spiteful female a small shake before shoving her away in disgust.

“What I want is for you to leave me the hell alone.”

“You got it.” Victoria visibly struggled to regain her composure, smoothing her shaking hands over her hair as her gaze shifted to Luc. “I think it’s obvious to everyone in the neighborhood that you’re taken.”

Sophia stiffened. “I’m not ‘taken.’ ”

“No? I doubt the Were would agree. The way he looks at you ...” She gave a tiny giggle. “It gives me the shivers.”

Sophia followed the nymph’s gaze, finding Luc staring at her with a heat that made the very air sizzle.

Shivers? Her entire body trembled.

“He’s an alpha,” she lamely retorted.

“It has nothing to do with him being an alpha and everything to do with him being a man.” Victoria heaved a feminine sigh of pleasure. “And what a man he is.”

Sophia’s power made the nymph’s hair stir in warning. “I thought you were desperately in love with your cur?”

“I am, but I’m not blind.” Not entirely suicidal, the female returned her attention to Sophia. “Take my advice and lock him away before some tart tries to steal him.”

Sophia clenched her hands, her gaze still locked with Luc as she absently considered the logistics of holding such a powerful beast captive.

Preferably in her bed.

Luc was a typical male Were.

Warm-blooded, fully functioning, and possessing a fine appreciation for the opposite sex.

Tonight, however, he had to clench his teeth against the soft female hands that took every opportunity to touch his exposed skin and the plethora of boobs waggled beneath his nose.

There was only one woman he wanted touching his body or offering him the temptation of her firm, delectable breasts.

The knowledge should have sent him howling into the night in terror.

But if the past few days had taught him nothing else, it was that it was far too late to avoid his obsessive need for Sophia.

Even when he was miles away from Chicago she consumed his thoughts, the overriding need to return to her side a nagging ache that couldn’t be denied. And when she was near ...

Dios.

Pretending indifference to disguise his acute awareness of the female Were, not to mention his savage need to haul her nearly naked body away from the gawking male guests, Luc covertly monitored her every movement.

Which was why he knew the second the nymph approached her.

Tensing, he battled back his instinct to rush to Sophia’s side. He didn’t have to overhear their words to know that Sophia was in charge of the heated exchange, or to suspect that she was managing to bully information from the nymph.

A fact confirmed when Victoria crossed the terrace to grasp her lover’s arm and with nervous glances toward Sophia urged him across the lawn toward the side gate.

Clearly, Sophia was more than capable of holding her own. At least when the enemy was face-to-face.

But when she turned to enter the house through the French doors, without so much as a glance in his direction, he could no longer deny his primitive male urges.

Nothing like the sight of his prey attempting to escape to send a predator into a frenzy.

Nearly bowling down the gaggle of females leaning against his lounge chair, Luc was on his feet and following in Sophia’s wake. He didn’t give a damn about the cries of protest. The only thing that mattered was getting to the female who had him so twisted in knots he couldn’t think straight.

He caught up with her as she crossed the shadowed kitchen, moving with a burst of speed to block her path.

“What did you discover?” he demanded.

She came to a grudging halt, her hands on her hips. “How do you know I discovered anything?”

“You were looking very chummy with the nymph. I doubt you were exchanging recipes.”

Emerald fire sparked in her eyes. “Is that an insult of my cooking abilities?”

His lips twitched as he recalled coming home last evening to find Sophia waiting for him at the table, her expectant expression revealing her pride in the hideous creation steaming on his plate.

It was a testament to his devotion to her that he’d managed to choke down more than two spoonfuls.

“Cara, I’ve eaten raw slug demons that tasted better than your meat loaf.”

Her power slammed into him, nearly sending him reeling backwards.

“It was salmon loaf, and since I never wanted to cook for you in the first place I hope it gives you food poisoning.”

“I think it very nearly did.” He did a hasty sidestep as she attempted to circle past him. “Where are you going?”

Her jaw tightened. “To bed.”

He hissed, his body reacting with violent excitement to her simple statement.

It wasn’t helping matters that he’d spent the past four hours imagining how easy it would be to slice through the strings holding together her tiny excuse for a swimsuit.

Suddenly his Speedo was painfully tight.

“At this hour?”

“I’m tired.”

Tired? Mierda. He had never felt more juiced in his life. As if his entire body was buzzing with electric anticipation.

He stepped closer, his wolf relishing the warm scent of woman and power.

Until Sophia he’d never noticed whether a female could match his strength. So long as she was attractive and intelligent enough to hold his interest outside of bed he considered it a good relationship.

Now, he found his wolf preening at the knowledge this female was capable of holding her own.

Even against him.

His fingers lifted to grasp a strand of pale gold hair, savoring the feel of the silky softness.

“You still have guests.”

“They aren’t waiting around for my company,” she said, the bite in her voice unmistakable. “Just try to keep the noise down. We don’t want to be busted by the neighborhood watch.”

A slow, wicked smile curved his lips. “Why, Sophia. Are you jealous?”

Holding herself rigid, she met his teasing gaze. “I’m a Were.”

“And?”

“And we don’t get jealous.”

His humorless laugh echoed through the kitchen. “If that were true then I wouldn’t have waited outside your club for that damned imp to show up just so I could make it clear he wasn’t to so much as smile at you during your meeting.”

She blinked in surprise at his blunt confession. As she should. He’d felt like a dork waiting for the imp to make his scheduled appointment with Sophia and then accosting him as if he were some lethal assassin instead of a harmless liquor distributor.

Of course that didn’t stop him.

He’d been compelled to make sure the fey understood that Sophia belonged to him.

“I wondered why Andrew looked like he’d just swallowed his tongue,” she muttered.

“He was lucky he still had a tongue after I watched him whispering sweet nothings in your ear,” he said dryly.

She sniffed, folding her arms over her chest. “At least he wasn’t groping me like an octopus.”

Ah. She was jealous.

Thank God.

“Are you referring to Kirsten?” he asked in an overly innocent tone.

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve never cared for cold-blooded leeches, but to each his own I guess.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Not giving her time to react, Luc scooped Sophia off her feet and headed out of the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

She frowned, but astonishingly she made no effort to struggle out of his grasp. Or even to rip out his throat.

Progress.

“We need to talk.”

“Then talk,” she muttered.

He crossed the foyer and easily jogged up the curved staircase, using the excuse to press her tight against his chest.

“In private.”

“What about your groupies?”

“They’ll eventually find easier game.” He held her petulant gaze, not bothering to hide his smoldering desire. “This one’s already been bagged and tagged.”

She licked her lips as he stepped into her bedroom and kicked shut the door behind them.

“Luc.”

Still holding her gaze, which was now wary, he gently set her on her feet in the middle of the room, his hands resting on her nicely rounded hips.

“We won’t be interrupted here.”

She arched a brow. “And that’s the only reason you chose my bedroom?”

His grip tightened on her hips, his already hardened cock throbbing with an eager plea for attention, but with an effort he forced himself to concentrate on business before pleasure.

Later ...

Oh, the things he intended to do.

“Tell me what you learned from the nymph.”

Her lips thinned at his commanding tone, but she wasn’t a fool. She had to sense he was hanging on by a thread.

As if his raging erection didn’t give it away.

“She was the one harassing me.”

“You’re sure?”

“She’s not the brightest bulb,” she said dryly. “With a little prompting she confessed to writing the notes and leaving dead animals and slashing my tires. Oh, and throwing the brick through my window.” She made a sound of disgust. “Bitch.”

He nodded. He’d pegged the nymph for the childish pranks, but it was nice to have it confirmed.

“And the attempts on your life?”

“She was clueless.”

“You believe her?”

“Yes.” She nodded without hesitation. “She might be a flake, but she’s not bloodthirsty enough to try to kill me.”

“So there are two separate enemies.” Luc felt a piece of the aggravating puzzle slide into place. It wasn’t that the harassment was escalating. It was that they were traveling separate paths. “One mystery solved.”

She tilted back her head to regard him with a lift of her brows.

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“You were the one who insisted that I host this ridiculous shindig,” she tartly reminded him. “Did you learn anything besides Cindy’s bust size?”

“Cindy?”

“The mortal who was worshipping at your feet.”

“Ah.” He allowed his fingers to trail over her lower back, male enough to enjoy her pique. “Was she the brunette or the redhead? They all start to look alike.”

“You ...”

He pressed a finger to her lips, halting her furious words. “I’ve started the process.”

She shook off his hand, her eyes narrowing. “What the hell does that mean?”

He reached into the side of his Speedo to pull out a small key.

“This.”

She snorted, unimpressed. “A key?”

“I lifted it from Kirsten when she was trying to stick her tongue down my throat,” he explained.

If looks could kill, he’d be dead on the spot.

“And why would you need her key?” she managed to ask between gritted teeth.

She was beautiful when she was jealous, he decided.

Eyes glowing with emerald fire. Her hands clenched. Her breasts heaving as she struggled against her wolf.

Of course, she would be even more beautiful stretched across the nearby bed, her body softened with pleasure and her legs spread in invitation, he acknowledged.

His hands brushed up and over her bare shoulders. “Once it’s daylight I intend to search her lair.”

“She couldn’t have shot at me.” Her voice became husky as his fingers followed the plunging neckline of her bikini top. “The sun was out.”

“She could have an accomplice,” he said, already having considered the fact that the vampire could be using a less-flammable partner to throw them off track.

“Hmmm.”

She tried to sound skeptical, but he didn’t miss her tiny gasp of pleasure as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric of her swimsuit to find her nipples already beaded in anticipation.

Subtly he nudged her backward, herding her toward the bed that had featured in a hundred fantasies over the past four nights.

“After that I have a date with Morton.”

Her lips curled into a mocking smile. “Is there something you want to share with me?”

With an impatient motion, he yanked off the tiny top, cupping her swollen breasts with a gentle reverence.

“A golf date.”

She groaned, her hands reaching to grasp his shoulders. As if she was having difficulty standing.

He knew the feeling.

“You play golf?”

“How hard can it be?” he muttered, distracted by the spectacular sight of her rosy nipples that quite literally begged for his kiss.

“Fine.” She cleared her throat. “If that’s all.”

Grasping her by the waist, he lifted her just high enough to toss her into the middle of the vast bed.

“Not nearly.”

CHAPTER 6

Sophia shuddered, lifting herself on her elbows to regard the man standing over her like an ancient conqueror.

She should be pissed.

How many times had she warned him not to act like a caveman?

And yet, she’d not only allowed him to drag her to her bedroom, but she hadn’t made so much as a peep when he’d ripped off her top and tossed her onto the bed like she was some sort of spoils of war.

Perhaps it was because she was so damned consumed by her cravings she couldn’t think of anything but getting that hard, bronzed body on top of her.

Sucking in a deep breath, she struggled to regain command of the encounter that was swiftly escalating out of control.

“Have you been sneaking into the nectar?” she husked.

The dark eyes shimmered like polished ebony in the moonlight, his hands not quite steady as they tugged off his tiny Speedos.

“I don’t need nectar to be on fire for you,” he growled, his massive erection growing even larger as she studied it with an avid gaze. “These past nights have been unbearable.”

Her heart stopped beating as he sprawled on the bed next to her, the heat of his naked body like a furnace.

“This is a very bad idea.”

“Not as bad as denying what we both want.” His wolf glowed in his eyes as he reached for her hand, pressing it against his arousal. “Feel what you do to me.”

“Luc.”

Unable to deny temptation, she wrapped her fingers around his shaft, exploring down to the heavy testicles before slowly skimming back up to find the broad tip that was already damp with his seed.

“Dios.” He shuddered, exposing a claw to slice through the string holding her swimsuit bottom together. She parted her lips to protest the destruction of her expensive clothing, only to have a groan escape as he spread his palm over her bare ass, his fingers squeezing her flesh in promise of pleasure to come. “Hour after hour I lay in my bed, hearing you pace the floor while the scent of your desire filled the air.” He peered deep into her eyes. “Do you know what it cost me not to come to you? Not to ease your need?”

She knew the torment of having him so near and yet too frightened to admit her growing desperation for him.

“Then why didn’t you?”

His hand stroked up her back, cupping the nape in a gesture of comfort.

“My first priority is keeping you safe,” he reminded her, a thin layer of sweat forming on his brow as she gave his cock a slow pump. “I can’t do that if you don’t trust me.”

“And that’s why you haven’t tried to seduce me?”

He gave a strangled chuckle. “That and I feared you might slice my balls off.”

Smart, smart Were.

He knew precisely what to say.

And how to touch, she acknowledged as his fingers moved from her nape to trace the line of her throat.

“Why tonight?”

“I’d like to tell myself it’s because you have come to accept I only want what’s best for you, but the truth is that I’m not a saint,” he confessed, the rasp of his breath filling the air. “I need you so badly I’m not sure I can survive another night without you.”

Without warning his hands shifted to grasp her hips, rolling her until she was lodged on top of him. Pleasure jolted through her as her already damp flesh was pressed to his thick cock.

“Holy hell,” she moaned.

“Tell me you want this, Sophia.”

She glanced down at his impossibly handsome face that was hard with barely leashed passion.

She’d fought this moment for so long. Ever since he’d walked into Sophia’s Menagerie.

Only now, however, did she realize that it wasn’t her fear of being used to simply pass the time that had made her wary of allowing him into her bed.

But something much darker and far more dangerous.

Something that she couldn’t fight any longer.

“I want this,” she whispered.

His hands skimmed to cup her breasts, studying her with the measuring gaze of a wolf.

She didn’t know what he was searching for, but she sensed that it was important.

“Tell me that you want me,” he prodded, rolling her tender nipple between his thumb and finger.

Oh ... God.

“I want you,” she breathed.

“Luc.” His voice was thick with need. “Say my name.”

“Luc.”

“Now let me taste you.”

She planted her hands on either side of his head, lowering her body until he could plant an openmouthed kiss at the base of her shoulder. She shuddered, rubbing against his hard erection as his tongue ran a wet path along the line of her collarbone.

He clamped his hands on her hips, holding her tight against him while refusing her the relief of moving.

“You aren’t going to regret this in the morning, are you?”

She gave a husky chuckle as she turned her head to stroke her lips along his jaw, delighting in the rough scrape of his whiskers. She didn’t doubt he had to shave more than once a day to look civilized.

The thought was oddly erotic.

“Will you?”

He hissed in pleasure. “No, but I don’t want to be kicked to the curb because you blame me for taking advantage.”

“No one takes advantage of me.” She nipped his bottom lip. “And I’m not a silly juvenile who doesn’t know what she wants from one minute to the next. I’m a full-grown Were and I want you.”

A moan was wrenched from his throat as his lips traveled over the curve of her breast, at last latching on to her aching nipple.

Her eyes squeezed shut as a raw, savage pleasure raced through her.

“Oh ... God, yes.”

“You like that?”

Like it?

Hell, she accused him of being a caveman, but her urges in this moment couldn’t be more primitive.

Give her a club and she’d make sure this man never left her bed.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered.

“You’re perfect.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen me during a full moon,” she teased with a small sigh. “I earn my title of Queen of Bitches.”

“I like that you’re a bitch.” His mouth tormented her nipple, lapping and nipping until her fingers dug into his shoulders. “And that you’re not afraid to speak your mind. And that you’ll kick ass when necessary.”

She shuddered, his soft words as much an aphrodisiac as his skillful touch.

Gods, she was on fire.

After waiting for so long to ease this burning ache, she had planned to enjoy a slow, mind-numbing seduction, but the pagan need to have him buried deep inside her was rapidly reaching a critical level.

As if sensing she was tumbling out of control, Luc pulled back to study her with a gaze that sent tiny tremors down her spine.

It was a gaze that spoke of need and yearning and ... possession.

Lifting his hands, he framed her face in his hands, pulling her down to kiss her with an aching sweetness. Sophia sighed. She didn’t know what she had done for fate to have dropped this delectable man into her arms, but she intended to savor every moment he remained with her.

Her hands smoothed over the corded muscles of his chest. His skin was a warm, silken temptation, and with a moan of need, she moved to trail her lips over his face and down the strong column of his throat. Her stomach clenched in fierce need, her wolf delighting in the clean scent of male skin.

“You taste of heat and sunshine,” she whispered as she continued her provoking caresses.

“I’m supposed to be tasting you,” he growled, his hands clutching her hips as he sought to regain command.

Such an alpha.

“Do you object?” she whispered, moving steadily lower.

“Oh, hell no.”

“What about this?”

“Sophia,” he rasped as she reached the rippling muscles of his lower stomach.

“Mmmm?”

“I’m a Were who has wanted you for a very long time,” he ground out. “I need to be inside you when I come.”

She gave a throaty chuckle, oddly pleased by his words. Not that she was done with her playing. Deliberately rubbing her body back up the length of his body, she savored the electric sparks set off by the friction of their naked skin.

It’d been so long since she’d felt such overwhelming desire. Hell, she wasn’t sure she’d ever needed a man like she needed Luc. Her every nerve felt alive, sensitized to the point she thought she might combust.

“You can’t have wanted me that long,” she murmured. “We’ve only known each other a week.”

Without warning he lifted her hips, stealing her breath as the fierce jut of his erection settled in the damp heat between her legs.

She arched, the persistent throb in her sex rejoicing as the wide tip of him slipped just inside her body. But instead of shoving himself home, he clutched her hips and regarded her with smoldering eyes.

“I met you a week ago,” he said in thick tones. “I’ve waited for you all my life,” he murmured.

Oh shit, she was in trouble.

“Luc.”

“Now ... my turn for some torture,” he informed her, drawing her toward his waiting lips. “I want you begging before I’m done.”

With a wicked smile, Luc branded her lips with a kiss of pure hunger. The taste of his wolf on her tongue sizzled through her, setting off small fireworks of pleasure.

Then moving his mouth over her face, he stroked down the length of her arched neck. Sophia’s fingers dug into his shoulders as he tugged her upward, catching the pouting nipple between his teeth. She gave a soft growl as he licked and suckled her, her head tilted back at the insistent bliss pulsing through her. He turned his attention to the other breast, deliberately urging her desire to a fever pitch.

She needed to get him inside her.

She needed to be so deeply connected to him that they reached paradise together.

But even as she struggled to slide onto his waiting cock, he was ruthlessly hauling her up to her knees. With a strangled moan she glanced down to watch his mouth explore the clenched muscles of her stomach, his tongue darting out to send shivers of delight through her.

She moaned, her heavy lashes lowering as he stroked over the curve of her hip and down the inside of her thigh.

Okay, she could take a small detour before riding him like a cowboy.

Then his seeking lips found her moist cleft and any logical thought was destroyed. Oh, this was good. This was fan-freaking-tastic.

Struggling not to topple backward as his tongue stroked the highly sensitive flesh, she speared her fingers in the thick satin of his hair.

There was something a bit naughty about straddling him as he expertly tongued her, although she intended to become a whole lot naughtier before the night was over.

She hadn’t forgotten those handcuffs he’d mentioned....

Still holding her hips, Luc found the core of her pleasure, gently sucking as the magical pressure began to build.

“Luc, I’m close,” she gasped.

“Yes,” he muttered, guiding her back so he could position her over his straining erection.

Then, slowly he penetrated her damp channel.

Sophia hissed as she pressed herself ever deeper. She had logically known he was large. All over. But as he stretched her to the limit, she had to admit she hadn’t actually considered the sensation of being impaled by such a generously proportioned shaft.

Holy crap.

Bigger really was better.

And when a man knew what to do with such a fine, fine instrument, then it was nothing less than a gift to women.

Briefly savoring his deep, steady pace, Sophia at last placed her hands on his chest, rolling her hips to meet his upward thrust. She smiled with wicked satisfaction as his fingers convulsively clutched her hips.

He wasn’t the only one with talent.

“Dios, you feel so good,” he panted. “So good.”

Sophia lifted until the tip of his cock was nearly at her entrance before plunging downward. His hips jerked off the mattress, his eyes glowing as his wolf strained to be released.

Sophia chuckled, loving the sensation of being the one in power even as she knew that it was an illusion that he was offering her.

Just as he was offering her the illusion that he was hers.

The one wolf meant to be hers for all eternity.

Abruptly crushing the disturbing thought, she concentrated on the sensation of Luc’s deepening thrusts, her soft pants filling the air as her muscles tightened in preparation for the looming orgasm.

Luc tightened his grip, his face burying in the curve of her neck. Then, still pumping into her at a furious pace, he sank his teeth into her flesh, sending her into a shattering climax.

Sophia shuddered in bliss, convulsing around him as he gave one more thrust and cried out with the violent pleasure of his own release.

Luc rolled to the side, wrapping his arms tightly around Sophia’s trembling body as he struggled to catch his breath. His mind reeled from the astounding pleasure that continued to shudder through him.

Not just the orgasm that had ripped through him with the force of a tsunami, but the feel of her flesh beneath his fangs as he had marked her with his bite.

A damned shame that the mark wouldn’t last. He wouldn’t be at all displeased to have her walking around with a blatant display of his ownership.

Unfortunately even now her skin was healing, returning to the perfect, unmarred silk that tempted him to lean down and sink his teeth in for another bite.

He groaned, his body hardening.

Now that he thought about it, he was tempted to start the whole thing over. This time he wouldn’t let the bewitching Were provoke him into such a swift conclusion.

He intended to take hours pleasuring her.

To have her pleading for release.

And most importantly, to make certain that he had entrenched himself so deeply she would never, ever want another lover.

Snuggling against his chest, Sophia heaved a sigh of contentment.

“That was ...”

“Sensational?” he offered, his lips teasing over her brow and down the slender length of her nose. “Life altering? The best you’ve ever had?”

“Adequate.”

He snorted. The earth had just moved.

For both of them.

“Adequate?”

He lowered his head to deliberately tease the tender spot just below her ear, chuckling as she quivered in ready response.

“Okay, maybe it was above average,” she whispered huskily.

“You’re playing with fire, cara.” Nipping the lobe of her ear, he planted hungry kisses down the length of her throat, pausing to nuzzle the tender flesh he intended to hold in his teeth as he brought them both to an explosive climax. “Shall I remind you of just how good it is between us?”

She groaned, her hands branding a path of heat over his chest and down his stomach.

“It’s coming back,” she assured him. “Slowly.”

For all his brawn, Luc had always been surprisingly intuitive. In truth, it was his ability to read others that made him such a lethal killer.

Any Were could use his teeth and claws to battle his enemies. But a soldier who could predict what his opponent was going to do before he did it, priceless.

It wasn’t intuition, however, that made him pull back to study his companion with a searching gaze. No, this was much deeper. Much more ... intimate.

“Sophia?”

“Hmmm?” she murmured, her hands continuing the path of destruction toward his fully erect cock.

Mierda, he wanted to forget the concern that niggled at the edge of his mind. Surely whatever was bothering Sophia could wait?

At least for a few hours.

Then, as he caught the scent of wariness threaded through the rich spice of her desire, he heaved a small sigh, catching her hand a mere heartbeat before she captured his shaft and put an end to any coherent thought.

“There’s something on your mind.”

She flashed a deliberately wicked smile. The kind of smile intended to divert any red-blooded male.

“A sexy six-foot Were who thinks he’s all that?”

Bringing her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles, his gaze never wavering from her pale face.

“Nice try, but I know when a female is distracted.” He smiled wryly. “Not a problem I usually have when I’m in bed with her.”

She rolled her eyes. “You really need to work on your self-confidence.”

“Sophia, tell me what’s troubling you.”

There was a long silence as she inwardly debated the odds of keeping her secrets. Then, clearly accepting that there wasn’t a chance in hell, she heaved a resigned sigh.

“I’m not sure you actually want to know.”

He hissed, his muscles rigid as he prepared for an unseen blow.

“Dammit,” he rasped. “If you try to convince me you regret our—”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Just tell me.”

She licked her lips, looking oddly vulnerable. “I was attracted to you from the moment we first met.”

“I knew you had good taste.” His voice remained tense even as he gently tucked a golden curl behind her ear.

“But I told myself that I would be an idiot to give in to that attraction.”

“Why?”

She lowered her lashes, as if she could somehow hide from his searching gaze.

“Because I wasn’t going to be a convenient lay that would be forgotten the moment you returned to Miami.”

He froze, his brows snapping together. “That’s what you thought of me? That I intended to use and abandon you?”

“I wasn’t judging you,” she said. “I’ve enjoyed more than my share of meaningless hookups.”

Was that supposed to reassure him?

Dios.

Abruptly rolling onto his back, he threw an arm over his face.

Why didn’t she get a little salt to rub into the wound?

“You’re right, I don’t want to hear this,” he muttered.

He felt her turn to press against his side, her hand lightly running over his chest in a gesture of apology.

“Luc, let me finish,” she softly pleaded.

He refused to look at her. Maybe he was being childish. After all, he couldn’t deny that he’d had a few one-night stands in his past. And while he had never intentionally used a woman, there might have been a few who had wanted more than he was willing to offer.

But the thought that Sophia could ever have dismissed their powerful connection as a meaningless bout of lust pissed him off.

Royally.

“Say it,” he snarled.

“I was lying to myself.”

“About what?”

There was the slightest hesitation before she heaved a deep sigh.

“About you and why I was terrified to let you into my bed.”

He lowered his arm, grudgingly meeting her troubled gaze. “Then what was the reason?”

“I was afraid I would never let you out of it.”

The blunt words hung in the air as Luc allowed them to slowly ease the sick ball of dread that had lodged in his gut.

At last he lifted a hand to lightly touch her pale cheek. “Sophia?”

“My wolf recognized you from the beginning,” she admitted. “It understood... .”

“Don’t stop now, cara,” he coaxed, desperately needing to hear the words.

“It understood that you belong to me.”

“Ah.”

The emerald eyes flared at his noncommittal response. “I warned you that you wouldn’t want to know.”

His laughter was filled with pure joy as he rolled her beneath him, pinning her to the mattress with his much larger body.

“How could you possibly think I wouldn’t want to know how you feel?” he growled, not certain if he wanted to shake her or kiss her senseless.

The damned female could make him feel as uncertain and awkward as a pup.

Her eyes widened as she felt the blunt tip of his erection settle at the moist entrance between her legs.

“You came here for a job, not to become mated.”

He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing the sensuous curve of her lips.

Just a few days ago the word mate would have made him break out in hives.

Now he couldn’t imagine his life without this woman.

“It doesn’t matter why I came, only that I never intend to leave.”

Her arms wrapped around his neck, her emerald eyes glowing with an emotion that was echoed in his racing heart.

“Never?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I belong to you now.”

“Mine?”

A smile curved her lips, then before he could guess her intentions, she’d captured his thumb between her teeth, gently sucking on it.

He growled in pleasure, the sensation of her tongue rubbing his thumb making his cock ache for the same delicious attention.

“Just as you are mine,” he swore, lowering his head to press restless kisses over her face.

White-hot need blazed through him, but somewhere in the back of his mind he felt a brief moment of disquiet.

It wasn’t just his fear for her safety, although that was a constant, biting concern. Until he’d captured and killed the bastard trying to harm Sophia he would always be on edge.

No, this was more personal.

But equally worrisome, he realized with a pang of surprise.

It wasn’t that he regretted his actions. He’d done what he was commanded. And more importantly, his actions had always been in an effort to protect this woman.

But something warned him that Sophia might not be pleased when she discovered that he hadn’t yet been totally honest with her.

Briefly he considered the notion of confessing all. It was, no doubt, the right thing to do. But even as the thought drifted through his mind, Luc was abruptly distracted when her legs wrapped around his hips, her nails biting into his ass in a silent plea for release.

There would be time later, he assured himself, squashing the tiny voice of warning.

Much, much later.

CHAPTER 7

It was late morning when Sophia and Luc crept into Kirsten’s home, both shifting into wolf form to make a swift sweep of her lavish lair.

Once it was obvious there was nothing suspicious beyond an obscenely massive collection of Manolo Blahnik shoes that Sophia fully intended to get her greedy hands on, Luc gave her rump a playful nip and they headed back to her house.

Following him up the stairs to her ... their ... bedroom, she had an opportunity to admire her wolf.

And he was well worth admiring.

A large beast with massive fangs and dark fur, he was the size of a pony with a broad chest and thickly muscled legs. His eyes glowed with the midnight fire of his wolf, but there was an unmistakable intelligence that was as dangerous as all the strength of his heavy body.

Oh yes, he was fine, fine, fine.

An opinion that was only emphasized as a shimmering light haloed his body as he shifted back to his human form.

He shuddered as his body hovered between wolf and man, the ancient magic pulsing through the air. Then the transformation was over and with a remarkable ability to recover, Luc was rising to his feet, his naked body all chiseled perfection wrapped in smooth bronze silk.

Yummmmmm.

Sophia concentrated on her own shift, relishing the painful stretch of muscle and popping of bone. There was a primitive satisfaction in calling on her powers.

Not quite as swift as Luc in regaining her balance, Sophia slowly rose to her feet and pulled on the short, silk robe tossed on the bed. Across the room, Luc was already dressed in a pair of khaki shorts and polo shirt that might have made him look civilized if not for the shadow of whiskers already darkening his jaw and the feral glint in his eyes.

“Anything?” he asked, referring to their recent jaunt through the vampire’s lair.

“No.”

He moved to the full-length mirror attached to the back of the door, smoothing back his hair.

“Which would seem to leave the cur as the last of our suspects.”

“Morton?” She snorted. “I can’t imagine him as a homicidal maniac.”

He turned to discover her eyeing his ass. A smug smile curved his lips.

“Looks are far too often deceiving.”

Sophia grimaced, picturing the dull fire hydrant of a cur. “They would have to be excessively deceiving.”

He shrugged. “I’ll soon find out.”

“Assuming he is guilty, I don’t know how walking around a golf course whacking at a white ball is going to convince the cur to confess.”

Luc crossed to stand directly in front of her. “He doesn’t need to confess.”

“No?”

He reached to grasp a lock of her hair, smoothing it between his fingers.

“Given enough time alone with him, I’ll know if he’s guilty.”

“Hmmm.” She studied the supreme confidence etched on his face. “You’re not a mind reader, are you?”

“I have any number of talents, cara.” His voice lowered to the husky drawl that made her shiver. “Not all of them involve a bed.”

“Arrogant dog.”

He paused, absently twirling her hair around one finger. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

She gave a vague wave of her hand, hoping he truly wasn’t a mind reader.

“Oh, you know.”

“Know what?”

“This and that.”

His eyes narrowed. “Your ‘this and that’ wouldn’t include a visit to Victoria, would it?”

Dammit. How had he known she was plotting something?

“Isn’t that what golf widows do?” she demanded. “Keep each other company with a bottle of Chardonnay?”

“No.”

She planted her fists on her hips. “Excuse me?”

“It’s too dangerous.”

Odd. She would have thought their mating would have given him some insight into her aversion to being given orders.

He might as well have waved a red flag before a bull.

“How the hell can it be too dangerous?” she said between clenched teeth. “The cur’s going to be golfing with you, not lurking under the sofa.”

His expression was hard, as unyielding as granite. “The nymph might be working with him.”

“I already told you that she knew nothing about the attempts to kill me.”

“She could be lying,” he countered. “And even if she isn’t responsible, she will do whatever necessary to protect her lover if she realizes we suspect him.”

She stepped forward, poking her finger into the center of his chest.

“Let me get this straight,” she growled. “You intend to spend the entire afternoon with a cur who might or might not be a bloodthirsty murderer, but I’m not allowed to have a glass of wine with a damned nymph?”

He didn’t even flinch at her fierce accusation. “I’m not the one being hunted, Sophia.”

Her teeth snapped together at the truth of his words.

She was stubborn, not stupid. And while it aggravated the hell out of her, she had to concede he had a point.

The reason she’d hired a bodyguard hadn’t gone away just because she’d fallen in love with the man, had it? The only sensible thing to do was to let him do his job.

Even if the thought of twiddling her thumbs while Luc was searching for her enemy made her want to howl in frustration.

“Dammit.” She glared at Luc, in this moment holding him entirely responsible. Hey, what were mates for? “I hate feeling helpless.”

“You will never be helpless, cara, but just for now you need to take extra care,” he murmured, smoothing her hair behind her ear. “Let me protect you.”

Like he was giving her a choice?

She heaved a sigh. “Fine.”

“Fine what?” he demanded, almost as if he didn’t trust her.

Imagine that.

“I won’t visit the nymph,” she clarified.

“You’ll stay home?”

“No.”

“Sophia.”

She met his smoldering gaze with a stubborn frown. She’d agreed to give up her plan to search Morton’s house for signs of his guilt, but she’d be damned if she would remain trapped in her house like a damsel in distress.

“I need to go to the club.”

“It can survive one day without you.”

“Not today,” she insisted. “I have payroll checks to sign and a new dancer scheduled for an audition.”

He stilled, the scent of his wolf filling the air. The beast didn’t like the thought of her being close to another male.

Understandable. She’d slice off his nuts if she thought he was sniffing after another female.

“A new dancer?” he growled.

“Yes.” Her slow smile assured him that he was the only man she wanted. “He’s a Were from China who supposedly does things with his nun-chucks that make women melt.”

Without warning she was wrapped in possessive arms and hauled against Luc’s broad chest.

“When I get back tonight I’ll show you my nun-chucks,” he promised, planting an openmouthed kiss at the base of her neck. “I bet they’re bigger.”

A sure bet, she silently acknowledged, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Just make sure you make it back,” she commanded, studying him with open concern.

He might be the biggest, baddest Were on the block, but there was a psychopath out there who had a gun with silver bullets and wasn’t afraid to use them.

“I promise.” His lips nibbled a path up the curve of her neck, halting just below her ear. “And, Sophia.”

She shivered, her body instinctively arching against him. “Yes?”

“We need to talk.”

Pulling back she regarded him with a wary frown.

The words were as good as a cold shower.

“Why don’t I like the sound of that?”

“I just need you to know... .” He bit off his words, his expression impossible to read.

“What?”

There was a pause, as if he was considering his words. Then he gave a short shake of his head.

“Later.”

Okay. Her vague unease became downright worry.

“Luc?”

“Sorry.” He leaned down to steal a searing kiss that sent bolts of excitement through her before turning to head for the door. “Can’t be late for our tee time.”

She watched his departure with a jaundiced frown, knowing it would be a waste of time to try and force him to reveal what was troubling him.

He would confess when he was good and ready.

Throwing her hands in the air she headed to her shower.

“Men.”

The exclusive country club south of town was precisely what Luc had been expecting. A large clubhouse designed in a tudor-style with attached pool, tennis courts, and stables all impeccably maintained.

The surrounding golf course was equally well-manicured. The fairways were narrow with deep sand bunkers and a line of overhanging trees that might have posed a challenge for a human. Luc, however, possessed the strength to simply hit his ball over any obstacles to the distant green, more often than not ending up mere inches from the flag that fluttered in the summer breeze.

By the time they’d reached the back nine, his physical superiority had accomplished precisely what he desired.

Morton had gone from a casual companion to a furious cur who was fuming with a frustration that reddened his round cheeks and made his eyes flash with sparks of crimson as he tried to hold back his wolf.

Unlike pure-blooded Weres, the curs were at the mercy of their beast, and while Luc didn’t want the man to shift, he did want him so preoccupied with controlling his temper that his defenses were lowered.

Who knew what he might reveal?

Putting away his club after holing out on a par five, Luc joined his companion in the golf cart, nearly being tumbled out as the cur stomped on the gas pedal.

“Nice shot,” Morton gritted.

Luc sprawled back in the seat, smiling with a lazy arrogance custom-designed to infuriate his companion.

“Not bad.”

“Not bad?” Morton scowled. “It was a hole in one.”

“A little competitive there, champ?”

Looking remarkably like a marshmallow with his square, squishy body covered in a white shirt and matching pants, Morton gripped the wheel of the golf cart and struggled not to do something stupid.

“My name is Morton, not champ,” he snapped, “and when I do something, I like to do it well.”

“Don’t we all?”

The pale eyes glowed with a crimson fire. “Some more than others.”

Luc chuckled, reaching over to slap the man on the back, hard enough to rattle his teeth.

“You know, Morty-boy, if I didn’t know better I might think you didn’t like me.”

The cur clenched his teeth, no doubt counting to ten.

“How long are you planning to stay in Chicago?” he at last demanded.

“Hoping to get rid of me?”

“I would think the suburbs would be a bore.”

Luc offered a taunting grin, covertly studying the tension emanating from the cur.

So far all he’d managed to pick up was Morton’s natural aversion to an obnoxious companion. Time to up the ante.

“True, but there are benefits,” he drawled. “Sophia is smoking hot between the sheets.”

The male hissed. “Typical.”

“Did you say something?”

Without warning the cur veered the cart off the path and headed into a thick patch of trees. Turning in his seat, he studied Luc with a revulsion he no longer tried to hide.

Luc hid a smile. Action at last.

“Sophia is revered among our people, but of course a man like you would only consider your own pleasures.”

Luc paused at the fierce words.

There was an edge of crazy that he’d been looking for, but he didn’t sound like a man intent on killing a female.

Of course, there were always those bastards who were willing to murder the object of their fantasy if they couldn’t have them.

He slouched against the leather seat, pretending he didn’t notice the cur was a breath away from shifting.

“She may be revered, but she needs a good banging like every other woman.”

More crimson fire in the eyes. “Animal.”

“You seem abnormally interested in my relationship with Sophia,” Luc mocked. “Don’t you have your own female to worry about?”

Morton belatedly attempted to hide his obsession with his beautiful neighbor.

“I merely believe Sophia deserves a more worthy male.”

Luc lifted a brow. “A male like you?”

“I would certainly appreciate her fine qualities.” The crimson gaze flicked over Luc with a dismissive annoyance. “Unlike you.”

“If you think she’s so fine, then why haven’t you made your move on her?” Luc deliberately widened his eyes, as if struck by a sudden thought. “Or have you already tried and been shot down?”

“Certainly not.”

“No doubt for the best.” Luc gave the cur another slap on the back, barely resisting the urge to unleash his claws and rip out his throat. The mere thought that the creep had been secretly lusting after Sophia made his wolf ache for blood. “Just between us, I don’t think she would ever be interested. I believe her exact words were that you were ‘a sorry excuse for a cur.’ ”

Morton flinched at the insult, but there was a grim set to his jaw. As if he’d made his decision and nothing was going to sway him.

“That’s only because she doesn’t know me.”

“You think you’ll grow on her?” Luc chuckled. “Like fungus?”

“I think she’s an intelligent female who can appreciate the needs of duty.”

Luc stilled, thrown off guard by the unexpected words. “Duty?”

“Precisely.”

All right, enough was enough.

He had no doubt that Morton was the stalker and he intended to get to the truth, one way or another.

He actually preferred the “another” option, since it included a lot of pain and carnage.

“Is it your duty to try and kill her?”

Morton looked like a deer in the headlights for a split second, then meeting Luc’s ruthless gaze he seemed to accept that he was busted. With a shrug he allowed his act to drop, a cunning expression settling on his pudgy face.

“Ah, I feared you had guessed the truth.”

Luc subtly scooted forward, not wanting to be in the position where he could be pinned against the roll-bar of the cart.

Not that he believed for a moment the cur could physically overpower him. Still, better safe than sorry.

“The only thing I’ve guessed is that you’re responsible for stalking Sophia.”

“Not stalking ...” Morton corrected, “testing.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Although I’ve held the greatest respect for Sophia since the birth of her daughters, I needed to be certain that she retained her strength and agility over the years.”

A chill inched down Luc’s spine. There was something far more disturbing about this calm, almost condescending Morton.

“Why?”

“To bear my children, of course.”

Fury pulsed through Luc, his wolf savagely trying to break free of his restraint. It would kill before it allowed another man to steal his mate.

And the man in him was in full agreement.

Ironic he was the one in a rage considering he’d been trying to provoke the cur.

“Are you insane?”

With a smooth motion, Morton reached into the cooler set on the seat between them and pulled out a small gun loaded with a cartridge.

Luc frowned. A tranq gun? The cur truly was insane if he thought a pure-blooded Were could be put down by a mere tranquilizer.

“Don’t ever question my sanity,” Morton warned, obviously a little sensitive on the subject of his mental state.

Luc carefully judged the distance between them as he sought to keep the cur distracted.

“If you want her as a breeder then why did you try to kill her?”

Morton regarded him as if he were particularly dense. “I didn’t try to kill her. I’ll admit that I devised a few obstacles to monitor her physical condition, but I would never permanently harm her.”

“Bastard,” Luc snarled, furious at the thought of Sophia being systematically terrorized by this psycho. “I know you were the one who shot at her. A silver bullet through the heart would have been very permanent.”

“I wasn’t shooting at her, you fool.” Morton smirked, clearly thinking that his peashooter gave him the upper hand. A mistake that Luc was eager to demonstrate. “I was aiming at you.”

Luc frowned, startled by the confession. “Me?”

“I had borrowed Victoria’s disguise amulet to follow Sophia to her club when you arrived in Chicago.” His expression hardened with disgust. “I knew from the way you were watching her that you were going to interfere with my plans.”

“What plans?”

“To capture Sophia and impregnate her with my litter.”

Any coherent thought was lost as a red mist descended over him, his beast beyond the point of no return.

“No way in hell,” he growled, his words nearly unintelligible.

Looking almost bored as Luc began to shift, Morton pointed the gun at the center of his chest.

“I just knew you were going to be trouble.”

Distantly Luc heard the pop of the gun and felt the dart plunge into his flesh, but, lost in his transformation, it was too late when he realized his muscles were slowly being paralyzed as the unknown substance began to flow through his blood.

Regarding the smug cur in horror, he realized he should have paid far more attention to his own warnings.

Looks truly were deceiving....

CHAPTER 8

Sophia was running late.

After reviewing the payroll and dealing with the linen service that had forgotten to bring their laundered tablecloths and napkins, she had been forced to soothe one of the waiters who had been insulted by the bartender and locate the key to the back freezer that had been lost.

At last she was able to settle in a chair to audition the Were who had traveled thousands of miles just to perform at her club.

Unfortunately, she struggled to concentrate.

It wasn’t that Jian wasn’t spectacular. He nearly set the stage on fire with his lean, muscular body that moved with a fluid grace that was amazing even by Were standards.

But tapping a finger on the arm of her chair, she realized she felt ... weird, unsettled.

She told herself that she was merely impatient to return home to Luc. He was bound to be finished with his golf match by now and waiting for her return.

Hopefully naked in her bed.

What woman wouldn’t be anxious to be done with work?

Counting down the minutes until she could politely bring the audition to a close, Sophia was startled when she caught a familiar scent.

Turning her head, she watched the crimson-haired imp dressed in a silver mesh shirt and black spandex cross the room to take the chair beside her, setting a leather briefcase at his feet.

“Mmm,” he moaned, his gaze drinking in the sight of the near-naked Were dancing on the stage. “Tasty.”

“Troy.” Sophia gave a lift of her brows. “Don’t you have your own business to run?”

“Yes, but the view isn’t nearly so nice.”

She reached to grab his chin, turning his fascinated attention in her direction.

“If you want to ogle the talent, you’re supposed to pay a cover charge.”

He pouted. “Is that any way to treat your bestest friend?”

“The last time I came to your coffee shop you charged me an arm and a leg for a cappuccino the size of a thimble,” she reminded him in dry tones.

“But I sprinkled it with my special fairy dust.”

“Special fairy dust, my ass,” she scoffed. “It was cinnamon.”

A smile twitched at the edges of his mouth. “Maybe.”

“I assume you have a reason for being here beyond trying to sneak a peek?”

The smile faded, leaving the handsome face unexpectedly somber.

“I think we should talk.”

“Uh-oh.” Sophia frowned. “I seem to be getting that a lot lately.”

“A lot of what?”

“Nothing.” Trying to shrug off her persistent unease and the sudden certainty she wasn’t going to like what Troy had to say, Sophia rose to her feet. “Let’s go to my office.”

With a thumbs-up toward Jian, she led the towering imp into her office, closing the door behind them.

Troy strolled to inspect her enviable collection of Fabergé eggs.

“Nice.”

Sophia moved to the wet bar behind her desk. “Something to drink? Water? Brandy?” She pointed toward the sleek silver cappuccino machine. “A ten-dollar cappuccino with fairy dust?”

“No need.” Troy took the seat opposite her desk, opening his leather briefcase to pull out a small flask. “I always carry my own.”

“You came prepared,” she murmured, noting the stack of manila folders in the case. “Should I be worried?”

He took a swig from the flask. “I’m not sure.”

Shit.

She sat in the chair behind her desk, her heart lodged in her throat.

“Troy?”

He replaced the flask, regarding her with a guarded gaze. “When you asked me to find you a bodyguard I went through my usual contacts to locate one.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Not usually.”

She tucked her hands beneath the desk, unwilling to let the imp see her clenching them.

“What’s different this time?”

The imp paused, as if considering the wisdom of confessing whatever it was that had brought him to the club. Sophia forced herself to keep her mouth shut.

What not? If he tried to leave she was quite prepared to beat the truth out of him.

At last he squared his shoulders and took the plunge. “After it was obvious that you were enjoying more than just Luc’s professional services, I decided to double-check the background information I was given.”

“And?”

“And it’s bogus.”

A cold ball of dread lodged in the pit of her stomach. “What’s bogus?”

“Everything.”

“Be a little more specific, Troy.”

He reached into his briefcase, pulling out the top file and tossed it onto her desk.

“The references he listed on his résumé,” he said. “His address. His social security number. None of it’s real.”

Squashing the urge to toss the folder across the room, Sophia instead lifted her hand and flipped it open, scanning the documents inside.

“He lied,” she said at last.

“Yes.”

With a jerky motion, Sophia was on her feet, crossing to stare out the newly replaced window.

What the hell?

The documents that Troy had produced clearly revealed that the Miami addresses were fake, along with Luc’s supposed references.

But why?

It wasn’t as if she was freaking Katy Perry. Becoming her bodyguard wasn’t some fantastic position that a man would lie to acquire.

“I’m sorry,” Troy murmured softly.

“Not nearly as sorry as I am,” she muttered, wrapping her arms around her waist. Why did she suddenly feel so cold? “What’s that saying, ‘There’s no fool like an old fool’?”

She heard the imp cross to stand directly behind her, his hands landing lightly on her shoulders.

“You aren’t a fool, Sophia,” he assured her. “Luc managed to deceive us all.”

“Yeah, but you’re not sleeping with him.”

“Only because he didn’t ask.”

Sophia started to smile when she was abruptly struck by a thought that made her heart clench in agony.

“Holy shit.”

Giving her shoulders a tug, Troy turned her to meet his searching gaze.

“What?”

“He could be working with the maniac who has been stalking me,” she breathed. “Hell, he could be the stalker.”

Troy gave a firm shake of his head. “No, he’s not the stalker. That’s one thing I’m absolutely certain of.”

So was she.

Her lips thinned as the thought whispered through the back of her mind.

She had proof that he had lied to her from the beginning of their relationship. Why did she find it impossible to accept he would ever do anything to hurt her?

“How can you know?”

With a grimace he moved back to the briefcase he’d left on her desk, pulling out yet another folder.

“Because he’s one of Salvatore’s most trusted lieutenants,” he said, pressing the file into her hands. “Here.”

She leaned against the window, her head dizzy as she tried to process yet another shock.

Damn the King of Weres.

She had known when Salvatore capitulated so easily to her refusal to join them in Styx’s lair that he was up to something. Something devious.

He was a Were who always believed he knew best.

So the fact that he had somehow managed to discover she was seeking a bodyguard and had planted his own trusted soldier into her house to keep an eye on her wasn’t at all a surprise.

But that didn’t make Luc’s deception any easier to bear.

He might not be her stalker, but he’d used her desire and all too vulnerable emotions to make sure he could remain close to her and fulfill his duty to his king.

The ... jackass.

Her gaze dropped to the folder she was clutching in her hand.

“What’s this?”

“The information my private investigator managed to dig up. At considerable expense, I might add.” Troy shook his head. “The man buried his identity deeper than Jimmy Hoffa.”

“You have a private investigator?” she absently demanded, flicking through the various pages.

She paused to take in the photos of the large stucco mansion surrounded by palm trees that was Luc’s true home and an unmistakable picture of Luc and Salvatore meeting in a park several miles west of Chicago.

Another shaft of pain sliced through her heart.

“It’s a dangerous world these days,” Troy explained. “You can’t trust anyone.”

“No shit.” She threw the folder across the room, watching the papers fan across her carpet.

Troy nervously cleared his throat. “Are you going to be okay?”

Was she?

At the moment she wasn’t entirely certain.

The pain and disappointment clawing through her felt lethal.

Then realizing that the imp was watching her with a sympathy she couldn’t stomach, she gave a toss of her hair.

“I’m Sophia,” she announced, her head held high. “No man’s going to get me down. Even if he is a lying, mangy piece of shit.”

Troy gave a snap of his fingers, a smile curving his lips. “You go, girl.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Sophia headed for the door, her need to find Luc an overwhelming compulsion.

“Uh, Sophia,” Troy called out.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“If you decide to kill Luc you need to make sure you hide the body,” he warned. “I doubt that your son-in-law would be happy to learn you offed his most trusted soldier.”

A humorless smile curved her lips. “Actually I was thinking I could use a new fur rug in front of my fireplace.”

Troy’s eyes widened. “Yikes.”

Leaving the office, Sophia headed out of the club, her fierce glare keeping the milling employees at bay.

She wasn’t in the mood to deal with clogged drains and missing G-strings.

In fact, the only thing she was in the mood for was blood and mayhem.

Storming out a side door, she was halfway across the parking lot when she heard a faint click. She slowed her furious pace at the same minute she felt a prick in her upper chest. Looking down she realized there was a small dart sticking from her skin.

What the ... ?

That was as far as her confused mind managed to get before her muscles became paralyzed and she was tumbling toward the paved ground. Then her head was smacking face-first into the pavement and the entire world exploded into black.

Waking, Sophia cautiously held herself still as she took stock.

She hadn’t gone to the great kennels in the sky, thank the gods.

She had a throbbing head, and she could feel an odd metal collar strapped around her neck, but the rest of her seemed to be back in working order.

Cautiously she allowed her senses to spread further.

She was in a basement, she realized with a stab of surprise. Or at least underground.

And night had fallen while she had been conked out.

Oh, and the stench of cur was thick in the air.

The same scent she’d caught mere seconds before she’d been shot by the dart.

A growl trickled from her throat as she wrenched open her eyes to discover Morton leaning over her, his face the nasty color of paste in the fluorescent light.

“You.” She surged to a sitting position, barely noticing the narrow cot beneath her as Morton hastily backed away. “Bastard.”

With a visible effort the cur halted his retreat, gathering his shaken courage as he sent her a chiding glare.

“Now, Sophia, I must insist that the mother of my children not use such foul language,” he informed her. “It’s indecent.”

Still weak from whatever poison he’d pumped into her system, Sophia swayed on the edge of the cot, wondering which of them had lost their minds.

She was betting on the cur.

“Mother?” She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs. “Are you mental?”

Pinpricks of crimson flashed through the pale eyes. “Don’t push me.”

Oh, pushing him was going to be the last of the little prick’s concern once she got her strength back, she assured herself, glancing around the six-by-six-foot cell that was paneled with sheets of silver.

“Where are we?”

“My private lair beneath Victoria’s house.” He regained command of his composure, one hand smoothing down his white polo shirt. His other hand held a small device that Sophia suspected was some sort of weapon. “Don’t worry, she knows better than to come down here. We won’t be interrupted.”

Her lip curled in scorn. “Does she suspect that you’re a psychopath?”

She had barely finished her taunt when Morton pressed a button on the device and the collar around her neck began to sizzle. The next thing she knew a massive jolt of electricity speared through her body, nearly toppling her off the cot onto the cement floor.

“Shit,” she breathed.

“I did warn you.”

She clenched her teeth, imagining the pleasure of gutting the pasty-faced cur over and over and over... .

“What do you want with me?”

“I told you,” he scolded. “I’ve chosen you to be the mother of my children.”

“No doubt in your demented mind you think I should be honored by the offer, but I’m afraid I’ll have to take a pass.” Her stomach heaved at the mere thought. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

Even prepared for the bolt of electricity, Sophia couldn’t halt her yip of pain, her legs trembling and sweat coating her skin.

“You will learn,” Morton growled.

Her hand weakly lifted toward the metal wrapped around her neck.

“Christ, where the hell did you get this thing?”

“I invented it myself,” the cur preened, as if expecting Sophia to admire his handiwork. “Just as I invented the serum that knocked you out. I’m a scientist.”

“So was Dr. Frankenstein,” she muttered. “You know how that turned out.”

Zap.

She leaned down until her forehead touched her knees, fighting against the urge to vomit.

“You will learn to respect me,” Morton abruptly shouted, clearly unhinged by her refusal to play the game by his rules.

Not surprising.

Morton-the-cur was a born victim who had no doubt been bullied and mocked by others his entire life.

“Why?” she demanded. “Because you can create torture devices?”

“That’s merely my hobby.” His smile was edged with a smug pride. “My true genius is chemistry. Which is why Caine hired me.”

Her eyes widened in surprise.

Caine was currently missing along with her daughter Cassandra.

At one time he’d been under the sway of a demon lord who’d convinced him that he was destined to change curs into pure-blooded Weres.

A part of the prophecy had come true when the same demon lord had taken a path directly through Caine on his way back to hell, transforming him from a cur into a Were.

“You worked with Caine?”

The cur shrugged. “Yes, although we disagreed on how to accomplish our goal to turn curs into pure-blooded Weres.”

“And how did you hope to accomplish such a miracle?”

She expected him to refuse to answer. Weren’t mad scientists usually secretive about their strange experiments?

Instead he answered without hesitation.

“In the same way your king did.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I intend to alter the DNA of our children while they are still in your womb.”

“You ...”

Words failed her, her mind refusing to return to those long days in Salvatore’s clinic. She’d been a willing participant and it had still been near unbearable. With an effort she squashed the rising panic. She would die before she allowed this freak to impregnate her. First, however, she would try to reason with him.

“Even supposing that you do manage to change our children into Weres, how does that help the other curs?” she asked.

His eyes lit with the gleam of a true fanatic. “I can use their blood to help create a vaccine that will transform all of us.”

She shook her head, not about to try and point out to Dr. Evil that the magic that created a pure-blooded Were couldn’t be found in a test tube. It was always futile to argue with a true believer.

“Why me?” she instead asked.

“You’ve already proven yourself to be a fertile breeder.”

She rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

He seemed caught off guard by her response. “I mean that with the greatest respect.”

Said the psycho to his electrified prisoner.

“And?” she prompted, knowing there had to be more.

“And when you moved into the neighborhood I realized that fate had at last smiled upon me,” he admitted. “Why else would you be here if not to fulfill my destiny?”

Great. Of all the neighborhoods she could have chosen, she had to pick the one with Morton-the-crazy-ass-cur.

“Have you considered the fact that I might not be willing to become your lab rat?”

“I’ll admit that it’s been a concern,” he said. “I hated the thought of holding you prisoner down here for months, perhaps even years. I’m not a monster, after all.”

She choked back a laugh at his seeming sincerity. “You could have fooled me.”

He ignored her response, moving toward the small stool in the corner of the barren cell to pick up a heavy leather glove.

“Then a solution literally dropped in my lap.”

Sophia’s wolf was on full alert although the serum still pumping through her bloodstream refused to allow her to shift.

“What solution?”

Using his gloved hand, the cur reached for the small handle on the wall, pulling back the silver panel to reveal that the cell was divided in two.

Sophia hissed in sudden horror as she caught sight of the dark Were lying unconscious on the floor, a silver collar around his neck that was attached to the heavy chain bolted to the wall.

Luc.

Stupidly she’d assumed that he was waiting for her at her home. Perhaps even now wondering why she was so late.

For a moment panic threatened to consume her.

He might be a deceitful bastard who had broken her heart, but the thought that he might be dead was enough to send a crippling agony through her.

Then through her pain, she detected the unmistakable beat of his heart.

Oh ... thank the gods.

He was alive.

She turned her head to stab the cur with a fierce glare. “What have you done to him?”

“I gave him the same drug I used on you, although in a considerably larger dose.” He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “He’ll eventually wake up.”

Sophia sensed the sudden increase in Luc’s heartbeat.

He was awake, she abruptly realized, but feigning unconsciousness. A task made possible by Morton’s inferior senses.

She smoothed her expression, inwardly gathering her strength. Although she was still weak, she knew she would have to strike swiftly. The amount of silver in the room would drain what little power she had remaining in a matter of hours.

“What’s the point of holding him prisoner?” she demanded. “I’m fairly certain he can’t carry your litter.”

“My first thought was to kill him,” he admitted, his voice revealing his deep regret in being denied the pleasure. “Not only because I knew that he’d be a threat to my plans, but because he’s a genuine pain in the ass.” He heaved a sigh. “Then I realized he could be my assurance for your good behavior.”

Shit.

With an effort, she forced herself to pretend confusion as she shakily rose to her feet. She needed to distract him just long enough to get that damned device out of his hand.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m not blind.” His lips thinned in revulsion. “I saw how you watched him during your party.”

“He’s gorgeous.” She shrugged. “How could I not watch him?”

“You care for him,” he insisted, the crimson flickering in his eyes. “Which means you’ll do whatever I ask to make sure he eventually gets out of this basement alive.”

“You’re right.” She gave a wave of her hand to distract from her covert step forward.

He sniffed. “Of course I am.”

“You’re right that I did care for him.” Another wave, another step. “Past tense.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then call Troy.”

He frowned. “The imp?”

“Yep.” She turned to glare at the unmoving Were, not having to feign her simmering anger. “Right before you went all Man vs. Wild on me in the parking lot, he revealed that Luc had lied to me.”

Watching him with an eagle eye, she easily caught the faint twitch of his ears.

Guilty conscience?

Or annoyance at having been busted?

“What was the lie?” Morton wanted to know.

She pointed a finger toward Luc, again taking a step forward. Just a few more feet and she would be close enough to knock his ass to the ground.

She didn’t have a plan after that, but she was willing to play it by ear.

“He’s not a bodyguard like he told me,” she revealed. “He’s a right-hand man to Salvatore and he was sent to Chicago to spy on me.”

Morton scowled, obviously reluctant to believe her. Her outrage at Luc’s betrayal did, after all, ruin his diabolical plans. But even a stupid cur could sense the sincerity of her angry words.

“Why would the king wish to spy on you?”

“He obviously believes I’m too stupid to make my own decisions,” she snapped. “An opinion shared by that Were lying on the floor.” She moved toward the cur, keeping her steps slow and unsteady, as if she was having trouble with her balance. “So if you hope to use him as a bargaining chip then you’re shit out of luck, because as far as I’m concerned you can dig his grave and toss him in.”

“No.” Morton pressed his gloved hand to his forehead. “You’re trying to confuse me.”

“What’s confusing?” With another step she was able to reach out and grab his white polo shirt, giving him a small shake. “Where’s your gun? I’ll shoot him myself.”

“Stop... .” He regarded her in puzzlement, unaware of his danger. “Don’t do this... .”

Knowing she’d only have one shot at escape, Sophia pulled back her arm and smashed her fist into his face with enough force to make him fly across the cell and smack into the far wall.

If she’d been at full strength, the bastard would have been dead.

As it was, he was only knocked loopy.

With her heart lodged in her throat, Sophia darted toward Luc, who was on his feet, regarding her with a burning black gaze.

She didn’t need to be able to read his mind to know he was furious she was trying to rescue him rather than escaping.

Ignoring the massive fangs he bared as she knelt beside him, she clamped her hands around the silver collar. The silver seared into her skin, burning away the flesh, but there was no time to search for a key.

Already she could feel Morton stirring.

Luc growled, using his large head to try and push her away, but she held on. She could feel the silver stretching and weakening beneath her powerful tugs. Just a few more seconds and she’d be able to snap it in half.

The prickle on her neck was the only warning before a bolt of electricity shot through her body. She screamed, her back bowing beneath the impact, but grimly ignoring the brutal pain she continued to pull at the collar.

Distantly she was aware of Luc’s furious growls and yet more lightning dancing down her spine. Christ. She was about to black out.

Again.

Out of time, Sophia gave one more massive tug, not certain if she actually felt the collar snap beneath her grip, but there was no mistaking the sensation of Luc’s massive body brushing past her as he launched himself forward or the shrill screams of Morton.

Death screams.

CHAPTER 9

Once again Sophia was struggling out of a blanket of darkness.

This time it took only moments to realize she was lying on her own bed wearing a clean camisole and silk shorts. And that she wasn’t alone.

Luc filled the room with his presence.

The rich, male scent. The restless power of his wolf.

And above all, the prickling awareness that set her blood on fire.

For a crazed moment she felt an overwhelming surge of relief at the knowledge that they had both survived the basement from hell and that they were seemingly safe from Morton the crazy-ass cur.

Then she abruptly remembered that Luc was a total creep who’d played her for a fool.

And that she wanted to kick him in the nuts, not shiver in pleasure as he settled on the mattress beside her reclined body and gently tucked a curl behind her ear.

“Sophia?” he murmured softly. “I know you’re awake.”

She kept her eyes squeezed shut. Maturity was highly overrated.

“Go away.”

“No.”

She heaved an aggravated sigh. “I hate you.”

He trailed his fingers down the stubborn line of her jaw. “Sophia, open your eyes.”

“Will you go away if I do?”

“No.”

“What if I get a gun and shoot you?”

He chuckled, his fingers shifting to outline the curve of her lower lip.

“You won’t shoot me.”

Her eyes snapped open. How else could she glare into his handsome face?

Unfortunately, she also managed to catch a glimpse of his broad shoulders and the chiseled muscles of his chest that were perfectly outlined by his tight black T-shirt.

Dear gods, but he was gorgeous.

Edible.

Treacherous, unwelcome heat curled through the pit of her stomach.

“Why won’t I?” she asked between clenched teeth.

A smile teased at his lips, but the dark eyes remained watchful. Wary.

“Because you love me.”

She stiffened at the accusation. “Arrogant ass.”

“Maybe, but I’m your arrogant ass.”

With a curse, Sophia scooted until she was leaning against the pile of pillows at the head of the bed, pleased to discover that her wounds were completely healed.

She could feel Luc’s gaze skim down her half-naked body with a tangible hunger, but she resisted the urge to crawl beneath the covers.

She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he could still disturb her.

“Do you really think that I’m going to forgive and forget that you came to me under false pretenses?” she rasped. “That you climbed into my bed with lies? And that even after we ...”

“We what?” he prompted as her words broke off.

“Supposedly mated.”

His jaw clenched, his power thickening the air. “There’s no ‘supposed’ about it, Sophia. We are most definitely mated.”

She ignored his interruption, despite the voice in the back of her mind that warned he was right.

Mating wasn’t marriage. It couldn’t be ended by a couple of lawyers and a restraining order.

At the moment she wasn’t in any mood to admit they were still bonded.

“Even then you continued to deceive me.”

Something flared through the dark eyes. “I know.”

She blinked. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say for yourself?” She lowered her voice, mimicking his less-than-impressive explanation. “‘I know.’”

“I was scared,” he clarified.

Her brows snapped together. “If you’re trying to be funny ...”

“I’m not.”

“Mr. Neanderthal was scared?” She allowed her gaze to trail down the hard, toned perfection of his body. “Of what?”

“I didn’t know at the time.” He studied her with blatant regret. “I only knew that whenever I told myself I had to confess the truth, I found some reason to put off the inevitable.”

Her heart gave a renegade flutter. “And now?”

“Now I know that I was terrified that when you learned the truth you would never be able to forgive me. If I lost you ...” He abruptly reached to grasp her hand in a near painful grip, a haunting fear briefly flaring through his eyes. “I wouldn’t be able to survive.”

A portion of her fury faded. There was no doubting the sincerity of his words.

She could feel the fierce emotions that pulsed through his body. They echoed in her own heart.

“What exactly is the truth?” she asked, her voice thick.

“I think you know most of it.” His thumb caressed her inner wrist, the light caress sending jolts of pleasure shooting through her. “I was contacted by Salvatore two weeks ago. He said that his mother-in-law was in danger, but that she was too stubborn to accept his help.” He grimaced. “To be honest, I wasn’t happy about his request. I’m a soldier, not a babysitter.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And I’m not an aging, feebleminded female who needs her hand held by a big, bad male,” she snapped.

“Aging?” He seemed baffled by her outrage. “You’re an exquisite female who is just reaching her prime.”

A secret part of her preened at his words—she was, after all, about to become a grandmother, she had every right to be sensitive. But she was still angered by the thought she’d been treated as if she was incapable of making her own decisions.

“And feebleminded?” she pressed.

Frustration tightened his expression. “Of course you aren’t feebleminded. Hell, you’re clever enough to ensure my life is going to be a constant battle to keep up with you. But I won’t apologize for trying to keep you safe, cara,” he rasped. “It’s what I was born to do.”

Okay.

That was exactly the right thing to say, she wryly acknowledged.

Not that she was ready to concede defeat. There were still a few bones to pick.

“If Salvatore realized I was searching for a bodyguard, why did he send you?” One day she would discover exactly how her son-in-law had known she was in danger and that she was looking for a hired thug. “It was obvious I was taking steps to protect myself.”

“Because I’m the best.”

She snorted. “Even if you do say so yourself?”

His dark gaze never wavered. “It’s not a boast, Sophia, it’s the simple truth.”

She believed him.

There was a vast difference between arrogance and confidence.

But she didn’t accept that it was just his talent in providing security that had prompted Salvatore to choose him.

“And because you would report to him?”

“Yes,” he admitted without hesitation. “Your daughters were anxious to know you were safe.” Abruptly his grip on her hand tightened, his wolf glowing in his eyes. “Of course, in the end I failed you.”

Sophia sucked in a sharp breath as she felt the guilt that was festering deep inside Luc.

Christ, she’d never thought he would be blaming himself for her being kidnapped by Morton. The cur was raving mad. Who could possibly have predicted what he would do?

She leaned forward to frame his face in her hands, glaring into his wounded eyes.

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true. Mierda.” He shuddered, his hands lifting to lightly grasp her wrists. As if he needed to reassure himself that she was alive and unharmed. “I was so worried you would be lured into a trap and I walked straight into one. And then, when Morton was torturing you with that damned collar ...”

Without thought she leaned forward to halt his pained words with a fierce kiss. She couldn’t bear for him to be burdened with regret when he’d done everything possible to keep her safe. But as soon as their mouths connected, the gesture of comfort combusted into something far more intense.

Dangerous.

Hurriedly she jerked back, licking her tingling lips.

“I’m assuming he’s dead?”

His brooding gaze remained locked on her mouth. “Yes.”

“Good.”

There was a short silence as they both savored the thought of Morton dead.

Sophia hoped the bastard was rotting in hell.

At last, Luc slowly smiled. “Of course, there was one good thing about being locked in that basement.”

A good thing?

She scowled. “Did you take a blow to the head? That place was a nightmare.”

“You risked your life to rescue me,” he pointed out softly. “You wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t still love me.”

“I was too weakened to shift,” she lamely tried to argue. “I knew I would need you to kill Morton and get us out of there.”

“Liar.”

“Luc ...”

Tugging on her wrists, which he still held in a loose grip, he kissed her with an aching tenderness.

“I’m sorry, cara,” he whispered against her mouth. “I regret ever deceiving you, and if I could go back in time I would change everything. But all we can do is go forward.”

She pulled back to study his somber expression. Deep inside she knew that he hadn’t meant to hurt her. At least not intentionally.

He’d come to Chicago as a soldier obeying orders. And like her he’d been knocked off guard by the power of their mating.

Could she truly blame him for being reluctant to confess the truth?

Not that she didn’t intend to keep his blunder as ammunition to pull out whenever she screwed up. It was almost like having a Get Out of Jail Free card, she decided.

“You swear never to lie to me again?”

She could feel the tension drain from him at her question, a small smile curving his lips.

“I swear I will never ever give you a reason to regret trusting in me,” he hedged, knowing better than to make a promise he could never keep.

A Were who could be trained.

A good sign.

“And you won’t interfere when I kick Salvatore’s furry ass?”

“He is my king, but you ...” The dark gaze seared over her face, his steadfast love burning like a beacon. “You are my mate.”

“Smart Were,” she whispered, a delicious warmth spilling through her as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Maybe you should remind me why that’s a good thing.”

“With pleasure.” He pressed her back against the pillows, his lips tracing a path of erotic fire down the curve of her neck. “For both of us.”‘

MURDER ON MYSTERIA LANE

ANGIE FOX

CHAPTER 1

Last time I got stuck in a graveyard after dark, I missed the final episode of Lost. This time, an immense werewolf leveled a shotgun at my nose.

I could smell the sharp tang of gun oil in the dry desert air.

“Heather McPhee”—he cocked his weapon—“I order you to halt!”

“You and what army?” I came up short, less than an inch from the double barrel. You really could poke an eye out with that thing. My gray cargo pants clanked with handcuffs, a stun gun, mace, two fixed-blade daggers, and of course my lucky boot knife.

A desert wind blew in from the west, pelting the aged tombstones with rocks and debris. Two more werewolves emerged from the darkness. They took positions on either side of the scraggily, bad-breathed Goliath.

Great, just great.

“What’s the password?” he growled.

Like I knew. “Out of my way you, hairy oaf.” I started to move around him until his hand closed around my arm in a vise grip. “Ow!”

“Don’t play with me, girl. I’m not afraid of your kind.”

Too bad everybody else was.

“Listen, brainiac,” I said, fighting the urge to stomp his foot,

“I’m here on the Alpha’s orders, so unless you want to take it up with Finnegan—”

The guard growled low in his throat, his face a mix of shadows. “Finnegan should have told you—”

“Well, he didn’t.” Not that he wouldn’t be on my shit list for that. But to be fair, the guy had a pack to run. And an emergency it seemed.

I craned my neck around the wall of weres to see if I could catch anybody peeking out from the crypt.

There was no little stone house-like structure or stone angels to guard it. The Topanga Pack buried their alphas bunker-style. The shadow of the hole gaped low and menacing in the canyon bedrock. Thirty stone steps surrounded by sandstone walls ended in a solid oak door.

Lovely. No help in sight. Whoever was there to meet me was already inside—waiting.

“He’s not answering his phone,” barked the bodyguard to my right.

“I’m thinking he might be busy,” I snapped. I would be, too, if I could get past these clowns.

The top dog didn’t just open up the Crypt of the Alphas for his health, or an all-night kegger. It was unsealed maybe once or twice a year for matters of pack justice. I was his only interrogator, a position I rather liked. So when Finnegan ordered me to get my ass down there, I’d bailed on my dinner date with a bucket of KFC’s original recipe and made a beeline for my boss.

Until I’d run smack-dab into a boulder.

“You know I’m not a threat,” I said. For heaven’s sake, it’s not like the overgrown Chewbacca and I weren’t on a first-name basis. We’d played together as kids—Mary Poppins to be exact. And I wasn’t the one dressing up as the flying babysitter.

Just because he’d avoided me for the past twenty years didn’t mean I’d forgotten. The bodyguard had other secrets, too. Everyone did. That’s why my bugged-out powers came in so handy.

I’d been born with the Truth gene, an obnoxiously rare and recessive trait that showed up about once every seven hundred years. Lucky me. I could ask a question and literally make a person tell the truth.

Within limits. But I wasn’t about to start broadcasting that little tidbit.

“Want me to start asking you questions?” I asked.

“Can it, McPhee,” he said with a snarl, casting a glance at the wolves on either side of him. His eyes had widened a touch. I recognized the fear.

Good.

I reached into my back pocket for a rubber band and proceeded to pull my long red hair into a ponytail. Lucky for him I wouldn’t be unleashing my powers in the middle of the Wolf’s Lair flats. First off, it would be downright mean, even if my old buddy was being an ass. Second, using my powers gave me a massive hangover.

This joker wasn’t worth it.

“What’s it going to be, meathead?”

He scowled.

“I can stand here until Finnegan comes out looking for me. No sweat off my back. Though it may mean the skin off yours.”

He growled low in his throat as I started whistling the Jeopardy theme song.

“I don’t have time for this bullshit,” he grumbled, standing aside.

“Thank you.”

I nudged him with my elbow as I brushed past.

He growled low in his throat. “Freak.”

Oh goody. Things were back to normal.

I descended the thick stone stairs into the darkness of the tomb. I might not win Miss Popular 2011, but my pack was stronger because of me.

Frankly, I’d rather be needed than accepted.

The coarse walls were broken every so often by burial carvings and caked with canyon dust.

“Where were you?” Finnegan’s voice boomed before I’d even reached the bottom of the stairs. “Never mind,” he added. “Just get your ass down here.”

It was cooler underground, the air stale. I could smell the pack leader’s agitation even before I came upon him pacing in the center of a small, circular room.

A turquoise and orange pack crest spread across the ceiling. In the flickering light, I could read the inscription: Riamh daing-nithe i gcúinne.

Never backed into a corner.

Damned straight.

It didn’t look like our pack leader was doing so hot tonight. Finnegan jammed his hands into his copious red hair. His bulbous nose had gone red and his beard twisted sideways where he’d been yanking on it.

Behind him, a shirtless human sat lashed to a wooden chair etched with runes and death spells.

“We need you to question this ... gardener,” the Alpha said, as if he wasn’t quite sure what a gardener even did. “He’s from Eternal Life Estates.”

I wrinkled my nose. “In Vampire County?”

The humans called it Malibu.

It was where trophy wives went to die.

Or not die ... as the case may be.

Finnegan gave a tight smile. “I’ll remind you of my littermate who moved to Eternal Life Estates.”

I nodded. Sunshine McCarty, the bleached blonde, boob-enhanced darling of the pack. Growing up, she liked to tease me by pretending I was a boy.

As far as insults went, it was pathetic.

Let her yank out her eyebrows and wobble around on stiletto heels that, let’s face it, would make it impossible to knee anyone in the balls. I liked to keep my options open.

I studied the olive-skinned gardener. I didn’t get why any were—or this human for that matter—would move in with the vampires. Sure, it beat Botox. Once you married a vampire, you stopped aging. Trophy wives for centuries.

Ridiculous.

I blew a few strands of hair out of my mouth. No matter what I did, my hair always ended up in my face. “What do you want to know?”

Finnegan folded his arms over his chest. “Sunshine was killed three nights ago.”

I shook my head, not sure what to say. Comforting words weren’t exactly in my nature. Not that the Alpha would want to hear them anyway.

He gave me a long look, the candles flickering shadows over his burly features. “She was murdered.”

Now that surprised me. If Sunshine had been willing to chip a nail, she could have gone up against any were. Unless she’d come face-to-fang with her vampire husband.

“How did it happen?” I asked.

“Crushed to death.”

Ouch.

Finnegan tugged on his beard. “We’ve kept it out of the papers. The pack won’t know until we get justice.” He stood behind the visibly shaking man. “It happened yesterday afternoon.”

That ruled out a vampire, at least directly.

“This is our witness,” Finnegan continued. “His name is Marcos.”

I studied the man, glad to be back in familiar territory. “Let me guess. He’s not talking.” We’d change that.

Poor sap.

I tilted my head, my boots grinding grave dirt into the stones as I approached. “What did you see, friend?”

The man shook his head, a thin sheen of sweat slicking his forehead. “N-nothing. I was trimming the hedges.”

“Her hedges?”

“The hedges! I heard a loud noise. I ran. Upstairs.” His eyes darted away. “That’s where I found her.” His lower lip trembled. “Under her bathroom chandelier.”

I resisted the urge to ponder the idea of a chandelier in the bathroom. I swallowed hard, locking eyes with the man in the chair as I unleashed a magnetic power from low in my chest. “What did you hear?” I felt the buzzing in my head, the dry tightness in the back of my throat. Marcos and I were connected, as if by a thin wire.

“A woman’s voice,” he said, clearly surprised to hear the words come out of his mouth. “I could barely understand her. She said that Sunny deserved what she got. And then she got even angrier. She said, ‘and I hate your lawn.’ ”

Finnegan rushed to the bound man’s side. “Who was it? Did you see her?”

My mind reeled as if he’d smacked me upside the head.

“Finnegan.” I cringed. He knew better.

He halted, but he didn’t apologize. Being an Alpha meant never saying you were sorry.

Head clanging, I asked the question. “Did you see who was in the bathroom?”

“No.” He winced. “I was tied to the bed.”

“Of course you were,” I said, throwing up a warning finger at my leader. If he jarred my mind again, I was going to lose our witness. And because Finnegan knew the stakes, I got away with it.

I turned back to the gardener. “How often did you have sex with the victim?”

“Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Whenever I worked.”

“Son of a bitch!” Finnegan swore behind me.

“Did her husband find out about your sex-capades?” I asked.

Vampires tended to be intensely sexual, and not particularly good at sharing. Then again, if the husband knew, he probably would have just eaten poor Marcos.

The gardener trembled, his eyes wild. “Her husband was too busy with his own mistress.”

“Who was?” I prodded deeper.

He was sweating heavily. “Sunny wasn’t sure,” he said on an exhale. “She only knew it was one of the other Predators.”

My head was pounding now, but I had to hold on. “Who are the Predators?

“Five shifters.” He caught himself. “Well, now there are four: Francine, Nina, Bliss and their whipping girl, Tia.”

“Gotcha.” I glanced up at Finnegan. “We’ll start there.”

My vision swam and I felt my hold loosening. I broke our contact. “I’m done.”

My record was five minutes. This? Well, this was the best I could do tonight. My head throbbed. It would only get worse. Tapping minds gave me a hangover like I’d downed a fifth of SoCo. Not that I’d ever voluntarily do that to myself.

“Nice work.”

Shaking, I folded my hands behind my back and lowered my chin to the Alpha.

“Very nice indeed,” said a man’s voice, smooth as glass.

I whipped a dagger out of the back of my pants as a vampire emerged from the shadows behind me.

Panic shot through me. Why hadn’t I smelled him? Why hadn’t I seen him? My blood ran hot.

Finnegan must have blocked him from me. I didn’t understand.

He was taller than I would have liked. Leaner. His shoulders were wide, his stance confident. This one was going to be a bitch to take down.

Finnegan raised his hand. “Hold back, McPhee.”

“He’s a vampire.” I might be able to get hold of him by the hair. It was clipped short and blond.

“McPhee—” Finnegan’s tone was a direct order. “This is Lucien Mead. My guest.” He put an emphasis on that last word.

The vampire bowed at my pack leader’s introduction. A hint of a grin gave him an almost boyish charm. A swirl of desire wound through me. Leftover adrenaline, no doubt.

Get it together. Hot or not, he was still a vampire. A fucking bloodsucker! I wasn’t going to be seduced and bitten.

Even mosquitoes had more integrity than that.

The Alpha was not amused. “Lose the knife and say hello.”

I gritted my teeth. If Finnegan was okay with the vampire, he must be working with the pack.

“Hello, Lucien.”

I couldn’t quite bring myself to put away the knife. Not yet. He was easy on the eyes. In fact, he reminded me of Iceman from Top Gun. He had that look, and that cool confidence.

“How did you do it?” he asked, his eyes raking over me.

“McPhee’s power is a pack secret,” Finnegan said, as if he knew how I did what I did. Hell, I didn’t even know. Finnegan stood his ground in front of the vampire, who was a full foot taller than the Alpha. “Do you want us or not?”

Lucien gave a long, slow grin. “All right. I’ll take her.”

My head hurt for a whole new reason. “Take me?” He couldn’t take me. I had a pack. I had a home.

Sensing my urge to bolt, Finnegan laid a hand on my shoulder. “It’s only temporary. We need someone to go undercover.”

I’d never been undercover.

Lucien drew too close for comfort. “I need a were to pose as my wife.”

“Hell, no.”

Finnegan continued as if I hadn’t said a word. “You two will be the newest couple to move into Eternal Life Estates.”

“I’d rather eat glass.”

Finnegan’s hand tightened on my shoulder. “You’ll be going to Malibu, McPhee. Haven’t you always wanted to see Malibu?”

“No.” I had everything I needed right here in the canyon.

“Nevertheless, your skills are required,” Lucien said. “We have a window of opportunity. A new couple was set to move into Eternal Life Estates. We’ve commandeered the house for the investigation. However, it will be tight. Mr. and Mrs. Duke are scheduled to arrive tomorrow evening.”

“You and Detective Mead will pose as the Dukes,” Finnegan said.

“Detective?” I stared at the vampire. “What are you, some sort of undead Columbo?”

Lucien grinned. “You could say that. I report to the Vampire Council.”

Lovely. Even if the man was some kind of an eternal cop, he couldn’t just drag me into this. “Aren’t there protocols? Rules?”

“Yes,” Finnegan growled. “Obey your pack master.”

Had he lost his mind? “In case you two haven’t noticed, I’m not the trophy wife type.”

“Lower the dagger,” Finnegan snapped.

Oh yeah. I hadn’t noticed I’d been waving my knife. I pulled it back and used it to clean a wedge of dirt out from under my ring fingernail.

This was ridiculous. How was I supposed to be a Sunny clone? He’d better not make me wear a girdle.

“You’re going to help Detective Mead sniff out Sunny’s murderer,” Finnegan said, by way of a rah-rah speech.

Fuck a duck.

“You’ll get the truth out of the were wives of Vampire County.”

As if I wanted to know.

“You’ll blend,” he insisted.

I snarfed out loud. Had he taken a look at me lately?

“We’ll get to the truth,” Finnegan continued, nodding to Lucien, “or else the pack has no choice... .”

“Wait,” I didn’t like the sound of that. “No choice in what?”

“We need closure by the full moon,” Finnegan said.

“Or?” There had to be an alternative. That was only three nights away.

“Or,” Lucien said, as if it were obvious, “your pack will avenge the death.”

Of course. We’d declare war on a county full of vampires. And if the rest of them were like this solid blond wall, we didn’t have a chance. It’d be suicide for pack pride. And I really didn’t want to die. Not for Sunny anyway.

“Okay.” I threw up my hands, remembered I was holding the knife, and sheathed it before Finnegan yelled at me again.

As if I was the one causing the problem.

“I’ll do it. I’ll be the good wife.” Ick. It even hurt to say the word. “We’ll start with Sunny’s old crowd. The Predators. We’ll learn the truth.”

“Good,” Finnegan said, a victorious glint in his beady little eyes.

“But I’m not wearing heels,” I added.

Lucien leaned in from behind, his breath tickling my ear. “You’ll have to do a lot more than that.”

CHAPTER 2

I stared out the tinted glass of the Lincoln Town Car at the even darker night outside and wondered how on earth I was going to pull this off.

No. Don’t think that way.

My newly manicured fingers fiddled with the obnoxiously large diamond on my left ring finger. God. I didn’t even recognize my own hands. “I can do this,” I murmured to myself.

I didn’t have a choice.

A green road sign announced we were Entering Malibu. I smoothed the yellow baby doll dress over my knees. I had everything I needed to play the part.

Six coats of mascara? Check.

Bright red lipstick and matching strappy sandals? Check.

Model-worthy hair? I swear I used an entire bottle of Aqua Net.

We’d had only last night and today to prepare, but I’d been on tougher missions than this. I’d wrangled the truth from a bullheaded minotaur, I’d warned the pack about the Berserker Charge of 2010, and I’d scared the feathers off a flock of angry harpies.

Surely I could face a pack of trophy wives with names like Francine and Tia.

Lucien lounged comfortably opposite me, one arm stretched out over the seat back between us. He wore an Armani suit and seemed like a natural for this job and this neighborhood.

I didn’t know if that made me feel better or worse.

We had less than seventy-two hours to pull this off.

Just breathe.

Yeah, well maybe I could breathe if I didn’t have a girdle mashing my rib cage into my liver. I scrunched my shoulders and leaned forward, hoping for a measure of relief, but that only made me notice the reinforced toe of my panty hose peeking out from my red shoe. I’d tried to stuff the dark brown part under my toes, but it kept inching back.

Oh well, what kind of woman notices another woman’s shoes?

Lucien regarded me with a mixture of interest and distrust. From his piercing blue eyes to the blunt tips of his fingers, a cool power seemed to radiate from him. More than that, he was unapologetically male. A lick of desire slipped down my spine.

“Do you want to go over the plan again?” he asked.

“No.” We’d been over it a half dozen times. I knew my role. And I was willing to do anything, even wear panty hose, to do the job right. It was a matter of pride—for me and for the pack.

His smile was pure sin. “Then stop fidgeting.”

I shot him a dirty look. Oh please. “Let’s wrap you in a sausage casing and see how you fidget.”

The car bounced over a series of speed bumps at the entrance to Eternal Life Estates. We wound through streets lined with palm trees, past the kind of houses you saw on the cover of magazines at the grocery checkout. The landscaping was impeccable, the façades ornate, and the front lawns trimmed down to the last blade of grass.

At least the place looked deserted, except for, “What is that?” I thrust my head between the two front seats. A mass of shape shifters and vampires gathered in the road. As we neared, I could see that they had completely taken over a circle drive lit by torches in the ground.

Like an old-fashioned werewolf hunt.

I double-checked the twin knife holders I’d strapped to my thighs.

Lucien hissed. “I told them we did not want a welcome party on the first night.”

No kidding. “They might have figured out the truth about us.” I twisted around to face him. “Someone probably knows the Dukes.”

Lucien was oddly focused on my thighs.

“We’ll keep our cover.” His steely gaze met mine. “As long as you don’t blow it.”

“Thanks a lot. Nothing like a supportive partner to get the job done right.” This was why I liked working alone. “And stop staring at me like you want to bite me.”

Sure he looked like sex on wheels, but that didn’t mean I was going to serve myself up with a sprig of parsley between my teeth.

His lips parted. “I do want to bite you.”

“Do it and I stake you.”

Why hadn’t I brought a stake?

“Don’t worry, little werewolf,” he said, sending a shiver down my spine. “I’m always in control.” He held my gaze a second longer than he needed. “As for tonight, follow my lead. Remember, the less contact you have, the better.”

Maybe I could find a nice tree branch.

I nudged the hem of my dress to make sure I wasn’t giving any more free shows. “Anything else, your brood-i-ness?”

He cocked a grin. “You said you knew the plan.”

Oh sure. The plan: Keep quiet. Look pretty. I need you until I don’t need you.

I leveled a perfectly glossed fingernail at him. “Keep in mind that you picked me. I’m the best interrogator you have.”

He seemed amused at that. “Interrogator? Yes. Investigator? No.” His voice lowered a notch. “You do not handle the case. I do. You get them alone later and you question them. But for now, you don’t talk.”

“You’re an ass.”

He didn’t react. Stone-cold Luke this one was.

At least he knew what he was doing. According to what Finnegan had told me this afternoon, Lucien Mead was one of the Vampire Council’s top guys. They brought him in to handle tough cases like this—at least ones that could result in war. I had no problem following his lead—as long as he didn’t force it.

I wrangled halfway through the space between the two front seats to get a better look at the doom that lay straight ahead. Oh my God, they had mint tins.

“You are here to be pretty. You are here to be vapid.”

I slammed back into the seat next to him. “Oh yes. Like the time I was too busy painting my nails to wrestle down a banshee and force him to give up the rest of the murdering horde.”

“Heather—” Lucien leveled an icy gaze at me.

“Lay off the tall, blond, and frigid act. I’ve got enough problems.” I rubbed at my eyes, leaving a sparkly blue eye shadow streak on the back of my hand. Great, just great. I wiped it on the back of my dress where no one would see.

“Think before you act.” He planted a hand on the seat back behind me. “You are the only one who can learn the truth and prevent this war.”

Oh yeah. No pressure there.

He had this whole calm and collected investigator persona down pat. But I was an interrogator. And I was good at my job precisely because I was willing to do whatever it took.

Like pretend to sleep with a vampire.

“Drive casually,” Lucien said to the driver as we drew near the crowd.

“No problem, boss.” The ponytailed driver eased us between two party rental trucks.

“He’s staying in the car, right?” The guy looked like he should be working as a bouncer at a nightclub instead of driving a pair of pretend socialites. He also needed a shave.

The driver cocked his head toward me, silver rings piercing his right eyebrow and a black spike earring dangling from his left lobe. “His name is Vinny,” he drawled with an unmistakable New Jersey twang, “and you bet your ass I’m getting out.”

“Vinny is my daytime eyes and ears,” Lucien explained.

“Vinny would never even make it through a metal detector.”

“Oh yeah? Fine.” Vinny turned around and I about fell over as his hair shimmered from jet-black to white. Not only that, it shortened into a close-clipped haircut.

The scent of wood and grass filled the car. “What the—” I watched Vinny’s hands on the wheel age right in front of my eyes. His black T-shirt morphed into a silver suit jacket. His scraggly near-beard faded. By the time we parked, he looked like Jeeves the butler.

“Satisfied?” Vinny asked, with the same rough Jersey accent. Hardly. “What are you?”

The old butler grinned back at me. “I’m special.”

No kidding.

“Stop showing off,” Lucien said, as Vinny got out of the car to come open our door.

I didn’t know what to think—about Vinny or Lucien or this entire situation.

“One question,” I said, as we watched Vinny circle around the front.

I knew all about my role in this—and I had the lipstick on my teeth to prove it. But I sure as hell didn’t know what Lucien the super cop was up to—or what he wanted. What did the council care if the vampires slaughtered a pack of wolves?

Lucien closed his hand over mine as Vinny made a great show of standing by the door, preparing to open it. “Why are you two doing this?”

Lucien gave me a quick squeeze. “Because you’ll never set foot outside if you see the karaoke machine.”

“Call the guard, the vampire made a joke.”

“Heather”—he looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time—“I’m here because I want to know the truth,” he said, a determined slant to his jaw, “just like you.”

Vinny opened the door. Jazz piano music flooded in. From the middle of the street at ten o’clock at night. This was weirder than that coven of narcoleptic werebats we busted a while back.

Lucien stood outside the car, his hand extended to help me. His grip was firm and left no room to wrangle.

Deep breath. This was a special assignment, an important one that only I could do. I didn’t want to let my Alpha down.

Lucien took my hand once more, his grip cool and strong. “Relax. You’ll do great.”

“I know,” I said. I’d never been so plucked, sprayed, and manicured in my life. I’d fit in. We’d find the Predators. We’d get to the bottom of this.

A brunette with a heart-shaped face and a sleek red sundress sauntered toward us on ice pick heels. “Mitzy, Luke!” she exclaimed. “Look everybody, the Dukes have arrived!”

I turned to him. “Luke Duke? You’ve got to be kidding.”

He squeezed my hand. “Don’t talk.”

The waif-like woman stopped in front of us and smirked. “Nice earrings.”

My stomach lurched. There was nothing wrong with my red hoop earrings. I’d matched them to my shoes.

“I’m Francine Sharp,” she continued, as if she hadn’t just insulted me, “head of the welcoming committee.”

And a Predator. This was shaping up nicely.

Francine was also a werevulture from the smell of it. She fingered the gold locket at her neck, openly eyeing my fake husband.

“A pleasure,” Lucien said, kissing her delicate hand.

I waited for her reaction. Was she sleeping with dear departed Sunny’s husband? Or would she be open to Lucien’s attentions? I couldn’t wait to get her alone to ask.

Only she’d stopped eyeing him and had turned her sharp gaze on me.

A warm flush began in my stomach and heated me all the way up to my cheeks. Yes, I was being scrutinized. I’d prepared for that. But I didn’t like standing here being submissive.

I wanted to jump, holler, scream. Anything.

Instead I said, “That’s a pretty necklace.”

“It’s Bvlgari.”

“What?” I asked.

She pursed her lips together. “Exactly.”

I had the distinct impression I’d done something wrong, but I had no clue what. I mean, who names a necklace?

Lucien leaned close enough to whisper loving encouragement into my ear. “Keep your mouth shut.”

Too late.

I fought the urge to snarl.

The werevulture tilted her head. “Where are you from?”

I tried to think of somewhere both exotic and cosmopolitan. “East of here,” I said, mimicking Francine’s head tilt. “Las Vegas,” my mouth supplied before my brain could say what?

I wanted to wince, sink into the ground, walk away, and make these people forget they’d ever met me. The entire crowd had stopped talking. For the first time, I noticed everyone surrounding us, staring at me.

I struggled to think of something both vapid and agreeable that would satisfy these trophy wives and their husbands. “I moved to Las Vegas to better myself. You know, to meet guys.”

Lucien groaned under his breath.

Oh, the poor vampire was suffering? Well, he could help me out here.

I’d been judged quite enough for one evening.

The air felt heavy as the wall of shifters closed us in. I wanted to bolt. I didn’t like crowds, or attention, not to mention being hemmed in on all sides. But I stood my ground. I was a wolf on a mission, even if that meant I was alone in a crowd, teetering on shoes no woman should be forced to wear, holding a purse that could fit a gumdrop.

He’d asked for inane. What else did he expect from a werewolf who’d just had half of her eyebrows yanked out of her head?

He gripped me. Tight. “Now Mitzy, that’s not exactly how we met.”

“Yeah?” I asked, heart speeding up. “Why don’t you tell the story?” Or why didn’t he just let me out of here?

This was going bad in a hurry. Every second I spent around these people was making it worse.

It didn’t even make sense to talk to the Predators tonight. I needed to question these werewives individually, not in the middle of a game of This Is Your (Undead) Life.

I was about two seconds away from telling this vulture where she could go.

Deep breaths.

She twirled her necklace on one finger, daring me.

That was it. “Why don’t you take your Blvgari—”

Lucien hoisted me by one arm. “We’re leaving.”

“And shove it up your ass.” The vampire oofed as my stiletto met his knee. “And you—” I spun toward Lucien the grabby. “Do you want me to tackle you?”

Boy, he looked pissed. “We’re leaving,” he hissed.

“Why? I can take her.” The vulture would never screw with me again.

“Now.” He grabbed me around the waist.

“Let me down, you cretin!” I seethed, as he carried me like a sack of rice away from the welcoming committee.

CHAPTER 3

Lucien opened the four paneled door with a snarl. “After you, dear,” he said, dumping me into our new home.

“Bite me, bloodsucker.”

A wave of cold air slapped me upside the head. The foyer was the size of my entire apartment back home. And I could barely believe it, but there was actual furniture inside the door—a couch and a chair, a statue of a woman with half her clothes falling off, and a large potted palm.

He slammed the door behind us. “What the hell was that?”

As if he didn’t know. I scrambled to my feet. “I thought I was being vapid,” I said sweetly.

“Try again.”

“Pretty?”

His eyes raked over me from head to bare toes. “You are something.”

“The vulture provoked me.” He’d seen it.

Lucien towered over me, glowering. His dress shirt was disheveled, a vein pulsed at his neck, and a lock of blond hair had fallen straight over his left eye. “It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter. You can’t let her get you riled up.”

“Oh, believe me, you haven’t even seen riled.” I stood up to him. Eye to chest. “When I can approach her on my terms,” on an even playing field, “her ass is mine. I’ll learn the truth.” He’d seen me in an interrogation room. “Trust me.”

“No.”

“I don’t see that you have a choice.”

“Touché,” he said dryly.

“Stop it. I don’t speak French.”

I kicked off my shoes. This was going to be a long three days. Still, I had to keep my wits about me. I didn’t want to let my pack down.

Next came the knives. I stacked them on the hall table. I didn’t choose to be different. I stripped off my panty hose and tossed them over the potted palm.

The whole situation felt so suffocatingly wrong.

I shucked off my yellow baby doll dress and hooked my thumbs under the top of my bra and girdle combination. The cool air hit my overheated skin as I peeled the garment away. I whimpered in relief as it dropped to my feet. Heaven.

I used my toe to flick it away.

In a few seconds I’d be blissfully free. I stopped when I caught sight of my partner.

“What?” I demanded. He had a funny look on his face. Like he’d swallowed a bug. “Lay it on me. What else did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” he choked.

So much for honesty. How long had that lasted—five minutes?

He cleared his throat, his gaze positively feral.

Holy heck. Was he going to sink his fangs into me?

My pulse quickened and I took a careful step toward the door. “There’d better be some law against biting your partner.”

“I will not bite you,” he said, his voice rough.

“Then why are you looking at me like I’m the main course?”

“A thousand pardons,” he said, breathy. He’d even taken on a slight Spanish accent. “Your decision to disrobe was most unexpected.”

What did the guy want? I’d kept my red thong. God, I couldn’t wait to get back to the pack where I could run around naked in peace.

I planted my hands on my hips. “Do you really want me to put that crap back on again?”

The front door burst open and I lunged for my knives. I had them at the intruder’s neck before he’d taken two steps inside.

“Whoa! Whoa!” He gurgled. “It’s me. Vinny.”

“How do I know?” I demanded.

This guy looked like a waiter or something. Then I smelled him. “Hey, it is Vinny.”

“And yet you’re still holding a knife to his throat,” Lucien pointed out.

Vinny’s eyes flicked down to my breasts, which were smashed up against his chest. “You know, I don’t mind so much.”

“Pervert.” I let him go. What was it with non-weres and nudity?

Lucien flung off his tie and unbuttoned his crisp white dress shirt, his fingers impatient. Just when I thought he’d seen the light, he shoved his shirt at me. “Put this on.”

As far as chests went, he had a nice one. Smooth and firm. Ripped without looking like he tried.

I took the shirt. “So you can relax, but I can’t.”

“I’m not relaxed.”

“Oh fine.” I slipped the cotton monstrosity over my shoulders.

Vinny shook his head. “I gotta tell you, ‘Mitzy’ sure stirred things up out there.”

The back of my neck prickled. “How do you know?”

“Waiters hear all. They’re wondering if Mr. Duke here has a Las Vegas hooker fetish.”

Lucien groaned.

“Come on, gorgeous. Blue eye shadow?”

“I like blue,” I protested.

Lucien sighed. “Vinny, maybe you can give her some pointers?”

“Are you kidding? I’d make it worse. I even liked her shoes.”

“What was wrong with my shoes?”

“Damn it.” Lucien pulled out his phone. “We need some more backup.”

Another creature in the mix? “I don’t like it,” I said to Vinny.

He threw the bolt on the door. “You didn’t like what happened out there, either.”

I crossed my arms over my chest as Lucien left a message for someone named Tia.

Wait. “Not the Tia?” Otherwise known as a Predator?

“She’s trustworthy,” he said, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Oh yeah?” I bristled. “When were you even going to tell me you knew her?”

“Right now.”

Well, la-dee-dah. “Anything else you’d like to share?” I demanded.

“This is how I work,” he said, closing the distance between us. “I’m an investigator. I have a network. I have contacts. I focus on the facts, the details, the minutiae others miss.”

“I don’t care if you’re the Sherlock Holmes of the undead. I want you to level with me. How do you know Tia?”

He backed off. “I’ve known her husband for nearly a century.”

“What? Were you drinking buddies?”

He ignored me. “His pharmacy was on my beat. Many years ago.”

“Oh goody.” I broke away to inspect the first floor, giving in to the urge to roam.

Naturally Lucien followed. The man needed a lesson on werewolves.

Of course, I could also use a guide to all things posh and annoying. “What aren’t you telling me about Tia the Predator?” I didn’t need my powers to know he was holding back. He’d held himself wrong. Everyone did it when they lied. One shoulder down, spine bent slightly crooked. I’d learned to recognize the signs.

“She lives on this block. On Mysteria Lane.”

“I figured that.”

“Tia is”—he paused, searching for the words—“she’s a survivor. And she’s trustworthy,” he insisted. I could tell he believed it.

“Okay.” My day couldn’t get any worse. Might as well partner with a predatory werewife. I’d mojo her with my truth powers and see for myself whether I should trust her—or truss her up in the basement.

“That’s it?” he asked.

“So it seems.” What you see is what you get.

I don’t know why he was so surprised.

Lucien trailed behind me as I began to inspect our headquarters. It was a security nightmare—windows everywhere. There was a door leading out to a sunroom, a door to the garage, a door out the back of the kitchen. We’d have to invest in some good locks. I didn’t look forward to sleeping here without them.

“So have you spent a lot of time on Mysteria Lane?” I asked.

“Hardly,” he said behind me. “I try to avoid eternal life-digging weres.”

“It would cramp the bloodsucking playboy routine a bit, wouldn’t it?” I asked, moving on to the sunken living room.

He shrugged, not bothering to deny it.

Why would a vampire even get married?

Mmm ... I wriggled my toes. The thick plush carpeting felt amazing.

He stopped at the edge of the sunken living room. Everything was done up in shades of white—the couch, the woven rugs, even the mantel decorations.

“So what do we tell the vulture the next time?” I asked, inspecting a white pointy piece of marble. “Why did you marry me?” It was an element of our story we hadn’t worked out.

“It was love at first sight,” he said tartly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

I laughed out loud. “No one’s going to buy that.” I wasn’t sure which was funnier—this broody vamp falling in love or me being the object of anybody’s affections.

I tried a light switch and the fireplace roared to life. Sweet.

“No offense,” I said, “but you don’t impress me as the lovey-dovey type.” In fact, he had the brooding down pat.

“I can be affectionate,” he said, in that pounce-y way of his.

Oh no. “When was the last time you ate?” I fought the urge to run, feeling his shirt swirl along my thighs.

“That’s a little personal,” he said, his eyes roaming my body.

No, it wasn’t. But what he wanted to do to me sure was. “I don’t care how sexy you are. I’m not dinner.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“You implied.”

He gave me a heated look. “I can’t help what I am.”

“What? A ravenous vampire?”

“No. Male.”

I felt my cheeks flush. “Let’s get one thing straight, buddy. We are a pretend married couple. Fake!”

He arched a brow. “Yes, but we might as well enjoy our roles.”

He had to be kidding. “What is that? Part of your method of deduction?”

“Actually, yes.”

“Well, quit it. I’m off-limits.”

“Pity,” he said, as if he meant it.

For a moment, I felt like more than a meal. It was as if he noticed me. He wanted me.

But it was impossible. I’d always be on the outside. I’d learned that back with my pack.

“You said all weres were eternal life-diggers.”

“I didn’t ask you to marry me.”

A flicker of warmth caught my stomach. “Then what exactly are you asking?”

A long beat passed between us.

“Forget it.” I rushed to say something—anything—before he did. “I don’t want to know.”

He didn’t want me anyway. He couldn’t.

I retreated through the kitchen, my bare feet slapping against the chilly ceramic floor. “Where’s the luggage? I’m going to bed.”

I could hear his easy strides behind me. “Clothing and personal items were delivered to our bedroom this afternoon.”

Our bedroom? I halted at the foot of the stairs. “Listen, fang breath, I sleep alone.”

“Shocking.” He trailed me up the stairs.

“Isn’t it, though?”

We arrived at a master bedroom suite, large enough to house a family of eight. It was done up in gold and burgundy, with antique furniture and ornate lamps scattering warm yellow light.

“That is the biggest bed I’ve seen in my life.”

“You won’t even notice I’m there,” he said behind me.

“Of course not because you’re sleeping in there.” I turned and pointed to a well-appointed room across the hall.

He didn’t even bother to look. “Vinny is sleeping across the hall.”

“Then take one of the other five bedrooms.” I didn’t care.

It was a shame, though. I was used to being both respected and shunned by the pack. Nobody had ever wanted me. Now the one man who might, also happened to want to eat me.

I couldn’t win.

Lucien braced his hands on the door frame, filling it completely, and I had the horrible sensation of wanting to close the distance between us.

He gave a sexy smile, as if he knew. “We need to feel comfortable around each other if we’re going to maintain our charade.”

Luckily I was not vapid or stupid, even if Lucien would prefer it. “Kissing you was not in the contract.”

He moved his mouth dangerously close to mine. I felt strangely vulnerable as he brushed his fingers along the edge of my jaw. His thumb found the curve of my chin. “You could use a good kiss.”

I didn’t doubt that. But I didn’t need it from him.

He broke the contact and I nearly slithered to the ground with relief. If he’d tried to kiss me at that very moment, I wasn’t sure what I would have done.

He brushed past me, toward the bed, which gave me time to press my legs together tightly and try to forget I’d ever met a vampire named Lucien.

He stretched out over the bloodred bedcovers, his back against the antique headboard. God, he was a solid piece of man. And I’d seen a lot of well-built weres.

I couldn’t let Lucien get to me. “What do you really want?” I demanded. But I was already in trouble. I’d never been so aware of my body—or tempted to learn the god-awful truth.

Darned if the vampire didn’t know what I was thinking. “You’re not about to use your power on me.”

“Of course not,” I snapped.

“Then why are you tilting your chin down?”

“My chin?”

“Back in the crypt, you lowered your chin a fraction right before you began the interrogation.”

Interesting. I’d never been aware I did that. I tried to imagine interrogating someone and realized he was right.

Lucien went cold. “Don’t you ever interrogate me.”

“There’s no need,” I said. “Is there?” I ignored his scowl. “It might not even work on your kind.” Although I believed it would.

“Nevertheless,” he said, “I’ll question the vamps. You question the wives.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Fine.”

I had a feeling I was going to be doing the heavy lifting.

His phone beeped. Lucien eased it out from his back pocket and checked the screen. “After you speak with Tia, I think you should question the vulture. She seems a likely suspect.”

“Agreed. Where will you be tomorrow?” He certainly couldn’t sleep in the bedroom. It had three bay windows.

His expression didn’t give anything away. “The Vampire Council has made certain provisions for me.”

“But you won’t tell me what or where?”

His pointed look said it all.

“Way to go, partner.” I should have known. “You’ll hop into bed with me just so long as I don’t know where you sleep.”

He patted the mattress next to him. “Must you make things difficult?”

“Actually, refusing to sleep with you will make things a lot simpler. And while we’re at it, let’s lay down some ground rules. Number one: no bed sharing.”

Lucien scowled.

“Number two: no kissing.”

“I think you’d like it.”

“That’s beside the point,” I snapped, reddening when I realized what I’d said. “Number three,” I said a little louder, ignoring his smug expression. “No bloodsucking.”

“Those are not very good rules.”

I didn’t ask for his approval, just as he hadn’t asked for mine. “They’re my rules.”

“Agreed,” he said. “Now I have one more.”

“Lay it on me.”

He gave me a long look. “Never use your truth powers on me.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” I asked just to tick him off.

He didn’t even have the courtesy to take the bait. “Agreed?” he asked.

“Agreed,” I said, slipping out of the room.

This was going to be a long three days.

CHAPTER 4

I smelled Vinny before I heard him. “Wake up, cupcake.” He still had that odd mix of old wood and grass going for him. Only now, he had the body of a French maid from the Playboy Mansion.

“You like?” he asked, as I stared at the boobs practically popping out from under the lacy front of the dress. His voice was as gravelly as ever, only now he had cover model features, big doe eyes, and legs that wouldn’t quit. “I’m your housekeeper, Helga.”

“The garters are a bit much,” I remarked, climbing out of bed.

“Right-o. This coming from the fashion queen.”

“Don’t you start.”

He leaned up against the edge of the dresser. “Lucien has it so you’re gonna go over to that gal Tia’s house. Nine o’clock sharp.”

I checked the bedside clock. “Okay. I have a half hour.” Plenty of time.

“I paid her a visit last night.”

No wonder Lucien never went anywhere without Vinny. He was handy to have around. “Let me guess,” I said, “pizza delivery guy?”

“Nah.” He scratched at his ear. “These women don’t eat. Besides, I had to get on the inside.”

“Stranded motorist?”

He grinned. “She has a thing for hurt bunnies.”

Somehow I couldn’t picture Vinny as a fuzzy bunny.

“Anyhow, I checked her out good. She don’t seem to be working for anybody else. You might want to do your woo-woo thing”—he twirled a finger on the side of his head—“just in case.”

“Thanks,” I said. I fully intended to use everything I could on her—and the rest of the werewives.

A half hour later, I rang the doorbell at 12 Mysteria Lane. Tia Lovelace lived in a pink two-story flanked by climbing white roses and a generous front porch.

I was wearing a lovely orange pantsuit, perfect for concealing weapons. The pockets were big enough for my stun gun, I had my fixed-blade daggers tucked in the back and two pairs of handcuffs—one in each bra cup.

A dazzling auburn-haired were opened the door. She had the same pouty lips and impeccable skin as the rest, yet she seemed a little fresher than the others, more real.

“You must be Heather,” she said, treating me to an uneven smile.

“That’s Mitzy to you.”

“I didn’t get a chance to say hi last night,” she said shyly.

No kidding. “Lucien said you could help.” I didn’t need to elaborate. We both knew.

“Come in,” she said, standing behind the door while she opened it, as if she could disappear.

“Nice spread,” I said, if you liked peach and white. She led me into the most un-vampirish living room in the universe. It was sleek and clean. In fact, it would be very hard to hide a weapon in this place.

Still, as soon as my butt hit the couch, I leaned forward and drew my power up into my chest. “Tia,” I said as I felt it move through me, “why are you helping me?”

My head throbbed and my ears began to buzz. Her glossed lips parted and I could feel the taut pull of my powers, binding her to me.

“Have you seen yourself in the mirror?” she asked. “That vulture is going to tear you apart.”

“Okay, so I had a few problems last night,” I admitted. We’d work on that later. I needed to know her connection to Lucien.

Tia furrowed her brow. “A few problems? Red stilettos with a yellow peasant dress?”

Oh come on. “Red shoes are sassy.”

“You looked like an eighth-grade hooker.”

My temples ached. “Tell me what you really think,” I said, resenting my power for the first time.

But Tia was on a roll. “Francine is openly asking why a status-seeking vampire would marry you. It’s only a matter of time before you’re discovered.”

I focused on her, ignoring the pounding behind my eyes. “Why are you helping us?”

She pursed her lips. “I started this. I led the council to Marcos the gardener.”

I sat back. Well, that was news.

“Why?” I asked slowly.

“Sunny was my friend. She had her faults, but she was a good person.” She sighed. “I knew I could go to Detective Mead.” She crossed her long legs. “My husband trusts him.”

“Is he going to be able to work with Lucien as well?” It would be nice for Lucien to have an ally among the vampires.

“No.” Tia chewed at her lip. “My husband is asleep.”

“Well, sure,” I said. “It’s daytime.”

“No”—she wrung her hands—“Thomas has been asleep for the last six years.”

“In the ground?” I’d heard of vampires who did that.

“Here at home,” she said. “He’s very tired.”

“Obviously.” I didn’t know what else to say.

Tia gave a small smile. “Thomas would approve of my going to Lucien. He’s a good man.”

“Maybe.” I was the one asking the questions, and fighting a massive headache. It still didn’t explain why she’d called someone like Lucien in. “Do you know anyone who wanted to hurt Sunny?”

“No.”

“Did she have any enemies?”

“No.”

Damn. I couldn’t hold on much longer.

“How well did you know her again?”

“We saw them often. Sunny’s husband, Gaston, is business partners with my Thomas.”

She glanced over at a series of framed photographs crowding the top of a white baby grand piano. “Sunny was part of Francine’s circle. There were four of them. Now there are three.”

I tried to examine the photographs, but couldn’t without breaking contact with Tia. So instead, I asked, “Aren’t you part of the group?”

She folded her hands in her lap. “I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

“I’m the omega.”

I sat back and tried not to imagine what kind of hell it was to be Tia. Omegas were the lowest of the low. They were the ones who ate last, groveled most, and acted as the general whipping boys, and girls. And that was in what shifter society considered a normal functioning pack. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be an omega under a vulture like Francine.

Even though my head was pounding, I held the connection. “You don’t have to be the omega.” Or anywhere near Francine. “You can break out of this.”

She shook her head. “Have you ever tried to break rank in a pack?”

I rubbed at my temples, willing the pain away. I had and I’d failed. I broke contact. She was telling the truth.

“Thank you, Tia,” I said, meaning every word. “I know you can help me.”

“Yes.” She brought a trembling hand to her forehead. “I’m sorry. I feel a little dizzy.”

Join the club. I rooted around in my teeny yellow purse for Advil. My fingers clutched the small bottle and I stopped. “You know, Tia. I’d like to help you, too.”

She flashed an indulgent smile. “First things first.”

“No kidding.” I popped two Advil.

She went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of mineral water. “Here,” she said, handing it to me.

Well, that was nice.

“Heather,” she began, “I think perhaps you may want to look at new eye makeup.”

“I just bought some.” Too bad I didn’t have it with me. I tossed my purse onto the ground. It would never fit. “I have a whole kit full of sparkly blue and red and yellow... .” Her eyes widened as I ticked them off, one by one. “What? No good?”

She faltered for a moment, deciding what to say. I already missed the truthful Tia, but frankly, my head couldn’t take any more. “You may want to consider a more subtle color palette.”

I looked around her living room. “What? Like white?”

She almost cringed. I could tell she wanted to. Good. Maybe I could bring this girl out of her shell. “Look, why don’t you show me? We’ll take a field trip.”

Tia broke out into a shy smile. “Yes.” She lowered her eyes. “If you really want to go with me.”

“Do you have a car?” I asked, because I didn’t. Well, unless I wanted to share this part of the journey with Vinny the chauffeur/ bunny /cross-dressing housekeeper.

“I do,” Tia said, reaching for an immense pink bag that could have easily fit a bowling ball or three.

“That’s in style?” I asked, imagining all the weapons I could stuff into that puppy.

“Sure,” she said, “this is the new Christian Louboutin Sylvia Large Softy Calf Hobo bag.” A flicker of doubt crossed her delicate features before she pressed ahead. “See how it matches my yellow and black round-toe T-strap shoes?”

“No.” I honestly didn’t.

Confidence crept into her tone. “You will.”

“Then lead the way, Kemo Sabe,” I said, whisking her to the door, Finnegan’s American Express card burning a hole in my pocket, “I can be the Eliza Doolittle to your Henry Higgins.”

She opened the passenger door of her white Mercedes convertible before she rushed around to open her own. “If you want, I could even coordinate some outfits for you.”

I popped two more Advil as I slid into the car. “You could match them for me and tell me what to wear: outfits A, B, C... .”

“You don’t need that much help,” Tia protested, settling in next to me.

“Stop lying,” I told her, slamming my own door shut. “You don’t have to do that with me.”

CHAPTER 5

I stood alone in my room late that afternoon and made two twirls in front of the mirror. And then—just because I had the momentum going—I made a third spin.

Unbelievable. Tia’s stylist had tamed my out-of-control hair into sleek copper layers. I ran it through my fingers. The kicker was I could still tie it away from my face. Only now I didn’t need to.

Tia showed me how to wear makeup without looking like I was wearing makeup. You’d think that would defeat the point, but I stopped debating her on it after she almost jammed a mascara wand up my nose.

Tia was easily flustered.

I rubbed my lips together, tasting a hint of cherry gloss. I looked like me, only better.

Yes, she’d forced me into white pants, which are a really bad idea if you want to wrestle a murderer to the ground. And don’t even get me started on the flimsy emerald top. Tia said it matched my eyes. I wasn’t sure why that was important, but I figured she knew style just like I knew how to slap a pair of handcuffs on a drunken werepoodle.

Speaking of cuffs, I had both pairs in my what-cha-ma-call-it Softy Calf Hobo bag. The silly purse cost more than a case of those fancy cigars Finnegan liked to smoke, but I figured he owed it to me for making me wear mascara.

Tonight would be my big chance. The vulture herself was throwing a luau, complete with a roasted hog, in honor of me and Lucien. Of course, if Francine had her way, I’d be the one tied to the spit.

Let her try. The deep pockets allowed enough room for my mace. I’d sliced a stun gun holder into the lining of my fancy new purse. The cut of the pants was generous enough for my two fixed-blade daggers, and I had my lucky boot knife in my bra.

Gorgeous.

The silk against my skin made me feel almost naked. Sleek. I placed my hands on my hips and studied the image in the mirror. I looked like I could pull this off.

Tia had even suggested a bottle of the vulture’s favorite French perfume as a hostess gift. The contents of the tiny gold bottle smelled like half-dead rabbit. I had to admit it wasn’t bad.

My heels caught every crack in the sidewalk as I hobbled over to Francine’s hacienda-style home. The scent of roast pig lingered in the air, and I could hear voices and laughter coming from the back of the house. A plant-filled courtyard dominated her front lawn, featuring terra-cotta birdbaths, lush floral arrangements, and tasteful sitting areas. I took the stone path through the garden and straight to the looming stucco house, painted in burnt orange. Before I could even knock on the heavy wood door, it opened.

“Hola, missus,” a uniformed housekeeper in her midfifties answered. She led me though the foyer and into a boldly decorated room that led to I didn’t even want to know how many more. This place could have fit half our pack.

A bank of glass at the back of the house opened out to a patio.

“Mitzy!” a voice called from the kitchen as we passed.

I stopped short as an impossibly skinny woman with a broad-brimmed hat poured herself a glass of white wine laced with fruit. She had a helmet of straight black hair that ended stylishly at her prominent collarbone.

“Care for some dinner?” she asked.

“Where?” I asked, not sure what to make of her.

“Here.” She jiggled the pitcher.

“I think I’ll wait,” I said. I wasn’t really into drinking, especially now, when I needed to keep my wits.

“Suit yourself,” she said, leaving the pitcher behind for the maid. “I’m Nina, by the way.”

One of the Predators.

And a wereleopard from the way she smelled. She was impossibly bony, yet sleek, and she moved with a fluid grace.

“Tia told me about your little shopping trip,” she said, a conspiratorial smile tipping her lips.

It was then I noticed she was wearing a silver bikini under an elaborate white silk wrap.

“Don’t worry. It’s not real silver,” she said, as if that’s why I was staring.

A ribbon of dread wound its way through me. “This is a pool party,” I said, stating the obvious.

And I was in pants.

I could have sworn I knew how these things worked. I’d watched Dynasty. Alexis Carrington and her pack wore skimpy gowns and jewels to outdoor parties. They even had shoulder pads. I was not overdressed for a society party. I couldn’t be.

“Don’t worry about it,” Nina said, as if she could read my mind. “Nobody swims anyway.”

I was just about to think of a way to escape when one of the glass doors at the back of the house slid open. “Nina!” Francine breezed in wearing a getup that reminded me more of a 1940s pinup outfit than swimwear. “Stop drinking your dinner and get your ass out here.”

“I need to fortify myself before Samuel arrives,” she said, fishing out a cherry and biting it.

“You knew he was a Puritan when you married him.”

“Yeah, but I thought in four hundred years, he would have grown out of it.” Nina glanced at me. “He’s going through a relapse. You know how it is.”

I nodded, not even wanting to think about how these women could marry vampires.

“What are you wearing?” Francine asked, walking a slow circle around me.

“I don’t swim,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Obviously.”

My fingers squeezed the crinkly wrapping of my hostess gift as I endured her scrutiny. At that moment, I wished I’d been holding my lucky boot knife, and it took everything I had not to reach down in my bra and pull it out.

At least then I’d feel capable of defending myself.

Nina breezed past. “Let’s get out to the party.”

The entire patio was filled with women in swimsuits and wraps that were never designed to touch water. In fact, I’d be willing to bet that everything out here was dry-clean only. They clustered around mosaic tables and on padded chaise lounges. A band had set up in the back, playing island-themed music.

My skin crawled with the need to escape. It wasn’t only the fact that a twelve-foot wall surrounded the entire pool area, it was the keen knowledge that I did not belong here—even if I was a guest of honor.

Ha.

More like the main course.

Okay, well, the sooner I questioned Francine, the faster I could make my escape. I knew she was involved in Sunny’s murder the same way I knew she’d taped her boobs into that gravity-defying pinup swimsuit.

“Francine,” I said, as she attempted to glide toward a cluster of polished women. “I have a gift for you.” I dangled Tia’s perfectly wrapped bottle of eau de dead chipmunk.

The vulture assessed me. “Not now, werewolf.”

I gripped her on the arm, knowing her kind didn’t like touch. “I need to talk to you.”

Her eyes were dark with fury as she attempted to shake me off.

I held on tighter. “Don’t think I won’t make a scene.”

“Tsk! You think I care if you make a scene? Hell. It would be the highlight. They’d be talking about my party for the next year.”

“Don’t you want to know why Lucien married me?” I asked, tempting her with information.

“Sure thing, hon. I’m dying to know what you had on him,” she said, shrugging out of my grip, while at the same time smiling to a group of guests. “Over here.”

She led me to the edge of the pool area, where plants spilled from terra-cotta pots and part of the stone wall gave way to a rocky waterfall.

“Now let’s get one thing straight,” she began, as I locked eyes with her and released a surge of power from low in my chest.

She made me jumpy, nervous. I channeled that anxiety and more as I flung my power out at her.

Shadows fell over her face as she backed farther into the palms, wet with water.

That’s it. Back away. Run. There’s nowhere to hide.

My head buzzed with energy and a dry tightness seized the back of my throat. My mind locked with hers. As soon as I felt the connection, I asked, “Did you kill Sunny McCarty?”

“Ouch!” she said a second before my power whipped back and smacked me between the eyes.

“Son of a—” I stamped one well-heeled foot on the pavement so hard I was sure I heard a crack.

I knew better than to jump too far, too fast. I’d let her get to me. I so wanted this to be over.

Francine cringed like I’d raked my nails over a chalkboard.

Join the club. My head was ringing, too. The goal was to slip into someone’s mind, not zap her with a thousand volts.

“Let’s start over,” I croaked, trying to act as if my skull wasn’t ringing.

This time, I eased into her mind. I let the power connect naturally. We’d start with simpler questions.

Francine’s fingers shook as she checked her diamond earrings and smoothed her hair behind her ears.

I could feel the magnetic pull of the connection as I drew closer to her.

“Why are you such a bitch?”

She laughed. “Because I can be.”

Of course. I’d forgotten how straightforward it was for bullies like her.

“What do you know about me?” I asked.

“I know you don’t belong here.” She fixed on me then, as if she could see straight into me. “I don’t think you belong anywhere.”

The truth stung.

“Tell me a secret about Sunny.”

She considered the question. “Nina hated her.”

That surprised me. “Nina?” Sure, I’d only known her for about two minutes, but she didn’t seem like the hateful type. Or maybe she was just drunk.

“Why?” I prodded.

“Sunny was blackmailing her.”

Some friend.

Francine stared out past me, toward her party. “You’d think Bliss would have been the blackmailer. She’s had money problems ever since her dead husband left his money to the dog.”

“What?” I hadn’t met Bliss yet.

Francine glanced at me. “And by dog I don’t mean someone like you. He left their fortune to Chi-Chi the Chihuahua.”

“Poor Bliss.” I didn’t even know her and I felt sorry for her.

Francine shrugged. “She gets by.”

And, if I was reading between the lines right, it also meant Bliss would never eclipse Francine, which seemed to be a requirement for being a Predator.

“Introduce me to Bliss,” I said, scanning the designer crowd, as if I could somehow pick her out.

“No problem. I’ve been dying to show her what a train wreck you are,” Francine said, making me instantly regret my truth powers.

My head throbbed, the pain moving down my neck and into my shoulders and back as I pushed deeper into Francine’s mind.

I didn’t need the vulture’s approval. At least she didn’t know I was investigating.

She smirked down at me and I braced myself. Hopefully my initial questions had gotten me into her head enough, because I needed to know. “Did you kill Sunny McCarty?”

Francine tossed a lock of gleaming hair over her shoulder. “A massive Gothic chandelier killed Sunny.”

She was resisting. It seemed she’d dish out anyone else’s dirt, but there were barriers up when I aimed directly at her.

I regrouped and hit her again. “Were you behind the falling chandelier?”

“That would be impossible.” She pursed her lips. “The chandelier fell from the ceiling.”

Just shoot me now. I was running out of juice and she was playing semantics.

My head pounded. Dang. Most of my subjects would at least elaborate a little. Francine was going to torture me for every sliver she gave me. “Did you rip down the chandelier?” I pressed.

“According to the rumor mill, the chandelier was cut,” she said, her voice breathy with meaning, or perhaps the strain of avoiding my questions. “I’d say it was a planned job. You cut all but one wire and then ... Snip, snap.”

Oh geez. My temples rang and the patio began to spin.

“Did you have anything to do with Sunny’s death?” I shrieked.

She blinked. “No.”

Finally. I wanted to curl up and sleep on the patio. “Then why?” Why had she made this so difficult? “Are you holding anything back?”

She leveled a predatory smile. “Yes.”

“What?” I grimaced. I couldn’t hold the link any longer. I let her go and with a crack, I felt our connection break.

My power shot back into me like a rubber band snapping. “Ow.” I clutched my head and fought a wave of nausea.

I was going to have a massive hangover from this one.

Francine felt it, too. She stared at me, rubbing at the spot above her ear. “What did you do?” she asked, the words coming slowly.

She squared her shoulders, regaining her trademark control. “Never mind.” She brushed past me and back to her party.

I could barely walk straight as I made my way through the partygoers, who were at this point almost giddy with anticipation. The vampires would be arriving soon. I could tell we had some werewife hopefuls in the house tonight.

Run, I wanted to tell them. Run and never look back.

“Nina,” I nearly ran into her.

“Whoa, girl,” she said, steadying me. “I see you had some of the sangria.”

“I’m looking for Bliss,” I said.

I didn’t know how I was going to question her. The pain in my head was growing worse and worse. I’d pushed myself too hard back there with Francine. But I couldn’t help it. The woman’s mind was a brick wall.

“Bliss had to cancel,” Nina said. “Oh yeah—excuse you,” she added sarcastically as a bimbo nearly trampled her on the way to go see a vampire.

“Why did Bliss cancel?” I asked. “I really wanted to meet her.” And her little dog, too.

Nina shrugged. “Why does Bliss do anything?”

I’d like to find out.

“Wait.” I needed to talk to Nina, too. My brain felt like cotton.

“Why are you cringing?” Nina asked, as I prepared to draw my powers out once again.

My head felt like it was going to split in half. I rubbed at my temples as I used all of my strength to draw a line between us.

“Mmm,” she said, bringing the fruity wine to her lips. “That tickles.”

At least her mind was open. It felt like walking through a soap bubble.

Even so, I knew I wouldn’t last long. I hadn’t even found a private place to question her. “Francine said Sunny was blackmailing you.”

“I’ll say. She was taking me for five thousand dollars a month.”

No way would I get deep enough to ask if she was the killer. I was surprised I’d gotten into her mind in the first place.

“Why was Sunny blackmailing you?”

Nina took a sip of wine, holding her glass to the side with two fingers. “She caught me giving my personal chef a bonus.”

“That doesn’t seem so bad.”

“On the dining room table.”

My brain was fuzzy, yet another side effect. “Well, he is a chef.”

“We weren’t eating, babe.”

Oy. I didn’t need that mental picture.

She noticed my discomfort and answered it with a sultry smile. “Oh, don’t be a prude. My husband doesn’t eat. I don’t eat. Our personal chef has to do something.”

“Just shoot me now.” These people were all nuts.

She tilted her head and studied me. “No. If I was going to kill you, I’d maul you.” She grinned. “Or just smack you with a chandelier, right?”

“What?” I demanded. But it was no use. The connection fizzled out. I had nothing left. Nina didn’t even notice.

She bent closer. “You don’t look so good.” She shook her wine goblet, the half-melted ice at the bottom sloshing from side to side. “You’d better lay off the hooch.”

I stumbled backward. I’d never questioned two people in one night and now I knew why. There wouldn’t be a third, that much was certain.

“I gotta go,” I said to no one in particular as I made my way back toward the house. The cool slap of air-conditioning hit me as I slid the glass door open. It felt good in a way, like laying my head on the cool porcelain of a toilet seat after I got sick questioning that Harley-riding witch back in Las Vegas.

She’d been a stubborn cuss.

But at least the biker witch wasn’t evil. I had a feeling there was more to Sunny’s murder than one desperate werewife gone off the deep end.

Francine and her dodgy answers.

Nina and her talk about chandeliers.

A large hand closed around my shoulder and I shouted.

“Heather,” he hissed in my ear.

“Lucien.” I about fell over with relief.

He wore no shirt, which was a total waste because at that moment I knew I wasn’t fully appreciating his fine vampire self. I also liked the concern I saw in his eyes. Sue me. It felt kind of good that someone cared whether or not I passed out next to the fake tiki hut.

“It’s done,” I murmured as he wrapped his arms around me. “I’m wiped.”

Wait. I thought about resisting as he pulled me close against his chest, but then again—I wasn’t crazy.

I supposed I should have been trying to keep my distance from him, but at that moment, I didn’t give a rip.

My cheek rested against Lucien’s chest and something warm pooled inside me.

“Okay, let’s get you out of here,” he said as he drew away and helped me down the hall.

He didn’t ask me any questions. He didn’t push me. He just walked with me. And as soon as we’d cleared the threshold of Francine’s house, he picked me up and carried me home.

“I can stand,” I insisted as Lucien kicked our front door closed.

“Leave it to me,” he said, as we headed for the stairs.

You’re not listening, I protested, or maybe I just thought it as he carried me up the steps like a child, all the way to his room.

His bed was an ornate cherry wood antique with bloodred sheets. “I’m not sleeping in your bed,” I groaned.

“Of course not,” he said, easing me into the soft mattress and stretching out next to me. “Advil?”

My head hurt too much to argue. “Better make it a double.”

He fetched me four pills and a chaser of water. I swallowed them down and wished he could just knock me out. “I feel like I got hit by a garbage truck.”

The bed dipped as he sat down next to me. “Is it always this bad?”

“No.” I’d pushed myself hard tonight. “Go away.” That’s what my pack did at this point. They cleared out and left me to my pain.

He stood. The lights dimmed and I thought that would be the end of him, but Lucien came back. “Where does it hurt?” he asked, the bed creaking under his weight.

“My head.”

His cool hands slid across my cheeks as if he were preparing to play a delicate instrument. His fingertips found my aching temples and lingered, rubbing hypnotic circles until I felt the tension loosen.

He kept on. Every thought I had focused on the way his hands soothed me. I shouldn’t have let him touch me like that. No one else did. Why should he be any different? He was vampire. Not pack.

He was dead. He was a Predator.

I swallowed and let him touch. To hell with it. I needed this.

His hands moved through my hair, over my aching head, sending tiny chills down my body.

“Not my neck,” I murmured.

“No worries.” I heard him grin as the palm of his hand slid down the back of my head to rest at the aching spot at the top of my spine.

He wasn’t going to bite me. I knew that somehow. And as soon as I decided, I tried to shove it out of my mind. I didn’t want to think of him any other way. I needed him to be a Predator. I was good at having enemies. The rest was too hard to figure out, especially right now.

His hands found my shoulders.

I rolled onto my stomach and let him dig his strong fingers into my aching muscles. Good lord, I hadn’t been petted in a long time. Ever, really. Damn, it felt good.

His hands found the edges of my silk top and I let him strip it off. The air felt wonderfully cool against my skin, his fingers soothing.

I floated above the pain, focusing only on Lucien’s touch. He worked the muscles along my spine, easing away the tension.

He found the back of my bra. “Take it off,” I ordered. My voice betrayed none of the shakiness I felt.

It was no big deal to be naked around pack. But it was different with Lucien. I knew that now.

Still, I needed his skin against mine. It was a werewolf thing. It had nothing to do with the way he was touching me.

The pain had eased somewhat, replaced by ... what—comfort? No, it was more than that.

I had the sudden, maddening urge to touch him back.

Gah. I shoved both hands under my pillow. “Take it off,” I said, voice muffled by the pillow. I wanted to feel his hands and nothing else.

“Heather,” he said, his voice husky.

“Please,” I said, before I could change my mind.

I closed my eyes as his hands slid up either side of my chest, skimming the outer edges of my breasts. Awareness pricked me as his fingertips lingered above my nipples. It was everything I could do not to press forward against his hands.

He wanted to touch me. I knew he did.

I wanted it, too. But it would change everything.

Lucien was too much of a gentleman to press me. Damn it. I let him slip my bra off.

I didn’t even care about my lucky boot knife.

Right now that didn’t matter. Nothing did.

I was facedown, half-naked under a vampire and I didn’t care.

Scratch that.

I wanted him.

It would be so easy to roll over and let him run his hands over my breasts, my stomach, and every other part of me that ached for him.

“Lucien.” I felt the weight of him on the backs of my thighs as I turned over on the bed.

I couldn’t help smiling at his hunger.

“Watch it, werewolf.” He stroked a finger down my cheek, over the pulse of my neck and down to my breast. My breath caught as he found my nipple.

Our eyes met.

His faltered.

“Not like this,” he whispered, pulling the covers over my body.

The crisp white sheets felt smothering. “What do you mean?” I started to sit up until the pounding in my head returned, or maybe it had never stopped and I just hadn’t noticed.

“You’re hurt,” he said, as if that would keep me from wanting to see him naked.

“I’m going to be more hurt in a minute.” My body was screaming with frustration.

He made it worse by pressing a kiss to my forehead, and then to the soft spot in front of my ear.

I sighed. “You like to torture me, don’t you?”

“More than you’ll ever know.” He settled in next to me. “Sleep.” He pressed against my back until he was spooning me in the most delicious way. It was warm, protective. It felt like the pack I’d never had.

“Lucien, I—”

“You need to rest, Heather.” He nuzzled his chin on my shoulder. “You did too much.”

“But—” He was so close.

“Shhh ...” His steadying weight blanketed me. “We’ll talk later.”

I snuggled into the pillow, almost content. It did feel good. “You’re bossy.”

“I know.”

He held me like that until we drifted off to sleep.

CHAPTER 6

A curtain creaked open and sunlight flooded my face. “Wake up. You going to sleep all day?”

I cracked an eye open. Sweet heaven above. An Alexander Skarsgard look-alike stood next to my bed, shirtless, wearing battered Levi’s and a smile.

He cocked a grin. “Don’t get too excited. It’s me.”

Vinny.

Of course. I’d recognize that New Jersey accent anywhere.

I squinched my eyes closed and burrowed into the pillow. My head pounded and my stomach churned. I’d hoped the hangover would be gone by now.

“Yo, sleeping beauty.” Even his voice made my head hurt.

“If you want to investigate Bliss’s house, you’d better hurry.”

Of course Lucien had updated Vinny. Worse, Vinny didn’t seem to be surprised to find me in his master’s bed. I was the worst werewolf ever. Sleeping with a bloodsucker.

Damned vampire.

I shoved a pillow over my face. Naturally, it smelled like him.

The pillow went sailing across the room.

Oh, who was I kidding? It wasn’t Vinny’s fault. Lucien had touched me and rubbed me and comforted me through my pain like no one else had, or probably ever would. I didn’t even know I needed that until I had it.

I’d better not get used to it.

I groaned and rolled over, certain traitorous parts still wishing they’d had their way with Lucien last night. Of course it would have been amazing. Damned vampire. I sure hoped he didn’t tell Vinny everything.

“Come on.” Vinny shook the bed. “Lucien said you might want to do some investigating that didn’t involve thwacking your brain against a mental wall, so to speak.” He yanked back the covers. “Up and at ’em.” My shirt thwomped me on the head. “The lady just left for her weekly massage and seaweed wrap.”

“Who?”

“Bliss,” he said, losing patience.

“Oh yeah.” I rolled over, tugging on my shirt. “And how do you know that?”

“I flirted,” he said, as if it were obvious. “She’s leaving the alarm off for me. It’s a one-time opportunity, babe.”

He tossed a key at my head.

“Cripes, Vinny,” I mumbled as I caught the key, almost jealous of the fact that he’d allowed himself to flirt without feeling guilty about it. “What are you supposed to be anyway?”

“I’m your gardener,” he said, relishing the role. “I mow things. I chop down trees. I flirt with the neighbors.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to chop down trees.”

“Oops.”

“Okay, scram,” I said, forcing myself out of bed. I needed to get started.

Knowing these women, a beauty treatment would give me several hours alone in the house. I’d like to find a bankbook and check into her money situation, maybe uncover anything else that I could ask her about. I needed to keep my conversations with these women useful and targeted—or else my head was going to explode.

Besides that, we were on a deadline here. I had less than two days to figure out who’d killed Sunny or this would all be for nothing. My pack would be at war.

A shower and four Advil helped perk me up. Then I grabbed a cream and blue sundress with straw sandals that Tia had picked out. She’d labeled them with matching florescent yellow dots, which she’d found demeaning and I’d found extremely helpful. I tossed the dots into the trash and committed the outfit to memory.

I waved to Vinny on my way out the door and couldn’t help grinning when he accidentally sliced a chunk off the front rosebushes. I had to think that was for me. And I enjoyed it immensely. Maybe it wasn’t so bad being a girly girl—at least while I was undercover.

Of course, it would have been wiser to wear black while breaking into a house, but somehow, I fit in better in this neighborhood as I was. And it wasn’t like there’d be anyone home.

According to Vinny, Bliss lived in the chocolate brown house on the corner. It was accented by large dark timbers and leafy palm trees. I was pleased to see that plants, rather than a fence, formed the barrier to the backyard. I’d rather not be seen entering through the front door.

I ducked between two bougainvillea bushes. Dark-green leaves slapped at my face and thorns clawed at my skin and my dress, but I didn’t care. Once I made it past, I’d have plenty of cover to enter through the back.

A finger nudged me on the shoulder.

“Gah!” I stood straight up and banged my head on a heavy branch. “Ow!” I turned, trying to think of just what excuse I could give for slogging through Bliss Leeson’s bougainvilleas.

Tia stood directly behind me. “Hi,” she whispered.

I craned my neck to see who else might be watching. “What are you doing here?” The wind crackled the trees around us.

She pulled a strand of auburn hair away from her face. “I stopped by your house. Vinny said you were investigating.”

Vinny needed to keep his mouth closed. “What else did he say?” He’d better not have mentioned my powers.

“Nothing,” she said, her expression earnest. “I figured you could use some help.”

That surprised me. “What? You want to break into Bliss’s house?”

Tia reared back like I’d struck her. “No!” She gathered herself. “Of course not.” She wet her lips. “It’s just that you might need a lookout.” She pointed a pink nail toward her immaculate front lawn across the street. “I can pretend to do yard work,” she said, way too excited.

Aye yae yae. “Fine. Go.” We couldn’t be seen chatting in the bushes.

She gave a shy smile. “You look good, by the way.”

“You picked it out,” I said, parting the branches again.

“Take credit, okay?” She turned and headed back.

Right. I had bigger things on my mind. Like breaking and entering.

I pushed my way through the foliage and into a heavily wooded backyard. Of course, what else could I expect from a weretiger? It was like a jungle back here. Tree branches wove overhead as clusters of jasmine and tall grass filled in underneath. Insects buzzed all around, and I could swear it was hard-packed mud and not sandy California soil under my feet. I picked my way through tangles of plants as they grabbed at my skin and clothes.

At last I made it to a heavy oak door at the back of the house. Long gashes marred the wood. Someone had been playing—or using it as a scratching post. I hoped Bliss wasn’t an angry tiger. I mentally crossed my fingers as I inserted the key into the lock.

Yip-yip-yip! A dog blustered on the other side. No doubt it was Chi-Chi, who was technically the owner of this place.

Yip-yip-yip!

Fierce.

Yip-yip-yip!

Luckily I had a way with dogs.

I pushed open the door and stepped into the cool, dark interior of the house. “How goes it, Chi-Chi?”

The little tan dog couldn’t have weighed more than two pounds wet. She had bulging eyes and a tail that wouldn’t stop. Yip-yip-yip! Every time she barked, the backfire sent her an inch off the hardwood.

I bent down and let her sniff my hand before she nudged underneath and forced me to pet her between the ears. Well, at least I tried to give her a nice rub. Chi-Chi was having a hard time standing still.

“You gotta stop barking, okay? Auntie Heather has a hangover.”

She licked my hand and I took that as agreement.

Chi-Chi followed me through the mudroom and into the kitchen, collar jingling and nails clacking on the floor.

It was lighter in here, although Bliss kept plants clustered around the narrow windows.

I opened the fridge and found a few bottles of white wine and a package of steaks.

Chi-Chi whined.

“Hey, I’d give you one, except nobody can know we’re hanging out.”

Chi-Chi had to sit and think about that one.

I moved on down a side hallway and found Bliss’s office. Rich Indian fabric covered the walls. The desk itself was painted with images of four-armed women and colorful elephants. Mirrored tiles studded the corners.

I started on the drawers at the upper right and worked my way down. “You know where Mama keeps her financial files?”

The dog growled.

“Fair enough. I won’t call her that.”

I rifled through years of household documents, plastic surgery records—who injects themselves with neurotoxins in the name of beauty? Finally, I found her bank records shoved in a heap in the bottom drawer.

The gossip was wrong. Her finances looked great—better than great. Bliss was getting large influxes of cash. She was spending it, too. I couldn’t tell where the payments were coming from. They were merely noted as transfers. Still, they couldn’t be blackmail, unless she was blackmailing Donald Trump.

After the office, I searched her bathroom. You could tell a lot about someone by her bathroom. What I learned about Bliss was that she was a slob, and if there was ever a shampoo shortage, I knew where to go. The woman had at least a dozen different bottles.

“We need, more, Chi-Chi,” I said, moving to her bedroom.

The Chihuahua jumped up on the bed and gave a big yawn. Yeah, I knew it wasn’t her problem.

I checked my watch. I’d been in here for an hour. We had to pick up the pace. “Okay, Chi-Chi, where would I hide something I didn’t want anyone to find?”

My eyes settled on the walk-in bedroom closet, with its door hanging open and clothes littering the floor. I ignored them, and the endless shelves and teak wood racks. Instead, I walked to the very back of the closet. It was stacked with shoeboxes. They were perfectly dusted, but older. I could tell by their slightly caved-in lids. And so I went through boxes. I saw blue heels and gold heels and enough heels to make my own feet ache. Until I opened a box and found row upon row of pill bottles.

Excitement zinged through me. This was what I’d been looking for. I knew it before I even knew what it was.

None of the bottles had prescription labels. Instead, they were marked with expiration dates written in black Sharpie and tiny brand labels—Slimprol.

I popped open a bottle and discovered sparkly blue tablets about the size of aspirin.

Slimprol. I’d never heard of it. Of course that didn’t mean anything. I kept myself fit without this junk. Still, if this was legal, it wouldn’t be stuffed in the back of a closet.

It killed me not to take a sample, but I didn’t want to rouse suspicions—not until I knew what we were dealing with.

Instead, I found a pen and began a complete inventory of the box, including expiration dates and pill volume. Well, until Chi-Chi shot off the bed barking.

Yip-yip-yip!

Her barks grew fainter as I heard the front door open.

Bliss was home!

Yip-yip-yip!

I was trapped!

Yip-yip-yip!

Hands shaking, I made sure there was no trace of my presence, then dashed for the window. I threw open the curtains and found an ornate wooden grate.

“What the—?”

I tried to shove it back, but it wouldn’t budge.

Yip-yip-yip! Chi-Chi’s barking grew closer. Bliss could probably smell me. She was tracking me!

Calm down. I had to think.

At least she didn’t know who I was—yet.

I attacked the grate and felt it start to give. I’d rip it off the hinges before I got trapped in here with a tiger.

“Bliss!” Tia called from the front of the house. “I’m so glad you’re back. I need to talk to you.”

I heard a low growl from the hallway.

“Bliss.” Tia was inside the house. “It’s important.”

“Not now, Tia,” Bliss said, her voice throaty.

“But”—Tia’s voice cracked—“you put me in charge of planning the midnight golf scramble and I know we’re having it at the country club, but we never did decide if the men were going to take golf carts. I know that vampire you’re dating likes to levitate.”

“Don’t you dare talk about who I’m dating,” Bliss roared.

“I won’t,” Tia squeaked. “I can’t. You never told me. Anyhow, we really need to decide on the carts or else we might not get enough or even the ones we want and ...”

I could feel Bliss losing patience as I renewed my struggle with the grate.

Forget it. It wasn’t budging. I hoped Tia had drawn Bliss far enough away from the back hallway. I had one shot at escaping.

I darted out into the hall, ready to be bowled over. But it was empty. Hallelujah! I dashed out the way I’d come in—down the hall, through the kitchen. I thought I spotted a glimpse of yellow as I darted past an area exposed to the front door, but I didn’t hesitate. In fact, I didn’t stop until I was back home with the door locked behind me.

CHAPTER 7

I tossed a ThighMaster out of my closet, followed by a pair of wedge sandals and a paraffin wax hand-dipping kit.

“Ow!” Vinny protested behind me, rubbing his forehead.

Oh, come on. I couldn’t have hit him that hard. Besides, we had bigger problems. “Where are my heels?” I groused. “The ones with the green stickers?”

Tia’s dress-to-shoes color-coding system was no good if I couldn’t keep my new wardrobe straight.

Vinny massaged his head in a clearly dramatic attempt to make me feel like a crazy woman. “I don’t care where your green stickers are. I came up here to tell you Lucien is making a call. After that, he needs you downstairs.”

“Help me look.” The closet was a mess. I’d never had this much junk before. “Turn yourself into Martha Stewart or something.”

“Not for all the tea in China, babe.”

Oh yeah, now he gets picky.

We were due at Nina’s dinner party and I’d underestimated the time it took to get tweezed and sprayed and polished for the evening.

It had never taken me more than five minutes in the past.

Truth be told, I’d had a hard time tearing myself from the computer. I’d been online, investigating Slimprol. Not that it did any good. I couldn’t find any mention of the drug, much less what it did—or why Bliss would hide it.

Lucien said he’d put the Vampire Council research department on the job. I’d try to question Bliss at the party. Although I’d rather use my resources to ask questions about Sunny’s murder.

Finding the killer was my main priority. We had tonight. Tomorrow at dusk would be the full moon, which would be the end of our investigation, and the beginning of a war.

Vinny shoved the ThighMaster back into the closet and right in my way.

Say ... I turned to him. “You have an ‘in’ with Bliss.”

I tossed the ThighMaster out of the closet before I tripped over the thing.

Vinny simply stared at me.

Honestly, the man was causing more problems than he solved.

Did I have to spell it out?

“Think you can romance me the 411 on Slimprol?” I asked.

“You’re the one who gets them to spill the truth, sweetheart,” he said, shoving the ThighMaster onto an upper shelf. “I’m just your eyes and ears.”

“Oh, so now you stick to your job.” Men. I’d never understand them. I stared up at the hinged contraption that was now threatening to smack me on the head. “What’s that thing doing in here anyway? I didn’t buy it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, deliberately avoiding the subject.

Vinny began digging through my pile of shoes. “Wear these.” He held out a pair of brown flats that most certainly did not go with my slinky black dress.

See? I was getting better.

Granted, Tia had forced me to buy a lot of beauty gadgets, but, “if I didn’t buy it and you didn’t buy it and—”

“I can’t keep it in my closet, okay?” he said, tossing the flats and shoving a pair of gold strappy sandals at me.

“Hey, green stickers. Thanks.” Then it occurred to me. “Why do you have a ThighMaster?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he grumbled, retreating from the closet. “Just leave it in here.”

I perked up. “You don’t want Lucien to know you have a ThighMaster.”

Hidden in plain sight.

Vinny didn’t share my amusement. He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “I told you to can it.”

I gave him the once-over. Okay, so maybe Vinny in his natural state had a few jiggly spots, but it wasn’t like he needed to “squeeze his way to fitness.”

His nostrils flared and I swear his eyebrow ring even jingled a bit.

“I’ll take it to the grave,” I said, carrying my heels to the bed so I could sit and fasten them. “It might happen soon, too, considering Bliss is about to tear me apart.”

She had to have smelled me in her house. Once she locked on to my scent tonight, I’d be toast.

A part of me was actually relieved. I liked confrontations. I’d rather know where I stood than sneak around waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I’ve got your back,” he assured me.

“What? Are you a waiter tonight?”

“Better. That’s another reason I came up to talk to you.” He’d propped an elaborate curved sword against my nightstand. “Lucien thought you’d enjoy seeing this. It’s from his private collection.”

“Lucien likes knives?” I loved blades.

“You two have a lot more in common than you think.”

“I don’t want to hear it from you.”

“It needed to be said,” he stated. “Anyhow, I’m acting like scenery tonight. Sadly, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to be live sculpture art during a vampire party.”

“That is so pretentious.”

He shrugged. “I meet a lot of people in my line of work. Some act like God’s gift because they can put on a show.” There was that meaningful look again. “Others are full of themselves because they don’t.”

But Vinny didn’t dwell on it. “Nina has an Arabian Nights theme going.” He grinned. “Meet the burly harem guard.” He took a swoop at thin air. “You have a problem, look for the sword.”

Got it. “Much better than you with a chain saw.” We’d lost three trees during his stint as a gardener.

We headed downstairs to find Lucien waiting. He looked fantastic in an understated black suit and a blue tie that set off his eyes.

I felt his gaze touch me and it was all I could do not to trip down the last three steps.

“Is the research department working on Slimprol?” I asked, just to have something to say.

“They are,” he said slowly.

I couldn’t help remembering the way he’d touched me the night before. Clearly, he was thinking of it, too.

He ate me up with his eyes. “You look amazing.”

I snorted. “You’re only saying that.”

“No, I’m not.”

I moved close enough for him to smell my honeysuckle perfume. “You just want to bite me,” I said, my voice huskier than I would have liked.

He took my hand as I tried to breeze past.

“Maybe,” he said, drawing me back, his hand cupping my chin, his thumb grazing my lower lip. “I also want this.”

His mouth brushed mine once, twice. The thrill of it slapped through me. I grabbed his head and deepened the kiss.

My body collided flush with his. And those parts that had ached in frustration roared back to life.

God, I’d waited so long for something like this. I deserved it.

Lucien wanted me. It was a heady feeling.

If I should have been kissing him.

I broke away, trying to keep my breath even and failing miserably. “We said no kissing.”

A brief flash of stark emotion crossed his features. Good. “You said no kissing,” he said, with his infernal logic. He nipped short kisses along my jaw, as if he couldn’t quite help himself. “Do you like it?”

Too much. My breasts felt heavy as he nuzzled my earlobe. “That’s beside the point.” One of us had to be sensible.

It probably should be me. I ran my hands down his shoulders and arms, feeling the heavy weight of his suit jacket. Then again, maybe the whole sensible thing was overrated.

He pressed tight against me.

Oy vey. What was I getting myself into?

Yes, I found I enjoyed touching and being touched. But we were pretending here, playing roles. I’d forgotten that last night. When this was over, he’d be sent on another job for the Vampire Council and I’d be returning to my pack. Alone.

He lowered his mouth to mine again and I let him. I let him kiss me into a heart-pounding fury until I forgot all about what I’d said I was going to do.

He slid his hands down to the small of my back, tempting me closer, but I didn’t need any help. I rubbed against Lucien like a cat, savoring every rock-hard inch of him.

“You like it,” he said, drawing back just long enough to grin at me with boyish pleasure before he devoured me again.

Damn the man. He was good at making me forget just why I said I’d never kiss him in the first place.

“I like it, too,” he whispered against my lips.

“I can tell,” I said, wriggling against him, a victorious twinge lancing through me when I felt just how much I affected him.

Lucien wasn’t the jaded creature I’d first imagined. He was a man. Admittedly an immortal one, but a flesh-and-blood man all the same.

His expression softened as he saw the change come over me. “What are you thinking?” He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear.

“Hmm ...” I mused, enjoying the sexual power I held over him. “I’m thinking you need to kiss me again.”

I beat him to it. I took the lead this time as I tasted him, savored him. Our kiss deepened as he pushed back. He wanted me. We drove into each other. He wanted me so bad.

I’d never had this with a man. Sure, maybe I’d had a few meaningless flings, but no one like Lucien.

To the males of my pack, I was a dare, an experiment. But this affair with Lucien went much deeper. It was both alarming and exhilarating.

“Okay, come on. Break it up.” The front door creaked open with Vinny behind it. “I got the car started, for all you noticed.”

Lucien drew back a fraction. His lower lip glistened. God I wanted to kiss him again.

“We’ll walk,” he said, turning his back on Vinny.

Vinny stood on the front stoop, arms crossed. “What? You think I’m nuts? You two will never make it.”

Lucien raised his hand and the door slammed shut.

“Real nice!” Vinny hollered from the other side.

“Ohh ... telekinesis!” I said, impressed.

“I have all kinds of things I’d like to show you,” Lucien said, moving in to seal the deal.

I hated to think Vinny might be right, but, “We might actually have to go.”

“Damn.”

I nuzzled him. “Yeah.”

Lucien’s amusement faded, replaced by something primal. “One more kiss.” He took me with such force it was a wonder I held on. I was aware of every touch, every caress of his mouth as my senses came vibrantly alive. The hot glide of his tongue sent heat washing through me. It was all I could do not to climb the man as he deepened the kiss even more.

He groaned as I cupped his butt and pressed him tighter against me.

Lucien wanted me. He wasn’t afraid to admit it—or slam the door on Vinny. That part had actually been kind of fun.

But could I really have an affair with him?

I hated weres who paired with vampires. Well, maybe not Tia. But I couldn’t stand the type. I didn’t want to be the kind of woman who needed a man, much less a vampire.

Heck, I didn’t even need my pack. I was fine on my own.

Wasn’t I?

I arrived at Nina’s house with a satisfied Vinny and a frustrated Lucien. I knew how the vampire felt. My body was screaming for five minutes, okay four—okay, one minute alone with him.

Maybe after the party, I reasoned, trying to get a choke hold on my raging libido. As it stood, Tia had worked hard in order to secure us an invite. She’d probably agreed to paint Nina’s toes for the next year. It burned me to see how the Predators treated her.

Vinny watched us walk in the door, promising to “arrive” shortly after.

Nina lived in a modern-style home with lots of clean lines. The front room was done in black and white, with zebra and gazelle fur accents. Charming. Low pillows and flowing fabric accents gave a nod to the Arabian Nights theme.

A stoic vampire with bowl-cut hair and a long black salt-and-pepper beard greeted us.

“Samuel.” Lucien nodded to him, holding my hand. His thumb caressed the soft skin below my wrist. “This is my wife, Mitzy.”

“The women are in the living room,” he said to Lucien, as if I wasn’t there.

Fair enough. It was Lucien’s job to question the vampires. At the moment, I didn’t envy him. Samuel seemed like a cold fish.

Strange that Nina would ally herself with an unusually grim vampire. Then again, my job here wasn’t to question lifestyle choices, just potential murderers.

My shoes were already digging into the sides of my feet. It would be nice to take a load off.

A mouthwatering scent filtered in from the kitchen.

I found the wives perched on Nina’s impossibly white couches and chairs. Tia in white. Francine staring daggers at me in red. And an Indian woman in a gorgeous blue dress who literally growled. Bliss.

The coffee table in front of us was covered with plates of caviar and crackers, pine nut puffs, and all kinds of tiny appetizers that looked like they each took about an hour to make.

“Help yourself.” Nina, who wore a black dress at least two sizes smaller than mine, waved a hand toward the display, as if daring me.

None of the wives had so much as touched a plate.

“I’ll wait until dinner,” I said, my stomach protesting. Now that my body wasn’t pulsing after Lucien, I remembered that I hadn’t eaten lunch. “You have a fantastic home.” I took a seat, ignoring the way my dress shifted sideways.

“You want a tour?” Bliss asked, wasting no time.

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. She knew.

“Sure,” I said, “why not?”

Let’s get it over with. She could try to tear me apart, but I was all wolf.

I stood. I gave myself decent odds, especially if Lucien jumped in.

Tia cast a worried glance my way. I could see the indecision eating at her.

“Mitzy—” The were rushed after me as I was about to leave the room with the tiger. Once she made it to me, she scrambled for what came next. “You have a smidge of something on your dress.” She scrubbed with bare fingers at the area next to my back zipper. “I’m scared,” she whispered in a rush.

Me too.

“Thanks for saving my hide this afternoon,” I murmured under my breath.

“I didn’t,” she said, growing desperate.

“You did.” I turned to her, keeping my voice low. “You’re strong, Tia. You have to be. You’re on my team.”

She chewed at her lip.

“You need to stand up for yourself.”

I did, too.

“But—”

I left her with the Predators and followed Bliss.

Tia couldn’t help me right now. I needed to do this on my own. If I was smart—and lucky—I might be able to pull this off.

I just needed to grab her mind, preferably before she took me by the throat.

The weretiger turned on me the minute we were out of the room. “What were you doing in my house?” she demanded, nostrils flaring. “And don’t bother to deny it.” She leaned in close, her face inches from mine. “I smelled you.”

“Funny thing, Bliss,” I said, trying to buy precious seconds, grasping with my mind.

Steady.

I couldn’t afford a backlash. I channeled the power from deep inside of me. It flowed between us and I felt the invisible cord tighten. I tested the connection and sighed with relief when it held. “Okay, tiger. I have a few questions I’d like to ask you.”

Her face went slack. “I’m in charge of this conversation,” she said, but it was only a line. I had her now.

We’d start with something easy.

“Are you aware that Sunny was blackmailing Nina?”

“No,” she said, eyes widening.

Fair enough. “Were you sleeping with Sunny’s husband?”

She grinned. “He’s fantastic in bed.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” I said, my head beginning to pound. “Do you know where Sunny’s husband is now?” I asked.

Bliss tilted her perfectly oval face. “Overseas,” she said, repeating what I already knew. “On business.”

I’d never got around to asking, “What does he do?”

“Pharmaceuticals.”

No kidding. “Like the Slimprol you have in your closet?”

“Yes,” she said, almost in a trance.

“What does Slimprol do, Bliss?”

She blinked once. Twice. “It makes you sleepy. You go to sleep and you lose weight.”

Great. An unapproved drug for extreme weight loss. I could already tell Sunny’s husband was a real piece of work.

Pain lanced through my head. I was losing the connection. I knew I’d laid it on thick, but dang, when somebody wants to kill you, it’s a good idea to crank up the happy current. “What else can the drug do, Bliss?” I pressed. “Can it kill people?”

She snarled at me. “I hope so.”

Our connection unraveled.

Bliss bared her teeth.

Oh come on. I was offended she’d think I’d break into her house. Even if I did break into her house.

I threw up a hand. “I was in your house trying to find my gardener. I don’t care who you are. What’s mine is mine.”

She should know wolves are territorial.

“Bitch,” she snarled, unsure for the first time. She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t like wolves who sniff around my business.”

“Bliss!” Nina called. “Mitzy!”

“In here,” I gave a ready answer.

She found us with no trouble. “Dinner is served.”

The tiger growled low in her throat. “This isn’t over, werewolf,” she said, stalking past me.

I never said it was.

Lucien and I were seated near the head of the table for dinner. Samuel sat at the head. Lucien at his right side. I sat next to Lucien, with Nina across from me. Luckily, Bliss was at the far end with poor Tia in a werewives version of the singles’ section. That meant I got to chat with Francine and her husband, Olaf.

Worse, I couldn’t help picturing what else Nina had served up on the sleek black dining room table.

Vinny the Arab warrior offered us each a small bowl of rose water with a fingertip towel.

Despite the fact that I’d come one mind-reading trick from being consumed by a tiger, my stomach growled as I anticipated dinner. I needed to eat. Food helped me think. It helped me heal.

And just when I’d worked myself up into a frenzy of anticipation, my plate arrived.

The waiter served up one tiny chicken wing with grated cucumber on top. A date cut into a flower served as garnish. I supposed it was gourmet, but it made me want to cry.

I couldn’t take it.

These people could threaten me. They could lie to me and demean me and make me wear god-awful heels with pointy tips. But they couldn’t starve me. It wasn’t right. My head hurt and my dress was still kind of sideways and I just needed one thing tonight to go the way it was supposed to go.

I needed crackers. I needed anything but a puny chicken wing with a garnish.

The vampires sat drinking their wine. The weres picked at their cucumber as if touching it would make them gain weight. What was wrong with these people?

I needed to eat.

And so I did.

I ate my chicken wing clean. I devoured the cucumber. And the cut-up date. Then I marched out to the living room and loaded up on appetizers—caviar, lamb with goat cheese, fancy fruity tarts. I ate it all. And when I was done with that plate, I went and got another.

Bliss growled. Francine sneered. Tia stared, openmouthed.

Nina couldn’t care less. “More wine?” she asked the table.

She shrugged off her Puritan husband’s glare. “What? I’m just being a good hostess.”

Everyone agreed to refills, except for me. I hadn’t touched my glass. I’d never been one for alcohol. And now that I had my third plate of lamb thingies and a raging psychic hangover, forget it.

The waiter started pouring at the other end of the table and the bottle of white was long gone by the time it reached our end. Nina cracked open another and gave me a healthy pour.

“Thanks,” I said, “but I’ve gotta save room for the ham puffs.”

Bliss stared at me as I slid my glass over to Lucien.

He winked at me and drank.

CHAPTER 8

I cleared away the rest of the lamb, all of the puff pastries, and a good portion of the caviar. I’d never been huge on fish, much less their eggs, but it was there. And the crackers weren’t half-bad, either.

“Bet you never even heard of a saltine,” I said to Nina.

“I’ll drink to that,” she said, either half-soused or highly amused, probably both.

“Here, here,” I said, toasting her with the last of the caviar.

I had plenty to celebrate. Topping the list was the fact that I had not been eaten by a tiger tonight.

The vampires had lost interest by this time and were busy trying to one-up each other on who had endured the most annoying minions. Points were given for base groveling, years served, and most obnoxious way they died. And it seemed they always died.

Big surprise there.

Yet another reason why no self-respecting weregirl should bind herself to a guy like that.

I licked a bit of caviar off my fingers.

Of course I did notice Lucien hadn’t joined in on the minion talk. In fact, he looked a little green. Good for him. Using people was just plain wrong.

I nudged him. “You feeling okay?”

He nodded. “Slightly put off by the conversation.”

Lucien used a napkin to wipe his forehead and a trickle of perspiration glinted near his ear.

I’d never seen him sweat before. I’d never even seen him warm.

His chin dipped and he braced his hands on the edge of the table. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was struggling to remain upright.

I covered his hand with mine. “Cripes.” Something was definitely wrong. “You’re burning up.”

I flagged down the waiter. “Can we get him some water?”

He was abnormally pale.

Everyone at the table was watching now—except Bliss. She’d become quite interested in her gold bracelets.

Then it hit me with a sickening thud. “You drugged him, didn’t you?”

Her eyes locked with mine. “No.”

She’d answered too fast, and without a hint of surprise.

Bliss had been after me. I’d given my wine to Lucien right before he got sick.

I ran a finger along the inside of his glass and found traces of glitter. Slimprol.

Of all the ... Fury welled up inside me as I stalked toward the tiger. “Now would be a really good time to tell me what’s in Slimprol.”

She stood, her chair toppling over. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I resisted the urge to grab her by the braid and shake her. Barely.

“Get him into the car,” I said, refusing to turn my back on the tiger.

Vinny hoisted Lucien out of his chair.

“Is he okay?” Tia stammered, bobbing in her chair, clearly afraid to stand.

“No, Tia,” I bristled. “He’s not okay.”

But he would be. I’d see to it myself.

I snarled at Bliss and a blaze of triumph shot through me when she backed up a step.

She’d messed with the wrong werewife.

“I’m not through with you,” I said, as Francine led her away.

That’s it. Run, tiger.

It took all I had not to chase her.

Soon. Right now, I had to take care of my own.

Lucien was getting sleepier and sleepier. His head dipped and Vinny had to readjust his grip as he took on more of Lucien’s weight. I helped make way for them as they rounded the table.

Lucien’s breathing grew shallower with each breath. “I don’t understand,” he gasped as we led him out the door. “Alcohol doesn’t affect me.”

“You’ve been drugged,” I said, helping him navigate the front step, hoping he was aware enough to understand. “You have to stay awake.”

“Drugs don’t work on me,” he said, voice slurred.

I glanced back at Nina’s house. “This one does.”

We sped off in Vinny’s car, not even caring about breaking cover. Lucien lay across me in the backseat. He wasn’t moving. I smoothed his hair back, just to have something to fuss over.

This was bad. We had no idea how to reverse whatever Bliss had given him.

“Contact the Vampire Council,” I told Vinny. “See if they’ve learned anything about Slimprol.”

Lucien was dead weight as we pulled him out of the car. His skin was clammy, and his face had gone deathly pale.

“Drag harder,” Vinny said. He took Lucien’s head and shoulders while I took his feet. “He’s not helping us at all.”

“Stay with me.” I planted Lucien’s feet on the ground, then slipped underneath and helped lift him out. “You hear me?”

Tia came running up the driveway. She’d lost her shoes and had the wide-eyed look that told me she’d be no help to us.

“Go home, Tia.”

“But, Heather, I—”

“Not now.”

We could be fighting for Lucien’s life here. He was immortal, but he wasn’t un-kill-able and I still didn’t trust Bliss not to make a lethal move. She was desperate, vicious, and out for blood.

Vinny was thinking the same thing. “Lock the door,” he said when we’d made it inside.

I threw the dead bolt and the chain. Then I set the security alarm.

There was no way we could drag Lucien up the stairs. In fact, we made it as far as the couch in the living room.

“Easy does it,” Vinny said, out of breath as we laid Lucien on the white couch facing the fireplace.

“How could Bliss even think she’d get away with this?”

Vinny pulled out his cell phone. “I doubt she was thinking that far.” He hurried toward the kitchen. “Rodger? Get me Milosh.” He took the rest of the conversation in the garage.

Lucien struggled just to keep his eyes open. His pupils were fixed and dilated. His breathing had slowed as if he were asleep.

“Stay with me.” I ran my fingers through his short blond hair and touched my lips to his forehead. “Come on. You can do it.” I kissed his eyelids and his cheeks.

God, he had impossibly long eyelashes.

I was anxious. Terrified, really. It was as if a big hole had opened up in my chest, waiting to be filled, or crushed.

His eyes fluttered.

“That’s it,” I said. “You don’t want to miss this.”

I brushed a kiss over his lips, and then another. A tear splashed down on his cheek and I wiped it away, glad that no one saw.

“See?” I asked, wiping my eyes. “You’re fine.”

What was wrong with me? Getting blubbery over a job.

I’d seen death more than I cared to admit. It was part of being a pack enforcer.

But this was Lucien and he was different and he didn’t deserve this.

The garage door burst open. “No information on Slimprol, but they’re sending a medic.”

“How long?”

Vinny shoved his phone in his pocket. “A half hour.”

“Damn it, Vinny.”

“What?”

“I don’t think he has a half hour.” My voice caught in my throat.

His breathing had all but stopped. He wasn’t keeping his eyes open and he’d gone deathly pale.

Vinny stood frozen. “Shit.”

“Get on the phone,” I ordered. “Figure it out.”

“Yeah,” he said, fishing in his pocket.

Vinny retreated back to the kitchen or the garage or wherever the hell he went. Damn the Vampire Council for being so slow. Damn Vinny for not figuring this out. I wanted to scream. I wanted to beat something because Lucien was dying right in front of us and there was nothing I could do.

I couldn’t cure a vampire.

I couldn’t make this better.

I—

“Wake up.” I tapped at his cheek until I was full-fledged slapping him. “Wake up!”

His eyes cracked open.

“You’re going to have to drink from me,” I said, breathless. I couldn’t believe I was saying it, much less thinking it, but there was no other way.

Lucien was a vampire. He needed blood to heal and I would give it to him.

“Lucien!”

He groaned.

“Damn it, Lucien. Wake up. You have to drink from me.”

I rubbed at my wrist, trying to figure out where there’d be an artery. I’d heard there was one in there somewhere.

To hell with it. No time.

I climbed on top of him and lowered my neck to his mouth. “Drink!”

He didn’t move.

“Oh well, this is just great!” I hollered. First he could barely keep his fangs to himself, and now when I had to save his miserable life, he wanted to go to sleep. Well, not on my watch.

“You are not going to die,” I growled. “In fact, I’m going to seduce the hell out of you.”

I got an eyelid flutter for that.

Ha!

“That’s right,” I said, wrestling with the back zipper of my dress. “I know you’ve been dying for this.”

I dropped my bra. Damned vampire.

My mouth skimmed his jaw and nibbled at the soft spot behind his ear. One by one, I freed the buttons on his white dress shirt until I could press my hands against his deathly cold flesh.

Don’t think of that. I focused instead on the hardness of his muscles, the wisp of hair that trailed from his chest and disappeared into the front of his dress slacks. I flicked a nipple and he groaned. I took it between my teeth and he groaned harder.

That a boy.

I pressed my breasts flush against him and let his coolness seep over me. He’d begun to breathe harder. So had I. I paused for a moment to breathe in his spicy, masculine scent.

I almost forgot this was a rescue mission instead of a mutual pleasuring. He felt so good. I brought my body flush with his, toying with his belt buckle, nibbling my way up his chest as I reached lower.

He inhaled sharply. “Heather.”

“Um-hum,” I said, nuzzling his ear. God, he was hard.

“Help me get undressed.”

“You have to drink,” I said, lips crushed against his ear.

“I want to be inside you.”

“Drink.” I tilted my neck toward him. His fangs pricked the tender skin of my neck, sending a jolt of panic through me.

“Heather?” he whispered against my neck.

I wet my lips. “It’s okay.”

His fangs sank into my neck and my fear vanished. I squirmed, rubbing myself against him as I experienced the most explosive connection I’d ever felt.

Lust swamped me. I shivered with the intensity as he pressed me against his hard body and drank. My body stretched like a bow with sheer pleasure, held in place by Lucien’s steady hands.

He was with me, alive. And he felt amazing.

I was wet, shaking, and on the verge of climax when Lucien sank back from me, dazed. “Is this a dream?” he asked, rolling me under him.

“No,” I said, blinking back to reality. He was alive, and strong. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Not a dream.”

There was stark, sexual hunger in his eyes. “Good.”

I was naked before I knew what had happened.

“Lucien—” His fingers found the core of me and I stopped complaining.

He drew me into the most erotic kiss of my life, his fingers exploring me until I thought I was about to scream from the intensity of it. A second later, I came.

“May I?” he asked.

I threw my head back against the couch. “God, you’re polite.”

“Hardly,” he said, pressing the tip of himself against me. His radiant blue eyes fastened on me. “Tell me you want it.”

My breathing hitched. “I do.”

He drove into me, setting off another wave of pleasure. Sweet heaven, how could anything feel so good? I thought I’d had men before but I’d never had anyone like Lucien.

He pushed me. He filled me. He drove me to heights I hadn’t even let myself imagine before.

I nipped at his shoulder, his neck, anything I could reach.

Lucien let his head drop. His face pressed against my shoulder as his fangs slid along my neck.

“Do it,” I gasped as he bit me again.

Yes! I slammed hard against him as he drove into me. We took from each other and gave to each other until it was impossible to separate our two selves.

This time, I screamed as I came.

Lucien gasped and cried out as he stiffened above me. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

Afterward, we lay in a boneless puddle, Lucien on his back with one arm behind his head and me using his chest for a pillow.

It was safe to say I’d cured him.

I couldn’t help grinning. “How do you feel?”

“My head hurts.”

I felt myself giggle. “Join the club.”

He was kissing my hair, my forehead, my nose, pretty much any place he could reach. “I haven’t had a headache since 1908.”

“Then you’re due.”

He found my lips again. The man could not keep his mouth to himself.

“1908, huh?” I said, when I managed to extricate myself from yet another deep, hungry kiss (admittedly, I hadn’t been trying very hard).

He scooted back on the couch and cradled me in next to him. “I could tell you stories,” he said, toying absently with my hair, “if you’d let me.”

“That might be nice.” I’d have to think on it.

He propped himself over me. “Heather, not that I’m complaining”—he caressed the stretch of skin between my ear and my chin—“but what happened tonight?”

I was almost afraid to tell him. “What do you remember?”

He looked somewhat embarrassed. “I was at Nina’s party, and then nothing.”

“You were drugged.”

“Me?” He seemed surprised. “Amazing.”

“Slimprol.”

His expression darkened. “Bliss.”

“Exactly.”

He nodded to himself, calculating. “Where is she now?”

Just like that, I knew our alone time was over.

Lucky for me, I liked a good fight.

CHAPTER 9

I strapped on my fixed-blade daggers, holstered my Glock 22 with silver bullets, added handcuffs, a stun gun, mace, and of course, my lucky boot knife.

It felt good to look like me again, with certain improvements. I wore a pair of black leather pants Tia had picked out, with a matching tank top that let me move.

Lucien watched me with obvious hunger, which I enjoyed thoroughly.

Probably because I knew he was going to do something about it later.

When I’d double-checked my gun and finished with my daggers, he tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “Thanks for saving my life.”

“My pleasure.” Parts of me went gooey just thinking about it.

Vinny clomped through the kitchen, carrying a shotgun in each hand. “Never mind the fact that I was stuck in the garage for the last two hours.”

I checked the clock on the mantel. Two hours? I ran a palm up Lucien’s arm, admiring his tight black T-shirt. “I’m impressed.” The man had stamina.

“And I had to send away the medic,” Vinny grumbled. “Good thing you weren’t exactly subtle. I don’t like surprises.”

“Why does he think this is about him?” I asked Lucien.

He kissed me on the nose. “I have no idea.”

Vinny headed for the front door. “Can you knock it off? We have a tiger to cage.”

It was about the only thing he could have said to move me from that spot.

“Later,” Lucien whispered, his breath hot against my ear.

God, I hoped so.

I admired his ass on the way to the front door. He wore jeans and combat boots, which was a very nice look for him. I was about to tell him so when we opened the door and found a visitor on the front stoop.

“Tia,” I said, surprised. I remembered her following us earlier tonight, but I had no idea she’d still be here.

She stood as soon as she saw us. Tia wore her dress from the dinner party, although it was torn on one shoulder and bore grass stains up the side. She’d also lost her shoes.

Guilt pricked at me. I’d been inside, having my way with Lucien, while she’d been, well, what had she been doing?

“What happened to you?” Vinny asked.

She ignored the question, eyes trained on me. “I told you I needed to talk to you,” she said, voice shaky.

“That you did.” But I really didn’t think she’d camp out.

Vinny took her by the arm. “Did someone attack you?”

“Excuse me?” She seemed surprised. “Um. No. I, well, it’s hard to run in a dress.”

Funny. That had been my point all along.

Tia being here was all fine and good, but we had to get moving. I’d say we had barely an hour of darkness left.

I led her down the front walk while Lucien started up the car and Vinny loaded the trunk with shotguns. “Okay, well what did you need to talk about? We’re on our way to kick some tiger ass.”

“That drug you found in your drink,” she said. “It was sparkly.”

“Yes.” I didn’t want to rush her, but as soon as Vinny went back for a few extra cases of silver bullets, we were leaving.

Tia touched my arm. “Sunny had been giving me vitamin supplements, for my husband. They were supposed to help him get extra nutrients, because, well, I’m anemic and”—a blush crept up her cheeks—“he only wanted to drink from me.”

“How romantic,” I said, stunned that I almost understood.

“It is,” she said dreamily. “Anyway, it seemed he needed more. Or at least we thought he needed something. Thomas was getting more and more tired, until one day he decided to sleep.”

Then it hit me. “Sunny was mixed up in Slimprol.”

It made sense, and it didn’t. Sunny and Bliss were friends, but Bliss didn’t seem all that eager to share her pills—or her secrets.

“How can we be sure?” Lucien asked.

“I’m sure.” She gripped my arm. “The vitamin supplements are blue and sparkly, about the size of an aspirin.”

“Holy hell.”

Vinny slammed the trunk. “All set.”

“Get in the car,” I told her.

I took a seat next to Lucien and yanked the door closed. “Sunny was giving Slimprol to Tia’s husband, Thomas.”

His expression hardened. “How can you know?”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I put one on his tongue every morning.” She ended in a wail. “I thought I was helping him. I love him! Why would Sunny want him to go to sleep?”

“She wouldn’t,” Lucien said, pulling out of the drive. “But her husband, Gaston, is Thomas’s business partner, correct?”

Tia gave a sniffling nod.

“Pharmaceuticals,” Lucien added.

“What do you want to bet they’re the makers of Slimprol?” Vinny asked.

“About a hundred billion percent.” I wondered just what Sunny had gotten herself mixed up in. Tia, too.

“Is he—” Tia sobbed, “is he going to be okay?”

Vinny patted Tia on the leg, clearly uncomfortable with the grieving woman next to him. “How long has your husband been taking it?”

She gazed at him through red-rimmed eyes. “Six years.”

“Oy,” Vinny said.

“Vinny!” If I could have flicked him on the head, I would have. We all knew it was bad. She didn’t need to hear it from him.

What I wanted to know was, “What’s Sunny’s husband been doing for the last six years?”

Tia shook her head. “I don’t know, but I saw him tonight.”

“Here?” Lucien asked. “In Eternal Life Estates?”

She nodded. “While I was waiting on the porch. But he didn’t go home.”

“Where’d he go?” I asked, as we pulled up to Bliss’s house, ready to spring into action. By the expression on Tia’s face, I already knew.

“I love when a plan comes together,” Vinny said, cocking his shotguns like a Wild West cowboy.

“You call this a plan?” I asked, on Lucien’s heels.

Oh sure, we had Bliss and Gaston in one spot. “It also means we’re about to barge in on a pissed-off weretiger and a bloodsucking vampire—no offense, sweetie.”

“None taken,” he said, as we stalked to the front door, using the dense foliage as coverage. “I think our biggest consideration is that I’m still weak.”

“And I can’t shift,” I said, “not so soon after interrogating.”

Lucien gave me a long, concerned look as we waited for Vinny and Tia.

I held up my hands. “Hey, I can’t change my nature.”

He should know that by now.

“Here, babe,” Vinny said, handing Tia a shotgun.

Oh yeah. That was a good idea.

“Ready?” Lucien murmured, right before he rushed the door and kicked it in.

I sprinted after him with Vinny on my heels.

By the time I got there, Lucien was locked in combat with a white-haired vampire. In the split second it took for me to assess the situation, Bliss tackled me from behind.

My head smacked the ceramic floor and my vision swam.

Yip-yip-yip!

I turned over to see Chi-Chi launch herself at Bliss’s neck. The tiger slapped the dog away. She yelped as she slammed against the wall, but it was enough time for me to unsheathe my dagger. It sliced Bliss across the chest and she roared.

Bliss shifted, lowering her head as tiger fur raced down her back.

Vinny fired his shotgun, blowing Gaston off of Lucien. I stood, wiping blood out of my eyes.

Gaston hissed, fangs bared. Lucien was pale and bloody. He launched himself at the white-haired vampire, but Gaston dodged, tossing Vinny through the front window. His body smashed through the glass.

“Heather!” Tia screamed as Bliss readied to pounce.

I fired my pistol once. Twice. My silver bullets didn’t even slow her down. The wounded tiger kept coming. She was after blood now and there was nothing I could do.

Vinny was out. Lucien was locked in his own life-or-death battle. Tia crouched in the corner.

“Tia!” I screamed as Bliss landed on me like a two-ton brick. I pulled out my lucky boot knife, sinking it into her chest as she hit me. She kept coming. I hit the floor, rolling with her to keep her from taking out my neck, but it was just a matter of time. Only seconds.

My fingers gripped her coarse fur. It felt like time slowed as her sinewy muscles moved under my hands. She was a killing machine.

I waited for the end as blood spurted across my face. At first, I thought it was mine and I marveled at how I didn’t even feel any pain.

The tiger roared and fell backward. A large brown wolf had it by the neck.

I shot Bliss with my stun gun and reached for the last thing I had—mace—for all the good it would do us.

But Tia had the tiger in a death bite. Blood poured from the animal’s neck.

“E-yah!” I turned just in time to see a bloody Vinny move up behind Gaston and stake the vampire in the back with a broken windowpane.

I stood for a moment, in shock, as Vinny helped Lucien pick his way through the pulpy mess formerly known as Gaston. Meanwhile Tia was using the tiger for a chew toy. I wiped my dagger on the curtains and resheathed it.

Yip-yip-yip!

“You okay, Sparky?” I scooped up Chi-Chi and together we surveyed the damage. Someone was going to need the services of about a dozen Vinnys in French maid costumes to clean up this place.

Gaston was clearly no more, which was a shame. I would have liked some answers. Then I saw a hairy tiger paw twitch.

“Tia, hold back.”

The werewolf growled.

“Oh yeah, now you get pushy.”

“What is it?” Lucien asked behind me.

“I think Bliss is alive.”

Between Lucien, Vinny, and me, we managed to tempt Tia away from her prey. Actually, it was Chi-Chi’s idea. We used the steaks from the refrigerator, on a white plate for presentation. Tia was a sucker for white.

Bliss shifted back to human faster than any of us expected, but she was still weak enough that we managed to handcuff her to a pole in her garage.

I leaned against a silver Bentley while we waited for the Vampire Council police to arrive.

Bliss was blubbering by this time, although more for her vampire lover, it seemed, than for herself.

“He was the only man who ever loved me,” she sobbed, clutching the housedress we’d thrown around her.

I almost felt sorry for her.

Almost.

Gaston was not only a drug dealer, he was also a cheat.

“He had a wife,” I reminded her.

“He didn’t love them!” she wailed. “He was impulsive. He didn’t mean to marry them!”

Say what? “Exactly how many wives are we talking about?”

“Only eight”—she sniffled—“mostly in Europe.”

“Busy guy,” Vinny said, feeding Chi-Chi yet another slice of steak.

She stared off dreamily. “He was supposed to take me to Italy next month.”

I snorted. “Watch out for blue pills.”

“You might not be too far off,” Lucien mused. “What if he put them to sleep while he was gone?”

“That’s sick,” I said.

“Makes cheating easier if wifey doesn’t know you’re gone. We’ll have to investigate further, but I’ll bet some of these women are literally sleeping their lives away.”

“You’d think they’d know.” I’d know if I was married to a seven-time bigamist. I hoped. I felt my gaze harden as Tia strolled up to the weeping tiger.

Blood streaked her arms and she wore a pale pink dressing gown Vinny had found in one of the closets. “My Thomas found out about the drug, didn’t he?”

“He was high and mighty about it. He wanted to spill the whole thing to shareholders. Gaston didn’t kill him,” she said, as if that made a difference.

“No, he just put him to sleep,” I said.

“What are the side effects?” Tia demanded. “How do I bring him back?”

“I don’t know. You could ask Gaston but you killed him!” Bliss collapsed into another round of sobbing.

That’s when I knew. “Sunny figured it out, didn’t she?”

Bliss sniffled. “The bitch. She couldn’t just be happy being one of his wives. She had to be his only wife.”

“Did she know you were sleeping with him?” Wild guess, but I wasn’t about to try to enter her mind right now.

“No,” she gulped, “but Sunny was going to tell about his other wives. She was going to bring in her wolf pack. She told me and Francine all about it.” Her eyes were wild. “She was going to take him from me!”

“So you killed her,” Lucien said.

She nodded, gulping. “You don’t understand. I need a man. I have nothing. The damned dog has more than I do!”

Chi-Chi growled.

Damned straight.

“The only money I had came from Nina,” she said.

Right. “You mean from blackmailing Nina.”

Who wasn’t blackmailing Nina?

Bliss shrugged. “She had the money. And she’s a slut.”

Err ... pot calling kettle?

“Sunny’s husband, Gaston. He was giving you money, wasn’t he?” asked Lucien.

Bliss stiffened. “He could afford it.”

Maybe. Still, “You didn’t love him. You just needed a sugar daddy.”

“I loved him!” she wailed. “And I hated Sunny.”

“How’d you kill her?” Lucien demanded.

She cowered, trapped.

“You already told us you did it, Bliss,” I reminded her. I could see how getting clocked with an ornate medieval chandelier would kill Sunny. But how had Bliss nailed her with it?

I could see her making her decision. Finally she relented. “I snuck in while she was out mooning over that damned gardener. It didn’t take long to cut the links on the chandelier.” She gave a sullen look. “I only had to knock it enough to spin free of the broken link for it to fall. I hated that god-awful piece of junk. He gave it to her. She didn’t deserve anything from him. She didn’t even see it coming.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Now he’s never coming back.”

I just hoped Tia’s husband could.

CHAPTER 10

The werewolves arrived that morning. The war was off, which was great because my pack seemed more interested in raiding our kitchen than fighting. The vampires would arrive tonight.

Bliss was taken into custody by her own people, which I thought was horse pucky until Finnegan told me what they’d probably do to her. It wasn’t pretty, but at least she’d live. Unlike Sunny.

That left Chi-Chi the Chihuahua at loose ends. I offered to take her in if she was willing to give up life on Mysteria Lane. From her enthusiastic wriggling, I figured she was up for the challenge.

We retreated back to the Duke house to wait for representatives from the Vampire Council. Nina sent her chef over to help out, which was pretty nice of her, all things considered.

He’d loaded the granite countertops with meat pies, steak tartar and roasted venison. I slipped a bite to Chi-Chi and wondered if I should break it to the cook that we did eat other things besides meat. You know what, though? The guy looked happy. He was actually getting to cook for once, so I left him to it.

Tia had skipped her husband’s pill that morning and had reported no results yet. She planned to sit with him all day, to see if she could detect a change.

I’d spent as much time as I could that morning interrogating Francine and Nina, just to make sure there wasn’t anything we’d missed. Nina had been telling the truth all along. Good for her. And it turned out Francine was bald as a bat under that expensive brunette wig.

I insisted she remove it for the remainder of our questioning.

None of the residents of Mysteria Lane would be any wiser. But I’d sure enjoyed it.

I managed a quick “hello” with Lucien when he woke up for the evening. I made sure to show him exactly why I was so glad we’d survived the night before. He returned the favor.

Twice.

I love it when the Vampire Council runs late.

But they eventually arrived. More’s the pity. And went into closed meetings with Finnegan and our pack elders.

The pack used it as an excuse to enjoy an eighteenth course, courtesy of Nina’s chef. I swear if he ever wanted to leave her, he’d have his choice of about thirty slavering Topanga Pack members, ready to bow at his command.

Good food could do that to a wolf.

Vinny plucked a beef skewer off a silver tray and leaned up against the counter next to me. “Tia’s husband woke up.”

I smiled. “Fantastic. When?”

“About ten minutes ago. She skipped his evening meds. I helped her prop him up enough for a drink.”

“Good for her.”

“I’ll say. They’re even louder than you two.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“I ran like a girl.”

I smacked him on the arm, not really meaning it. I wished Lucien would get back soon. No telling how much time we’d have before he had to be on to his next assignment.

The mere thought of it made my stomach hollow.

Suck it up, McPhee.

I’d known this moment would come. I couldn’t have Lucien forever, even if I wanted it.

And boy, did I want it.

The Vampire Council and the wolf elders made it back to the house alive, which was a good sign.

Finnegan slapped me on the back so hard he almost knocked the wind out of me. “The war is off,” he announced to the crowd at large. “Thanks to your hard work,” he added under his breath.

Sure. Nothing like accolades for a job well done.

Oh, who was I kidding? I didn’t need praise. I had a happy ending.

At least until, “Hi, Lucien.” The corners of my mouth turned up as he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me on the head.

We ignored the catcalls from my pack mates.

Yeah, yeah.

McPhee was smiling. McPhee was smitten.

McPhee was in love.

Damn it all.

I vowed to keep my pride. I’d let him go when the time came. I just hoped it wouldn’t be tonight.

“Heather,” he said into my hair, “we need to talk.”

Damn.

I felt my smile falter. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

He led me out of the packed kitchen and upstairs to his room.

Hoo-boy. To be dumped in the same spot where we’d made love this evening. I could hardly wait. Then again, maybe this was for the best. I’d know it was over. We’d make a clean break. I could do this.

I let out a hard breath.

This was worse than preparing for a fight.

“Heather.” Lucien held my hand, his expression earnest. Curse him and his amazing body and his gorgeous lips and the way he made me feel hot even now when I knew he was about to hightail it out of town.

“Look,” I said, unable to stand it. “I know you have to leave. You said it before we ever got involved.”

It wasn’t his fault.

It was mine for being stupid enough to fall for him.

“I do have to leave,” he said, in that same infuriatingly calm tone.

I was so tempted to use my truth powers on him. My chin lowered and I stopped myself. What was the point? I already knew he was heading out for the next assignment.

Damn the man. Would it kill him to be a little upset about this? Meanwhile my insides felt like they’d turned to glue.

“I’m heading down to New Orleans,” he said, oblivious. “We’re looking into a coven of voodoo mambos turned vampire.”

“Sounds lovely,” I said, just trying to make it through the conversation with my pride intact. In a second, I was going to cry.

He caressed my cheek, which made it worse.

Could we just get to the dumping part?

“It will be amazing,” he said.

“I’m sure,” I agreed.

“If you join me,” he added.

“What?”

He looked vulnerable all of a sudden. “I could use a were who can make people tell the truth.”

Was he actually saying what I thought he was saying? “I’m not even sure it works on vampires.”

“Ask me if I care.”

I couldn’t leave with him. I didn’t quite know why, but I knew there was a reason it had never occurred to me. “You can do this on your own,” I said, making complete sense.

“It wouldn’t be half as much fun,” he said playfully.

Maybe so, but, “My pack needs me.”

“You can fly back home if they do.”

I tangled my hands in my lap. “Finnegan would never let me go.”

He untangled them. “I made it part of our negotiations this evening.”

“So you knew—”

“I think I’ve known all along.” He brushed his lips over mine. “Go with me, Heather. Let’s see where this leads.”

I pulled back, but not so far as to unwrap my hands from his. “It can’t be this easy,” I said, trying to reason with him.

Nothing in my life had ever been this easy.

It could be amazing.

“Heather?” he asked, waiting for my answer.

He wasn’t going to beg. I liked that in a vampire. Oh my God, was I actually considering this?

“Voodoo vampires, huh?” I asked. It could be interesting. And I’d never been to New Orleans.

“If I go”—I ran a finger down his chest—“will I get to sleep next to you?”

He pulled me closer. “Yes.”

A smile tickled the edges of my lips. “Kiss you?”

His voice grew husky. “I hope.”

“Would I have to let you bite me?” I hoped.

He nibbled kisses along the soft spot in front of my ear. “If you’re lucky.”

I tilted his chin my way for a long, lingering kiss.

“Okay,” I said, before I lost all control and jumped headlong into bed with him. “I’ll go to New Orleans.”

“Ha!” He let out a very unvampirish whoop before tackling me back onto the bed.

“But I have a few rules,” I said, wriggling against him. Anticipating what was to come.

“I can’t wait,” he said, propped above me.

“I will not wear high heels.”

“Done.”

“I absolutely refuse to do any more breaking and entering.”

“Prude.”

He kissed his way down my neck until I almost forgot rule number three. “And,” I said, running my fingers through his thick, blond hair, “I will not fall in love with you.”

I could feel him smile against my neck. “We’ll see.”

WEREWOLVES IN CHIC CLOTHING

TAMI DANE

Michelle Stewart waited her whole life for something exciting to happen. As an eight-year-old, she dreamed of learning she was actually a princess, inheriting a crown and massive fortune.

Didn’t happen.

As a teenager, she hoped to be discovered by an Elite Modeling agent in the mall.

Didn’t happen.

As an adult, she fantasized about being swept off her feet by her Prince Charming and living a storybook happily-ever-after.

To everyone—but Michelle—it appeared she was living that last fantasy. In reality, Michelle wouldn’t live to see any of her dreams come true....

CHAPTER 1

I think I might have just moved into Stepford. If you’ve seen the movie, you know what I’m talking about. If you haven’t ... what are you waiting for? The Stepford Wives (I’m talking about the original film) is a classic.

Back to Stepford. Why do I think I’ve moved there? Let me paint a visual picture for you. I was driving a rusty U-Haul, twenty-five years’ worth of personal possessions, including my collection of vintage purses, packed into beat-up cardboard boxes. I was rolling past one perfectly kept home after another. The flower gardens were weed-free, grass freshly mowed. And everyone I saw was smiling.

It was damned creepy.

Maybe I’d lived in the city too long. I wanted to hear someone yell, “Fuck you!” I ached for the reassuring sound of a horn blaring in anger. Instead, I was getting happy birdsong and the distant rumble of a lawn mower.

Why did this bother me so much? Because if this suburban nirvana was anything like Stepford, there was absolutely no way I was going to fit in. I hate cooking. I kill plants. I’ve never been crafty.

And ... what the hell was I doing?

You’d better be worth it, Jonathan Stewart.

One look at Jonathan Stewart, and almost every niggling doubt in my mind immediately evaporated.

Hellooooo, handsome.

FYI, Jonathan Stewart, my soon-to-be fiancé, is traffic-stopping gorgeous. He’s also powerful, successful, generous, kind—downright perfect ... and he was standing in his driveway, wearing the world’s biggest smile.

I am the luckiest woman alive.

Now, back to my story.

Jonathan was at my door, yanking it open before I’d even gotten the truck shifted into PARK. “Hello, beautiful,” he said, pulling me out of the vehicle.

“Hello back,” I said, sliding my arms around his waist. We kissed, and I saw stars. I heard angels singing, too. Then again, that might’ve been the robins. My knees were a little wobbly by the time the kiss ended.

Jon brushed my windblown hair out of my face. “How was your drive? I wish you would have let me handle the move for you.”

“My drive was fine, thank you. And there was no point in hiring movers to load a few cardboard boxes.” I motioned toward the house, which was huge and immaculate. “So, this is where you live?”

“We. This is where we live.” Jon stepped to the side, one arm still curled around my waist. He motioned to his picture-perfect brick house. “Christine Price—soon to be Christine Stewart—welcome home.”

“Home,” I echoed, letting him guide me inside. “Oh ... wow.” I couldn’t believe this ... showroom ... was going to be my home. First, it was huge, but I’d already said that. And beautifully decorated, and ... there was absolutely no way the particleboard and laminate “furniture” I’d just hauled across three states was going to fit in here. We meandered through the foyer, past the sweeping staircase leading to the second floor, down a hallway that led to the rear of the house. On our way, we strolled past a formal living room that looked like it had never been used, past a formal dining room that also looked unused, and finally an office-slash-library. The hall ended at an open space housing the family room and eat-in kitchen.

In the family room my eyes jumped from one thing to another. The sectional sofa screamed, Sit on me! The ginormous flat panel TV on a wall gleamed in the sunlight. A pair of comfy-looking leather club chairs created a cozy nook that inspired me to grab a book and cuddle up to read. The floor-to-ceiling windows lining the back wall beckoned me, the lush green landscape beyond framed in drapes (were they ... happy sigh! ... silk?).

The whole place whispered expensive. Tasteful. Classy.

Jon looked proud. “I want this place to feel like home. If there’s anything you’d like to change—and I’m hoping there is—I want you to do it. Just tell me what you want, what you need, and I’ll make it happen.”

I tested one of the chairs. Heaven. “Thanks,” I said, beaming as I ran my hand over the arm. I pulled in a deep breath, drawing in the scrumptious scent of the leather and the equally intoxicating aroma of the man standing next to me. Whatever cologne he was wearing, it was pure aphrodisiac. “But everything looks so new. I don’t see why we’d need to change a thing.”

“Doesn’t matter. Do whatever you want.” He grabbed my hands, eyes twinkling, and pulled me to my feet. “Don’t get too comfortable yet. I still need to show you the rest of the house.”

He escorted me into the kitchen, which sported all the essentials of fine suburban living. Stainless steel appliances, natural stone countertops, beautiful wood cabinets and floor. There were two ovens. Two. I rarely put one to use. How would I ever find a reason to use two? Jon informed me the stove was a chef’s stove, whatever that meant. It was big and looked dangerous. I decided I’d stick with microwaving for now. The fridge, on the other hand, was also enormous but not at all scary. It was well stocked with all my favorite foods. There was even a month’s worth of my fave ice cream in the freezer.

This man deserved a kiss. I gave him one. And a second. And a third.

He growled like a man-bear—how I adore the way he growls—scooped me up into his arms, and turned a one-eighty, heading back toward the front of the house.

With one arm looped around his neck, I swallowed a girly giggle. Would this be my life from now on? Filled with toe-curling kisses, manly growls, and a never-ending supply of German chocolate ice cream? I didn’t dare hope so. A past full of heartache, hardship, and frustration had shattered the lenses in my rose-colored glasses a long time ago.

That didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy this moment.

“Now, to show you our room.” Upstairs, Jon turned into the first room on the right, and I literally gasped.

“No way. Is this really our bedroom?” I asked, gaping like a kid who’d just stepped into the world’s largest toy store. I was beginning to see a trend here. The bed, just like the stove and refrigerator and television downstairs, was gigantic. Who would need so much space to sleep? Then again, I wondered if that space was intended for something else, something besides sleep. As a few possibilities played through my mind, I licked my lips.

Jon said, “I just had this room redesigned. But if you don’t like it—”

“I love it.”

“Good.” Jon dropped me on the bed. It was like landing on a cloud. He palmed my cheeks and stared into my eyes, his expression dark and manly and one hundred percent sexy. “I want you to be happy.”

“I have a feeling I’ll be very happy.”

“You can bet I’ll do everything in my power to make sure of that.” He tipped his head, and I closed my eyes, bracing for another mind-blowing kiss. But a knock on the door had me snapping them open and Jon jerking back.

“Dad.” Joshua, Jon’s twelve-year-old son, was standing just inside the door, his cell phone in his hand. He had the world’s worst timing. But I’d heard that was true for all kids. “Can I go to Ethan’s house?”

I scrambled to my feet and tried to pretend my face wasn’t about to combust into flames. I was slightly aware of Jon pushing to his feet beside me.

I stuttered, “Josh, it’s good seeing you again.”

Josh gave me one of those looks, the kind that said, “yeah, whatever.”

Jon said, “Josh, I told you, I need your help today. Christine’s moving in.”

Josh’s expression darkened. “But Dad, it’s Labor Day weekend. School starts Tuesday. It’s my last weekend of summer vacation—”

“Jon,” I whispered, turning to face my hot, sexy almost-fiancé. “If you’re making Josh stay home for my sake, it’s okay. I’d rather he go play with his friends, have fun.”

Josh adopted a convincing sad puppy expression.

Jon thought about it.

“Please,” Josh said, his voice doing that preteen-boy cracking thing. Ugh. I was about to become a stepmom to a teenager. Good times were coming my way. I could see it already. “I’ll be back by seven. That’ll still give you plenty of time to make me work.”

“Fine. By seven. Not a minute later.”

Josh roared out of the house as fast as his twelve-year-old legs could take him. When the deep thump of the front door slamming echoed through the house, Jon strolled to the bedroom door and closed it. Turning, he gave me a look hot enough to melt lead. “Now, where were we?”

I fell onto the mattress, batting my eyelashes at him. “I think you were about to make me very happy—” I gave a little shriek as he pounced on me like an overgrown jungle cat.

Angled over me, Jon gave me a Cheshire grin. “Ah, yes. And so I was.”

Okay, so there was at least one thing about this Stepford setup I’d like....

Jon nibbled on my earlobe.

The doorbell rang.

“Urk,” I said.

“Damn,” Jon said. He scowled. “The hell with it. They’ll go away.” He went back to nibbling, and I went back to melting.

The freaking doorbell rang a second time. Jon kept on nipping my neck, but I wasn’t into it anymore. I was distracted. When the bell rang a third time, I shoved him. “Okay, Dracula”—it’s a silly pet name, but the man has a thing for necks—“we’re going to have to take a timeout. I can’t get into the mood with all that ding-donging.”

Jon sighed. It was his turn to give a sad puppy look. It was clear where Joshua had learned it.

“Won’t work.” I pushed on his chest until he was upright.

“But it worked for Josh.” Ding dong. “Ignore it.” He grabbed my hand, flipped it over, and scattered tickly little kisses over the inside of my wrist.

Ding dong.

“I can’t ignore it.”

Ding dong.

Sheesh, whoever that was, they were persistent.

Jon motioned to me. “Stay put. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I decided I was okay with that plan ... until I heard a woman’s voice downstairs. Laughing.

I’d just left the best job of my life, said sayonara to every friend I had in the world, and hauled everything I owned three hundred miles. I didn’t do that to sit upstairs and listen to my soon-to-be husband flirt with another woman.

After a quick mirror check—a girl needs to make a good first impression—I headed downstairs to see why my not-quite fiancé hadn’t returned to me yet.

I wasn’t happy with what I saw when I reached the foyer. The world’s most perfect woman—Stepford, I’m telling you—was standing a little too close to Jon for my comfort. She was holding a covered Pyrex pan with something red in it. As I stepped onto the stone tile, the visitor’s attention snapped to me. So did Jon’s.

“Hi,” I said to them both.

Jon and the Stepford wife began chattering at the same time. Jon stopped.

Mrs. Perfect beamed at me. Perfect blond hair. Perfect makeup. Her dress was very well-maintained vintage. 1950s. Silk. I was guessing Harvey Berin. She was wearing a wedding ring. “Hello, Christine, I’m Samantha Phillips. I live next door. So good to meet you at last.” She shoved the hot dish into my hands, cherry pot holders keeping them from blistering. “I made a pan of lasagna, thinking you’d probably be too busy to cook tonight.”

The scents of tomato sauce and garlic and cheese tickled my nose. “How thoughtful. Thank you.” I took the pan to the kitchen and set it on the stove. I heard Jon and Samantha following me.

“Thank you,” Jon echoed.

When I turned around, I found Samantha standing with her hands clasped in front of her A-line skirt. I shoved the pot holders into her empty hands. “Thanks again.”

She jammed one hand into a skirt pocket, produced a business card. “I guess I should get going. Don’t want to keep you from your work.” She extended her arm, offering the card. “If you need help with anything, please don’t hesitate to call. I’m home all day. I can be here in a blink. Michelle and I used to—” She cut herself off. “Forgive me. Michelle was a good friend.”

“It’s okay. I understand.” I accepted the card and set it on the counter. “Thanks again. I’ll keep your offer in mind.”

“Okay, then. I can see myself out.” Samantha threw a cute little wave at Jon and hustled toward the door. I watched Jon watch her leave. When he finally glanced my way, I probably wasn’t looking too happy.

“I’m sorry about that. Samantha and my first wife were close. She had a very hard time after Michelle died. But I’d rather not talk about that right now.” He hauled me into his arms. “Michelle was my past. You are my future. And if you’re worried about Samantha, don’t be,” he said. “She’s very happily married. And I’m very happily almost-married.”

The man knew just what to say.

He also knew just what to do. He kissed me until I couldn’t breathe and I’d forgotten all about whatshername and her lasagna and her stupid cherry pot holders.

Oh yes, I was definitely feeling better now. Warm. Tingly. Happy.

“Shall we head back upstairs?” I asked, dragging my fingernails down his chest. I hadn’t seen that chest in three weeks. Long-distance dating sucked. It was so good to be done with that now.

“Yes, let’s go.” Jon tossed me over his shoulder like a caveman. I gave a little shriek of surprise, flopping over to give his cute butt a smack. He gave me one in return as he headed toward the staircase.

Then the doorbell rang again.

“Ohmygod,” I said to his back. “Are you kidding me?”

“Ignore it.”

Ding dong.

Still atop Jon’s shoulder, I wriggled. “I just want to have sex. Who would’ve thought that would be such a problem?”

“It isn’t a problem. Let’s go have sex.”

Ding dong.

“No. Set me down.”

Jon grunted.

Down I slid. On the way, I happened to notice he was sporting a somewhat obvious hard-on. I motioned to his crotch. “You might want to cover that up.”

He glanced down, looked up, and gave me a crooked grin. “Maybe it’ll chase whoever it is away so we can get back to what we were doing.” He yanked open the door, and another attractive woman stepped into my new home.

The woman either didn’t see me or didn’t care. Tall. Brunette. Slim. And also well dressed—her clothes weren’t designer, but they looked like they’d been tailored to fit her perfectly. She blurted, “Jon, I need to talk to you right now about Carson. He’s—”

“Lindsay Baker,” Jon interrupted, motioning toward me. “This is Christine. Christine’s moving in today.”

Lindsay finally realized I was standing there. “Oh! Hello.” She shook my hand. “So good to meet you. Welcome to the neighborhood.” She thumbed over her shoulder, toward the open door behind her. “I live across the street.” Looking slightly wilted, she frowned. “I’m sorry I forgot you were moving in today. Jon told me last week. He’s been very excited.” She glanced at Jon. “I’m guessing Samantha’s already been by to welcome Christine?”

“Yep,” I said. “She brought lasagna.” That was slightly bitchy of me to rub it in, I’ll admit. I’ll probably pay for it, one way or another.

Lindsay’s smile was only slightly forced. “Of course she brought lasagna. Enjoy. The woman is the best cook on the block, now that Michelle—I mean, Samantha makes everything from scratch. Me, I’m lucky if I don’t burn a frozen pizza.”

“Yeah, me too,” I admitted. Two neighbors. Two welcomes. And both had mentioned Michelle, Jon’s deceased wife. I was beginning to worry I had some insanely perfect shoes to fill.

We exchanged a smile. For some reason, regardless of her mention of Michelle, I had a feeling I might get along with this neighbor. The jury was still out on Samantha.

“Anyway, I guess I’ll head out now. I’m sure you’re both very”—Lindsay’s gaze paused on Jon’s crotch before jerking away—“busy.”

“Thanks for coming by.” Jon grabbed the doorknob, ready to close the door behind her.

“Oh!” On the porch now, Lindsay spun around to face him. She opened her mouth to say something but then shut it. “Yes.” She waved at me. “Again, welcome. If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thanks.” I waved back.

Jon shut the door. He gave me a look that made my heart flutter. “Now, let’s get back to welcoming you home—”

Ding dong.

I sighed. “We might as well forget it. It’s not happening. I didn’t know you were so popular.” We’d met on an online dating site. Jon had flown out to meet me exactly one month after we’d started chatting online. And he’d made the trip every other weekend after that, for the next five months. I mentioned, once or twice, coming out to see him instead, but he’d insisted it was better for him to do the traveling. He could write it off as a business expense. I couldn’t. And once I got over the suspicion that he was actually married and trying to keep me from finding out, I couldn’t argue with that logic. All that to say, this was the first time I’d seen him in his hometown.

“I’m not ‘popular,’ ” he said. “My neighbors are all just extremely nosy. You’re the first woman who’s been in my house since ... since Michelle died.”

While our two visitors had already mentioned his wife, today was the first time Jon had actually said her name in my presence. I saw that as a sign. “Speaking of Michelle, you promised to tell me what happened when I moved in. So I knew how to handle Josh. Here I am.”

He started to respond, but the doorbell cut him off. He lifted an index finger.

Ding dong.

He opened the door to reveal yet another attractive woman. Stepford Wife Number Three was suited up tight in Hugo Boss, her hair coiled on the back of her head. Her makeup was flawless but understated.

“I’m sorry if this is a bad time... .” The woman, who was still standing on the front porch peered in at me. “... but I saw Samantha and Lindsay—”

“No, of course it’s not a bad time.” Jon motioned her inside. “This is Christine. Christine, this is Erica Ross. She lives next door—on the other side.” He motioned toward the opposite side of our home.

“Good to meet you,” I said.

“Welcome to the neighborhood,” Erica said, shaking my hand. She produced a card. “If you need anything, feel free to call. I work quite a bit, but my husband’s home with the kids during the day. Adam’s pretty handy—unlike Jon here.” Erica and Jon exchanged a smile.

“That’s true,” Jon admitted. “I won’t even try to argue with that. Which is why I have a list of trusted contractors on file.”

Erica continued, “Michelle used to call Adam whenever she had a minor emergency. Plugged sink, that kind of thing. He doesn’t mind at all. Gives him something to do.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I put the card in my pocket.

“Thank you,” Jon echoed, looking like he might shove the woman out if she didn’t leave on her own.

“I can’t stay,” Erica said, turning toward the exit. “I’m on my way to meet a client. But I didn’t want to go without at least saying hello.”

“That was very thoughtful. Thanks.” I gave her a wave as she hurried out the door.

Jon closed and locked the door behind her. “Okay, now that’s enough of the neighbors. I don’t give a damn if the mayor rings my doorbell to give you the keys to the city. I’m not answering. We’re going to our room.” He grabbed my hand and took the stairs two at a time. “I’m going to have sex with you if it kills me.”

Kills him? I wasn’t sure how to respond to that statement.

The truth of the matter was, the moment was over. Between worrying about being interrupted again, and curiosity about the wife Jon hadn’t talked about before today, I was more interested in getting back to the discussion we’d started before Erica’s entry.

Once we were inside the bedroom, Jon, true to form, went for my neck.

I held him off with outstretched hands. “Hang on, there, Dracula. I want to talk about Michelle first. How did she die?”

CHAPTER 2

“Okay,” Jon said, sitting on the bed. What do you want toto know about my first wife?”

Standing next to the door, I said, “Well, how she died, for starters.”

Jon nodded. Looking solemn, he patted the bed, inviting me to sit beside him. I did. “Michelle had a lot of issues. Emotional problems. Not many people knew. Not her friends. Not her parents. Not even Josh. Only her doctors and me. It started almost immediately after we were married. She seemed happy for a little while, maybe six months or so, but then my crazy work schedule got to her. She became lonely. Depressed. I suggested we start trying to have a child, and her mood picked up again.” His smile was wistful, sweet. “I thought we were going to be okay. But when she didn’t get pregnant right away, her depression came back. And it was worse. I suggested we give up, think about adopting to take the pressure off. She insisted we keep trying. So we saw a specialist. Had some tests run. Turns out she had some kind of hormonal imbalance. She was given some pills and a few months later, she was pregnant.”

He hadn’t gotten to the part about her dying, but I was willing to be patient. This was, by far, the most words I’d heard Jon speak consecutively since meeting him. He wasn’t the chit-chatty kind.

“After Joshua came home, things were good. Perfect. She was busy. Happy. She poured her energy into taking care of our son. She volunteered at his school. She made cupcakes for his bake sales. She helped him with his homework and hauled him to soccer practice and baseball games. Her world revolved around our boy for ten years. She was a wonderful mother. A wonderful wife. But when he started to become more independent—as is normal for boys that age—she told me she was ready to have another child. And I was glad to try for another, especially if it meant she’d be happy. Unfortunately, it wasn’t so easy. She took hormone treatments. But they didn’t help. We even tried IVF. Nothing worked. One day, two years ago, I came home from work to find she’d killed herself.” Jon blinked. His eyes reddened. He sniffled. “I never thought... .”

“I’m sorry.” I set my hand over Jon’s. His was trembling. Made me wonder, was he over his wife’s death? “Two years isn’t a very long time.”

“I’m okay. I even went to a counselor for a while.” He didn’t exactly sound okay. “If you’re worried that I’ll be comparing you to Michelle all the time, please don’t be. I told you she was my past, and I meant it. She’s gone. I’m ready to move on. I’m looking back now only because you asked me to. From this point forward, we’ll be looking to the future. Our future.”

“I hope so.” I wasn’t one hundred percent convinced. “I quit my job for you. I gave up my apartment. I don’t have a safety net, if this doesn’t work out—”

“You don’t need one, Christine. Trust me. Please.”

I wanted to trust him. I was almost afraid not to.

Shifting to face me, he took my hands in his. “Look, I told you things won’t be perfect. And it won’t be easy. My hours are crazy. I’m not home much. Josh will need time to adjust to having another woman in the house. But I will be here for you, just like I was for Michelle.”

Feeling slightly chilled, I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m a little scared. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.”

“I understand. I would be, too.” He pulled me into a hug. I relaxed in his embrace. He was warm and strong and I wanted to believe he was the man of my dreams. Easing back, he brushed my hair out of my face and gave me a sweet, gentle kiss. “I want you to always feel you can be honest with me.”

I nodded. “You too.”

“Now, there’s one room I haven’t had a chance to show you yet. I think now’s the time.” He stood, offering his hand. I accepted it. Down we went, to the main floor of the house, through the kitchen, and down a second, steeper set of stairs to the finished basement.

I stopped at the bottom of the steps, clapped my hands over my mouth. “What is this?” I said through my fingers, my eyes sweeping over the bright, cheery space. I saw three long counters, dotted with various sewing machines. Three dress forms stood along one wall, in front of floor-to-ceiling shelves. And sitting on a stand was a very special machine.

“It’s your sewing studio,” Jon said.

“You’re kidding.” I made a beeline for the commercial grade embroidery machine. That one alone cost anywhere from ten to fifteen thousand dollars. I’d been dreaming of getting one for ages. Gaping, I glanced around the room again. “I can’t believe this.”

“I wanted you to have everything you’d need to make your dream come true. I couldn’t expect you to launch your clothing line with that rusty old Singer of yours.”

“Are you for real?” I asked, throwing my arms around his neck. I kissed him all over his face. “Ohmygod, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His eyes twinkled. How I adored those twinkles. I adored a lot more than his twinkles. Just tell me this man is everything he seems to be. “Now that you’ve seen your surprise, how about we get that truck unpacked?”

I could care less about all the crap I’d hauled here now. Outside of my clothes and a few personal items, none of it was worth anything. None of it would fit in this glorious house. But I had to return the truck to U-Haul in the morning. “Okay.”

Jon gave my butt a little tap as he led me toward the garage. “And maybe when we’re done, you’d like to take a nice, long bath... .” A bath? My apartment had only had a tiny shower stall. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken a bath. “... together.”

A hot man. A gorgeous house. A dream studio. Could my life get any better than this?

“And tomorrow, you can go shopping for material,” he added.

Shopping?

I wasn’t in Stepford. I was in heaven.

The next morning, I was sorting through my sewing pattern collection when the doorbell rang. Jon was upstairs sleeping. So was Joshua. That meant it was up to me to answer. Looking glorious (not) in a ratty pair of sweats, a T-shirt that said, NY L OVES ME, and a ponytail, no makeup, I checked the clock as I padded barefoot to the front door.

The bell rang two more times before I finally answered.

What a surprise (not). It was Samantha, Lindsay, and Erica. Samantha was holding a plate covered in foil. Lindsay had a steaming carafe of something that smelled incredible, and Erica was holding a white bakery box.

“Good morning.” I stepped aside to invite them in. “What a surprise. At nine o’clock in the morning. On Labor Day weekend.”

Lindsay, donning a semi-scowl, gave me a quick up-and-down inspection. “We didn’t wake you, I hope.” She lifted the carafe. “I brought caffeine.”

“No, you didn’t wake me, and thanks.” I had to admit, nobody had ever gone to such lengths to make me feel welcome before. In the city, it was a big deal if my neighbors gave me a little nod in the stairwell. I wasn’t sure how I felt about this. Was it a suburbia thing?

“I made muffins this morning. They just came out of the oven,” Samantha said as she click-clacked past me.

“I brought bagels.” Erica, following on Samantha’s heels, lifted the box. “I hope you like Einstein’s Everything bagels.”

I motioned them all into the kitchen. “I do, thanks.” After four tries, I found the cupboard with the cups. I grabbed four and set them on the island-slash-breakfast bar. Then I went in search of plates.

“I just love Everything bagels,” Lindsay said, pulling out a stool and sitting.

“Me too. The saltier and garlickier the better,” Erica said, sitting beside Lindsay.

“I prefer plain,” Samantha said, taking the third stool.

Standing on the opposite side of the bar, I placed a plate in front of each of them.

Meanwhile, Lindsay poured a steaming cup of coffee and handed it to me. I took a whiff. My mouth watered. “What kind of coffee is this?” I sipped. Delicious. But hot. I set down the cup to look for knives.

“My own blend. I may not bake.” Lindsay put a bagel on her plate. “And I’m not much of a cook. But when it comes to coffee, I know a thing or two. Erica, tell me you didn’t forget cream cheese?”

“Of course not.” Erica spread a handful of little packets on the counter.

We all settled in, nibbling on the world’s best muffins and munching on bagels for a few minutes.

It was Lindsay who eventually broke the silence. “We thought we owed you an apology for yesterday,” she explained.

“Oh? Why’s that?” I asked around a mouthful of muffin.

“Because we all just met you, and right off the bat we were talking about Michelle,” Erica said. “Talk about insensitive.”

“It’s okay. I understand.” I spread some more cream cheese on my bagel. “Jon told me you were close friends.”

“Yes, we were. For ten years. Since the day they moved in.” Lindsay gave me a charming smile. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends with you, too.”

“I’m glad.” At least, I thought I was glad. A part of me was unsure about this whole thing. These three women, The Pack, seemed a little too eager to be my friends. It was odd.

“Jon told us you were living in New York,” Erica said. “I imagine you think we’re strange.”

“Oh no, of course I don’t.” I felt my face warming.

Erica laughed. She tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing a simple, but pretty, diamond earring. “Liar. I lived in New York for two years before I married Adam.” She glanced down at the enormous diamond ring on her finger. “This has got to be a culture shock for you.”

“Okay, maybe it’s a little strange,” I admitted.

The three friends exchanged nods.

Samantha, looking as perfect and perky as ever, smiled. “We’re not as desperate for friendship as you probably think.”

“I don’t think you’re desperate—”

“We’re just trying to be friendly.” Samantha leaned closer. “You see, you don’t know it yet, but you’re going to need all the friends you can get.”

Now, that was a weird thing to say.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because that man upstairs—the one you’re about to marry—he’s not exactly what he appears to be.”

“We think he killed his wife,” Lindsay whispered.

Holy shit.

“She committed suicide,” I said, wondering why they would think such a thing.

I don’t know these women. They could be lying to make me leave. Maybe they’re all in love with Jon.

“Suicide? That’s what he told you?” Giving me a pitying look, Erica shook her head. “That’s a lie. If you don’t believe us—and really, why would you?—check it out for yourself.” She motioned for a pen with her hand. I found one in a drawer, along with a little spiral notebook. She pulled a sheet out and wrote a website on it, folded it, and handed it to me. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Jonathan Stewart was investigated for murder. He hasn’t been brought up on charges ... yet. They couldn’t find enough evidence. But the case is still open. Here’s the write-up in our local paper.”

Lindsay reached for my hand. “Be careful.”

I was dumbfounded. Speechless. What the hell was this? “Jon said she was depressed,” I stuttered. “She couldn’t get pregnant.”

“Depressed?” Samantha pulled a cell phone out of her pocket, hit some buttons, and handed it to me. “Depressed people isolate themselves from friends, from family. They don’t go to parties. They don’t laugh with friends. This picture was taken the day before Michelle died. At our neighborhood block party. Does she look like she was isolating herself?”

I looked.

First, Michelle could pass for my doppelganger. That was freaky enough. But second, she looked like she was having a great time at the party. And when I say great, that might be a slight understatement.

A shiver swept up my spine.

“There are more pictures,” Samantha said. “Hit the button.”

“I don’t need to see more.” I handed Samantha the phone and glanced down at my plate. My appetite was gone. Had I made the mistake of a lifetime? Had I left my job, my life, to move in with a murderer? “The pictures don’t prove anything.”

“You’re right. They don’t,” Erica said. “But we’re hoping the police will find some solid proof soon. You could help.”

“You want me to dig for clues while I’m living with a man you believe killed his wife?” This was crazy. Insane. Unbelievable.

I needed to find out more. About Jon, yes. But also about these women. I was having some doubts about Jon. Any girl would. After all, I’d learned a long time ago that something—or someone—who seemed too good to be true generally was. But I was also having some suspicions about my three neighbors. What were their stories? Why were they so hell-bent on convincing me Jon killed his wife?

“You don’t trust us. I can appreciate that,” Erica said. “At this point, all you have is what we’ve told you. But once you do a little digging, you’ll realize who has been telling you the truth and who has been lying.” She stood, motioning to the other two. “Ladies, I think we’ve taken up enough of Christine’s time.” She gave me a smile that seemed genuine. “Our offers still stand. If you need anything, from any of us, we’re here for you.” She was the first to head for the door. Samantha was second. Lindsay was the last.

At the door, Lindsay leaned over and whispered, “I really like you already. Please be careful.”

CHAPTER 3

I couldn’t push the freaking button. I was too afraid of what I’d see.

After The Pack cleared out, I returned to my girl-cave and tried to get back to work. As I moved things from one place to another, I kept telling myself they’d been lying to me. Jon’s wife had killed herself just like he told me. When I could no longer believe that, I switched to the theory that they weren’t lying—they really believed Jon might be a killer—but the police were wrong. Jon was innocent.

Eventually, after several hours, I hadn’t completely convinced myself of that explanation, either. So I’d done what any normal girl would do. I powered up my laptop, jumped a few hoops to get it connected to the house’s Wi-Fi, and typed in the URL Erica had written out for me.

It was there now, on my browser’s search line. But I couldn’t hit the button, calling up the page.

Hit the button, dammit. You need to know the truth.

Hand on the mouse. Cursor sitting on top of the SEND button, I closed my eyes. The muscles of my hand tightened. My heart constricted. My lungs slowly deflated.

I clicked.

I swear, my heart stopped completely.

After waiting a handful of seconds, I forced my eyes open.

The newspaper article was open. Oh God. I was about to learn whether I’d just made the mistake of a lifetime.

The first thing I saw was a photograph of a smiling, pretty Michelle Stewart. The sight of that image felt like a sock in the gut. The headline was even worse.

Husband Suspected in Wife’s Mysterious Death.

Shit!

Footsteps pounded overhead. They came closer. Someone was coming down the stairs. I clicked the red X, closing the page.

“Chrissy? Are you down here?” Jon called from the stairs as he stomp, stomp, stomped down them.

My hands were shaking as I grabbed the box of patterns I’d been sorting and pretended to be working. “Yep, I’m here.”

Jon turned the corner.

There he was. So handsome. Strikingly handsome. Was that the face of a killer? Were those dark brown eyes the eyes of a murderer? He smiled at me. The expression looked genuine. He looked happy, as glad to see me as I had been to see him only yesterday. “Hello there. Settling in okay?”

“Yes, I sure am.”

He came closer, too close. I felt my body stiffening, even though I knew that one newspaper article did not mean he was definitely a killer. I hadn’t even had a chance to read the article. Perhaps the headline had been misleading. Perhaps the article’s author had taken liberties with the facts in the case.

Perhaps I was hoping for a miracle.

He bent to kiss me but stopped short. “Is something wrong?” Clearly, the man knew how to read body language.

How to respond to that question?

“I’m just feeling a little ... overwhelmed, I guess.”

He straightened up. His expression was puzzled, not at all hostile or suspicious. “Overwhelmed about what?”

Of course, he had to ask that.

“About ... being a stepmother. About facing this huge change. We don’t know each other as well as we probably should, so there’s that, too.” It was a partial truth, as close as I dared get.

He glanced at the box at my feet then up into my eyes. “I understand.” He motioned to the box. “Can I help you unpack?”

“That’s very sweet, but I think I can handle this. Are you hungry?” I asked, thinking it might be wise to deflect his attention. “Do you want me to make you something to eat?”

“No, that’s okay. I didn’t bring you here to become my live-in waitress. Go ahead and keep working. I can find something.”

“Your neighbors stopped by. They brought muffins and bagels. They’re on the counter.”

Now his expression turned tense. “They did?” Underlying the tension, I sensed a little hint of hostility. I hadn’t seen any of that yesterday. Okay, maybe I had. But I’d assumed that was because they’d interrupted us. “They were here this morning?”

“Yes. Is that a problem? Do you dislike them? I didn’t get that impression yesterday.”

“No, I don’t ‘dislike’ them. Not at all.” As if a switch had been thrown, his expression brightened again. His stop-your-heart smile was back in place and the twinkles I’d always found so charming began twinkling. That shift had alarms ringing in my head. Back in college I’d dated a guy who’d had a bad temper. His moods shifted like that. Hot. Cold. Happy. Furious. Not a good sign. “If I can’t help you, I guess I’ll go upstairs, drag my lazy son out of bed, and get us something to eat.”

“Sounds like a good plan.”

He gave me a friendly, chaste kiss on the mouth then stared into my eyes for a handful of heartbeats. I wasn’t the first to look away. I didn’t want him thinking I was hiding something. I didn’t want him knowing I was afraid, or suspicious, or having second and third doubts about the move. More than anything, I didn’t want him suspecting I knew about that newspaper article.

He straightened up. “Shout if you need anything.”

“Will do.” I waited until he had closed the door at the top of the stairs before I turned back to the computer. This time, I was determined to read the whole article. I needed to find out the truth, ugly or not.

The article was dated September 22nd, 2008.

Michelle Stewart, 28, was rushed to University of Michigan Hospital on Saturday, September 20th, 2008. It was thought at the time she had attempted suicide, although that wouldn’t explain all the evidence found at the scene.

Stewart died at the hospital within hours of being admitted and mystery surrounds her death. On September 23rd, less than forty-eight hours after her death, Stewart’s husband, Jonathan Stewart, was brought in for questioning. At this time, no formal charges have been filed.

Authorities admit this case is shrouded in mystery. The Ann Arbor PD is not willing to provide many details in the case. However an informant has come forward to tell me Michelle Stewart had notified Jonathan that she wanted a divorce shortly before her death. At this time, that cannot be confirmed.

An autopsy has been performed but police are not releasing Michelle Stewart’s cause of death. Items removed from the home paint a gruesome picture. Until more details are released, we’re left to wonder and speculate on what happened on Saturday, September 20th. It’s possible we may never know.

I took a long, deep breath. It was far from condemning, much too vague to tell me if I had anything to worry about or not. I decided I needed to do a search, see if the reporter had written any follow-up articles on the case. Or see if the case had been reported by any other newspapers.

An hour later I had nothing else. Strangely, that article was the only one I could locate on the Internet. A search under both Michelle’s and Jon’s names had turned up nothing. Not even the expected online phone directory. It was as if, outside of that newspaper article, they didn’t exist in cyberspace. Just for kicks, I Googled my own name. Sure enough, there were pages of links, though many of them weren’t for me. My name wasn’t exactly unique. I shared a name with a famous handbag designer, for one. I was going to have to assume a new identity when I (hopefully) released my clothing line.

I decided to Google my new neighbors next. But I found nada, nothing, not one single blog entry, Facebook page, or Classmates profile. Like Jon and Michelle, Samantha Phillips, Lindsay Baker, and Erica Ross did not exist.

Feeling a little twitchy after having accomplished so little, I went back to sorting my sewing stuff, organizing it in the nifty boxes tucked into the floor-to-ceiling wall of built-in storage cubicles. I played episodes of Project Runway on my computer as I worked. The noise kept my mind somewhat occupied until, a little after six, Jon came down to check on me.

“Hey, baby. You’ve been down here all day. How’s it going?” he asked, looking all tall and dark and mysterious as he leaned against the door frame.

“I’m almost done. This room is amazing. So many places to store things.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Pushing away from the door, he prowled nearer, stopping so close I could easily reach out and run my hand down his broad chest. Despite what I’d been told about him, the familiar butterflies started fluttering in my belly. I was still wildly attracted to him. And, more than that, I wanted to believe he was being wrongfully accused of a nonexistent crime. “Are you hungry?”

My stomach growled. I’d been so busy, I’d forgotten to take a break for lunch. “Starved.”

“Come on up. I grilled us some steaks.”

My mouth watered. “Steaks? I haven’t had a steak since the last time you came to visit.”

He offered a hand and I accepted it, and together we clomped up the stairs. The moment we stepped into the kitchen, the aroma of grilled meat hit me.

“Oh wow, does that smell amazing.”

He escorted me to a chair at the dining room table. Josh was waiting, in his chair, his thumbs flying over the keyboard of his cell phone.

Jon’s eyes narrowed. “Josh. Phone.”

“Sure, Dad. Just a minute.” He punched a few buttons then slid the phone’s display over the keyboard and put it in his pocket. After giving me a weak “hey” he grabbed a foil-wrapped potato out of the bowl sitting in the table’s center and started unwrapping it.

I did the same. And, in silence, we ate our first dinner as a family. It was all very ordinary. Josh shoveled his food into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in weeks while Jon was more well-mannered, cutting small pieces of meat and chewing. I wasn’t more than halfway finished when Josh asked to be excused. At his father’s nod, he bounded from the table.

“I’m going to Ethan’s,” Josh announced.

“Be home by nine,” Jon called after him.

“I wonder if he tasted the food,” I said, chuckling as I listened to the distant thud of the front door.

“I doubt it.” Jon motioned to my plate. “What about you?”

“It’s delicious. I’m just taking my time, enjoying each bite.”

“Good. After dinner, how about we settle down to watch a movie? I have to head in to work for a few hours tonight—”

“Tonight? On a Sunday?” Was I really feeling so let down?

“I told you my hours would be rough. I need to take care of a few things so that there won’t be any snags tomorrow morning. And I’d rather do it now than at three A.M.” His look was apologetic as he stood with his empty plate.

Deciding I was full, I followed him into the kitchen, wrapping up the rest for tomorrow’s lunch. We headed into the family room and he turned on the ginormous TV while we made ourselves comfy on the couch. He pulled me into the crook of his arm as he channel-surfed. “What are you in the mood for?” he asked, blazing through the hundreds of channels in his satellite TV lineup.

“Actually, I’d like to talk.”

Click. The TV went black.

“Okay.” He set the remote down. “About what?”

“Your neighbors.”

His brows rose to the top of his forehead. “What happened this morning? Did they say something to you?”

“Something about what?” I asked.

“About Michelle.”

Truth? Or lie?

I didn’t move three hundred miles to live with a man I couldn’t trust. I had to hear his side of the story. I owed him that much ... didn’t I?

“Yes. They told me... .” Shit, this was rough. “They said... .”

“I killed Michelle,” he finished for me. “Is that what they said?”

I nodded.

His lips thinned. “What else did they tell you?”

“They said the case is still open.”

He shoved his fingers through his hair. He stared down at the floor. He sighed. He did all the things a man who is furious, but who doesn’t want to look angry, does. His jaw tensed. “That’s not true. I have an alibi. The case was closed.” He looked at me. “But you don’t know what to believe, do you? You’re scared.”

I hated feeling this way, I really did. “A little.”

“I’ll set up a meeting with the detective tomorrow. He’ll answer all your questions. Until you know where you stand”—he stood, turned stiffly away—“I’ll keep my distance. I can stay at the office.”

Oh shit. “Jon, I’m sorry. Please don’t—”

“Don’t be sorry. This isn’t your fault.” His jaw was clenched so tightly, the column of his neck protruded. “A word of advice. You might want to check out those new friends of yours, too, before you believe everything they tell you. They might not be killers, but they aren’t perfect. Nobody is.”

He left.

CHAPTER 4

“Hello, Miss Price, Jon Stewart said you needed to speak with me?” The police officer offered a hand. He wasn’t wearing a uniform. Worn jeans. T-shirt with an Ann Arbor Police Department logo printed on the left chest. If I had to guess, I’d say he was in his forties. But he was built like a guy twenty years younger. “Detective Foster.” He motioned through a doorway. “How about we go somewhere quiet?”

“That would be nice.” I followed Detective Foster down a white-walled corridor and into a small room furnished with a table and a couple of chairs. It was small. Cramped. Smelled like stale smoke and sweat. The overhead fluorescent light fixture flickered. At the detective’s invitation, I sat in one of the metal and plastic chairs.

He took the chair opposite me, leaned forward, resting his elbows on the tabletop. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“First, I appreciate your taking the time to talk to me.”

“Sure. Not a problem.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s a holiday. I’m off the clock. Just dropped in to take care of a few things.”

“It’s about Michelle Stewart’s death.”

“Yeah. Stewart said you had some questions.”

“I read an old article in a newspaper that suggested her death might not have been a suicide.”

The detective didn’t respond right away, which made me wonder whether he’d tell me the truth or not. To agree to meet with me like this, at the drop of a hat, had to mean something. Did he owe Jon a favor? Were they old friends? Had he been instrumental in getting Jon off the hook? Would my poking around kick up a hornet’s nest? “That article was partially right. There was reason to suspect her death wasn’t a suicide.”

“Such as?”

“Sorry, I can’t give you that information.”

“Is the case still open, then?”

“It is. But Jon’s been cleared. He had a rock-solid alibi.”

Cleared.

I was almost afraid to believe what the detective was saying. I heard myself make a little squeaking noise. “You’re sure he’s innocent?”

“Absolutely. He was seen in a public place by several people, including a very reliable witness, at the time of her death. There is absolutely no way he could have killed his wife.”

A nervous chuckle bubbled up my throat. I couldn’t hold it back. “You have no idea how worried I was.”

“I understand.” He glanced at his watch again. “Any other questions?”

I bolted from my chair. “I’ve taken enough of your time. I’m sure you have more important things to do than to reassure me that I wasn’t about to marry a murderer.”

Foster’s smile was genuine. “No problem.” He stood, opened the door.

On the way out, Jon’s warning played through my head. “I’m sorry. Can I ask you one more question?”

“Sure,” he said, looking a little stiff. “Shoot.”

“Are any of the neighbors suspects?”

The detective’s smile was coy. He took a moment to answer. “Let’s just say there are a few people who haven’t been cleared yet.”

“Thank you.” I wanted to kiss the man but I didn’t. For one thing, he was wearing a wedding ring. Instead, I practically danced out of the police station. My heart felt light. My over-wound nerves were unknotting with each deep breath I took. Ah, the joy of breathing easy. I hadn’t even realized how freaked out I’d been.

I sang to Lady Gaga’s “Telephone” as I drove home. At the top of my lungs. I collected a few stares as I waited for the traffic light to change. But I didn’t care. I was too happy to worry about what anyone thought. Jon’s wife might have been killed. That was a terrible tragedy, one I shouldn’t take lightly—not for Josh, not for Jon—but at least I didn’t need to worry that I was living with a killer.

After checking the house, and finding I was alone—Jon had said he was going to work and Josh was at a local fair with a friend—I headed down to my girl-cave and pulled out my sketchbook. It had been weeks since I’d had time to work on my collection, with the move and everything. I flipped through my drawings.

Flat.

Boring.

Blech.

Yuck.

What in the world had made me think these designs were any good? Sheesh.

I flipped to a fresh page and gathered a handful of freshly sharpened pencils.

Hours flew by.

I took the occasional break to stretch and eat. Before I knew it, the world outside my window was dark. I took a look at the day’s work—hoping I wouldn’t open my sketchbook tomorrow and think it all sucked—before shutting everything down and going upstairs.

The house was dark. Über quiet. Empty.

I padded into the kitchen for a snack before heading into the family room. I channel-surfed for about two minutes. Cut off the TV. Nothing worth watching. I glanced outside at the deck, the nicely wooded backyard, the silvery moon.

What the heck? I headed outside and flopped onto one of the chaise lounges on the deck.

The air smelled great, like freshly mown grass and damp earth. It was so quiet I could hear the insects, the birds, the skittering of an animal somewhere—I hoped that was just a squirrel. Finding one of Josh’s baseball bats sitting propped up against the house, I moved it next to my chair. Just in case.

I glanced up. There were a couple of floodlights pointed down at me. They weren’t lit, so they weren’t activated by a motion sensor. Must be a switch inside somewhere.

The distant sound of someone shouting echoed through the neighborhood. It was coming from ... I turned my head ... that way.

Hmmm ...

I’ll admit, I’m nosy by nature. Add in the possibility that one of my neighbors might be a suspected murderer, and I couldn’t resist the impulse to snoop. I followed the sound of the voices. They were coming from Erica’s house. She was the one who was yelling. Interesting. Miss Cool, Calm, and Collected was having a moment.

There was no fence between our yards. Convenient.

The visibly furious Erica was in the family room, which, like ours, opened onto a wide deck in the backyard. Her back was to the door wall, arms flailing. Thanks to the fact that the wide glass doors were open, I could catch bits and pieces of what she was saying. None of it was nice. Her poor husband. She didn’t have a shred of respect for the bastard. Not an ounce.

But hey, she’d said he was handy with power tools. That had to count for something.

After throwing one last insult about his lack of skills in the bedroom—low blow, if you asked me—she stormed out of the room. The show was over. Just as I was about to head back home, something lunged out from behind a low shrub and sank its fangs into my ankle.

I screamed like a girl. Couldn’t help myself. Then I did what anyone else would do. I kicked my foot like a wild woman while running as fast as I could with some ferocious beast tearing at my flesh. It was agony. I mean, seeing-stars painful. Stomach-clenching painful. Tears-welling painful. I slammed my ankle against everything I could. A tree trunk. The deck post. The house.

The damned thing wouldn’t let go.

Every cuss word I knew flew from my mouth as I clawed at the furry beast, trying to tear it off. From the weak light leaking out through the glass door, I could see the animal was brown. The coat was smooth, like a dog’s.

Maybe it’s a rat.

Gag.

Desperate now, I grabbed the baseball bat, swung.

Crunch.

Another gag.

I shook my leg. The crunched animal flopped lifeless onto the deck. I stooped down to get a look at it, wondering if I should put it in a box, in case rabies was suspected.

Big ears. A little pointy nose. Long, skinny legs. And a rat tail.

What the hell is that?

Creeped out, my ankle throbbing, I set the bat down and went inside to check my leg and look for a box. After cleaning my wound and a ten-minute search that got me nowhere, I opted to sacrifice one of my designer shoe boxes. I went for my least favorite—apologies to Lauren Jones. Box in hand, I headed back to the family room. Before heading out, I searched the wall for the light switch. Found it. Didn’t find the ratdogwhatever.

Gone?

Something caught my eye. A flash of gold. I squinted into the darkness about thirty feet from the deck. Were those ... eyes? Glowing? Big eyes. Was it a big dog? Coyote? Did they have mountain lions in Michigan?

I dove back inside the house and slammed the French doors, throwing the lock. Evidently, the ratdogwhatever had just become something else’s dinner.

I didn’t want to be dessert.

“You’re hurt.”

It was dark. I was in bed. The lights were out. And my bandaged ankle was under a sheet and a blanket. I squinted at the clock. It was three in the morning. I blinked up at Jon, who was standing next to the bed. “How do you know I’m hurt?”

“I saw the bandages and bloody towel in the bathroom.” He sat. The bed sank, and I sort of rolled downhill, closer to him.

“Oh yeah. Of course you did. Sorry. I guess I forgot to clean up.”

“It’s okay. What happened?”

“I was outside in the backyard, enjoying the nice evening, when something jumped out of nowhere and bit me.”

“Hmmm. Let me see.”

“Now? Can’t it wait until morning? I mean, I cleaned it up real good, and it doesn’t look as bad as I thought.”

“I ... suppose.” He stood. “How did your meeting with Detective Foster go?”

“He explained everything. And I feel so bad that I doubted you. I mean, we haven’t known each other long, and we dated long distance, so we’re still kind of strangers. But I should have trusted my instincts.”

“And your instincts tell you I’m ... ?”

“A good man, though flawed. At least, that’s what you tell me.”

His chuckle reverberated through every cell in my body. It was a very pleasant sensation.

I slid a hand over his thigh, gave it a little squeeze. “You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”

“I’ll think about it.” He stripped off his shirt. The dim light leaking through the open drapes skimmed over the swell of his shoulders, highlighting them while keeping his face masked in darkness. “That happens to be one of my faults, you know.”

“What is?”

“I hold grudges. For a long time.”

I figuratively stepped into his shoes. They weren’t very comfortable. “I guess I can’t blame you in this case. I don’t know how I’d react if you thought I’d killed someone.”

The sound of a zipper being opened—ziiiip—cut through the silence. The sloughing of material followed. And after that, a heavy male sigh. “Okay. I forgive you.” He dove onto the bed, landing next to me, the force of his landing sending me bouncing up into the air. A shrill little squeak burst from my mouth just as he caught me midair and wrestled me onto my back.

“That wasn’t such a long time,” I said, running my hands down the sides of his torso. His body was to-die-for beautiful. I couldn’t keep my hands off.

“I guess the definition of ‘long’ is relative. Now, how about we start over? You’ve just moved in and we’re both insanely happy ... and horny.”

“Oh yes, we are.” I wrapped my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck, and kissed him.

CHAPTER 5

The rolled-up flier, printed on neon green paper, was rubber-banded to our front door the next morning. I found it when I went out to check the mailbox.

Figuring it was an advertisement for lawn cutting, I shoved it in my pocket and continued my trek to the end of the driveway. Lindsay came stomping outside just as I was yanking open the mailbox. She let the huge cardboard box she was carrying fall to the ground. It landed with a dull rattle.

Intrigued, I waved, donned a cheery smile—which wasn’t such a hard thing to do after last night—and said, “Having a yard sale?”

It was Tuesday. The day after a holiday. The first day of school. Seemed like the most unlikely day to have a yard sale, but whatever.

“No. I’m not selling this stuff. I’m giving it away.” She nudged the box with her foot. “I’ve got some good things in here. Come on over and take a look.” She thumbed over her shoulder. “There’s more inside, too.”

In my book, free was another word for junk. But I was curious. “Okay.” I headed across the street and peered into the box while Lindsay headed into the house.

The carton was full of electronics. A Nikon digital camera and an Apple iPad were on top. They couldn’t work. Right? Nobody would give away something that nice. When Lindsay came staggering out with the second box, I held up the two items that had caught my eye. “What’s wrong with these?”

She grunted. “Not a thing.” She dropped the second box next to the first.

“Nothing? They work?”

“They’re practically new. Both have a factory warranty. I think we’ve had the camera for only three months.”

“Really?” My bullshit meter was screaming at full volume, but what did I have to lose by taking them? I tucked my new treasures into the crook of my arm and dug back into the box, in search of more goodies. “If they work, why are you giving them away?”

“Because I just found out the bastard is cheating on me.”

“Ohhhh.” Now, things were starting to make sense. I gently set the items back in the box. I wasn’t about to take something that wasn’t Lindsay’s to give away. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She planted her hands on her hips and glared out at the street. “It’s better I found out now, rather than later. Sure wish I’d had the guts to do this sooner. The bastard’s been cheating on me for over two fucking years. Two years.” She dug the camera out and shoved it into my hands. “Take it. Please. He won’t give a damn. It’ll give him an excuse to go buy the latest and greatest model. After all, that’s what he likes to do best—trade up.” Then, to my surprise she snatched it back, set it in the box, and hauled the whole carton into her arms. Before I realized what she was doing, she shoved it into my arms. “As a matter of fact, take all this stuff. The camera’s cords and lenses and manual are in there. Same with the iPad’s accessories.”

“I can’t—”

“Sure you can.” She gave me a little push.

“No, really. I have a camera. And I don’t read much. I doubt I’ll have any use for the iPad... .” My voice trailed off.

Lindsay clapped her hands over her face.

While I stood there holding the box, trying to think of what to say, she was slowly sinking. Not because she was standing in quicksand or anything, but because she’d gone semi-boneless and was crumpling to the ground. Some strange sound—a ... burble?—came from behind her hands.

Shit, she was crying.

If there was anything I couldn’t handle, it was the sight of a grown adult crying.

“Okay,” I said, “if it means that much to you, I’ll take the stuff.”

She didn’t stop crying.

I bent over her. “I said, I’ll take the box.”

She cried harder.

“Isn’t that what you want?” I asked.

“Take it all,” she said between sobs. “Everything.”

“Okay. I’ll take everything. But only if you stop crying.”

She stopped.

Great.

Wonderful.

Just nifty.

Now, I was stuck with two boxes of stuff that belonged to someone else. I wondered if I might find a way to get it all back to him, whoever he was.

She blinked red, watery eyes up at me. “Thanks.” She snuffled, dragged her hand across her face.

“You’re ... welcome?” I motioned to Jon’s house—my house. “I guess I’ll take this box over and come back for the second one.”

Making a full recovery, Lindsay scrambled to her feet. “I’ll help. There are about ten more boxes in the house.”

Ten? Did I actually agree to take more than two?

Stomping across the lawn, she said over her shoulder, “I want it all out before my kids get home from school. They’re not going to take this well.” Turning to face me, she blinked a few more times. “They liked the bastard. They loved him. He’s the only father they’ve known.” Jerking around, she ran into her house and slammed the door.

We had all fifteen—she’d underestimated—loaded into the garage within an hour. Right about the time Lindsay was stacking the last box in place, Joshua came racing into the garage.

He skidded to a stop. “What’s all this?”

“Just some old things Lindsay wanted to get rid of,” I said. Hoping to distract him, I asked, “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“We had a half day.”

“I better get home,” Lindsay said. “Carson and Avery will be home soon. Thanks, Christine. I owe you one.”

“No problem,” I said to her back.

Josh flipped open the top box. “Oh cool! An iPad! Can I keep it?”

I slapped the flap down. “No. It’s not ours.”

“But—”

“I’m giving all this stuff back to its rightful owner. As soon as I can figure out how to do that. I don’t even know who it belongs to.”

“Maybe I can help.” He dug deeper into the box. “I recognize this camera. It’s Matt’s stuff. He took pictures at our block party with it.”

“Did you know Matt?” I asked, marveling at the number of words Josh had actually spoken today. To me. It was an all-time record. Could he be getting used to me already?

“Sure. Everyone knows Matt. He’s okay.” Josh dropped the camera back into the box. “If you want to know how to find him, I bet Mrs. Ross could tell you.” He motioned toward Erica’s house. “I saw her talking to him sometimes.”

“Thanks for the tip.” Remembering I’d forgotten to get the mail, I headed back down the driveway. The mailbox was packed full. Most of it was advertising. I dumped it all, and the rolled-up flier, on the table in the foyer.

“Anything for me?” Josh asked, coming in through the garage.

I hadn’t sorted the mail yet. “I don’t know. Are you expecting something?”

“You never know.” He shrugged, grabbing the flier and unrolling it. “Oh, look at this, Mrs. Wahlen’s dog is missing again.”

“Mrs. Wahlen’s dog?” I echoed, peering at the printed flier. The photo was black-and-white and grainy, but there was no question. That was the thing that had bitten me last night. “That’s what that was? A dog?”

“Skippy’s creepy-looking. And mean,” Josh said. “Everyone in the neighborhood hates him.”

“That’s not very nice.” Now I was feeling bad, knowing I’d killed some lady’s beloved pet. Kind of. After all, he was mean. Josh said so. Hopefully hiding the guilty look on my face, I went back to sorting the mail.

“Okay, I kind of feel bad for Mrs. Wahlen. She loves that creepy dog. Buys it ugly little sweaters and boots to wear in the winter. Mr. Wahlen died a few months ago. The dog is all she has now.”

Oh God. I’d killed an elderly woman’s only family member. Now I really felt like crap.

Finished sorting the mail, I gave Josh a shrug. “Nothing for you today.”

“Maybe I’ll go out and look for Skippy,” he said.

“That’s a very nice thing to do.”

I think his cheeks pinked up a little. He shuffled his feet. “I’m not trying to be nice. I want to buy a game for my DS. Maybe she’ll pay a reward.” He rolled the flier back up.

I didn’t believe that was the only reason why he was going in search of the so-called lost pet. But I figured I’d let him save face. “Ah, okay.” Of course, I knew he wasn’t going to find the dog—at least, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t. That meant he wasn’t going to collect any reward. “What game do you want to buy?”

“Ghost Trick. My dad won’t buy it for me. He says I can wait ’til my birthday. But that’s months from now.”

I mentally filed away the game’s name, thinking I might pick it up for him just because.

He headed for the door. “I’ll be around.” He waved. “Do you want me to ask Mrs. Ross if she has Matt’s phone number?”

“No, that’s okay. I can ask her myself. Later. Thanks.”

He stepped onto the porch, his body half-in, half-out of the house. “She’s outside now. I’ll send her over.” A second later, before I could stop him, he hollered, “Hey, Mrs. Ross, Christine needs to talk to you!”

Two minutes later, Erica was at my door.

Decked out head to toe in clothes that made me green with envy, she raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. I made a mental note to tame my own overgrown eyebrows pronto. “Joshua said you needed to speak with me?”

“Yes.” Reluctantly, I pulled her inside, away from the door. I didn’t want Lindsay to catch wind of what I was trying to do. But I couldn’t stomach the thought of keeping someone else’s belongings. “I need to get in touch with Lindsay’s ... er, ex-boyfriend, I guess it would be. Josh said his name is Matt?”

“And you need me to do what?”

“Do you have a phone number? An address?”

“No.”

“Oh. Darn. I was hoping.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “What made you think I would know how to contact him? He was Lindsay’s boyfriend, not mine.”

“Joshua said you talked to him sometimes.” At the sight of something dark, something a little creepy, glittering in her eyes, I quickly redirected the conversation. “What about a last name? Did Lindsay ever tell you his last name?”

“No. I’m sorry. Well, she probably did, when she first introduced him to all of us. But I don’t recall what it was.”

“Okay, then. I guess that’s it.”

“Why?” Erica asked, not budging from my porch.

“Well ... I have his things.” I thumbed over my shoulder. “Lindsay sort of insisted. She wanted everything gone before her kids got home from school. I’d like to return his belongings to him.”

Erica looked genuinely confused. “Why would she do that?”

“I get the impression she’s angry with him. She said something about him cheating.”

“Oh.” She blinked. Swallowed. Then smiled. Leaning close, she whispered, “While I’m here, did you have a chance to read that article?”

“I did.”

“And ... ?”

“And I think you believe what you believe for a reason, but I don’t see anything in that article to make me believe it, too.” I shifted back a little, giving myself more space. “It was all very vague. There was a mention of evidence, but nothing specific. And, after talking to a detective at the police department, I’m pretty confident I have nothing to worry about.” I left out the part about the police investigating the neighbors. For all I knew, I could be talking to Michelle’s murderer right now. There was something very unsettling about Erica Ross. She gave me an odd feeling, one I didn’t care for. Keeping her at arm’s length was probably a good idea.

Her smile faded. “Keep digging. There’s a lot you don’t know about Jonathan Stewart. He told you she was depressed, correct?”

“Yes. They were trying to have a child, and she couldn’t conceive. And that led to her committing suicide. I guess they even tried IVF. Nothing worked.”

“I don’t believe that.” Erica planted one manicured hand on her hip. “First, she loved Joshua too much to kill herself and leave him motherless. Second, we were very close and never once did she mention any of this.”

“Well, it is an extremely personal issue.”

She waved off my comment with the flip of a hand. “We go to the same OB-GYN. We talked about everything. Everything.” She tapped her chin with an index finger. “You know, there might be a way for me to find out if she’d been referred to a specialist.”

“I don’t know... .” The fact that Erica was encouraging me to dig deeper into this mystery made me want to believe she wasn’t the killer. I mean, surely the killer, or anyone who knew who the killer was, would want me to keep believing Michelle Stewart had killed herself. Right? But Erica wasn’t doing that. She was pushing me to find out more. “Okay. See what you can do.”

“I’ll get back to you tonight.” Erica glanced at her watch. It was a Rolex. A real one. “Gotta go. I need to meet a client in a half hour.” She waved over her shoulder.

“Okay. ’Bye.” Standing at the door, I watched Erica hustle past a hunched-over lady with wispy white hair waddling down the street, pushing a walker. The wheels bump, bump, bumped every time they hit a crack. The woman saw me at the door and turned her walker toward our front walk.

“Have you seen my Skippy?” she asked.

CHAPTER 6

I was looking into the gray-blue eyes of a distraught woman. How could I lie to her?

That’s just it. I couldn’t.

“Yes, I did see your dog,” I answered.

The woman’s weathered features brightened instantly. “You did? You saw my Skippy? Where? When?”

“Last night.” I thumbed over my shoulder. “On my back deck.”

“Show me.”

“I’m sure he’s not there now.” How was I going to tell this sweet old lady that her beloved pet had been eaten by some huge dog ... or cat ... or whatever? I couldn’t do that. Then again, how cruel would it be to let her keep thinking he might be alive?

“Show me now, dammit,” Mrs. Wahlen snapped, “or I’ll call the police.”

Maybe sweet wasn’t the right adjective.

“Okay.” I offered a hand to her as Mrs. Wahlen stepped up onto the porch. She waved it away. “I can do it myself.”

“Sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean to offend.”

She grumbled as she stomped over the threshold. I followed. “Why didn’t you call?”

“I didn’t know who the dog belonged to,” I answered, pushing the door open wider to accommodate her walker. “It was last night.”

“But I put fliers on everyone’s door. On your door. You could have at least called to tell me you’d seen him.”

“I didn’t get a flier.”

The lady, whose mind was definitely still razor-sharp, made a point to look at the rolled-up flier, sitting on top of the mail.

Busted.

“I ... erm, that’s your flier? I didn’t read it yet.” I snapped the rubber band still circling it. “See? It’s still rolled up.” After dropping the rubber-banded tube back on the table, I directed Mrs. Wahlen through the house to the French doors. She sniffed as she glanced around. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know.” I opened a door for her. “But he was outside here last night.”

Mrs. Wahlen slid four fingers into her mouth and produced an eardrum-piercing whistle. “Skippyyyyyy!”

That dog wasn’t going to respond, no matter how loud she whistled.

“Where was my baby when you saw him?” Mrs. Wahlen asked, squinting against the sunlight.

“Right there, on the deck.” I pointed at the spot where I’d left him. I noticed the dark stain on the wood too late.

Leaving her walker behind, Mrs. Wahlen hobbled outside and bent down. She poked at the spot with an arthritic finger. “Is that ... blood?”

“I don’t know.” My heart started thumping loudly in my ears.

Mrs. Wahlen looked at the bat, which was lying next to the stain. “Did someone hurt my Skippy?”

“No.”

“Where is he?” she snapped.

“I didn’t hurt him.” At her glare, I amended my answer. “Well, maybe I hurt him a little. I didn’t know he was a dog.”

Her face turned the shade of a tomato. “How could you not know that? The ears? The tail?”

“It was dark outside. I didn’t see a collar or leash. I thought he was a wild animal.” I pulled up my pant leg. “He bit me.”

“Of course he bit you,” Mrs. Wahlen scoffed. “You were hurting him.”

“No, he bit me first. Then I ... sort of ... accidentally ... erm ...”

“My Skippy wouldn’t attack anyone unprovoked. Now, where is he? Did you take him to a vet?”

“Um, well. I don’t know where he is. When I came inside to find a box or something to put him in—so I could take him to a vet, of course—another animal, a bigger one, grabbed him ...”

The woman’s eyes widened. Her tomato-red face went instantly white. Afraid she was about to pass out, I grabbed her arm, but she yanked it away. “Don’t touch me, you murderer!” Mrs. Wahlen stomped—as hard as a hundred-year-old woman could—back inside, reclaimed her walker, and headed out the front door. Once she was safely down the porch steps, she turned and shook an arthritic finger at me. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

Nifty. I was being sued. For killing a dog that had attacked me. With any luck, the attorney would tell her to drop it and that would be the end of that. But still, even if there was no lawsuit, my conscience was going to nag me for years about this one. I donate money to the Humane Society every year. Animal cruelty is my thing. My cause.

“I’ll look for his call then,” I said, thinking I might offer to pay a settlement if I was contacted by a lawyer. I didn’t have a lot of money in the bank, and I didn’t have a full-time job, but I had sold my apartment for a tidy profit. I would sleep better at night if I donated some of that cash to Mrs. Wahlen’s pet replacement fund. “One question, though. Was Skippy up-to-date on all his shots?”

The woman leered at me then stormed away.

“I’ll take that as a no?”

Someone was screaming. Outside. The sound was shrill. Eardrum-splitting. I thought someone might be dying. I pictured severed limbs, spurting blood. So, of course, I went racing outside to see.

It wasn’t what I imagined.

There were no severed limbs. No spurting blood. Just two little people—imagine Thing One and Thing Two from The Cat in the Hat, sans the red suits—racing up and down the front sidewalk, screeching at the top of their lungs like stuck pigs. Oh, and they were smiling. It would seem they were making that noise for the hell of it.

Immediately, I unchecked the Have Kids box on my mental Ultimate Things to Do list. With my luck, my kids would possess supersized lungs like these two lovely angels. And the energy of a pack of hyenas.

As I was about to go back inside, a serene-looking Samantha strolled onto her porch. Seeing me, she smiled and waved.

Before I could ask her whom the little monsters belonged to—thank God, that could’ve been a bad thing—they started trotting toward her, yelling, “Mama!”

Poor woman.

As I watched them bounce around her like jumping beans, knocking flowerpots over and trampling the petunias, I concluded she was either an angel or on Valium. There could be no other explanation for how she maintained her cool while chaos erupted all around her.

I returned her wave when she glanced my way, and in she went, following on the heels of Things One and Two. The blissful silence returned.

There wasn’t anything interesting to watch now, so back in I went. I headed down to my girl-cave and got to work. Roughly an hour later, I heard the doorbell. Being a girl who had lived in the city for years, I was starting to have some serious people-withdrawal. All this quiet, the solitude, the peace, it was getting to me.

I opened the door. Samantha. Smiling. As usual, she was wearing pristine vintage clothing—Chanel today—and her hair and makeup were flawless. If I was going to start spending a lot of time with this woman—which was still very much in question—I was going to have to do better than sloppy sweats and a ponytail. After all, I was a clothing designer. “Hello, are you busy?”

“Nope. Come in.” I ushered her inside, to the kitchen. “Something to drink?”

“No thanks.” She settled on a bar stool and watched as I poured myself a diet cola. She waved away a second offer at a glass.

I sat beside her. “Your children are very ... energetic. Very cute.” I wondered where they were now.

“Thank you. They’re napping.”

“Ah.” I sipped my cola, wondering if Samantha had come over for some adult time or if she wanted to talk about something specific.

“Have you had any luck with your little investigation?” she asked.

Aha, so there was an ulterior motive. “I have. I learned Jon has an airtight alibi. But that’s as far as I’ve gotten. I don’t even know what sort of evidence was found when the police arrived.”

“I do,” she said. “I came to return Michelle’s Cuisinart. She’d loaned it to me a few days before. I was the one who found her.”

Hadn’t Jon said he was the one who discovered her? Had he lied? Or forgotten?

“Okay, so tell me. What did you see? Blood? Signs of a struggle?”

“No, none of those.” Samantha spun the swiveling stool around, so her back was facing the counter. “She was right there, lying on the floor, a wire dog cable hanging around her neck.”

“And ... ?” When Samantha didn’t add any more details, I asked, looking up, at the ceiling, wondering how the former Mrs. Stewart had hung herself. “Is that all?”

“Yes, that’s all.”

“Am I missing something? A broken window? Signs of a struggle?”

“No. There was none of that.”

“Then what makes you think it wasn’t suicide?”

“First, the cable wasn’t attached to anything. It was just looped around her neck. Did she strangle herself by holding it there? Can you do that? Second, can you think of anyone who has killed herself in the middle of her kitchen? It’s such an odd place to pick. Could you imagine her strolling around her house, that cable knotted around her neck, and her stopping right there saying, ‘I think I’ll die right here,’ and pulling the chain? And third, Michelle would never do anything so ... dirty ... in her kitchen. She was a germ-aphobe, especially when it came to Joshua. He’d been sick a lot that summer. She was bleaching and Lysoling everything. If she ever thought to kill herself, she’d do it someplace safe, somewhere easy to clean, like her bathroom. And I told the detective that.”

“Strangled?” I stared at the floor, almost able to picture Michelle Stewart lying there, her sightless eyes staring back at me. I shivered.

“Yes.” Samantha spun back around. “Wouldn’t you think that the instant she passed out, the cable would loosen and she’d start breathing again?”

“I would.” My throat was dry. I gulped half my glass of cola.

“But you said Jon has an alibi?”

“He does.” I emptied the glass. “Why do you suspect him?”

“Well, everyone knows that the spouse is usually the killer. Plus, I’d heard them arguing that week. More than once.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Married people fight,” I pointed out. “It doesn’t always lead to someone dying.”

“True.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “But I’ve watched enough episodes of CSI to know that a strangling is a more intimate way of killing someone. The killer has to get close to the victim, within reach.”

“Stands to reason.”

“Which is generally why they’re someone the victim knows.” Little did Samantha realize, that statement put her, and her friends, on my short list of suspects.

“It was in her house. The kitchen. There was no sign of a break-in,” Samantha continued. “Yet another reason to believe it was someone she knew well. Like Jon.”

“So tell me, who else would Michelle let into the house?”

“Besides her husband? And me, of course ...” Samantha’s eyes widened. “You don’t think ... Do the police suspect me?”

I shrugged, doing my best to hide the truth. “I wouldn’t know.”

“But you said you talked to the detective.”

“I didn’t tell you that. How did you know?”

She blanched. “Lindsay told me. Was she lying?”

“Hmmm. I see good news travels fast around here,” I said to nobody in particular. “I did talk to the detective. But he wouldn’t even tell me as much as you did.”

Samantha shifted in her seat, checked her watch. “Oh darn. I need to get back. Need to take the bread out of the oven.” She slid from the stool. “Do you believe what the detective said about Jon?”

“I do. It sounded like there was absolutely no question of his innocence.”

“Well, I guess that’s good news for you? I imagine you weren’t too thrilled to learn you’d just moved in with a suspected murderer.”

“I imagine nobody would be thrilled to learn that.”

“True.” Samantha strolled to the front door, seeming to be in no hurry to get to her baking bread. “I guess I must believe it, too, then.”

“I think you’ll believe whatever you want,” I said as she stepped outside. As soon as I closed the door, I went down to the girl-cave to take some notes. What Samantha said made a lot of sense. At least, the part about the untied cable and the notion that Michelle might have known her killer.

At this point, I was ninety-nine percent sure Michelle Stewart had been murdered. I made a list of suspects. It was short. Very short. And I had serious doubts about all of the people on it. There was Jon, whom I couldn’t remove yet because of that inconsistency in his story versus Samantha’s. But I was pretty sure it wasn’t him. Samantha was on there, too. And Lindsay. Erica was the last name on the list. Because Lindsay, Erica, and Samantha were pushing me so hard to investigate, I was having a difficult time believing any of them were the killer. Jon had an alibi.

That left ... who else?

I needed to find out who else might have been close enough to Michelle to be invited inside the house. I was missing something. Something big. The puzzle pieces just weren’t fitting. Who would kill Michelle Stewart? And why?

The more I learned, the more I needed to know.

CHAPTER 7

There was a dead cat on the front porch. Make that, a mangled dead cat. Creepy eyes wide open. Mouth agape in an eternal hiss, teeth bared. It was dead for sure. I’d nudged it with a toe. It was stiff.

I slammed the door and locked it.

Jon, why aren’t you home yet?

I checked the clock. It was after midnight. I’d been so sure the sound I’d heard outside was him, I hadn’t thought twice about throwing the door open to greet him. But instead of getting a nice, warm hug, I’d received the shock of the night.

This whole dead animal thing was getting much too common.

Inching open the door, I checked to see if it was still there.

Yep.

Damn.

I went to the girl-cave and retrieved the shoe box that had originally been intended for Skippy. Then I collected a pair of thick rubber gloves and a set of salad tongs. There was no way in hell I was touching that ... thing. Out I went, back onto the porch, yellow gloves gleaming, metal tongs reflecting the overhead porch light. I gingerly grabbed a leg with the tongs, lifted. The foot slipped loose, and the animal hit the porch with a stomach-turning smack. Swallowing bile, I made a second attempt, this time grabbing the base of the tail.

Success. I slammed the box top on and, leaving my tool on the porch, hurried the makeshift coffin into the attached garage, trying hard not to inhale through my nose. As disgusting as the animal had looked, I was sure it smelled even worse. Into a black trash bag it went. And the bag—tied, knotted, triple-knotted—went into a trash can. Lid on. Hopefully the garage wouldn’t stink like dead cat by tomorrow.

That unpleasant task completed, I spun around.

“Gak!” I screamed as I smacked right into a man’s wide chest. I jerked my head back and let out an audible exhale. “Ohmygod, you scared me. I didn’t hear you.”

Jon was holding the tongs. He gave my rubber-covered hands a pointed look. “What are you doing?”

“Um.” I snatched the tongs out of his hand and threw them into the nearest garbage can. “We can’t use those anymore. They’re dirty.”

“We can wash them.”

A very reasonable suggestion. Unfortunately, in this case, it wouldn’t work. Those tongs could be sterilized, sanitized, boiled in bleach, and I wasn’t going to touch them. “Sure. But they have dead cat germs on them.”

His eyebrows scrunched together. “Huh?”

“There was a dead cat on our porch. I didn’t want to touch it.”

“I see. Where’d you put the cat?”

I pointed at the can. “It’s boxed, bagged, and tied.” I snapped off the rubber gloves and they joined the tongs. “It’s not going anywhere.”

“Hmmm. I guess I’ll dispose of it tomorrow.” He looped an arm around my waist, leading me back into the house. “Anything else exciting happen today?”

“Well, let’s see,” I said, walking arm-in-arm with Jon up the stairs. “This morning, Lindsay forced me to take her ex-boyfriend’s stuff because she’s mad at him. And Mrs. Wahlen is suing me for killing her dog, Skippy. By the way, I’m still unclear whether I need to go get a rabies shot since she wouldn’t tell me if Skippy was up-to-date on his shots. Oh, and Skippy was eaten by some big animal last night. At least, I think he was. I saw something. Some eyes. Big, glowing eyes. And then Samantha came over to talk about ... to visit. And Josh had a half day at school. He took off with his friends for a few hours then came home and went straight to his room. Didn’t say a word to me. And finally, well, I already told you about the dead cat.”

“Sounds like you had an interesting day.”

“A strange, bizarre day is more like it. And here I thought living in the ’burbs would be boring.”

He stripped off his shirt and gave me a hungry man leer, and I knew my day was going to end on a much higher note. He pulled down his pants, and all thoughts of dead cats and ex-boyfriends flew from my mind. “Come here.” He took my hands and led me to the bed. “Let me show you why living in the ’burbs will never be boring.”

“Hmmm,” I said, as I slid between the sheets and into his arms. “I like the sound of that.”

“I’m having a dinner party and you’re invited. Six o’clock. Tonight.”

That was the greeting I received when I answered the front door the next morning. The party holder was Erica. She was dressed for work, knotted up in a chic black suit and a killer pair of Manolos. Someday I would just love to raid her closet. “Thanks for the invite. Shall I bring something?”

“Maybe a notebook. Something small that you can conceal easily.”

“Wouldn’t a casserole be more appropriate?”

“Not in this case. I’ve invited everyone I could think of who knew Michelle.” Her purse started buzzing. She dug inside, checked her phone, then hit a button, ending the noise. “I’d like you to come over at five. I’ve asked Lindsay and Samantha to come early, too, so we can make plans.”

“Plans for what?”

She shrugged. I’ve never seen a more elegant shrug in my life. “Our interrogations.”

“Interesting.”

Erica’s purse buzzed again. Scowling, she checked her phone. “Dammit.” Hit the button. “Gotta go. See you at five.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, and if you happen to see a cat running around, please let me know. Ramzes got out last night and he hasn’t come back. The kids are a mess.”

“Cat?” I echoed.

“Yes, he’s rare breed, Ural Rex. It was a nightmare getting him into the States. We bought him from a breeder in Russia during a family vacation. I’d hate to think I might have to go to all that trouble again. At any rate. He’s brown with a wavy coat and a mostly black head.”

And he’s now an occupant of our garbage can. I forced a smile. “I’ll let you know if I see him.”

“Great. Thanks.” When her purse buzzed yet again, she sighed and hurried toward the door, throwing a wave over her shoulder. “Work calls. See you at five.”

“See you then.”

Ural Rex. From Russia. Great.

I closed the door and headed upstairs to wake Josh. He didn’t have a lot of time to get ready for school. Only about twenty minutes. His door was open. I could see some hair poking out from under the covers. I flipped on the light. “Rise and shine. The bus’ll be here in twenty.” Stepmotherly duty done, I trotted back downstairs to start the coffee. Josh came dragging down just as the first drops were hitting the carafe. His eyes were bloodshot, deep black smudges staining the skin under them. His clothes were rumpled, as if he’d slept in them—he probably had. And his unzipped, bulging-with-books backpack was dragging on the floor behind him. But more importantly, he was sporting the worst bed head I’d ever seen. He substituted an empty mug for the glass coffeepot for a few seconds, replacing it when his cup was full.

“I’ve heard caffeine stunts your growth,” I told him.

“Uhn,” was his response. He blinked slowly.

I pointed at his head. “Hair.”

He grabbed a baseball cap off a nearby table and smacked it on his head. After downing a few gulps of coffee, he lumbered toward the front door.

“Have a nice day,” I called, exaggerating the cheerfulness in my voice. Smiling at his back, I said to myself, “I think I could get used to this. If the whole dead animal thing would just stop.”

I headed into the shower, spying a sleeping Jon as I tiptoed through our bedroom and into the attached bath. I was tempted to crawl back under the covers and snuggle up to him, but I resisted the temptation and went for a shower instead. When I came back out, he was gone. And I was home alone, again.

After dressing, I killed some time down in the girl-cave, working on some sketches and scouring the web for inspiration. At noon, I headed out to check the mailbox. Thing One and Thing Two were racing tricycles down the sidewalk. Thing Two clipped the back of my leg with a pedal as she was roaring by.

Samantha, whom I hadn’t realized was sitting on the front porch, called out an apology. Finding the mailbox empty, I cut across our yards, joining her on her porch.

She was dumping a few pills out of a prescription bottle as I climbed the steps. Recognizing the fact that I’d seen her, she lifted the bottle, saying, “Anxiety,” before tossing the tablets into her mouth. She washed them down with a gulp of vitamin water. “What do you think about Erica’s dinner party. Brilliant, isn’t it?”

“I guess.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“Do you really think the killer will slip up and say something self-incriminating—assuming, that is, the killer is one of the guests?”

“Well ... I have a little secret weapon... .” Samantha waved me into the house. She dug a small bottle of pills out of her handbag, sitting on the console table just inside the door.

Stunned, I asked, “You’re going to dose everyone?”

“Sure. This stuff won’t hurt anyone.”

“What is it?”

“Just sleeping pills. I have insomnia.” She dropped the bottle back in her bag. “I read online that they work like truth serum.”

“But sleeping pills will just put people to sleep.”

“Not if I only give them a light dose.”

“This is a bad idea.”

“Wouldn’t you like to find out what really happened to your fiancé’s first wife?”

“Sure, but giving innocent people drugs is taking things too far.”

Samantha sighed. “Okay. You’re right.” She headed back outside.

Following her, I said, “I’m glad you think so. I mean, if someone had a reaction, you could put someone in the hospital. Or worse.”

“Yes. That would be terrible.” She returned to her chair.

I leaned against one of the vertical porch posts. “We can get people talking other ways. Less dangerous ways.”

She shrugged. “Sure.”

“Like a strong punch. Alcohol makes people talk more, be more impulsive, more honest.”

“Absolutely. I can whip up a killer punch—no pun intended.” She waved at Things One and Two. “Time for lunch, kids.”

I straightened up, prepared to scamper down off the porch before the two wild things came up. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yes, later.”

I wondered if I’d talked her out of spiking the punch. As much as I hoped I had, I figured it was maybe fifty-fifty I hadn’t.

CHAPTER 8

At exactly five fifty-nine the last guest arrived at Erica’s dinner party. All totaled, including Erica, Lindsay, Lindsay’s “date,” Nicole, Samantha, and me, there were ten people at the party. None of them were kids. Erica had shipped hers off with her husband before I’d arrived, and Lindsay and Samantha had opted to leave theirs at home, too.

Upon the arrival of the last person—a nurse working with Michelle’s former OB/GYN—the girls set their plans into motion. The first goal was to serve light hors d’oeuvres so that the effects of the punch would be exaggerated. Dinner would be served later.

Within a half hour, it was obvious their scheme had worked.

“That dress is butt ugly,” one guest said, her perky little nose scrunched up in disgust. Pointing at another guest, she said, much too loudly, “I would never, ever put that shape of skirt on a curvy client.”

“At least my dress fits,” the recipient of her verbal assault tossed back. “Yours is so tight, I can see every lump of cottage cheese on your thighs. I’m guessing you spent a hell of a lot of money on your nose, your lips, and your boobs. Why wouldn’t you get lipo?”

“My husband’s leaving me for another man,” the third guest sobbed.

“I hate my job. My boss is an ass,” said another.

“I paid ten grand for new boobs and they are hideous,” wailed the first. “And that bitch is so right. I should’ve gotten the lipo. What the hell was I thinking?”

“This punch is delicious,” said the woman with the cheating husband as she poured herself another glass.

We exchanged grins. Samantha shrugged. “I told you, I have a killer punch recipe.”

If nothing else, this was going to be one very interesting evening.

“Just tell me there’s nothing but alcohol in it,” I said, watching as things started heating up.

Samantha nodded. “I promise, I didn’t even bring the pills.”

We huddled in the kitchen, planning our strategy. Erica gave us a rundown of each guest, why they were invited, and why they were suspects. The fashion critic, Rachel, was Michelle’s former personal shopper. She regularly spent hours in the Stewart home, helping Michelle plan outfits for the many charity events she attended. There was a rumor that she was in debt and desperate for cash. The fashion victim, Theresa, was the nurse at Michelle’s former OB. She wasn’t a suspect per se, but Erica had hoped to get some information about Michelle’s alleged fertility problems. The dumped wife, Kelly, was the mother of one of Joshua’s friends. She visited Michelle occasionally, enough that Michelle would have let her into the house without thinking about it. And even two years ago, there’d been rumors about her marriage being on the rocks. There’d also been rumors that Kelly had a thing for Jon. The last guest was Heather, also someone who’d met Michelle through Josh. Michelle had told Erica only a few days before she’d died that she’d had a huge blow-up-drag-down fight with Heather over something that happened between her son and Josh.

“Time to get to work.” Feeling like a football coach, I pointed at Erica. “Why don’t you start with the nurse? You know her best, since she works for your doctor.” Erica agreed with a nod. Next I pointed at Kelly. “Lindsay, why don’t you take the friend with the gay husband? She’s in I-hate-my-husband mode. You just broke up with a boyfriend—” Lindsay blanched then gave Nicole a guilty look. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to bring up a touchy subject.”

“It’s okay. We’re on a mission. I get it.” To Nicole, Lindsay said, “Long story. I’ll tell you later.” Lindsay glanced over her shoulder, at her target. “If she knows anything about Michelle’s death, I’ll get it outta her.”

“Good!” I motioned to Samantha next. “Samantha, why don’t you take Heather the boss-hater? I’ll take the one that’s left, Rachel, the personal shopper.” I checked my watch. “How about we reconvene in a half hour and see what we need to do next? And let’s keep that punch flowing.”

Off we went, to question our so-called persons of interest.

I headed for my target, who was standing next to Heather, pointing out all the flaws in everyone’s fashion statement. According to Erica, Rachel worked as a personal shopper-slash-stylist and had reportedly made a lot of deliveries to the Stewart household in the past. Since fashion was my thing, I figured I stood as good a chance as any of getting her to talk.

“Hi there, I see you have an interest in fashion,” I said as I approached her with a full glass of punch. I motioned to her empty glass, trading it for the full one in my hand.

After nodding a thanks, she said, “I’m a stylist and personal shopper.” She gave me an up-and-down look. I was wearing one of my own dresses. “Who are you wearing?”

“Actually, it’s my own. I’m a designer.”

“Really?” She gave my dress a closer look. “Nice. Have you had samples made? I’d love to show this piece to a few of my clients.”

“Not yet. I’m working on it.”

She dug into her purse, produced a card. “When you do, I hope you’ll keep me in mind.”

“I will. Thanks. I understand you worked for Michelle Stewart.”

“Michelle was one of my best clients.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Rachel gave me a sad look. “Actually, she was my best client. My business has taken a nosedive since she died, and—don’t tell anybody—I had to take a part-time job, working at JCPenney to make ends meet. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Good. I’d hate for them to know.” She plucked a nonexistent piece of fuzz from her skirt. “My business is all about appearances, you know.”

“That, I know.”

She smoothed her sleeve. “I mean, who would want to pay top dollar to a part-time sales clerk to be their stylist?”

“I’m sorry your business has suffered. Has it been a long time since you’ve shopped for a client?”

She didn’t answer right away. “Yes, it has been a long time, since the week before Michelle died.”

“That long ago? That’s terrible.”

“I’d met with Michelle the week before she ... you know. She had a few events coming up, and she wanted me to come by. In fact, we had an appointment for that very day. But I didn’t get the chance. I was ... well, detained.” Her face turned red. “Parking tickets. I was in jail.”

“Oh.” I patted her shoulder. “Sorry for dredging up unhappy memories. Hopefully you’ll pick up some new clients soon. I’d better move on to the other guests.” Feeling a little guilty for pretty much dumping her after that confession, I explained, “I’m new in town. Would hate for anyone to feel slighted. Say, maybe you can come back another day, and I’ll take you down to my studio, let you get a firsthand glimpse of my collection.”

Her eyes actually sparkled. “I would love that.”

After making the rounds, filling punch glasses, I was the first to return to our predetermined meeting spot. The other ladies soon joined me. “I’m pretty sure we can cross Rachel off the list,” I said. “Her business has tanked since Michelle died. She has no motivation to kill her best client. She was anticipating more business from her in the upcoming weeks. So if her motivation was money, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. Plus, she has an alibi that should be pretty easy to verify.” I glanced at the other ladies. “Anybody get something good?”

“Got nothing from Kelly,” Lindsay said, “other than she was very sad to learn about Michelle. Evidently, she called her often to talk about her troubles with her husband.”

“Heather seems to be a dead end, too,” Samantha said, frowning. “That big so-called fight was just about Joshua borrowing a pair of her son’s gym shoes. The shoes were ruined, and there’d been conflicting stories about who was responsible. I don’t know. Even if they were Alexander McQueens, a pair of shoes is hardly worth killing over.”

All of us shared a heavy sigh.

“But wait. All’s not lost,” Erica said. “I had Theresa, Dr. Orenstein’s nurse. I’m thinking we need to follow up on the doctor. Evidently, he had a secret thing for Michelle.”

“Thing?” I echoed.

“Obsession,” Erica clarified.

“A secret obsession,” Lindsay repeated. “That could be a motivation for murder.”

“Maybe,” I agreed.

Erica continued, leaning in, “Evidently, Jon’s story about her going to a fertility specialist was partially true. Michelle did ask for a referral. But Dr. O insisted she didn’t need one and persisted in treating her himself. It’s possible Michelle didn’t tell Jon the truth, letting him think she was going to someone else. Jon wasn’t fond of Dr. O and had told her to change doctors.”

Lindsay’s eyes widened. “Now, that is interesting—”

“You bitch!” someone shouted from the living room.

I jerked around, catching Heather tossing a glass of punch into Rachel’s face.

“How dare ...” Eyelashes dripping, mouth agape, Rachel grabbed the first thing she touched—a potted plant—and threw it. Heather ducked. The pot hit the wall and shattered. Dirt flew everywhere. The plant landed on Kelly’s head.

“What the hell?” Kelly screeched, untangling philodendron leaves from her hair. “I just paid two hundred dollars to get my hair done.”

“Uh-oh,” I mumbled, watching Kelly lurch to her feet. “This is getting ugly. Fast.”

“Ladies,” Erica shouted over the mounting wave of expletives filling the room. She waved her arms. The cuss words just kept flowing.

“If you paid that, you were robbed,” Rachel sneered. “I’ve seen better dye jobs walking out of Fantasic Sams.”

Kelly charged at Rachel like a bull, nostrils flaring, fury burning in her eyes. She tackled Rachel to the ground, and a catfight ensued. There was hair flying, clothes tearing, fingernails clawing. A couple of the other guests jumped into the fray before we could get it broken up, and before we knew it, we were ducked behind the kitchen island while things crashed and shattered all around us.

“Samantha, what the hell did you put in that punch?” Erica snapped.

Crack.

Samantha shrugged.

“Just alcohol,” I said. “Right, Samantha? You only put alcohol, like you said.”

“Well ...”

Crash.

“Dammit, I think that was the plasma TV.” Erica poked her head up. “Yes, that was the plasma.” She glared at Samantha.

“You’ll pay for that, whore!” Kelly screeched.

“What did you put in the punch?” I repeated.

“No drugs.” Samantha raised her hands. “I swear.”

“Then what is in that punch?” I eyeballed the bowl, not sure whether I should empty it to keep them all from drinking more or just put it away, in case someone had a bad reaction. “It can’t be just fruit juice and ginger ale.”

“No, it’s not.” Samantha sighed. “I got a truth potion from someone I know. She promised it was safe, made from all organic ingredients. I’ve used her potions before. Never had a problem.”

“A potion?” I echoed.

Ka-blam.

Erica sank to the floor. “Samantha, do you have a Valium on you?”

“Sure.” Samantha produced a bottle from her skirt pocket, dumped a handful out, and handed them to Erica. “Take a few.”

“Thanks.” Erica dry-swallowed half of them. “I can’t believe this.”

Smash.

“Hey,” Samantha said, sounding a touch defensive. “If it wasn’t for the punch, do you think we’d have what we do on Dr. O?”

Erica shrugged. And sighed. “Point taken.”

“Thank you.”

Crack.

Lindsay giggled.

We all looked at her. She was batting her eyelashes at her new friend, Nicole.

“Do you really think she’s turning lesbian?” I whispered to Erica.

“She’s no more a lesbian than I am. But I’m not going to tell her that. She’ll figure it out. But I will say one thing—she has great taste in women. Nicole’s very attractive.” That statement had me second-guessing both their sexual orientations. To Samantha, Erica said, “Okay, that’s enough. My living room is destroyed. My dining room table is covered with broken glass. I’d like to preserve at least some of my furniture. How about making it stop?”

“Very well.” After straightening her hair, Samantha stood up. “Excuse me, but ... dinner is served.”

Silence.

It was a freaking miracle.

CHAPTER 9

An hour later, Lindsay, Erica, Samantha, Nicole, and I were sitting in the middle of a war zone. The police had just left, toting away Rachel for assaulting Kelly with a fireplace poker. We hadn’t known it, but she had a record for felony assault. If not for her alibi, she would have moved to the top of our Persons of Interest list.

As it was now, we had only one name on that list—Dr. O, the OB. And at this point, we didn’t have any substantial proof he belonged there.

“What now?” Lindsay asked, glancing at her watch, then at Nicole. “It’s almost eight. I need to get home and relieve the sitter soon.”

“It’s okay,” I told her. “I think we’ve accomplished all we can tonight. I’ll take what we found out to the police tomorrow. Maybe they can do something with it.”

Erica and Samantha agreed that was a good idea.

Lindsay looked unsure as she stood. “All right. I’ll go. Do we want to meet tomorrow sometime?”

Erica shook her head. “Tomorrow’s bad for me. I have meetings all day. What about Saturday?”

Everyone checked their calendars. Saturday it was. Lunch at Samantha’s.

Nicole gave us all a handshake. “This was the most interesting dinner party I’ve ever attended.” She left with Lindsay.

Erica headed into the great room to look at her smashed television. I joined her.

“That is a sad, sad sight,” I said.

Erica shrugged. “I was thinking about getting something bigger. I work my ass off. What the hell?” She circled around the far end and stooped down to pick it up. I took the other end, and together we hauled the broken TV out to the garage. When we went back inside, Samantha was hard at work, cleaning up the kitchen. Erica found some trash bags, handed me one, and together we picked our way through the great room, broken glass crunching under our feet. A little while later, Erica went back to the kitchen, her bag full.

She dunked a glass into the punch bowl.

I waved my hands. “Um, Erica ...”

Too late. She’d downed the punch faster than a thirsty sailor. Smiling, she smacked her lips. “That punch is good.”

“It’s lethal,” I reminded her.

“It is not. It’s just punch. And a few organically grown herbs.” That was yet to be proven. “I’m not going to get violent, and I have nothing to hide.” She refilled her glass and emptied it. “Samantha, this is some damned good punch.”

Samantha beamed. “Thanks.”

“Maybe you should ease up on the punch.” I tried to take the glass from her. She didn’t let me. “You took those Valiums earlier.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine.” Erica chugged a third glass then crunched across the room to the couch. She plopped down, flung a leg over her knee.

She patted the seat and crooked a finger at me. “Come here. Let’s talk.”

I lifted an empty flowerpot. “But don’t you think we should get things cleaned up? I’m happy to help.”

“Fuck that. The kids and that ass I’m married to will be home in a few minutes anyway. But the hell if I care. The lazy bum has nothing better to do. He can clean it up tomorrow.”

I exchanged looks with Samantha.

Samantha glanced at her watch. “I need to get the twins into bed.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “It’s getting late—”

“Fuck that. Joshua can get his own ass in bed. He’s not two. I need someone to talk to.”

Samantha made a hasty exit, leaving me with Erica, who was in the mood to talk.

Erica let her head flop back. Her eyelids fluttered closed. “Did you know that dumb bastard hasn’t even tried to get a job? It’s been five years. Five long years. He knew I wanted to have another baby before Paris started school. But now ...” Rocking her head to the side, she looked at me. “It’s too late.”

“Oh, Erica. Are you sure it’s too late? You’re not even thirty-five yet, are you? I’ve heard of women in their forties—”

“I can’t stand him. Can’t stand his voice. Can’t stand looking at him. And most definitely can’t stand him touching me.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she gripped her upper arms. “Can you blame me for taking a lover?”

“Um ...”

“Okay, maybe some people would. But I didn’t plan on cheating. It just sort of happened. We were both there. Lindsay had to leave, and the next thing I knew, we were making out in her living room.”

Was Erica telling me ... was she sleeping with Lindsay’s ex-boyfriend? Was Erica the other woman?

“Who?” I asked.

“Matt. I thought you figured it out already. That’s why you asked me about him, right?” Erica got up, sauntered into the kitchen, helped herself to another glass of punch, and drank it without taking a break to breathe.

In the interest of preserving her marriage—which was probably on its way to hell, anyway—I took the liberty of emptying the punch bowl down the drain. “Actually, no. I asked because I wanted to return his stuff. It’s still in my garage.”

“Here.” She scribbled a phone number on a napkin. “His phone number.” She slid the napkin across the granite counter. “The best time to reach him is early afternoon.”

“Thanks.” I tucked it into my pocket just as the echo of voices signaled the return of Erica’s family. “Well, I’d better be going.”

Erica threw her arms around me. “I’m so glad you’re here. We’re going to be good friends. I can tell already.”

I wasn’t sure about that, not after she found out about her cat. Speaking of which ... “Um, Erica, I need to talk to you about your missing cat.”

“What the hell happened here?” Erica’s husband bellowed.

“Later,” Erica said, shooing me toward the door. “Paris, upstairs.” She pointed and a pretty little girl of about ten stomped toward the staircase. Then Erica turned an angry glare at her husband. “Listen up, asshole. I’ve had one hell of a day. Don’t you dare take that tone with me.”

I made a beeline for the front door.

The sounds of their argument followed me through the house and even outside. As I scuttled across the front lawn, heading home, someone grabbed my arm, giving it a tug.

I gave a little yipe! and spun around, half-expecting something to fly at my head.

Jon chuckled. Sneaky bastard.

“Ohmygod, where did you come from?” I asked him, clapping a hand over my racing heart.

“I was just heading to the party.”

“You’re a little late.”

“I’m sorry. I had some things to handle at work. They couldn’t wait.”

“Yeah, well. You missed the whole thing.”

“Tell me.” Looking all tall and dark and mysterious—the moonlight did amazing things for the man’s face—he gathered my hair over one shoulder. Then—no surprise here—he started nibbling on my neck. Outside. In the middle of the front lawn.

“Jon ...” I said, tipping my head to give him better access. Little tingles were quaking through my body. They felt mighty good. I decided I didn’t need to tell him about the party right now. It could wait. “Where’s Josh?”

“Up in his room. Why?” He nibbled on my earlobe.

“Because I don’t think he should see us.”

“See us doing what? We’re not having sex ... yet. I’m just having a little snack.” He nipped at my neck.

“But I don’t think he likes me as it is. I don’t want him to dislike me even more.”

“What makes you say that?” He dragged his tongue down the column of my neck and I shivered.

“Because he hasn’t spoken to me in days.”

“It’s just stress. Tests. That kind of thing. Don’t worry. He likes you just fine. Now, since you’re so concerned about people seeing us, why don’t we go inside?” Before I could respond, he scooped me off my feet.

Grinning at nobody in particular, I tossed an arm around his neck. As he climbed the stairs, I squinted at a dark shadow sitting smack-dab in front of the door. My blood, which had warmed up nicely, chilled. “What is that?”

“What?” He halted at the door. “Can you grab the doorknob for me?”

“What’s under your feet?”

“Nothing.”

“It looks like something.”

“I don’t see anything.” In he went. He set me on my feet before pushing on the door to shut it.

I caught it just before it slammed, snapped on the porch light.

“Oh shit! What is that?” I stabbed a finger at the little pile of brown fur lying in front of the door. “See? I told you I saw something.”

“It’s probably a dead rabbit or cat,” he reasoned, acting as if it was no big deal to find dead animals lying on the welcome mat. “I’ll take care of it later.”

“But, Jon, there was a dead cat there last night. That’s two nights in a row. Whoever heard of such a coincidence?”

“It’s hardly a coincidence. There are a lot of stray animals around here. I used to leave food out for them. Some of them keep coming back, looking for more.”

Was I buying that explanation?

He licked the spot on my neck, the one that sent tingly shivers down my spine, and I decided I didn’t care. If it was still there in the morning, I’d worry about it then.

Laughter. In my dreams. Women laughing. Talking. A party?

My eyes opened.

The laughter continued.

I wasn’t dreaming.

Driven by overwhelming curiosity, I checked the clock. It was a little after midnight. I carefully extricated myself from Jon’s embrace—yes, he was a cuddler when he slept—and went to the window.

More laughter. Shadows moving. There. It was coming from Samantha’s yard.

I had to know what was going on. Having slept in a T-shirt and sweats, all I had to do was grab a pair of flip flops and quietly head downstairs. I bypassed the front door, opting for the French doors opening onto the back deck. Out I went into the cool, cloudless night. Yet another round of laughter beckoned to me, coaxing me to wander farther away from the house. My shoes smack-smacked under my feet, but nobody would hear. The laughter and lively chattering would drown out the sound.

Creeping closer, almost at the far side of Samantha’s house, I kept to the shadows. For some reason, I didn’t want Samantha, or whoever it was, to know I was spying.

But just as I rounded the far corner, everything went silent. No laughing. No chattering. Not even any insect buzzing. A strange chill raced up my spine.

I turned to go home. Stopped.

Were those ... ? Glowing eyes. Two. No, four. No ... six.

Three pairs of eyes were staring at me from the shadows between the houses. I had no idea what they belonged to. Dogs maybe. Big dogs. Instantly, the vision of that little scraggly Skippy came to mind. One of these ... dogs ... had snatched him. I knew it. What would they do to me?

Nothing if I could help it.

I backed up, moving as slowly, as quietly as possible.

Avoid eye contact, I told myself, remembering the first rule of Aggressive Dogs 101.

Protect your head and neck.

Remaining standing, but turning sideways, I inched along the back wall of the house. My foot landed on something soft. Rubber.

Squeak.

Damn.

One of the animals stepped out of the shadow. It was big, muscular, a dog of some kind, with a long pointed snout and a thick, dark coat. For some reason, my gaze snapped to its eyes. Blue? A clear, ice blue. The dog’s ears twitched, and I yanked my gaze away, hoping it wouldn’t attack.

I lifted my foot off the toy and another loud squeak cut through the thick silence as the hollow rubber inflated again. I held my breath when a second dog cleared the shadows. It stopped a few inches behind the first, flanking it on the right.

Watching me.

Still. Silent. Tracking my movements.

The third stepped forward. It was holding something in its mouth. Small. Brown. Furry.

Now I had an idea where all the dead cats were coming from.

The dog with the dead animal slowly crept forward, ears back, tail low. I smooshed my back against the house and held my breath as it moved close, closer, too close. It stopped a couple of feet away, lowered its head, and dropped its prize onto the dewy grass. Then, moving just as cautiously as it had when it approached, it backed away. When it met up with the other two, the pack turned around and raced into the still, dark shadows.

Finally, I was able to breathe again.

Afraid the dogs would be back at any moment, I hightailed it out of there, dashing around the side of the house. Something jumped out of the shadows just as I was about to turn the front corner. I slammed into it, bounced backward and landed on my ass. The air left my lungs with an audible “oof.”

Jerking my head, I looked up.

Jon.

“Why do you keep doing that?” I said, not hiding my exasperation.

“What do you mean, me? I was just looking for you. You’re the one who keeps slamming into people. You need to watch where you’re going.”

“I do watch where I’m going. You’re so freaking quiet and sneaky, I don’t see or hear you coming.” I started to push to my feet. I got a little help from Jon.

He dusted my ass, then gave it a pat. “I’m not sneaking up on you on purpose. When I didn’t see you in the house, I got worried.”

“Okay. Fine. Thanks for coming after me. As it turns out, you had good reason to be worried.” I started toward the house, Jon falling into step beside me.

“What happened?”

“I ran into a pack of dogs. Big ones.”

“Were you hurt?”

“No. Not at all. They didn’t seem aggressive. Although there was something really weird about them.” At the front of the house now, I glanced back.

“Weird? Like what?”

“I don’t know. Just ... something.” I wrapped my arms around myself as a little shiver shot up my spine. “One of them had a dead animal in its mouth. It brought it to me, dropped it at my feet. Like it was some kind of gift.” I stepped up onto the porch and checked the welcome mat. Dead animal–free.

“I’ll call animal control tomorrow.” Jon reached around my side and opened the door. “I think it would be better if you stayed inside after dark until those animals are caught. It’s after midnight. What made you go outside in the first place?”

“I heard voices.”

“Voices?” he echoed, stepping into the foyer.

“Yeah. Women’s voices. I thought it might be Erica. And maybe Samantha. So I came outside to check.”

As Jon reached for the door to close it, the soft sound of a woman’s laughter carried through the still night.

“There it goes again! Did you hear that?” Pushing past Jon, I rushed back out onto the porch, following the direction of the sound with my eyes.

Not far away, I caught sight of a tall shadow. Thin. “Samantha?” I called as I skipped down the front porch steps. I halted in the middle of the front yard, realizing there were shadows bouncing around the taller one. Big, dog-shaped shadows. Taking a step backward, I bumped into a walking brick wall. “I think those might be the dogs I saw before. Is that Samantha? She’s not afraid. Are they her dogs?”

“Uh, you might say that.” Jon looped an arm around my waist, hauling me up to him.

“But ... I didn’t know she had dogs. I’ve never heard barking, never seen them outside doing their doody—”

“We shouldn’t disturb them. Let’s go inside.”

I took one last look at the strange scene—straight out of Dances with Wolves—then let Jon lead me back into the house. This time, he shut and locked the door as soon as we were inside.

Feeling even more shivery than before, I asked, “Is it just me, or do you think it’s a little strange that Samantha is outside after midnight playing with her dogs?”

“Some people might think a lot of what goes on in this neighborhood is strange.”

That statement got my attention. “Like what?” I asked.

Jon shrugged and, taking my hand, headed toward the stairs.

I yanked my hand away, planted my feet, and refused to budge. “Jon, what did you mean by that? Ever since I arrived, I’ve been feeling like things around here are a little ... off. Is there more going on than a few dead stray cats?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” He swept my hair over one shoulder. There was no doubt what he was about to do next.

I shrugged away before he got his first nibble. “Jon.”

“Chrissy.” He cupped the back of my head, pulling me into a kiss.

Just as his mouth settled over mine, I shoved him. “It’s not going to work. You’re not going to distract me. What aren’t you telling me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not keeping anything from you.” Undeterred, he lunged forward, tackling me, looping his arms around my knees. I flopped over his shoulder like a big bag of ... something ... as he stood up.

I smacked him on the back, once for each step he ascended, the sound of each strike punctuating my words. “Jon.” Smack. “You can.” Smack. “Get all caveman.” Smack. “On me.” Smack. “But I’m not giving up.” Smack. “Tell me.”

He set me on my feet at the top of the stairs and gave me some seriously hungry eyes. “Have I told you how sexy you are when you’re annoyed?”

Argh! I shoved past him, slamming the door behind me and locking it.

Jon knocked. “Baby, let me in.”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on. You’re hiding something. What is it?”

He audibly sighed. “You’re going to have to ask them. I can’t say.”

“I left my job, my home, to come here. You should be able to tell me anything.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Fine,” I said, giving the door my best mean eyes. “You can sleep in the guest room.” Frustrated, I flopped onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

Six hours later, I gave up. There was absolutely no chance I was going to fall asleep. Feeling groggy, confused, foggy headed, and slightly depressed, I jumped into the shower, hoping some scalding hot water would wake me up a little. It helped. Figuring a half of pot of coffee would help even more, I staggered down to turn on the coffeemaker.

When I rounded the corner, lumbering into the kitchen, I stopped dead in my tracks.

There was a wire dog cable lying on the kitchen floor.

Right where Michelle had died.

Was this some kind of warning? A joke?

Telling myself it was nothing, absolutely nothing, a weird, terrible coincidence, I dashed outside, down to Samantha’s house, and up her front porch steps. She answered my knock dressed in yet another adorable vintage dress, her hair and makeup picture-perfect. Like always. “Good morning, Christine. What a surprise.” She looked me up and down. I knew I wasn’t looking my best, but who would in my shoes?

“Good morning,” I snapped, trying to peer around her. I didn’t hear any barking. Surely there’d be barking from those huge dogs.

What the hell was going on?

“I need to talk,” I said.

“Sure.” She escorted me into the kitchen.

No sign of dogs.

She invited me to sit at her breakfast bar and poured a cup of coffee.

No sign of dogs. Or kids, for that matter. The kids, I might guess were still sleeping. But the dogs ... ?

She asked, “What do you want to talk about?”

“What I saw last night, for starters. And then what I found this morning.”

Her lip twitched, but otherwise she remained as cool and collected as usual. “What did you see last night?”

“You. Outside. At roughly midnight. Playing with some ... dogs?”

“That couldn’t have been me. I was sleeping. And I don’t have any dogs. After I came home from the party, I took a Xanax and had some wine... .” She slumped onto the stool next to me. “Okay, I’ll admit, I don’t remember anything about last night. All I recall is going to bed and waking up this morning.” Staring down at the counter, Samantha clasped her hands in her lap. “My feet were a little muddy.”

“Did you black out?”

Samantha nodded. “I guess so, if you’re sure it was me you saw.”

I wasn’t one hundred percent certain. “Are you taking more than Xanax? And Valium?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you have a drug problem?”

She shot to her feet, hurried to the sink, and began scrubbing an empty, presumably dirty, pot.

I didn’t like what I was seeing. Not one bit. Maybe Samantha had seemed a little too perfect at first. And maybe I hadn’t trusted her because of that. But seeing her like this, the perfect, flawless veneer cracking wide open, I wanted to help her. If she’d let me. “Do you need help?”

“No, I’m fine.” Her lips curled up. As if a wilted smile would convince me she was telling the truth.

“Samantha—”

“I don’t want to be rude, but I have a lot to do before the twins get up. Was there something else you needed to talk about? You mentioned something about this morning.”

“Yes. You’ll never guess what I found this morning, lying on my kitchen floor. Right where Michelle died.”

“No clue.”

“A dog cable.” Weighing Samantha’s nonresponse, I added, “Do you think it’s a coincidence?”

“I don’t know. Did you ask Jonathan about it?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t have a chance.” I wasn’t going to tell her we slept in separate rooms.

“I don’t think it’s anything to—” A crash upstairs cut Samantha off. She gave me another semi-wilted smile. “The monsters have risen.”

Taking the hint, I stood. “I’ll head home.” I reluctantly left.

CHAPTER 10

I scuttled back home and cautiously entered the house, listening for sounds of a would-be killer. Silence. Feeling slightly tense, I went into the kitchen. The cable was gone. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Or maybe neither.

I headed upstairs.

Josh was gone—hopefully at school.

The bed in the guest room was made. I guessed Jon had gone to work. No good-bye. As usual. After checking every room in the house for an unwanted visitor, I showered, dressed, then headed down to the girl-cave. Flipped on the lights. As I headed toward my drawing desk, there was a loud buzz and a zap and then everything went black.

Standing in the middle of the room, I blinked, frozen in place, instantly terrified. Was this a trap? Or merely a short circuit? My heart thumped against my breastbone. My ears strained, listening. Nothing. Just silence.

One second passed. Another. Nobody grabbed me. Nobody clobbered me over the head.

A short circuit. That was all it was.

Slowly, gradually, I started breathing again. My heart rate settled into a more normal pace. Already becoming disorientated in the blackness—I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, literally—I turned around, extended my arms, and took one, two, three baby steps. I hoped I was heading in the right direction! I took a few more, expecting to feel the wall enclosing the side of the staircase any time now ... any time ...

Crack.

Crash.

Instinctively I dove forward, away from the earsplitting noise. Something had fallen. Something huge. Finally, my hands smacked into a wall. I flattened my body against it and caught my breath again.

Dust choked me.

I was feeling closed in, suffocated, trapped. Using the wall to support me, I sidestepped five, ten paces. Hit another wall. I groped. It was the cubbie wall. Damn, I’d gone the wrong way! I was cowering in the far back corner of the room. Which meant the thing that crashed was probably blocking the exit. This was not going to be fun.

I reversed directions, walking carefully until I couldn’t go any farther. Something big and wooden was lying in a heap on the floor, directly in front of the staircase. Fortunately I discovered—after feeling my way around like a blind woman—I could climb over it. When I stepped foot on the staircase, I gave a little shout of victory.

I threw the door open and squinted against the bright light. All it took was one quick glance in the kitchen to see the power hadn’t gone out in the whole house. Just the basement. Lucky me. I looked down the steep staircase. The light spilling from the floor above illuminated part of the rubble at the bottom. Looked like one whole section of the cubbie wall had fallen. I was damned lucky I hadn’t been standing there when it had given way. I might have.... I could have been....

If I’d been standing just a few feet over, I very well would have been the second woman to die in this house.

Another coincidence?

Feeling a little sick, I flopped onto a bar stool and let my head fall. It landed on the cool granite countertop.

I’d almost died.

Was it an accident? Or not?

I sat there, stunned, staring at the back of my eyelids for who knew how long. A knock at the front door brought me out of my stupor.

I opened my front door to discover I was having guests for an early lunch. Samantha, Lindsay, and Erica were standing on my porch, each of them holding a covered dish.

“I brought a salad,” Lindsay said. “That’s one thing that not even I can burn.”

“Pasta from Juliano’s Restaurant,” Erica said.

“And I brought dessert,” said Samantha, following the other two ladies into the house. “I hope you don’t mind our little surprise visit.”

“No, I don’t mind at all.” I shut the door and followed them in the kitchen.

Finally, one of them clued in on my dazed condition. “Christine, are you okay?”

“Um, I’m not sure. Something just happened. Downstairs.” I pointed and all three of them looked toward the basement.

“What happened?” Lindsay asked, plunking the salad bowl on the counter. “You look absolutely petrified.”

“I think I almost died.”

“What?” Lindsay rushed to me, eyes flying over me, probably looking for injuries.

“I went downstairs to work and the light went out. It’s freaking dark down there when there are no lights. And then I was trying to get back upstairs but there was a crash, and, and ...” I swallowed but my mouth and throat were stone-dry. Lindsay rushed to the refrigerator, grabbed a water bottle, and handed it to me. After thanking her, I continued, “The built-in shelf fell, right in front of the stairs. If I’d gone the right way, instead of back—I got a little turned around—it would have landed on me.”

All three women gaped at me. Then two of them looked at Erica.

Quietly, she said, “Adam built those shelves.”

“We didn’t think about him,” Lindsay said.

“Michelle would let him into the house without a second thought,” Samantha said, softly.

We all looked at Erica.

Erica shook her head. “No, it couldn’t be Adam.”

“Were you home with him that day?” Samantha asked.

“No, I wasn’t.” Erica fiddled with her hair.

“Then you can’t know that for sure. Right?” Lindsay asked.

“I know he wasn’t home,” Erica repeated, sounding absolutely certain. We all waited for her to tell us why she was so sure. She sighed. “I came home early that day. His car was gone.”

“Maybe he drove it around the block and parked it?” Lindsay reasoned.

“No, he didn’t do that.”

Everyone, including me, gave Erica a pitying look.

“Dammit, don’t look at me like that. I’m not fooling myself. I know for a fact that Adam wasn’t home because I sent him and the kids to my parents for a long weekend. I wanted some time to myself.”

Okay, that made sense. But why had it seemed so difficult for Erica to spit it out? She was acting guilty, like she was hiding something.

“That was the weekend I found out Matt was cheating on me for the first time... .” Lindsay said softly. She seemed to be talking to herself, not to anyone in particular.

Now I understood why Erica had tried to avoid telling us she’d been home alone.

Lindsay lifted her gaze to Erica but didn’t say a word. I think she understood, too.

“We should eat before everything gets cold.” I jumped to my feet. After setting out all the essentials and pouring drinks, I sat down at the dining table with my three friends. Over heaping plates of pasta, we talked about the case. Turned out the doctor was a dead end. Erica had been able to sweet-talk Theresa into checking his schedule that day. He’d delivered not one, not two, but three healthy baby boys that day. He didn’t leave the hospital until after five P.M. And that could be confirmed.

The doctor wasn’t the killer.

Which left ... the three women sitting around me and ... ?

Josh skulked into the kitchen just as I was about to say something. He looked ... strange. Tense. His eyes snapped to mine. They were dark. Cold. Empty.

That was one person we’d never considered.

“Josh ... ?” I said.

He knew the victim.

He had access to the victim.

But two years ago he would have been just a child. Much too young to do anything so horrid.

A sick feeling swept through me.

“No school?” I asked.

“I’m sick.” Josh jerked his gaze away and left the room. A chill skittered through my body.

Could it be Josh?

“I don’t know what the problem is with Josh lately,” I grumbled, not really expecting anyone to respond. “I thought we were getting along okay, but the last few days, he’s been so ... tense.”

“What if it was Joshua?” Lindsay whispered as if she’d read my mind.

“Why would he kill his own mother?” I asked, afraid to hear the answer. Lately it seemed he’d gone out of his way to stay away from me. But that was expected, normal. After all, he was a preteen. They were prone to mood swings. And getting adjusted to having a new adult in the house took time. There’d been no sign of instability, no sign of hostility. At least nothing out of the ordinary. Every teenager got cranky sometimes.

Could a ten-year-old child really kill his mother? Could a child live with that kind of guilt for years? Would a child who had killed his mother even feel guilt? How would he hide what he’d done from everyone?

“Erica, I started to tell you something the night of the party,” I said, intentionally shifting the conversation. I wasn’t comfortable with the direction my thoughts had drifted.

Erica nodded. “Of course, Josh,” she said, ignoring me. “We should’ve thought of that possibility sooner.”

“Your cat’s dead,” I said.

Erica didn’t respond. Didn’t blink an eye. “Christine, have you noticed anything unusual around here?”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Anything. Anything at all.”

“I’ve noticed ... neighbors getting wasted and dancing around their front yards in the middle of the night. Having affairs because they hate their husbands. Becoming lesbians because they’ve been heartbroken one too many times. But I’m thinking that’s pretty normal stuff.”

“No, you’re right. That is pretty normal stuff, compared to—” Erica cut herself off. “I’m thinking more like finding dead animals at your doorstep?”

“Yes. Why?”

“That’s it.” Erica slapped her flattened hands on the table. “They’re gifts. For Jon. A plea for forgiveness. It makes perfect sense, and it explains why we suspected Jon in the first place.”

“Huh?” I said, not following.

Lindsay agreed with a nod. “He knows the truth. We smelled the deceit.”

“What are you saying?” I asked.

“He’s protecting his son,” Samantha explained, her pretty ice-blue eyes full of understanding. “Jon has been protecting Joshua all this time.”

“But why? Why would Josh kill his mother?”

“I’m guessing it was The Change,” Samantha said, shaking her head. “He probably couldn’t help himself.”

“What change?” I was so fricking lost. Would somebody explain it in simple terms? “What about the shelves falling? The dog cable?”

“An accident, I’m guessing,” Lindsay said.

“Adam built some shelves in our house, too. They fell,” Erica admitted. “The cable was probably left by Jon. He might’ve been trying to secure Josh.”

“Secure Josh?” I echoed.

Samantha pulled a pill bottle out of her purse, studied it, then dropped it back in. “How terrible for Jon. To lose his wife and then face the stigma of a police investigation. Not to mention, I’m sure he was terribly worried about what would happen to Josh if anyone discovered the truth. And here, I thought I had a lot of stress to deal with.”

“What are you talking about?” I said.

Samantha, Lindsay, and Erica exchanged glances. Finally Erica spoke, “There’s something you don’t know about us. All of us. You see, we’re not exactly what you think we are.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You were right.” Samantha emptied her purse onto the table. I counted five prescription bottles. “I am addicted to prescription drugs. Lindsay is sexually confused. And Erica hates her husband and is sleeping with a younger man. But that’s not the worst of it. Not by a long shot.”

I held my breath, knowing I was finally going to have the answers I’d been searching for.

Samantha folded her napkin and, after dry-swallowing a handful of pills, clasped her hands in her lap. “I started taking Xanax years ago. For anxiety. Then I added Valium to my daily diet. And sleeping pills. I couldn’t handle it anymore. The stress. My husband is a demon, and I do mean that in the most literal sense. If you have any doubt, just look at my children.”

Demon spawn? They were a little loud, slightly wild, but hardly the offspring of the devil.

“And I have my reasons for resenting my worthless husband,” Erica said. “He’s a dragon. Because of his hair-trigger temper, he hasn’t been able to keep a job for more than a month. And he won’t try anger management therapy.”

“My run-around, cheating ex-boyfriend was a fae. I’m telling you, they cannot be monogamous. It’s simply not in their blood. I know that now. And we”—Lindsay motioned to Samantha, and Erica—“are werewolves. So was Michelle. You saw us. With Samantha.”

My gaze snapped back to Samantha’s eyes. Ice-blue. “There’s no such thing as werewolves,” I said.

“Oh yes, there is,” Lindsay said. “You’re not only sitting at the table with three, but you’re living with one, too.”

This was crazy. Insane. Silly.

A joke. Had to be.

I stood. I sat back down. I stammered. Finally, I was able to speak. “First you tried to convince me that Jon killed his wife. Now you’re telling me he’s a werewolf?”

“No,” Erica said. “Jon’s not the werewolf, although he isn’t what you’d call human, either. Josh is a werewolf.”

“What are we going to do about Josh?” Lindsay asked, genuine concern pulling at her brows. “We can’t take this to the police. You know what will happen.”

“No, we can’t. You’re right about that.” Erica’s gaze swept around the table. “We have to keep it to ourselves. We know the truth at last, and we can let it rest. It’s the best thing for everyone. It’s what Michelle would want. He’s made it through his first Change. He isn’t dangerous anymore.”

Was I buying this?

Hell, no.

Not at all.

Were these people all crazy?

I just wanted them to leave. Now. My skin was feeling creepy-crawly. My insides were twisted into knots.

“Christine, you’re looking a little pale,” Lindsay pointed out.

I stood, bracing my hands on the tabletop. My knees were soft, my head a little swimmy. “I think I need to go lie down.”

They all stood at the same time and filed toward the door.

Lindsay was the last to leave. She touched my arm, and I twitched, some instinct inside of me jumping at the contact. “If you want proof, come outside tonight. Midnight. It’s a full moon. You’ll see for yourself.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

I shut the door and vowed I wouldn’t get anywhere near a door or window after eleven tonight.

Of course, I broke that vow.

At exactly midnight, I stepped out onto the deck. And I watched the three women who were slowly becoming my friends change into wolves.

After swallowing the contents of my stomach a few times, I staggered back inside and stumbled right into Jon’s arms. I flung myself as far from him as I could, then turned to face him.

“Did Josh kill his mother?” I blurted.

Jon didn’t answer right away. He looked torn, guilty, conflicted.

I saw red.

“Jon, you know I’ve sensed something wasn’t right about this place since I arrived. I’m telling you right here, right now, that you owe me the truth.” Folding my arms, I took another step backward, afraid I might do something impulsive if I didn’t put some space between us. I couldn’t ever remember being so angry, so hurt. “If you can’t trust me with all your secrets, every last one, I have to leave. That’s all there is to it.”

His jaw clenched. “Please, sit down.”

Reluctantly, I followed him into the family room and sat.

He sat opposite me, on the ottoman, elbows resting on his knees, body angled forward. “I take it you know about Lindsay, Samantha, and Erica?”

I nodded. Couldn’t say the words yet. It was all too freakish to speak aloud.

“Then you know werewolves exist.”

“But what does that have to do with Josh?”

“What I told you about Michelle having trouble getting pregnant was true. After trying for years, we adopted Joshua, knowing he would become a werewolf someday. I thought we could handle his first turning without help. I was wrong.” He gritted his teeth and stared down at the floor. “I’ll regret that mistake for the rest of my life.”

Werewolves. Changing. What the hell? Was I having a nightmare? Was this all a big joke? I felt like I’d fallen down the rabbit’s hole and landed in some kind of freakish Wonderland that not even Lewis Carroll could have cooked up.

“What happened?” I asked as I struggled to sort through what I was hearing, thinking, feeling.

“During a werewolf’s first turning, the wolf instinct can be very strong. Too strong. Joshua was young. He couldn’t control it.” A tear slipped from Jon’s eye. “My wife.” He dropped his face into his cupped hands. Didn’t speak for a long time. I didn’t know what to say. “She wouldn’t have wanted me to turn Josh in, knowing what would happen to him. I knew, too. We couldn’t... . I couldn’t... .”

“He’s a werewolf.”

Jon nodded.

“You, too?”

“No.” Jon’s eyes found mine. “You’ve always called me Dracula—”

“It was a joke.”

“Maybe to you, but it was closer to the truth than you realized.”

I staggered to my feet. Stunned. Too overwhelmed and shocked to think straight. But I knew one thing. I was hurt. Deeply. Jon hadn’t trusted me enough to tell me the truth. About himself. His son. His wife. Not even his neighbors.

“Are you leaving?” he asked as I headed toward the foyer.

“I don’t know yet. I need some time to think.”

“If it makes any difference, I do trust you, Chrissy. That’s why I told you the truth.”

A tear dribbled down my cheek. I sniffled, dragged my hand across my face. “It sure took you a long time, though.”

He rose to his feet and slowly walked toward me. “You’re right. But am I the only one who was afraid to trust, Chrissy? Or were you putting up a few walls, too?”

“What are you talking about?”

He gave me a pointed look.

Shoot, he was right.

I fell right into defense mode. “But if you hadn’t given me a reason to be distrustful—”

“Chrissy, the first day you were talking about safety nets.”

I was. I had. Shit. How could I have been so insensitive?

“Jon, I’m sorry—”

“I love you,” he said, interrupting me. “I want you to be a part of every aspect of my life. The dark and the light.” Closing the distance between us, he clasped my upper arms in his fists and searched my eyes. I don’t know what he saw, but it couldn’t have been what he’d been hoping for. “You have to be willing to trust me. Do you want to? Are you capable of trusting anyone? Or do you need to jump off the high wire now and let your safety net catch you?”

I didn’t know how to answer him.

He released my arms and I breathed easier. And yet I felt worse. Cut off from him. As if I’d lost him already, despite his words. And, oh God, how awful that hurt. Like a red-hot blade plunged into my gut.

This man had grieved the death of a wife and still fiercely protected the child who’d killed her.

This man had gone out of his way to make me feel at home, welcomed.

This man had silently endured my distrust since the day I’d moved in, waiting patiently for me to decide whether or not I could trust him.

What the hell was I doing? How could I even think to leave this man?

Eyes burning, I flung myself at him. He caught me, just like I knew he would, and pulled me into a bone-crushing embrace. “I’m so sorry,” I said to his chest. “You’re right. I was basically sabotaging our relationship from the minute I stepped out of that truck. It’s a wonder you didn’t throw me out then.”

“I couldn’t do that. I need you too much. You’re my safety net.” He stroked my hair, cupped my chin, and lifted it until our gazes met. “Tell me you love me.” His eyes were pleading.

“You’re my safety net, too. I love you, Dracula.”

“Oh yes. Chrissy.” He kissed me and I kissed him back. He would never again doubt how I felt about him. Never. Vampire or just a guy who works some crazy hours, this man was my dream man. Mr. Perfect. I was going to do everything in my power to be his Mrs. Perfect.

On Halloween, I received a very special gift—the ring, and the proposal that I’d been waiting for. Of course, I very happily accepted both. I’d found a home, a future, a family. Here. In Jonathan Stewart’s arms. In his house. In his town.

Not to mention, a very dedicated, well-dressed, wonderfully goofy Pack of friends to dance with in the moonlight.

As the old saying goes, the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. That was never more true than on Lancaster Street. Samantha Phillips was jealous of Lindsay Baker’s freedom. Lindsay Baker envied Erica Ross’s lifestyle—the cars, the clothes, the vacations. And Erica Ross begrudged Samantha’s job as full-time mother.

But they all envied Michelle Stewart. Because everyone knew a vampire—who perhaps was a little too undead to be fairy-tale Prince Charming material—was still a better catch than a hotheaded dragon, a runaround fae, or a demon with an attitude.

WHAT’S YOURS IS MINE

JESS HAINES

CHAPTER 1
Fashion fades, only style remains the same.
—Coco Chanel

“That is a darling color! Very flattering with your skin tone.”

Cassandra, who had been busily staring into space while her nails were being painted, blinked and turned her attention to the woman in the chair next to her. A “city bitch,” Vera would have called her. The woman’s hair was chemically blond and straight, her tan spray-on, and her face painted with colors that gleamed and glittered like the jewelry on her wrists and throat.

Cassandra couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you. I like that shirt. Gucci?”

“Close. Dolce,” the woman admitted, flexing her toes in a way that had the lady working on her pedicure scowling. She fluttered her already painted fingernails in greeting. Rhinestones flashed. “I’m Tiffany. Tiffany Winters.”

“Cassandra Sachs. Nice to meet you.”

The intricate dance of Who Has More Money had only just begun. Cassandra surreptitiously eyed the purse at the foot of the woman’s cushy chair; she couldn’t see the brand name, but the Prada sunglasses hanging off a strap were a clue.

Tiffany smiled, revealing blindingly white teeth. “Say, I’m new to town. I just moved into the Still Waters community.” Another hint, this one as subtle as a solid gold brick to the face. Still Waters was one of the most exclusive—and expensive—gated communities in town. “I don’t suppose you know of any places closer than Manhattan that have some real nightlife, do you?”

“Oh, absolutely!” Cassandra ignored Ling’s gasp when she shifted to ensure the huge rock on her finger caught the light, figuring her nail stylist would fix the smeared polish without a fuss. Ling made a small sound in her throat that might have been a curse, but she was paid too much money to scold one of her best customers. “As a matter of fact, we’re neighbors. I live in Still Waters, too. A few of us get together and go to the Smoke & Whiskey downtown for drinks a couple nights a week. You’re welcome to join us.”

The two women chatted for a while, their despairing nail technicians doing their best to ensure no more polish was smeared as the ladies moved just so to ensure their skin, jewelry, and clothing was displayed to best advantage, preferably with brand names visible at all times. Cassandra finally felt she had the upper hand when Tiffany’s blue eyes (contacts, she was sure) widened perceptibly at the sight of the pink diamond on her ring finger. It caught the light as no imitation would, practically crackling with sparkles.

Tiffany did as any woman would when confronted by such an eye-catching stone. She cooed over the diamond, clearly lusting after one of her own.

“My goodness, you must have found yourself quite a catch to get a rock like that!”

Cassandra’s lips curled, practically purring with pleasure. “Oh, he is, no doubt of that. Gabriel’s great-great-grandfather was a partner in the original Kimberley diamond mine excursion. He could have lived on the trust his father set up, but he opened his own architectural firm instead.”

Tiffany’s eyes widened, suitably impressed. Cassandra, for her part, was not about to let an opportunity to pry slip by.

“What about you? What does your husband do?”

“Oh,” Tiffany said, airy tones dripping with indifference, “I’m not married. Not anymore, as far as I’m concerned. My husband dealt in security and built custom firearms. We had our differences and separated last year. The divorce is nearly finalized, and I’m not in any rush to replace him. The alimony and sales of my artwork keep me comfortable.”

Cassandra clicked her tongue, making sympathetic sounds, eyes bright as she studied Tiffany more closely. “That’s a shame things didn’t work out.”

“We didn’t have any kids and we discovered late in the relationship that we both wanted different things out of life. The separation was amiable, and the divorce was relatively painless. Truthfully, it’s better this way for both of us.”

“Well, I’m glad you’ve got such a bright outlook on things. You really should meet the other ladies. I think a girls night out would be just the thing. Meet us at the Smoke & Whiskey tonight at ten. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

Tiffany’s plush lips curved in a wicked smile as she leaned back in her salon chair, closing her eyes.

“I can’t wait.”

“Oh, you’ll like this one,” Cassandra said, stirring her martini with a thin crystal swizzle stick. “New to town, no kids, no husband, and positively desperate to fit in.”

“Desperation should suit our needs quite nicely,” Vera replied before she sipped her lemon drop, crossing her slender legs primly at her ankles. “When’s the last time we took in new blood? If we don’t work to expand our ranks as much as we have our fortunes, we’ll never have the kind of influence over the Were communities that Gabriel keeps going on about. If he wants to be the next Rohrik Donovan, he needs to work for it.”

“Oh please,” Alexis scoffed, waggling fingers wrapped in jewels in airy dismissal. “Our husbands would have done something about it already if they knew how. Their little yacht club meetings and golfing excursions are just excuses to avoid facing facts—that scouting their usual haunts isn’t going to get us any new wolves. It just goes to show that, as always, it’s the women behind the men in power who really make history.”

Heather shifted uncomfortably, twining her fingers in her long auburn hair as her attention shifted back and forth between the other ladies. She opened her mouth to add her thoughts to the conversation, but Cassandra smoothly overrode her.

“Be that as it may, if we are going to take over recruitment for the pack, we might as well start somewhere. I think this woman could be a good fit. She already lives in the community and she’s newly divorced—which means she’ll be lonely and looking for a man soon enough.”

Heather opened her mouth again, but this time Vera cut her off. “I’m not convinced that volunteering Charles or Lucas as a fit for this woman we haven’t met is such a good idea. Make her one of the pack? Sure. Hand her over to the available men? Not unless she’s breeding pups before she’s turned. Which doesn’t solve our numbers problem for the short term.”

Alexis smirked, drawing her straw across her tongue in a playful, flirtatious bid to draw the attention of one of the men at the bar before adding her thoughts. “Divorcées are generally bitter, lonely people. Not the mothering sort, if she doesn’t have rugrats already, I’m sure. She can choose someone else; perhaps one of the hopefuls that Gabriel keeps going on about inviting to those dull brunches of his... .”

Cassandra gave Alexis a withering look, which went ignored. Her smile was cold enough to make Vera and Heather drop their eyes submissively, knowing better than to tease her about her husband—or his parties.

“Thank you, Alexis. I’ll be sure to tell him you think so,” Cassandra said, her tone flat enough that Alexis finally realized she was in error.

“I’m sorry, Cassie, you know I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Alexis had turned her eyes down, but her tone told the lie. Cassandra leaned forward, her ample cleavage spilling from her low-cut top, drawing the eyes of several men at the tables around them as she settled her hand on the glass tabletop next to Alexis’s drink. One nail had formed into a talon, etching a fine line of warning into the glass between them.

Alexis audibly gulped and lowered her head contritely, a faint sound like a whine dying in her throat. Cassandra stared at her across the table, the others keeping their eyes down as she tapped her fingers impatiently. Finally, she spoke, her words cold and biting.

“If you don’t like how the pack is run, you may rise to the challenge to change it. Otherwise, I suggest you remember who is in charge before your mouth gets you into trouble.”

Alexis nodded once, sharply, ducking her head further. Cassandra laughed and leaned forward enough to brush her finger along Alexis’s arm, making her flinch. “Silly pup, look what you’ve made me do! I’ve just had my nails done, too.”

The others exclaimed over the now cracked veneer of polish on her finger, clucking their tongues over the damage. Before long, Cassandra rose, putting the full force of her chilly smile on Alexis again.

“Let’s go meet the new girl, shall we?”

CHAPTER 2

The body is meant to be seen, not all covered up.

—Marilyn Monroe

The beautiful people of New Jersey often convened on the Gold Coast or fled to Manhattan when they wanted to see and be seen. For those who wanted to do so in the relative privacy of a community too expensive for the locals and too subdued for the tourists, the residents of Saddle River often looked no further than their own backyards to the elegantly overpriced charms of the Smoke & Whiskey.

The nightclub was in good form when Cassandra arrived. She was fashionably late and prepared with a newly restored manicure as she glided down from the heights of her Navigator and passed the keys for her SUV to the valet.

She sauntered up the solar light–lined walkway to the entrance where a host held the door for her. She promptly paused to bask in the recessed spotlights and let the crowd inside take in the view of her in all her chic splendor. As was to be expected, a low murmur of appreciation started up amidst the candle-lit interior as the tall, Amazonian brunette in killer Ferragamo pumps and a sleek Valentino dress surveyed her domain, finding it wanting.

Particularly when Tiffany appeared behind her, settling into an equally statuesque pose in her Manolo strappy stilettos—making her just a smidge taller—as she came to a glittering rest in her vintage Versace beside Cassandra.

“Lovely evening for a night out,” Tiffany purred. “I had no idea there was nightlife this close to home.”

Said nightlife was composed of a number of men and women at low, intimate tables talking over drinks while candles sparked and sputtered in dark alcoves, and the gentle strains of soft jazz came from an easily forgettable band on the stage across the room. Smoke drifted from dry ice placed in hidden recesses and gave the place its namesake, admirably reproducing the atmosphere of a Prohibition-era speakeasy. The club tried hard to pull off the air of “upper class dive,” but failed miserably thanks to the glint of crystal and glow of real teakwood from the bar and tables.

Cassandra eyed the bangles clinking on Tiffany’s wrist as the blonde airily brushed her hair back, revealing equally jangly earrings. Très out of style, but Cassandra delighted in not telling her that.

“Quite. If it gets too dull, we can always go to Manhattan,” Cassandra said, gesturing to the table where Vera, Heather, and Alexis had already settled, nursing drinks that glowed in the subdued light of the club. “Ah, there we are. Let’s go have a seat, shall we? You can meet the other ladies of Still Waters.”

Tiffany confidently took the lead; the other girls’ expressions ranged from wary to impressed at Cassandra’s restraint for allowing her to go first. Tiffany didn’t appear to notice the others’ discomfort as she swept around the table to shake hands as she was introduced. For her part, the alpha bitch was amused, finding this potential new blood to be the sort of headstrong woman necessary to build the Diamondfangs into a pack that might someday overcome the Moonwalkers.

“... and so,” Tiffany finished explaining her circumstances on moving to town as she shook Vera’s hand, meeting the woman’s eyes as her grip tightened uncomfortably. “I’ve only been in town for a couple weeks, but I think I’ll be settled in before long. The divorce is nearly final. I do have to say, while I’m pleased to find myself in such company, I can’t stay long tonight. We can meet again soon. I’m sure we’ll all be fast friends.”

Vera showed her teeth in the semblance of a smile, her eyes briefly taking on a glimmer of something unnatural as she held on to Tiffany’s hand long past when she should have let her go.

“Is that right? You look familiar. Are you sure you’ve only been in town for two weeks?”

Tiffany gave Vera a tight smile of her own, but said nothing, pulling her hand back hard enough that it was obviously an effort. Cassandra made a faint hissing noise between her teeth, and Vera gradually relented, looking away. Alexis sipped her drink, her expression turned wary and calculating as she watched the exchange, while Heather’s attention was focused on the band across the room.

“Quite sure,” Tiffany replied. “I haven’t been to New Jersey since, oh, before I was married. I used to travel extensively, so perhaps you saw me in the airport on my way to South Africa or Versailles.”

“South Africa?” One perfectly sculpted brow arched as Alexis regarded Tiffany over the rim of her drink, a sardonic twist to her cherry lips. “I can’t imagine what you’d be doing there. The place has nothing to offer but backward politics and savages, if you ask me.”

Tiffany’s smile turned murderous. “Visiting family, actually. My mother is from Johannesburg. Also, I often visit to acquire more tribal artwork and supplies for my gallery. Many people admire the richness and beauty of the culture.”

Alexis reddened and muttered something apologetic into her drink. Cassandra watched all of this with the avid gaze of a cat who has spotted a wounded bird fluttering within reach of its paws.

Heather dove to the rescue, her voice sweet and sincere as she sidled her chair a bit closer to Tiffany. “Don’t listen to that nonsense, she’s just being her usual catty, bitchy self. We are glad to have you here!”

Tiffany’s narrowed blue eyes slid from Vera to rest on Heather, her expression lightening considerably. “Thank you. What a doll you are!”

“Do you want to come shopping with me tomorrow? I heard there’s a new store with vintage Louis Vuitton that just opened up in Manhattan.” Heather’s wide brown eyes were completely guileless, and the others couldn’t restrain their eye rolls as she squealed in excitement at Tiffany’s nod. “Excellent! Give me your address, I’ll pick you up at noon.”

Tiffany did, smiling wolfishly as she slid a business card across the table. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Vera watched Tiffany leave with narrowed, distrustful eyes. The woman positively sauntered off, clearly pleased at how Alexis and Heather had warmed to her.

“I think we have a winner, ladies,” Cassandra said as she ran her fingertip along the edge of her glass, making the crystal sing.

Heather nodded enthusiastically, while Alexis reddened. “I shouldn’t have said—”

“Hush,” Cassandra scolded. “I don’t think you scared her off. Besides, she’s taken to Heather, and I’m sure she can salvage any hurt feelings and bring the girl around to seeing things our way.”

“I don’t like her,” Vera stated flatly. “I don’t think she’s what she seems.”

“Neither are we,” Heather replied.

The women quieted briefly, sipping at their drinks. Heather frowned, glancing back and forth between the others. Seeing as no one was talking, she broke the silence with a few chipper words.

“I think she’s great. I can’t wait to get to know her better. If she became part of the pack, we could set her up with one of the single wolves. Who hasn’t been mated yet? Oh, I bet she’d be a great match for Travis or Damon—”

“Will you stop that prattling?”

Heather regarded Vera with a hurt expression.

“I’ve seen her somewhere before,” Vera muttered. “I’m not sure where, but I know I have. Something about her is dangerous. We need to know more about her before we take her into the pack.”

Cassandra was not amused. “If you can provide proof of whatever it is that has you worried, I’ll take it into consideration. Until then, we go forward as planned. Heather will gather more information tomorrow and question her about her feelings on Others. Yes?”

Heather nodded, smiling brightly.

“There, you see? We’ll get to know her better and take it from there. I doubt she’ll be willing to sign a contract within a single day, anyway. We have time.”

Vera still wasn’t convinced, but said nothing.

“Even if she poses a threat now, she won’t be one for long. I’ll make sure of it.”

CHAPTER 3

I’ve been getting some bad publicity, but you got to expect that.

—Elvis Presley

Tiffany toyed with the curtains while she held her cell phone to her ear, staring out over the wide expanse of her backyard to the ring of trees that surrounded her property. After a few rings, a gruff voice harrumphed in her ear.

“Didn’t think I’d be hearing from you this soon. Run out of money already? Alimony isn’t due yet.”

“Don’t be an ass, Richard,” she said, turning away from the window. “I want you to tell me what you know about Cassandra Sachs and the women she surrounds herself with—Heather, Alexis, and especially Vera.”

He paused. Coughed. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to hunt on your own? Look, I know you didn’t like our methods—”

“I didn’t call for a lecture. Tell me what you know.”

“They’re dangerous, Tiff. Diamondfangs. Rich, snobbish, always looking to expand their ranks with more of the same. They’ve taken lawyers, CEOs, even a couple of state senators, and made them werewolves. They’ve got some kind of political agenda. I wouldn’t mess with them. If they’re sniffing around you, get out of town. I’ll send over some people—”

“No, Richard.”

“Come on, Tiff, this isn’t like before—”

“No, Richard. It’s not. You’re not my white knight, come to save the day.”

He sighed. “Damn it, babe, you always do this.”

“It’s why we’re not seeing each other anymore. Or have you forgotten?”

“No,” he replied, dull anger coloring his tone. “Of course not. How could I? You never let me forget.”

Tiffany fingered the framed image of herself in a wedding dress, leaning against a much larger man in a tuxedo who had his arm wrapped tightly around her. They were smiling, squinting against bright sunlight as they stood in a field dappled with spring flowers. Happy. Different.

“I don’t think now’s the time to discuss this. All I called for was information.”

“No. It’s never been the right time. Look, we could put off filing the papers. Try this again. Why don’t you just come home? You know I’m crazy about you.”

She tilted the frame until it was lying facedown, turning away. “It’s not my home. The hunting and the killing—that isn’t my world anymore.”

“Babe, it doesn’t have to be. Let me handle it like I always did. You don’t have to do anything. You never did. You wanted to come on the hunt, and you did. You wanted to stop, and you stopped. What’s there to argue about?”

Tiffany’s fingers clenched around the phone until the plastic squeaked. She eased up, taking a breath to calm herself, though it didn’t help much. The words were still bitter, harsh, and she regretted them the moment they passed her lips.

“You really want me to just sit on my ass on the sidelines while you put your life on the line, night after night? I won’t do it, Richard. Don’t ask that of me.”

“You went into this relationship knowing what it meant. I never lied to you. I don’t get why it’s a problem now.”

Distantly, the sound of a horn blared. Tiffany reached for her purse, voice inflectionless. “Good-bye, Richard.”

She didn’t wait for him to reply before snapping the phone shut and tossing it in her purse, clacking down the stairs to meet with Heather.

The silver Lexus idling in her circular drive looked right at home next to Tiffany’s white Mercedes. Heather waved, giving Tiffany a cheerful smile that was soon returned in kind. There was no visible sign of her anger from a moment before.

“Hey, ready to go shopping? Hop in!”

Tiffany settled in on the passenger side, slipping on a pair of sunglasses as Heather took off down the drive, sparing her a surreptitious glance now and again.

“Everything all right?”

Tiffany blinked, startled, before allowing a bitter smile to curve her lips. “Sorry. Just got off the phone with my ex. Ever since the divorce ...”

“Oh, say no more,” Heather said. “Don’t worry, honey, once we hit the stores and start spending, you’ll forget all about him. We’ll find you someone new. Someone better!”

“I think it’s a bit early for that,” Tiffany replied, tone dry. “Let’s stick with the shopping for now.”

“Yeah. You know, who needs men? You’ve got us now.”

Tiffany laughed. “Easy for you to say. Don’t you have a husband?”

“Sure I do. One that’s never home, same as the rest of the werewives.”

“The what?”

Heather flushed. “Sorry. Just an inside joke. Cassandra, Heather, Vera, and I, we’re all such bitches, we call ourselves the werewives. We’ve been using that nickname for years.”

“Funny thing to call yourselves,” Tiffany murmured, gaze focused steadily on the world passing them by.

“You aren’t afraid of werewolves, are you? They aren’t so bad. From what I hear, I mean.”

“No, no. Nothing like that. Honestly, I can’t say that I’ve known any. Just what the papers tell me.”

Heather was scandalized. “You don’t honestly believe what they print in the papers, do you?”

“Hardly. I think a lot of things get nothing but bad press, werewolves included. I’d love to meet one sometime. Find out what they’re really like,” she replied.

“Really? Most people wouldn’t want anything to do with them.”

A low, throaty laugh made Heather glance guiltily at her guest, biting her lower lip. Tiffany wiped unshed tears of mirth from her eyes, ever so careful not to smudge her mascara. “Honey, you have no idea. Despite what the papers might say, there are plenty of people out there—me included—who are curious about Others and would be delighted to have a chance to meet one in person. Vampires, werewolves, wizards—they’re different. Unique. The possibilities fire the imagination.”

“Maybe not that different,” Heather muttered, reddening.

Tiffany arched an artificially bleached brow, then shrugged and laughed again. “You are too funny! If it bothers you that much, we’ll talk about something else. Like calling yourself a bitch. I don’t see why you think so. You’ve been very sweet to me.”

Heather gave her a sheepish smile before returning her attention back to the road. She hadn’t intended to bring up the subject so soon, or with such a lack of subtlety, and was thankful that Tiffany was the one who was turning the topic back to something less dangerous.

“Wait until we both have our eye on the same purse or pair of shoes, then ask me that again.”

The two laughed, together this time, and the topic shifted to far more comfortable topics: fashion, favorite brands, and which celebrity was sleeping with whom. They didn’t speak about Others again for the whole of the trip; not at the store where they each bought a new purse, nor at the café they stopped at for a light lunch and cocktails. The pair gushed about their purchases, stopping at a few more boutiques (each finding the perfect pair of summer sandals, along with darling sundresses and earrings to match), before ending their trek at a Starbucks.

“Are you coming to the party tonight?” Heather asked as she sipped her grande nonfat iced mocha raspberry latte.

Tiffany stirred her chai tea with a straw, eying Heather over the rim of her drink. “I didn’t know there was a party. Am I invited?”

“Of course! It’s at Alexis’s house, everyone who’s anyone in the neighborhood was invited. She must have forgotten to mention it last night. It’s not a big deal, just a little barbeque. If she gets uppity, we’ll go back to my place and mix some margaritas.”

Tiffany laughed, the sound attracting admiring glances from a few of the men and a number of glares from some of the women cradling drinks or hunched over laptops as they worked on the next Great American Novel. She touched her hair, then plucked at one of the buttons on her silk blouse, frowning.

“Do you mind stopping at my place so I can drop off my things and freshen up a bit before we go?”

“Of course not! Let’s get moving, then, don’t want to be late.”

“No,” Tiffany said, her eyes narrowing and her smile turning sly. “No, we don’t.”

CHAPTER 4

Just because you got the monkey off your back doesn’t mean the circus has left town.

—George Carlin

Alexis’s mansion sprawled across the verdant grounds of the property with all of the glamour and poise of a movie starlet. The trees lining her driveway glittered with twinkling lights, urging guests to come along to see the wonders of her garden. Row upon row of Jaguar, Mercedes, Audi, BMW, and Lexus luxury cars had been positioned just so, shining to advantage in the lights spilling from the house. Gabled windows and wrought-iron balconies gave the manor a European flavor, and the sounds of chatter, music, and laughter spilled from open French doors.

Tiffany followed in Heather’s wake, adjusting the strap of her purse as she paused in the foyer, bright blue eyes scanning the interior.

Much like the cars, many of the people inside had positioned themselves to advantage. They cradled drinks as they chatted in small groups of four or five, clustered around the baroque Louis XIV furniture done in rich tones of red and gold that matched the marble floors and sweeping columns in the open receiving room.

“Excuse me,” Tiffany said as her eyes locked on a man in a casual Tony Bahama polo and sleek J. Crew slacks. “I see one of my clients. I’ll be back shortly.”

Heather nodded, but Tiffany wasn’t paying attention, already stalking across the room like a hunting cat on the prowl, lacquered hand extended for the surprised gentleman to take as he noticed her. “Todd, it’s been ages... .”

The smooth way Tiffany went in for the kill drew Heather’s admiration instead of her ire. Though she wasn’t pleased at being ditched, she soon shrugged it off and followed her nose, trailing the distinct, musky scents of her favored pack mates. Her own stride became smooth, quiet, the stalking of a predator, leading the people around her to unconsciously move aside as she found her way to the back doors leading outside. A bright smile was soon plastered on her face as she took an empty seat beside Alexis on the patio. Cassandra returned her smile, eyebrows arching high.

“I take it things went well today?”

“Oh yes!” Heather gushed. “Ladies, we have a winner. She’s curious about Others and said she wants to meet a werewolf. How about that? I think she might go for it. I really do.”

Alexis frowned, her voice heavy with skepticism. “Are you sure about that? Most humans wouldn’t be so quick to put themselves within arm’s reach of a supernatural creature.”

“Yes, well, we haven’t exactly been forthcoming with her about ourselves.”

“She’s not cut out to be one of us,” Vera said, dripping disdain as she lounged back in her chair and stabbed the air with her martini olive’s toothpick for emphasis. “She’s well-dressed and obviously has connections, but we hardly know a thing about her. I don’t want her here. Not until we’re sure she’s not a threat.”Cassandra ignored Vera, narrowed eyes remaining locked on Heather, her expression otherwise unreadable. “Don’t tell me you think we should have said something to her already? She hardly knows us. No matter what she says, no one is prepared for being faced with the real thing. Not the first time. Think of the danger she could pose by knowing too much too soon.”

Heather pouted. “I thought you wanted her in the pack, Cassie? I didn’t tell her anything. I just asked a few questions and got her opinion.”

“It just seems a bit rushed. If you’re sure it’s safe, I suppose we should take advantage of her interest while we can. Where is she now?”

Heather gestured back the way she had come, lowering her voice—completely unnecessarily, considering no one but members of the pack were mingling outside. “She came with me. She saw someone she recognized, so she’s distracted for a bit, but she’ll be joining us shortly. We should tell her tonight. We really should.”

Alexis shrugged, sipping her martini before placing the glass on the table and leaning forward, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “You know, if she’s really as interested as you say, I’ll bet we could sell her on joining us before the next full moon. Cassie, if you can convince Gabriel to let Heather sign her, I’ll bet we’ll have her on a contract before the end of the week.”

They were interrupted by a discreet cough, a man holding a tumbler of brandy coming to a stop next to Alexis’s chair. “Ladies, I trust you’re enjoying yourselves?”

Murmurs of assent and a few pithy greetings were exchanged. Alexis was not amused by the interruption.

“Darling, do you know anything about our new guest, Tiffany ... What did you say her last name was?”

“Winters,” Cassandra supplied. Vera growled softly, but didn’t say anything once she caught Cassandra’s warning look.

“Tiffany Winters. We’re discussing bringing her into the pack.”

Everyone ignored Vera’s scowl.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maxwell usually handles the background checks. I think he’s by the barbeque, why don’t you ask him?” said Samuel.

“Honey,” Alexis whined, “we want to know now, not next week. Can’t you ask him? Or see if Gabriel will okay us issuing a contract? We don’t want to miss out on this one.”

His dark brown eyes rolled heavenward, muttering something unheard. She reached up to adjust the lapel of her husband’s Dolce & Gabbana jacket, frowning at a crease in the otherwise sleek lines. He waved her off before inclining his head in deference to Cassandra at her pointed look.

“All right, ladies, I’ll check with Gabriel. Give me a few minutes.”

“You’re a peach!” Heather favored him with a brilliant smile that he was quick to return. Alexis turned that formidable frown on her, but it was blithely ignored. Cassandra’s attention sharply turned on Vera when she hissed something unpleasant under her breath and shoved her chair back, stalking into the house.

“Trouble brewing,” Alexis murmured. Heather and Cassandra said nothing, their eyes briefly glittering with a touch of luminescence as they locked on Vera’s retreating form.

“I know what you’re up to.”

Tiffany, who was laughing softly at something one of Todd’s companions said, quieted and turned to face Vera. Brows arched on high and painted mouth puckered in a moue of surprise, she batted her lashes and pressed a hand to her chest. “Excuse me?”

“I know what you’re up to,” Vera repeated, her teeth showing in a shark-like grin, “and don’t play the innocent. It’s so tacky.”

Tiffany stared at Vera, her cheeks flushing. Todd and his friends—as well as a few of the other guests nearby who had “overheard” the conversation—were staring at Vera as though she’d grown another head. With a hasty “excuse us,” Tiffany gestured sharply for Vera to follow her as she spun away from the group, seeking privacy. Speculative, disapproving whispers trailed in their wake, growing louder as they left the room.

Before long they found privacy in the form of a study, bookshelves lining one wall and a set of oxblood chairs placed around a low table and desk. It was all Tiffany could do to keep from slamming the door behind them once Vera marched in, right on her heels.

“What is your problem?” Tiffany snapped, eyes flashing as she gestured back the way they had come. “I was in the middle of a very important business deal! Couldn’t you have waited until I closed him before interrupting to bitch at me?”

It was Vera’s turn to flush, though she wasn’t dissuaded. With difficulty, she drew in a few calming breaths, settling her nerves so her eyes wouldn’t glow with her increasing anger.

“You,” she enunciated carefully around growing fangs, “don’t belong here. You’re not part of this community, and I can smell the trouble following you. You should go back to wherever you came from and leave us alone.”

Tiffany sniffed indignantly. “Vera, I don’t know where you got these crazy notions about me, but I’m not here to cause trouble for anyone. All you’re accomplishing right now is embarrassing yourself.”

“I don’t care what the others say. You’re up to something. I’m going to find out what.”

Tiffany met her gaze, her jaw set and fists clenching at her sides. Her nostrils flared as she tilted her head up, causing her carefully maintained coiffure to shift, blond strands slithering over her shoulders and hissing softly against the silken fabric. Her voice took on the same whispery tones—soft, dangerous, and deadly.

“You might want to watch yourself, Vera. Dig too deep and you won’t like what you find.”

Vera watched her go, the door clicking quietly shut behind her as the sound of her Prada heels clacking against the marble floors faded into the hum of the party.

CHAPTER 5

Money is your servant—do not let it be your master.

—An American Proverb

The women were not surprised to see Tiffany paused on the threshold of the patio, searching the fire pits and tables for her friends. The people outside turned to watch as she passed, their eyes flashing brilliant hues of green or gold as her scent—heavy with the reek of agitation even through the cloud of citronella—caught their interest. Once they noted where she was headed, many returned to their conversations or to picking at the hors d’oeuvres, but several continued to watch her with veiled interest as she paused behind the seat Vera had earlier vacated.

“Ladies. Sorry I took so long to join you.”

Tiffany’s tone was light, but her white-knuckled grip on the back of the latticework iron chair bespoke her irritation. Heather, who had been nervously nibbling her bottom lip, leaned forward and put her hand lightly on Tiffany’s arm.

“Are you okay? Vera didn’t find you, did she?”

“She did,” she replied, her smile cold and humorless, “but don’t worry. We came to an understanding of sorts.”

The others were clearly interested in hearing about it, but too polite to push—beyond more than overly curious, questioning expressions—and Tiffany was not budging in her silence on the topic. After a wordless conversation composed of nothing but significant looks, raised brows, and slight twitches of lips shared between Cassandra and Tiffany, they came to an understanding.

‘Don’t ask. You won’t like the answer.’

‘Come on, you know you want to tell us what happened.’

‘It’s none of your damned business.’

‘You know she’ll give us the details when you’re not around anyway. You might as well tell us your side of it now.’

‘It’s my story to tell or not. Don’t push me.’

‘Are you sure? It might not be wise to keep so much to yourself. ’

‘Drop it.’

Eventually, Cassandra broke eye contact, feigning a sudden and intense interest in her drink. Gradually, Tiffany’s grip on the back of the chair loosened, and she gestured at the partygoers mingling and chatting nearby.

“There are a lot of people here I don’t recognize. Heather, I don’t suppose you’d be a love and introduce me, would you?”

“Of course she will,” Cassandra said. “We’ll all join you. There are a few people I’d like for you to meet, too.”

Heather shot a helpless look at Cassandra, and then pushed her chair back with a harsh scrape over the patterned brick. Alexis smirked, but didn’t utter a word, setting her drink aside so she could smooth out her skirt and brush her hair back over her shoulder.

Cassandra hooked her arm through Tiffany’s and paraded her through the gathered throngs in the gardens and around the fire pits as if she were a show pony. She breezed through introductions, highlighting a few interesting tidbits and assets—both of Tiffany and of the people she was meeting—before pushing her along to the next group. Once she was introduced to a few of the young men Cassandra called “terminally single,” Tiffany’s mood lightened considerably, as she batted her lashes and flashed dazzling smiles at the more attractive of the bunch.

Several of them returned her obvious interest in kind with heated looks and a choice turn of phrase, but she expertly maneuvered through their flirtations without insulting or abandoning her hosts.

“I do believe Travis has taken a shine to you,” Alexis remarked as they paused in their rounds for drinks and to nibble a few hors d’oeuvres. “He’s still watching us. Look.”

Tiffany giggled, a cute, girlish sound that drew more curious eyes their way. “Oh stop. I was just playing with the boy. He’s too young for me, I think.”

“No harm in having a bit of fun with him, though,” Heather said.

Cassandra chuckled at the exchange before popping a slice of strawberry in her mouth, and then urging the girls to continue their rounds.

They gradually worked their way deeper into the garden toward those who were clearly more familiar with the house and each other, and were more interested in talking business than showing themselves off as the people inside were doing. There were not many women this far from the lights and tiki torches, and much of the talk was hushed, muted by distance or burbling fountains. Some—but not all—were older, and all of them radiated strength and vitality that was lacking in those who stayed closer to the house. Cassandra made the effort to introduce Tiffany to each person, and her introductions became more formal and elaborate.

Lastly, they joined Cassandra’s husband, Gabriel, who was speaking to Alexis’s husband and a trio of older gentlemen. Cassandra drew Tiffany in front of her, settling her hands familiarly on the girl’s shoulders, earning speculative looks from the men.

“Darling, this is Tiffany Winters, that charming woman I’ve been telling you so much about. Tiffany, this is my husband, Gabriel Sachs. I’ve been meaning to introduce you two all night.”

Gabriel cut a fine figure in his fitted slacks and a button-down shirt that put the tailors of Savile Row to shame. He had the tanned skin and sun-bleached hair of a man who spent a great deal of his time outdoors, and proved that he wasn’t afraid of hard work by his rough, calloused hand, which closed gently around Tiffany’s. He inclined his head, gaze sliding to Cassandra before returning to the new girl.

“A pleasure, Tiffany. I’ve heard so much about you.” He smiled as her cheeks colored in a blush, and extended his hand to each of his companions, introducing them in turn. “Might I introduce Arthur Norris, Basil Thornwood, Phillip Edgington, and Dr. Greene?”

A quick round of welcoming words, handshakes, and head nods set Tiffany at ease. More so when one of them asked who her husband was, noting the ring she had not yet removed. It was enough to make her laugh, holding her hand up so the gem could catch the light.

“Don’t let this fool you. I’m only wearing it as a reminder.”

“I can’t imagine what a woman as lovely as you is doing here alone. If only I were a few years younger, so I could catch your eye as those young bucks by the house do,” lamented Phillip, a silver-haired gentleman. He caught and held her upraised hand so that he could bow over it, his thumb lightly stroking her knuckles. Tiffany demurely lowered her eyes, while the other ladies were busy rolling theirs. “Do feel free to call on me, charming thing that you are. I’d delight in your company.”

“That’s very kind of you, Phillip. I’ll be sure to look you up.”

Gabriel cleared his throat. “Right, then. Well, we do need to get back to business here... .”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded, and the other girls followed her lead as she backed away. “We’ll talk more later.”

Gabriel didn’t answer, his gaze locked on Tiffany as he spoke in low tones to his companions.

Heather and Alexis were quite pleased, speaking with carefully reined enthusiasm. Cassandra was silent, brooding, and Tiffany gave no hint as to her feelings about her introductions beyond a sly curve to her lips.

“Well, this has been rather enlightening,” Tiffany said.

“I hope the whirlwind introductions didn’t leave you dizzy,” said a man waiting in the shadows of a nearby cherry tree. His teeth gleamed, a slash of pearl in the dark as he smiled, before he stepped forward to offer his arm to Tiffany. He inclined his head to the other girls, who were unamused by his theatrics. “I beg your pardon, ladies. I hope you don’t mind if I steal Tiffany away for myself for a while.”

“Not at all, Travis,” drawled Heather. “I’m sure you two will have fun.”

Tiffany feigned a blush and smiled up at Travis, taking his offered arm. Cassandra shook her head and the three werewives drifted off as Travis led Tiffany back toward the house.

“That’s not going to end well,” Alexis mused.

“For who? Him or her?”

“Both,” Alexis said, gesturing for the girls to walk with her toward the woods at the edge of the property instead of back toward the mansion. “I foresee her eating him alive and spitting him out. He’ll moan to the other males about what a frigid bitch she is. Then, in a few days, she’ll seduce another one of them and start the cycle over again.”

Heather nearly choked on the drink she was sipping, a touch of laughter in her whispered words. “Keep it down, someone will overhear. What makes you say that? You barely know her.”

“Maybe. I’ve known enough like her to see the signs. She’ll keep working her way up the social ladder until someone takes her in hand.”

Cassandra frowned. “If that’s really the case, we need to contract her—and do it before she pushes one of the boys too far.”

“Gabriel didn’t seem very interested. He might not let us do it,” Heather said.

“I know. I’ll talk to him about it after he gets home. I need to clear my head so I can think. You ladies want to go for a run?”

Heather glanced back toward the house, frowning. “I’d like to, but I’m Tiffany’s ride.”

“She’ll make it home fine, I’m sure,” Alexis said. Heather gave her a scathing, offended look before collapsing into giggles as Alexis added a leer and suggestive waggle of her brows to go with it. “Come on. The party is winding down anyway. Let’s go have some fun.”

Together the ladies drifted into the woods, pausing only to remove their shoes. Once they had their heels in hand, they did not stop until they reached a small clearing far from the lights and prying eyes at the party. Alexis cursed when her silk skirt caught on a thorn and tore, yanking the delicate material free so hard that she widened the rip. Heather smothered a laugh, while Cassandra busied herself with removing her blouse.

“There goes fifteen hundred dollars.” Alexis sighed, tugging the offending material off and hanging it on a low-hanging branch.

Vera silently drifted out of the shadows, her eyes aglow and her feet bare, Jimmy Choos dangling from one hand. She took in the scene, the curl in her lip lessening when she noted Tiffany’s absence.

“I take it Gabriel said no?”

Heather, busy removing her own clothing, huffed impatiently. “Darling, I don’t know why you’re so dead set against her. Even if you’re suspicious of her, it wouldn’t kill you to be polite.”

“I’m rich. I don’t have to be nice.”

Heather frowned at her. “It certainly wouldn’t hurt for you to try once in a while. Besides, Gabriel hasn’t given his answer yet. Cassie will convince him tonight.”

“With a little lip action, I’m sure,” Alexis muttered. Cassandra shot her a glare that she pretended she hadn’t seen. “Give the man some deep throat and he’s yours.”

Heather and Vera broke out in laughter while Cassandra swiped nails arched into talons at Alexis, who danced out of the way just in time. Grinning, she shimmied out of her skirt and top a safe distance away as Cassandra growled and huffed, tugging off her own clothes and folding them into a neat pile.

“I’ll get you for that!”

“Got to catch me first!”

Alexis laughingly dashed off into the dark, her body changing as she ran. Her skin grew darker in tone, limbs stretching, bones and tendons cracking as the shift brought out her inner beast. Without losing a single stride, she was soon running on four legs rather than two, the gray-coated timber wolf racing deep into the forest.

Vera, who had already shed her clothing and jewelry in preparation for a shift, set the bundle of her belongings aside and joined her. Her coat as a wolf was as dark as her deep auburn hair, a rusty reddish brown that easily blended with the forest. Cassandra raced to catch up, ghosting between the trees as a pale gray shadow, seen only briefly as she flashed through patches of moonlight that filtered through the canopy of foliage. Heather was the last to shift, a mousy brown color, smaller than the others, but much faster. She soon caught up, and they were away, a silent pack running together and enjoying the freedom of the night.

Tiffany stepped out from between the trees, tucking a video camera back into her purse before she toed the clothing the girls had left behind.

CHAPTER 6
I don’t need a man in my life.
—Enya

Afew days after the party, the ladies made plans to meet again. Cassandra had been attempting to corner Gabriel long enough to speak to him about Tiffany, but he was too tied up in both his company and his pack’s business to discuss it. She’d put off getting together as long as she could; Tiffany had started questioning Heather about whether she’d upset Cassandra.

As they didn’t want to have her snatched up by another pack or to take the lack of time spent together as a slight, Cassandra was bound and determined to make this their last social call before she put a contract in front of Tiffany.

By way of apology, Cassandra had offered to pick up the tab for dinner at a new restaurant that had just opened a few blocks from Times Square, some fanciful place with a theme of diamonds and crystals. It was all the rage, garnering rave reviews in the local papers and an excellent ZAGAT rating. Anybody who was anybody had been spotted there. It was, rather inevitably, called Star Dust.

Tiffany had gladly accepted, and the women met outside the restaurant, decked out in shining Gucci as only it had the requisite number of rhinestones to match their need to outshine the restaurant’s décor.

“Good to see you all again,” Tiffany said. She smiled at Alexis and Cassandra when they joined her at the fringes of the line waiting to get in. Her expression quickly turned neutral when she saw Vera bringing up the rear, trailing a few yards behind the others.

“You, too! I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get away. My husband has been an absolute beast these past few days, and I simply haven’t had the time.”

Heather, Vera, and Alexis nearly choked on their laughter at Cassandra’s statement, though they quickly got it under control. Tiffany smiled, shaking her head. “Men can be such a pain, I know.”

Alexis, curious, broke in. “Speaking of which, how did things go with Travis?”

Heather and Cassandra both shot her a warning look, while Tiffany simply shrugged. “Not as well as I had hoped it would. Let’s discuss it over drinks, shall we?”

Cassandra took the lead, the other girls falling into step behind her as they headed to the front of the line. Security took one look at the designer clothes, the painted faces, the svelte bodies, and the killer heels, and let them pass without hesitation, drawing aside the white velvet rope to allow them inside.

There was not a single voice of complaint from the people waiting in line, as not a one would dare—until they were out of earshot, that is.

Once he spotted her, the maître d’ came around his lacquered white podium to extend a welcoming hand to Cassandra, beaming. Like much of the furniture, his tuxedo was white, his tie, cuff links, and pocket kerchief of a fine silver material. Columns of white and silver marble flanked the doors. Crystal vases filled with crystal flowers sat on low silver tables, and the white couches for waiting guests were full. Against the alabaster white walls, it was much like stepping into an icy cavern, too perfect, too austere, to be welcoming.

They fit right in.

“Mademoiselle, lovely to see you again. Your table is ready. Right this way.”

The rest of the restaurant was done in similar style. The music drifting from hidden speakers was soft, melodic, with chimes resonating with the crystal and silver statues that gleamed and glittered from recessed alcoves around the room. The raised ceiling was painted such a deep, dark blue that the tiny lights set into it made it feel as though one were outdoors, staring up at a velvet night sky filled with stars. Even the hum of conversation was muted, giving the place an intimate feel, as though one were lost in the icy tundra of the frozen north.

Once they were seated, Tiffany lounged back, examining the menu. “Well, this all looks very good. What do you recommend?”

“Maybe you should try the grilled salmon salad with orange-basil vinaigrette. I hear salmon is good if you need to lose weight.”

Tiffany lowered her menu to give Vera a flat stare, clearly not amused at the insinuation. Vera gave nothing back, her expression bland and innocent. Heather, exasperated, gestured at the menu.

“Whatever you like. Everything I’ve had here is excellent. Try their house drink, though, the Starlight is amazing.”

Some of the tension at the table eased, and before long the waiter came and went with their order. Tiffany surprised them all by offering to cover the drinks, looking very deliberately at Vera when she said it. No one argued, and everyone was fairly quiet until the waiter returned with their cocktails. Once they had their drinks in hand, everyone relaxed a bit more. Tiffany exclaimed over the sweet liquor, thanking Heather for the recommendation before sighing dramatically and pressing a hand to her brow.

“I need some help.”

Alexis frowned, glancing at Cassandra. “What’s wrong? What do you need?”

“It’s Travis,” Tiffany said, cradling her drink as she leaned forward. “Can one of you please get him to stop calling me? I swear, that man hasn’t given me a moment of peace since the party.”

The other women shared confused and mildly alarmed looks, and Heather sputtered something unintelligible before Cassandra held up her hand for silence. “What happened at the party? I thought you two were getting along so well.”

“So did I. Until he started telling me how much I reminded him of his sister.”

The other girls couldn’t help it. They all cracked up.

“Oh,” gasped Alexis, carefully wiping tears of laughter from under her eyes so as not to smudge her mascara, “oh, that’s terrible! I’m so sorry!”

Heather, once she got her sniggering under control, put a sympathetic hand on Tiffany’s arm. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ll find you someone better. There are plenty of men in the pa—from the party who are single. There’s Damon or Michael or, oh, I’ll bet you’d get along great with—”

“Enough, darling, she probably doesn’t remember the names of half the men she was introduced to at the party,” Alexis said with saccharine sweetness, the underlying warning completely going over Heather’s head as she pouted at being interrupted. Tiffany didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m not so sure I’m interested anymore,” she replied.

Vera smirked. “How terrible for you. No one to take care of you ... All alone in the world.”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I do just fine on my own.”

“You say that now. I wonder why you tried so hard to pretend not to be interested at the party? Phillip and Travis certainly didn’t seem to mind your attention—and no matter what you say, I’ll bet the entire time you were thinking about what you could get out of it.”

Tiffany’s jaw clenched and spots of color rose high on her cheekbones. Vera idly traced her index finger through the condensation on her glass before pushing it away and rising.

Alexis and Heather gave Vera exasperated looks. Cassandra ignored Vera as she walked toward the ladies’ room, hips swaying.

“Don’t mind her,” Cassandra said. “She’s just PMSing because she isn’t the center of attention.”

Tiffany pouted after Vera’s retreating form, though her icy blue eyes gleamed with calculation under the mask of hurt. “I wouldn’t mind so much if I knew why she took such a dislike to me. Does she think I’m competition? I thought she was married.”

“Vera’s always had a thing for Travis,” Alexis mused, stirring her drink as she leaned back in her chair and gave one of the waiters watching her from across the room an excellent view of her crossed legs as she adjusted her skirt just so. “Maybe she’s peeved that he’s given up on her and taken an interest in you.”

“No, no, it isn’t that. She’s had a problem with her from the start. I think she’s pissed because you’re single and successful enough to live in our neighborhood without the benefit of a man to pay your way,” Heather declared.

The others regarded Heather with new respect for her astute observation.

“But,” she added, ruining the moment, “we still need to set you up with someone nice. I’ll bet you an experienced man like Phillip would last longer than the playboys like Travis, anyway.”

Tiffany nearly spewed her drink, covering her mouth with one hand while the other reached for a napkin to blot her lips. Cassandra and Alexis were too busy giggling over the thought to be of any help, all of them gasping and laughing. Talk turned to simpler, less dangerous topics—what was coming up on tomorrow’s daytime soaps, the scandalously awful shoes one of the women wore to the party, and whether they should go shopping or barhopping after they ate. Even Vera was civil when she returned, keeping most of her snarky comments limited to her observations about the fashion faux pas several of Alexis’s guests made at the party.

Cassandra came very close to pulling the contract out of her purse to slide across the table to put in Tiffany’s hands. All that stopped her were Vera or Tiffany’s occasional comments that cut through the air of camaraderie. Just when things would settle down, one of them would slip, and they would bristle at each other until Heather or Alexis changed the subject.

Finally, exasperated, Cassandra turned to Tiffany and bluntly invited her on a coffee date—alone—the next day so they could have a private chat.

“Oh,” Tiffany said, looking uncertainly between Heather and Cassandra, “we were going to go to one of those Botox parties tomorrow afternoon.”

“We’ll reschedule,” Heather said quickly upon catching Cassandra’s look.

“Oh. Oh, all right, then.”

“Excellent,” Cassandra said, a sly smile curving her lips.

CHAPTER 7

If the only tool you have is a hammer, you tend to see every problem as a nail.

—Abraham H. Maslow

Four timber wolves raced through the shadows of a New Jersey forest, hunting under a gibbous moon. Save for the occasional chirp of insects or hoot of an owl, all was quiet, the denizens of the forest knowing better than to explore with predators such as these on the prowl.

Until Alexis scrabbled over a large rock and snagged a claw, breaking it.

The others came to a halt as she tumbled to a stop in a snarling bundle of teeth and bristling fur. Cassandra padded over to investigate, sniffing as Alexis held out the offending paw, whimpering. After giving the wound a lick, Cassandra turned back in the direction of her home, where they had started their run. Vera and Heather both whined at having their playtime cut short, but after an authoritative bark from Cassandra, quieted and followed without further complaint.

Vera and Heather still frolicked on the way back, chasing after the occasional mouse or other small creature stirred up by their passing. Cassandra stayed beside Alexis, ignoring her plaintive whines and exaggerated limp.

They emerged from the shadows of the birch and evergreens bordering Cassandra’s property, lying down on the smooth carpet of grass that led right up to the woods. Sleek fur rippled and twitched, and the grinding and popping of bones and sinews rearranging rang out as the four wolves began their change back to human.

Vera groaned as the last joint snapped back into place, watching with a critical eye as her claws receded. “Damn. I’m going to have to get these done again.”

Alexis’s fur ruffled as she gave Vera an irritated curl of her lip before completing her change. The other ladies didn’t answer; they were too busy with their own shifts from wolf to human to respond. Heather chuffed, blowing like a bellows as she collapsed on her side, having run harder than the others.

The thick fur slowly withdrew into Alexis’s skin, talons and paws gradually lengthening and softening into human hands again. She quickly lifted her arm, squinting in the moonlight as she examined her nails.

“Ugh, my whole nail cracked. Gross! I guess we were all due for a mani-pedi, anyway,” she said. “We can go after Cassie meets with Tiffany.”

Heather rubbed her jaw, popping it and speaking around fangs that had not quite finished reforming into flat human teeth. “Are you going to give her the contract this time? I saw it sticking out of your purse at the restaurant earlier.”

Cassandra rolled her ankles to get the joints to set properly, ignoring Vera’s scowl. “Yes. I wanted to give it to her then, but it didn’t seem like the right time. I thought it might be better if I spoke to her one-on-one instead of having the whole group there to pressure her.”

“You’re making a mistake, Cassandra,” Vera said. “She isn’t pack material. I don’t know why none of you are listening to me.”

“We aren’t listening because there’s no basis for your concern! You keep saying she’s a threat, but you won’t talk to her yourself and don’t back up what you’re saying with anything that proves she has any intention of hurting us,” Heather snapped.

Taken aback, Vera stared for a moment, mouth agape. She first looked to Alexis, then Cassandra for help or sympathy, and found none. Both were shaking their head at her, agreeing with Heather.

“Well,” Vera said, settling back in the grass and steepling her fingers, “I’m still looking for something that proves what I already know to be the case. I told you all that I know I’ve seen her somewhere before. I think she has a connection to the hunters in New York. It’s not easy digging up information on them, you know.”

“What makes you think so, though? She said she was interested in meeting a werewolf, not killing one.”

“I’ve seen her somewhere before. Maybe on the news, or somewhere on the Internet. Not here.”

“Are you sure it’s her?”

Taking offense at the tone of the question, Vera bristled, glaring at Cassandra. “Almost positive.”

“Almost positive is not sure,” Cassandra said, rising and sauntering to the lounge chairs where they had laid out their clothing. She shrugged on her shirt, not bothering to button it up. “We can’t assume anything when it comes to the welfare of the pack.”

“Then that should go both ways! We don’t know for sure that she’s not a threat.”

“No, but we do know she has an interest in werewolves, and that our pack will grow stagnant and gradually disappear if we don’t add new members to it. We can’t afford to let someone interested slip through our fingers. I will ask her what her intentions are, and offer the contract. If she wants to use it against us, then I promise you I will kill her myself.”

Vera subsided, mostly satisfied. Heather, now in jeans and a light T-shirt, shifted her weight and wouldn’t meet Cassandra’s eyes.

“Are you going to turn her right away if she signs the papers?”

“Maybe,” Cassandra said, folding her skirt over her arm and walking toward the house, not looking back. “It depends on what Gabriel has to say about it.”

Alexis gasped. “You still haven’t asked him?”

“No. He hasn’t been home.”

The other ladies shared knowing looks, but didn’t say a word, following silently in Cassandra’s wake.

Gabriel didn’t bother to look up from his desk when Cassandra appeared in the doorway of his study.

“Not now.”

“Honey, I really need to talk to you.”

“Give me about an hour. I need to finish reading this brief,” Gabriel said, not looking up from the papers spread over his desk. It was the first time he’d been home before eleven in two weeks.

Cassandra leaned on the door frame, toying with the diamond pendant on her necklace as she considered him. He’d barely noticed her short satin robe, the one he’d taken such delight in rubbing himself against less than a month before. Gabriel hadn’t joined her for dinner before her run, hadn’t answered her text messages or e-mails, and had been too exhausted for the last several nights to talk to her about anything beyond kissing her good night—if she was still awake when he got home—before he crawled into bed. She hadn’t asked what was on his plate, but she had gleaned from a few conversations overheard that it involved the welfare of the entire pack.

It wasn’t her, she was sure. Judging by the dark circles under his eyes, she was quite certain it really was work that kept him from home and from showing any interest in sex. Aside from that, if he’d been cheating, she would have smelled the scent of another bitch on him—so that wasn’t it. He really was working himself to the bone.

This called for desperate measures.

She slunk forward, putting a roll into her hips, catching his eye. He looked up, twitching a jet brow, one hand racing through dark hair starting to show the first hints of silver at the temples. Cassandra moved behind him, rubbing at the thick knots of tension in his shoulders. He gradually relaxed into her hands, eyes closing.

“You’re working too hard. Come to bed.”

He sighed, arching his back so she could reach his shoulder blades. “I can’t, love. This needs to be done.”

“It’ll still be here in the morning.” Cassandra leaned over to whisper in his ear, nipping his earlobe as one hand slid down his chest to the hard bulge in his pants. “Let me take care of you.”

He groaned, arching up against her questing hand. It didn’t take long before she’d drawn down his zipper and slid aside his silk boxers, freeing him from his pants. Deft fingers worked his arousal with practiced swiftness.

Gabriel didn’t object, his fingers digging into the armrests of his chair until the leather creaked under his hands, watching as if mesmerized by the way she squeezed and stroked him, the way he grew and pulsed under her touch.

His breath hitched in his throat as she bit his ear again, tilting his head to the side to give her access to his throat. A very trusting move on his part. Trailing her lips over the stubble on his cheek, Cassandra whispered again, her voice low and throaty.

“I need something from you.”

In a blur, she was suddenly on her back on his desk, Gabriel pressed between her dangling legs. Papers scattered, flying everywhere before drifting to the floor. His eyes, usually a soft brown, now burned with a harsh amber light as he bent over her, hands exploring the smooth satin of her robe before tearing it open. Cassandra returned his growls in kind, wrapping her legs around his waist to yank him forward, nails raking down his back.

“I need—” She gasped as he bit her, nails convulsing against his back.

“I know what you need,” he rumbled, rough hands sliding lower on her body. Her hips moved to meet his exploring fingers, even as she made a guttural sound of denial.

“No,” she insisted, grasping and pulling at his hair until he paused, looking at her. “Something else.”

He slumped, then rose just enough to meet her own burning, glowing eyes. It took a few breaths for him to calm enough to answer. He had to speak carefully, enunciating each word carefully around the mouthful of fangs he’d sprouted.

“Anything. You know I’ll always give you whatever you want.”

Cassandra smiled, bared teeth behind those painted lips grown into dagger points much like his own.

“I want Tiffany Winters. I want her in the pack.”

“Done.”

And for the rest of the night, neither of them had a chance to fit in another word.

CHAPTER 8

To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.

—Ralph Waldo Emerson

The next day, Cassandra settled in a seat on the patio outside of one of the quieter Starbucks in the neighborhood, cradling an iced latte. Tiffany looked up from her cell phone, setting it aside with a smile as she eased back into the wrought-iron chair. Aside from the occasional patron moving in and out of the coffeehouse, they were alone.

“You wanted to talk to me?”

Cassandra crossed her legs, leaning back in her chair while one finger toyed with the condensation on her latte. She stared directly into Tiffany’s eyes, taking her measure before speaking in carefully noncommittal tones.

“Heather told me that you had an interest in werewolves. Meeting them, in fact. What if I told you that I could help you with that?”

Tiffany’s gaze searched Cassandra’s face. “I’d say I was skeptically hopeful. Ever since the Moonwalker pack showed themselves, I’ve wanted to meet one. Except for Rohrik Donovan and the rest of the Moonwalkers, they don’t exactly advertise their whereabouts, and he doesn’t meet with people just to satisfy their curiosity.”

“No. I suppose he doesn’t.”

“But you will?”

Cassandra paused, latte halfway to her mouth. “You knew?”

“Yes. I knew before I moved here.”

“Was Vera right, then? Are you here to cause us trouble?”

Shaking her head, Tiffany held out a hand, imploring Cassandra to stay seated. Though a touch of yellow had crept into her irises, Cassandra stilled, her mouth pressed into a thin line of displeasure.

“Vera may have made the connection between the New York branch of the White Hats and myself because I used to be married to one of them.”

Cassandra swiftly rose with a harsh screech of iron over concrete, her nails forming into claws. Tiffany stayed in her seat, her hand reaching out imploringly. “Please, hear me out.”

“I think I’ve heard enough,” Cassandra replied tartly, reaching for her Hermès purse.

“No, you haven’t.” Tiffany insisted in such a sharp tone that Cassandra stilled, eyes narrowed to gleaming yellow slivers. Tiffany pressed on, unfazed. “Just listen to me. I’m not married to him anymore. When I first met Richard, I knew he was a hunter, but I didn’t take part in that business. It took me a while to see what he was doing was wrong, and I divorced him with good reason. I thought maybe—just maybe—if I managed to meet one of you I could find some way to make up the damage I caused by standing by and supporting him for so long.”

Cassandra regarded Tiffany for a long moment, taking shallow breaths through flared nostrils, more interested in her scent and the sound of her heartbeat than in her words or pleading looks. There was an understandable trace of fear under the vanilla and sandalwood musk of her Shalini perfume, but no discordant undertones of a lie.

Though Cassandra did not retract her claws, some of the beast withdrew from her eyes, and she slowly settled back into her seat. Tiffany’s gaze still searched her face, fingers tight around her cup and breath held as she waited for a response. It took some time for it to come, but when it did, she couldn’t help but smile.

“If that is truly the case, then I am assuming you came here wanting to bolster our ranks.”

“Yes. That’s right.”

Cassandra stared at the girl until she shifted her weight and looked away, unnerved by those yellow eyes. “Were you going to tell any of us this? Or were you just waiting for Heather or one of the men to present you with a contract?”

Tiffany had the grace to blush, though she was quick to shake her head. “No, no, it wasn’t like that. It never felt like the right time. Vera was so dead set against me that I wasn’t sure if I’d ever have the chance. Of if any of you would listen to reason once I brought it up.”

“I see.”

Cassandra regarded her for a moment longer in uncomfortable silence before coming to a decision. She reached into the purse on her arm, withdrawing neatly tri-folded documents and sliding them across the table. Tiffany’s expression quickly shifted from apprehension to shocked delight as she unfolded the Notice of Mutual Consent to Human/Other Citizen Relationship and Contractual Binding Agreement.

“If this is really what you want—”

“Oh, it is!”

“—then fill the papers out and come to dinner tonight. My house. Dress to impress. I’ll introduce you to some of the others, and when one of them is ready, they’ll sign and file the rest.”

Tiffany’s face fell as she realized that meant that the papers weren’t ready to be lodged in a court—in effect, binding her for the rest of her life to one of the werewolves and giving them the right to feed on or make her one of them—though she soon perked up at the invitation.

“Oh, thank you, Cassie. I can’t begin to tell you how happy this makes me!”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Cassandra drawled. “You still need to find a host who will take you. And I do expect you to behave yourself and not antagonize Vera anymore.”

“I’ll try.”

“Do more than try. Those papers include the pack privilege clause. If you find a host who will have you—and I assure you that it will not be easy with your past—it will leave you open to attack from any member of our pack, not just whoever signs with you. I suggest you find a way to smooth things over with Vera.”

Tiffany frowned, skimming over the documents. “I’ll do that.” Glancing up, she offered Cassandra a sunny smile, clearly quite pleased with this turn of events. “Thank you again. Don’t worry, you won’t regret this decision.”

Cassandra said nothing in reply, turning and walking away.

Once Cassandra left, Tiffany took her time polishing off the rest of her coffee as she read through the contract, enjoying the time in the sun. Very little of it was different from the standard contracts often available at local courthouses. The pack privilege allowed any werewolf in the pack to hurt or even kill their applicant without legal repercussions; these days, the clause was standard language in contracts for dangerous supernatural creatures who lived in groups, such as vampires and werewolves.

Tucking the papers under her arm, she rose, withdrawing her cell phone as she headed to her car. In moments, she’d drafted a text message and sent it to Richard, then drove home.

It took some time to get ready. Some of the benefits of having spent time on the fringes, getting to know her husband’s profession, were the access to his connections, the combined gathered intelligence on Others by the White Hats—and the toys.

After a long, luxurious bath in scented oils, relaxing her muscles, she padded nude through her walk-in closet, choosing and then discarding a number of outfits. For the dinner, she needed to wear something both fashionable and functional; nothing so skintight as to reveal the weaponry concealed on her person. Searching blue eyes soon found the perfect outfit. She chose a Christian Dior dress with flared sleeves to make for an easy draw of her silver-coated daggers. It had a high enough slit on either side of the skirt to easily reach the guns strapped to her garters, and looked killer with a matching pair of Louboutin heels.

Her phone rang out the strains of Bach, announcing an incoming call from Richard. Again. And a third time.

She ignored the calls in favor of examining herself critically in a floor-length mirror.

The quick-draw bands at her wrists faded into the shadows of the sleeves of the black, silver, and gray fabric of the dress, but were still too conspicuous. With the addition of some thick Swarovski bracelets studded with diamonds and opals, a matching choker, and a touch of Chanel No. 5 at her wrists and throat, she felt ready to take on the entire pack.

For the thrill of it, she twisted and hurled one of the daggers in one smooth motion, embedding it in the frame of the dresser across the room, just above where her cell phone still rang and rang. A smile curved her lips when she noted the blade had landed precisely on the knot of wood she’d been aiming for.

With leisurely strides, she crossed the room, glancing down at the phone before working the dagger out of the wood. Tucking it back within its sheath, she then turned her phone off and slipped it in her purse, heading for the door.

As much as she hoped things would stay civil tonight, she would be prepared for anything.

CHAPTER 9

The first sign of a nervous breakdown is when you start thinking your work is terribly important.

—Milo Bloom

Cassandra greeted Tiffany at the door, taking in her outfit in one quick, critical sweep. It dragged a reluctant smile out of her, for it met and exceeded every expectation for the impromptu dinner she’d arranged.

Getting Gabriel to agree to stay home for the affair had not been terribly difficult. At his word, the remaining single males in the pack, to a one, had agreed to come. Many of them had arrived early in hopes of making a good impression, and were not disappointed by the entrance of the leggy, stunning blonde who put the shining crystals and modern art in Cassandra’s smallest, most intimate dining room to shame.

Tiffany sat near Gabriel and Cassandra at the head of the table, setting her purse at her side and placing the signed contract beside her plate. She accepted a glass of wine and the brief introductions of the few men she hadn’t met at Alexis’s party a few days before. Several of the more prominent members of the pack had come as well, including the other werewives and their spouses. Vera, thankfully, kept her comments to herself, though she was clearly displeased with this turn of events.

Though no one mentioned anything about the pack at first, after Cassandra’s cook brought out the hors d’oeuvres, guests complimented Cassandra on the fare and the talk took a more serious shift. Gabriel cleared his throat, getting the silent attention of his guests within moments.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” he said, giving Tiffany a nod. “I’m sure you’ve all heard by now that we have a new applicant for membership in our pack.”

“Ah, is that what this is all about?”

“Yes, Phillip. I’ll thank you not to lick your chops like a big, bad wolf and scare our honored guest away.” That garnered some laughter, as well as a wink and a grin in Tiffany’s direction from Phillip. The laughter became more genuine at her blushes. “As most of you know, expanding our numbers has always been a priority. The Diamondfang pack has welcomed society’s elite into our ranks for decades, long before humanity openly acknowledged the existence of the supernatural. Now, under the circumstances, I felt it best if we addressed some important aspects of her request as a group, rather than allow speculation and rumors to sully what should be a joyous occasion.

“Tiffany Winters has admitted to connections to a group of hunters—the White Hats—in New York.”

The room exploded with dissent, exclamations of shock and outrage, several of the werewolves rising from their seats or even letting a touch of their inner beasts peek out of their eyes as they snarled their displeasure. Vera seemed especially incensed, her accusing tones laced with triumph as she rose from her seat and pointed at Tiffany, sneering as she shouted, “I knew it! I told you she was trouble!”

Tiffany scowled, but said nothing, clutching her hands tightly together in her lap. She wouldn’t meet the eyes of any of the wolves, knowing better than to give their aggression ammunition by giving them challenging looks.

Gabriel watched for a few moments, eyes narrowed. Shortly, his calm, collected, and deadly quiet voice cut through the din.

“Sit down. All of you.”

None dared disobey the alpha, though many of those who weren’t glaring at Tiffany were giving him sidelong looks.

“Now,” he said, once the low rumble of opposition subsided to quieter levels, “she has informed us that she was connected to one by marriage, but no longer. She is not part of that world anymore, and wishes to make amends for her participation in their activities by bolstering our ranks. It is not an unreasonable request—and she could be a valuable addition to this pack.”

“She’s dangerous,” Vera sneered, “and I can’t believe you’re still willing to take her in, knowing what she is.”

Gabriel gave Vera a flat look. She soon quieted and turned her eyes down. Phillip, who had remained silent during the uproar, cleared his throat and spoke up after receiving a nod of acknowledgment from his pack leader.

“It takes an extraordinary person to admit when they are in the wrong. More so for someone to take so little prompting to wish to be a part of our pack. Ms. Winters, I will sign the contract, if you will accept me as your host.”

Tiffany gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as happy tears sprung to her eyes. Though some of the Weres maintained their dubious expressions, most showed grudging approval; a handful even clapped to show their support. Before she could answer, Vera snarled, slamming her hand on the table hard enough for the silverware to rattle.

“I can’t believe you people are falling for her story! Have any of you checked her background to ensure she’s who she says she is? That she’s really divorced? That she didn’t come here armed to kill us all?”

Gabriel growled, a deep, harsh sound that rolled through the room like thunder. Much to the other diners’ surprise, it was Tiffany’s voice that lashed out rather than their pack leader’s. She rose to her full height to point an accusatory finger at Vera.

“You have no right to be saying any of those things about me. You haven’t gotten to know me or given me any chance to prove myself to you!”

“There’s nothing to prove. You’re connected to hunters, and that makes you a menace to every one of us!”

“I’m not here to hurt anybody, you crazy bitch! Where the hell do you get off, making these unfounded accusations—”

“I’m looking out for the best interests of my packmates. Who do you think you’re fooling?” Vera snarled, her eyes glowing, ignoring the horrified looks of the other guests and the tugging on her arm by her husband in an effort to get her to settle down. “If Phillip signs that contract, I will hunt you down and kill you myself.”

Tiffany’s glare turned icy, reaching for a wineglass so she could fling the contents at her. Vera’s face and white Burberry top was splashed with the bloodred 2006 Château Mouton Rothschild Pauillac.

Save for Vera’s breaths, hissed through her teeth, dead silence reigned.

With careful, measured motions, the werewife rose from her seat, towering in her Proenza heels. No one, not even Gabriel, was ready to interfere.

Slowly, deliberately, Vera picked up a plate of crackers and Almas caviar (which, fortunately for Gabriel, was the cheaper, darker variety) and hurled it across the table at Tiffany. She ducked out of the way just in time for Damon, who was coming to her side in defense, to be beaned with it instead.

Howling a challenge, Vera vaulted onto and then across the table in one smooth motion, evading her husband’s grasping hands as he shouted at her to calm down. Tiffany shoved herself backward, knocking her chair over and sprawling as she tripped on her long skirt. Most of the other wolves quickly backed out of the way. Fur sprouted on Vera’s hands and arms, her face elongating as she dived off the table to where Tiffany now cowered on the floor.

She never landed. In one smooth movement, Cassandra rose from her chair and grabbed Vera by the throat, using the partially turned werewolf’s own momentum to swing and hurl her across the room. Vera slammed into the opposite wall, leaving a huge dent and sending artwork and mirrors crashing to the floor. She slumped to the ground, dazed and unmoving.

Tiffany was quick to tuck her silver dagger back in its sheath, praying none of the werewolves had noticed the weapon before it was hidden under her jewelry and sleeve again.

Gabriel and Cassandra both hurried to check on her and offer their apologies for Vera’s behavior, but many of the other werewolves were still too shocked and appalled by this turn of events to do more than offer incredulous stares from their seats. Tiffany waved off the offers to help her up—not wanting them to accidentally spring the mechanism that would flick the daggers out of their sheaths—and rose rather ungracefully to her feet.

No one said a thing as she strode over to her fallen chair to pick up her purse—now spattered with caviar and crumbled bits of cracker—and stalked out, not looking back.

“Well, that was uncalled for.”

Tiffany didn’t say anything as Heather fell into step beside her.

“You don’t have to leave. We can send Vera home.”

Tiffany still said nothing, but her lips thinned as she hurried her pace and adjusted her purse strap, heels clacking on the drive as she sought her car.

“I know you’re angry,” Heather said with a sigh, matching her stride, “but Phillip was really impressed back there. He’s asking where the contract is so he can sign it right now.”

Tiffany came to an abrupt halt, smudging her mascara as she wiped away angry tears. “Don’t bother, Heather. Clearly I’m not welcome here. Vera has been an utter prat ever since I came to town, and now that she knows about my past, she’s never going to believe that I didn’t come here with bad intentions.”

Heather didn’t respond, biting her lower lip. Tiffany took a few deep breaths before continuing in a calmer tone.

“I should have known it wouldn’t work out. This was all too good to be true. Maybe I’ll just go back to Johannesburg. Be closer to my family.”

“Oh no!” Heather exclaimed. “You just got here! Don’t go yet. Come on, Phillip really wants you to stay, and so does Gabriel and Cassandra. And me! We can work something out. Vera was just looking out for us in her own way—I’m sure she’ll come around once you’re one of us. Really one of us, I mean.”

Tiffany dug through her purse for a tissue, sniffling and blotting at her eyes. “Are you sure? I mean, I’d love to be a part of the pack, but not if Vera’s going to keep sniping at me for the rest of my life because of something in my past. It is the past, and what’s done is done—I can’t change it, but I don’t want to be paying for it the rest of my life, either.”

Heather put an arm around Tiffany’s shoulder, giving her a comforting squeeze. She nonchalantly flicked bits of caviar off of her dress before putting her hands on Tiffany’s shoulders. Heather held her there until she lifted her head and met her eyes, taking in the serious set of her jaw and clear concern in her eyes.

“Don’t worry. You aren’t that person. I know you’re not. Everyone’s a bit upset right now, but they’ll come around and see it, too.”

Tiffany dabbed at her eyes again, pulling away. “Vera won’t. She never will.”

Heather hesitated, glancing back to the house. Though Tiffany had put some distance between herself and the house, Heather was sure that a few of her packmates were listening in, particularly when she spotted Cassandra and Alexis watching from one of the bay windows overlooking the front yard. Cassandra made an impatient “get on with it” gesture, so Heather turned back to Tiffany, straightening.

“She may not, but the rest of the pack will. Eventually. We’ll fix this somehow. Look, why don’t you go home for now”—Heather flinched at the sound of Cassandra’s angry curse, though Tiffany couldn’t hear it—“and get cleaned up, and I’ll call you in the morning. We’ll go relax at the spa for a while.”

Tiffany glanced over her shoulder at the house, frowning. “Okay. What about the others? Do you think Cassandra and Alexis are still going to want to be friends with me?”

“I’m sure they do. And if not, I’ll talk sense into them. Now you go home and get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Heather said firmly, urging Tiffany to turn back to her car and get moving again.

Tiffany did, unable to see the unnatural yellow glitter to Heather’s eyes as she watched her walk away.

CHAPTER 10

Realize that if you have time to whine and complain about something, then you have the time to do something about it.

—Anthony J. D’Angelo

After that spectacular conclusion to dinner, Vera had been told none too politely to keep her head down, and to stay away from Tiffany until the matter of the contract was sorted out. She didn’t argue.

Despite Phillip’s protests that he was still interested and Cassandra’s pleading for Gabriel to give the girl another chance, he had dismissed the rest of his pack with a note of caution to hold on any actions involving Tiffany—whether it be contracting her or destroying her out of hand—until he had a chance to investigate matters further. Cassandra knew exactly what that meant. Later, privately, even her best efforts didn’t budge him. Gabriel did not want to endanger the pack, or see it torn apart over the inclusion of a member some of them clearly viewed as an enemy.

Cassandra was still incensed that he hadn’t given in to her demands to contract Tiffany despite that thing she did with her tongue.

Instead, he’d enjoyed every minute of her attentions, waited until she—or rather, he was done—and then told her in no uncertain terms that he was not going to put the pack at risk by accepting Tiffany into their ranks until he was assured that she posed no danger.

Quite the argument ensued. By the end of it, even Cassandra had to admit that Vera had a point. Tiffany presented a danger to their pack even if she wasn’t a member of the White Hats anymore. There was no telling how close she was to her ex-husband or what he might do if he found out she had signed a contract with a werewolf, let alone become one of them. The contract would have to be filed in court, thus becoming a publicly accessible document—meaning, through the Freedom of Information Act, the White Hats could easily find out that one of their own had turned against them.

It was a substantial risk that Gabriel was not willing to take. The more Cassandra thought about it, the more she saw the inherent danger as well.

At tennis practice at Alexis’s house the following morning, Cassandra confessed as to Gabriel’s feelings on the matter, and that she had changed her mind as well.

“Oh Cassie,” Heather said, skipping back to smoothly return Alexis’s serve with a backhanded sweep of her racket, “that just isn’t right. You know it’s not fair to her. All she wants is to be our friend.”

“And join the pack. Don’t forget that,” Alexis shouted from across the court.

Cassandra snorted, scuffing her shoes against the court. Heather frowned at her, unable to give a proper glare with her gaze torn between her friend and the oncoming ball. She didn’t miss a beat, returning every volley and drop shot Alexis tried pulling to win the point even as she laid into Cassandra.

“Vera’s just being paranoid. I know she wants what’s best for the pack, but so do I—and I think we need fresh blood to revive the older stock. Considering how long it’s been since the last time we contracted someone, we’re never going to find anyone so easy to convince as Tiffany Winters again. Someone who fits our standards—and comes to us, no less—is unheard of, and don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about. We aren’t the Moonwalkers in New York, no matter how badly we wish we were. We need to take advantage of this while we can.”

“She can’t be one of us, darling. Gabriel said no.”

“You always do what Gabriel tells you?”

Alexis hurled a particularly vicious shot over the net that Heather had to scramble to catch and return. It certainly got her attention.

“Honey, I don’t think you’re looking at this clearly. She was married to a White Hat. Bane of our existence? Hunts our kind on the weekends for sport? I’m with Cassie and Vera on this. Don’t question the pack leader’s judgment. We all need to back off.”

Heather growled softly, the sound echoing across the court, punctuated by the sharp thock of the ball being slapped across the court hard and fast—too fast for Alexis to keep up with, scoring Heather the first point. Cassandra rose to take her place on the court.

The two faced off as Alexis settled primly on a bench, taking a sip of Evian as she watched the pair. Cassandra prepared to serve, pausing just long enough to speak a few words first.

“Don’t overstep your bounds, Heather. You don’t rank high enough in the pack to challenge Gabriel. Or me.”

Heather’s normally warm brown eyes now glittered gold, and she said nothing while dashing across the tarmac with supernatural speed to reach the ball. The two women played a silent game, daring each other with sharp, cutting movements, each working to outdo the other.

Sweat freely dripped down their bodies, the world narrowing to one competitive moment, every action and reaction calculated to win the point and end the game. Cassandra hit the ball high and deep into Heather’s court, forcing her to exercise extra speed and leap unnaturally high to reach it.

With a rush, Heather dashed forward to meet the lob, using an overhead smash to gain the point and end the game.

“Don’t push too hard, Cassie,” Heather said, tossing her racket aside with a clatter and rubbing the sweat off her brow with her arm. “You and Gabriel aren’t the only voices in the pack.”

Cassandra and Alexis watched with narrowed eyes as Heather spun on her heel and left the court, leaving them behind.

Cassandra sipped at the mai tai Alexis had prepared for her, crossing her legs at the ankles as she relaxed in the kitchen. They’d waited a few minutes before they followed Heather inside, leaving her alone as she stalked off to one of the guest bedrooms to cool down and shower in peace.

“You’re not worried about what she said, are you?”

“No,” Cassandra replied, not meeting Alexis’s questioning gaze. “Not worried. Concerned. Vera and Heather both make good points, but I don’t think now is the time to tell Tiffany that we don’t want her around or that we won’t be turning her into one of us. It might be better if we distance ourselves instead.”

Alexis pulled her towel from around her neck and dabbed at her forehead and cheeks before picking up her own drink and leaning against the marble countertop, taking a sip before answering.

“I’m not sure if Tiffany will accept that. Do you think Gabriel will ever let one of us contract or turn her?”

“Honestly? No.”

Alexis paused in lifting her drink back to her lips, brow cocked. “And do you think she’ll accept that?”

Cassandra shook her head, setting her drink down and pushing it away. The two women said nothing for a time, the silence between them growing heavy.

Shifting her weight and looking away, Alexis broke the silence by turning around and busying herself with tidying the kitchen counters, even though the maid and the cook had already done so earlier in the day. In her Juicy shorts and Nikes with sparkling pink swooshes, she didn’t look like much of a domestic, but she did her best impression as she banged cabinets and put the drink mixes away.

“We can’t trust her, you know,” Alexis said, keeping her back to Cassandra as she reached up into one of the cabinets to adjust some of the dishes.

“I know.”

“You can’t let her go around thinking she’s still welcome, either. One of us is going to have to tell her.”

Cassandra harrumphed, a low growl rumbling in her throat. Alexis was careful not to meet her gaze, keeping her head down and her arms wrapped protectively around her stomach when she turned around.

“Maybe we should do it together. We can tell her to come over to Tiffany’s later, and we can sit down as a group and discuss it like civilized people. If we keep Vera out of it, maybe she’ll even listen to us.”

Cassandra’s eyes flashed gold, matching her eye shadow, and her lip lifted in a silent snarl before she huffed out a breath of air and let fallen lids obscure her gaze. “I’m not sure if that’s an option. If we tell her, she might react badly. Go back to her husband, maybe.”

“If we don’t tell her,” Alexis countered, “she might get it into her head that she still has a chance at becoming one of the pack, and end up doing something foolish. Worse, one of the boys might go along with it, and then where will we be? You saw how they were looking at her last night and how she had them wrapped around her fingers at the party. We can’t take the chance.”

“No, I suppose not.”

Alexis tossed her towel down on the counter before levering herself up to sit on it, reaching for her drink again. “If we tell her that we’ll still be her friends, but gradually work our way out of her life and not invite her to all of the parties, maybe she won’t take it quite so hard. We’ll be safe, she’ll be screwed, and we can all get on with our lives.”

Cassandra laughed, some of the tension easing out of her shoulders. “If she accepts it as easy as that, I’d be very surprised. I suppose we can give it a shot. Maybe after enough time passes, Gabriel will change his mind. For now, I’m sure Heather can keep her entertained when we’re not around.”

Heather walked in, now dressed in jeans and a Gucci T-shirt, rubbing the towel through her hair. “Doubtful. I don’t like it.”

“We didn’t expect you would,” Alexis said, pushing a third drink down the smooth countertop. Heather caught it easily and took a deep pull. “But I’m sure you’ll agree it’s all for the best.”

Heather downed half the drink in a go, earning raised brows and concerned looks from the other two ladies. She set the glass down with a clack, nearly breaking it.

“No, I don’t like it. But it’ll have to do.”

The two nodded and smiled, glad to hear she agreed. Until she added a quiet “for now” under her breath.

CHAPTER 11
Live by the gun, die by the gun.
—Tupac Shakur

“I have something you should see.” Cassandra harrumphed as she dug through her closet, looking for a pair of shoes to wear, her cell phone tucked to her ear. “Vera, I know you just want to help, but you need to lay off. We’re handling this.”

“I have proof this time.”

Cassandra paused, one foot halfway into her Bottega Veneta platform wedge sandals. She was already irritated at Vera for tricking her into picking up by calling from an unfamiliar number—her husband’s office line—after calls from her cell went unanswered. Vera was quick to fill the silence, the urgency in her tone not feigned in the least.

“She’s one of them, Cassie. Be careful.”

“We’re all meeting at Heather’s house in two hours. Bring whatever you found.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Vera—”

“Don’t say it. I know. I’ll behave myself.”

Cassandra’s tone was icy, commanding, and brooked no refusal. “See that you do. Another slip like the one you made at dinner, and I’ll personally see to it that there’s nothing left when the police come to pick you up for harming a human outside of a contract.”

Vera was met with the click of a dial tone before she could reply.

Though a trifle peeved at being hung up on, Vera tossed the cordless phone she’d borrowed from her husband’s office onto the bed and gathered the printouts of articles she’d found on the Internet. She was rather proud of the glossy quality her husband’s printer had spit out, showing Tiffany on the edge of a pack of scruffy-looking hunters with a gun in her hand and a White Hat pin prominently tacked to the lapel of what looked like a knockoff Ralph Lauren blazer.

So tacky.

Alexis slowly exhaled, her eyes closed, one hand palm up, the other down, resting them on her folded legs. The taste of incense was heavy on the air, and the soft instrumental music and burbling water from a nearby fountain assisted her to find her center.

Since it had been cut short, and tensions had been high the entire time, the tennis match hadn’t helped her to work off the excess supernatural energy of her second nature as it normally would have. With all of the stress from Vera and Tiffany’s sniping and fighting, she had felt it necessary to call in an emergency session with her private yoga instructor. It took some pleading and persuading, but he had eventually conceded, and cancelled one of his morning appointments for her.

The meditation wasn’t doing much to calm her. She was certain there must be something she was doing wrong—but she didn’t dare speak, knowing her yogi would instruct her if he determined she was not properly following the path of Ashtanga Yoga to serenity and enlightenment. Really, the only reason she was interested in continuing the lessons was because the instructor was one of those hard-bodied men who was Alpha enough to get her to obey his instructions without question, and because the meditation did, to some degree, help her calm herself and maintain greater control over her inner beast.

“Remember to breathe,” her yogi said, pressing his hand into her lower back to force her to correct her posture.

With a slight nod, she took in the scent of sandalwood and musk, taking it through her mouth instead of her nose despite the taste it left on her tongue. She didn’t want to destroy her sense of smell for the rest of the day.

If there was a hunt, she might need it later.

Heather rushed about her home, getting her maid to tidy the house before sending her on an errand so the woman wouldn’t become suspicious or overhear the conversation once the other werewives and Tiffany arrived. She made sure she had plenty of alcohol on hand—she thought they might need it once the news was given.

She wasn’t looking forward to telling Cassandra that she’d stopped at the courthouse that morning to file the signed and notarized papers Tiffany had forgotten and left behind at dinner last night.

Tiffany had everything she intended to bring with her to Heather’s house spread out on her bed.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew Cassandra was reconsidering allowing her into the pack after all that Vera had said. The offer to meet again at Heather’s was what tipped her off. Neutral ground; a place she would hesitate to cause a scene, because the property belonged to a friend.

Tiffany had given careful thought to what she needed to bring with her, and felt that the netbook computer to play a video on, the photographs, and the piece of jewelry she’d stolen from Vera when the ladies left their clothing behind in the woods at Alexis’s party would serve her purposes admirably.

Though they had never said as much, the Diamondfangs had always worked under the radar of the press and the hunters, working through society’s elite. Its members would never want to be outed as real monsters lurking under the façades of ruthless businessmen and women—but now Tiffany knew who most of them were, and had the pictures and dossiers to prove their connections.

She would get what she wanted, or the werewives would be exposed to the world for the bitches they were.

Vera arrived early, papers tucked under her arm in a neat leather portfolio she’d also borrowed from her husband’s office. Heather was surprised to see her, but didn’t question it, figuring that it would most likely be for the best once she delivered her news. That way she could be present to deflect any immediate attack Vera might attempt.

Alexis was next, breezing inside with a calm, collected air and trailing the scent of incense behind her. The other girls wrinkled their noses at the stink, but she ignored them, dropping into the plush cushions of a couch. She kicked off her embossed leather Alaia sandals and swung her legs up onto the couch, lounging comfortably. Cassandra was not far behind, arriving only fifteen minutes after the scheduled meeting time. She drew off her Versace sunglasses once she was inside and tossed her Yves Saint Laurent purse on the couch next to Alexis, putting her hands on her hips.

“Hmph. She’s planning to be fashionably late again, I see.”

“She’ll be here soon,” Heather said, waggling her BlackBerry. “She sent me a text that she was running behind. Had to pick something up on the way, she said.”

Vera frowned, stalking over to a chair that gave her a good vantage of the rest of the room, as well as the front door, so she’d know the moment Tiffany arrived. Cassandra huffed and toyed with a few strands of her hair, giving the other girls a hint as to just how peeved she was by the whole situation.

Alexis gestured her over, tucking in her legs to make room. “Come on, Cassie. Come sit and relax. Breathe, darling. My instructor tells me that controlling your breathing is essential in learning how to control your life force. Or something like that.”

The other girls stared at her blankly.

“What?” she said, frowning at the looks they were giving her. “It’s part of the road to spiritual development. That’s very important, you know.”

“Oh, whatever,” Cassandra said, rolling her eyes before tucking her skirt under her and settling primly on the edge of the cushions. “Heather, be a love and get the drinks started, would you? I have the feeling we’re all going to need them before this is over.”

By the time Heather returned with the drinks, Tiffany was just pulling into the driveway. The other girls feigned indifference, but the amber glow to their irises and tension in the set of their shoulders gave them away. Tiffany brought a Claire Chase messenger bag in addition to her purse, tucking the strap over her shoulder before striding with her head held high to meet with the werewives inside.

Heather met her at the door, showing her into the room and seating her as far as was polite from Vera as was possible. The two ladies glared daggers at each other, but were civil enough to exchange tight nods, never taking their eyes off one another.

“Well,” Tiffany said, pausing to sip at the Long Island iced tea—heavy on the rum—that Heather had pushed into her hand, “now that I’m here, I’m not sure where to begin.”

Cassandra cleared her throat. “Tiffany, you know that we all like spending time with you and having you here—”

“All of you?”

Vera smirked at Tiffany’s pointed look, her lip gloss adding an extra sparkle to that killer smile.

“You know what I mean. Now, you know what we are. By your own admission, you’ve known for a while. While we certainly appreciate your desire to join us, I’m sure you can understand why we might be hesitant to let someone with your ... background ... join our ranks.”

Tiffany turned her disapproving look from Vera to Cassandra, her frown deepening. Cassandra didn’t give, meeting her gaze without flinching, and holding it as an uncomfortable silence stretched out between them. Tiffany would neither acknowledge nor deny that she was a threat, while Cassandra wouldn’t let her ignore the possibility any longer.

While their bodies tensed and gazes narrowed, Alexis sat up, and Heather chewed on her lower lip as the two had their stare down.

As it seemed neither was willing to break the silence and put an end to the silent contest of wills, Vera cut in by dropping her file folder on the coffee table with a crack sharp enough to draw all eyes.

“I believe what she’s trying to say is, your past history does not make you a suitable candidate for our pack.”

Tiffany ground her teeth, setting her drink aside with some care and leaning forward in her seat to point an accusatory finger at Vera. “You don’t know the first thing about me, Vera, and don’t pretend otherwise. None of you, not even Heather, knows me well enough to make that kind of assumption.”

“Oh really?” Vera purred. “Then, by all means, enlighten us about these.”

With that, Vera opened the file and spread the newspaper articles and accompanying photographs over the coffee table for all to see.

The headlines of the articles screamed about the injustices and property damage caused by illegal battles between humans and Others. The anti-Other groups had picketed Other-sympathetic businesses, destroyed entire buildings, and killed several vampires and werewolves without valid warrants. Interspersed with the articles were pictures. Irrefutable pictures of Tiffany showing her allegiance as a White Hat, with the trademark white cowboy hat pin attached to her lapel in every one.

Protest marches. Riots. One even showed her with several other White Hats on the run from police dressed in full riot gear, a flaming building in the background. Surrounded by others like her, all wearing the same pins or logo emblazoned on their shirts.

Tiffany whitened under the bronze shimmer of her foundation, her lips pressed into a thin line as all eyes turned to her.

CHAPTER 12

Wanting to be someone else is a waste of the person you are.

—Kurt Cobain

“I’ve said before that I’ve made mistakes,” Tiffany said, avoiding the accusatory looks from the rest of the ladies by staring down at the photos spread on the table in front of her. Heather was particularly incensed, her balled fists and clenched teeth betraying her raw anger and hurt. “I have no good excuse for those pictures. They were taken while I was still married to my husband—”

“So you admit you hunted us before?” Vera’s tone was triumphant and poisonously sweet, her nail polish fracturing as the tips of her fingers grew into claws.

Tiffany looked up and met Vera’s yellow eyes with her own icy blue ones, baring her teeth in the semblance of a smile. Slowly, deliberately, she reached down to the messenger bag at her feet. The others tensed, ready to react if she pulled a weapon—but all she withdrew was a tiny laptop.

“Vera, I’ve said a number of times already that I haven’t participated in that lifestyle for quite a while. Though I suppose that’s not entirely true.”

As Tiffany spoke, she booted up the netbook, searching for a file. Though wary, the other women watched her without interrupting, four pairs of glowing amber irises focused with single-minded intensity on her every move.

“You see, I realized early on that you were going to make things difficult for me. I prepared for this eventuality the only way I knew how—using skills I earned while working with my ex-husband. I do want to caution you all that this is not the only copy, and that if something happens to me or you do not reconsider your actions and my future place in your pack, this video will be uploaded onto YouTube and forwarded to every TV station in the country.”

Though that last statement caused some confusion, in moments, all four of the werewives were on their feet, growling and snarling in rage. The video quality was far from that of a high-definition movie, and the playback of the audio was choppy, but there was no mistaking Vera, Cassandra, Alexis, or Heather’s faces taken from some nearby vantage point in the trees—or their shifts in the woods outside of Alexis’s home into werewolves.

They all watched, stunned, silent, as their banter was captured on film, as was their undressing and their change into their inner beasts. Tiffany didn’t have to tell them what a danger this video posed to them. They knew. To a one, they knew that they could be connected to their husbands, some of the richest and most influential businessmen in the state—if not the country—and that it could bring the livelihoods of their families and fellow pack members crashing down around them if it ever went public. Cassandra in particular went cold, considering her husband, who was running for office next term, would likely flay her and the other werewives alive if he ever caught wind of the existence of that video.

After the wolves had rushed off into the woods to play, it showed close-ups of the clothing and jewelry left behind by the women, then faded to black. As soon as it ended, Tiffany snapped the netbook shut and tucked it back in her bag, ignoring the bared fangs, the glowing eyes, the twitching claws, and the deep rumbles emanating from their chests. Crossing her legs and folding her hands primly in her lap, she raised her chin and regarded Cassandra expectantly.

Heather was the one who spoke first, her voice deep and guttural as she fought to get a handle on her rage.

“How could you? That isn’t fair, Tiffany! Why would you do such a terrible thing?”

Tiffany was startled into a laugh, though there was nothing funny about the situation. “Fair? You call this fair? Heather, you’re the only one of the Diamondfangs who has listened to me from the start. I’ve got nothing against you. The rest of you need to listen to me, this time, and believe me when I say that I don’t intend to cause you any harm unless you decide against honoring my request. All I wanted when I came here was to find a home in this pack. Nothing has changed. File the papers, do what you need to do to initiate me, and that video will disappear.”

Alexis, trembling and white in the face, raised a clawed finger that still sparkled with the crumbled remains of her Gold Pearl nail polish. “You have no right to demand anything from us. Videos and pictures can be doctored. You have no way of proving that it’s really us.”

“That’s right.” Cassandra, who had been too stunned to react immediately, showed her fangs in a fierce and humorless grin. “You can’t possibly believe we’d give you what you want or let you walk away from this. Bravo for the attempt—but there’s no way you could ever prove to anyone that your film is real.”

Tiffany smiled slyly, reaching for her messenger bag again. “That’s why I saved some other evidence.”

Alarmed, the four girls watched with slack jaws as she withdrew a glittering diamond tennis bracelet, dangling with a “VK” charm—Vera’s missing jewelry, taken the same night Tiffany recorded them in the woods after the party.

One that had been clearly visible mixed in with the clothing at the end of the video.

The other girls shot Vera a look. She was pale, her fists clenched so tightly that spots of blood were pooling under her fingernails.

“You little thief! How dare you!”

Tiffany smirked. “Don’t get any ideas. This isn’t the only thing I took—just the most obvious. Travis told me how often you forgot and left jewelry behind when you went hunting with the pack—or stayed the night at his place. Tsk, Vera. I doubt your husband would approve.”

Vera’s reaction was immediate and intense. With an enraged howl, she leapt toward Tiffany, closing the distance between them with supernatural speed, hands arched into claws.

Though Cassandra and Heather moved to stop her, Tiffany was on her feet in no time, ducking behind furniture and flicking her wrists to dislodge daggers from sheathes hidden under the cuffs of her Marc Jacobs peasant blouse.

Everyone froze at the unmistakable gleam of silver.

“Vera, sit down!”

Cassandra’s voice, usually smooth and sure, cracked on a high note. Aside from the unbelievable fuck up of leaving evidence of her shift behind, she was terrified that Vera or Tiffany might actually attack one another. Free of a contract, Tiffany’s injury could mean a death sentence for all four of the women if Vera didn’t back off. Plus, the silver weapons Tiffany was holding were deadly weapons—even a small nick could do enough damage to incapacitate or kill them.

Vera stayed where she was, straining against the solid hold Cassandra and Heather had on her arms. Her glittering gaze, maddened with rage, never left Tiffany’s.

Alexis moved to take Cassandra’s place restraining Vera, whose skin was starting to darken with fur and muscles were now bulging unnaturally under her clothing. Moving slowly, carefully, palms up to show she meant no harm, Cassandra edged closer to Tiffany. With any luck, she could draw close enough to incapacitate her without risking injury.

“What does a hunter want with our pack? Did someone send you?”

Tiffany’s gaze didn’t waver from Vera, though one of her hands shifted so the weapon was now pointed at Cassandra, making her flinch and stop in her tracks.

“Like I told you before, I’m not a hunter anymore. If I show myself in Manhattan after dark, the vampires will kill me. If I show up in Central Park, the Moonwalkers will kill me. If I show up anywhere the White Hats are planning a raid, they will kill me.”

Tiffany was met by incredulous stares. All the while, she maintained her fighting pose, poised and ready to strike at a moment’s notice. After giving her statements time to settle in, she continued, very slowly lowering her weapons in a bid to show she wasn’t about to attack—but would be ready to defend herself if need be.

“I want what you have. I want your strength, your speed, your stamina. Your ability to heal. I’ve had too many trips to the hospital, and too many brushes with death to kid myself. The only way I’ll ever be able to survive in this world, particularly with my past, is with a supernatural edge.”

Heather, Alexis, and Cassandra were stunned speechless for the second time in as many minutes, hardly able to believe Tiffany’s motivations.

“You don’t deserve what we have!”

Vera gave voice to a thunderous growl, the glasses rattling on the table nearby as she bumped into it when she struggled against Alexis and Heather’s hold. They managed to keep her from breaking free, but just barely.

With a contemptuous sneer, Tiffany finally shifted her gaze to Cassandra, whose mouth was working soundlessly as she tried to find the words to speak. Vera used the distraction, forcing a quick shift and using her superior strength to slide out of Alexis and Heather’s grasp, yanking her arms free with an audible rip of clothing. They stumbled forward, and then fell to their knees when she slammed her fists down on their shoulders.

It took a talented shifter to rearrange the bones and tendons in their body so rapidly without being crippled by the mind-numbing pain of the change. Rather than assume the form of a wolf, she’d chosen the half-man, half-wolf shape that all werewolves were forced to take during the height of the full moon, her body reformed into the dog-headed beast of legend. Her clothing fell in tatters at her clawed feet, the leather bands of her sandals groaning and snapping, and she shook her muzzle hard enough for her earrings to give a discordant jangle. The jewels at her ears and throat glittered obscenely against her pelt, a mockery of the fashionable image she’d projected only moments ago.

Now towering over the other women, Vera’s sleek fur bristled, dagger fangs dripping saliva as her lip lifted. She stalked forward with murderous intent, clawed, furry arms outstretched to wrap Tiffany in a crushing embrace.

Cassandra stepped in her way, shouting at her to stop, but Vera batted her across the room hard enough to send her careening into an end table, shattering the furniture.

Tiffany stood her ground as Vera came on, staring up and up into the massive Were’s murderously glowing eyes. Defiant to the last, Tiffany curled her own lip, tossing her hair back as she raised a dagger in invitation.

“Bring it, bitch.”

With an ear-shattering howl, Vera sprang forward.

CHAPTER 13

Life contains but two tragedies. One is not to get your heart’s desire; the other is to get it.

—Socrates

Gaping jaws and talons snapped and clacked as the twisted, furred creature that was Vera pressed the attack. Despite her size and bulk, she moved with supernatural speed, though her paws slid on the smooth marble tile and prevented her from launching into a full charge.

Tiffany moved with the grace of a dancer, arching, twisting, skipping back from swiping claws. She wanted to be turned—but not crippled in the process.

For her part, Vera didn’t take any care as to how sloppy and uncoordinated her attacks were until after the first burning swipe she received on the inside of one massive, hairy arm. She yelped, dropping onto all fours and backing up, tail between her legs.

Tiffany circled around, balanced on her toes, ready to spring away if she needed to. The other girls were only just struggling to their feet when Vera sprang with catlike agility, diving in low so talon-tipped fingers could close on the hunter’s ankle, yanking her off her feet. Tiffany was unable to compensate and lost her balance, crashing onto her back and sending one of the daggers clattering across the floor to slide under a couch, far out of reach.

Before any of the other werewives could stop her, Vera was on top of Tiffany’s sprawled form, one paw on her shoulder to keep her down and massive jaws diving for her throat.

Tiffany didn’t hesitate to bury the remaining dagger in Vera’s side, the sharp metal sinking between her ribs with the ease of a hot knife through butter. Vera’s head snapped back and she howled in pain, her talons ripping through Tiffany’s silk blouse, and then her skin as she convulsed and jerked away. The knife came free as she pulled back, and Tiffany dropped it in favor of scooting back across the slick floor as far from Vera as possible and grabbing at her bleeding shoulder, crying out in pain.

By then Cassandra and Alexis had regained their feet. Heather, the weakest of the three, was still clutching at the back of her neck and moaning on the floor. Cassandra was a little unsteady, but she put herself between Vera and Tiffany, her jaw tight and a muscle ticking in her cheek as she placed her fists on her hips. She glared down at Vera, who was whimpering and rolling on the floor, writhing against the silver burn now racing through her bloodstream. It wasn’t enough to kill her—the blade hadn’t struck anything vital or damaged any internal organs—but she’d be in a great deal of pain for the next few days, and left with a permanent scar.

Assuming Cassandra let her live, that is.

“I hope you’re happy,” Cassandra said, a scowl twisting her features as she kicked Vera’s bleeding side, drawing another choked yowl of pain out of her. “You’ve just signed our death warrants, you moon-crazed, silver-tainted, imbecilic whore!”

Heather’s head jerked up, her eyes widening. She gasped when she spotted all of the blood now pasting Tiffany’s shirt to her chest, then dragged herself to her feet using a nearby chaise as leverage. “Cassie—”

“If I told you once—”

“Cassie!”

Cassandra turned a withering glare on Heather, and she shrank back from the heat in her gaze, voice a low whisper.

“I filed the contract.”

Everyone—Alexis, Tiffany, Cassandra, and Vera—turned their attention on Heather, who wrapped her arms around her stomach and looked away so she wouldn’t have to meet the incredulity and anger in their gazes.

“I filed it this morning. Before the meeting. I knew none of you would ever do it, and I didn’t agree with Gabriel saying no.”

Tiffany gave voice to a raspy, triumphant laugh, sitting up and tossing her hair back over her shoulder, though some of the longer strands were now red with blood and clung to her chest and shirt. Cassandra sucked in a breath through her teeth, her gaze torn between Tiffany and Heather, who was busy hugging herself and trying to look as small as possible. Alexis simply ran her palm over her face, though she was admittedly relieved that it now meant there was no liability connected to herself as far as this unbelievable fuck up on Vera’s part was concerned.

Tiffany used her free hand to grab a nearby lamp pole to lever herself to her feet. The wounds weren’t too deep, but they stung when she moved around, dragging a wince out of her. Cassandra tensed, but made no move to help, not wanting to risk being struck by another silver weapon she might have hidden in her clothes.

“Well,” Alexis ventured, hoping to defuse some of the tensions between the women now that the worst seemed to be over, “I suppose that means you’re really going to be one of us, now. Congratulations.”

Tiffany’s sunny smile was at odds with her pallor and the way she swayed on her feet. Despite the pain, she stood tall and proud, arms folded in front of her chest. Lifting her chin, she turned that pleased grin on Alexis, her look just as predatory as any of the werewolves could have pulled off.

“Don’t worry. None of you will regret the decision. I promise.”

Vera growled, the low rumble cutting off into a pained whine when Cassandra shoved her again with her foot until she subsided. Cassandra whirled on Tiffany, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed into tight knots as she stalked forward, though she still left a healthy distance between them.

“You may have gotten your way, but you’ll have to rise through the ranks just like the rest of us did. Gabriel isn’t going to make it easy for you, and neither will the rest of the pack. What you did was inexcusable, and hardly fitting behavior for a member of the Diamondfangs. I have the feeling you’ll be spending the next couple of years proving yourself to the rest of us.”

Tiffany’s smile faded, and she inclined her head by way of apology. She was still far too pleased to be terribly sorry. “If that’s what you wish, so be it. I suppose I have nothing but time now, so I’ll spend as long as it takes to prove my worth.”

Heather paused in rubbing the back of her neck, still sore from Vera’s blow, to turn a puzzled look on Tiffany. “What do you mean?”

“You know that’s why I came to you instead of the vampires, don’t you? I wanted immortality without the nighttime limitations, and I got it. Under the circumstances, it seems to me being furry for a few nights out of the month isn’t such a bad deal. Now that what’s yours is mine, I’ll do whatever it takes to earn the respect of the pack. We can start with my overseas connections—which should help the pack expand its influence enormously. It’s only a fair trade, considering.”

Cassandra snorted, leaning back on her heels and eyeing Tiffany with a sly twist to her lips. The other girls were staring blankly now, even Vera, too surprised to contradict her.

“Really, now. That’s why you wanted to join us so badly? Immortality?”

“Of course. You think I like the idea of being a monster? What’s the point if you don’t get something out of it—like living forever?”

Cassandra startled everyone by throwing her head back and laughing, covering her eyes with her hand. Her shoulders shook so hard with mirth that she couldn’t speak right away. Irritated, Tiffany huffed, looking at Heather, who was watching her with wide eyes, her hand over her mouth.

“What’s so funny about that?”

Heather shook her head, not wanting to be the one to break the news. So Alexis did it for her.

“Honey, you should’ve stuck with the vampires. Werewolves aren’t immortal. We have decreased life spans because of our nature.”

Tiffany blinked. “Come again?”

“Decreased. Life. Span,” Alexis repeated. “We’re destined to die young. Well, relatively.”

Already pale from blood loss under the bronze shimmer of her makeup, Tiffany grew whiter still. She staggered a few steps to collapse into a nearby chair. Heather grimaced when she saw the bloody handprint left behind on the furniture, but felt it was the wrong time to caution her guests about keeping the place tidy.

“... but ... but I thought ...”

“Wrong, obviously,” Cassandra said, lacing her tone with as much sympathy as she could muster. Under the circumstances, it wasn’t much. “Sorry, sweetness. I’m surprised you didn’t know. I thought the White Hats were better informed than that.”

Tiffany shot her an angry look, though she was still too shocked and weak to do more than raise a shaky fist at her. “I didn’t care about the details, I just went with Richard when he went on hunts. No one ever told me!”

“Get used to it,” Heather snapped, her own patience at an end. “You’re one of us now. Welcome to the werewives.”

EPILOGUE

If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to.

—Dorothy Parker

Six Months Later

Alexis stirred her martini, watching a woman ordering one of the cabana boys at the hotel pool to get her a towel and something from the bar. The werewives had decided a vacation down to Atlantic City was in order, and were making the most of the time away from their husbands by shopping, gambling, visiting the local clubs, and soaking up sun by the poolside. Now, resting at a glass table with a view overlooking the rest of the patio, the pool, and the ocean in the distance, the ladies were relaxing after a long, hard day of wearing out the magnetic stripes on their husbands’ credit cards.

Alexis studied the woman with interest. She was dark-haired and golden-skinned, probably from out of town. Her bikini and matching sarong were ones Alexis had considered buying herself when she was shopping at Saks Fifth Avenue earlier in the week. The rock on her finger shone brightly enough that Alexis was glad she’d remembered to bring her Christian Dior sunglasses with her.

The lady said something so sharply that the boy taking her order was quick to pick up her purse for her when she gestured for it, and then rushed off to fetch her drink. Though the sight of the tight butt as he bent over to pick up the bag was distracting, Alexis used the excuse of plucking the olive garnishing her drink out and shaking it in the woman’s direction to turn the attention of the other werewives her way.

“What do you think?”

Heather glanced over the rim of the oversized piña colada she’d ordered, then shrugged. “Not bad.”

Cassandra nudged her Prada sunglasses down to rest on the tip of her nose and tipped her sunhat up. She watched the girl snap her fingers as she made demands that the hotel personnel scurried to carry out, catering to her whims as if she were the Queen of England.

“She looks like she’d be a pain in the ass to break in,” Vera commented, not bothering to crane her neck to take a look.

Tiffany slid behind her, giving her a hug as she put one of the two cocktails she was carrying down on the table in front of Vera, giving her an air-kiss on the cheek. “That’s why I love you. You’re always so positive about these things.”

Vera gave Tiffany a vicious, toothy grin, which was soon returned in kind. Tiffany slid into her own seat, crossing her legs so that her Zac Posen floral skirt rode up high on her thigh, distracting several of the men working and lounging near the pool.

“We’ve taken chances before,” Cassandra said, smiling wryly at Tiffany and toasting her with her drink. “What do you think, darling?”

Tapping her cheek with one French-manicured fingernail, Tiffany made a big production of thinking about it, taking her time while the other women rolled their eyes and sipped at their drinks. Lips curved into a Cheshire grin, she curled her fingers around her glass, hairline cracks appearing in her polish as her nails began forming into talons.

“I say it doesn’t hurt to give her a chance. After all, she looks like she’d fit right in.”

The woman, thanks to the Bulgari sunglasses shading her from the sun’s glare, failed to notice five pairs of glowing, golden eyes simultaneously focused upon her with predatory intent.

THE MORNING AFTER

Abby rolled onto her side to study the man who slept at her side. No, not man, she fiercely reminded herself. Vampire. Studying the wickedly perfect features in the dim light, it seemed impossible that she hadn’t guessed the truth before. He was every woman’s fantasy.

Barely aware of what she was doing, Abby silently lifted the duvet to reveal the lean, muscular form. Although the jeans rather disappointingly remained, he had removed his silk shirt to reveal a chest that was just as lethally beautiful as she had imagined in her heated dreams.

“Good morning, lover,” a husky voice abruptly intruded into the silence.

Jerking her head up, Abby took in the slit of silver glittering beneath the heavy black lashes. She abruptly dropped the duvet as if it might scorch her fingers.

“I . . . didn’t realize that you were awake.”

“I may be dead, but not even I can sleep while a beautiful woman ogles me. Tell me, sweet, what were you searching for? A horn and tail?”

“I suppose I was curious. You seem so . . . normal.”

“You mean human?”

“Yes.”

Without warning, she discovered herself rolled onto her back with Dante looming above her, his hands planted on either side of her head.

“Perhaps I don’t possess three eyes or have acid dripping from my fangs,” he said, his beautiful features unexpectedly somber, “but you should never make the mistake of pretending that I’m human. I am a vampire, Abby, not a man . . .”

Books by Alexandra Ivy

WHEN DARKNESS COMES EMBRACE THE DARKNESS*

Published by Zebra Books

*coming soon

When Darkness Comes

Alexandra Ivy

ZEBRA BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
EMBRACE THE DARKNESS
About the Author

Prologue

England, 1665

The scream ripped through the night air. Pulsing with a savage agony, it filled the vast chamber and tumbled down the vaulted corridors. Servants cowering in the lower halls of the castle clamped hands over their ears in an effort to block out the piercing shrieks. Even hardened soldiers in the barracks made the sign of the moon, the protector of the night.

In the southern turret, the Duke of Granville paced across his private library, his shadowed features lined with distaste. Unlike his servants, he did not cross his forehead in an effort to ward off the evil eye. And why should he?

Evil had already struck. It had invaded his home and dared to taint him with its filth.

The only thing left was to purge the infestation with a ruthless strike.

Tugging at the hood to his robe to ensure his marred countenance was fully hidden, he grimly squared his shoulders. Patience, he told himself over and over. Soon enough the moon would move into the proper equinox. And then the ritual would at last be at an end. The child he had sacrificed to the witches would become their precious Chalice, and his suffering would be at an end.

Turning abruptly on his heel, he marched back toward the slotted window that offered a fine view of the rich countryside. In the distance he could witness the faint glow of fires. He shuddered. London. Filthy, peasant-infected London that was being punished for its foul sins.

A punishment that had spewed out of the ramshackle whorehouses and swept its way to his sanctuary.

His hands clenched at his sides. It was untenable. He was a just man. A godly man who had always been richly rewarded for his purity. To have that . . . vile disease enter his body was a perversion of all that was due to him.

That, of course, was the only reason he had allowed the heathens to enter his estate. And to bring with them that creature of evil that was currently shackled in his dungeon.

They promised him a cure.

An end to the plague that was consuming his life.

And all it would cost him was a daughter.

Chapter 1

Chicago, 2006

“Oh God, Abby. Don’t panic. Just . . . don’t . . . panic.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Abby Barlow pressed her hands to her heaving stomach and studied the shards of pottery that lay splintered across the floor.

Okay, so she broke a vase. Well, perhaps more than broke it. It was more like she shattered, decimated, and annihilated the vase, she grudgingly conceded. Big deal. It was not the end of the world.

A vase was a vase. Wasn’t it?

She abruptly grimaced. No, a vase was not just a vase. Not when it was a very rare vase. A priceless vase. One that should no doubt have been in a museum. One that was the dream of any collector and . . .

Freaking hell.

Panic once again reared its ugly head.

She had destroyed a priceless Ming vase.

What if she lost her job? Granted, it wasn’t much of a job. Hell, she felt as if she were stepping into the Twilight Zone each time she entered the elegant mansion on the outskirts of Chicago. But her position as companion to Selena LaSalle was hardly demanding. And the pay was considerably better than slinging hash in some sleazy dive.

The last thing she needed was to be back in the long lines at the unemployment office.

Or worse . . . dear God, what if she was expected to pay for the blasted vase?

Even if there was such a thing as a half-price sale at the local Ming outlet shop, she would have to work ten lifetimes to make such a sum. Always supposing that it was not one of a kind.

Panic was no longer merely rearing. It was thundering through her at full throttle.

There was only one thing to be done, she realized. The mature, responsible, adult thing to do.

Hide the evidence.

Covertly glancing about the vast foyer, Abby ensured that she was alone before lowering herself to her knees and gathering the numerous shards that littered the smooth marble.

It was not as if anyone would notice the vase was missing, she tried to reassure herself. Selena had always been a recluse, but in the past two weeks, she had all but disappeared. If it wasn’t for her occasional cameo appearances to demand that Abby prepare that disgusting herb concoction she guzzled with seeming pleasure, Abby might have thought that the woman had done a flit.

Certainly Selena didn’t roam the house taking inventory of her various knickknacks.

All Abby needed to do was ensure that she didn’t leave any trace of her crime and surely all would be well.

No one would ever know.

No one.

“My, my, I never thought to see you on your hands and knees, lover. A most intriguing position that leads to all sorts of delicious possibilities,” a mocking voice drawled from the entrance to the drawing room.

Abby closed her eyes and heaved in a deep breath. She was cursed. That had to be it. What else could possibly explain her unending run of bad luck?

For a moment she kept her back turned, futilely hoping Selena’s houseguest, the utterly annoying Dante, would disappear. It could happen. There was always spontaneous combustion, or black holes, or earthquakes.

Unfortunately, the ground didn’t open up to swallow him, nor did the smoke detectors set off a warning. Even worse, she could actually feel his dark, amused gaze leisurely meandering over her stiff form.

Gathering her battered pride, Abby forced herself to slowly turn, and keeping the broken vase hidden behind her as she regarded the current bane of her existence.

He didn’t look like a bane. God’s truth, he looked like a delicious, dangerously wicked pirate.

Still kneeling upon the floor, Abby allowed her gaze to travel over the black biker boots and long, powerful legs encased in faded denims. Ever higher she skimmed over the black silk shirt that hung loosely upon his torso. Loose, but not loose enough, she acknowledged with a renegade shiver. Much to her embarrassment, she had caught herself sneaking peeks at the play of rippling muscles beneath those silky shirts during the past three months.

All right, maybe she had indulged in more than mere peeks. Maybe she had been staring. Gawking. Ogling. Occasionally drooling.

What woman wouldn’t?

Gritting her teeth, she forced her gaze up to the alabaster face with its perfectly chiseled features. A wide brow, a narrow aristocratic nose, sharply defined cheekbones and lushly carved lips. They all came together with a fierce elegance.

It was the face of a noble warrior. A chieftain.

Until one noticed those pale, silver eyes.

There was nothing noble in those disturbing eyes. They were piercing, wicked, and shimmering with a mocking amusement toward the world. They were eyes that branded him a “badass” as easily as the long raven hair that carelessly tumbled well past his shoulders and the golden hoops he wore in his ears.

He was sex on legs. A predator. The sort that chewed up and spat out women like her with pathetic ease.

That was, when they bothered to notice women like her in the first place. Which was not very damn often.

“Dante. Do you have to skulk about like that?” she demanded, desperately aware of the priceless clutter just behind her.

He made a show of considering her question before offering a faint shrug.

“No, I don’t suppose I have to skulk about,” he murmured in his husky midnight voice. “I simply enjoy doing so.”

“Well, it’s a very vulgar habit.”

His lips twitched with amusement as he prowled ever closer. “Oh, I possess far more vulgar habits, sweet Abby. Several that I don’t doubt you would enjoy fully if only you would allow me to demonstrate.”

God, she just bet he did. Those slender, devilish hands would no doubt make a woman scream in pleasure. And those lips . . .

Abruptly she was squashing the renegade fantasy and stirring up the annoyance she most certainly should be feeling.

“Ack. You’re revolting.”

“Vulgar and revolting?” His smile widened to reveal startling white teeth. “My sweet, you are in a very precarious position to be tossing about such insults.”

Precarious? She battled the urge to glance down and discover if any shards of her crime were visible.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

With a flowing elegance, Dante was on his knees before her, those disturbing fingers lifting to lightly stroke her cheek. His touch was cool, almost cold, but it sent a startling flare of heat searing through her.

“Oh, I think you do. I seem to recall a rather precious Ming vase that used to sit upon that table. Tell me, lover, did you hock it or break it?”

Damn. He knew. She desperately attempted to think of some feasible lie to explain the missing vase. Or for that matter, any lie, feasible or not. Unfortunately, she had never been particularly skilled at prevarication.

And it didn’t much help that his lingering touch was turning her brain to mush.

“Don’t call me that,” she at last lamely muttered.

“What?” His brows lifted.

“Lover.”

“Why?”

“For the obvious fact that I’m not your lover.”

“Not yet.”

“Not ever.”

“Tsk, tsk.” Dante clicked his tongue as his fingers moved to boldly outline her lips. “Has no one ever warned you that it is dangerous to dare fate? It has a tendency to come back and bite you.” His gaze drifted over her pale countenance and the soft curve of her neck. “Sometimes quite literally.”

“Not in a million years.”

“I can wait,” he husked.

She gritted her teeth as those skillful fingers traveled down the arch of her throat and along the neckline of her plain cotton shirt. He was merely toying with her. Hell, the man would flirt with any woman who possessed a pulse. And maybe a few who didn’t.

“That finger moves any lower and your stay in the world is going to be considerably shorter.”

He gave a soft chuckle as he reluctantly allowed his hand to drop. “Do you know, Abby, someday you’re going to forget to say no. And on that day, I intend to make you scream with pleasure.”

“My God, how do you possibly carry that ego around?”

His smile was purely wicked. “Do you think I don’t notice? All those covert glances when you think I’m not looking? The way you shiver when I brush past you? The dreams that haunt your nights?”

Conceited, puffed-up toad.

She should laugh. Or pooh-pooh. Or even slap his arrogant face. Instead she stiffened as if he had hit a nerve that she didn’t even know she possessed.

“Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?” she gritted. “The kitchen? The sewers? The fires of hell?”

Surprisingly the pirate features hardened as his lips twisted into a sardonic smile.

“Nice try, my sweet, but I don’t need you to condemn me to the fires of hell. That was accomplished a long time ago. Why else would I be here?”

Abby gave a lift of her brows, intrigued in spite of herself by his hint of bitterness. For God’s sake, what more could he want? He possessed the sort of cushy life that most oversexed playboys could only dream of. A glamorous home. Expensive clothes. A silver Porsche. And a sugar mommy who was not only young, but beautiful enough to make any male hot and bothered. His life was hardly in the gutter.

Unlike her own.

“Oh yes, you must really suffer,” she retorted, her gaze flicking over the silk shirt that cost more than her entire wardrobe. “My heart simply breaks for you.”

The silver eyes flashed with a startling heat as the fierce power that always smoldered about him prickled through the air.

“Do not presume to speak of things you know nothing about, lover,” he warned.

Just let it be, Abby, she sternly warned herself. Whatever his easy charm, the man was dangerous. A genuine bad boy. Only fools deliberately toyed with fire.

Of course, when it came to men, she might as well have the word idiot tattooed on her forehead.

“If you dislike being here, then why don’t you leave?”

He regarded her in unnerving silence before his eyes slowly narrowed. “Why don’t you?”

“What?”

“I’m not the only one suffering here, am I? Every day you seem to fade a bit more. As if your frustration and sadness has taken another piece of your soul.”

Abby nearly tumbled backward at his sharp perception. She had never dreamed that anyone could possibly have noted her desperation at her tedious existence, nor the budding fear that she would soon be too old and tired to care that she was going nowhere.

Certainly not this man.

“You don’t know anything.”

“I know a prison when I see one,” he murmured. “Why do you remain behind the bars when you could so easily slip away?”

She gave a short, humorless laugh. Easily? Obviously he was not nearly so perceptive as she had given him credit for.

“Because I need this job. Unlike you, I don’t have a generous lover to pay my bills and keep me in style. Some of us have to earn our pay with actual work.”

If she thought to insult him, she was far off the mark. In fact, her sharp words merely returned that mocking humor she found so damn annoying.

“You believe me to be Selena’s whore?”

“Aren’t you?”

He lifted a broad shoulder. “Our . . . relationship is a bit more complex than that.”

“Oh yes, no doubt being a boy toy to a rich, glamorous woman is astonishingly complex.”

“Is that why you try to keep me at a distance? Because you believe I share Selena’s bed?”

“I keep you at a distance because I don’t like you.”

He leaned forward, until his lips were nearly touching her own. “You may not like me, sweetness, but that doesn’t keep you from wanting me.”

Her heart forgot to beat as she struggled not to close that shallow distance and put herself out of her misery. A kiss. Just one kiss. The tingling need was nearly unbearable.

No, no, no. Did she really want to be a poor joke to relieve his boredom? Hadn’t she played that humiliating game before?

“Do you know, Dante, I’ve met my share of jackasses in my time, but you—”

The rather tidy insult was brought to a stunning halt. In the air there was a sudden, crackling heat. As electrifying as a strike of lightning.

Unnerved by the prickling sensation, she turned her head toward the stairs just as a thundering concussion ripped through the house. Caught off guard, she tumbled backward, her breath knocked from her body.

Just for a moment she lay perfectly still. She half-expected the ceiling to come crumbling down upon her. Or the ground to open up and swallow her.

What the blazes had happened? An earthquake? A gas explosion?

The end of the world?

Whatever it was, it had been enough to tumble the pictures from the walls and knock over tables. Suddenly the Ming vase she had broken matched every other priceless object.

Giving a shake of her head to clear the ringing in her ears, Abby sucked in a deep breath. Well, at least she seemed to be alive, she told herself. And while she was certain to be sporting a few bruises, she didn’t think anything vital was actually missing or punctured.

Lying flat on her back, she barely heard the low feral growl, but it still managed to make the hair upon her nape stand upright. Dear Lord, now what?

Struggling to push herself upright, she glanced about the littered foyer. Astonishingly it was empty. No wild animal. No approaching madman.

And no Dante.

With a frown, Abby ignored her wobbly knees and forced herself toward the nearby stairs. Where had Dante gone? Had he been hit by the explosion? Or thrown from the foyer?

Had he simply disappeared in a puff of smoke?

No, no, of course not. She pressed a hand to her aching head. She was thinking crazy. She must have been knocked unconscious for a moment. That would explain it. No doubt he had gone to check on the damage. Or to call for assistance.

Her job was surely to ensure that Selena was not injured.

Concentrating upon placing one foot in front of the other, a startlingly difficult task, she managed to climb the sweeping marble stairs and awkwardly make her way down the hallway. At the end of the long east wing, the door to Selena’s chambers was already open and Abby stepped over the threshold.

She got no farther.

A gasp was wrenched from her throat as her wide gaze swept over the demolished room. Like downstairs, the pictures and various objects had been tumbled to the ground, most of them smashed beyond recognition. But here the general mayhem had left the walls blackened and in places crumbled to dust. Even the windows had been blasted from their frames.

Her gaze flew to the large bed that was tumbled onto its side and at last to the center of the room where Dante was kneeling beside a limp, battered form.

“Oh my God.” Holding her hands to her mouth, Abby stumbled forward, her heart firmly lodged in her throat. “Selena.”

Noticing her presence for the first time, Dante jerked his head up to regard her with a frown. Almost absently, Abby noted the even sharper pallor of his skin and the oddly hectic glitter in his silver eyes.

Obviously he was as shaken as she was.

“Get out of here,” he growled.

She ignored his warning as she fell to her knees beside the burned body. Whatever her secret dislike for the beautiful, coldhearted woman, it was forgotten as tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Is she . . . dead?” she croaked.

“Abby, I said to leave. Now. Get out of this room. Out of this house . . .”

The dark, furious words continued, but Abby was no longer listening. Instead she watched in fascinated horror as one of the charred hands twitched upon the carpet. Holy freaking hell. Could the poor woman still be alive? Or was it some horrible trick of her imagination?

Frozen in shock, Abby stared at the fingers that continued to jerk and spasm ever closer. It was like something out of a nightmare. A sensation that only deepened when the hand snapped upward and grasped her wrist in a painful grasp.

Opening her mouth to scream, Abby discovered her breath wrenched from her body. A coldness was spreading from the fingers that dug into her flesh. A coldness that crawled through her blood with a searing, ruthless agony. With a groan, she desperately attempted to tug herself free of the brutal grip.

She was going to die, she realized in stunned disbelief. The pain was clawing at her heart, slowing its beat until it was doomed to halt. She was going to die, and she hadn’t even bothered to start living yet.

What an idiot she was.

Raising her head, she met Dante’s shimmering metallic gaze. His beautiful, wicked features appeared grim in the dim light. Grim and edged with something that might have been fury, or regret, or . . . desperation.

She tried to speak, but a bright flare of light burst through her mind, and with a strangled scream she plunged headfirst into the welcoming darkness.

Chapter 2

Surrounded by a silver fog of pain, Abby floated in a world that was not quite real.

Was she dead?

Surely not. She would be at peace, wouldn’t she? Not feeling as if her bones were being slowly crushed and her head about to explode.

If she were dead, then this whole afterlife thing was a big, fat rip-off.

No. She had to be dreaming, she at last reassured herself. That would certainly explain why the silver fog was beginning to part.

Curious despite the vague taste of fear in the air, she peered through the shimmering light. Moments later she could see a dark, stone chamber that was only dimly lit by a flickering torch. In the center of the stone floor lay a young woman in white robes. Abby frowned. The woman’s pale face was remarkably familiar, although it was difficult to determine the exact features as the woman twisted and screamed in obvious agony.

About her prostrate form sat a circle of women in gray cloaks, holding hands and chanting in low voices. Abby could not make out the words, but it appeared as if they were performing some sort of ritual. Perhaps an exorcism. Or an enchantment.

Slowly a gray-haired woman stood and held her hands toward the shadowed ceiling.

“Arise Phoenix and bring forth your power,” she called in booming tones. “The sacrifice is offered, the covenant sealed. Bless our noble Chalice. Bless her with your glory. Offer to her the might of your sword to fight the evil that threatens. We call. Come forth.”

Crimson flames swept through the chamber as the women continued to chant, hovering in the thick air before surrounding the screaming woman upon the floor. Then, just as abruptly as they had appeared, the flames melted into the woman’s flesh.

Abruptly the gray-haired woman turned her head toward a darkened corner.

“The prophecy is fulfilled. Bring forth the beast.”

Expecting some horrid, five-headed monster that would fit right into the bizarre nightmare, Abby caught her breath as a man attired in a ruffled white shirt and satin knee breeches was brought forward, a heavy metal collar and chain hung about his neck. His head was bowed, allowing his long raven hair to cover his face, but that didn’t halt a shiver of premonition from inching down Abby’s spine.

“Creature of evil, you have been chosen above all others,” the woman intoned. “Wicked is your heart and yet blessed are you. We pledge you to the Chalice. In fire and blood we bind you. In the shadow of death we bind you. Through eternity and beyond we bind you.”

The torch suddenly flared, and with a terrifying growl, the man lifted his head.

No. It was not possible. Not even in the strange and ridiculous world of dreams. Especially not ones that felt so horrifyingly real.

Still, there was no mistaking his terrifying beauty. Or the smoldering silver eyes.

Dante.

She shuddered in horror. This was madness. Why would these women have him chained? Why would they call him a monster? A creature of evil?

Madness, indeed. A dream. Nothing more, she attempted to convince herself.

Then without warning, the unease tracing her spine turned to consuming terror. In pure fury, Dante tilted back his head, the perfect alabaster features bathed in flickering light. The same flickering light that revealed his long, deadly fangs.

When Abby at last woke again, the silver fog, and the sharpest edges of her pain, had disappeared.

Still, with uncommon caution, she forced herself to remain perfectly motionless. After the day she had already endured, now didn’t seem to be the best time to be charging and blundering about in her usual style. Instead she attempted to take stock of her surroundings.

She was lying upon a bed, she at last decided. Not her own bed, however. This one was hard and lumpy and possessed a funky scent she didn’t even want to consider. In the distance, she could hear the sounds of passing traffic and, closer, the muffled sound of voices or perhaps a television.

Well, she wasn’t in Selena’s charred house. She was no longer in a damp dungeon with screaming women and demons. And she wasn’t dead.

That was surely progress?

Screwing up her courage, Abby slowly lifted her head from the pillow and glanced about the shadowed room. There wasn’t much to see. The bed she was lying upon consumed most of the cramped space. About her were bare walls and the ugliest flowered curtains ever created. At the end of the bed was a broken dresser that held an ancient television, and in the corner was a shabby chair.

A chair that was currently occupied by a large, raven-haired man.

Or was he a man?

Her heart squeezed with a building dread as her gaze swept over the slumbering Dante. God. She would have to be demented to think what she was thinking.

Vampires? Living and breathing . . . or whatever it was that vampires did . . . in Chicago? Nuts. Full-out, engines-roaring madness.

But the dream. It had been so vivid. So real. Even now she could smell the foul, damp air and the acrid burning of the torch. She could hear the screams and chanting. She could hear the rattling of heavy chains. She could see Dante being pulled forward and the fangs that marked him as a beast.

Real or not, it had unnerved her enough to desire a bit of space between her and Dante. And perhaps several crosses, a few wooden stakes, and a bottle of holy water.

Barely daring to breathe, Abby sat upright and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. Her head threatened to revolt, but she gritted her teeth and pushed herself upward. She wanted out of here.

She wanted to be in her familiar home, surrounded by her familiar things.

She wanted out of this nightmare.

Taking one unsteady step followed by another and another, Abby moved across the room. She was just upon the point of reaching for the doorknob when there was the faintest whisper of sound behind her. The hair on the nape of her neck tingled before a pair of steely arms wrapped about her.

“Not so fast, lover,” a dark voice murmured directly in her ear.

For a moment her mind went blank, and she was paralyzed with fear. Then sheer panic took control.

Arching her back, she frantically attempted to kick at his legs. “Let me go. Let go.”

“Go?” His arms merely tightened at her struggles. “Tell me, sweet, where do you plan to go?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Surprisingly he gave a short, humorless laugh. “My God, you don’t know how I wish that were true. We were both released, do you realize that? We were free. The chains were broken.”

Abby stilled at his rough, accusing words. “What do you mean?”

He brushed his face over the top of her head in an oddly intimate manner before he was firmly turning her to meet his shimmering gaze.

“I mean that if you had kept that beautiful nose out of matters that are none of your business, we both could have gone upon our merry way. Now, because of your Florence Nightingale act, where you go, what you do, what you bloody well think is now very much my business.”

What the hell was he talking about? Unconsciously her wide gaze skimmed over the perfect alabaster features. The last thing she needed was more trouble.

“You’re insane. Let me go or—”

“Or what?” he demanded in silky tones.

Good question. A pity she didn’t have a brilliant answer.

“I . . . I’ll scream.”

The dark brows lifted in sardonic amusement. “And do you truly want to discover just what sort of hero is going to rush to your rescue in this place? Who do you think it will be? The local crackheads? The whores working the lobby? You know, I’d place my money on the drunk next door. There was a definite hint of rape in the air when I carried you past him in the hall.”

Suddenly Abby understood the cramped room, the vile smells, and the echoes of despair. Dante had taken her to one of the endless seedy hotels that catered to the poor and desperate.

She might have shivered in disgust if it hadn’t been the least of her worries.

“They couldn’t be any worse than you.”

He stiffened at her accusation, his expression guarded. “Rather harsh words for the man who might very well have saved your life.”

“Man? Is that what you are?”

“What did you say?”

His fingers dug into her shoulders, and belatedly Abby realized that confronting Dante directly might not have been the wisest decision.

Still, she had to know. Ignorance might be bliss, but it was also freaking dangerous.

“You . . . I saw you. In the dream.” She shivered as the memories burned through her mind. “You were chained, and they were chanting and your . . . your fangs—”

“Abby.” He gazed deep into her eyes. “Sit down and I’ll explain.”

“No.” She gave a frantic shake of her head. “What are you going to do to me?”

His lips twisted at her shrill tone. “Although several enticing ideas have passed through my mind upon various occasions, for the moment I plan nothing more than talking with you. Will you calm down long enough to listen?”

The very fact that he hadn’t laughed and told her that she had lost her mind only deepened Abby’s terror. He knew of the dream. He recognized it.

Allowing instinct to take over, Abby forced herself to pretend a resignation she far from felt.

“Do I have a choice?”

He shrugged. “Not really.”

“Very well.”

Weakly following his lead toward the bed, Abby waited until Dante was convinced of his victory before reaching out to push him sharply away. Caught off guard, he stumbled, and in the blink of an eye, she was bolting toward the door.

She was fast. Growing up with five older brothers ensured she was well practiced in running from a potential massacre. But shockingly she had taken only a few steps when Dante’s arms were wrapping about her and lifting her off her feet.

With a muffled scream, she reached her arms over her head and grasped two handfuls of his silky hair. He gave a low grunt as she gave a violent tug. Still keeping grasp of his hair with one hand, she shifted the other to dig her nails into the side of his face.

“Dammit, Abby,” he muttered, his grip loosening as he sought to ward off her attack.

Not pausing for a moment, Abby wriggled free and, turning, she aimed a kick that over the years had proven to bring even the largest of men to a screeching halt. Dante gasped as he doubled over in pain. Not pausing to admire her handiwork, Abby lunged for the door.

On this occasion, she managed to actually touch the knob before she was roughly hauled up and over a broad shoulder and carried back to the bed. She screamed again as Dante easily tossed her onto the foul mattress, and then followed her downward to cover her struggling form with one much larger, and much harder.

More frightened than she had ever been in her life, Abby gazed into the pale face with its unearthly beauty. She was sharply, disturbingly aware of his lean muscles pressing against her. And the knowledge that he held her completely at his mercy.

Uncertain what was about to happen, she was startled when a slow smile curved his lips.

“You possess powerful weapons for such a tiny thing, lover,” he murmured. “Have you practiced those rather nasty tricks often?”

Somehow his teasing managed to ease a portion of her rabid terror. Surely if he were going to suck her dry, he wouldn’t be indulging in conversation?

Unless of course vampires preferred a bit of predinner chat?

“I have five older brothers,” she gritted.

“Ah, that would explain it. Survival of the fittest, or in this case, survival of the one with the dirtiest arsenal.”

“Get off me.”

He gave a lift of his brows. “And risk becoming a eunuch? No, thanks. We’ll finish our discussion without anymore scratching, hair pulling, or low blows.”

She glared into his mocking expression. “We have nothing to discuss.”

“Oh no,” he drawled, “nothing beyond the fact your employer was just barbequed to a crisp, the fact that I’m a vampire, and the fact that thanks to your stupidity, you now have every demon in the vicinity after your head. Nothing at all to discuss.”

Barbequed employers, vampires, and now demons? It was too much. Way, way too much.

Abby closed her eyes as her heart squeezed with horror.

“This is a nightmare. Dear God, please let Freddy Krueger walk through the door.”

“This is no nightmare, Abby.”

“It’s not possible.” She reluctantly lifted her lids to meet the glittering silver gaze. “You’re a vampire?”

He grimaced. “My heritage is the least of your concerns at the moment.”

Heritage? She swallowed a hysterical urge to laugh.

“Did Selena know?”

“That I was a vampire? Oh yes, she knew.” His tone was dry. “In fact, you could say that it was a prerequisite to my employment.”

Abby frowned. “Then she was a vampire too?”

“No.” Dante paused as if carefully considering his words. Ridiculous since he could have informed her that Selena was Beelzebub and she couldn’t have twitched a muscle as long as he held her in his relentless grip. “She was . . . a Chalice.”

“Chalice?” Her blood ran cold. The woman screaming in agony. The crimson flames. “The Phoenix,” she breathed.

His brows drew together in shock. “How did you know that?”

“The dream. I was in a dungeon, and there was a woman lying on the floor. I think the other women were performing some ritual upon her.”

“Selena,” he muttered. “She must have passed a portion of her memories onto you. That’s the only explanation.”

“Passed on memories? But that’s . . .” Her words trailed away as a mocking smile curved his lips.

“Impossible? Don’t you think we’re beyond that by now?”

They were, of course. She had tumbled into some bizarro world where anything was possible. Like Alice in the Looking Glass.

Only instead of disappearing cats and white rabbits, there were vampires and mysterious Chalices and who knew what else.

“What did they do to her?”

“They made her a Chalice. A human vessel for a powerful entity.”

“So those women were witches?”

“For lack of a better term.”

Great. Just great. “And they put a spell upon Selena?”

The silver eyes shimmered in the shadowed light. “It was rather more than a spell. They called forth the spirit of the Phoenix to live within her body.”

Abby could almost feel the crimson flames that had seared into the woman’s flesh. She shivered in horror. “No wonder she was screaming. What does this Phoenix do?”

“It is a . . . barrier.”

She eyed him warily. “A barrier against what?”

“Against the darkness.”

Well, that made everything as clear as mud. Impatiently Abby wriggled beneath the man pinning her to the bed.

A bad, very bad move.

As if a lightning bolt had suddenly struck her, she was vibrantly aware of his hard body branding her own. A body that had haunted her dreams more than a few nights.

Dante’s jaw tightened at her unwittingly provocative movements, his hips instinctively shifting in response.

“Do you think you could possibly be a little more vague?” she managed to choke out.

“What would you have me say?” he demanded in rasping tones.

She struggled to keep her thoughts focused. Good God. Now was no time to be thinking of . . . of . . . that.

“Something a bit more clarifying than the darkness.”

There was a moment of silence, as if he were waging his own battle. Then at last he met her gaze squarely.

“Very well. The demon world refers to the darkness as the Prince, but in truth it isn’t a real being. It is more a . . . spirit, just as the Phoenix is a spirit. An essence of power that demons call upon to enhance their dark skills.”

“And the Phoenix does something to this Prince?”

“Her presence among mortals has banished the Prince from this world. They are two opposites. Neither can be in the same plane at the same moment. Not without both being destroyed.”

Well, that seemed like a good thing. The first ray of hope in a very bleak day.

“So, no more demons?”

He gave a lift of his shoulder. “They remain, but without the tangible presence of the Prince, they are weakened and chaotic. No longer do they band together to attack in strength, and rarely do they hunt humans. They have been forced into the shadows.”

“That’s good, I suppose,” she said slowly. “And Selena was this barrier?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He blinked at the abrupt question. “Why?”

“Why was she chosen?” Abby clarified, not quite certain why she even cared. She only knew that at the moment it seemed important. “Was she a witch?”

Oddly Dante paused, almost as if he were considering not answering her question. Ridiculous after all he had already revealed. What could be worse than the fact that she was being held captive by a vampire? Or that the one person who kept away all the scary, bad things in the night was now dead?

“She was not so much chosen as offered as a sacrifice by her father,” he at last grudgingly confessed.

“She was sacrificed by her father?” Abby gave a startled blink. Hell, she had always thought her father was a shoo-in for scumbag of the year. He had been a brutal jerk whose only redeeming act had been tossing aside his family for a bottle of whiskey. Still, he hadn’t offered her up as fodder to a band of crazed witches. “How could he do such a thing?”

The elegant features hardened with ancient anger. “Quite easily. He was powerful, rich, and accustomed to having his way in all things. Or he was until he was struck down with the plague. In exchange for a cure, he gave the witches his only daughter.”

“Holy crap. That’s horrible.”

“I suppose he thought it a fair trade-off. He was cured and his daughter made immortal.”

“Immortal?” Abby caught in breath with sudden hope. “Then Selena is still alive?”

The beautiful features sharpened even further. “No, she is very much dead.”

“But . . . how?”

“I don’t know.” His tone was rough with coiled emotions. “At least not yet.”

Abby bit her bottom lip, attempting to wrap her aching brain around the consequences of such a death.

“Then the Phoenix is gone?”

“No, it is not gone. It is—” Without warning, Dante flowed to his feet, his head turning toward the closed door. A tense silence filled the room before he at last returned his gaze to her startled face. “Abby, we must go. Now.”

Chapter 3

Dante fiercely cursed his stupidity.

For 341 years he had stood as guardian to the Phoenix. Not willingly, and not without a simmering fury at his fate, but with absolute dedication. It was not as if he had a choice. Those witches had seen to that.

But now, when the danger was at its greatest, he discovered himself barely capable of concentrating upon the threat very much at hand.

He impatiently shoved back his tangled hair. Bloody hell, there was little wonder he was distracted. In the past few hours, he had endured more shocks than he had in centuries. The death of the immortal Selena. The fierce, intoxicating joy as he felt the chains begin to loosen. And the horror of watching the Phoenix being branded into Abby.

Abby.

Double bloody hell. He glared down at her slender form. The woman had been a plague and pestilence since she arrived at Selena’s estate. With her skin as soft as satin. Her honey curls that haloed her gamine face. Her vulnerable eyes. And the hot passions that smoldered just beneath her screw-the-world attitude. It called to him like the song of a Siren. A tasty morsel that he had had every intention of consuming at his leisure.

But now everything had changed. Now she was no longer a lovely diversion. No longer a bit of sport. She was his to protect. And he would do so until his very death.

“Come,” he commanded in soft tones, summoning his ancient instincts. “Something approaches.”

Struggling to her feet, she eyed him warily. “What?”

He grasped her arm in a firm grip. “Demons.” He reached out with his senses, touching the approaching darkness. “And more than one.”

Her face paled, but with that inner strength he had always admired, she didn’t faint or scream or do all those annoying things that mortals were so prone to do when faced with the mystic.

“But they surely won’t trouble us. We don’t have anything they could want.”

His lips twisted. “You’re wrong, lover. We possess a treasure beyond all dreams.”

“What—”

“I’m afraid the twenty questions will have to wait until later, Abby.”

Pulling her close to his side, he silently crossed toward the nearly hidden door next to the bed. Reaching out, he turned the knob and thrust it open. Wood splintered as the dead bolt was ripped from the frame. Still holding Abby close, he tugged her through the shadows of the adjoining room, barely giving a glance toward the drunk who snored in vodka oblivion upon his bed.

Dante moved directly to the narrow window. Forcing it open, he turned to lean close to Abby’s ear. “Stay close to me and don’t make a sound,” he whispered. “If we are attacked, I want you to stay behind me and don’t run. They will be attempting to frighten you into a trap.”

“But I want to know why—”

“Not now, Abby,” he growled impatiently. “If we’re going to get out of here alive, I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

There was a moment of silence. In the gloom, Dante could sense the fragility of her control. She was near shattering, and he could only hope that her impending collapse could be held off long enough to get to safety.

At last she swallowed heavily and gave a grudging nod of her head. “Yes.”

He gazed deep into her eyes, startled by the stir of something that might have been warmth.

“Then let’s go.”

Taking her hand, he helped her climb through the narrow window, waiting until she was standing upon the metal fire escape before following her into the darkness. He paused just a moment, peering down at the littered alley below. His instincts warned that demons lurked nearby. Unfortunately, to remain would mean being trapped and surrounded. They had no choice but to go forward.

Or in this case, down.

Grimly Dante gave a tilt of his head toward the nearby ladder. With reluctant steps, Abby moved across the platform and forced herself to climb down the rungs. He waited until she had reached the bottom before stepping off the edge and landing next to her shivering form.

As she opened her lips to speak, he reached out to press a finger to her mouth, giving a sharp shake of his head. Danger prickled over his skin. Something was near. Very near. Turning toward a large Dumpster, he took a slow step forward.

“Show yourself,” he commanded.

There was a rustle in the shadows followed by a sharp scrape of claws upon the pavement before a large, hulking form slowly appeared. At first glance, it would be simple to dismiss the intruder as an awkward, brainless beast. With thick, leathery skin, seeping boils, and a misshapen head that sported three eyes, he was the poster child for the monster beneath the bed. But Dante was all too familiar with this particular demon and knew that beneath all the ugly was a cunning intelligence that was more deadly than any muscle.

“Halford.” Dante offered a mocking bow.

“Ah, Dante.” The deep, rumbling voice possessed a polished, elegant accent that would have been right at home in a posh boarding school. A ludicrous contrast to his brutish appearance. “I just knew you would be dropping in once you caught whiff of those hellhounds. I’ve tried for centuries to train them with a bit of discretion, but they must always rush in when stealth would serve best.”

Ensuring that he stood squarely between Abby and the demon, Dante offered a faint shrug.

“Hellhounds have never been renowned for their intelligence.”

“No. A pity, really. Still, they do have their uses. Such as flushing out prey so that I needn’t muck about in such filth.” Halford cast a disdainful glance toward the dilapidated hotel. “I must say, Dante, I had always believed you to possess better taste.”

“What better place to hide from the scum than beneath their very noses?”

Halford loosed a rumbling laugh that echoed eerily down the alley. “A clever ploy except for the fact that every brother in the city can smell your beauty from a mile away. I fear there’s no hiding.”

Dante silently cursed. Although Abby carried the Phoenix, she had not yet fully acquired its powers or any knowledge of how to control those powers. Until she did, she would be a beacon to every demon in the area.

“You underestimate my skill,” he drawled in silky tones.

“Oh no, I would never be so stupid as to underestimate you, Dante.” The demon stepped forward, his claws grinding the pavement to dust. “Unlike many in the brotherhood, I can easily sense the power that you have been forced to keep leashed all these tedious years. Which is why I’m quite prepared to allow you to walk away. I have no wish to kill you.”

Dante gave a lift of his brow. “You will allow me to walk away?”

“Of course. I have never taken pleasure in killing my fellow demons.” Halford gave what vaguely passed as a smile, considering his triple rows of teeth. “Leave the girl and I can promise that you’ll never be troubled again.”

Ah. Dante abruptly grasped the truth. Halford was alone. And not at all certain he could best a vampire. At least not before the other gathering demons could arrive and complicate matters.

“A rather generous offer,” Dante murmured.

“I think so.”

“Still, I think that handing over such a priceless treasure should be worth something more tangible. After all, if you are forced to battle me for the wench, you might discover yourself having to share the glory with any number of demons rushing in this direction.”

A sudden blow to the center of his back assured Dante that Abby had heard his taunting words. And naturally had jumped to the predictable conclusion. He was an evil vampire, after all.

Reaching back, he grasped one slender wrist in a tight grip. He could not risk having her bolt.

Halford narrowed his eyes. All three of them. “What could be more tangible than your life?”

Dante shrugged. “There’s little point in living an eternity if I must be reduced to wallowing among the wretched. As you said, I’m accustomed to a rather more luxurious lifestyle that is about to come to an end without Selena.”

“Why you . . .” With a low growl, Abby frantically struggled against his grasp, kicking him with a savagery that would have sent a mortal to his knees.

“Hush, lover,” he commanded without ever turning his head. “Halford and I are about to start negotiations.”

“Pig. Monster. Beast.”

Dante ignored the kicks that punctuated each word as he met Halford’s amused gaze.

“A spirited thing,” the demon rasped.

“A character flaw that could be easily corrected.”

Halford flexed his bulging muscles. “Quite easily. Now let us be done with this. What is your price?”

Dante made a show of considering. “A ready supply of blood, of course. In this day and age, it really is far too dangerous to be out hunting among the riffraff.”

“Simple enough.”

“And perhaps a few Shantong to keep my lair warm at night,” he murmured, deliberately choosing demons notorious for their insatiable sexual appetite.

“Ah, a vampire with exquisite taste. Is that all?”

Noting the triumph glittering in Halford’s eyes, Dante at last judged the moment ripe. The demon was consumed with thoughts of the glory as he offered the Phoenix to his dark Prince.

“Actually, no. I shall also need this.” Loosening his hold upon Abby, he bent downward and with one smooth movement grasped the daggers hidden in his boots. In the same motion, he was rolling forward, the daggers already leaving his hands as he came back up to his feet.

For a moment Halford merely stood silent in the darkness. It was almost as if he hadn’t yet noticed the dagger deeply planted in his middle eye or the other that stuck in his lower stomach. But whether he was in shock or indifferent to the danger, the deadly missiles had done their duty; with a rasping moan, he collapsed onto the vile rubbish that littered the alley.

Dante never hesitated as he flowed forward. With efficiency, he sliced open Halford’s throat and then cut out his heart. He was never stupid enough to presume a demon was dead until he held its heart in his hand. At last satisfied, he reached to retrieve his daggers and traced his way back to Abby. She hastily backed away from his approach, her eyes wide with distress.

“Abby.”

“No.” She held out her hands. “Stay away from me.”

Harshly smothering his flare of impatience, Dante forced himself to return the bloody daggers to his boots and to smooth back his tangled hair before taking another step closer. She was a breath away from bolting. One misstep and he would find himself having to chase her through the maze of alleys.

A wickedly delicious thought under normal circumstances, he ruefully conceded. Tonight, however, was anything but normal.

“Abby, the demon is dead,” he soothed. “He will not harm you.”

“And what of you?” she demanded in uneven tones. “You were going to sell me to that . . . thing. For blood.”

“Don’t be a fool. Of course I wasn’t going to sell you.” He reached out to grasp her chin, forcing her to meet his steady gaze. “I merely wanted to distract Halford long enough to strike. In case you didn’t notice, he was somewhat larger than me. It seemed best to avoid an ugly brawl.”

Her tongue peeked out to touch her lips. It was a tiny, unwitting gesture, and yet it made Dante’s fingers tighten upon her delicate skin. No matter what the danger about them, having her so close stirred a fierce, aching hunger. One that he feared wouldn’t be appeased any time soon.

“Why should I trust you?” she rasped.

His lips twisted as he lowered his hand and held it out. “Because for the moment, lover, you have no choice.”

There was a long moment when she battled her inner demons before at last accepting that the demons currently hunting them were far more dangerous than him.

Still, it was with obvious reluctance that she at last laid her hand in his.

Not giving her time for second thoughts, Dante grasped her fingers and, with a tug, they were slipping through the darkness. He was startled by the flare of disappointment that touched him at her lingering fear of him. What else did he expect from a mortal?

Unfortunately, the knowledge that she considered him only a step above the evil creatures chasing them, and maybe not even a whole step, more like a baby half step, left a hollow sensation within him.

Turning down a side alley, Dante continued to brood upon the woman struggling to keep pace with his long strides. Brooding and tingling with awareness of her warm flesh touching his own. That no doubt explained why he was taken off guard when the hellhound abruptly sprang from the building overhead and knocked him to the ground.

In a heartbeat, the deadly hound had him pinned to the ground, the acid from his teeth dripping onto Dante’s flesh with searing pain.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “You smelly, slimy piece of crap.”

Reaching up, Dante was preparing to grasp the demon’s throat and rip it out when there was a sudden whoosh of air, followed by the sickening crush of bone. He blinked as the hellhound tumbled to the side, obviously dead.

“Are you hurt?”

Like a vision from a dream, Abby was leaning over him, her face smeared with muck and her hair hanging in limp tangles, but her expression was one of gentle concern. Dante took a moment to savor the enchanting view before reluctantly pushing himself up to his elbows. Turning his head, he regarded the twitching demon before returning his attention to Abby.

“Nice swing, love,” he murmured, taking in the rusty pipe she clutched in her hand. “Demon killer extraordinaire, in fact. Almost as good as—”

“Say the name Buffy and I’ll stake you,” she warned, raising the pipe in a threatening motion.

He gave a low chuckle. “Very frightening, sweet, but if you truly want to get the job done, it has to be wood.”

“That could be arranged.”

“No doubt.” Dante rolled to his feet, brushing off the clinging filth. “Unfortunately, it will have to wait until later. For now we must be on our way.”

Taking her arm, Dante was once again moving down the alley, on this occasion keeping his senses alert. Sharply, excruciatingly alert.

Devil spit. He had been knocked down by a hellhound. In front of a beautiful woman. He wasn’t about to be humiliated again.

Killed, maybe. Staked, slaughtered, or beheaded, maybe. But not humiliated. A far preferable alternative for a proud vampire.

For near half an hour they traveled in silence, moving ever deeper into the slums. There were no more surprise attacks, but Dante could still sense demons in the distance.

Damn, he needed to determine if they were still following them or if he and Abby had managed to cover their trail.

Slowing his pace, he searched the shadows until he discovered a narrow door cut into the back of a brick building. He glanced about to ensure they were alone before lifting his leg and kicking the heavy steel off its hinges. There was a dull crash followed by a choking cloud of dust, but he never paused. Pulling Abby within the abandoned garage, he leaned against the twisted frame to keep watch for any unpleasant nasties that might be lurking in the dark.

Tense moments passed before Abby at last came to the end of her strained patience.

“What are we doing here?” she demanded.

“Waiting.”

“Do you even know where we’re going?”

“Away from here.”

Her teeth snapped together. “Stunningly ambiguous as always. I suppose you think it makes you all dark and mysterious?”

“Oh, but I am dark and mysterious.” He risked a glance over his shoulder to encounter her smoldering glare. “Isn’t that how you like your men?”

“I like them with a heartbeat and a taste for quiche, not blood,” she readily shot back.

Dante chuckled as he returned his gaze to the alley. “How can you be so certain, lover? You have yet to try a vampire. I can promise you it will be an experience you will never forget.”

“God, you must be mental. Or the most arrogant—”

Dante abruptly held his hand up in warning. “Sssh.”

Instantly on alert, she peered into the darkness. “Is something coming?”

“Yes. Stay behind me.”

They waited in tense silence until at last the muffled sound of approaching footsteps could be heard. Sniffing the foul air, Dante swiftly assured himself that the intruders were human rather than demon before relaxing his tense muscles. They couldn’t pose a true danger to him.

Then, the silence was broken by the static buzz of a voice floating through a walkie-talkie, and he heard Abby give a small gasp.

“Dante, it’s the police. They can help us,” she hissed before abruptly charging from behind him toward the door.

With pure instinct, Dante reached out to wrap her slight form in his arms. Smoothly he hauled her back into the building and pressed her against the wall. Her hands reached up to angrily beat at his chest, but already anticipating the scream that was about to expose their presence, Dante lowered his head and covered her mouth with his own.

His intent was honorable. The kiss was merely a means to prevent disaster. But the moment he touched the satin enticement of her lips, all honor was forgotten.

A combustible heat flared between them as he tightened his grip, and he devoured her with a hunger that he couldn’t disguise. Bloody hell, he wanted her. He wanted to taste, to seduce, to consume her until his dark need was sated.

Restlessly his hands trailed up her back, brushing the tantalizing skin of her nape before plunging into the honey curls. He held her head steady as he continued to plunder her mouth, all thoughts of danger forgotten in a haze of searing pleasure.

Pressed against him, Abby momentarily stiffened in shock at the sudden embrace, but with gratifying speed, she offered a low moan and wrapped her arms about his neck as she opened her lips to his. Almost as if she had been waiting for this moment with the same fierce intensity as he had.

At the unmistakable capitulation, Dante instinctively softened his lips, his kisses deepening with persuasive intent. She stirred restlessly against his hardening thighs as his lips moved to trail over her smooth cheeks and down the arch of her neck. He was drowning in the passionate fire she had released within him.

“Abby . . . my sweet Abby . . . I want to feel you beneath me,” he rasped in raw tones.

He felt her shudder with longing beneath his touch before she was abruptly pulling away to gaze at him with wide, dilated eyes.

“Are you insane?” she rasped, pressing her fingers to her swollen lips.

Caught off guard by her sharp retreat, Dante gritted his teeth and shoved his hands roughly into the pockets of his jeans. It was a grim battle to master the desire still pulsing through his taut body.

A swift yank, a few heated kisses, and he would have her on the dusty floor and himself sheathed deep in her body.

Thankfully sanity slowly forced its way through his hazed mind; taking a careful step back, he regarded her with a measure of calm.

“I was attempting to keep you from getting us both killed. I couldn’t allow you to call out to those cops,” he explained in smooth tones.

Her brows furrowed together. “You think that demons have infested the Chicago police force?”

“No, I think the second you attempt to explain to those nice, unimaginative cops that we’re being pursued by vicious demons and hellhounds, we’ll find ourselves locked in a lovely padded room. If we aren’t first tossed into jail for the murder of Selena. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not be strapped in a straitjacket or offered a cell with a spectacular view of the morning sunrise.”

Her expression hardened, as if she longed to argue with his logic. Then wrapping her arms about her waist, she heaved an annoyed sigh.

“Fine. And what is your brilliant solution? To crawl through these disgusting alleys for eternity?”

He gave a shrug, moving back to the open doorway. “Not quite that long, I hope. I do know a place, but I must be certain that we’ve shaken our bloodthirsty friends.”

“God, what a mess,” she muttered.

Dante forced his fangs to shorten as the lingering shudders of desire tortured his body.

“For once, lover, we are in full agreement.”

Chapter 4

Two hours later, Abby was spent.

She had endured a house exploding, the violent death of her employer, being chased by demons (one of which she had killed with her own hands), hours of walking through vile-smelling alleys, and a kiss by a vampire. And to be honest, she wasn’t sure which unnerved her the most.

Now, however, a wrenching weariness invaded her entire being.

Her feet hurt, she smelled like an overripe landfill, and a numbing fog was clouding her mind. Hell, at the moment she would have paid a lurking demon to leap out and swallow her whole.

Unfortunately, the ghastly creatures who had seemed so determined to destroy them a mere three hours ago had seemingly disappeared the moment they might have come in handy, and she was left to trudge upon trembling legs behind a silent vampire.

Perhaps this was hell, she theorized. Perhaps she had indeed died in the mysterious blast and was now doomed to roam through darkened, demoninvested alleys for all eternity.

No, not hell, a treacherous voice whispered. Not if she were to be offered an eternity of kisses from a gorgeous vampire that had made her melt into a puddle of aching need.

Her heart skipped a renegade beat before she was giving a sharp shake of her head.

Obviously she was becoming delirious. Vampire kisses. God. No doubt the toxic stench had driven her over the edge. Enough was enough.

“Dante.” Coming to a halt, she folded her arms over her chest. “I can’t go any farther.”

With clear reluctance, Dante stopped at the corner of the alley and turned to meet her stubborn gaze. As weary as she was, her breath caught in her throat.

Bathed in the dull golden light of the streetlamp, Dante was strikingly beautiful. His flowing raven hair. His fiercely elegant features. His silver eyes that shimmered with a lethal danger. It all combined to create a vision that was bound to weaken the knees of any woman.

Thankfully unaware of her treacherous thoughts, Dante reached out to grasp her hand.

“It is just a bit farther, I promise,” he urged softly.

Her expression only hardened at his words. “You’ve said that for the past half hour.”

His lips twitched with wicked amusement. “Yes, but on this occasion, I’m not lying.”

“Ugh.” She leaned against the brick building, too tired to care that she was only adding to the layer of grime that covered her. What were a few more nasty germs? “I should have staked you when I had the chance.”

A raven brow arched at her petulant tone. “Do you know, Abby, you really are an ungrateful brat.”

“No, I’m tired, I’m hungry, and all I want is to go home.”

The chiseled features softened as he reached out and pulled her close to the hardness of his body. Tenderly he ran a hand over her tangled curls.

“I know, lover. I know.”

Vampire or not, Abby discovered his touch oddly comforting. And deliciously wonderful. Without conscious thought, she leaned her head against his wide chest.

“Dante, will this horrible night ever end?”

“That much I can promise you,” he assured her, giving a small tug until they were out of the alley and standing upon a narrow street. “You see the building on the corner? That’s our destination. Can you make it?”

She regarded the plain building, at last concluding that it must have been a hotel in years past. A hotel that was now dank, moldy, and no doubt filled with entire communities of hungry rats. She heaved a sigh even as she gave Dante a reluctant nod of her head.

She was too weary to quibble. If a few rats and a rotting chair were the price of resting her aching feet, then so be it.

“Let’s go,” she muttered.

Readily accepting Dante’s assistance, Abby limped across the street and around the building to the back. He ignored the narrow door that hung limply off its hinges and instead reached out his hand to touch one of the loosened bricks near the window. Astonishingly (well, perhaps not so astonishing on this particular evening), a silver shimmer filled the air, and before Abby could even question what had occurred, Dante had pulled her through the mystical veil into a vast crimson and gold lobby.

Stumbling to a halt, Abby glanced about her with wide eyes. It was impossible. There was nothing ratinfested about this place. Not with its black marble columns and crimson velvet walls and domed roof painted with beautiful naked women.

It was lush and exotic and, well, more than a little decadent.

“What is this place?” she breathed in wonder.

Dante smiled wryly as he took her arm and steered her toward a nearly hidden alcove at the back of the room.

“Better not to ask.”

“Why?”

Ignoring her question, he brushed aside the gauzy curtain spangled with golden stars and pulled her down a darkened hall until they reached the last door. Tugging it open, he waited for her to enter before firmly closing the door behind them and turning on the lights.

Much to her relief, Abby discovered the large room considerably more comfortable than the lavish lobby they had left behind. There was a solid warmth to the satinwood paneling and leather furnishings that were scattered over an ivory carpet. More like an English country estate than a lavish bordello, she decided.

Absently wandering to study the leather-bound books that filled the shelves upon one wall, she drew in a deep breath before turning to meet Dante’s guarded gaze.

“Will we be safe here?”

“Yes, the building is owned by an acquaintance of mine. It possesses an enchantment upon it that will prevent anyone from sensing your presence here. Human or demon.”

Enchantment? Well, that sounded . . . less strange than anything else that had occurred this bizarre evening. Still, Abby sensed there was a great deal he wasn’t telling her. Always a bad sign.

“And your friend?” she demanded.

“What?”

“Is he human or demon?”

He gave a lift of his shoulder. “He is a vampire.”

Abby rolled her eyes toward the open beamed ceiling. “Great.”

With a silent grace, Dante was suddenly standing before her, his expression relentless in the muted light.

“I would suggest that you attempt to disguise that rather nasty prejudice of yours, lover,” he warned in silky tones. “We shall need Viper’s assistance if we are to survive the next few days.”

Suddenly realizing that she had indeed been more than a bit rude to the man who had saved her life more than once in the past few hours, Abby caught her lower lip between her teeth.

“I’m sorry.”

The silver eyes darkened as he tenderly ran the back of his fingers over her heated cheeks.

“There are some things I must do. I want you to remain here.” The fingers slid beneath her chin as he gazed deep into her eyes. “And whatever happens, do not open this door until I return. Do you understand?”

A shiver inched down her spine. He was leaving her? Alone?

Good Lord, what if he didn’t return? What if some demon attacked while he was gone? What if. . .

Grasping her shattered courage, Abby gave a lift of her chin. Stop being such a spineless wimp, she chided herself. Dammit. She had been taking care of herself since she was fourteen years old. Not only herself, but her mother as well, since the older woman discovered life easier to bear at the bottom of a whiskey bottle.

And all without the assistance of a sinfully beautiful vampire.

“I understand.”

As if sensing the effort it cost her to appear brave, his fingers tightened upon her chin. Gazes locked, he slowly lowered his head.

“Abby,” he whispered.

Softly he brushed his lips over her own. And over and over. His touch was featherlight, but it was enough to make her entire body tingle with pleasure. Tingle and shiver and lots of other exhilarating things.

At last he lifted his head and stepped back. Still reeling with the aftershocks, she watched in silence as he turned to leave the room. It was only when the door snapped firmly shut behind him that she recalled the need to breathe.

Well. . .

It seemed that her feet weren’t nearly as tired as she had thought since her toes were firmly curled in pleasure.

A hysterical urge to laugh bubbled in her throat as she moved to flop herself upon a leather sofa. Vampire kisses, indeed. She was mad. That was the only explanation. She was stark, raving mad.

And thankfully too exhausted to even care at the moment.

Allowing her head to topple back onto the leather cushions, Abby breathed in deeply and closed her eyes. For the first time in hours, she wasn’t searching over her shoulder for marauding demons or squashing through rotting trash. There was not even a vampire in sight.

For the moment she could simply relax.

Relax? Yeah, right, a tiny voice mocked in the back of her mind.

She sucked in a deep breath. No. She could do this. All it took was a bit of concentration.

Relax, relax, relax, she silently chanted. She snuggled deeper into the cushions. She slowed her breathing. She tried to imagine a beautiful waterfall, a peaceful meadow, the sound of whales (whatever the hell they sounded like).

All worthless efforts that were eventually disturbed when a cold rash raced over her skin.

A sudden certainty that she was no longer alone had her eyes fluttering open and her head lifting. Her heart halted as she realized her instincts had not been wrong.

There was a man standing in the center of the room.

No, not a man, she swiftly corrected. Now that she knew the truth of Dante, she could detect what those too-perfect features and fiercely elegant form meant.

Not that this vampire was the spitting image of Dante, she readily concluded. He was taller and leaner, with a ripple of hard muscles beneath the crimson velvet coat that flowed nearly to his knees and black satin slacks. His hair was worn long, but it was like the pale silver of moonlight and his eyes the startling darkness of midnight. And while his features were hauntingly beautiful, there was a starkness to his countenance that sent a chill down her spine.

This was not the charmingly wicked bad boy.

This was an exquisite fallen angel who held himself aloof from the world about him.

Slowly rising to her feet, she discovered herself nervously licking her lips as he strolled nonchalantly forward. His midnight gaze swept over her with unnerving intensity. It was not until he was a mere step from her that he came to a halt.

“Ah, Abby is it not?”

The dark voice flowed like warm honey over her. A voice as lethally fascinating as the rest of him. Yikes. He fell under the category of dangerous with a capital D.

Still, Dante wouldn’t have left her here if he didn’t believe she was in safe hands. She might not know much about her savior vampire, but she did know he wouldn’t deliberately hand her over as dinner to one of his pals.

Would he?

“Yes, and you, I presume, are Viper?” she forced herself to murmur in polite tones.

“Very astute.” The dark eyes swept over her slender features and tumble of honey curls. “And lovely.”

Lovely? A faint frown touched her brow. Was he blind? Or was he indeed up to something nefarious? She had never been more than passably average. And that was when she wasn’t covered in muck and reeking of back alleys.

“Thank you . . . I think.”

His lips curled into a smooth smile. “You needn’t regard me with such distrust. I never feed upon my guests. It is rather bad for business.”

Well, that was a relief. She cleared her dry throat. “And what is your business?”

“I am a procurer of pleasure,” he said simply.

She choked, her eyes widening at the unexpected words. “You’re a pimp?”

His soft laugh reminded her forcibly of Dante as he tilted his head to one side. “Nothing so mundane,” he purred in low tones. “I offer . . . ah no, Dante would not thank me for exposing you to such sordid tales. He is astonishingly protective of you.” Without warning, he reached up to lightly brush her cheek. “And it is little wonder.”

She stiffened in unease. “What?”

“Such purity.” His gaze drifted over her tense form before returning to linger upon her pale features. “A golden beacon to the dark.”

First lovely and now pure? The poor, incredibly beautiful vampire really must be off his rocker.

Not a very comforting thought.

“I’m afraid you must have me confused with someone else,” she said in slow, easy-to-follow tones.

His lips twitched as if realizing that she feared him mental. “I do not speak of chastity.” He gave an elegant wave of his hand. “Such a tedious mortal obsession. Or even of the spirit that you now carry within you. I speak of your soul, Abby. You have known tragedy and even despair, but you remain untainted.”

She took a careful step back, desperately wishing that Dante would return. There was something very unnerving about this Viper.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Evil, lust, greed—the darker passions that so easily tempt mortals.”

“Well, I suppose everyone is tempted.”

“Yes, and so few resist.” He closed the small distance between them, his fingers once again tracing the line of her cheek. “Such innocence is bound to be an irresistible attraction for those who walk in the night. Wickedness always seeks redemption, even as the shadows seek the light.”

Abby’s brain was beginning to ache in an attempt to follow the obscure revelations. Holy crap, she thought Dante spoke in riddles.

“Ah . . . right,” she muttered, taking yet another step back in their peculiar dance. “Where is Dante?”

Viper offered a shrug. “He did not give me his full itinerary, but I do know he has gone in search of breakfast.”

Her stomach gave a sudden growl of relief. She couldn’t even remember her last meal. Which meant it was far too long ago.

“Thank God, I’m starving. I hope he brings . . .” The delicious images of pancakes and eggs and bacon were suddenly tarnished by the thought of what Dante would be having for his predawn meal. “Ew.”

Viper lifted a golden brow at her unmistakable shudder.

“Do not worry, lovely Abby. He is not on the hunt.” Moving with mesmerizing grace, Viper flicked open a hidden panel in the wall to reveal a small refrigerator filled with dark bottles. “This is the home of a vampire. I always possess an ample supply of synthetic blood. The breakfast is for you.”

Ridiculously relieved to know that Dante wasn’t out sucking the life from hapless pedestrians, she heaved a deep sigh.

“Oh, that’s good.”

Closing the panel, the vampire smiled in a mysterious manner as he once again returned to stand before her.

“You do not know, do you?”

Her brows snapped together. “Know what?”

“Since Dante was captured by the witches, he has been incapable of taking blood from a human. It is an element of the spell that binds him to the Phoenix.”

“Oh, I . . . see.”

“No, I don’t believe you see at all,” he murmured softly. “The suffering that Dante has endured for the past three hundred years has been immeasurable. He has been leashed and imprisoned by those who have no compassion, no ability to see him as anything more than a monster.”

Abby stilled. Dear heavens. She had been so consumed with her own fears that she had never taken even a moment to consider what Dante must have endured all those endless years. He had been a prisoner, chained for eternity to Selena. God, it was a wonder he hadn’t dumped her whining butt in the nearest gutter and left her as demon food.

“He’s not a monster,” she retorted in sharp tones.

“You have no need to convince me, my dear.” He peered deep into her eyes. “I can only hope that you will understand his suffering and do what is possible to ease his burdens.”

“Me?”

“You now possess the power.”

She blinked, giving a faint shake of her head. “And I thought Dante was cryptic. No offense, but vampires are strange creatures. Not as strange as that Halford or hellhounds, but definitely strange.”

He gave a soft chuckle as he reached out to touch her curls. “We are ancient beings. We have seen the birth and fall of nations. Witnessed endless wars, famines, and natural disasters. Surely we are allowed a few eccentricities?”

And what did she say to that?

“Or at least a Purple Heart.”

The midnight eyes momentarily filled with something that might have been amusement. “There are also visions of joy, pleasure, and unexpected beauty. Beauty such as yours.”

“Exquisite taste as always, Viper,” a velvet voice drawled from the doorway.

Startled by the interruption, Abby turned her head to regard Dante slowly strolling toward them. With a casual motion, he tossed the suitcase he held in his hand onto the sofa, never pausing in his approach.

More relieved than she cared to admit at his return, Abby drank in the pale, wicked countenance. As ridiculous as it might be to accept, it was almost as if a part of herself had been missing during his absence. A part that now felt fulfilled.

She was barely aware that Viper had moved to stand behind her, his hands resting lightly upon her shoulders.

“So you return at last, Dante,” Viper murmured. “We were worried.”

The silver gaze narrowed as Dante pointedly glanced toward the hands intimately grasping Abby’s shoulders.

“Your concern is quite touching, Viper.” He slowly arched a brow. “And speaking of touching . . .”

There was no mistaking the menacing edge in the satin voice, but Viper merely laughed.

“You cannot blame a vampire for admiring such purity. It is quite . . . intoxicating.”

“Then perhaps you should get a breath of fresh air to clear your mind,” Dante warned.

“Always the warrior.” Viper reached to pull Abby’s fingers to his lips. “If you decide you prefer a poet, be sure to call for me.”

“Viper,” Dante growled.

With that mysterious smile, Viper offered his fellow vampire a faint bow before moving toward the door.

“I shall leave the two of you to rest. Don’t worry that you’ll be bothered. I promise to keep the wolves, or in this case the demons, at bay.”

Left on their own, Dante paused a moment before he moved to take the hand that Viper had so recently caressed.

“You must forgive my friend,” he said with a wry smile. “He believes himself to be irresistible to women.”

Smothering the urge to reach up and touch the sculpted face, she offered a distracted shrug. “He is rather fascinating,” she felt bound to admit. Surely not even a babbling idiot would believe she was utterly indifferent to the beautiful fallen angel?

“You find him attractive?”

“In an undead sort of way.”

His expression hardened. “I see.”

Abby shivered. “He also terrifies me. I think he would destroy anything or anyone in his path if it suited his purpose.”

A smile touched his lips. “He will not harm you. Not as long as I am near.”

“Where have you been?”

He gave her fingers a slight squeeze before moving back to the suitcase he had left on the sofa and sweeping it open.

“To Selena’s to retrieve a few belongings I thought we might need.” He pulled out several pairs of jeans and casual cotton shirts that had once belonged to her employer. “They might not be a perfect fit, but they should do.”

She heaved a sigh of sheer relief at the thought of clean clothes. A small slice of paradise.

“Thank you.”

He reached back into the suitcase to pull out a small plastic container. “I also brought you this.”

“What is it?”

“Something I believe you shall soon have need of.”

Hoping against hope that it was a hot fudge sundae, she took the container and slowly pulled off the lid. Her nose wrinkled at the foul smell that wafted from the green goo that most certainly was not a hot fudge sundae.

“Ugh. This is that vile stuff Selena used to drink.”

“It will give you nourishment.”

She hastily put the container onto a nearby table. “So will a cheeseburger and fries, and without any icky green aftertaste.”

“Abby.” Oddly Dante turned to pace across the large room, his fingers running a restless path through his long raven hair. “There is something you need to know.”

Her blood froze at his raw tone. She might not know jack about vampires, but she did know that tone. It meant trouble. It always meant trouble.

“What?”

Slowly he turned to study her with a somber expression. “When Selena was dying, she touched you.”

Abby reluctantly recalled those horrible moments in Selena’s charred bedroom. It was something she had tried to put from her mind.

She gave a nod of her head. “Yes, I remember. Her fingers were moving, and then she grabbed my arm. It hurt.”

“That was because she transferred her powers to you.”

“Her . . . powers?”

“The spirit of the Phoenix,” he said. “It now resides within you.”

She stumbled backward as she waited for the punch line to the sick joke. There had to be a punch line, didn’t there? Otherwise Dante would be serious. And that would mean she had some horrid creature setting up camp inside her.

Abby clutched her throat with trembling hands. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

“No,” she at last managed to gasp. “You’re lying.”

Easily detecting her distress, Dante moved forward, his hands held out. “Abby, I know this is difficult.”

Abby loosed a hysterical laugh even as she bumped painfully into the paneled wall.

She had thought there was nothing left to shock her. How could it? Nothing could be worse than demons and vampires.

Or so she had thought.

Now she gave a violent shake of her head. “What could you know? You’re not even human.”

Chapter 5

Dante suppressed the urge to growl in frustration.

During his hurried excursion to Selena’s, he had prepared himself for this confrontation. He hadn’t pretended that Abby would do backflips of joy at being the Chalice for the Phoenix. Or thank him for offering the truth.

He knew she would be upset, even hysterical.

But that sudden fear in her eyes as she backed from him was enough to stir his most primal feelings.

Bloody hell, why did he care if she had returned to thinking him a monster? He had endured over three hundred years chained to the Phoenix without giving a damn about Selena as a person. Unless one counted the delicious dreams of draining her dry.

She had been no more than his captor. The tangible source of his smoldering fury.

But Abby . . .

It did matter, he grimly accepted. It mattered too damn much.

Reluctantly he studied the fragile, too-pale features, knowing he would do whatever necessary to ease her distress.

“Please listen to me, Abby,” he murmured.

She gave another shake of her head. “No, just stay away from me.”

Stay away? The irony brought a wry smile to his lips.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. We are now bound together. Neither of us can leave the other. It’s part of the spell.”

Her eyes widened in horror before they abruptly narrowed. “Now I know that you’re lying. You did leave me.”

“I did not go far, and it was with the knowledge that I would soon return to your side,” he said softly, subtly moving forward. “Had I deliberately intended to flee, the pain would have been unbearable. Trust me, I tried enough times over the centuries to be certain.”

She licked her dry lips. “No.”

“Abby, can you tell me honestly that you did not feel my absence? Deep within you?”

The truth was etched upon her pale features even as she shook her head in denial. “This . . . can’t be. I would know if some creature was living inside me.”

“Do you want proof?”

She pressed even tighter to the paneling. “What do you mean?”

Dante slowly held out his hand. “Come.”

Abby paused, staring at his hand for long moments before at last placing her fingers on his own. Dante felt a rush of warmth at her unspoken display of trust. And another rush of warmth at the sensation of her soft skin brushing his own.

Heady stuff for a vampire who had been cold for an eternity.

With a gentle tug, he led her across the room to the large mirror hanging above the marble fireplace. Then, stepping behind her, he placed his hands upon her shoulders.

“Tell me what you see,” he commanded in low tones.

She gave an impatient sound. “I see . . . oh.” She leaned forward to peer into the mirror. “God, you have no reflection.”

Dante rolled his eyes heavenward. “Of course not, I’m a vampire.”

“It’s just so weird.”

“Abby, look at yourself,” he rasped.

“What?” Her brows drew together. “You want me to see I’m a wreck? News flash, I already knew that.”

“Look at your eyes.”

“My eyes? I—” Her words abruptly broke off as she reached with shaking fingers to touch her reflection. And no wonder. The soft brown eyes that had always fascinated him were now a brilliant, sapphire blue. The same blue that had marked Selena. A visible sign of the Phoenix that she could no longer deny. “No. No, no, no.”

She stumbled backward, straight into his arms. Gently Dante turned her about and pressed her head to his chest as he brushed his hand over her curls.

“Easy, love,” he murmured. “It’s going to be okay.”

A violent shiver raced through her body before she pulled back her head to stab him with a tearful glare.

“How? How is it going to be okay? I have some . . . creature inside me.” She gave a sudden gasp. “Oh God, that’s why the demons were trying to kill me, isn’t it?”

His arms tightened about her. He could lie, of course. And for a few minutes she might actually be comforted. But in the end, he knew that she would have to know the truth.

“Yes. They sensed the spirit within you as well as the fact you are vulnerable. They will halt at nothing to regain their Prince.”

A stark terror darkened the brilliance of her newly blue eyes. “I’m going to die.”

“No,” he swore in vicious denial. “I will not allow that to happen.”

“And how long do you suppose we can fight off every demon on earth? Unless you intend for us to hide here for the next fifty billion years?”

Shifting, he placed his fingers beneath her chin and forced her to meet his stern gaze.

“It will not be necessary. With every passing hour, the Phoenix gathers its strength.”

“The Phoenix is gathering strength?” She gave a short, humorless laugh. “Inside me? Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

A hint of tenderness eased his stark expression. “I only mean that it soon will be capable of masking itself so that the demons cannot sense its presence.”

Far from comforted, Abby regarded him warily. “And what else will this thing be doing inside me?”

“I can’t say for certain,” he reluctantly admitted. “Selena did not consider me her confidant. I was merely her chained beast.”

Her head dropped back onto his chest. “My God, what am I going to do?”

He laid his cheek upon the top of her head, readily surrounding himself in her sweet warmth. “I do have a suggestion.”

“What?”

“We must seek out the witches.”

He felt her suck in a shocked gasp. “The witches? You mean the women who put this Phoenix into Selena?”

His features hardened. Even after three centuries, he vividly recalled every moment he endured at the hands of the coven. The black dungeon. The chains that had burned his very flesh. The magic that had leashed him like a neutered dog.

His searing hatred had not eased, but his concern for Abby was even greater. There was no one else who could help her.

“Yes.”

“But”—she pulled back to regard him with a frown—“surely they are dead by now?”

“Their powers are linked to the Phoenix. As long as it lives, so do they.”

“And you think they could help me?”

“Perhaps,” he offered cautiously.

“Then let’s go to them.” She reached up to clutch the lapels of his silk shirt. “Where are they?”

“Actually, I’m not entirely certain.”

“What do you mean?”

“As I said, Selena kept most of her secrets to herself, but I do know that she met the witches on occasion. They must have a coven close by.”

“In Chicago?”

He gave a faint shake of his head, having already considered the possible locations. “Not in the city. They will need a place that is well secluded.”

“Why?”

Dante hesitated. Although he had determined not to hide the truth from Abby, he conceded that there was no need for graphic details. Not when they were only bound to upset her further.

“They perform . . . certain rites that they would not want others to witness.”

Thankfully she was too distracted to consider the nature of the rites. Instead she chewed her bottom lip until Dante shivered with the need to soothe it with a soft kiss.

“Then how can we possibly find them?”

Now it was Dante who was distracted. The scent of her satin skin, the feel of her soft curves, the delicious heat that stirred his passions.

“Leave that to me,” he muttered, his hands slipping down the curve of her spine to rest upon the swell of her hips. “Now, what would you say to a hot bath?”

“A bath?” The frantic urgency faded as a dreamy longing settled upon her face. “I would say that it sounds like heaven.”

Dante silently groaned at the thought of seeing that dreamy expression for an entirely different reason than hot water and soapy bubbles. Reasons such as his hands skimming over that silken skin and tumbling those honey curls while his lips blazed paths that had never been blazed before.

Abruptly he stepped away, not at all accustomed to restraining his passions. The witches might have stolen his lust for hunting humans, but every other lust remained in exquisite working order.

“Come along, lover. You shall have your bath.”

Turning on his heel, Dante moved to a door neatly hidden by the paneling. A press on the hidden lever and the door swung open to reveal a narrow hall. With a glance over his shoulder to ensure that Abby was following, he led her past the various bedrooms to the master bathroom.

With a flick of the switch, muted light filled the room. From behind him he heard a faint gasp, and then Abby was stepping into the center of the room with a dazed expression.

For a moment Dante regarded her in puzzlement, but as she reached out to run a hand over the marble tub that was the size of a small swimming pool, a smile touched his lips. Of course. For one unaccustomed to Viper’s extravagant taste, the perfect replication of a Grecian bath would be somewhat surprising. And perhaps just a tad overwhelming.

“Viper is never subtle,” he murmured, sweeping past her to turn on the faucets that were shaped as goddesses.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yes.”

Pausing to pour a measure of scented bubble bath into the cascading water, Dante turned back toward Abby and then firmly reached out to begin unbuttoning her grimy shirt.

Her eyes widened as he nimbly dealt with the fastenings and stripped the offending garment from her slender form. Without hesitation, he performed a similar duty to her khaki pants and slid them down the length of her legs.

“Dante,” she at last managed to croak, “what are you doing?”

Flowing to his knees, he removed her shoes and pulled away the slacks to toss them into a pile in the corner.

“Preparing you for your bath, my lady,” he murmured, rising to tackle the lacy bra.

Instinctively her hands rose in protest. “You can’t . . .”

His gaze collided with her own as he swept aside her hands and undid the clasp to her bra with one motion.

“Trust me, my love.”

She swallowed heavily, but clearly too weary, or perhaps as caught in the spell-tingling moment as he was, she didn’t protest. Still holding her gaze, he caught her silk panties in his fingers and slowly slid them down before at last lifting her in his arms and carrying her to the waiting bath.

With a careful tenderness, he lowered her into the water and reached for a washcloth that was folded in a pretty seashell.

He was forced to kneel upon the marble floor as he began the slow task of scrubbing her skin clean. Not that he noticed the hardness beneath his knees or the warm steam that was making his silk shirt cling to his body. His every thought was consumed with the sensual delight of touching this woman.

“So soft,” he husked, rubbing the cloth down the length of her arm. “Like warm ivory.”

Leaning back her head, Abby allowed her eyes to drift closed. “That feels wonderful.”

Wonderful. Yes. And wicked. And sinfully tempting.

A slow, simmering hunger woke within Dante as he continued his self-imposed torment. Lying in the tub built for the worship of goddesses, she might have floated down from Mt. Olympus itself with her long, slender limbs and honey curls floating about her fragile face.

Careful to do nothing that might startle her out of her oblivion, he washed her creamy skin and then the honey curls. The warmth of her filled his cold body. Filled him and made his blood run hot as he rinsed the last of the shampoo from her hair.

Barely aware of what he did, Dante softly cradled her face and traced her cheeks with his thumbs. Such delicate beauty, he admired in silent satisfaction. Not the absurd physical beauty that humans held in such high regard and could change at the drop of a hat. Hell, anyone could buy that sort of beauty from a plastic surgeon. But Abby possessed a spiritual beauty that called to him with irresistible force.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his head and stroked his lips over her mouth. For a moment she seemed to stiffen, but even as he prepared to pull back, her lips astonishingly parted in silent invitation.

The capitulation was as soft as a whisper, and yet Dante felt a bolt of pleasure shimmer through his body.

Bloody hell. He had dreamed and ached for this woman for weeks. Months. Now he trembled with the sheer force of keeping himself from devouring her.

His fingers tightened upon her face. He could taste soap upon her lips and smell the heat of her blood. Sweet, forbidden magic raced through him as his kisses deepened with demand.

Beneath him Abby offered a sigh of appreciation as she lifted her damp arms to wrap them about his neck. Dante moaned his approval. He savored the fierce sensations clenching his body. His passions had always run high. He had enjoyed countless women over the centuries. But never had he been stirred with such a relentless force.

It was as if she had awakened a slumbering hunger that would not be satisfied with anything less than absolute possession.

Parting her lips with his tongue, he explored the moist cavern of her mouth. He needed more. Her body pressed beneath him. Her legs wrapped about his waist. Her hips lifting to sheath him deep into her body.

Her fingers clenched in his hair even as his mouth shifted, tracing a path of searing fire over her cheek and down the curve of her neck.

He felt as if he were drowning as he nuzzled the frantic pulse at the base of her throat and moved his hands down to brush over her slender curves. Abby shuddered in response before her fingers were suddenly cupping his face and her body arching upward.

“Dante?” she demanded in soft confusion.

Lost in his heated passions, Dante wanted to ignore her whisper. It would be so easy. Beneath his hands he could feel her shiver with a longing that matched his own. Why shouldn’t he provide the sweet release that lurked so tantalizingly close?

It was the unwanted memory of his own words that made his head slowly lift.

Trust me, he had commanded as he had prepared her for her bath.

Damn. He had urged her to put aside her natural caution and place herself in his hands. Perhaps the most difficult thing for a woman such as Abby to do. Whatever his desire for her, he could not risk any belated sense of betrayal. Both their lives depended upon her faith in him.

Grimly lifting himself upright, Dante gathered Abby carefully in his arms and wrapped her in a warm towel. “Come, it’s time you were safely tucked into bed.”

For a moment she stiffened, as if embarrassed by her blatant reaction to his touch. Then with a rueful sigh she allowed her head to drop onto his shoulder.

“I’m so tired,” she muttered.

“I know, my sweet. We will rest here today.”

He dropped an absent kiss on the top of her head as he moved through the door that connected directly with the master bedroom. Despite the fact that morning had long ago arrived, not even a stray hint of light marred the perfect darkness. Still he had no difficulty in finding his way across the lush carpeting to the bed. Sweeping aside the blankets, he laid Abby onto the satin sheets and pulled the duvet over her.

About to pull away, he was caught off guard when she abruptly reached out to grasp his hand.

“Dante?”

“Yes?”

“We will be safe here?”

“Nothing will harm you here.”

“And”—there was a pause as if she battled something within herself—“you will be near?”

A small smile touched his lips. He knew this woman would rather have a root canal, a bad perm, and cellulite rather than confess her vulnerability.

“I’ll be right at your side, lover,” he promised as he gracefully moved to lie on the bed and take her into his arms. Covering them both with the duvet, he allowed her warmth to cloak about him. “For all eternity.”

The once-proud Victorian church with its stained-glass windows and walnut pews had long since fallen into ruin. With the closing of the paper mill, the small town that had been called to worship had abandoned hope and faith and at last migrated to richer pastures. Even the attached graveyard was now only a shell of tumbled crypts and tenacious weeds.

Beneath the remains of stone and forgotten corpses, however, the vast catacombs were kept with meticulous care.

Not a rat would dare enter the maze of tunnels or stone chambers that had been polished as smooth as marble over the ages. No spiderweb would disturb the stark simplicity.

Hardly what one might expect from a demon’s dark temple. But then Rafael, the master of the cult, was not a usual demon.

In truth, he wasn’t a demon at all.

A tall sparse man with gaunt features, he had once been as drearily mortal as any other. But he had given his humanity and soul to the Dark Prince centuries before.

In reward for his cold cruelty, and perchance for evil, he had quickly risen through the ranks into a position of power. A power that had become all but impotent since the arrival of the witches and their damnable Phoenix.

Pacing through his shadowed chamber, Rafael absently stroked his thin fingers over the heavy silver pendant that hung about his neck.

So much depended upon him.

Upon his actions tonight.

He could not fail.

Hearing the sound of the approaching footsteps that he had been awaiting, Rafael smoothed his features to a cold mask of invincibility. Now, more than ever, he needed to use the lethal reputation he had earned over the long years.

There was a tentative knock. Calling the visitor to enter, Rafael carefully surveyed the young apprentice.

He was standing as still and forbidding as granite as he watched the apprentice close the door and move toward the center of the room. The younger man did not yet have the shaved head of a convert. Such an honor would not be allowed unless he survived the trials. Many came to worship the Prince, but few survived.

His shrewd gaze easily pierced the modest demeanor of the younger man, discerning the sharpness to the countenance and the cunning in the pale eyes.

Oh yes, he would do quite well, he decided with an inward smile.

Clearly unnerved by the relentless gaze, the apprentice nervously shifted. “You summoned me, Master Rafael?”

“Yes, Apprentice Amil. Please, have a seat.” Rafael waited until the student had moved to perch upon the uncomfortable wooden chair, then he slowly moved to stand before his guest. “You are comfortable?”

Amil shifted with a faint frown. “Yes, thank you.”

“Be at ease, my son,” Rafael drawled, folding his hands within the arms of his robe. “Despite persistent rumors among the brothers, I do not usually eat acolytes for dinner. Not even those who have dared to practice the dark arts forbidden even to us.”

There was a moment of shock before the young man was abruptly sliding out of the chair and landing upon his knees.

“Master, forgive me,” he begged in unsteady tones. “It was mere curiosity. I did not intend harm.”

Rafael grimaced as the fool threatened to wrinkle the hem of his robes. It had been more fortune than skill that had led him to discover the overly ambitious apprentice slipping from the tower to recite the black spells. His first instinct had been to rip out his throat. Not only would it have been a fitting punishment, but it would have provided him a great deal of pleasure.

But in the end he had hesitated. A man in his powerful position was always in need of faithful servants. And no servant was more faithful than one who knew he was a breath away from death.

“Oh, do get up, worm.”

Shakily the man forced himself to regain his seat, warily regarding Rafael.

“Am I to be killed?”

“That is the penalty.”

“Of course, master,” the man obediently agreed, although his sincerity was open to question.

“Dark magics are not a toy. They are dangerous to you and to those about you. You endangered us all with your stupidity and risked exposing our temple.”

“Yes, master.”

Rafael’s thin lips hardened. “But you are ambitious, eh, Amil? You desire to wield the power that beckons just out of reach?”

The pale gaze covertly flicked toward Rafael’s potent medallion, before recalling he was on the knife’s edge of becoming dinner. Or worse.

“Only if the Prince wills it so.”

“I sense your talent. It runs deep within you. A pity it shall be wasted before it can ever bloom to its full potential.”

“Please, master. I have learned my lesson. I shall not stray again.”

Rafael slowly lifted his brows. “And you believe I should trust your empty promise? You who have already displayed an inbred treachery?”

Perhaps sensing a glimmer of hope, Amil leaned forward, his thin features flushed. “All I ask is a second opportunity. I’ll do whatever you ask of me.”

“Whatever? A rather rash promise.”

“I don’t care. Just tell me what I must do.”

Rafael pretended to consider the plea. He had, of course, known that the pathetic apprentice would sell his soul. He had depended upon it. In some ways the youth reminded him of himself with his burning thirst for knowledge. But unlike this fool, he had possessed the wits to keep his secret studies well hidden. And the wisdom never to place himself in the power of another.

“Perhaps I could consider being lenient upon this one occasion,” he slowly drawled. “With one condition.”

“Bless you, master,” Amil breathed. “Bless you.”

“I do not believe you will be so grateful when you discover my condition.”

“What do you desire of me?”

With measured steps, Rafael moved to take his seat behind the massive desk. He templed his fingers beneath his chin and regarded his guest with a piercing gaze. The next few moments would decide his fate.

If he was to be acclaimed as the savior of the Prince of Demons or as an arrogant failure. He could not afford a mistake.

“First I desire that you tell me what you know of the Phoenix.”

Caught off guard, Amil blinked in surprise. “I . . . what all creatures of the dark know, I suppose. Nearly three hundred years ago, powerful witches gathered together to call for the spirit of the Phoenix and placed it within a human body. The presence of the vile beast has kept the Prince banished from this world and made his minions impotent.”

“I am not impotent,” Rafael snapped in annoyance.

“I do not understand.” Amil regarded the older wizard with a wary frown. “Why do we speak of the Phoenix?”

“Because it keeps us from our true master.”

The younger man shrugged. “He has been lost to us. What can we do?”

Rafael barely restrained his flare of fury.

Fools. The lot of them. While he had toiled and sacrificed to return his dark lord, the others had allowed despair to overwhelm them. No longer were they proud beasts who inspired fear and loathing among mortals. Instead they scuttled in the shadows like rabid animals.

They disgusted him.

“No, my son. The Prince has not entirely been lost to the world.”

“What are you saying?”

“The vessel has been destroyed. The witches no longer have control of the Phoenix.”

The pale eyes widened in shock. “It’s a miracle.”

“Indeed.”

The apprentice gripped the arms of his chair. “The Prince will soon be freed.”

“No.” Rafael’s voice was harsh. “The vessel placed the spirit in the body of another mortal. The Phoenix yet lives, but it is weakened and vulnerable.”

“It must be destroyed. And swiftly.”

Rafael’s expression hardened to grim lines, his thin fingers moving to stroke the heavy pendant about his neck.

“Certainly it must be destroyed.”

“And what do you want of me?”

“I want you to bring the vessel to me. Alive.”

The apprentice narrowed his gaze in a calculating manner. “Forgive me, master, but wouldn’t it be best to call out the minions to crush the Phoenix before it can regain its strength?”

Rafael twisted his lips wryly. Like most who craved power, Amil was far too ready to resort to violence when cunning was needed.

“Certainly a simpler, if more bloodthirsty, solution,” he agreed. “But consider, my son. It will be a great honor for the one who offers up the Phoenix to the master. And I intend for that glory to be mine.”

Amil considered for a moment before giving a nod of his head. “Of course. A clever scheme. But, why me? Why do you not do this grave task yourself?”

“Because someone must ensure that the witches do not interfere. I am the only one with the power to challenge them.” He shrugged. “And, of course, you have tampered with forces that will assist you in discovering where the woman is hiding.”

There was a long pause before Amil folded his hands over his chest, a faint smile upon his lips.

“This is a dangerous thing you ask of me, master. The vampire is certain to be protecting the vessel. I risk more than just my life.”

Rafael struggled to hide his disdain for the man who would barter for power rather than earn it. Unfortunately, he possessed no other servants willing to call upon powers forbidden by even the Prince.

Sacrifices must be made, he reluctantly acknowledged.

Even if it meant being in league with such a pathetic fool.

“So you wish to know your reward?” he demanded in cold tones.

“I am a practical man.”

Sacrifices.

Rafael grimly maintained his composure. “I shall personally take charge of your training. You wish to earn your medallion before all others? I can give you that.”

The smile widened. “And a share of the Prince’s gratitude?”

Rafael briefly glanced down at his hands, imagining them around the greedy Amil’s neck. Then he gave a small shake of his head.

The future was poised upon the night ahead. He had to do whatever was necessary to ensure the return of his master.

“So be it.”

The younger man rose to his feet, satisfaction engraved upon the narrow features.

“Then we have a bargain.”

Rafael also rose, his own countenance as hard and dark as the stone walls.

“Amil, do not fail me. You have already faced death. If I discover you were unable to complete this task I set for you, then death will be the least of your worries. Do you understand?”

The apprentice possessed the sense to pale at the threat. “Yes.”

Rafael waved an impatient hand. “Then go. You have much to do before the sun sets and the vampire is at his full strength.”

Amil slipped from the room, and Rafael turned to pace toward the fire that burned in the center of the floor.

The Dark Prince would soon be returned to his place of glory.

And he would be leading the way.

“Soon, my lord,” he whispered.

Chapter 6

It was some hours later when Abby stirred from her deep, thankfully dreamless sleep. Lifting her heavy lids, she was at first befuddled by the feel of satin sheets brushing her skin and the shadows that filled the vast room.

She was not the sort of girl who woke up in strange rooms. Certainly not those with satin sheets and an echo that could rival St. Paul’s Cathedral.

Still, it was better than the lumpy mattress and foul stench that had greeted her last time she awoke, she wryly told herself. And with the added benefit of a pair of delicious male arms wrapped about her.

Not a bad way to awaken.

At least it wouldn’t be if those rotten memories of demons, witches, and being invaded by a powerful spirit didn’t come crashing back.

Grimacing, Abby rolled onto her side to study the man who slept next to her.

No, not man, she fiercely reminded herself. Vampire.

Studying the wickedly perfect features in the dim light, it seemed impossible that she hadn’t guessed the truth before. He was every woman’s fantasy. Life had taught her that there had to be a catch somewhere.

Her lips twitched. All women knew that the sort of men who could steal a woman’s heart with a glance had to be either gay, psychotic, or married. Now she supposed she would have to add vampire to the list.

Barely aware of what she did, Abby silently lifted the duvet to reveal the lean, muscular form. Although the jeans rather disappointingly remained, he had removed his silk shirt to reveal a chest that was just as lethally beautiful as she had imagined in her heated dreams. It was broad and smooth with enough chiseled muscles to satisfy the most demanding woman. Lordy, it virtually begged to be stroked.

And thankfully there were no odd bumps or scales that plagued other demons. Not even a tattoo marred the alabaster skin.

“Good morning, lover,” a husky voice abruptly intruded into the silence.

Jerking her head up, Abby took in the slit of silver glittering beneath the heavy black lashes.

Well, this was embarrassing.

It was one thing to walk about with toilet paper stuck to her shoe. Or have lipstick on her teeth. Or even to destroy a priceless Ming vase.

But to be caught openly leering at a half-naked man while he slept . . .

It was downright lewd.

She abruptly dropped the duvet as if it might scorch her fingers.

“I . . . didn’t realize that you were awake,” she managed to croak.

“I may be dead, but not even I can sleep while a beautiful woman ogles me.” His lips curved in a sardonic smile. “Tell me, sweet, what were you searching for? A horn and tail?”

The very fact that she had possessed a furtive need to assure herself he didn’t have any peculiar oddities made her instantly defensive.

“No, of course not.”

“Ah, then you were planning to take advantage of me while I slept, eh? Twisted, but I like it.”

“No . . . I . . .” She wrinkled her nose, accepting that she had been well and truly caught. What was left but to admit the truth? “I suppose I was curious. You seem so . . . normal.”

He stiffened at her reluctant confession. “You mean human?”

“Yes.”

“Are you disappointed or relieved?”

She gave a faint shrug. “After Halford and the hellhounds, I’ll have to admit to some relief.”

Without warning, she discovered herself rolled onto her back with Dante looming above her, his hands planted on either side of her head.

“Perhaps I don’t possess three eyes or have acid dripping from my fangs,” he said, his beautiful features unexpectedly somber, “but you should never make the mistake of pretending that I’m human. I am a vampire, Abby, not a man.”

Her heart stuttered as she stared at the dangerous warrior poised above her. Suddenly he did appear far from human. He was coiled, elegant death that held her life in his hands.

“What are you saying?” she whispered. “That I can’t trust you?”

The raven brows snapped together. “Of course you can trust me. I will die before I ever allow anything to harm you.”

“Then what?”

“I just don’t want you to try and pretend that I’m something that I’m not.” His metallic gaze pierced deep into her eyes. “It will only prove painful to both of us.”

Pretend that he was not a vampire? Holy hell, what was he babbling about? She might pretend that eating a hot fudge sundae was a balanced meal as long as it had peanuts and whipped cream on top. Or that Johnny Depp was her true soul mate if only he would take the time to get to know her.

But the fact that this man was not a vampire?

Ha.

Oddly, however, as she opened her mouth to inform him that he was off his rocker, she abruptly hesitated.

Rats. Could she honestly say that she hadn’t at times during the past few hours attempted to forget the truth of Dante? Times such as during his tender seduction in the bathtub? And when she had clung to him in the dark as if he were her guardian angel?

It was certainly her stock and trade to ignore what she didn’t want to see.

Lowering her lashes, she battled a ridiculous urge to blush. “We should be getting up.”

“Abby, please don’t shut me out,” he said, his voice softening to a dark, pleasant rasp that feathered down her spine. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. It’s just . . .”

Against her will, her eyes lifted to clash with his silver gaze. “Just what?”

“I want you to know me for who and what I am, not as some sugar-and-spice image of what you wish I could be.”

“I saw you fight that demon, Dante. I know what you are.”

Surprisingly he grimaced in the dusky shadows. “No, you don’t, but you will before all this is said and done. And that’s what I fear.”

Suddenly Abby understood. This was about more than just her uncertain opinion of vampires. It was about faith. Trust. In him.

“We both know I would already be dead if you were a human. I’d be a hypocrite to wish you to be anything but what you are,” she admitted, a reluctant smile touching her lips. “Besides, my record with men of the human species doesn’t precisely make me anxious to be saddled with one for an eternity.”

His features thankfully softened at her rueful confession. “No knights in shining armor?”

“Knights? More like mooks.”

“Mooks?”

“Well, my last boyfriend dumped me for our mailman, and I do mean mailman, and the one before him stuck around just long enough to steal my ATM code so he could clear out my savings account.”

“Worthless vermin.” He narrowed his gaze.

“Unbelievably they were an improvement to my first boyfriend, who thought the best way to end an argument was with his fists.”

There was a stark silence as he studied her face. “He hit you?”

“Only once. I at least learn from my stupidity.”

“Do you want me to kill him?”

Abby blinked, not at all certain he was teasing. “Ah . . . well . . . a tempting offer, of course, but I suppose I should pass.”

He shrugged. “It’s an open-ended offer if you change your mind.”

“Actually, I prefer to simply forget they ever existed,” she assured him.

“A solution of sorts.” His gaze swept down to the fullness of her lips before lifting. “But do you think it wise?”

Abby frowned. Surely to God she was not about to receive dating advice from a half-naked vampire who just happened to be perched on top of her?

A deliciously sexy half-naked vampire.

“I would say it’s at least wiser than having them eaten,” she forced herself to mutter.

“I only wonder if you truly have learned from your mistakes,” he said.

“I’ve learned that I have rotten judgment when it comes to men.”

“Or you seek out those who are destined to disappoint you so that you needn’t worry about an emotional attachment.”

“Oh God, please don’t turn Dr. Phil on me,” she grumped, not at all in the mood to consider he might be right. “The last thing I need is to be psychoanalyzed by a vampire.”

He arched a raven brow. “It is the fact that I am a vampire that gives me some insight. You don’t live among humans for four centuries without learning something of their peculiar habits.”

“Well, you don’t know anything about me.”

“No?” His lips curled in a faint smile. “I know that you hate onions and tuna fish, that you consume your weight in chocolate every day without ever gaining a pound, and that you need a recipe to boil water. I know that you pretend to enjoy classical music but change the radio station to punk rock when you think no one is around. I also know that you hide yourself from the world and that you’re lonely. You have always been lonely.”

Abby dutifully tried to breathe. Unfortunately her lungs refused to cooperate.

Damn him. It was one thing for her to have spent the past three months watching him with covert fascination. After all, she had discovered nothing more intimate than the fact that he was shamefully gorgeous and possessed a haunting skill upon the piano. To think that he had seen so easily through her carefully erected barriers was more than a little unnerving.

“Fine,” she muttered. “I have intimacy issues. Yadda, yadda. Now, can we get up?”

His smile only widened. “There is no hurry. The sun is just now setting.”

“Well, you could use a bit of sun,” she informed him dryly. “You are very pale.”

“You would see me a pile of ashes, eh?” The silver eyes smoldered with a sudden fire. “And how would I protect you if—”

Mesmerized by his dark honey voice and the promise that softened his features, Abby very nearly missed the shadow that slowly rose up behind the raven head. But when it shifted and neared, her eyes widened and a scream ripped from her throat.

“No!”

Distracted by the sharp lust that so readily consumed him when this woman was near, Dante was unprepared when Abby’s scream ripped through the air and she shoved herself upright.

Tossed onto his back, it took a moment to struggle with the blankets wrapped about him. A moment too long as Abby surged from the mattress and attacked the looming form.

“Abby, no,” he commanded, flowing upright in a belated attempt to halt her impetuous assault.

He caught no more than a glimpse of a human male before she was shoving the intruder away from the bed and they both tumbled onto the floor. In a heartbeat, or what would be a heartbeat if he were anything but a vampire, Dante was lifting Abby away and crouching beside the unmoving body.

“Hold, lover, he is dead,” he murmured, his gaze swiftly taking in the rotting black suit and gaunt hand that still clutched a wooden stake. A vampire assassin. “For the second time, if I don’t miss my guess.”

Holding on to her towel with the grip of death, Abby regarded the still form with revulsion. Not much of a surprise. Being attacked by a decomposing corpse tended to be a once-in-a-lifetime event.

“My God, what is it?”

“An abomination.”

“What?”

“A zombie.” His voice was edged with disgust. Even among the demon world, the use of such magics was condemned. To disturb the realm of the underworld was sacrilege. “A dead shell animated by powerful magic. More magic than most demons possess. It isn’t alive or dead, which explains why I didn’t sense it and how it managed to slip through Viper’s spell of protection.”

“Zombies.” Abby gave a short, near-hysterical laugh. “Great. Just great. Now all we need are a few mummies and a werewolf to complete our official Hoyle deck of monsters.”

Dante reached out to touch the cold body that had spilled face-first on the carpet. “Abby, I need you to tell me what happened.”

“What do you mean?”

“After you saw the zombie, what did you do?”

He sensed her shift uneasily at his probing. “You were here. You know what happened.”

Dante lifted his head to meet her bewildered frown. She was still in shock from the unexpected violence, but at the moment he couldn’t comfort her as he desired. It was imperative that he discover all he could of this latest threat.

“Please, Abby, tell me exactly what you did.”

“What does it matter?” She gave a shiver. “It’s dead, isn’t it?”

“As dead as Elvis on this occasion. The question is why he is dead.”

“Well, it might have something to do with that gaping hole in his head.”

“No, that killed him the first time. When he entered the room, he was animated by magic, not a heartbeat. Nothing could have killed him but fire, preferably of the mystic variety.”

“Fire?” She gave a shake of her head. “All I did was push him.”

Rolling over the body, Dante jerked open the formal white shirt the poor soul had been buried in. In the shadowed light, the decay of the chest was hardly visible, but there was no mistaking the deep burns that were in the perfect shape of two hands.

Abby’s hands.

“That was quite a push, lover,” he murmured.

She made a sound deep in her throat as she hastily backed away in horror. “Are you saying that I did that?”

The tight distress in her voice had Dante uncoiling to move directly before her, conveniently blocking out the nasty sight of the corpse.

“I’m saying that you saved me,” he informed her sternly. “If you hadn’t stopped Undead Walking there, I would be showered over you in a very unflattering shade of ash.”

“But how?” she whispered. “How could I do something like that?”

His hands moved to her shoulders to stroke them in a soothing motion. “I did tell you that the Phoenix would find ways to protect itself. There’s nothing to be frightened of, Abby.”

The brilliant blue eyes flashed with a barely suppressed emotion. “I just burned huge holes in that . . . thing without even knowing what I was doing.”

“You were protecting yourself. And thankfully me in the bargain.”

She lifted her hands to stare at them as if they were foreign objects. “But I don’t even know how I did it.”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters,” she retorted in sharp tones. “I’ve seen Firestarter. Do you think I want to be some freaking human torch?”

Dante was swift to smother his flare of humor at her fears. For all her courage, Abby was hanging by a thin thread.

“Lover, calm down. You aren’t a human torch.” Gently he reached for one of her hands and placed it to the center of his chest. Sharp, smoldering heat flared through him at her touch, but it had nothing to do with the power of the Phoenix. “See?”

“But . . .”

“Abby.” He rested his forehead upon her own, squeezing her fingers in silent comfort. “It’s no different than your ability to stop a man with a wellaimed kick or using those nails as lethal weapons. It’s just another tool. One that might very well keep you alive.”

She remained stiff in his arms for a long moment, and then at last she gave a tearful chuckle. “Is there anything that ever bothers you?”

Pulling back, Dante traced the lone tear that ran down her cheek. “This bothers me. It makes me ache deep inside.”

“Dante.”

The vulnerability that softened her features was Dante’s undoing. Before he could resist, his head was lowering to capture her lips in a soft kiss that shimmered through his very bones.

Slowly he tightened his arms about her shaking body, needing to comfort her in the only means possible. Bloody hell, he wanted to sweep her away from this devil-infested mess. An impossible desire, of course. Until they found the witches, all he could do was try to protect her and hope that she could endure the terrors yet to come.

Stroking his lips over her cheeks and down the length of her jaw, he patiently whispered words of encouragement until he sensed her trembling lessen.

“Abby, my love,” he at last murmured, pulling back to meet her shadowed gaze. “We can no longer remain here. I think we should gather our things and prepare to leave. We don’t know how many other zombies might be lurking about.”

Although pale, Abby had once again regained her staunch courage. Wrapping her arms about her waist, she gave a determined lift of her chin.

“Where will we go?”

“To find the coven,” he retorted without hesitation. “Which means I shall first have to speak with Viper.”

Her brows rose in surprise. “He knows where the coven is?”

His lips twitched. “No. But he does possess what we need to find them.”

“And what’s that?”

“Transportation.”

Chapter 7

It took Abby less than a quarter of an hour to slip on the clothes that Dante had brought for her and tie back her hair in a simple braid. Not surprising, really. There was nothing like a twice-dead body lying on the floor to kick a woman into turbo speed.

Not only was it disgusting, but the smell was certain to become ripe before long. Something she wasn’t particularly anxious to experience.

Careful to avoid glancing in the mirror at the reflection that was no longer her own, she swiftly brushed her teeth and returned to the outer room where Dante awaited her.

A rueful flare of amusement rushed through her at the sight of him beside the door. While she looked as if she had spent the past two days rolling in alleys, being hunted by demons, and attacked by zombies, he was Versace perfect.

The raven hair was brushed from his lean, alabaster face to flow down his back. The black silk shirt was without a wrinkle as it shimmered over his chiseled torso, and a pair of black leather pants hugged his legs with oh-my-God results.

Even the wicked features were without fault. There were no shadows, no hint of weariness. Not even a five o’clock shadow.

It was damn well unfair, she decided as she continued forward. He could at least have bed head or a bit of sleep crusted in those magnificent eyes.

Oblivious to her ridiculous thoughts, Dante offered her an encouraging smile. “Are you ready?”

“Only in the proverbial ‘as ready as I’ll ever be’ sense,” she admitted wryly.

His pirate smile widened. “Good enough for now, I suppose. Let’s go.”

Together they left the apartment, moving down the hall to the elaborate lobby. Instead of heading toward the door, however, Dante led her toward the curved marble staircase. In silence they climbed to the top floor and toward the back of the building. Only when they stood before a pair of carved mahogany doors did Dante come to a halt.

She was trailing so closely behind him that she nearly ran into him when he abruptly turned to regard her with a frown.

“Look, Abby, I can’t leave you on your own, not when we can’t be certain it’s safe.”

Abby gave a lift of her brows. “Do you think I’m going to argue? After the past few hours, I plan to stick to you like glue.”

“A very nice visualization. One I intend to ponder at length later, lover. Still . . .”

“What?”

His lips thinned. “This isn’t the place for innocents.”

Abby rolled her eyes heavenward. Were all vampires demented? She hadn’t been innocent since the day she left the cradle.

“I’m not a child, Dante,” she retorted darkly. “I don’t think I was ever a child. I’ve seen more evil in my life than most people can even dream of.”

His expression softened as he reached out to brush his fingers over her cheek.

“I know that, lover. It doesn’t mean that in your heart you’re not still pure. Unfortunately at this point, we don’t have much choice. Just . . . stay close.”

Wondering what new horrors could possibly be beyond the door, Abby gave a slow nod as she stepped next to him and wrapped her arms tightly about his waist.

“You’ll have to use a cattle prod to get me off.”

Dante gave a low moan as he briefly closed his eyes. “Bloody hell.”

Abby frowned at his odd behavior. “Is something the matter?”

“If I weren’t already dead, you’d have me in the grave, lover,” he muttered; then, reaching out, he wrenched open the door. “Let’s do this.”

She might have puzzled on his odd words if he hadn’t swept her over the threshold and into a shadowed room that pulsed with the sound of Eastern music.

A sheik’s harem, she realized as she glanced about the circular chamber that was draped in flimsy gauze and spangled silk. About the floor were tossed dozens of large pillows, several of them occupied by a variety of men and women who breathed deeply of the opium smoke coming from the brass braziers.

It was the corners, however, that drew her attention.

Although it was dark, there was no mistaking the writhing forms and loud groans that echoed through the shadows. She may have never attended an orgy, but she certainly recognized one when she stumbled across it.

Feeling her stomach twist with disgust, she clung even tighter to Dante. She had thought that nothing could bother her—well, at least nothing of the human variety—but there was a dark, hungry decadence in the room that made her skin crawl.

It was the hopeless desperation, she decided. That familiar sickness of the spirit that she had battled for longer than she wanted to consider.

Putting an arm about her shoulder, Dante did his best to block her view as he firmly led her toward an alcove at the side of the room.

“Viper will be in the back,” he muttered. “That’s where the—”

Whatever the might entail was sharply choked off by a sudden shriek that split the air, and Dante was pried away from Abby by a clearly furious woman.

Stunned by the unexpected attack, Abby stumbled backward, watching in amazement as the assailant gripped Dante by the neck and lifted him off his feet to pin him to the wall with astonishing ease.

A vampire, she swiftly recognized. Not only would a mortal woman be incapable of tossing a grown man about with such ease, but she possessed that alien beauty that marked her as something more than human.

Far more than human, Abby acknowledged as Dante held out a hand to keep her from approaching.

As tall as Dante, the female vampire possessed a willowy body barely covered by a token sheath of gauze and hair past her waist that contained the rare shade of a golden sunrise. Her face was thin, almost feline with smoldering green eyes and lush lips that could fulfill any man’s fantasy.

And she was clearly in a PMS mood.

Not struggling, Dante nevertheless regarded his captor with a wary gaze.

“Sasha.”

“Dante. Now this is a delicious surprise,” the woman purred. “You can’t imagine how many days I have dreamed of just this moment.”

Abby stiffened at the unmistakable tone. Hell, she wasn’t attacking Dante because he was protecting the Phoenix.

She was his ex.

A startling flare of something that might have been jealousy raced through Abby as she folded her arms over her chest. This was the sort of woman he desired? Gorgeous, powerful, and immortal?

The . . . toad.

“An old friend of yours?” Abby demanded.

“Something like that,” Dante conceded, his lips twisting in wry humor. “Now, Sasha, this isn’t the time for one of our petty spats.”

“Petty?” The woman narrowed her gaze to dangerous slits. “You locked me in a cellar.”

“Obviously you managed to escape. No harm done.”

Sasha gave a low growl. “I was there for three weeks. I had to eat rats.”

“I hear they’re very nutritious.” Dante grunted as the fingers tightened on his throat. “Dammit, Sasha, I wouldn’t have locked you in that bloody cellar if you hadn’t tried to stake me.”

“You know I would never have done it. I was only playing.”

“Playing?”

“You used to like our little games. Remember how you enjoyed being chained to the—”

“Chains are one thing, Sasha, but a stake is quite another,” Dante hastily interrupted. “I didn’t particularly care to stick around and discover where you intended to put it. Call me crazy.”

Sasha gave a loud sniff. “It was still rude.”

“You have my deepest apologies,” Dante muttered. “As well as my solemn promise never to lock you in a cellar again.”

There was a long pause before Sasha’s features softened to a seductive pout, and she lowered Dante to the floor.

“I suppose I could be convinced to forgive you.”

“You are nothing less than a saint.”

Allowing the hand that had been choking Dante to smooth its way down his chest, the vampire leaned forward until she was pressed intimately against him.

“Now, do we kiss and make up?”

Abby discovered her fists clenching as the woman rubbed against Dante like a cat in heat. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to smack Dante or Sasha the Slut. But she most certainly wanted to smack someone.

“Actually, I’m in rather a hurry. I need to speak with Viper.”

The pout became more pronounced. “Always running off. And always with some worthless human,” she accused, her cat eyes shifting toward the silent Abby. “Or is this dinner?”

With a smooth motion, Dante was moving to Abby’s side, his expression stark with warning.

“She’s not on the menu.”

“Predictable.” Sasha’s voice was pure venom. “You really should spend more time with your own kind, Dante. These creatures make you weak.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

With an angry sniff, Sasha turned to stalk away, her ivory curves perfectly visible beneath the thin gauze.

Alone with Dante, Abby shot him a disgruntled frown. “Charming.”

“Sasha’s a bit . . . emotional,” he ruefully conceded.

“More than a bit if she tried to kill you.”

He shrugged. “Every relationship has its share of danger. You admitted that yourself.”

“Not death by wooden stake,” she muttered, still battling the lingering sense of resentment at the thought of Dante being intimate with the beautiful vampire. “The woman was clearly demented.”

A raven brow arched as Dante allowed his gaze to sweep over her stiff features.

“As I recall, you’ve threatened to stake me more than once.”

“Yes, but that was different.”

“How?”

“Because it was.”

“Ah.” Dante’s lips twitched with a flare of wicked amusement. “I think I know what has you in such a twit. You’re jealous.”

She slapped her hands on her hips. Well, duh. Of course she was jealous. Sasha might be dead, but she was still disgustingly beautiful and drenched with the smoldering passion that made men drool.

More importantly, she had managed to ensnare Dante with her seductive skills. Or perhaps it was the chains, a nasty voice whispered in the back of her mind.

In any event, she had possessed what Abby had lusted after for months.

Of course she was damn well jealous.

Not that she was about to admit as much. She did have her pride. For whatever that was worth.

“Get over yourself, Dante. My only concern is knowing how many other ex-girlfriends might leap out of the woodwork. Things are bad enough without vindictive women stalking you.”

He reached up to trace her lips with the tip of his finger. “You’re a terrible liar, lover.”

She instinctively stepped from the distracting touch. “Didn’t we come here to find Viper?”

“Someday soon, Abby, we’re going to have a long conversation. It should be quite interesting,” he said softly. “Until then, you’re right, we should be finding Viper and getting the hell out of here.”

Despite a rather childish desire to linger and enjoy the sight of Abby’s unmistakable fit of jealousy, Dante firmly took her arm to lead her toward the back of the room. Not only was this no place for an innocent, but he also possessed more than one disgruntled former lover, not to mention the numerous demons who harbored the annoying opinion that he owed them money.

The sooner he could get the keys to Viper’s car, the better.

Stepping into a shadowed alcove, Dante paused to glance into the long hallway beyond. He was thankful that most of the doors were closed and that none of the perverse pleasures that Viper offered his customers could be readily detected. He was even more thankful to discover Viper leaning casually against the wall.

At least he wouldn’t have to drag Abby through the lowest dregs of debauchery.

“There he is,” he murmured, turning to place his hands on Abby’s shoulders. “Wait right here. I’ll only be a minute.”

Her eyes widened as she glanced uneasily over her shoulder. “What if one of your friends gets hungry?”

“I will kill them,” he promised with stark sincerity. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Her gaze returned to meet his determined expression before she gave a slow nod. “Okay, but hurry.”

“I will.” Brushing his lips over her forehead, Dante turned and made his way toward his friend. Stopping at Viper’s side, he waited until the vampire turned to regard him with a lift of his brow. “Viper, a moment please.”

Flicking a glance toward the waiting Abby, Viper pushed away from the wall and folded his arms over his chest.

“I wish you would make up your mind, Dante. First you insist that your beauty be protected from my wicked clientele, and now you parade her about like a tempting fruit. Unless you desire a riot, I would suggest you take her out of here.”

“Things have changed,” Dante retorted, swiftly revealing the latest attack upon Abby in clipped tones.

A growing frown marred Viper’s brow as he listened in silence. When Dante at last finished, he breathed out a furious curse. “Who would dare loosen such a creature?”

“A reckless fool.”

“A human, no doubt,” Viper gritted, never one to hide his disdain for mortals.

Dante shrugged. For the moment he didn’t have the luxury of time to ponder who might be behind the attack.

“Perhaps. At the moment my only concern is keeping Abby safe.”

Viper narrowed his gaze. “A worthy task; however, I hope that you have a miracle or two tucked up your sleeve, Dante. At the moment your companion is the Holy Grail for every creature in the underworld.”

A miracle? Dante smiled wryly. The closest to a miracle he had was the fact that Abby was still alive and he hadn’t yet ended up on the wrong end of a stake.

“No miracles, but I do have a plan,” he reluctantly confessed.

“One that includes disappearing for the next few centuries, I hope.”

“I’m taking her to the witches.”

A sharp, disbelieving silence descended before Viper was abruptly grasping Dante’s arm and pulling him into the darkest shadows of the hallway.

“Have you completely lost your mind?” his friend growled with a smoldering fury. “The last time you encountered those bitches they leashed you like a dog. This time they might very well kill you.”

Dante shoved his hands into his pockets. Hellfire, he wasn’t an idiot. Or at least not a complete idiot. He was fully aware that if it suited the witches, he could be back in shackles, if not worse.

“I have no choice,” he said stiffly.

“Why?”

“They are the only ones who can remove the Phoenix from Abby.”

Viper appeared far from impressed by his perfectly reasonable explanation. Instead he stared at Dante as if he were considering a straitjacket.

“Now I know you’re mad,” he seethed. “Why would you allow yourself to be bound to another? This woman at least cares for you.”

Dante grimly closed his mind to temptation. He wasn’t by nature noble. Or self-sacrificing. He took what he desired and to hell with morals.

But somehow the rules had changed. Abby had seen to that.

“It isn’t her burden.”

“It’s not yours either,” Viper countered with lethal softness. “Not by choice.”

Slowly Dante turned his head to the slender form hovering anxiously by the door. His lips twisted in a wry smile.

“It is now.”

“You will risk everything for this woman?”

“Everything,” Dante admitted in low tones.

There was a short silence before Viper heaved a resigned sigh. “Madness. What can I do to help?”

Dante turned back with a determined expression. “For now all I need are your keys.”

Chapter 8

Hours later, Dante continued his hunt through the silent fringes of the city. At his side, Abby sat in rare silence as she reluctantly swallowed the herbs he had insisted she drink.

Too silent, he realized as he glanced toward the delicate profile that was tinted silver by the moonlight.

Although Abby was always careful to keep others at a distance, it was unlike her to withdraw so completely. If nothing else, she should be complaining of their futile search for some hint of the witches. Or chastising him for possessing lethal ex-lovers. Or at least telling him how he should be driving.

Instead she slouched in her seat, drinking her herbs and . . .

Dante’s frown abruptly deepened. Was she humming?

Devil’s blood. There was something definitely wrong with the woman.

Slowing the car, Dante carefully cleared his throat. “Abby?”

“Mmmm?”

“Are you okay?”

“I was just thinking.”

Well, that didn’t seem so awfully bad. At least she hadn’t tumbled into some catatonic state.

“What were you thinking?”

“Do all vampires have Porsches?”

He shot her a swift glance of puzzlement. That was what she had been brooding on? The preferred form of transport for vampires?

“Of course not,” he said slowly. “I know several vampires who prefer Jags and even one who wouldn’t be caught dead in anything but a Lamborghini. Pun intended.”

“Ah.” She wagged her finger in his general direction. “I knew there was something suspicious going on. I just supposed that the very rich had sold their souls to the devil. Instead they are all demons.”

“Yes, it’s all a vast conspiracy.”

She actually giggled. Giggled. Then, taking another deep drink, she turned her head on the soft leather seat and regarded him with half-closed eyes.

“Whatever happened to the days when a vampire would skulk through the sewers and live in a damp crypt?”

He arched a brow. “I think they ended about the same time mortals decided to crawl out of their caves.”

“Still, you should at least turn into a bat or have a bumpy forehead. Something vampirish.”

Okay. It was official. Mortal women were without exception the most unpredictable, erratic, insane creatures ever to roam the earth.

And this woman was the champion of champions at driving a vampire insane. One minute she was terrified, the next she was angry, and then, bam, she was all soft and vulnerable.

Still, this giggling, almost giddy mood was a distinct change. He might have thought she was drunk as a skunk if it weren’t . . .

Oh bloody hell. Dante’s eyes narrowed as he watched her down another large gulp of her drink.

That was it.

It had been so long since Selena had become the Phoenix that he had forgotten the effects of the potent herbs. Over the years, she had become accustomed to the concoction, but for a time she had reacted with precisely the same woozy silliness.

“Abby,” he murmured.

“Mmmm?”

“Are you drinking Selena’s herbs?”

“Yes.” She smiled blithely. “And you know, once you get past the vile taste and occasional lumps, it isn’t entirely repulsive. It makes me feel . . . tingly.”

“Tingly?”

She abruptly grimaced. “Except for my nose. I can’t feel my nose at all. It’s still there, isn’t it?”

Dante swallowed a laugh as he reached out to lightly tap her nose. She was unexpectedly endearing when she was tanked.

“Safe and sound in the center of your face,” he assured her.

“Good. I don’t like it very much, but I wouldn’t want to lose it.”

“No, a nose is a good thing to have.” He regarded the pale features a moment before returning his gaze to the darkened streets. “And it’s a perfectly fine nose.”

“It’s too short, and it has freckles.”

He tightened his fingers on the steering wheel as he turned onto a tree-lined boulevard.

“Mortals,” he breathed in annoyance. “Why are you so consumed with physical appearance? Not only does it swiftly fade, but it is also meaningless.”

His words of wisdom were greeted with a disdainful raspberry. “Spoken like one of the truly beautiful people,” she groused. “It’s easy to condemn shallow vanity when you look like a Greek god.”

“I merely . . .” He shot her a swift glance. “You think I look like a Greek god?”

“Actually, you look more like a pirate. A very, very wicked pirate.”

A pirate? That didn’t seem nearly as good as a Greek god. Of course, she had said that he was a wicked one.

“Okay, I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“You must know you are gorgeous.”

“Well, there is that whole reflection thing, lover,” he said in dry tones. “I don’t spend a great deal of time preening before mirrors.”

“Oh . . . I forgot.” She hiccupped. “Sorry.”

“Not as exciting as having a bumpy forehead or turning into a bat, but it’s at least vampirish.”

She gave a slow nod. “That’s true, I suppose. And you do have the fangs.”

“Yes, I do have the fangs.”

She heaved a faint sigh. “Still, turning into a bat would be cool.”

Dante’s smile faded. She still had no clue of the monster he was capable of becoming. In her mind it was all myths and fairy tales.

“Abby.”

“What?”

“I think perhaps you’ve had enough of those herbs for now.”

There was a short pause before she struggled to straighten in her seat. “You may be right. My head is starting to spin.”

Dante flicked a switch to roll down her window, allowing a gust of fresh air to enter the car.

“Better?”

“Yes.” She stuck her head out the window, breathing deeply. “Do you know, I think that muck might have been spiked.”

Dante chuckled as he slowed and pulled the car to a halt. “Don’t worry, lover, soon enough you’ll be enjoying your hot fudge sundaes instead of spiked muck.”

Pulling in her head, Abby regarded him with a lift of her brows. “Why are we stopping? Are we near the coven?”

“That’s what I intend to find out.”

She blinked in surprise. “You can sense it?”

“Actually, I hope to smell it.”

“Ugh. Do witches stink?”

“Not the witches, but something near the coven,” he explained with a smile. “When Selena would return from her visits, there was always a peculiar scent that would cling to her.”

Abby tilted her head to one side. “What sort of scent?”

Dante gave a shrug. “I’m not sure. I only know that when she would return, I would avoid the house for days. It was very . . . distinctive.”

Abby pondered for a long moment. “A butcher shop? Or tannery?”

He lifted his brows at her naïve words. “I would recognize the scent of blood, my sweet.”

“Oh . . . right. What about an oil refinery or stockyard?”

“No, it was more like a rotting field of wheat.”

She frowned. Dante didn’t blame her. Even for a powerful vampire, a vague smell that he couldn’t even identify was hardly much to go on. MacGyver he was not.

Then, without warning, she reached out to grasp his arm in a tight grip.

“Oh my God.”

Instantly on alert, Dante glanced about to ensure they were not under attack. “What is it?”

“I know where it is,” she breathed.

“The coven?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Years ago, my oldest brother worked at the cereal factory,” she explained. “When he would return, the entire house would reek of rotted wheat for hours.”

There was rotted wheat in cereal? Hellfire. How dare humans shudder at vampires’ preference for blood? At least he demanded it distinctly unrotted.

“It’s worth a try,” he concluded. “Which direction?”

“South.”

Gunning the engine, Dante turned the car southward. There was no guarantee that the coven would be near the factory, but it was at least a place to start.

As silence once again descended, Dante shot a covert glance toward the woman at his side. On this occasion, Abby wasn’t guzzling the potent herbs or humming in a pleasant cloud of fog. Instead her brow was furrowed, and she chewed upon her lower lip as if she were in deep thought.

With an effort, he resisted the urge to demand what was on her mind. If he had learned nothing else about this woman over the past few months, it was that she could write a thesis on stubbornness. She would reveal what she wanted to reveal, when she wanted to reveal it.

It was twenty minutes later before she at last turned her head to study him with a troubled expression.

“Dante?”

“Yes?”

“Viper seemed angry when you spoke with him earlier.”

Dante abruptly clenched his fingers on the steering wheel. He had presumed that Abby had been far too occupied with ensuring none of the guests were creeping toward her neck to notice his confrontation with his fellow vampire. It seemed that not even a hotel filled with vampires and demons indulging in orgies could keep her properly distracted.

“He wasn’t overly eager to hand over the keys to his favorite Porsche,” he retorted in light tones. “He can be annoyingly possessive of his toys.”

“No.” She gave a decisive shake of her head. “I don’t believe you.”

“Rather harsh, lover,” he protested.

“He didn’t want you to take me to the coven. Why?”

Dante muttered a low curse. Damn Viper and his poor imitation of a mother hen.

“You could not possibly have heard what was said between us,” he futilely attempted to bluster.

“I know you were arguing and that he was trying to convince you of something,” she charged. “He’s worried about what the coven will do to you, isn’t he?”

“Viper has always distrusted magic.”

“Dante, I want the truth.” She folded her arms over her chest, clearly taking on a don’t-screw-with-me attitude. “Will they harm you?”

He shrugged. “They need me.”

“They did need you, but now everything has changed,” she muttered, striking far too close to the truth. “In fact, I think that we should reconsider seeking out the witches.”

“What?”

“I won’t have you hurt.”

Dante grimly kept his gaze on the empty road. Despite his undeniable flare of pleasure at her concern, he wasn’t about to make this woman into a martyr.

“Abby, we have no choice.”

“There are always choices.”

His expression hardened at her soft words. “Not if you are to be rid of the Phoenix. They’re the only ones capable of transferring the power to another.”

There was a long pause, and Dante had almost convinced himself that he had forced Abby to see reason when she cleared her throat.

“Then maybe I should just keep it.”

The car dangerously swerved before Dante could regain command of himself. Bloody hell, the woman never failed to catch him off guard. Slowing to a mere crawl, he shot her a disgruntled frown.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he growled. “You haven’t been prepared to become the Chalice.”

She gave a lift of her brows. “Was Selena?”

He grimaced as he recalled his former mistress. Although Selena had been human, she had always possessed the arrogant belief that she was above others. Not surprising for the daughter of a duke who considered himself on equal footing with his own god. Selena had viewed the power and immortality of the Phoenix as her right rather than her duty.

“She knew what she was getting into,” he muttered.

Abby reached out to lightly touch his arm. “Then tell me.”

Dante carefully chose his words. He didn’t want to add to her terror, but then again, he had to make sure that she understood precisely why it was impossible for her to carry such a burden.

“Can you imagine what it is like to be immortal?” he at last demanded.

“Well, I can imagine it makes life insurance a rather moot point.”

“Abby,” he rasped.

She gave a lift of her shoulder. “I’ll admit I’ve never had reason to give it much thought.”

“It means watching your family and friends wither and die while you remain precisely the same,” he informed her sharply. “It means watching life pass by without ever touching you. It means being utterly alone.”

She offered a humorless laugh. “My so-called relatives could have posed for the poster of dysfunctional families. My father terrorized and then abandoned us, my mother drank herself into an early grave, and my brothers fled Chicago the moment they could escape.” There was a brief silence. “I have always been alone,” she whispered in the dark.

Dante flinched. “Abby.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, clearly regretting her brief moment of vulnerability.

“What else?”

“You will always be hunted,” he retorted starkly, thrusting aside the urge to offer her comfort. He had to make her see sense. “Every moment, some evil will be plotting your death.”

She turned in her seat to regard him squarely. “But you said that the Phoenix is beginning to disguise itself.”

“It is, but there are always those with enough power or desperation to track you down. That was why I was chained to the spirit as protection.”

He could feel her gaze sweeping over his rigid profile.

“Then you can protect me.”

Dante stiffened, his skin prickling with a sudden wave of self-disgust.

“Like I protected Selena?” he growled.

“Dante, you can’t blame yourself—”

“It is not a matter of blame; it is a matter of knowledge,” he retorted in black tones. “Bloody hell, I don’t even know what killed her. Which means the sooner I get you to the witches, the better.”

“Dante—”

“No.” He turned his head to stab her with a fierce glare. “We must do this for the Phoenix, Abby. It must be protected by those who are best suited to keep it from harm.”

Neatly outmaneuvered, Abby offered a frustrated scowl before throwing herself back into the soft leather of her seat.

“You don’t fight entirely fair, you know.”

His lips twisted with wry humor. “A vampire, sweetness, never fights fair. We only fight to win.”

Nearly an hour later, Abby gamely battled her way through the weeds that had taken command of the fields about the industrial park.

Weeds and obnoxious, nuclear-mutant thorn bushes, she discovered as she halted for the hundredth time to salvage her jeans from destruction. Hell, she had never liked nature. It was dirty and filled with crawly creatures and things that made her sneeze. And this little jaunt wasn’t making her any fonder. Why the witches couldn’t have set up shop in the local mall defied her imagination.

Of course, the weeds and thorns were only a small part of her current discomfort, she ruefully conceded. The knots twisting her stomach and the dryness of her mouth was entirely due to the witches that they currently sought.

Dante was adamant that it was their only option, but she was not nearly so convinced. Whatever their noble motives, she had witnessed Selena’s screams of mercy as they had forced the powerful spirit into her body, and worse, their contempt of Dante as they had bound him with their magic.

Could women capable of such acts truly be trusted?

Feeling a nervous sickness clenching her stomach, Abby turned to regard the man walking at her side. She was in dire need of a distraction if she didn’t want to embarrass herself by running away in screeching terror.

“If you intended to sweep me off my feet with a moonlight stroll, Dante, I have to tell you that I’m not impressed,” she teased in strained tones.

Turning his head, Dante flashed his familiar wicked grin. “For shame, lover. What could be more romantic than a gentle night breeze—”

“Perfumed with the rank stench of factories.”

“Or being surrounded by the beauty of nature.”

“Itchy, scratchy weeds that are going to leave a very unpleasant rash.”

He chuckled at her tart words. “At least you must admit that you’ve never had a more handsome, charming, sexy companion.”

Well, he had her there, she acknowledged wryly. Not in her wildest fantasies could she have ever imagined such a devilishly handsome man even existed.

“Perhaps,” she grudgingly conceded. “But most of my dates don’t come complete with packs of demons, monsters, and zombies.”

A raven brow arched. “Dull bastards. They obviously don’t understand the potent allure of a true adventure.”

“Adventure?” Abby swatted at a biting mosquito with a grimace. “An adventure is walking through St. Mark’s Square in Venice, or sipping coffee in a charming bistro in Paris. Not wading through a briar patch in search of witches.”

“Actually, the last time I attempted to enjoy coffee in Paris, I nearly had my head lopped off by the guillotine,” he murmured. “So you see, lover, it’s all a matter of perspective.”

Abby stumbled at the off-hand confession. “Good Lord, would you stop that?” she complained.

“What?”

“Mentioning the past so casually. I thought I was ancient because I can remember Melrose Place.”

He merely laughed. Damn his vampire soul. “You were the one who brought up the subject of Paris. I was merely offering my own experiences there.”

Her gaze swept over the beautiful features bathed in moonlight. “So you were really in Paris during the Reign of Terror?”

“For a few unforgettable months.” He smiled ruefully. “I would suggest that you visit when there isn’t a revolution in progress.”

Abby rolled her eyes. Her in glamorous, sophisticated Paris? Yeah, the same day that she sprouted wings and tattooed her butt.

“I’ll keep that in mind when the destined-never-to-be opportunity rolls around,” she said dryly.

His eyes smoldered like liquid silver in the shadows. “Who knows what the future might hold, lover? A few days ago you didn’t expect to be on the run with a vampire or battling to save the world from evil.”

“Actually, it would have seemed a lot more likely than a luxurious vacation in France.”

Reaching out, he gave a tug on a curl that had strayed from her braid. “You’re too young to be so cynical.”

“I’m realistic, not cynical,” she corrected firmly. “Vacations in Paris are not for women who make minimum wage and—” She came to an abrupt halt, her eyes widening in horror. “Holy hell.”

A subtle tension prickled around Dante as he swept a searching gaze about them. “What is it?”

“I’m out of a job, and my rent is due.”

There was a moment of sharp silence before Dante tilted back his head to offer a very unsympathetic laugh. With a frown, Abby slapped her hands on her hips.

“What’s so funny?”

He reached up to grasp her chin with his slender fingers. “You’ve become a Chalice for a powerful spirit, confronted demons, and are about to place yourself in the hands of witches. Now you’re worried about whether or not you can pay the rent?”

Her eyes narrowed at his amusement. “I’m worried about spending my days pushing a shopping cart down the streets and sleeping under a park bench—very real possibilities that are as bad as any demon or witch.”

His brows drew together as his fingers strayed to brush over her cheek. “You think I would allow you to be tossed into the street?”

Something painful clenched in her heart. Soon enough, the witches would remove the spell from her and Dante would be bound to another. Why would he ever give her another thought?

They were the proverbial ships, or in this case vampire and mortal, who passed in the night.

Troubled more than she cared to admit at the thought of being completely alone once again, Abby forced a stiff smile to her lips.

“Well, you did lock you former lover in a cellar.”

“Only in self-defense.” His fingers tightened on her face, his expression oddly somber. “I have promised that nothing will harm you, Abby. Nothing. It’s a promise I intend to keep no matter what the future might hold.”

She was forced to swallow the lump lodged in her throat as her hand lifted to cover the fingers upon her cheek. By God, but he knew how to steal a woman’s heart.

“Dante,” she breathed softly.

A low groan was wrenched from his throat as Dante pressed his forehead to her own.

“Oh, lover, if you have any pity in your heart, you won’t look at me like that. At least not now.”

A dark sinful heat raced through Abby as she pressed herself next to Dante’s hard body. If they weren’t standing in a thorn briar, or if demons weren’t chasing them, or if there weren’t witches lurking nearby, she would have thrown him to the ground and have had her way with him.

Damn but he made her hot and bothered.

Unfortunately, no amount of wishing could change their situation, and with a shuddering sigh, she forced herself to step back.

“We should find the coven,” she said with a resigned grimace.

Dante briefly closed his eyes, as if battling for control, before lifting his head and sweeping his gaze over the star-studded sky.

“Yes, dawn will come too soon. Let’s get this done.”

Chapter 9

The past centuries had taught Dante more than a few lessons.

Never dine upon drunkards. Never turn your back on an angry woman. Never bet on a horse named Lucky. Never wrestle a Chactol demon after a bottle of gin.

And never, never ignore pure instinct.

That last lesson had been the hardest and best learned, which was why he had not directly headed for the coven, although he had managed to catch its scent only a mile from the abandoned factories.

There was something not at all right, he decided as they drew closer. An icy chill prickled over his skin, and the smell of fresh blood filled the air.

A battle had been fought nearby. A battle that had involved powerful magic and undeniable slaughter.

Skirting the trees that hid the coven from view, Dante attempted to determine the danger ahead. He could sense no demons, but he was no longer certain that it was the creatures of the night who posed the greatest threat.

And that, of course, was what troubled him the most.

Devil spit.

He didn’t like the feeling that he was being led by the nose by this unseen enemy. And yet, what choice did he have but to go forward?

He had to find the witches.

Even if it killed him.

A thought that pissed him off royally.

Glancing over his shoulder, he watched as Abby struggled to free her shirt from a clinging thorn bush. A faint smile twitched at his lips. She truly was the most unusual of creatures. As rare and precious as the finest jewel.

As if sensing his gaze, she abruptly jerked her head up to glare at him with that glorious annoyance that she seemed to reserve solely for him.

“Dammit, if we’re going to walk in circles, can we at least do it somewhere that sells mocha ice cream and has air-conditioning?”

“We aren’t walking in circles,” he instinctively denied, only to give a faint grimace. “At least not precisely.”

“I suppose you possess some sort of bat vision?”

He flicked his brow upward. “You do know that bats are blind?”

She gritted her teeth. “Vampire vision, then.”

He gave a shrug. “I can see well enough, not that it truly matters. I’m not looking for the coven.”

“What?” Her eyes glittered with danger in the fading moonlight. “I swear to God, Dante, if you’ve led me through this mutant briar patch for some sort of joke, I’ll st—”

“Stake me, yes, I know,” he drawled. “You might try to be a bit less predictable, lover.”

“You didn’t give me the chance to say where I’d stake you,” she snapped.

A flare of humor raced through him. “True.”

“For God’s sake, if we’re not looking for the coven, then what the hell are we doing out here?”

“I said I’m not looking for the coven and I’m not,” he corrected smoothly. “I’m trying to smell it.”

The prickly anger slowly faded as she realized her hasty mistake.

“Oh. Are you having any luck?”

That icy shiver once again crawled over his skin as Dante turned toward the hidden coven.

“It’s just beyond that line of trees.”

She followed his gaze, her eyes narrowing. “I’ll have to take your word for it since I can’t see jack crap.”

“It’s there.”

“Then why are we waiting?” She sent him a puzzled frown. “I thought you wanted to get this over with?”

“Something is not right.”

He felt her tension at his blunt admission. Obviously whatever her feelings for him, she at least had learned to trust his instincts.

A dark satisfaction lodged itself in his heart but was swallowed swiftly by an inner shudder.

Bloody hell, he was acting as sappy as any mortal. To imagine an immortal vampire scrounging about for pathetic scraps tossed at him by this woman.

Perhaps he should be staked.

“How do you know something’s wrong?” she demanded in a soft whisper.

With an effort, Dante wrenched his thoughts back to the troubles at hand. They were surely enough to deal with.

“I smell blood.”

“Blood?”

“Lots of blood.”

“Oh God.”

“I must find out what happened.”

Without warning, she reached out to grasp his fingers with her own. The warmth of her swiftly traveled through his skin to heat his entire body.

“You think the witches have been attacked?”

There was no point in lying. Not when they would have to approach the coven.

“Yes.”

“I . . .” She paused, tilting up her head to stab him with a narrowed gaze. “You’re going to try and make me stay here, aren’t you?”

“No.” He made the decision swiftly. “Until I know what’s happening, I can’t be certain that there isn’t something still creeping about.”

Her grip abruptly tightened upon his fingers. “You had to say that, didn’t you?”

“I want you to be on your guard.”

She made a sound of disgust at his warning. “I’m wandering through the dark with a vampire, searching for a gaggle of witches who may or may not flay us alive. You think I’m not on my guard?”

He gave a small tug to pull her close, his hand gently cupping her face.

“What I think is that the worst is yet to come,” he murmured.

“Perfect.” Allowing her gaze to meet his own, she momentarily stilled. The stark awareness flared in her eyes then; with a faint shake of her head, she took an awkward step backward. “I suppose we might as well get this over with.”

Swooping down, he pressed a swift kiss to her not-quite-steady lips.

“Stay behind me, and if you sense anything, let me know,” he whispered against her mouth.

She swallowed heavily as he pulled back. “I promise you’ll be the first to hear my scream.”

“Right.”

Keeping her fingers laced tightly in his, Dante moved directly toward the thicket of trees. Behind him Abby stumbled and occasionally cursed at the underbrush, but she managed to keep up with his smooth stride. Within a quarter of an hour, they at last stepped into a clearing.

Directly in the center was a plain three-story brick structure with several wooden outbuildings. There was nothing about it to suggest that it was anything other than a farmhouse. In fact, it was rather depressingly normal.

Precisely what the witches would desire.

Unlike vampires, they had no ability to disguise themselves from curious eyes. They were forced to hide in plain sight.

Abby hesitantly stepped to his side, her brow furrowed in puzzlement.

“You’re certain this is the coven?”

“Yes,” he murmured, keeping to the shadows as he cautiously led her closer to the structure.

“It seems—”

“Dead?” he finished, halting as they came to a large side window.

“Yeah, that about sums it up,” she agreed in shaky tones.

A swift glance through the tinted panes also summed it up. The carnage was impressive, worthy of the darkest soul, but Dante did not allow his gaze to linger. No one within had been left to tell the tale.

Pulling back, he allowed his gaze to slide over the remaining buildings.

“Are you going inside?” Abby demanded from behind.

“No. I cannot enter.”

“Damn.”

He turned to offer her a wry smile. “Actually, it’s a good thing.”

“Why?”

“It means that at least some of the witches survived the attack,” he explained. “Otherwise the barrier would be broken.”

“What?”

His undead heart twitched at the sight of her features that were unbearably fragile.

“It doesn’t matter. They must have fled. I’ll see if I can pick up their trail.”

Her mouth dropped open in dismay. “More walking?”

Dante considered the clearing. For the moment they were alone.

“You can wait here for me. I won’t go far.”

She bit her lip, the terror she was struggling to keep at bay almost visible as she considered the darkness shrouded about her.

“Your definition of far is considerably different than mine,” she muttered.

He placed his fingers beneath her chin to tilt her head upward. He waited until she met his searching gaze and then offered her a comforting smile.

“You have only to call and I will come running.”

“You promise?”

“Upon my quiche-hating heart,” he said softly.

Her lips twitched, although her eyes remained dark with unease. “That’ll do.”

Framing her face in his hands, Dante crushed his lips to her forehead before pulling back to regard her with a somber expression.

“Abby.”

“What?”

“I would suggest you stay away from the windows. It’s bad in there. Really bad.”

His warning delivered, Dante turned to make his way toward the outbuildings. If some of the witches had fled, he should be able to follow their scent. He supposed it was too much to hope that they might be hidden in the nearby trees.

In over three centuries, they had never made anything easy.

Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.

Dante’s words echoed through Abby’s mind.

She knew he was right. She didn’t want to see whatever was inside. God knew she had seen enough in the past hours to last her a couple of lifetimes. Not the least of which was a walking corpse who refused to stay in his grave.

But the very fact that she shouldn’t look naturally ensured that her feet were moving forward and she was pressing her face to the glass.

For a moment her eyes could make out nothing in the gloom, and a deep sense of relief shuddered through her. Then, even as she prepared to pull away, her gaze shifted toward a nearby wall and she was reeling backward in horror.

So much blood . . .

It had been splattered everywhere.

And . . . stuff she didn’t even want to consider.

Bending over, she gagged at the rising nausea.

“You had to look, didn’t you?” a dark voice drawled even as a strong arm encircled her shoulders and pulled her close.

“You shouldn’t have told me not to.”

He pressed her head into his shoulder. “Somehow I knew it would end up being my fault.”

Comforted more than a rational woman should be by a vampire’s touch, Abby slowly forced herself to pull away.

“Did you find the trail?”

Even in the darkness, she could see his grimace.

“It led as far as the nearest outbuilding, which happened to be a garage.”

Her eyes lifted to the heavens. “Don’t tell me. They took off in the witchmobile?”

“Something like that.”

Abby sucked in a deep breath. She knew she should be disappointed.

Without the witches, her life remained in danger. All sorts of creepy, icky, semi-dead things would continue to hunt her. And the Phoenix that had taken up residence within her body would continue to refurbish her like she was a cheap dorm room.

But the disappointment that was lodged in her heart felt remarkably like relief.

“So, what now?” she demanded in an effort to sound resigned rather than certifiable.

Lifting his head, Dante sniffed the air. “Dawn will be approaching soon. I must find some place to wait out the day.”

“Oh. We could return to the factories.”

“I think there might be something closer. Can you walk?”

Her feet had gone beyond pain to a petulant numbness. “I’ll make it.”

A slow, enigmatic smile curved his lips. “You never fail to amaze me, lover.”

Startled by the low words, Abby had no time to demand what he meant before he had a hold of her hand and was tugging her across the clearing to the woods on the other side.

In silence—well, Dante in silence and her with snapping twigs, squishing mud, muttered oaths, and a whimper of pain when she stubbed her toe on a fallen log—they made their way through the darkness. Abby swiftly lost track of time as she concentrated simply on keeping her feet moving forward, but eventually Dante slowed his swift pace.

“Here we are,” he murmured, his hand reaching out to brush aside a heavy curtain of ivy that was growing upon the side of a low hill. “Not quite fivestar material, but it’s dark.”

“And damp,” Abby muttered as she bent low to follow Dante into the narrow tunnel that led to a small circular opening.

Seating himself on the sandy ground, he gave a tug on her hand, pulling her next to his hard length.

“Look at it this way, at least it’s not a crypt,” he pointed out in dry tones.

Although not overly impressed with the low ceiling and moss-covered walls, she did have to concede that it was a relief not to have a corpse lying about.

“Meaning I should be grateful for small favors?”

“Well, you also have the pleasure of my company. That should make even a damp cave seem like paradise.”

“God, you really need to get over yourself, Dante,” she muttered, pulling her knees close to her chest and wrapping her arms about them.

Clearly feeling the faint shiver that raced through Abby, Dante shifted to study her pale face.

“Are you cold?”

“A little.”

“Here.” Wrapping his arm about her shoulder, he tugged her close to his side, his cheek resting on top of her head. “It should warm up as the sun rises.”

There was no warmth in his body, but that didn’t stop a sudden heat from flaring through her blood. Damn, it had been so long since she had been held in a man’s arms, alive or dead. So long since she had felt that heady sense of sated passion.

And she couldn’t deny that she had lusted after Dante for months. The dull hunger that plagued her seemed to have no sense of timing, damn it all.

“You should try to sleep,” Dante broke the silence, his fingers aimlessly toying with a strand of her hair. “I’ll keep watch.”

She sternly turned her thoughts to more pressing troubles. Having the hots for this vampire surely came second place to imminent peril.

“I’m too on edge to sleep.”

“I can’t imagine why,” he said dryly.

“Shall I make you a list?”

“No need.”

She heaved a faint sigh. “We are truly screwed, aren’t we?”

There was a momentary pause, as if he were carefully considering his words.

“I’m not sure I would put it quite in those words, but the attack on the witches has made our task more difficult.”

“Who would do such a thing?”

“That is the question.” His tone held a lethal edge, revealing he was not nearly so composed as he would have her believe. “A demon could not have passed through the barrier, and yet a human could never have caused such destruction.”

She shuddered in horror. “God no, it was gruesome.”

“Unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

“A human who worshipped the Prince might have been capable of summoning a great deal of power.”

Abby didn’t bother to hide her shock. She had never even considered the idea that it could be anything but a monster that could attack with such savagery.

“A human?”

He stiffened at her obvious surprise. “You believe only demons capable of evil?”

The rasp in his voice brought her gaze to his tight expression.

“No,” she said softly. “I am well acquainted with the evil people are capable of.”

He grimaced ruefully. “I’m sorry. I don’t like mysteries.”

“I’ve discovered I don’t much care for them myself,” she muttered, reluctantly forcing herself to consider the horrors that had been dogging them for the past days. “Do you think the same person who attacked the witches killed Selena?”

“I just don’t know.”

Abby gave a humorless chuckle. “Well, we’ve nicely determined that we’re not Nancy Drew and Hercule Poirot.”

“No.” She felt him stroke his cheek over her hair, his lips briefly pressing against her temple. “I’m not much of a champion, am I, my sweet?”

She tilted back her head to glare at his ridiculous words. “Don’t say that. If it wasn’t for you, I would be dead by now.”

His lips twisted at her fierce defense. “Instead you’re hiding in a cave, no closer to being rid of the Phoenix than when you started.”

He shifted, his movement tugging her even more firmly against his hard body. Her heart skipped, kicked, and lodged somewhere near her throat.

Don’t think about it, Abby, she sternly told herself. Don’t think about those slender, skillful fingers skimming over your bare skin. Or those lips nuzzling at sensitive places. Or your legs wrapped about his waist as he . . .

Oh hell.

She melted against his hardness, her eyes darkening with the awareness that she was tired of battling.

“I thought you promised that being with you would make this cave a paradise?”

Quite intelligent, despite being male, Dante instantly sensed the change in the atmosphere. The silver eyes darkened to smoke as he allowed his gaze to slowly wander over her face.

“Abby?” he whispered.

Not giving herself time to consider her rash behavior, Abby reached up to thrust her hands into his glorious hair. Her heart was already racing and her breath impossible to capture.

“I don’t want to think about demons or witches or all the other horrid creatures that are trying to kill me.”

His arms wrapped about her, tugging her easily to straddle his legs so they were face-to-face.

“What do you want?” he rasped, his fingers trailing up the length of her spine.

“You.” She kissed him with all the yearning that was burning within her. “I want you.”

Chapter 10

She heard his soft groan as his hands shifted to cup her hips, compulsively pressing her to his thickening cock.

“Abby?”

She arched forward, her body already on fire. Hell, at the moment she felt fully at home in this cave. Certainly her urges were as primitive as any Neanderthal.

She want. She take.

“What?” she muttered, tilting back her head as his lips nibbled their way down her throat.

“You know you are not thinking clearly?”

“I don’t care.”

His tongue ran a searing path along the line of her collarbone.

“I just don’t want you to come to your senses and discover some creative spot for that stake that you keep threatening me with,” he husked.

In response, she leaned back so that she could pull her shirt over her head. She tossed it aside and quickly followed it with her plain cotton bra.

“I’ve already accepted that I’ve gone completely insane. What is a little more madness?”

His agonized groan echoed through the shadowed cave, his eyes flashing silver fire as his hands moved to tenderly cup her breasts.

“Good madness, I hope,” he muttered, clearly distracted as his thumbs brushed over her nipples.

She shivered with excitement. “Yes.”

His head lowered, his lips closing over the tip of her breast.

“And better madness?”

Her eyes squeezed shut as a sharp, gnawing pleasure raced through her.

“Oh . . . God, yes.”

“Bloody hell.” Still tormenting her nipple with his tongue, Dante expertly attacked the fastening to her jeans and, with Abby’s full cooperation, swiftly had her naked and back in his lap. Pulling her close, he kissed her with a desperate hunger. “I’ve dreamed of this so long, lover. I need to know this isn’t just another fantasy.”

“I’m no fantasy,” she assured him.

He gave a soft chuckle, his hands trailing down her back and over her hips. “That’s a matter of opinion.”

“Dante,” she whispered.

“You are so warm. I could drown in your heat.”

“I think you would be warmer if you got rid of some of those clothes,” she daringly offered.

“Much warmer.” His movements were jerky as he helped her to remove the final barriers between them.

Her breath caught as she glimpsed his full arousal, a sudden ache clawing deep within her. She wanted to make this a slow, delicious seduction, but the thought of having him buried deep within her made her long to abandon her plan and simply join herself to him in a flurry of pagan heat.

Obviously misunderstanding her hesitation, Dante reached up to gently stroke her cheek. “Are you sure about this, Abby?”

“Yes,” she managed to croak, wrestling control over her hot surge of desire. “At the moment it’s the only thing I am sure of.”

Giving her a long searching glance, Dante slowly framed her face in his hands, pulling her forward to kiss her with an aching sweetness. Abby melted toward him. She had not exaggerated. In this moment there seemed nothing more right than being in this vampire’s arms.

Feeling a strange confidence that was usually lacking within her, Abby ran her hands lightly over his muscled chest. His skin was as smooth as silk, inviting a more intimate touch.

Without thought, she lowered her head to trail her lips over his shoulders, delighting in the erotic power that flowed through her blood.

“My champion,” she whispered as she continued her persuasive caresses. “Do you like this?”

“Yes,” he growled, his hands clutching her hips as he sought to remain in control of his building need.

“And this?” she whispered, moving steadily lower.

“God, yes.”

“And this?”

“Abby,” he choked as she reached the clenched muscles of his lower stomach.

“Yes, Dante?”

“Keep this up and it will be a fantasy for one,” he ground out.

She gave a throaty chuckle as she deliberately rubbed her body back up the length of his chest.

Her every nerve felt alive, sensitized to the point of near pain.

“I’m only trying to convince you that I am no dream.”

Without warning, he shifted her farther up his thighs. The air was wrenched from her body as the fierce jut of his erection settled in the damp heat between her legs.

She shifted experimentally, the dull throb in her lower body rejoicing as the tip of him slipped just inside her body. She was prevented from a complete entry, however, as he grasped her hips and regarded her with smoldering eyes.

“All you’ve done is made more certain this is a fantasy,” he murmured.

“You need more proof?” she teased.

“Ah, no, my turn for kisses,” he informed her, drawing her toward his waiting lips. “And I want to kiss you everywhere.”

With a slow, deliberate motion, Dante branded her lips with a searing kiss. Then moving his mouth over her face, he stroked down the length of her arched neck. Abby’s fingers dug into his shoulders as he pulled her relentlessly upward, catching the hardened nipple between his teeth. She gave a soft cry as he tugged and suckled her, her head thrown backward at the insistent pleasure crashing through her. He turned his attention to the other breast, relentlessly driving her need to a fever pitch.

She wanted him within her.

She wanted the powerful thrust of his erection driving her to that wondrous edge and tossing her over.

But even as she sought to bring them together, he was determinedly lifting her ever upward. She found herself on her unsteady feet as his mouth teased the contracted muscles of her stomach, occasionally nipping at the shivering flesh. She moaned in protest, and then her eyes flew open as he lowered even farther, and his seeking mouth found her moist parting.

She momentarily struggled to stay upright as his tongue reached out to stroke the highly sensitive flesh.

There was something utterly decadent about being poised above him as he expertly urged her to the point of no return.

But then sensation took over, and, closing her eyes, she simply allowed him to pleasure her.

With tantalizing care he searched to find her center of pleasure, holding her hips in firm hands. Abby gritted her teeth as he gently stroked the building pressure, so enthralled by the searing delight he was creating that she was nearly too late when she abruptly pulled away from his magical touch.

“No, Dante,” she gasped.

As if sensing she wished to have him inside her when she came, Dante guided her back to her knees and positioned her so that he could slowly penetrate her softness.

Abby sighed in relief as she pressed herself ever deeper, knowing that nothing had ever felt so right as having him within her.

For a moment she merely savored the full sense of completion. But as he remained unnaturally still, she reluctantly lifted her heavy lids to send him a puzzled gaze.

“Dante?”

“You started this seduction, Abby,” he rasped. “You can finish it.”

With a slow smile, she placed her hands upon his chest and slightly lifted her hips before sliding back down.

Dante moaned, his fingers convulsively clutching her hips. “My God, you are going to kill me. Again.”

Abby moved, pulling herself higher before plunging downward. His hips arched off the sandcovered ground, a pained frown forming on his forehead.

Abby smiled with heady satisfaction, thoroughly enjoying the knowledge that Dante was completely at her mercy.

For this moment he was hers. As intimately tied to her as if they were one.

One soul, regardless if he possessed one or not.

One heart, beating or not.

One body.

With slow, deliberate motions, she tormented them both to the edge of frenzy, refusing to increase the pace even as he gasped out a plea for mercy.

Only when she realized that her muscles were inevitably tightening to an explosive release did she give in to his broken commands and allow him to grasp her hips so he could pump himself forcefully within her.

He gave a shout of joy at the same moment she violently convulsed about him.

For a moment out of time, she floated in pure bliss, pressed against the impaling flesh until with a low moan she collapsed against him in utter exhaustion.

She was shaken by the force of her pleasure. But oddly comforted by the arms that encircled her to press her close against the hardness of his body.

It was as if she had been thrown from the top of a skyscraper, only to discover she was being caught in the safety of Dante’s embrace.

Perhaps sensing her tumultuous emotions, Dante softly stroked her tousled curls and placed a comforting kiss on her brow.

“Are you all right, Abby?”

She snuggled against his strength. “More than all right.”

“And you aren’t considering any wanton staking?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Good.” He gave a soft chuckle as his lips absently smoothed over her temple. “Unlike most vampires, I enjoy my passion without pain, bloodshed, or the threat of imminent staking.”

Lazily tilting back her head, she met his glittering gaze. “What about Sasha?”

A decidedly smug smile curved his lips. “I’ve told you there’s no need to be jealous, my sweet. I put Sasha in my past the moment you arrived on Selena’s doorstep.”

Her heart gave a jump even as she regarded him with a frown. “I don’t believe you.”

He arched a brow, his unworldly beauty starkly pronounced as the rosy dawn outside the cave began to dispel the gloom.

“That Sasha is in my past?”

“That you even noticed me when I arrived on Selena’s doorstep,” she clarified in dry tones.

His fingers traced aimless patterns over the bare skin of her back, his expression softened with amusement.

“Oh, I noticed. How could I not?” His lips twisted with a hint of self-derision. “From the moment you arrived, I was plagued by that damnable purity. It taunted me until I couldn’t get you out of my thoughts. I knew I was going to seduce you even before I knew your name.”

She gave a choked laugh at his outrageous arrogance. “Could you possibly be a little more full of yourself?”

He shrugged. “There are some things that are inevitable.”

Abby paused. She wasn’t much of a philosopher. Hell, she didn’t even know what a philosopher actually did. But she did know that inevitable or fate or providence were not words in her vocabulary.

“No, there is no such thing as inevitable,” she said firmly.

“Why do you say that?” he demanded, more curious than offended.

“Because if fate was set in stone, then I would be a drunken whore working the streets for a cheap bottle of whiskey.”

Her tone was light, but she felt him stiffen beneath her, his fingers pressing into her skin.

“Don’t say that,” he rasped.

She pulled back to regard him with a somber expression. “Why not? It’s true enough. My parents were both alcoholics who shouldn’t have been allowed to have a dog, let alone six children. My father spoke with his fists and did us all a favor when he forgot to return home after a drunken spree. And my mother left her bed only long enough to get a fresh bottle of whiskey. My brothers took off as quickly as they could, and I was left alone to watch my mother die. What sort of destiny do you think was waiting for me?”

With a firm tug of his hands, he pressed her back against his chest, his chin resting on the top of her head.

“Destiny has nothing to do with where you came from or who your parents might be,” he said fiercely. “Destiny comes from the heart, and the soul. You could never be anything less than extraordinary, Abby Barlow.”

Wrapped tightly in his arms, she did feel extraordinary. She wasn’t the grubby little girl who roamed the streets because she was terrified to go home. Or the teenager who kept people at a distance because she didn’t want them to know the truth of her family. Or even the tedious, rapidly aging woman who struggled just to keep a roof over her head.

She was bold and daring. A vampire’s lover. The woman who held the fate of the world within her.

A weary smile tugged at her lips.

God save the world if she was its best hope.

“I don’t know about extraordinary,” she murmured, “but I’m definitely exhausted.”

“Then sleep.” His lips pressed gently to her hair. “I promise to keep you safe.”

Abby allowed her heavy lids to fall shut.

No doubt she should be making plans and considering her options. Or even returning to the coven to discover if she could find any clue of where the witches might have fled.

Who knew what might be stalking and closing in on her even now?

At the moment, however, she preferred to play the role of Scarlett O’Hara to that of Lara Croft.

She would consider it all . . . tomorrow.

Dante was a card-carrying cynic.

How could he not be?

He was an immortal. He had done everything, seen everything, been with everything.

Most of them more than once.

There was nothing left to surprise him.

Nothing but the woman currently curled in his arms.

Bloody hell. He had already been amazed by her rare courage. And, of course, dazzled by her beauty. But to have her give herself to him with such raw, delicious abandon.

Well, that was enough to make even a jaded creature of the night feel a bit stunned.

A wry smile twisted his lips, and his hand ran softly over her curls. He was unaccustomed to holding a woman for hours as she slept. It was not the way of vampires. They were by nature solitary creatures. And even when together, they didn’t seek such tender intimacy. Passion was all well and good, but once it was done, there was no reason to linger.

Only humans felt the need to hide animal instincts behind pretty emotional wrappings.

Perhaps vampires were not nearly as wise as they had always believed, he ruefully conceded.

Sensitive to Abby’s slightest movement, Dante was aware the moment she began to stir. Tangled black lashes fluttered and then at last lifted to reveal sleepy blue eyes.

“Dante?” she murmured.

His arms instinctively tightened. “I’m here, lover.”

“Did you sleep at all?”

Dante shrugged. “I have little need for sleep.”

“Speaking of need, I have to step outside.”

With a rueful grimace, Abby pulled out of his grasp and pulled on her scattered clothes. Dante rose as well, his gaze never straying from her awkward motions.

“You won’t wander far?” he warned as she moved toward the entrance of the cave.

She tossed him a wry glance. “Don’t worry.”

She might as well have saved her breath, he acknowledged as she slipped out of the cave. He would of course worry. And fret. And damn the all-too-slow setting sun that prevented him from following after her.

If something happened, he would be utterly helpless to save Abby.

He paced the cave. That took all of five seconds. He rammed his fingers through his tangled hair and impatiently pulled it back to tie it at his nape. That took nearly three minutes. He paced again. And again. And again.

Ten minutes later, he was seriously considering the notion of marching from the cave to assure himself that Abby was still alive. Thankfully the sound of her pounding footsteps prevented any hasty death-by-setting-sun; moving as close to the entrance as he dared, he stood directly in her path as she barreled right into his waiting arms.

His brows swiftly pulled together as he felt her trembling against him.

“Abby? Is something wrong?”

She tilted back her head, her eyes wide. “I don’t know. There were . . . shadows out there.”

Dante tensed in reaction, already considering how he could protect this woman while they were virtually trapped in the cave. Damn, he had not counted on anyone finding them so swiftly.

“Shadows?”

“No, that’s not exactly right.” She gave a frustrated shake of her head. “They were more silvery thingamabobs.”

He gave a lift of his brow. “Maybe it would be better if you tried to speak in English, my love. I don’t know the translation for thingamabobs.”

Turning about, she pointed imperiously toward the mouth of the cave.

“There.”

Edging dangerously close to the fading shaft of sunlight, Dante surveyed the nearby trees. His tension fled as he caught sight of the slender silver forms that darted through the shadows.

“Ah.”

“What are they?”

Dante shrugged. “I suppose you would call them fey creatures.”

She shifted to stand close at his side, seemingly unaware that her sweet heat was cloaking about him and causing all sorts of delicious reactions.

“Fairies?”

“Technically they’re demons,” he murmured in distracted tones.

“Just great.”

He glanced down at her tight expression. “You don’t have to worry; they’re very gentle and very shy. Which is why they prefer such isolated places.”

His words were meant to be comforting, but Abby lifted her hands to press them to her temples.

“This is insanity.”

“What?”

She heaved a deep sigh. “Until two days ago, demons were nothing more than something from a B-rated horror show. Now I’m tripping over them every time I turn around. They can’t just have suddenly appeared.”

“No.” With a rueful smile, Dante pulled her into his arms, his hands running a soothing path down her back. “They have always been here. Far longer than humans.”

“Then why haven’t I seen them before?”

“Because you weren’t looking with those eyes.”

“What?” She blinked before she was suddenly hit with comprehension. “Oh. You mean the Phoenix?”

“Yes.” His hands continued to smooth over her slender back, although he couldn’t fool even himself that it was any longer to offer reassurance. “Most mortals prefer to see only what they desire to see, and of course, most demons possess the ability to keep themselves hidden.”

“Even vampires?” she demanded.

“When we choose.” Hearing a faint hum in the air, Dante turned Abby back toward the narrow opening, locking his arms about her waist. “Watch.”

“Watch what?”

He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “The dance.”

For a moment nothing could be seen, and then, just as Abby was shifting impatiently, the sun slipped past the line of trees and in the growing darkness the silvery shapes began to glow with luminescent color.

Shimmering in shades of crimson and emerald and gold, they darted among one another, their playful antics creating a dazzling display of color.

“Oh my God,” Abby breathed. “It’s so beautiful.”

“You sound surprised.”

“It’s just that I never expected . . .”

Her words trailed away as if she realized she was about to reveal her instinctive prejudice. His lips twisted in a humorless smile. He couldn’t blame her. She was still in shock from all that had happened. And the demons she had encountered so far had hardly been the sort to inspire warm, fuzzy feelings.

“Beauty among demons?” he finished in dry tones.

Slowly turning, she caught him off guard by pressing herself intimately against him as she smiled deep into his eyes.

“Actually, I’ve already discovered some demons can be incredibly beautiful.” Her eyes darkened, and her hand moved to stroke him in a manner that Dante fully approved of. “And incredibly sexy.”

He growled in fierce pleasure. “You’re playing with fire, lover.”

“Is that what I’m playing with?” she teased.

“Christ, I knew you would be a danger when you finally let loose,” he rasped, catching her tightly in his arms and carrying her deeper into the cave.

Chapter 11

Abby felt . . . what?

Sated, certainly. Gloriously sated.

But it was more than that, she decided as she lay in Dante’s arms and waited for the darkness to become complete.

She felt cherished. Yes, that was the word. As if what had just happened between the two of them had been more than just a means of passing the time or forgetting the horrors of the past hours or scratching the proverbial itch.

Maybe it was because he was a hell of a cuddler, or because he had centuries of practice, or just because he was Dante.

Whatever the case, she knew with absolute certainty she could spend an eternity with her head upon his shoulder and his hands softly stroking down her back.

Her dreamy thoughts were interrupted by a sharp jab to her neck. Lifting her hand, she slapped at the aggravating mosquito. Damn.

Well that was a pissy way to be jerked out of a rosy fantasy.

Probably not such a bad thing, she wryly acknowledged.

How delusional did she have to be to start dreaming of small bungalows, Sunday brunch, and nurseries with a vampire?

Obviously she had endured one zombie too many.

There was another fierce bite on her leg.

“Ow.” She slapped at her calf.

“I hope you’re not into some kinky self-flagellation,” Dante murmured. “I suppose it’s sexy enough, but it never turns out good.”

She sat up and scratched at one of her endless bites. “I’m being eaten alive.”

Although fully dressed, Dante still managed to look sinfully tempting as a lazy smile curved his lips.

“Not guilty . . . for a change.” The silver eyes flashed in the shadows. “Not that I mind a nibble or two.”

Abby might have shivered with pleasure if she hadn’t been busy saving what was left of her blood.

“Mosquitoes,” she retorted, her gaze skimming over his perfect features. Then it skimmed over the perfect hair that looked as if it had just been styled by Sassoon and the clothes that didn’t have a damn wrinkle in sight. It was enough to make the most sated and cherished woman a bit grumpy. “I suppose you don’t have to worry about the nasty bloodsuckers?”

His lips twitched at the edge in her voice. “Mosquitoes have never been a bother, but I can’t say the same for all bloodsuckers.”

She tilted her head to one side, her brief grumpiness forgotten.

“What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?”

“Being a vampire.”

A raven brow lifted at her blunt question. “I think you’re going to have to be more specific, lover. That’s a rather big question.”

Abby shrugged. “Is it a lot different from when you were human?”

There was a brief silence, as if he was considering precisely how much truth she could bear before folding his arms across his chest and meeting her curious gaze.

“I have no idea,” he at last admitted.

Abby blinked, not expecting that. “You were born a vampire?”

“No, but it isn’t like in the movies. I didn’t crawl out of a grave and continue on as if I never died.”

“Then what happened?”

His expression hardened as he dredged up his ancient memories. “I woke up one evening on the docks of London and couldn’t remember my name or anything about my past. It was as if I had just been born without the slightest clue of who or what I was.”

Abby frowned at the clipped words. Holy crap. He must have been terrified. It had been bad enough for her to accept she had a . . . thing rummaging around inside her. At least she hadn’t woken up allergic to the sun, addicted to blood, and with her few brain cells wiped clean.

More importantly, she had Dante at her side to ease her fear.

That, of course, was the only reason she wasn’t sitting in a padded room.

“Good God,” she breathed.

“At first I thought I must have been on a bender and that my memories would eventually return,” he said with a grimace. “I probably would have still been sitting on the docks when the dawn came if Viper hadn’t stumbled across me and taken me into his clan.”

Abby had an odd image of kilts and bagpipes. Not at all fitting with beautiful, deadly vampires.

“Clan?”

“A sort of family without all the guilt and drunken holiday brawls,” he retorted.

Abby chuckled softly. “That sounds like my kind of family.”

“Yeah, not bad if you can get it.”

His tone was flippant, but Abby was not foolish enough to believe that it had been easy.

Unconsciously, she reached out to grasp his hand. “Still, you must have been curious about your past.”

His gaze dropped as he interlocked her fingers with his own. “Not really. From my pungent scent and ragged clothes, I could guess I had been one of the endless hordes of undesirables that plagued the city.”

“But what if you had a family?”

For the barest fraction of a second, his fingers squeezed her own almost painfully; then he was once again leaning against the cave wall with that coiled ease.

“What if I did?” he demanded. “I wouldn’t have remembered them. They would have been strangers to me. Or worse.”

“Worse?”

He deliberately held her gaze. “Dinner.”

Her stomach clenched in horror. Damn. He warned her not to forget who, or what, he truly was. Unfortunately, he made it so damn easy.

“Oh.”

“It was better for everyone to allow the man I had been to simply die.”

She couldn’t argue. She never had believed in all that Leave-it-to-Beaver crap anyway. There were definitely times when it was better for all when Daddy walked away and never looked back.

She tugged her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knee.

“It must have been so strange. To just wake up and be someone you didn’t even know.”

Almost absently he raised her fingers to his lips. “In the beginning, but Viper taught me to appreciate my new life. He was the one to give me the name Dante.”

It was difficult to imagine Viper acting as a father figure. He seemed so remote and cold. Still, it was obvious that the older vampire had a great influence on Dante. And for that she had to be grateful.

“Why Dante?”

Dante smiled wryly. “He said that I needed to learn to be more a poet than a warrior.”

“Ah, Dante, of course.”

“He warned me that a predator was more than muscle and teeth. A predator must use his intelligence to observe his prey and learn their weaknesses. A kill is far easier when you can predict how your quarry is going to react.”

Abby grimaced. “God, I thought my outlook was bleak.”

He shrugged. “He wasn’t all wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“If I had been quicker to sense a trap, then those witches would never have gotten their hands on me.”

In a heartbeat, Abby was on her knees and had her hands framing his face. The thought that it might have been some other vampire besides Dante here with her was enough to make her stomach clench with horror.

“And you wouldn’t be Dante,” she said in stern tones.

An odd smile touched his lips. “And that would be a bad thing?”

“A very bad thing,” she whispered.

Without warning, he leaned forward to plant a fierce, possessive kiss upon her lips before reluctantly pulling back to regard her with a searching gaze.

“As much as I would love to stay and play, I think we had better move along.”

Abby stiffened. Move along? Go out into the dark and face whatever creepy crawlies were out there waiting?

It didn’t sound at all appealing. Not when she could think of several other things she would rather be doing in the dark.

Things that involved one sexy vampire and maybe some scented oil . . .

“Do we have to leave?” she demanded. “We’re at least safe here.”

He gave a shake of his head. “No, we’re very nicely trapped here. Especially once the sun rises.”

Abby wrinkled her nose, accepting that he might have a point. “Where will we go?”

Rising to his feet, he reached out his hand to help her up. “First we find the car and then head back to Chicago.”

Once on her feet, Abby made a hopeless stab at dusting off her pants. Stupid, of course. The dust helped to cover the wrinkles.

“Why Chicago?”

He tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Because Viper can keep you protected while I try and find some means to trace the witches.”

She jerked her head upward, her lips thinning into a line that should warn the most obtuse vampire she was not pleased.

“You’re not thinking about going after them alone?”

Wise enough to sense trouble before it slapped him upside the head, Dante regarded her with a wary eye.

“I am the only one who knows their scent.”

“Not the only one,” she gritted. “There’s something out there that is hunting them. Something that already found them once and gutted them like sushi. A trick I’m sure they would love to show you up close and personal.”

“Graphic, but true,” he conceded. “Which is why I need to get you to Viper.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “And why you won’t go after the witches alone.”

“We can argue as we walk,” he murmured, taking her hand and pulling her out of the cave. “It will make a nice change from your shrill complaints that I’m leading you in circles.”

Abby took a moment to appreciate the faint breeze that stirred the air. It carried with it a scent she could only presume had something to do with nature. She had always made a point of never going anywhere that didn’t have pavement and a Starbucks. It was rather strange to be surrounded by trees and stars.

Not strange enough, however, to make her forget that she was in the middle of correcting Dante’s mistaken assumption that he could go about playing the Lone Ranger while she was around.

“There’s not going to be an argument,” she said in her best third-grade-teacher voice. “You’re not going alone, and that’s final.”

He flashed a superior smile. “I’ll admit you have stubbornness down to an art form, but I’ve had four centuries to perfect my own. You don’t stand a chance.”

Her smile was even more superior. “Four centuries is nothing. I’m a woman.”

“So you are.” His gaze made a lazy journey over her rumpled form. “A beautiful, glorious woman who purrs like a kitten when I stroke your—”

“Dante.”

His lips twitched at her blush. “What? I like kittens.”

She struggled to frown. “You’re just trying to distract me.”

“Is it working?”

“I—” Abby came to an abrupt halt as a cold chill feathered over her skin.

In less than a heartbeat, Dante was at her side, his body coiled and prepared to strike. All he needed was a victim.

“What is it?”

“There’s something out there,” she muttered.

His head tilted up, his eyes closing. For a long moment he remained silent, then he gave a slow shake of his head.

“I sense nothing.”

Any other night, Abby would have shrugged and admitted she must have been imagining things. A brief cold chill was hardly something to get twisted over.

This was not any other night, however, and while she might not be Mensa material, she wasn’t entirely stupid. She wasn’t about to ignore her instincts, which were making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

“I think it’s the same thing that attacked us at Viper’s.”

He gave a low growl deep in his throat. A sound that did nothing to help with the prickles.

“Abominations,” he hissed. “Where?”

“In front of us,” she promptly retorted, and then less certainly she swiveled about. “And I think behind us.”

Dante took a quick glance around before grasping her hand and tugging her deeper into the trees.

“This way.”

Abby had no intention of arguing. Her stomach was already clenched with an icy dread, and her heart lodged somewhere in her throat. At the moment she was quite willing to run all the way back to Chicago if necessary.

Keeping low to avoid the branches that blocked their paths, they scurried through the dark. Dante with his usual elegant silence and Abby crashing behind him like a bull elephant with a tranquilizer stuck in its butt.

Her prickles continued despite their swift flight, at times becoming more pronounced and then oddly fading. She didn’t need her instincts, however, to tell her they were being chased. The living dead were no longer making a secret of their presence, and they stumbled after them making even more racket than she did.

Panting and grimly ignoring the stitch that was ripping through her side, Abby briefly wondered how the corpses could move with such speed. For God’s sake, they were dead, weren’t they? Most of them no doubt killed from an overdose of meat, cigarettes, and beer.

They should be shuffling along like proper zombies, not blazing through the woods as if they were the freaking Kenyan track team.

Struggling to keep up with Dante’s numbing pace, Abby was unprepared for him to come to a sudden halt. Slamming into his back, she was only kept upright by the arm he was quick enough to wrap about her waist.

“Damn,” she grunted, sucking in deep gasps of air. “Why did you stop?”

The silver eyes glittered in the darkness, his features set in hard lines.

“I don’t like this.”

Abby shivered, glancing over her shoulder at the unmistakable sound of an advancing horde.

“I don’t particularly care for it either, but it’s a hell of a lot better than those things catching us.”

“That’s the point,” he rasped.

“What?”

“They could have surrounded us, cut off any escape. Why haven’t they?”

Abby frowned, barely able to keep herself still when every instinct screamed at her to continue her willy-nilly bolt for safety.

“Because they’re freaking brain dead.”

Dante appeared stunningly unimpressed with her logic. “They may be dead, but they’re being controlled by someone.”

“And your point?”

There was a pause as his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “We’re being herded.”

“Herded?” It took a moment for Abby to collect a mental image. “You mean like sheep?”

“Exactly like sheep.”

“But . . . why?”

Astonishingly the beautiful features managed to harden even further. “I don’t think we want to find out.”

Abby’s heart sank from her throat to her lower stomach. If Dante was worried, then it had to be bad. Really, really bad.

“Oh God, what do we do?” she muttered.

“I suppose we either stand and fight or try to make a run for it.”

Abby didn’t even have to think about it.

“I’m voting on the run-for-it option.”

“Let’s do it, then.” Tightening his arm about her waist, Dante pulled her upward, planting a too-brief kiss on her lips before tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Hold on tight, lover.”

Abby gave a startled squeak as he took off with a fluid speed that made the trees a mere blur in passing. It was certainly faster than having her blundering behind, slowing both of them to her human pace, but she discovered that the swaying was making her distinctly queasy.

Closing her eyes, she battled back the nausea and concentrated on anything but the rolling ground beneath her.

The rent was due on Friday. She didn’t have a job. At least not one that paid. Unless of course there was something offered for saving the world from some creepy Prince. Her current lover was a vampire who was also unemployed. And her birthday was coming up in less than a month.

Those sorts of thoughts should easily have distracted her. Unfortunately, her stomach continued to heave and rebel.

She wrenched open her eyes, hoping that would help.

Big mistake.

A scream was wrenched from her throat as she saw the rotting corpses beginning to close in.

With a large bound, Dante leaped over a fallen tree and with a motion that had her teeth crashing together, he had her back on her feet and shoved behind him.

“Dead end,” he announced, his voice bleak, his hands clenched to strike.

Abby struggled to swallow. Slinking through the trees were a dozen, perhaps more, of the zombies. She could only thank God that it was too dark to see more than vague outlines. It was horrible enough to be attacked by the living dead without knowing firsthand how they met their end.

“Looks like we’ll have to go the stand-and-fight route,” she croaked.

“Abby.” Dante turned to regard her with an anguished regret.

She could actually feel his fury and the biting guilt that raged through him. He held himself responsible, she knew. In his mind, he had failed her.

Lifting her hand, she gently laid it against his cheek.

“Dante,” she whispered.

There was the sound of a cracking branch behind her. Instinctively she whirled about. And just as instinctively she screamed as a large stick came whizzing through the dark directly at her head.

Chapter 12

Dante knew he was going to die in the woods.

Vampire or not, he was no superhero. Hell, not even a superhero could battle off a dozen zombies and the dark wizard he could feel hiding among the trees.

But while he might not be capable of taking them all out, he could hope that he would destroy enough that Abby could use her powers to battle her way to safety.

It was a risky gamble.

It was also the only one they possessed.

He had managed to tear his way through the first wave of attackers and was desperately plowing a path toward the edge of the woods when the wizard had abruptly appeared before him. His hand lifted, and before Dante could dodge, he had struck him with a spell that sent him reeling into blackness.

He awoke to discover himself chained to a cold, barren stone floor.

He was alive, and he was not alone. He held himself utterly still, his mind already racing.

He hadn’t died, but what of Abby?

Concentrating, he searched for her presence. Nothing. Not even the familiar chaffing of the Phoenix could be detected. If he had possessed a heart, it would have stopped beating.

Bloody hell.

Bloody, bloody hell.

With an effort, he collected his rising panic.

He couldn’t allow himself to lose control. Not when he was not yet certain Abby was dead. If there was even the most remote chance she was still alive, he had to do whatever was necessary to rescue her.

Only when he knew there was no hope left would he allow himself the pleasure of ravaging everything and everyone in his path.

He hung grimly on to that thought as a soft, female hand ran an intimate path over his chest.

Dante clenched his teeth.

Once he might have found the lingering touch an invitation to full-blown debauchery.

Hell, at one time a mere glance was enough to stir his passions. A vampire was rarely particular when it came to sex.

Now, however, he barely hid his shudder of distaste.

There was something clammy and possessive about the stroking fingers. And, more importantly, they didn’t belong to Abby.

“He’s so beautiful,” a voice crooned next to his ear. Dante did not stir so much as a muscle.

There was a rasping sound from farther away, but still too close for comfort.

“Stop jerking around, Kayla.”

So, at least two, he acknowledged.

Two he could kill. Always presuming he could somehow free himself from the chains.

“You’re the one who enjoys jerking around, Amil, or should I say jerking off?” the female drawled in mocking tones, obviously referring to the man’s sexual preferences. “Some of us would rather have pretty toys when we play.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, this toy likes to bite.”

“Not if I keep him in chains.” The fingers toyed with the buttons on Dante’s pants. “Besides, the danger is half the fun.”

“You’re sick; you know that, don’t you?”

“We’re all sick, you moron, or we wouldn’t worship the Prince.” The woman gave a soft chuckle, seemingly proud of her evil connections. “I’m just honest about my perversions. And this one could make the most perverse woman scream in pleasure.”

Dante had every intention of making the woman scream, he thought. Only, pleasure would have nothing to do with it.

“The master said we are to leave him alone.”

“What the master doesn’t know—”

“Don’t be an idiot. The master knows everything.”

Ah. Dante silently tucked away the tidbit of information. This master was clearly the power he could sense in the distance. And as unloved as he was feared. Information he could use to his advantage.

“A pity. I suppose that bitch we captured has had her fill of vampire goodness.”

“That bitch is about to be burned on the altar. I’m sure she’d change places with you if you want.”

A tingle raced through Dante. They had to be speaking of Abby. She was alive. Freaking hell. He choked back a groan of painful relief.

He was not too late. Nothing else mattered.

This time he would not fail her.

He barely noted the hand that grabbed his crotch. “Having this between my legs might almost make it worthwhile.”

“Shit, Kayla, do you ever think about anything else?” the man demanded in disgust.

“It’s been a while.”

“An hour?”

The woman gave a snort of ugly amusement. “Well, not long enough to consider your tiny cock as enticement.”

“Like I’d risk my health with a whore who’s been with every beast and demon this side of the Mississippi. Why don’t you go do something useful and make sure the master has everything he needs for the ceremony?”

The fingers clutched his thigh, her nails sinking into his skin. “You’re not going to do anything to him, are you? I don’t want to come back and find him a pile of ashes.”

“The master wants him alive and intact.” There was no mistaking the edge in the man’s voice or the fact that he held his master in little regard. A man who considered himself better suited to be tyrant than servant, Dante told himself. “No doubt the Prince will have something to say about that once he’s returned.”

“Maybe I can convince him to allow me some playtime before he has him toasted.”

“And maybe he’ll do us all a favor and have you turned into a goat.”

“Eunuch.”

“Slut.”

The childish exchange completed, Dante felt the woman’s fingers give a last longing sweep before she was lifting herself upright and walking away.

He longed to scrub away the feel of her touch, but he was sensible enough to resist the urge. Instead he slowly counted to one hundred. He wanted to ensure that he was truly alone with the man before revealing he was awake and aware of his surroundings.

At last, satisfied that the woman wasn’t going to pop back in for a quickie with the unconscious vampire, Dante slit his eyes just enough to take a swift glance about.

There was not much to see.

As he had suspected, he was in a barren room that appeared to have been chiseled deep beneath the ground. His chains were attached to the stony floor, and a lone torch was stuck near the opening that led to a dark corridor beyond.

There were no chairs, no stray rocks, not even a stick that could be used to pry open the chains. Rather a pain in the ass since he would have to convince his guard to unlock him before he could break his neck.

His gaze shifted to the thin, startling young mortal attired in dark robes. He couldn’t determine his magical abilities, but there was no missing the dark thread of power he received from the dark lord. Wild and untutored, but nothing that Dante intended to underestimate. Neither did he intend to underestimate the very large stake he had clutched in his hand.

He was desperate to get to Abby. But not so desperate as to get himself killed before he could save her.

Faking a low groan, Dante allowed his eyes to fully open. Across the chamber, the man clutched the stake even tighter while attempting to appear smug.

Dante resisted the urge to smile. There was a brittle arrogance about the man that would make his task all the easier.

Nothing like overweening pride to make a man act a fool.

“Ah, so the dead awakens.” The man held up his stake, as if Dante might somehow have overlooked the lethal weapon. “I suggest you don’t move. Not unless you have developed a liking for wood through the heart.”

Dante curled his lips as he lifted himself enough to settle against the wall. His fangs he kept well hidden. No point in allowing the idiot to realize he was already dead.

“I get a lot of that.”

His captor narrowed his gaze, no doubt surprised by Dante’s casual indifference.

“Just don’t make any hasty movements.”

Dante flicked a brow upward. “Why would I make any hasty movements? I have nowhere to go.” He took a moment to glance about, his nose wrinkling at the barren surroundings. “At least not at the moment.”

Confusion flashed through the pale eyes before the man was pulling his lips into a tight smile.

“Nice try, but I was there when you tore apart six of my servants in an effort to save that woman.”

Dante shrugged. Inwardly he was cursing himself. Six? Shit, he thought he had destroyed at least nine.

“I didn’t have much of a choice. Those witches made sure of that.”

“Just as they’ll make sure you try to save her from the master.”

Dante pretended to consider the accusation for a moment.

“Actually, I don’t think so.”

The man took an unconscious step closer. Unfortunately not close enough for Dante to get his teeth upon him.

“What do you mean?”

The chains rattled as Dante waved his hand toward the thick walls. “I don’t know what it is about these caves, but the first time in three centuries that damn Phoenix doesn’t have its claws stuck in me. I obviously owe you one. And a vampire always pays his debts.” His smile widened. “Always.”

A beat passed. Obviously his guardian was attempting to use what he loosely claimed as a brain.

“You’re saying that you’re free of the curse?”

“Who knows?” Dante leaned his head against the wall. “I’m just saying that I don’t feel the least urge to lift a finger for that bitch who trapped me.”

Another beat passed. “I don’t believe you.”

“Whatever.” Dante shrugged. “At least tell me, is she dead?”

The man shot a revealing glance toward the darkened entrance.

“Not yet.”

So, she must be near. A flare of anticipation raced through him before a warning voice reminded him that she might as well be a world away unless he could get the chains removed.

With an effort, he maintained his air of aloof curiosity. “Not yet? Why would you hesitate . . . ah. Of course. You’re going to offer her up to the Prince, aren’t you?”

The human stiffened at the hint of mockery in his voice. “When the time is right.”

Dante casually studied his host, allowing his amusement to show.

“Let me give you a bit of advice, boy,” he drawled softly. “Don’t wait too long. There are all sorts of beasties out there who will kill you for the opportunity to be the one to give the Prince such a prize. The sooner you offer the sacrifice, the sooner you’ll have glory beyond belief.”

The stiffness increased as a hint of color touched the cheeks still rounded with youth.

“The glory belongs to my master.”

“Master?” Dante gave a small snort of disbelief. “Are you telling me that you captured the Phoenix and handed her over for someone else to reap the rewards? Hell, don’t you have a brain? Oh, maybe it’s the balls you lack.”

The color turned to purple as the man lifted the stake in a threatening motion.

“Watch your mouth, vampire. I would love nothing more than to stick this through your heart.”

Dante merely laughed. He had hit a direct nerve. The man’s frustrated ambition was nearly tangible in the air.

“God, I thought I had been pussy-whipped by those witches.” He rubbed the salt a bit deeper into the open wound. “At least I never willingly allowed myself to be turned into a schmuck.”

The pale eyes flashed with fury, but behind the anger was a cold hunger that he could not entirely conceal.

“I will have my rewards.”

“A few crumbs dropped by the great master? Pathetic.”

“Shut up.”

Dante folded his arms over his chest, inwardly cursing the rattling chains. He hated chains. They made him want to bite something. Hard. Instead he smiled with mocking humor.

“You could have had it all. Power, glory, a place at the side of the Prince.” His smile widened. “But then, maybe you like being a flunky. I’ve noticed most humans prefer being sheep to wolves.”

A loud breath hissed through clenched teeth. “I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work.”

Oh, it was working. The man was nearly drooling with the desire to snatch the power he felt being denied him.

“Look, I couldn’t care less who manages to kill that bloody Phoenix, just as long as it’s good and dead.” Dante glanced down to inspect his fingernail. “I intend to walk out of this cave a free vampire.”

The man gave a humorless laugh. “You think the Prince won’t want a taste of you?”

“Why should he?”

Another step closer, but still out of reach.

“You protected the Chalice.”

Dante didn’t even bother to glance up. That didn’t mean, however, he wasn’t fiercely aware of the exact distance that separated them.

“I was compelled by the witches. It wasn’t as if I wanted to be chained like a dog.”

“I doubt he’s that understanding.”

“I’d say my chances of living through the night are considerably better than your own.”

A shocked silence filled the chamber. It was obvious the fool had not even considered the cost of returning the dark power to the world. Typical. Most wizards were concerned only with the rewards, never the sacrifice that would be demanded.

And there was always a sacrifice.

“Now what are you babbling about?” he rasped.

Dante lazily lifted his head to regard him with a steady gaze.

“You do know that the Prince can’t survive in this world without feeding?” he demanded. “He requires blood. A lot of blood. Thankfully, I’m fresh out.”

A frown touched the young man’s brow. “The woman holding the Phoenix will be the sacrifice.”

“Abby? She’s barely a snack, even for me.”

“I . . .” His lips tightened. “There are servants.”

Dante chuckled. “I hope for your sake there is a whole flock of servants. Otherwise you’re about to find yourself laid over the altar with a knife carving out your heart.”

Gripping the stake so tightly it threatened to snap in half, the mortal paced toward the narrow opening. Farther away from Dante but clearly unnerved by the thought of altars and knives and the ripping out of hearts.

“I suppose you think I should let you go so that you can help me overthrow the master?”

“Me?” Dante gave a sound of disgust. “Why the hell would I want to help you? It doesn’t matter to me who kills the bitch. I’m free either way.”

The decidedly nervous disciple whirled back. A tick in his left eye revealed his barely controlled emotions.

“I don’t think you’re nearly as unconcerned as you want me to believe. I think you have feelings for the woman.”

Dante widened his eyes in mock disbelief even as he inwardly conceded that the man was not quite the idiot he had supposed. Something to remember when it came time to kill him.

“I’m a vampire, you twit. I don’t have feelings for anyone or anything. Although . . .” He deliberately allowed his words to trail away.

“What?”

“She was a helluva lay,” he drawled, hopefully cementing his seeming disregard for a mere mortal. The moment this fool was certain Dante would travel to the pits of hell to save Abby was the moment he lost all advantage. “The things she could do with her tongue could make a man explode like a volcano. I’ll have to admit I wouldn’t mind another couple of rounds before she’s tossed to the Prince. You should try her.”

A disdain marred the youthful features. “Not all of us are animals.”

“Ah . . . a woman hater. You prefer men? Or is it something a little more exotic?” Dante gave a taunting smile. “I have a friend who could fix you right up.”

His captor spit on floor. “Filth.”

“I may be filth, but I’m not the one who’s about to be fed to the Prince.” Dante settled himself more comfortably. “Give him my regards, won’t you?”

Pressed near to the breaking point, the man strode forward, his robes fluttering about his slender form.

“Shut up or I’ll shut you up.”

“Whatever you say.”

When Abby had first awoken, she had been relieved to discover she was simply alive. There seemed to be few things worse than being eaten by ravaging zombies. None that came directly to mind anyway.

Then she opened her eyes.

It took only a moment to realize she had been moved from the woods to a dark cavern of some sort. And that she was tied to a post stuck near a brazier that was belching out a foul smoke.

And that she was not alone.

She might have screamed if a rough cloth had not been tied over her mouth.

A man was standing directly before her. Or at least he appeared to be a man. She was not about to be overly hasty in handing out species assignments after the past few days. And there was something very nonhumanlike about his pasty white skin and hairless head.

And of course there was his outfit.

What sort of man wore heavy robes and a medallion that looked as if it had been ripped off some sports car?

Even as the aimless thoughts floated through her mind the thing reached up to stroke a finger down her cheek. Abby gagged at the clammy feel of his touch, desperately wondering where Dante was.

He had to be near, she told herself. Perhaps even now plotting her rescue.

She didn’t for a moment consider the fact he might be injured. Or, God forbid, dead.

That path only led to stark, raving madness.

Instead she glared at the man who was regarding her as though she were a bug pinned beneath a microscope. An apt description considering she was tied so tightly to the pole she could barely even blink.

“Such power,” he purred in an oddly mesmerizing tone. “She hums with it. It seems almost a pity to have her slain.”

Slain? Abby groaned through the rag stuffed in her mouth. She didn’t think she was tied up for a surprise birthday party, but slain?

Damn Selena and those witches. She was obviously here to be served up like a Thanksgiving turkey for the Prince.

Hurry, Dante, she silently willed. Please, God, hurry.

Another face suddenly popped into view. This one belonged to a woman not much older than Abby with a pale, pointed face and a dark cloud of hair. She might have been attractive if it hadn’t been for the unnatural glitter in her brown eyes.

“She doesn’t look all that dangerous,” the woman scoffed.

The man shot her a condemning glance. “Because, like most, you see only with your eyes, Kayla. A weakness that I have warned you of more than once.”

“It hardly matters. She’ll soon enough be dead.”

Abby didn’t like the woman’s flippant tone. She made it sound as if they were taking out the trash rather than committing cold-blooded murder. With a flare of anger, she wondered if she could fry the bitch like she had those zombies.

“Yes, soon.” The hairless stranger glanced toward the burning fire. “The summoning of the dark lord has begun.”

“Shall I call for Amil and the vampire?”

Dante. Abby briefly closed her eyes as relief surged through her. He was near. And any moment he was going to charge through the door to kick some serious ass.

Unaware of his danger, the man allowed a peculiar smile to tug at his lips.

“Not just yet. I am waiting for the appropriate moment to . . . reward my loyal acolyte.”

Something in the oily tone caught Abby’s attention, stirring the hairs on the nape of her neck. The young woman, however, merely smiled.

“You have honored me by requesting my presence.”

“I assure you that your presence is essential.”

The dark eyes smoldered with a hectic fire. “We shall be blessed above all others.”

“Yes, indeed.”

There was a sound across the chamber, and Abby shifted her gaze to discover two shadowed forms standing near the corner. They were shrouded from head to foot in heavy robes. No doubt a good thing. Abby didn’t hope for a moment they were actually human.

The woman seemed no more impressed than Abby, and her lips curled as she waved a hand toward the silent witnesses.

“Shouldn’t you be sending away those . . . pests? You surely don’t want them around when his lordship returns?”

“They are essential as well.”

“Why?”

“You will discover soon enough.”

The woman gave a harsh sound of annoyance. “I hate this waiting.”

“Patience possesses its own rewards.” Still studying Abby, the man seemed to stiffen, his head swiveling toward an opening near the servants.

The woman frowned. “What is it, master?”

“I sense a . . . disturbance. Return to Amil.”

“Now? What if the Pr—”

A cold chill abruptly filled the air. “I said return to Amil.”

Both Abby and the strange female blanched at the frozen edge in his voice. It was the voice of a man who would kill without thought or hesitation.

“Of course,” she babbled as she gave a deep bow and hurried from the room.

Seemingly having forgotten Abby for the moment, the man studied the flickering flames.

“Nothing can stop me. Not now.”

Chapter 13

Dante was waiting for the woman. She passed his shadowed form without noticing, and then it was far too late as he swiftly moved to sink his teeth deep into her throat. He was incapable of drinking human blood, thanks to the witches, but it didn’t halt him from ripping out her throat.

Without even glancing down, he dropped her lifeless form to the ground and returned to the shadows to watch his arrogant partner in crime stride into the large chamber before them.

It had been child’s play to convince Amil to release him from his chains. Evil always turned on itself, and the ambitious pup wasn’t entirely stupid. He knew quite well his master wouldn’t hesitate to feed him to the coming Prince. It was precisely what he would do given the chance.

And thankfully his puffed-up pride made him believe he could control a mere vampire.

A mistake Dante was quite willing to encourage. At least as long as he dutifully distracted the mysterious master and allowed Dante to slip away with Abby undeterred.

Should he stand in the way, Dante would ensure he made an early trip to hell.

Moving with a silence no human could match, Dante slipped behind Amil as he crossed to stand before a thin, older man draped in heavy robes. The master. Dante narrowed his gaze as he sensed the power that shimmered about the wizard.

Dangerous.

Very dangerous.

Dante slipped deep into the shadows that surrounded the cavern. He had no desire to confront the magician directly. Not when there was a danger he might be killed before freeing Abby.

The thought of Abby made his gaze instinctively move to where she was tied to the post. He had deliberately avoided regarding her too closely. It was enough to know she was alive and seemingly unharmed. To dwell upon her obvious distress would only distract him at a time when he desperately needed to keep his mind focused.

Clenching his teeth with a cold fury, he continued through the shadows, moving toward the two robed servants who stood only a few feet away.

Across the chamber, Amil at last confronted the dark wizard. “Master.”

An icy tingle of power scoured the air, making even Dante shiver.

“Why are you here?” he charged. “Where is Kayla?”

Too stupid or too arrogant to realize just how overmatched he was, the younger wizard gave a low chuckle.

“The last I saw, she was being ripped into shreds by a very angry vampire.”

There was a furious pause. “You allowed the beast to escape?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Amil drawled.

Stepping directly behind the servants, who had not yet noticed his presence, Dante reached out to wrap his arms about their throats. With one smooth motion, he twisted both their necks until they cracked, and he lowered them to the floor.

They had never seen death coming, and he was one step closer to freedom.

There was a sharp hiss from the master. “You fool. You stupid, greedy fool.”

“No, not a fool,” Amil denied. “At least not fool enough to allow myself to become mere fodder so you can wallow in your own glory.”

There was a startled beat, as if the master hadn’t expected his student to realize his ultimate fate.

“Ah, perhaps not such a fool after all,” he whispered in cold tones. “Tell me, Amil, what do you intend to do?”

“What I should have done to begin with. Kill you and offer the Phoenix to the dark lord myself.”

Not surprisingly, the proud boast brought only a laugh from the older man. “Kill me? You?”

“You are weak from your battle with the witches,” Amil boasted, causing Dante to pause in the shadows.

So, the wizard was responsible for the carnage at the coven. Bloody hell. The sooner he could get Abby out of this cavern the better.

Sinking back into the shadows, Dante began to inch his way behind the wizard.

“You can barely conjure enough power for a summoning spell,” Amil continued his taunting.

What might have been a smile curved the thin lips as the wizard grasped the medallion about his neck.

“Not so weak as you believe.” Pointing toward the younger man, the wizard struck.

Abby was well aware there was some mystical battle brewing between the two robed men. It would be hard to miss when the younger of the two abruptly slammed against the far wall only to scramble to his feet and lunge toward the older man.

Her attention, however, was not on the dueling wizards.

She had sensed Dante the moment he had entered the room. Fierce, near-heart-stopping joy had rushed through her as she had at last spotted him creeping through the shadows.

He was alive and free and on his way to sweep her away from this horrible place.

Then her joy had faltered when the light had flickered and she had seen the wet crimson that stained his shirt. Vaguely she recalled the young man in robes claiming a vampire was ripping the woman Kayla to shreds, but somehow she had not connected it to Dante. Not until she watched as he slipped from the shadows to dispatch the servants with swift and lethal ease.

He was silent, gliding death. A ruthless killer who stalked his prey without mercy.

A chill shot down her spine as she studied the alabaster features set in a pitiless mask and the eyes that glittered with a frozen silver fire.

This was the vampire he had warned her of.

The demon who lurked beneath the image of a man.

Another chill shot through her.

But not out of physical fear. Perhaps it was ridiculously naïve, but she didn’t believe he would harm her. Or at least not intentionally.

It was more the knowledge that she had come to think of Dante as . . . what?

Her boyfriend?

Her lover?

God, she didn’t know.

And now was not the time to consider such idiotic thoughts, she told herself with a mental slap.

For God’s sake, if Dante didn’t get her untied and out of the cavern, she was about to become a midnight munchie for some evil spirit. Surely that was more important than her love life?

There was a furious screech and sounds of scuffling from the two men battling in the middle of the chamber and a prickling feel of electricity in the air, but Abby refused to take her gaze from the ever-approaching vampire.

As long as she kept Dante within sight, she knew she was safe.

A ridiculous certainty perhaps, but what was a terrified, soon-to-be-sacrificed woman to do?

Unable to even whimper with the gag stuck in her mouth, Abby watched Dante move closer. His silver gaze held her own, as if compelling her not to panic.

Yeah, right.

Only the ropes binding her to the post kept her from crumpling onto the ground so she could babble in terror.

Abby Barlow, savior of the world.

Careful to avoid the raging battle in the center of the chamber, Dante flowed through the shadows. Her heart nearly halted when he disappeared behind her. Oh God. She couldn’t see him. What if he disappeared? What if there were more evil baddies hiding . . .

The feel of cool, slender fingers on her wrist put a swift end to her crazed thoughts. Abby would have wept in relief if she hadn’t realized they were still far from safe.

The ropes slithered to the floor, sending painful prickles through her arms as her blood was allowed to rush through her veins. She felt Dante’s lips at her ear as he struggled to remove the gag from her mouth.

“Say nothing,” he breathed, waiting for her nod before allowing the disgusting rag to fall away.

Abby sucked in several deep breaths as she stepped from the post and directly into Dante’s welcoming arms. He gathered her close, as if sensing she would collapse without his support. Her weakened state, however, didn’t keep him from forcing her wobbly legs to carry her toward the narrow opening across the chamber.

She bit her lip to halt her instinctive protest. She had been tied to the post for hours, and her entire body felt as if it had been ridden hard and put up wet. Still, she had no more desire than Dante to linger in this damp cell.

Not when that pasty-faced moron considered her a yummy treat for Prince Badass.

They had reached the narrow opening when a hair-raising scream rose behind them.

“No!” the younger man screeched. “I surrender! I—”

There was a horrid gurgling noise and then a whiff of what might have been scorched flesh.

Abby gagged even as Dante roughly tossed her over his shoulder and bolted down the dark corridor.

On this occasion she didn’t even notice the nausea at the swaying motion. That was one good thing about absolute, mind-numbing fear. It tended to put everything else into perspective.

Moving through the darkness with a speed that defied the law of physics, Abby silently prayed to every god and deity she could think of. It seemed an appropriate moment to cover all the bases.

Really, when it came down to it, who knew?

Time had no meaning, but slowly she began to sense they were moving steadily upward. Then, without warning, she felt the unmistakable brush of fresh air upon her cheeks.

Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, she breathed heavenward.

They were out of the dismal cavern.

And best of all, there seemed to be no sign of any sort of pursuit.

Still, Dante’s pace never slowed. Seemingly unaffected by her weight (a sop to her vanity at any other time), he charged through an overgrown cemetery and past an abandoned church. She thought she caught sight of a handful of shabby houses, but they passed in such a blur it was impossible to be certain.

It was not until they were well away from the cavern that Dante at last slowed and gently lowered her to her feet. Abby instantly swayed, and his arm lashed about her waist to keep her upright.

“Are you harmed?” he growled, his hand grasping her chin to tip her face upward for his inspection.

She shivered beneath the compelling glitter of the silver gaze and then forced herself to relax.

This was Dante.

The beautiful, incredible vampire who had just saved her life.

“Nothing that twenty years of therapy won’t cure,” she retorted in a voice that was not quite steady. “Who were those freaks? Demons?”

His nose flared with smoldering fury. “They were human enough. Mortal disciples.”

Well, that wouldn’t have been her first guess.

“Disciples?”

“Worshippers of the Prince,” he clarified. “You would call them wizards.”

Her lips twisted. So much for kindly old men with long white beards and a twinkle in their eye.

“Which would explain the magic, I suppose.”

“Magic more powerful than a mere human should be capable of possessing.” His brows drew together as if the thought troubled him. Which in turn troubled her. A lot. “It was the elder wizard who attacked the coven.”

“Dear God.” She shuddered in horror at the memory of what he had done to the witches. How could any human commit such atrocities? “He was going to feed me to that . . . shadow.”

“Yes. With the Phoenix destroyed, the Prince would walk the world freely once again.”

“A wizard. Just perfect.” She gave a shake of her head. “I suppose he’ll be in line with the demons and zombies chasing us?”

“Hopefully not immediately. The battle with the witches and young Amil will have left him weak. I don’t think he will be eager to face me just yet.”

Her gaze unconsciously darkened. “No, I wouldn’t think he would be in any hurry.”

It took a beat before he abruptly grasped her shoulders in a firm grip. His beautiful face was somber in the muted moonlight.

“I did warn you, Abby,” he rasped. “I’m a vampire. A predator. Nothing can change that.”

Instinctively she lifted her hand to place it against his cheek. His skin was chilled and smooth beneath her palm, sending a familiar excitement through her body.

“I know.”

With a gentleness that made her heart leap, he smoothed her hair behind her ears.

“Did I frighten you?”

“Maybe a little,” she admitted in low tones.

Something that might have been pain flared through his silver eyes.

“I would never harm you. No matter what happens.”

Held close to his hard body, she didn’t have a moment of doubt. “That is not what I feared.”

“What is it?”

“I just realized you were right. We’re very different. God, I’m not sure we’re even the same species.”

His arms shifted to tighten about her waist. “Different, but bound together, lover. At least until the Phoenix can be handed to another.” He held her gaze with ease. “Will you trust me, Abby?”

There was no hesitation. “With my very life.”

Oddly her swift assurance made him stiffen. As if he had been caught off guard by her ready trust.

“I . . . oh God, Abby, if only you knew,” he muttered, lowering his head to press his lips tenderly against her mouth.

Abby readily arched against him, her arms encircling his neck. Dear God, she needed him. His touch. His strength. His comfort.

Softly he soothed the horror of the past few hours, his lips stroking over her mouth, his hands gripping her hips.

Tilting back her head, she moaned as he turned his attention to the sensitive curve of her neck, nibbling at the pulse that raced with soaring excitement.

“If only I knew what?” she questioned breathlessly.

His hands tightened upon her hips before he pulled back far enough to regard her with a smoky gaze.

“How long it’s been since I’ve been treated as something other than a rabid animal.”

Her heart wrenched as she brushed her fingers across his sensuous lips. She knew all too well the feeling of being despised and unwanted in her own home. Of being brutally kicked back into place when she dared to defy her father.

How Dante had managed to endure his captivity for centuries was beyond comprehension.

“I’m sorry,” she husked. “No one deserves to be chained and held against their will.” She framed his beautiful face in her hands. “I swear I will do whatever I can to release you.”

His eyes flared as he claimed her lips in a kiss she felt to her very soul. Abby groaned, curling her toes in pleasure. Oh yeah, this vampire knew a thing or two about kissing. A woman could spend an eternity just being held in his arms.

Smoothing her hands through his satin hair, Abby sank into the sizzling heat. She was alive against all odds. She intended to appreciate every moment of what she had been given.

His hands slid slowly up the curve of her spine as his kiss deepened. His erection pressed into her stomach.

Abby forgot about dark wizards, hideous zombies, and missing witches. She forgot about everything but the searing pleasure of Dante’s touch.

For months she had fantasized about this man. Now that she knew up close and personal just what sort of lover he was, her hunger for him was near unbearable.

She heard his rasping groan as his hands shifted to cup the softness of her breasts. But even as she arched against his touch, he was reluctantly pulling away.

“Christ, what am I doing?” he muttered, shoving his hands roughly through his hair. “Let’s go before I manage to get us captured again.”

Taking her hand, Dante led her through the thickening trees, muttering beneath his breath at his brief distraction.

Abby did her own share of muttering. Certainly she was all for getting far away from the crazed wizard and his zombie posse. Putting several oceans between them didn’t seem an overreaction.

But she couldn’t deny a small measure of frustration.

Just once she wanted to be alone with Dante without the threat of horrible death hanging over their heads.

A few measly hours when they could enjoy each other in absolute peace.

It was enough to make any woman a bit grouchy.

They moved in silence for what seemed to be an eternity. Off and on, Dante would insist on carrying her so they could move quicker, but disliking the feel of being helpless, she preferred to trail behind him. Even if it meant tripping over every stray branch and bush that littered the woods. Damn nature.

At last she began to wonder if Dante intended for them to walk in circles for the rest of the night.

“Do you know where we’re going?” she demanded in suspicion.

“For help,” he retorted without missing a step. “The next time I face those zombies, I intend to have something that will frighten those sons of bitches back to the grave.”

She couldn’t argue with that.

“Good plan. Where is this something?”

“In Chicago.”

“Let me guess . . . Viper,” she said dryly.

That earned her a swift glance over his shoulder. “How did you know?”

“He seems the type to have a fascination with things that would frighten zombies.”

“You have no idea.” Without warning, he came to an abrupt halt. They had thankfully left behind the trees and now stood in what seemed to be an abandoned field. “Wait.”

Brushing things from her hair that she hoped to God were bits of leaves and branches, Abby regarded Dante with a faint frown.

“Don’t tell me you’re lost.”

Turning, he gave a lift of his perfect brows. “I’m never lost.”

Abby rolled her eyes. “Spoken like a true male.”

With a smug smile he once again took off. “This way.”

“You’re sure?” she demanded. “You aren’t just leading me around until we stumble over the car?”

“Were you born this aggravating or is it a skill you’ve developed just to annoy me?”

Her lips twitched. She couldn’t deny she enjoyed razzing Dante.

His own fault, of course.

He shouldn’t be so arrogant.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve always been this aggravating.”

“Now, that I believe,” he muttered before tossing her a patronizing smile over his shoulder as he pointed to the outline of the abandoned factory buildings just off to the left. “There.”

She gave a sniff although she inwardly sighed in relief as she realized they were only a short distance from Viper’s car. She would give her soul to rest her aching legs.

“You don’t have to smirk. It’s unbecoming.”

Dante chuckled as he reached the car and leaned his large form against the hood. Bathed in moonlight with his shirt half open and his hair flowing about his perfect face, he appeared tall, dark, and edible.

A tasty hood ornament, indeed.

Folding his arms over his chest, he allowed one of those slow, wickedly naughty smiles to curve his lips.

“I think you owe me an apology for doubting my extraordinary powers for even a moment.”

Abby struggled not to melt at his feet.

She did have some pride.

“What sort of apology?”

The smile widened. “I have a few ideas. Unfortunately they include a soft bed, scented candles, and plenty of whipped cream. None of which I happen to have on hand.”

Abby’s mouth went dry. “Vampires eat whipped cream?”

“I don’t plan on being the one eating it.”

Oh. The air suddenly seemed too thick to breathe.

No doubt it had something to do with the image of having Dante spread upon a bed as she licked a layer of whipped cream from his hard body.

“Shameless,” she rasped.

He cast a glance toward the shadowed heavens. “Shameless and dead if we don’t hurry. Chicago isn’t getting any closer. It’s going to be a near thing as it is.”

Gathering her scattered thoughts, Abby attempted to determine how much of the night had passed. A stupid attempt. To her the morning arrived when her alarm went off, usually five or six times.

“If you’re worried, why don’t I drive and you hide in the trunk?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

It was a perfectly reasonable solution.

Of course, he was a male despite the benefit of being a vampire. And in typical male fashion, he regarded her as if she had suggested he neuter himself.

“I prefer to risk the sun.”

Her lips thinned. “Are you implying that a woman can’t drive as well as a man?”

“I’m implying that the only way I’m getting into that trunk is if you join me,” he said dryly. “Besides, if Viper finds so much as a scratch on his car, being a pile of dust will be the least of my concerns.”

“And why would you think that I would scratch—”

Her words were brought to a rude halt by the simple means of Dante reaching out and hauling her against his chest. Once there, he sealed her lips with his own with a brief, scorching kiss.

“Please, lover, can we continue this argument in the car?” he murmured against her mouth.

“Oh, we’ll continue it,” she warned, not about to be so easily manipulated. At least not until they had that warm bed and whipped cream. “You can count on that.”

Chapter 14

In the end, Abby’s promise of a continuing argument proved to be an empty threat.

Her love for a rousing squabble was no match for her weariness. Dante had barely reached the interstate when her head had tilted to the side and her eyes slid closed.

Resisting the urge to halt the car and simply appreciate her peaceful beauty, Dante sped through the empty streets and reached Viper’s lair well ahead of the sun. Parking in the private lot beneath the street, he carefully carried Abby to the room they had shared before.

He was beyond weary as he lowered Abby onto the wide bed. Not only from the exertions of the night, but also from the approaching dawn. Still, he forced himself to leave the room and search out Viper in his private chambers.

He found the vampire sprawled upon an antique chaise lounge attired in a brocade robe that was heavily embroidered with gold thread. The room itself would have made most collectors drool in envy.

Scattered over the priceless hand-woven carpets were carved and gilded furnishings that had once belonged to a Russian czar. The walls were decorated with hand-painted silk upholstery, the doors made of ebony inlaid with gold leaf, and the chandeliers studded with sapphires and pearls.

More stunning were the rare works of art that were carefully displayed behind temperature-controlled glass frames. Most were thought by the world to be lost, some even having been completely forgotten. Together they created a stunning beauty that was unsurpassed anywhere in the world.

Surrounded by furnishings fit for the finest palace and sipping a brandy that cost more than some small countries, Viper appeared every inch a pampered aristocrat.

It was only when one noted the cold, calculating glitter in his midnight eyes that the image of indolent hedonism was shattered.

A glitter that became even more pronounced as Dante briefly relayed what had occurred since he had left Chicago.

Rising to his feet, Viper regarded him with a sardonic expression. “Abominations, dark wizards, dead witches—I’ll give you this, Dante, you really know how to pick your women.”

“I didn’t exactly pick Abby, the Phoenix did.”

Perfect brows several shades darker than the silver hair slowly arched.

“You do realize you lost a perfect opportunity to be rid of your chains?”

Dante smiled wryly. The chains that held him to Abby would never be broken. No matter what happened to the bloody Phoenix.

“By allowing Abby to be sacrificed? Not a chance in hell.”

“You have it bad, my friend.” Viper stared at him for a long beat. “I know this voodoo priestess who has an incantation that could—”

“Thanks, but not necessary,” Dante firmly interrupted. “What I need are those damn witches.”

Viper’s lips thinned, but for a pleasant change he didn’t pursue his argument.

A relief, considering the elder vampire possessed the ability to bend others to his will whenever he desired to make the effort.

“You’re sure some survived?” he instead demanded.

“At least a few of them. I followed their tracks to the garage.”

“They could be anywhere.”

“They won’t go far from the Phoenix,” Dante pointed out. “Even if they don’t know the precise location or even who holds the Chalice, they sense its presence. Unfortunately I don’t have any means of contacting them.”

“I would hardly call that unfortunate.” The thin nose flared with distaste. “A pity the wizard didn’t wipe them out completely.”

A sentiment Dante would have agreed with thoroughly until Abby was thrust into carrying the Phoenix. Now his only concern was finding the means to release her from her burden.

“We have already been through this, Viper.”

“And you know my feelings.”

“In gruesome detail.” Dante raised a hand to rub the knotted muscles of his neck. “Will you help me?”

“You know you don’t have to ask. I may consider you all kinds of a fool, but I will always have your back.”

“Thank you,” Dante murmured with genuine sincerity.

“What do you need?”

“Protection.” Dante promptly answered. “Something small enough to carry but able to deal with the zombies.”

A smile twitched at the corners of Viper’s lips.

“No doubt I have something suitable in my vault,” he retorted. Dante knew Viper’s vault could arm entire countries. His arsenal ranged from prototype weapons stolen from top scientists to ancient armaments blessed with powerful magic. “What else?”

“I think someone should keep an eye on the wizard. He was calling upon powers that have been forgotten for centuries. He could be a problem.”

“Ah.” The dark eyes abruptly glittered with anticipation. “Perhaps I will toddle over for a visit. I haven’t gone against a decent wizard since the Middle Ages.”

Dante frowned. As a rule, Viper managed to avoid petty confrontations. Unlike most vampires, he didn’t feel the need to prove his balls by challenging every demon that crossed his path. Which was one of the reasons Dante preferred his company to others.

But there was a part of Viper that couldn’t resist a challenge. If he thought there might be something out there to give him a worthy battle, he wouldn’t hesitate to leap in with gun blazing.

Or fangs flashing.

“Be careful,” Dante warned sternly. “I don’t doubt he’ll have a few nasty tricks up his sleeve.”

Viper chuckled with cold amusement. “Trust me, Dante, no one can match me for nasty tricks.”

“That I well believe,” Dante muttered, reaching out to grasp his friend’s shoulder as his knees threatened to buckle.

“God, you can barely stand,” Viper growled, a hint of concern touching his lean features. “Go to bed. I will set a watch outside your rooms. You and your Abby are safe here.”

Dante nodded in relief. “You’re a good man, Viper.”

“Spread that around and I’ll chop you into bacon bits and leave you to the sun,” the older vampire warned.

“It goes with me to the grave.”

Feeling every one of his four hundred plus years, Dante made his way back through the darkened hallways. At least he would have a few hours of rest.

No wizards, witches, zombies, or demons.

Just Abby.

Heaven.

Entering the private apartment, he headed directly to the bedroom only to be halted by the unmistakable sound of splashing water.

The weariness slid away as a faint smile curved his lips. Altering his course, he moved toward the bathroom and stepped through the door to study the slender woman soaking in the vast tub.

Speaking of heaven . . .

If his heart still beat, it would have halted at the sight of the white skin glowing in the candlelight like the rarest pearl and her honey curls fanned about her gamine face. Thankfully the rest of his body functioned just fine. Dante allowed his gaze to trail over the soft thrust of her breasts to the tempting triangle of hair between her thighs, and he felt himself grow hard.

Painfully hard, he acknowledged as his erection bit into the buttons of his pants.

With perfect clarity, he recalled the feel of her warmth as she had held him in her arms and the aching pleasure as she had rode him to completion.

Ah, sweet heavens he wanted her.

No, he needed her.

With a desperation that made a mockery of mere lust.

Silently kicking off his boots and shrugging out of his shirt, Dante paced forward and settled on the edge of the tub.

“Is this a private party or can anyone join in?” he murmured softly.

With an obvious effort, Abby lifted her lids to regard him with a slumberous gaze.

“Dante,” she husked, making no attempt to cover her delectable curves. “I didn’t hear you return.”

He choked back a curse as his erection swelled in response to the beautiful vision below him.

He wanted to kiss every inch of her wet, slick skin. To sink between her thighs and taste her heat. To watch her eyes widen with pleasure as he entered her and to thrust both of them into mindless bliss.

His hand trembled with the force of his desire as he reached out to stroke his fingers down the curve of her neck. He could feel the softness of her skin, the heat of her rushing blood.

“I thought you would be asleep by now,” he murmured.

She heaved a soft sigh. “This feels so good, I can’t make myself leave.”

Dante slowly smiled. “I have something that would feel even better.”

Her eyes darkened as a smile of pure temptation curved her lips.

“I don’t know.” Her gaze lingered on his bare chest. “This is pretty much at the top of the feel-good list.”

Rising to his feet, Dante quickly rid himself of his pants before he joined her in the heated water. The steam clouded about him, filled with the scent of vanilla and woman, rousing the predator that always lurked just beneath the surface.

With a growl of satisfaction, Dante pulled her into his arms as he performed a smooth roll, anchoring her atop his aching body with her legs straddling his hips.

He smiled into her startled eyes as he carefully smoothed her damp curls behind her ears.

“Lover, you’re just about to learn a whole new list.”

Her breath caught as his hands skimmed down the curve of her back to cup her backside, pressing her firmly against his throbbing shaft.

“You think you’re that good?” she breathed.

Dante chuckled as he lifted his head to nibble at the base of her throat.

“Oh, better. Much better.”

“I . . .” Her head tilted back as he gave her a small nip, her hips moving in silent encouragement. “Oh.”

Dante groaned. Her skin fascinated him. So soft. So warm.

He licked a hungry path to her breast.

The animal in him longed to simply thrust into her and find his release. There was something to be said for a swift, sweaty orgasm.

But not with Abby, he conceded.

This was not sex.

Not mindless coupling.

It was a joining that he could feel right to his dead heart.

Savoring the sweet taste of her, Dante circled her tightening nipple with the tip of his tongue. With light strokes he teased her until he heard her hiss of breath, and she grasped his head in her hands.

“Please,” she whispered.

“Is this what you want, lover?” he demanded, closing his lips about the peak to suckle her with gentle urgency.

“Yes.”

Her fingers tangled in his hair, her legs parting until she could rub herself against the length of his erection.

Dante closed his eyes at the intense shock of pleasure that flared through him. Bloody hell. Nothing had ever felt so good. And he wasn’t even inside her.

The warm water surged about them, and the candles flickered, adding to the erotic sensations. He arched his hips upward, his hands shifting to stroke over her inner thighs. Slowly he traced patterns on her wet skin, simply enjoying the feel of her. He could stay here an eternity, he realized with a tiny jolt of surprise.

Just the two of them, alone and at peace.

Still teasing the hard tip of her breast with his tongue, he slid his hands higher, tugging her legs farther apart until he discovered her center.

Her lashes lowered as he trailed a finger between her soft folds.

“Dante,” she breathed.

Nibbling his way to her neglected breast, he lightly scoured his fangs over the sensitive swell even as his finger stroked into her sleek heat.

Abby moaned, tangling her hands in his hair. He leaned back to watch the flush darken across her cheekbones. God, but she was beautiful. An exotic angel that had tumbled into his grasp.

With a slow expertise, he stroked his finger deep within her. At the same time he used his thumb to caress her tiny nub of pleasure.

“You feel so good,” he muttered, his tongue flicking over the tip of her nipple. “So ready for me.”

“Don’t stop,” she gasped.

Dante gave a choked laugh. “There isn’t a force on earth that could halt me now, lover.”

Sighing softly, Abby allowed her hands to smooth down the length of his neck and over the muscles of his shoulders. Her touch was light, but a trail of fire followed in the wake of her fingers.

A shudder of pleasure arced through his body. For centuries he had sought out vampires and demons to ease his needs. The fierce, mindless sex suited his frustrated mood. Besides, human women were a complication he didn’t need.

Now he realized just how much he had been missing.

The soft, lingering touch.

The scent of female desire.

The delicious foreplay that made him quiver with longing.

As if reading his mind, Abby lowered her head to press her lips to his chest. With open-mouthed kisses she moved to suckle his sensitive nipple, her hands stroking down the hard muscles of his stomach.

“Bloody hell,” he groaned as she briefly hesitated and then grasped his straining erection in a tender grip.

“Maybe you’re not the only one with skills, lover,” she teased as she stroked him from top to bottom and back again.

Dante hissed at the exquisite sensations that jolted through him. Skills? No. Her touch was not mere skill. It was magic.

His hips instinctively rocked to thrust his cock in her grip. God, it felt so good.

Too good.

Astonishingly he could sense the delicious pressure building deep within him. His climax was already beaconing, and he was far from finished with this woman.

Gritting his teeth, Dante concentrated on the feel of her beneath his fingers. He conjured all the expertise he had gained over the centuries to heighten her stimulation. Her moan of pleasure was all he needed to assure him that he hadn’t lost his touch.

“Come for me, Abby,” he whispered softly.

Her breath quickened as her fingers tightened upon him.

“Dante . . .”

“That’s it, lover,” he encouraged, using his thumb to bring her to the edge.

Lost in the delight of watching her face as she neared her climax, Dante was unprepared when she suddenly stilled above him, a small smile touching her lips.

“Abby?” he questioned softly.

Her smile widened, and the water churned as she abruptly shifted her weight. With a speed that caught Dante off guard, she rolled to one side, easily pulling him atop her. He floundered for a moment and might have protested at the sudden interruption if her legs hadn’t parted and wrapped about his waist.

Reaching up, she cupped his face in her hands.

“You started this, Dante; you finish it,” she murmured with a gleam in her eyes.

Dante chuckled as she tossed his words back into his face.

Oh yes.

He intended to finish this.

To both their satisfaction.

His chuckle became a groan as he pressed himself into her ready heat. She lifted her hips to meet his thrust, and he knew if he wasn’t already dead, she would surely kill him.

What man could endure such bliss?

Thank God he was a vampire.

He intended to endure the bliss several more times before the day was through.

Some time later, Abby lay wrapped in Dante’s arm in the middle of the vast bed.

She felt pleasantly weary and sated. Just as a woman should feel after a great bout of sex.

Unfortunately she also felt more than a little creeped out.

She cringed as she lightly stroked her fingers over Dante’s shoulder, which was still reddened from the steam.

Who knew?

She had reached climax before. Well, at least what passed for a climax, considering the jerks she had dated. She had even reached climax with Dante. Glorious, wonderful, mind-numbing climax.

More than once.

And while she might have felt as if she were on fire whenever he touched her, she had never actually put out enough heat to boil water.

It was . . . unnatural. And embarrassing.

And, most of all, frightening.

Sensing Dante’s curious gaze, Abby reluctantly lifted her head.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

His brows drew together in puzzlement. “For what?”

She grimaced. “Nearly boiling you like a lobster.”

A slow smile curved his lips as he pulled her even closer.

An instant jolt of excitement raced down her spine at the feel of his stirring body.

Jeez. Vampires seemed to be insatiable when it came to sex. Not that she was complaining. In fact, her first thought was, Yippee.

“A very, very happy lobster,” he murmured. “I assure you that it was worth every singe.”

She bit her bottom lip, her self-disgust returning with a vengeance.

“Dante.”

He stroked a finger down her flushed cheek. “It wasn’t your fault, Abby. You have powers now you don’t even understand, let alone control. It’s bound to cause a few side effects. Some of which are more pleasant than others.”

Her flush deepened as he deliberately reminded her of her brand-spanking-new strength and seemingly endless endurance.

All gifts of the Phoenix, it seemed.

And incredible bonuses when it came to making love.

“I’m glad you can find some humor in the situation.”

The silver eyes glinted with amusement. “Trust me, lover, you can laugh or you can cry. It changes nothing.”

“Easy for you to say,” she grouched. “You don’t know what it’s like to have your body taken over and . . .” Her words abruptly trailed away as he arched a raven brow. “Oh.”

“You were saying?”

“Something incredibly stupid,” she muttered wryly. “I guess you do know.”

He gave a slow nod. “Too well.”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “You’d think if some being was going to take over your body, they’d at least have the decency to leave you a handbook. I could kill myself or, worse, someone else with my blundering about.”

He absently toyed with a curl that lay against her cheek. “I suppose a higher being assumes that you should simply know the rules and regulations.”

“A higher being?”

“The Phoenix is worshipped as a goddess by those who battle the dark lord.”

Worshipped. Well. A girl could get used to something like that.

“A goddess, huh?” She attempted what she assumed to be a regal look. It had a lot of thin lips and flared nostrils. “Does that mean you have to bow down and pray to me?”

He chuckled softly, that wicked glint returning to his silver eyes.

“I don’t battle the dark lord, lover,” he murmured, his lips brushing her temple, her cheek, and down the curve of her neck, “but I don’t mind bowing down and tasting this glorious sweetness.”

Abby didn’t mind his bowing down either. In fact, if she wasn’t so freaked out, she would have told him to get on with the bowing down right quick.

Instead, she lightly touched his face. “Dante . . .”

Nibbling at her collarbone, he was already distracted. “Hmmm?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said softly.

Dante stilled before he pulled back to regard her with a puzzled expression. Her heart gave a faint flutter. God, he was so beautiful. So perfect. She could spend the rest of eternity simply staring at him.

“You won’t hurt me, Abby,” he assured her in low tones.

“How do you know? When I . . .” Abby awkwardly hesitated. “When we’re together, the powers just burst out of me.”

His lips twitched at her shyness. No surprise there. She was lying naked in his arms after a three-hour bout of sex.

Now she couldn’t say the word orgasm out loud.

Go figure.

“I’m willing to take the risk.”

Her lips thinned at his hint of amusement. “This isn’t a joke, Dante.”

His eyes slowly narrowed. “Abby, what is it?”

“It’s dangerous—”

“No,” he interrupted. “You know I’m immortal. There’s something else. You’re frightened.”

She shifted. He was probing into memories and emotions she had kept locked away for years.

Memories she would have seared out of her brain if she could have.

“Of course I’m frightened,” she muttered. “I have this thing inside that’s changing everything, and I can’t do a damn thing to stop it.”

His hand stroked a soothing path through her hair. “Understandable, but I think there’s more here. Tell me what you fear.”

She swallowed heavily before forcing herself to meet his probing gaze.

“Losing control.”

“Control of what?”

“Of myself.” She sucked in a deep breath. “What if I hurt someone?”

There was a brief silence as he brooded upon her words. Then with care he shifted to touch the ugly scar that marred her shoulder.

“Like someone hurt you?”

Abby flinched. Not from his touch, but from the pain of dredging up her violent past.

“Compliments of my father in one of his drunken furies,” she said in clipped tones.

Dante’s expression remained stoic, but there was no mistaking the lethal fury that flashed through his eyes.

“What did he do to you?”

“He took exception to my attempts to keep him from beating my mother and stabbed me with a broken beer bottle.”

His fangs abruptly shimmered in the faint candlelight. He moved his hand to touch the tiny round scar on her upper arm.

“And here?”

Abby shuddered, her blood running cold.

The monster that walked in the night.

A child’s fear.

For her it had never been the bogeyman.

It had been her father.

“A cigarette burn when I tried to hide his whiskey.”

His features tightened, forcibly reminding her of the predator who had stalked through the wizard’s cavern to rescue her.

“Where is he?” he growled, making the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.

“Dead.”

His eyes were flat. “There are means to reach him even dead. Viper—”

“God, no,” she breathed in genuine horror. “I don’t even want to think he might be anywhere but rotting in his grave.”

Easily sensing her distress, he pressed his lips to the top of her head.

“Shh . . . It’s okay, Abby. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

She pressed her eyes closed. He didn’t understand.

But then, no one did.

No one who hadn’t lived through her childhood.

“It’s not that.” She lifted her gaze. “I don’t want to be like him.”

He gave a jolt of surprise. “Bloody hell, Abby, you could never be like him.”

She barely noticed the manner in which his accent thickened when his emotions were roused.

“How do you know?” she demanded starkly. “We don’t know what this Phoenix might do to me.”

He cupped his fingers beneath her chin, forcing her to meet his fierce gaze.

“I know that it will only strike out to protect itself. Selena was incapable of hurting anyone. A fact that annoyed the hell out of her. She came from a time when no one would blink if she wanted to beat a servant. Even if she beat him to death.” He grimaced in reluctant memory. “There wasn’t a day that went by she didn’t long to have me tied to a post and have me properly whipped.”

She regarded him warily, desperately wanting to believe his soft words.

“What about the water . . .”

He took her hand and firmly placed it against the smooth silk of his chest.

“It was no warmer than most spas. I just happen to possess a sensitivity to heat.” He gave a shake of his head. “You are not your father, Abby. You could never be cruel. It’s simply not in your nature.”

She smiled wryly at his arrogant assurance. “You sound very certain for a vampire who has only known me a few months.”

He arched a raven brow. “It’s because I’m a vampire that I know. I can read your soul, Abby, and it is as pure and beautiful as any I have ever seen.”

She became lost in his gaze. She had never had anyone tell her such amazing things. Not her worthless parents. Not her brothers.

Not even those rare handful of men who wanted to lift her skirt.

It made her feel warm and gooey and remarkably cherished.

It also eased the last of her lingering self-disgust.

She was not her father. She was pure and beautiful.

Well, that’s what Dante believed.

And that was all that truly mattered.

Reaching up, she cupped his breathtaking face in her hands and pulled him down to her waiting lips.

Soon enough they would be battling the forces of evil. Damn the luck.

She would be a fool not to enjoy this rare moment of peace.

Dante’s lips landed upon her mouth with a searing kiss, and her body reacted with its usual zing of excitement.

His fingers found her already-hard nipple, and the zings became zooms.

Arching toward his ready erection, Abby gave herself to the dark desire.

Chapter 15

Abby awoke naked and disoriented.

Not always a bad thing. Especially when she was still warm and tingly from Dante’s touch. But she discovered that she didn’t care for being naked, disoriented, and alone.

Crawling from beneath the covers, she discovered that someone had kindly left a pair of jeans and a T-shirt on top of the dresser. There was also a new white lace thong and matching bra.

She grimaced. She had never been much of a thong woman.

Probably because she hadn’t been a size two since grade school.

Beggars, however, could not be choosers. After slipping on the tiny underwear, she pulled the T-shirt over her head before padding into the outer room.

A wave of relief rushed through her as she discovered Dante standing beside the wall refrigerator, looking extraordinarily fine in a pair of leather pants and black silk shirt he had yet to button. His silken hair was still loose about his alabaster face, and the candlelight shimmered in his silver eyes.

Fine, indeed.

So fine that Abby barely noted the empty cup of blood he set aside at her approach.

A smile twitched at his lips as he allowed his gaze to take a slow, appreciative survey of her scarcely covered body.

“Nice, lover. Very nice.”

Abby rolled her eyes, although inwardly she did a bit of preening. And why not? No one but Dante had ever made her feel as if she were thong-worthy.

“What time is it?”

“Almost nine.”

Abby blinked in surprise. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You needed your rest.” Dante reached into the refrigerator to pull out a plastic cup. “Here.”

Abby regarded the offering with a wrinkled nose.

“I don’t suppose it’s that hot fudge sundae you’ve been promising?”

His smile widened. “The next best thing.”

She thought of the green guck with a shudder. “Liar.”

He moved forward to press the cup into her reluctant fingers, his lips brushing the top of her curls.

“I’ll make you a deal. You finish that and I’ll buy you as many hot fudge sundaes as you can eat.”

Abby briefly sucked in the male scent of his cologne before stepping back to regard him with a suspicious glare.

“Okay, what’s going on? Zombies? Wizards? The end of the world?”

A raven brow arched. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re never this easy to get along with.”

He gave a startled chuckle. “Me? Lover, I’m not the difficult one.” Dipping his finger into the neckline of the T-shirt, he gave it a tug to inspect the barely-there bra. “Of course, there are moments when you are less difficult than others. Like when you—”

She swatted his hand away. “Dante, I’m not going to be distracted.”

He gave his fangs a meaningful lick. “Actually, I think I’m already distracted.”

Damn. Her nipples hardened. Determinedly she kept herself from melting into a puddle.

“You’re up to something. What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Try again.”

He hesitated and Abby felt her stomach muscles tighten. She wasn’t going to like this.

“I have an errand I must run,” he at last confessed.

“What sort of errand?”

“I’m returning to Selena’s house to see if there are any clues to where the witches might have gone.”

She considered his words a moment before giving a nod of her head and setting aside the cup o’ goo.

“Not a bad idea. Let me take a shower and—”

He reached out to grasp her arms in a firm grip. “I’m going alone, Abby.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Her temper soared as she poked him in the chest. Hard.

“Dammit, Dante, it’s a little too late to try and keep me out of danger.”

“I will not have you taking unnecessary risks.”

“The only risk is leaving me alone. You’re supposed to be my guardian.”

His expression hardened at her stubborn determination.

“You will not be alone here. Viper will keep you safe.”

Abby was not impressed. Viper might be all kinds of delicious goodness, but the last time they had stayed at this hotel, they had nearly died.

“From zombies?” she demanded with a poke. “Dark wizards?” Poke, poke. “Creepy crawlies we don’t even know about yet?”

Grasping her fingers, Dante lifted them to his mouth to give them a lingering kiss.

“He’ll be on his guard this time, I swear. Nothing will get past him.”

“I don’t care.”

“Abby—”

She threw her arms about his narrow waist and pressed her face to his chest.

“Damn you, I can’t do this alone,” she muttered. “If something happens to you, I won’t be able to go on.”

He lightly stroked her hair. “You will have to.”

“No, I can’t.” She pulled back to regard him with a resolute frown. “We’re in this together, buster, and if you leave here, I’ll follow you. I swear I will.”

His jaw briefly tightened before he gave a rueful shake of his head. “You truly are a pain in the ass, lover.”

“But a most beautiful pain in the ass,” a hypnotic voice husked from directly behind her.

“Exquisite,” another deeply accented voice concurred.

With a jerk of surprise, Abby turned about to discover two male vampires standing far too close for comfort.

“Holy . . . freaking . . . cow,” she breathed, her jaw dropping.

Dante was a dark and beautiful pirate. Viper was an exotic aristocrat.

These two . . .

They were sex magnets.

Gods of lust.

There were simply no other words.

Identical twins, they were tall with the polished golden skin of ancient Egyptians. Their faces were chiseled perfection. High cheekbones with hawkish noses and a noble brow. Their almond-shaped black eyes were outlined in heavy kohl, and there was a hint of color on their full lips. Their long ebony hair was pulled into a braid that hung down their backs, brushing the tiny white loincloth that was all that covered the most bodacious bodies ever seen.

King Tut, take me now, a renegade voice whispered in the back of her mind.

Abby gave a shake of her head, attempting to rid herself of her breathless reaction. A task more difficult than it should have been. Then Dante’s arm curled about her shoulder, and the mystical tug of fascination was broken.

She sucked in a deep breath as Dante bristled at her side.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice cold.

“Master Viper requests your presence,” one of the twins murmured.

“Master Viper?” Abby grimaced. “I bet he gets off on that.”

Two sets of luscious black gazes moved in her direction, both spending an inordinate amount of time inspecting her half-clad form. Something that Abby might have taken as a compliment if she hadn’t suspected that they were speculating upon whether her blood was A positive or B negative rather than her dubious attractions.

“We will protect the human while you are gone,” Tut One claimed.

“It will be our pleasure,” Tut Two echoed.

Abby stepped closer to the vampire at her side. “Dante?”

He pressed a comforting kiss to the top of her head. “Why don’t you get dressed, and I’ll find out what Viper wants?”

She shot him a wary glance. “They won’t—”

“We have been commanded not to taste of you,” the first of the intruders interrupted, stepping close enough for her to be cloaked in his rich, spicy scent.

“Or bed you.” The second added with a hint of regret as he moved to take a deep sniff of her skin. “Unless it is what you desire.”

They both smiled to reveal snowy-white fangs. “We possess many skills.”

“Most will not harm a human.”

Dante pulled her abruptly backward, his face the stark mask of a predator.

“Touch her and you’ll wish you never rose from the dead.”

The nearest twin merely shrugged, still sniffing at her hair. “Surely it is for the human to decide?”

“She’s decided,” Abby retorted as she grasped Dante’s hand and pulled him toward the bedroom. Glancing over her shoulder, she pointed a finger at the carpet at the twins’ bare feet. “Just . . . stay there and don’t move.”

“A waste,” one of them murmured softly.

“Indeed,” the second agreed.

Closing the door behind them, Dante pulled Abby to face him. “I must speak with Viper. Will you be okay?”

She bit her lip, glancing toward the door. “Can I trust them?”

His smile was without humor. “No, but they fear Viper and are not foolish enough to risk his wrath. They won’t trouble you without invitation.”

“Invitation?” She blinked in disbelief. “You think I’ll invite them to . . . to . . . ?”

He gave a lift of his shoulder. “Few women can resist them. They have lured some of the most powerful and beautiful women to their bed. Cleopatra. The Queen of Sheba. It’s rumored they’ve even seduced more than a few presidents’ wives.”

“Oh my God.” Abby widened her gaze. “Which ones?”

“Does it matter?”

The edge in his voice warned Abby that now was not the time to press for juicy gossip.

“Only in a historical context.”

A reluctant smile curved Dante’s lips as he pulled her close. “Abby.”

Her hand lifted to trace a light pattern upon his chest. “I’d be lying if I said they weren’t gorgeous, but I don’t want any vampire but you.”

“Good.” His lips nuzzled her temple. “It’s not really good etiquette to dust a fellow vampire before dinner. Besides, Viper tends to get a bit cranky when he loses his goons.”

She heaved a rueful sigh. “Speaking of Viper, I suppose you should go see what he wants.”

He ran his tongue along the line of her jaw. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

A delicious shiver raced down her spine, but Abby refused to be entirely distracted. Grasping the front of his shirt, she pulled back to regard him with a warning frown.

“You’re not going to try and sneak out behind my back?”

He arched a raven brow. “Would it do any good?”

“Absolutely not.”

He sighed. “Don’t worry, lover, as much as I hate to admit it, I can only search for what Selena might have left lying for anyone to find. To discover her secrets, I will need you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I will explain later.” He placed a branding kiss on her lips before moving toward the door. “Oh, you might want to wait until I return before you have your dinner.” He flashed a dry smile over his shoulder. “The last time you sampled the herbs, they had a rather . . . potent effect on you. I wouldn’t want your watchdogs to get the wrong idea.”

He was gone before Abby could find something suitably heavy to toss at his head.

Damn vampire speed.

As he drove through the dark streets of Chicago, Dante found himself as twitchy as if he were standing in the midst of a lightning storm. An unfamiliar sensation and one that he found impossible to dismiss.

Bloody hell, what was the matter with him?

As promised, Viper had gathered a large canvas bag filled with a variety of mystical weapons. He had even given Dante a cell phone that was programmed with the numbers of various vampires and demons he could contact in case of an emergency.

Along with his supernatural powers, there were few things mortal or immortal that could hope to best him.

He was near invincible.

But near invincible was not good enough, he conceded, glancing to where Abby sat in the seat beside him.

There were too damn many creatures who wanted this woman dead.

One mistake, one miscalculation and . . .

His jaw tightened in grim determination.

No.

There would be no mistakes. No miscalculations.

Unaware of his brooding thoughts or just how easily she had managed to rattle his nerves, Abby poked at the heavy bag that Dante had placed in her lap.

“You haven’t told me what’s in the bag,” she broke the silence.

“Protection.”

With a curious lift of her brows, she pulled open the heavy zipper and gave a choked cough.

“Good God, are you sure Viper didn’t make a mistake?”

“It would be refreshing to think Viper could occasionally make a mistake, but unfortunately it never happens. Why?”

“There’s nothing in here but junk.”

Dante hid his amusement. “Rare and priceless junk, I assure you.”

Shaking her head at the amulets, talismans, and charms, she plucked out a delicate dagger with a serpentine blade that glowed with mystic symbols etched on the layered metal.

“What’s this?”

Dante instinctively shuddered. “A keris.”

“A what?”

“It’s a blessed dagger from Bali.”

“What does it do?”

He flashed a wry smile. “You use the pointy end to stab people.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ha-ha.”

“It possesses protection spells. Viper believes it will be effective against whatever evil the dark wizard might conjure.”

“Oh.” She held the weapon toward him. “Shouldn’t you be carrying it?”

Dante flinched from the power of the blade. “Careful, lover, it works against me as well as other nasties, so you might not want to wave it in my direction.”

“Oh, sorry.” With a hurried motion, she dropped it back into the bag. “Why would Viper have a weapon that kills vampires?”

Dante shrugged as he turned the car toward the exclusive neighborhood that had once been his home.

“Better in his hands than in the hands of his enemies.”

“Surely it would be better to have it destroyed completely?” she pointed out with indisputable logic.

“Viper is too fanatic a collector to ever destroy such a priceless artifact.” He flashed her a swift glance. “Besides, you never know when you might need such a weapon.”

Her eyes widened. “You mean . . .”

“Battles between vampires are rare but not unheard of.”

“Yikes.”

Dante returned his attention to the road. “Indeed.”

She fell silent as he pushed the remote keypad he held in his fingers and turned through the familiar iron gates. Slowly he drove up the long, tree-lined drive that eventually wound its way to Selena’s secluded mansion.

Dante didn’t need to see Abby’s suddenly clenched fists or the tightening of her expression to sense her swelling tension.

This was where her life had been forever altered.

She hadn’t forgotten.

Pulling the car to a halt and switching off the engine, he turned to study her fragile profile with a frown of concern.

“Abby?”

“It’s a lot worse than I realized,” she muttered, her gaze absorbing the broken windows and roof that had been half blown away.

Dante knew he would eventually have to deal with the estate, but he was in no hurry. The wards that Selena had placed about the house would keep out anyone not invited. Including the most desperate thieves.

He lightly touched her shoulder. “Do you want to remain in the car?”

She sucked in a deep breath, turning to meet his searching gaze. “No.”

Gathering an amulet that Viper promised would counter the magic used to animate a zombie, Dante pushed it into the waistband of his pants. His daggers were already safely tucked into his boots, and with a motion of his hand, he indicated that Abby should place the keris in its sheath and belt it about her waist.

The sheath would protect him from the powerful blessing but would allow Abby easy access to the dagger should she have need.

Demon, witch, zombie, or wizard would get more than they bargained for on this occasion.

Together they left the car and headed up the sweeping terrace to the double doors. Entering the vast foyer, Dante instinctively headed for the main staircase when Abby abruptly stumbled over the broken bits of a vase upon the marble floor.

He placed an arm about her shoulders as she regarded the shattered porcelain with an odd fascination.

“Steady,” he murmured.

It took a moment before she gave a shake of her head and turned her attention to the nearby stairs that were now charred and covered in plaster and chunks of wood from the ceiling.

“It’s even worse than I remember. My God, how could this have happened?”

His jaw tightened as the image of Selena’s lifeless body flashed through his mind. Nothing should have been capable of destroying her. Certainly not something that he had been incapable of sensing.

“I don’t know, lover.”

“Do you think it was the work of the wizard?” she demanded.

Dante frowned. “It’s possible, I suppose.”

“You don’t sound very convinced.”

“If it was a servant of the Prince, then Selena should have sensed its presence, just as you did with the zombies,” he pointed out. “Besides, she had been the Chalice for a very long time and grown incredibly powerful. I cannot imagine even the elder wizard would dare to challenge her.”

She gave a slow nod. “I think you’re right, which means we’re still no closer to discovering what happened to Selena.”

“Do you sense anything?”

Abby closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Dante realized she was attempting to focus her newfound powers to search the empty house.

At last her eyes opened, and she gave a faint shiver.

“No, there is nothing.”

Dante stepped directly before her. He hadn’t missed her faint tremor.

“What is it?”

She shrugged as she forced a smile to her lips. “I just have the creepy crawlies.”

“The creepy crawlies?”

“The heebie-jeebies.”

Dante gave a shake of his head. “Are you speaking English?”

“You know, like someone just walked over my grave.”

Dante didn’t even think as he abruptly lashed his arms around her and yanked her against his chest.

“Don’t,” he hissed.

Her eyes widened in shock, and he belatedly realized his fangs were fully extended and his face no doubt stark with warning.

He didn’t care.

For the moment he was all vampire.

“Dante?” she husked uncertainly.

“Never tempt fate,” he growled.

“It’s just a saying.”

“It’s dangerous,” he warned, his predatory instincts on full alert at the mere mention of Abby in her grave. “We mustn’t do anything to call attention upon us.”

She blinked, startled by his words. “You’re superstitious?”

“I’ve lived for centuries. There are very few things I don’t believe in.”

“Oh.” She mulled over his words before giving a nod. “I suppose you have a point.”

His arms tightened as he pressed his forehead to her own. “I won’t let anything harm you.”

“I know,” she said softly, her hands cupping his face.

“But if something should happen to me—”

His fierce command was brought to a halt. A highly unusual event, considering he rarely let anything or anyone interrupt a direct decree.

But then it was even more rare when Abby pressed her lips to his mouth. He found the entire world was brought to a halt.

Unfortunately her kiss was all too brief, and just as he was getting into the swing of things, she pulled back to regard him with a stern frown.

“No, Dante,” she retorted, as always ignoring the fact that no one told him no. “You said yourself, we shouldn’t tempt fate.”

He didn’t bother to argue. Why should he? It would be simpler to bash his head into the wall and be done with it.

Besides, Viper would know to come for her if something happened to him.

He would leave it at that.

“Enough.” With a smooth motion, he hoisted her into his arms. Once assured she was secure, he easily moved toward the stairs. “I don’t think it’s wise to linger here any longer than we need.”

Her arms instinctively looped around his neck. “What are we looking for?”

“Selena had a safe that she kept warded by powerful spells. I hope now that you carry the Phoenix, we can find a means to open it.”

“If it survived the blast.”

He smiled. Not even the end of the world would have affected the spell.

“It survived. Hold on.”

She gave a small shriek as he crouched and then in one fluid bound had them at the top of the steps.

“Holy crap, I didn’t know you could do that,” she breathed. “What other surprises do you have?”

He slowly smiled. “Lover, I possess enough surprises to keep you guessing an eternity.”

“And enough ego to last way beyond that.”

“Would you have it any other way?”

She rolled her eyes. “I thought we were in a hurry?”

With reluctance he bent to set her upon her feet. He didn’t sense any danger nearby, but he wasn’t going to be caught off guard again. He wanted to be ready to strike if necessary.

“Be careful where you step. The floorboards are not entirely stable.”

“Yeah, magical blasts tend to be hell on floorboards.”

Despite her flippant tone, she was wise enough to be cautious as she made her way down the darkened hall. Dante was close behind her. So close that he easily sensed when the sudden chill shuddered through her body.

“What is it?” he demanded.

“Nothing.”

“You felt something.” He reached out to grasp her arm, pulling her to a halt. “Is there anything here?”

A frown marred her forehead. Not the pissy frown she reserved solely for him. But the one that warned she was sensing something she could not explain.

The one she had had too many occasions to use over the past few days.

“It’s not that. It’s . . . I don’t know, like an echo.”

“From the spell Selena cast?”

“Maybe.” She abruptly rubbed her hands over her arms. “It feels wrong, somehow. Not evil, but . . .”

He tilted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Abby?”

“It’s difficult to explain.”

“Try.”

Her eyes narrowed. A silent warning he would eventually pay for his arrogant tone.

Not at the moment, however.

“I once walked past a chemical plant that was pumping toxic waste into the river. It was nothing I could actually see, but there was a certain smell and foulness to the air that made my skin crawl. That’s what I feel now.”

“Foulness.”

“Yes.”

Dante growled low in his throat. He was a predator. A lethal killer. The fact that he could not sense the danger lurking in the air made him long to destroy something.

Something witchy.

“There is something I’m missing.” He gave a sharp shake of his head. “Damn. This way.”

Taking Abby’s hand, he led her farther down the hall. He considered it a minor miracle they managed to make it over a dozen steps before Abby dug in her heels.

“Wait. Where are we going? Selena’s rooms are down that wing.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Trust me.”

Damn. Wrong words.

Her heels nearly made holes in the floor as she refused to budge.

“Trust you? Again?”

“Have I led you astray yet?” Her mouth flew open far too readily. A diversion was clearly in order. Never one to miss an opportunity, Dante glided forward to cover her mouth in a swift, hungry kiss. “Don’t answer that,” he murmured against her lips. Her hands clutched his arms as she instinctively arched against him. Devil spit. Dante felt her fiery heat sear through him. It licked over his skin and smoldered in his blood. His teeth clenched. The ache to gather her in his arms and take her against the wall was firmly thrust aside. He would never have enough of this woman. But now was not the time or place, he sternly chastised. Pulling back, he grasped her hand and pulled her firmly down the hall before she could come to her senses. Shoving aside a broken statue, he pointed at the wall. “This is it.”

“This is what?”

“The safe.”

“Where?”

He touched his finger to the center of the satin wallpaper. “There.”

She shot him a narrowed glare. “Is this some sort of Abbott and Costello routine?”

His lips twitched despite the urgency of their situation. “The safe is set in the wall and has been warded. It’s up to you to break the spell.”

“Me? I’m no witch.”

“Selena was not a witch, lover.” He reached out to touch her cheek. “Her power came from the Phoenix.”

“A power she had three hundred years to learn to control, not three days.”

“You can do this.”

Her frown threatened to become permanently engraved. “Easy for you to say. Hell, I don’t even know how to start.”

“Just concentrate,” he urged softly.

“On the wall?”

“On the safe behind the wall.” Dante stepped back to watch her closely. He hated putting such pressure on Abby. She had barely accepted that she carried the Phoenix. Now to be expected to wield its magic was rather like expecting a bird to fly only moments after it hatched. Unfortunately, there was no choice. They had to find the witches. A long silence filled the hall, and then her hand lifted, and she twitched her fingers. Dante frowned in confusion. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to cast a damn spell.”

“By wiggling your fingers?”

“It’s a . . . thing. A stupid thing, but a thing.” She angrily blew a stray curl from her forehead. “Now, do you mind? I’m trying to concentrate.”

He held up his hands. “Please, concentrate all you need.”

There was another silence. A long silence. And then a heavy sigh.

“Damn.” She turned to regard him in defeat. “I can’t do this.”

He grasped her shoulders in his hands. This woman possessed enough power to rip apart the entire city. More power than he could ever dream of. He would not allow doubt to stand in her path.

“Abby, you have killed a hellhound, battled zombies, and escaped from a dark wizard. You can do this.”

She grimaced. “What I’ve done is bumbled from one disaster to another, and the only miracle is that I haven’t managed to kill both of us in the process.”

“I believe in you, even if you don’t believe in yourself.”

“Which doesn’t say much for your intelligence.”

He gave her a slight shake. Why had Viper not warned him that mortal women were as stubborn as Stlantd demons?

“Abby.”

She met him glare for glare before heaving a frustrated sigh. “Okay, okay. I’ll try again.”

Chapter 16

Abby squeezed her eyes shut. Even then she could feel Dante hovering beside her like a vulture. She could sense his tension. His fierce determination.

He was expecting her to perform some sort of hocus-pocus. A joke, of course. She was as likely to sprout daisies out of her ears as she was to magically open some mystical door.

Still, she had to try something. As long as she carried the Phoenix, she would be hunted. And worse, Dante would be forced to protect her, even if it meant the end of his own existence.

So far, stupid luck had kept them alive. But sooner or later, they would come up against something he could not defeat. Then they both would be dead.

She wouldn’t let that happen.

Ignoring the feeling she was doing nothing but making an ass of herself, Abby sternly focused her thoughts. She had taken out a hellhound and had burned the zombie to a crisp. Granted, she hadn’t known what the hell she was doing, but there had to be something inside her that she could use.

Imagine the wall, she told herself. And in the middle of the wall a safe. A safe like the ones in the old movies she loved. A big, silver safe with a black combination lock and slender handle . . .

Thoroughly concentrating upon the image, she didn’t notice the faint buzzing in her ear. Not until the buzzing became a ringing. And then became a loud clap that sent her tumbling backward in shock.

Opening her eyes, she stared in wonder at the large safe now clearly visible in the wall and clearly open.

“Holy crap,” she breathed.

The words had barely tumbled from her lips when Dante was at her side to gently lift her to her feet.

“Are you hurt?”

She pressed a hand to her heart, which she realized was nearly pounding out of her chest.

“I’ll live. Is that the safe you wanted?”

“Yes.”

“What’s inside?”

“Books.”

She turned to regard him in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? The woman leaves priceless Ming vases and Picassos lying about like they came off a sale rack at some discount store and she fills a hidden safe with musty old books?”

“They are spell books.”

“Are you sure?”

A raven brow arched. “I’m a vampire; I can sense power, but not actual magic. You tell me.”

She bit her lip before forcing herself to reach into the murky shadows and pluck out the handful of books.

She wasn’t sure what she expected. Ancient manuscripts wrapped in leather and gold. Rolled parchments with heavy seals. Bed knobs and broomsticks.

Anything but the library rejects she held in her hands.

“They look like regular old books to me.” She flipped open the top book only to sneeze as a cloud of dust filled the air. “Dirty old books.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a philistine?”

“A what?”

He chuckled softly. “Never mind, lover.”

Abby rubbed her nose as she shot Dante a puzzled glance. Once again she was rumpled and covered in dust while he stood there without a hair out of place.

Damn him.

“Will these help lead us to the witches?” she demanded.

“Is there anything hidden in the pages?”

“You mean like some sort of code?”

“Like telephone numbers or names or a map to a hidden coven?”

Well, duh. She busied herself with flipping through the pages to hide her blush. No one had ever accused her of being a budding genius, but she was not usually a total moron.

“No, no names or maps,” she muttered. “Just a bunch of really bad poetry. Good God, listen to this stuff—”

“Abby,” Dante abruptly interrupted. “I don’t think—”

“‘Circle of the sacred Chalice,

Turn your power to dark and malice.

Elements of earth and air,

Water and fire combine to share.

Hear our plea and know our cause . . . ’”

Abby was uncertain when the words began to burn like fire upon the page. Or to echo eerily through the air as she mouthed the strange spell. She only knew that a powerful compulsion had suddenly taken her in its clutches, and the world about her disappeared.

She couldn’t halt the words from flowing. Not even when a sharp, fierce pain began to pulse deep within her. It was like falling from a cliff. There was no halting until she hit the bottom.

Even if that bottom meant a jolting, bloody end.

She might have continued chanting for eternity if she had not suddenly been attacked from behind.

Given no warning, Abby found a pair of strong arms wrapped about her. She had time to grunt in confusion before she was being driven to the polished floor. Her head hit the boards with a sharp bang.

“Dammit.” She blinked away the stars shooting in front of her eyes before struggling to her knees. “Dante, you could have just tapped me on the shoulder . . .”

Her words trailed away as she realized that Dante wasn’t responsible for her near whiplash. Instead her gaze fell upon a strange woman crouched directly before her.

Oh yeah, definitely strange, she conceded.

Struggling through the fog that still clung to her brain, Abby studied the dark, slender woman.

She appeared human enough. Despite the exotic beauty of her long raven hair and perfectly crafted features, there was a smoldering vitality that seemed more mortal than immortal. And her hard muscles were the sort that belonged to a well-honed athlete rather than the fluid strength of a vampire.

Still, there was a barely tamed danger glowing in the slanted golden eyes and a tension in the coiled body that made her seem . . .

Deadly.

Covertly Abby cast a glance to the side, her heart faltering as she caught sight of Dante lying on the floor, his eyes closed.

Shit.

She didn’t know what the creature had done to Dante, but if she was strong enough to knock out a vampire, what chance did a puny mortal stand in overcoming the intruder?

Not a chance in hell.

Her only hope of saving Dante seemed to be in talking her way out of danger. A frightening prospect.

Ignoring the instinct to rush to Dante’s side, Abby sternly concentrated upon the woman before her. It had to be a good thing she hadn’t already finished what she started.

Didn’t it?

Careful to make no sudden movements, she sucked in a deep breath.

“Who are you?”

The golden eyes narrowed. “You must stop.”

“Stop? Stop what?”

“The spell. It is dangerous.”

Abby licked her dry lips, relieved to note that the wrenching pain that had been destroying her was starting to ease.

“Dangerous to whom?”

“Your mate, for one.”

Mate? It took a moment for Abby to figure out she was referring to Dante. Her eyes widened in horror as her gaze flew to the still-unconscious vampire.

“I did that?”

“The spell . . .” Without warning, the woman threw back her head and growled low in her throat. Abby stiffened as she watched the creature lift a hand to claw at her neck. Almost as if she was battling some unseen enemy.

Abby scooted forward with a frown, her hand reaching out. “Are you hurt?”

The woman hissed at her. She actually hissed. Just like a cat.

“Do not touch me.”

Abby’s hand wisely dropped, but her gaze remained upon the claw marks the woman had made on her neck.

“You’re bleeding.”

“They demand my return. I can’t . . .”

There was another growl, and then with a blur of motion, the creature was on her feet and bounding down the hall. She disappeared into the darkness before Abby could open her lips to call out.

Well, that was creepy.

For a moment Abby remained frozen in place. She had seen enough horror shows to know that just because a beastie had left the room didn’t mean it wasn’t still lurking in the shadows.

When nothing lunged out with a butcher knife or breathed fire from the doorway, she awkwardly crawled to lean over Dante’s horribly still body.

“Dante?” With great care she gently cradled his head in her lap, her hands frantically stroking his beautiful face. “Dante . . . Oh God, please wake up.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t so much as twitch for what seemed an eternity. She called, she pleaded, and she even prayed. Panic was rearing its ugly head when his lashes at last lifted to reveal dazed silver eyes.

“Abby?” His silken voice was oddly husky. “What happened?”

Ridiculously she felt tears trickle down her cheeks even as she laughed in relief.

She hadn’t killed him.

Thank the gods above.

“You’re asking me?” she rasped. “I haven’t had a clue what’s going on since this madness started. One minute you were at my side and the next you were on the floor.”

His brows drew together as he silently attempted to piece together his fractured thoughts.

“The spell,” he at last breathed. “It was ripping me apart.”

Abby grimaced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

A faint smile touched his lips. “It doesn’t matter. We need to get somewhere safe until I can recover my strength.”

Abby was all for that. Especially when that strange woman might pop out of the woodwork at any moment. A story for Dante when he wasn’t lying near death from her stupid attempt at abracadabra.

“Can you move?”

He closed his eyes to assess his injuries. “If you can help me to my feet.”

Abby bit her lip as she slipped a hand beneath his shoulder and helped him struggle upright. If Dante actually lowered his testosterone enough to ask for help, it had to be bad.

He swayed heavily against her, and Abby battled to keep him upright.

“We’ll never make it to the car,” she said. “We should call Viper.”

“No. If you can help me down to the basement, I can recover in my lair.”

Abby gave a blink of surprise as she automatically led him toward the nearby servant’s staircase.

“You have a lair?”

“Of course. A vampire needs more than tinted windows and a soft bed to feel comfortable.”

“Oh.” Abby felt incredibly stupid. Until this moment, she had never considered the fact that Dante had walked freely about the house during the day.

Reaching the stairs, she helped him grasp the railing and together they began the downward trek.

“Oh, what?” he demanded, his jaw locked to combat his obvious pain.

“I just realized that when I worked here, you were always awake during the day. The tinted windows protected you?”

He managed a strained smile. “As long as I didn’t stand directly in front of the window.”

Breathing hard, she pressed her hand to his chest to make sure he didn’t tumble forward.

“Aren’t vampires creatures of the night?”

“As a rule.”

“But you prefer the day?”

“Let us that I possessed an irresistible desire to alter my habits.”

Abby recalled their employer’s demanding nature. The woman had been a despot when it came to her own comfort.

“I suppose Selena demanded you be available for her?”

“Whatever her demands, Selena was never capable of forcing me to pander to her preference for day.” His tone was arrogant as he shot her a glance from the corner of his eye. “Only one woman has ever managed that, lover.”

Her eyes widened as a blush touched her cheeks. “Oh.”

Despite the odd weakness that still clutched at his body, Dante found a smile curving his lips as Abby helped him to the deep basement. He reached out to press the hidden lever to his lair.

He had always delighted in bringing a hint of color to Abby’s cheeks. For all she had endured in her life, and she had endured more than any woman should have to, she still managed to be enchantingly innocent.

The paneling swung inward to reveal the room he had called home since coming to Chicago. Switching on the light, he waited for Abby to step within before shutting the door and setting the invisible traps that should keep them safe for the moment.

“Don’t touch the door,” he warned Abby as he moved to the refrigerator and collected a bottle of blood. “I added a few surprises for anyone foolish enough to disturb me while I slept.”

Wisely Abby backed away from the heavy steel door. “What sort of surprises?”

“Enough electricity to halt your heart, a poisoned dart that will turn your insides to mush, a curse that will shrivel a man’s private jewels to—”

“Okay, that falls under the category of way too much information,” she interrupted before her eyes abruptly widened. “Good God. What if I had accidentally stumbled across this door? I would have been fried or mushed or shriveled.”

Taking a deep drink of the blood, Dante was relieved to find his strength swiftly returning. Whatever had happened to him at least was not permanent.

“Maybe mushed or fried.” He cast a pointed glance below her waist. “You don’t have the proper equipment to be shriveled.”

“I’m serious.” She planted her hands on her hips. “I could have been killed.”

His lips twitched. He wasn’t about to confess that he had been vividly aware of her presence in the house even during his deepest sleep. That there was not a step that she had taken that he hadn’t followed. She could not possibly have come near his lair without his awareness.

It smacked too closely of obsession.

“You were living with a powerful Chalice and a vampire, lover. My private door was the least of your concerns.”

Her lips twitched with grudging humor. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes. Whatever happened seems to be fading.”

“Thank God.”

“Yes.”

There was a moment of silence before curiosity at last overcame good manners, and Abby was covertly casting glances about his secret lair.

Dante drained the last of the blood as he watched her expressive features.

The room had little in common with the pretentious mansion. Unlike Selena, he preferred the elegant to the gaudy. The bed was wide but built of plain mahogany with a gold and black comforter to match the carpeting. The furnishings were sturdy and the walls nearly hidden by the heavy shelves that were filled from floor to ceiling with his collection of rare books.

Giving a faint shake of her head, Abby moved to his desk to touch his state-of-the-art laptop and printer.

Dante polished off another bottle of blood, his lips twitching. “Is something the matter?”

“It’s not quite what I was expecting.”

“You were hoping for dusty skeletons and bats?”

She turned to face him with a faint smile. “It seems more fitting for a college professor than a dangerous vampire.”

Setting aside the bottle, Dante prowled toward the slender woman. “Are you implying that I’m dull?”

Sensing the sudden heat in the air, she eyed him warily. “Dante, we should be deciding what we are to do next.”

She was right, of course.

Once again his brilliant notion had led to nothing more than nearly getting them killed. And the witches remained as elusive as ever.

Even worse, he was now completely out of ideas as to how to trace the coven.

But his thoughts refused to remain focused on the problems at hand.

How many nights had he lain sleepless in that bed tormented with fantasies of Abby? How often had he battled against the ache to lure her to his side?

She may never have stepped foot in this lair, but her presence haunted every inch of it.

He continued forward, not halting until he had her firmly wrapped in his arms.

“You didn’t answer my question, lover. Do you find me dull?”

He felt her breath catch as the mystical blue eyes darkened with awareness.

“We shouldn’t become distracted,” she protested, although her hands were already smoothing up his chest to wrap about his neck.

“Too late.”

With one smooth motion, he scooped her off her feet and laid her in the center of the bed. The breath rushed from her lungs as he busily set about ridding her of the annoying clothes.

“Dante.”

Tossing aside her shoes and socks, his hands reached to remove the sheathed dagger and then returned to tug at the zipper of her pants.

“You don’t know how many nights you tormented me, lover.” The pants were swiftly jerked off her legs, and his attention turned to her shirt. “Watching you, smelling your scent, feeling your heat. It was truly enough to drive a vampire mad.”

A flush touched her cheeks as he removed her shirt and regarded her with a slumberous gaze. Bloody hell but she was a delectable morsel.

Spread upon the gold and black cover wearing nothing more than her lacy bra and thong, she would have made the most discerning vampire pant with need.

His lingering weakness was washed aside by a tidal wave of sheer blinding need.

Holding his gaze, Abby slowly smiled. “Good.”

Dante lifted his brows as he planted his hands on each side of her head and pressed his lower body against her.

“Good?”

Her hands skimmed up his arms and over his chest where she began tugging at the buttons of his shirt.

“You tormented me enough,” she explained.

His head lowered to nuzzle at the sensitive spot just below her ear. “Why didn’t you come to my bed?”

His shirt was roughly tugged off his body. “Do you think that I jump into bed with every vampire I meet?” she demanded.

The demon flared within him. “I think that any jumping of vampires you do from now on had better be with me.”

He leaned down to nip at her ear and was rewarded by a sharp shudder of longing that raced through Abby’s body.

His own body was already hard and aching as he kissed a path down her neck and struggled to rid himself of his remaining clothes. Then, using his fully extended fangs, he tugged aside the bra.

Abby caught her breath as his teeth grazed her delicate skin, and Dante choked back a groan.

“Bloody hell but I wish I could taste you,” he muttered as he sought her hardened nipple with his tongue.

Her fingers tunneled into his hair as she arched upward. “Taste? You mean suck my blood?”

“There is nothing more intimate than the mingling of blood,” he whispered. “And nothing more erotic.”

“This seems plenty erotic,” she moaned. “I’m not sure I could bear any more.”

Dante licked the underside of her breast as his hands slid over her smooth skin. Her heat seeped into his body, into his dead heart.

“You’d be surprised, lover,” he assured her as he settled more firmly between her legs. “We haven’t even begun to explore the possibilities.”

Her legs encircled his hips with blatant invitation. “You mean like whipping cream?”

“Whipping cream, strawberries . . . chains.”

“Chains? In your dreams, bud. I—” With a soft laugh, Dante surged into her damp heat. Pure sensation rippled through him as her fingernails sank into his shoulders and she gasped with pleasure. “Oh yes.”

“Oh yes,” he breathed as he lowered his head to kiss her with tender need.

Buried deep inside her, Dante paused to savor the feel of being so intimately bound together. It wouldn’t matter if they had an eternity to explore each other, he would never tire of this woman. Never have enough of her sweet heat.

He would never be close enough.

Opening her eyes at his hesitation, Abby regarded him with a searching gaze.

“Dante? Is something wrong?”

His lips touched her forehead. “Everything is perfect, my love,” he whispered, his hips thrusting deeper before slowly pulling out to thrust again. “You are perfect.”

Her legs tightened about his waist, her beautiful face flushed. “Hardly perfect.”

“Never argue with a vampire. We are always right.” A growl was wrenched from his throat as she lifted her hips and his cock sank to the heart of her. Bloody hell. He needed more. He needed to have her connected to him in a manner that would bind her forever. “Abby.”

She was panting as he steadily pumped himself into her. “Dante . . . can’t this conversation wait? It’s a little difficult to think right now.”

He traced her lips with his tongue. “I want to give you something.”

Her fingernails bit deeper, sending a thrill of pleasure through him. “What?”

“A gift.”

She moaned. “Now?”

“Now.”

“But—”

It was obvious she was swiftly climbing to a climax, and Dante slowed his pace.

“I want to give you my blood.”

Her eyes widened, the hint of distaste revealing that she had no idea just what an honor he had just offered her.

“I . . . um . . . That’s very nice, but I have to be honest and tell you that drinking blood rates pretty high on my ick meter.”

He smiled gently. “Abby, a vampire does not easily offer his blood to another. It is a rare symbol of trust since it gives power to the one who ingests it.”

“Power? Do you really think I need any more? I don’t seem to be able to control what I have.”

“Power over me.”

She stilled beneath him. “How?”

He brushed his lips over her cheeks and gently nipped at her swollen lips.

“You will be a part of me. You will feel my emotions, know my heart, and sense me wherever I may be.” He pulled back to peer deeply into her eyes. “Even if I am hidden deep within the ground to heal.”

It took her a long moment to realize the extent of his faith in her.

To be able to sense his every emotion, to know if he was lying, to be able to discover him even when he was at his most vulnerable . . .

Few vampires would ever offer such trust.

Not to anyone.

Seeming to at last sense the depth of his offer, Abby gave a small frown.

“Why? Why would you do this?”

“Because it is how a vampire chooses his mate,” he said without hesitation. “The woman he will love for all eternity.”

Her blue eyes softened with a tenderness that shimmered through his entire body.

“Oh, Dante.” Her hands moved to frame his face. “I would be honored to be your mate.”

Holding her gaze, Dante lifted his hand to his neck. Before she could protest, he used his nail to make a small incision. Only after he felt the precious blood begin to trickle down his skin did he cup the back of Abby’s head and press her mouth to the wound.

“Drink,” he commanded softly.

There was a moment of hesitation before he felt her lips part and gently suck at his life force.

Dante nearly jolted off the bed as his body clenched in raw, primitive bliss. Holy hell.

He had known what Abby would experience. With his blood in her veins, her senses would be sharper, clearer, brighter. The world itself would seem to come into crisp focus. And, of course, she would become aware of him in a way that mortals could not imagine.

But he had not realized the sheer erotic nature of allowing her to feed from him.

Passion and hunger flooded through him. An overwhelming need to brand her as his own.

His fingers tangled in her hair as he pressed her even closer. He felt as if he was being consumed and nothing had ever been so glorious.

With every tug of her lips, his hips began to thrust forward, his need growing to an unbearable ache. She moaned. He growled. They clutched at each other. They surged together.

And then the powers of the Phoenix within Abby began to smolder and flare, engulfing them in a sizzling cloak of heat.

Dante choked out a groan of shocked pleasure as he thrust himself to the very heart of her. Mist-red desire clouded about them, driving them ever upward, until with an explosive climax they combusted in flames together.

Chapter 17

Still panting and drenched in sweat, Abby slowly floated back to earth.

“Yowza,” she breathed.

Sex with Dante was like running a marathon. Only a lot more fun.

Rolling to his side, Dante gathered her in his arms. “Yowza, indeed.”

She pressed her lips to his chest, absently noting his skin was cool and dry. She was afraid to glance higher. No doubt his hair was perfect as well.

Damn vampires.

A smile abruptly curved her lips.

Her vampire.

She briefly closed her eyes, absorbing the unfamiliar sensations that had settled deep within her. Like a whisper in the back of her mind, she could feel Dante. His small glow of sated pleasure. The fierce love that flowed through every part of him. And, overall, his gnawing concern that he wouldn’t be capable of protecting her.

She wrenched open her eyes to discover Dante regarding her with a searching gaze.

“I had no idea.” She gave a faint shake of her head. “It’s so intense.”

“How do you feel?”

“Amazing.” She watched Dante smile his sexy pirate smile. Made even more sexy by the fangs that were still fully extended. How weird was that? Suddenly her eyes widened in horror. “Oh.”

His arms tightened about her. “What is it?”

“I’m not going to turn into a vampire, am I?”

“No.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her curls, thankfully not insulted. “Turning someone is a bit more complicated. And it would not even be possible as long as you are the Chalice. The Phoenix would do whatever necessary to protect itself.”

Reassured that she wasn’t about to morph into anything else inhuman for the moment, she snuggled closer to his hard body.

“I wish we could just stay here.”

“Hide from the world?”

“At least an extended vacation.” She pulled back her head to meet his silver gaze. “I think we deserve a few days off, don’t you?”

He regarded her with a hint of regret. “I can’t think of anything that would please me more.”

“But?”

He blinked. “How did you know there was a but?”

Abby heaved a sigh. “In my world, there’s always a but.”

“You’re a very odd woman at times, lover.”

“I thought I was beautiful and courageous and sexy as hell?”

“All of the above,” he swiftly agreed, a faint smile playing about his lips, “and occasionally odd.”

“Rather ironic coming from a vampire.”

He bent down to press a swift kiss to her lips. Too brief.

“As much as I hate to admit it, we must not linger any longer.”

That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Not when she felt warm and fuzzy and, best of all, safe.

“We have to leave now?”

“It’s too risky to stay here for long. If the house is being watched, then we could find ourselves surrounded by the sort of nasties that no one wants to meet on a dark night.”

“They couldn’t get in here, could they?”

He gave a lift of his shoulder. “Probably not, but we’ll eventually have to leave.”

Dante rolled off the bed, and before she could even appreciate the sight of his hard, alabaster body, he was impeccably attired and looking Gucci yummy.

Damn. That was starting to be a real sore spot with her.

“If we’re safe, why do we have to leave?” she demanded.

He gave a lift of his raven brow. “You don’t want to be locked in a room with a hungry vampire, lover. Even if I can’t drink human blood, I don’t doubt I might get a bit testy. Besides, I doubt that the witches will be considerate enough to make an appearance upon our doorstep.”

Heaving a sigh, Abby sat up and pushed her tangled curls out of her face. “Fine, go ahead and make sense. At least you can hand me the clothes you ripped off me.”

“Your wish is my command.” With a flourishing bow, he bent to retrieve the clothing that had been scattered across the floor.

“Isn’t that what a genie is supposed to—” Her teasing words trailed away as she watched Dante scoop the clothes in his hands and then slowly stiffen. With a strange expression, he pressed her shirt to his nose. “Dante? Are you sniffing my shirt?”

His silver eyes shimmered with a dangerous glow. “It smells of demon.”

Abby stiffened. Did he just say she smelled like a demon?

She had probably suffered worse insults, but she couldn’t think of one at the moment.

“Excuse me?”

He took another deep sniff. “I don’t recognize the breed, but you have definitely been close to a demon.”

Oh. Well, that was better.

Marginally.

“Yeah, I’ve been close to a demon.” She gave him a pointed glance. “About as close as I could get. You don’t remember? I know you’re old, but holy crap.”

His expression remained closed. Hard. “A demon, not a vampire.”

His blood stirred within her. She could easily sense his lethal focus. A predator on the scent.

“That’s impossible,” she groused. She would have known if some demon had been rubbing on her shirt. That wasn’t something a normal woman . . . “Oh.”

“What?”

Abby slapped her forehead with her open hand. Christ. She must be losing her mind.

“There was this strange woman who interrupted my spell,” she confessed.

“Upstairs?”

“Yes.”

Abby shivered as Dante’s blood heated with fury. “What did she look like?”

She struggled to recall. She had been just a little preoccupied at the time.

“Human, for the most part, although she was far more graceful than any mere mortal. And incredibly strong.”

“She had the shape of a human?”

“Yes. A beautiful woman. She had dark hair and the most amazing gold eyes. Oh, and her skin had the strangest bronze glow to it.”

His eyes widened as he lifted the shirt to his nose once again. “A Shalott demon? I thought they had all fled this world. She attacked you?”

“Yes . . . no.”

He stabbed her with a piercing gaze. “Abby?”

She gave a helpless shrug. “I think she was just trying to stop the spell. She could have killed me while you were out, but she ran off. She said someone was calling her.”

“Damn.”

“What is it?” Abby scooted to the edge of the bed. “Is she dangerous?”

“I don’t know, and that’s what is driving me crazy.” He gave a sharp shake of his head. “We must leave here now.”

“Where are we going?”

“To see if I can pick up the trail of the Shalott. When they were in this world, they were assassins. If we can trace her back to her employer, we might discover what she was doing here.”

There was an edge in his voice. A sharp thrill for the chase.

“Assassin?” she demanded.

“Very effective assassins. If either of us was her target, we wouldn’t be here to tell the tale.”

“Crap.” Was there any end to the creepy crawlies that roamed the night? “Dante.”

“Yes?”

She bit her bottom lip. If this assassin was so deadly, she had no desire to go chasing after it. “Does it matter why she was here? She can’t have a connection to the witches.”

“There is some connection.”

“How do you know?”

“There is a spell upon her.”

“You can smell that?”

“I can smell fear. And a Shalott demon fears nothing but magic.”

Damn. He was good. “It could be that horrid wizard.”

“We would be dead if it was.”

There was a dark silence as Abby forced herself to swallow. Dante was right. The psychopathic wizard would have her roasting over a fire or in her grave.

“I suppose.”

Dante moved forward to press her clothes into her reluctant hands. “It’s the only lead we have at the moment, lover. I think we should follow it.”

“Okay.”

She knew she sounded petulant, but she couldn’t help it as she pulled on her clothes and smoothed back her hair. Her idea of excitement was renting a movie and eating a bowl of popcorn. Not a gladiator session with a pack of demons.

Waiting in silence for her to recover from her bout of self-pity, Dante stepped forward to hand her the sheathed dagger.

“Don’t forget this.”

“Damn.” She heaved a faint sigh. “I should have used it earlier. Some savior of the world I’m proving to be.”

Suddenly she was in Dante’s arms, and his cheek was rubbing against her own.

“Don’t, Abby. There’s not another mortal who would still be alive after what you’ve gone through.”

It wasn’t true, of course. But it made her feel better anyway.

She laid her head against his chest. “I don’t understand how this happened to me. I’m not some chosen slayer or demon hunter. Hell, I didn’t even know there were demons.” Her lips twisted. “Unless you count my dad.”

“Perhaps it was fate,” he murmured.

“Then fate sucks.”

A chuckle was wrenched from his throat as he pulled back to regard her with a searching gaze.

“Are you ready?”

“No.”

He gave a tug on her hair. “Let’s go.”

Dante had even less desire than Abby to leave the peace of his lair.

What more could a vampire desire?

The woman he had chosen as his mate. A large comfortable bed. No phone, no neighbors, no relatives.

Satellite radio so he would never miss a Cubs game.

Paradise.

Unfortunately there were still hordes of demons, wizards, and zombies just waiting for the opportunity to corner them.

Taking her hand, he led her to the door, pausing as he touched the lock and spoke a low word.

Silently the door slid open, and he took a step forward. At once he realized that something was wrong.

“Wait,” he breathed softly.

Abby instinctively froze. “Is there something out there?”

He slowly tasted the air. There were humans near. At least four. And one of them was very familiar.

“The wizard is here. Upstairs.”

“Crap.” He heard her suck in a deep breath. “Do we wait here?”

He didn’t hesitate. “No. The wizard has managed to tap into the power of the dark lord. Given time, he will be capable of discovering this lair.”

Her face paled. If she didn’t carry the Phoenix within her, he could remove her horrid memories of the wizard and his pack of zombies. For now it was just another burden she would have to shoulder.

“The door—”

“We can’t allow ourselves to be trapped.”

“Then we try to make a run for it?”

“I believe stealth will serve us better at this point.”

Her eyes widened. She was thinking that he had lost his mind.

And she might be right.

“You intend to sneak past them?”

“Yes.”

“Great.”

“Trust me.”

She gave a growl low in her throat. “One of these days.”

“This way.” He tightened his grip on her fingers and led her from the room. In silence they moved toward the very back of the basement. Reaching the wall, Dante bent down to remove the grate that hid his secret passageway.

No vampire worth his salt was without a secret passageway.

Beside him Abby gave a faint gasp. “A tunnel?”

“It will lead you beyond the gates,” he explained, holding her gaze. “Go two blocks north and wait on the corner behind the large oak. Can you remember that?”

It took a moment for his words to sink in. “No, Dante. I will not leave you.”

“If I don’t lay a false trail, then they will be upon us before we can reach safety. Besides, I must know which direction the Shalott took when she left the grounds.”

She reached out to grip his arm. Dante flinched as he felt the heat from her fingers brand through his shirt.

The Phoenix would react to her emotions until she learned to control her powers.

“You can’t—”

Gently he removed her hand, lifting the fingers to his lips. “Don’t fear, lover. I’m far too swift for them to harm me.”

He didn’t feel the need to explain that he intended to confront the aggravating wizard and put an end to his interference. Full disclosure was for lawyers, not vampires.

Not that most people seemed to think there was much difference between the two.

One bloodsucker was much like the other.

“What if they have some magical trap?”

He cocked a brow. “I’m not completely helpless. This was once my home. I have a few traps of my own.”

“Dante.”

He pressed a kiss to her palm and stepped back. “There will be no argument.”

She frowned at his stern tone. “You’re far too fond of giving commands, vampire.”

“And you’re far too fond of ignoring them, Chalice.” He held her gaze a long moment. “You must do this for me.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Yeah, I got that.” He bent beside the entrance to the tunnel and watched as she grudgingly crouched and stepped into the darkness. He pressed the cell phone he pulled from his pocket into her hand. “Don’t leave the tunnel if you sense someone is near. Speed-dial Viper and he will come.”

Her eyes glittered with frustration. “Don’t you dare let anything happen to you or—”

“You’ll stake me someplace unpleasant?” he finished for her.

“Yes.”

He brushed her lips in a lingering kiss. “I will take the greatest care.”

Chapter 18

Rafael chanted a simple spell as he moved through the shattered house. It was frustrating to depend upon magic that the rankest amateur could perform. Magic he hadn’t used since he was a fledgling acolyte. But after the disaster of losing the Chalice when she was within his grasp, he was not foolish enough to dare calling upon the dark lord’s powers.

He hadn’t lived so many years by being stupid.

The Prince possessed a nasty habit of punishing those who disappointed him. There was no need to draw attention to himself.

Reaching the upstairs hallway, he paused and spread his hands. Giving a command, he studied the swirls of color that briefly appeared in the darkness.

“They have been here,” he said in satisfaction to the three disciples who stood behind him in respectful silence. Or perhaps it was terrified silence. Since the death of Amil, a tense wariness had gripped the faithful. Which suited Rafael to perfection. He far preferred to be feared than respected. Fear only fed his power. He watched as the colors began to fade. “A vampire, a human and . . . ah, the witches’ whelp.”

“The witches have the Chalice?” a thin voice demanded from behind him.

A cold smile curved his lips as he turned toward his waiting servants. “No. She is still near. I can feel her power. Search the house. And remember, I wish the Chalice alive.”

The oldest of the disciples stepped forward. “What of the vampire?”

“Kill him.”

The three melted into the darkness even as a dark, terrifying laugh echoed through the hallway.

“Easy to say; much less easy to accomplish.”

Rafael stiffened before he forced himself to pretend a nonchalance he was far from feeling. He could not afford to allow the vampire to realize he was without his powers. Not if he was to survive.

“Well, well,” he drawled, placing his back against the wall. The animal wouldn’t be allowed to sneak up from behind. “If it isn’t the faithful hound. Have your mistresses grown so arrogant that they believe one pitiful vampire can defeat me? Or are they simply that desperate?”

“Neither,” the disembodied voice floated through the air. “I merely have grown weary of your tedious pursuit.”

“Then fortunately for you it’s about to come to an end. It’s time to be done with you once and for all, vampire.”

Dante was prepared as the wizard thrust out his hand and sent a bolt of fire in his direction. With his inhuman speed, such parlor tricks were a wasted effort.

Something the wizard was bound to know.

Dante remained wary as he glided closer. He was not about to be lured into some unseen trap.

“Tell me, how is Amil?” he baited, reaching out with his senses to search for hidden dangers.

A smile touched the thin lips. “He found the duties of being a servant rather too much to handle. He decided becoming a sacrifice for the Prince was more to his taste.”

“How very noble of him.”

A sneer touched the pasty features. “He was a sniffling, spineless worm who should have been strangled at birth. Still, he served his purpose.”

There was another bolt of energy that slammed into the wall and charred the wood. Annoyingly Dante could sense nothing more to warn him of the wizard’s intention.

He would not commit himself until he was certain there were no nasty surprises.

“The Prince always did demand his share of bloody fodder to keep him satisfied. Still, it must be difficult to find willing victims in this day and age.”

The wizard shrugged. “The Prince has never demanded a sacrifice be willing.”

“A charming deity.”

“A powerful deity.”

Dante laughed with mocking amusement. He wanted the wizard distracted and off guard. Perfectly ripe to make a mistake.

His last mistake.

“So powerful he has been condemned to banishment by a handful of human witches.”

The man growled deep in his throat. “He was failed by his worshippers, who had been lured to complacency. I will ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

Dante was drifting ever closer. Once Dante had his fangs sunk deep in his throat, the wizard would be helpless. He would need his vocal cords to mumble his spells.

“And you believe he will reward you richly?”

A near-fanatical pride tightened the narrow face. “I shall rule at his side.”

This time Dante’s laughter was genuine. “You’re even more a fool than Amil. The Prince rules alone, and those who worship him are no more than bugs beneath his notice.”

“How would you know, vampire? You worship nothing. Believe in nothing.”

“I’m at least wise enough not to barter my soul to a being who is certain to offer no more than betrayal.”

The wizard reached into his pocket to pull out a small crystal. Dante hesitated. Why would he use a magical toy when he possessed the medallion of the dark lord?

A blue flame shot in his direction. It slammed into the floor, and the mansion groaned as if a breath from tumbling to the ground.

Dante easily shifted out of danger, his mind racing.

Although he couldn’t detect magic, he could still feel the power that swirled about the wizard. There was a pulsing energy that could destroy the entire block, and yet he refused to reach for it.

Why?

It took a long moment before Dante at last realized the truth. Of course. With a low chuckle, he dismissed the shadows he had wrapped about himself.

The wizard didn’t call upon the dark lord because he was terrified his god might be waiting to serve up a bit of revenge for having disappointed him.

It was perfect.

He stepped forward, his arms folded negligently over his chest. Watching his approach, the wizard licked his thin lips.

“I suppose you’re attempting to keep me occupied so the woman can escape?” he blustered. “A worthless effort. My servants will soon have her in their grasp.”

Dante merely smiled. “Having some acquaintance with your servants, I can’t say that I’m overly concerned.”

Without warning, he launched himself at the gaunt form. He wanted to be done with this. Abby was alone, and while he was fully confident in her ability to deal with her human enemies, there were still demons capable of detecting the presence of the Phoenix.

Sinking his nails deep into the arms of the man, he allowed his fangs to lengthen. Before he had been chained to the Chalice, he would have drained the man. Now he would have to settle for ripping out his throat.

A pity.

His head lowered. Unfortunately the wizard was not about to be sacrificed without a fight. With cold determination, the wizard battled back, his low chants filling the darkness even as he reached into his pocket to remove a smooth ebony stake.

A burst of light suddenly filled the hall, blinding Dante and forcing him to dodge backward. A stake was a stake, and he wasn’t about to allow overconfidence to lead to his demise.

He carefully circled the man. Waiting for an opening.

The wizard glanced down at his bleeding arms. “You do know there is no need for us to be enemies? I could release you from your bondage. You give me the Chalice and I shall ensure you are set free.”

Dante smoothly reached out to slash the man’s face. “You think I would trust you?”

The wizard flinched but his composure never wavered. “Why not? There’s no gain for me to kill you. For the moment, you stand in my way, but if you were to step aside, we could prove to be valuable allies.”

“Tempting, but I don’t think so.”

“The witches have you that cowed?” he taunted, the stake held casually in his fingers as if he forgot he even held it. Dante was not stupid. The wizard hoped to rile his anger and give him the opportunity to strike. “Pathetic.”

Dante shrugged. “It has nothing to do with the witches.”

“Then . . .” The wizard gave a sudden laugh. “Ah, of course. You have come to care for the girl. You are worse than cowed; you’re completely neutered.”

“Actually, you have missed the most obvious reason I refuse to join forces with you.”

The cold eyes narrowed. “And what would that be?”

“I don’t like you.”

At last realizing that Dante was not going to be bullied or coerced, the wizard grasped the medallion about his neck. He would have to risk the anger of his master if he were not to die in this hallway.

Dante crouched, preparing himself for the coming attack.

Despite the muggy night air, Abby was shivering.

It was more than the creepy trip through the spider-infested tunnel. Or the realization that by standing on the corner by herself she might as well be wearing a sign that said “Come Eat Me” to every demon in Chicago.

It was more the sense of Dante that coiled through the back of her mind.

She might not be able to read his thoughts, but his emotions were blatantly clear. He was not laying a false trail. Or even searching for the scent of the strange demon.

He was confronting the wizard.

She could feel his lethal intent as if it were her own.

Damn him to hell.

She was going to . . .

Her imagination failed her, but it was going to be really, really bad.

Stewing on potential repercussions, Abby froze as she heard the unmistakable sound of approaching footsteps.

“I’m tired of this shit. I’m not a freaking bloodhound,” a male voice muttered. “We’ve lost her.”

“Shut up and keep searching. Unless you want to return to the master and confess you have failed him?” an icy voice demanded.

Silently Abby pressed herself into the bush beside the tree. Her pursuers seemed to be human, but she wasn’t overly relieved.

Not after she had seen what the wizard did to the coven.

Ick.

“She could be anywhere by now.”

“Listen to me, you moron.” Peering through the leaves, Abby watched a short, squat man grab a pimply faced boy by the throat. “When I found Amil, he was splattered over the altar like a slaughtered pig. I have no intention of joining him in hell. At least not yet.”

Another man who was built like a linebacker and possessed the expression of savage stupidity curled his hands into fists.

“Perhaps the vampire will do us all a favor and kill the bastard,” he growled.

The short man whirled to face him. “Are you willing to risk your life on an impotent vampire?” He waited for either man to speak. They were obviously not as stupid as they looked since both dropped their heads to study their toes. “Fine. Fan out and search the block.”

There was a brief, tense moment as if the two goons were debating sticking a knife in the head goon. No honor among thieves and all that. Then, seemingly coming to their senses, they turned and grudgingly trudged down the street.

Abby forced herself to remain utterly still as she waited for the remaining merry man to be on his way. There were all sorts of hidey-holes to be searched.

Most of them far more intelligent spots for hideand-seek than her own sad, scraggly bush.

He didn’t scurry away. He didn’t even meander away. He remained as rooted to the spot as the ancient oak. It seemed her streak of piss-poor luck was remaining firmly intact.

With a grand gesture that would have made Abby laugh under normal circumstances, the annoying twit reached into the pocket of his heavy robe and pulled out a strange rock that was hanging upon a chain. Holding it upward, he began to chant beneath his breath.

Abby didn’t know what the rock did, but she was certain it couldn’t be good.

Not good at all, she acknowledged as the rock glowed with a purple hue and a smirk touched the round face.

“You are near, Chalice. I can sense you.” He moved to search the nearby parked cars. He peered into the branches of the tree. And inevitably he spread the leaves of the bush. “Hello. What do we have here?”

Abby should have been terrified. Or at the very least slightly fearful.

Instead she was really and truly pissed off.

Dammit. She wasn’t out looking for trouble. All she wanted was to find the witches and be done with the whole ridiculous business.

Why the hell couldn’t they just leave her alone?

As her temper mounted, so did the tingle of heat that was filling her blood. The Phoenix within her was preparing to take measures to protect itself.

And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop it.

Pressing herself into the prickly branches, she held out her hand. “Stay back.”

“Or what? You’ll scream?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

There was a beat before he gave an ugly laugh. “You hurt me?”

“Yes.”

“You haven’t got the skill or the nerve. That’s the trouble with you Goody Two-shoes.” He glanced deliberately downward. “No balls.”

The fire burned even hotter. Freaking hell. Why wouldn’t the idiot shut up and walk away? She had warned him, hadn’t she?

Of course he possessed testosterone. A woman offering him a warning was as good as waving a red flag in front of his face.

“I’m telling you that you’re the one who won’t have any balls if you don’t leave me alone.”

“You think your vampire is going to come rushing to your rescue? I can promise you he’s already back in his grave where he belongs.”

Abby shook her head. She didn’t know much, but she did know that Dante wasn’t in any grave. Not until she got her hands upon him.

“No, he’s very much alive.”

The man shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. He’ll soon be dead or turned to our side. The master has a special talent for recruiting.” The round face hardened. “Even those who never wanted to worship the dark lord.”

“It’s not too late,” she urged. “You can walk away.”

“Walk away? No one walks away. Not unless they have a death wish,” he snarled. “You’ve wasted enough of my time. Let’s go.”

“No.”

“Shit.” He lifted a threatening fist. “Do you think I won’t hurt you? The master said you were to be alive, but he didn’t say anything about roughing you up.”

Abby didn’t doubt his willingness to hurt her for a moment. She sensed that he took a great deal of pleasure in slapping around those weaker than him.

Just like her father.

But he was no demon or zombie or even powerful wizard.

She knew deep in her heart she could kill him with horrible ease.

“Fine, I’ll come, but you have to step back first,” she retorted, hoping to gain some distance.

“Do you really think I’m that stupid?” The beady eyes narrowed as he reached out to grab a handful of her hair. “I’ve had enough, come on.”

Abby’s eyes watered as he gave a savage yank on her hair. She found herself tumbling forward, and out of sheer instinct, she reached up to grasp the man’s arm. She had only intended to keep from planting her face in the ground, but the moment her hands touched his wrist, a burst of heat flared from her palms.

The man gave a keening cry as he snatched his hand free and cradled it to his chest.

“You . . . bitch. You stupid bitch,” he gritted, a malevolent hatred glittering in his eyes. “You’ll pay for that.”

A sickness tightened Abby’s stomach. She recognized that expression. She should. She had seen it often enough.

With a flashback of horror, she watched as the man curled his fist and raised it to strike.

No.

She rose to her feet.

Not again. Not ever again.

Preparing to launch a vicious right hook, the man was too blinded by fury to consider he might actually be outgunned by a woman four inches shorter and a hundred pounds lighter.

Not until she dived forward and planted her hands in the center of his chest.

Smoke began to rise as he howled in pain, but Abby didn’t waver. The wizard wannabe would kill her given the chance. She didn’t intend to give him the chance.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Abby became aware of Dante swiftly approaching. Oddly he halted beside the tree rather than tossing himself into the fray.

Whether out of fear she might toast him in confusion or because he was alarmed he might distract her, she couldn’t say. And at the moment she was a little too occupied to care.

Clutching at her arms, the man struggled to pull her closer.

“You’ll pay for this,” he panted.

Abby gritted her teeth as she pressed harder. A horrible stench began to fill the air. The smell of burning fabric. And what she suspected was searing flesh.

Then, just as she thought she could bear no more, her assailant gave a strangled cry and with a desperate wrench he was stumbling away from her.

Just for a moment she considered following after him. She didn’t doubt he was an evil man who was capable of harming any number of innocent people. But, while she was prepared to protect herself, she knew she could not deliberately chase down a fleeing man and put an end to him.

That zoomed way beyond her comfort zone.

Instead she sank to her knees and sucked in a deep breath.

“You can come out now, Dante. I know you’re here.”

Chapter 19

Dante stepped from behind the tree with a faint smile. He recognized that peevish tone. It meant that Abby was well aware of his extracurricular activity with the dark wizard and was not a bit pleased with him.

“You did well, lover. That fool will think twice about coming after you again.”

She stepped toward him, planting her hands on her hips. “Why didn’t you help me?”

“Did you want my help?”

That made her briefly falter. Her independent nature made it nearly impossible for her to admit she might need assistance. From anyone.

At last she shrugged. “It’s not like you to stand back and watch me duke it out.”

Dante cocked a brow at the unfamiliar phrase. “Duke it out?”

“Fight off the bad guys.”

He reached out to grasp her arms and tug her close. He breathed deeply of her warm scent. A scent that now held his own blood. That knowledge made a purely male pleasure race through him.

“You seemed to be holding your own.”

She leaned back to stab him with a narrowed gaze. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“I could feel you behind the tree, and I know damn well you were itching to charge out and kill that man. What stopped you?”

He smoothed back a stray curl. “I needed to know that you wouldn’t hesitate to fight.”

She made a strangled sound. “God almighty, I’ve been in a full-scale war for days. Why would I hesitate now?”

“You’ve been fighting demons and zombies, not humans. In your mind there’s a difference,” he pointed out. “I needed to know you could overcome your fear of harming another.”

A flush touched her cheeks. “Oh.”

His finger brushed her lips. “Are you all right?”

Her lips twisted in a grim smile. “As all right as I can be right now.”

“No regrets?” he pressed.

She took a moment as she glanced down the now-empty street. “Actually . . . no. This may be horrible of me, but it’s nice to know that I didn’t panic when the chips were down.”

He tugged her closer. It was a lesson she needed to learn for herself. But it had been hell standing back and allowing her to discover her strength.

He would rather be staked than go through that again.

“A powerful woman. I like it.” His lips skated over her temple. “Sexy.”

“Is there anything you don’t find sexy?”

“What can I say? Vampires are insatiable.”

His hands were lowering to the flare of her hips when she was suddenly pushing against his chest.

“Wait.”

“What?”

“You’re not going to distract me.”

His teeth nipped at the lobe of her ear. “It could be fun.”

She gave a faint shiver before she was sternly stepping back and folding her arms over her chest.

“No. You lied to me.”

Dante ruefully conceded that Abby wasn’t going to be deflected. She was smoldering with the need to rake him over the coals. A pity. With the immediate threat gone, he could think of better means of passing the time.

“That’s rather harsh,” he mildly protested.

“You told me you were going to lay a false trail and pick up the scent of that demon.” She poked her finger at his chest. “You didn’t say anything about flexing your testosterone with that damn wizard.”

“He’s going to be a pain in the ass until we can get rid of him. I’m tired of looking over my shoulder.”

“Did you . . . ?”

“No.” Dante gave a disgusted shake of his head. He had been preparing for battle. He hadn’t considered the notion the bastard would use his powers to elude him. “The coward scurried away rather than fight like a man.”

More chest poking. “There was more than just him running away. I could feel you, and I know that there was some sort of fight.”

“Hardly a fight. Or even a skirmish.” He held out his arms. “Look at me, not a scratch.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve had your blood; I know there was some sort of fight.”

His lips twitched. “More a minor disagreement.”

“Dante . . .”

He cupped her chin in his hand. “Abby, I found the wizard, we exchanged a handful of threats, I had him in my grasp, and like a fool I allowed him to disappear. Nothing more.”

“You’re lucky he did disappear. I have warned you what will happen if you get yourself hurt.”

Dante smiled as his gaze dropped to her mouth. Surely he had allowed her enough chiding? It was definitely time to move on to more interesting activities.

Debating whether he dared to pull her back in his arms and kiss away her temper, he was abruptly whirling, his fangs extended and his hands curled into claws. A vampire was near, and he wasn’t about to take chances.

On cue, Viper stepped from the shadows and folded his arms over his chest. Even to Dante’s eye he appeared a lethal threat with his large body attired in black and his pale hair pulled back with a heavy silver clasp. An ancient predator who wouldn’t hesitate to kill.

The familiar mocking smile curved his lips.

“Really, Dante, I thought you would be knee-deep in witches by now, and here you are playing with your new toy.”

Dante cocked a brow. “What are you doing here?”

“I was following the trail of your wizard.”

“Too late.” Dante glared toward Selena’s dark estate. “He already made his grand appearance.”

“And now?”

“His grand exit. He called upon the Prince.”

Viper shrugged. “It’s only a matter of time.”

“He’s proving to be a pain in the ass.”

“Aren’t all wizards?”

“I did manage to injure him. You should be able to follow the scent of his blood.”

A beat passed as Viper slid his gaze to the silent Abby. “You aren’t in a hurry to be rid of me, are you, Dante?”

He was, of course. He was possessive enough to resent the manner in which Viper watched Abby.

“I have my own trail to follow.”

As if sensing Dante’s prickling unease, Viper deliberately strolled toward Abby and lightly touched her hair.

“And games to play, eh?” He stilled, lowering his head to sniff at her neck before reaching to grasp her arm and turn it upward. “What is this?”

Never one to be manhandled by anyone, Abby was struggling against the vampire’s hold.

“Hey. What are you doing?”

Viper’s startled gaze cut toward Dante. “You mated her? Well, well. Congratulations.”

Belatedly noticing what had captured Viper’s attention, Abby regarded the intricate red scrolling that now tattooed the length of her inner forearm.

“Holy crap. What is that?”

Viper gave a short laugh. “She doesn’t know?”

Abby stabbed him with a wide gaze. “Dante?”

Dante briefly considered the pleasure of tying Viper around the tree like a pretty bow.

“I did tell you that when you took my blood, we would be mated,” he reminded Abby.

She appeared far from appeased. “You didn’t tell me that I was going to look like a biker babe from hell. Will it go away?”

“No.”

“What does it mean?”

Dante opened his mouth, but Viper was quicker.

“That you have been branded. No other vampire may have you now.”

Dante closed his eyes, perfectly prepared as he heard Abby suck in a deep breath.

He might not know a great deal about human women, but he did know they possessed a fierce dislike for being treated as property.

“Branded? You branded me?”

“For all eternity,” Viper added in smooth tones.

Dante gave a low growl. “You are not helping, Viper.”

Viper blinked with mock innocence. “Ah, you wanted me to lie to her? You should have given me some signal.”

“Go.” There was no mistaking the threat in his tone. “Go kill a wizard.”

Viper’s expression was suddenly somber as he moved to lay a hand on Dante’s shoulder.

“Be careful. The Prince is calling on his minions. The town is crawling with demons. Most of them in a nasty temper.”

Dante gave a small nod and watched Viper disappear into the shadows. Only when they were alone did he cautiously approach Abby and gently take her hand.

“Abby, it won’t hurt you.” His fingers ran over the scrolling mark. The demon inside him howled in triumph at the symbol of ownership, but he was wise enough to keep his expression sympathetic. “It’s . . . like a wedding ring. A symbol of my love for you.”

“A wedding ring can be removed. I’m marked forever.”

Dante didn’t need her blood to sense the tension that hummed about her stiff body. A frown tugged at his brows.

“Abby? This isn’t about the brand, is it?”

She shivered as she forced herself to meet his searching gaze. “It didn’t seem real until now. It’s frightening.”

“Me?”

“No, of course not. It’s just that I never thought about spending my life with someone. After my parents’ marriage . . .”

At last realizing the source of her sudden bout of nerves, Dante put an arm about her shoulder and pulled her close.

He hoped her father was burning in hell.

“We aren’t your parents,” he murmured softly. “I could never hurt you. Never.”

She pressed her face into his chest. “I don’t know how to be a mate. I’ve been alone all my life.”

“Is that what you want? To be alone?”

He felt the shudder that raced through her. “No, but what if I disappoint you?”

Dante touched his lips to the top of her head. “Do you love me?”

“Yes, I love you.”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

She pulled back, her face pale in the moonlight. “What if it’s not enough?”

His hand cupped her neck. “The brand isn’t a prison sentence, Abby. There is nothing to keep you from walking away whenever you want.”

“And what about you?” she demanded. “What does the brand mean to you?”

He hesitated a moment before confessing the truth. “You are my mate. There will never be another.”

His soft words seemed to catch her off guard. Then amazingly he felt the tension begin to ease from her body, and a rueful expression settled on her face.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Her arms encircled his waist. “I’m not usually the hysterical type.”

Dante savored the feel of her heat pouring into his body. He wasn’t sure how or why he had allowed her to become such a vital part of his life, but he knew he would never survive if anything happened to her.

“I can’t imagine what’s wrong,” he teased, his fingers tangling in her hair as the familiar surge of desire began to harden his muscles. “It’s not as if you have acquired an unwanted spirit or been hunted by demons or nearly sacrificed by a dark wizard.”

She gave a reluctant chuckle as she snuggled close. “I think it was the tattoo that made me a little wacky.”

“Not the thought of being my mate?”

A welcome amusement entered her eyes. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“A mate isn’t the same thing as a wife, is it?”

He gave a vague shrug. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it does. I have no intention of spending the rest of my life being some sort of unpaid servant to you.”

Abby his servant?

He choked back a laugh of disbelief.

“Don’t worry, lover, I’m fairly low maintenance,” he assured her with a guileless expression. “Once you’re done scrubbing the floors and washing my clothes and serving me blood while I sit in front of the television, you will have plenty of time to do your darning.”

Her elbow dug into his side. “Darning? More likely I’ll be sharpening my stakes.”

With a chuckle Dante tapped the tip of her nose. “I’ve been taking care of myself for centuries, lover, and to be brutally honest, if I wanted a servant, I could enthrall any human to do my bidding.”

“Enthrall?”

“A trick that all vampires possess.”

Her brows lifted. “Did you ever try to enthrall me?”

His finger moved to outline her lips. “Never.”

“Why not?”

“Because I liked you,” he said simply.

She blinked. “You liked me?”

“I liked your innocence, your honesty, your refusal to feel sorry for yourself despite the rotten breaks you’d gotten, and of course”—he slowly smiled—“that delectable body didn’t hurt anything. I didn’t want you to become a mindless sycophant. I wanted you.”

“Oh.” She sucked in a deep breath. “You keep surprising me.”

“And how is that?”

“When we first met, I expected you to be arrogant and dangerous and sexy.”

“All true. Especially that sexy part.”

“I never expected you to be kind.”

Dante glanced down in astonishment. Kind? He had never been accused of that before. And with good reason.

Until the witches had captured him, he had been a hunter who preyed upon anyone foolish enough to cross his path. And even after being leashed, he had been a lethal warrior who could kill without mercy.

It was only with Abby that he discovered the softer emotions he didn’t even realize he possessed.

“I wasn’t until you.”

They stood holding each other in the darkness, absorbing the pleasure of simply being together.

Abby at last pulled back with a grimace. “Do you want to go in search of the witches?”

“What I want is to have you naked and sweaty beneath me,” he murmured.

She nudged him with her elbow. “Maybe I want to be naked and sweaty on top of you.”

“God.” Dante went hard at the visual. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“I thought you were immortal?”

“Not even immortals can take that sort of torture.” He bent his head to snatch a brief searing kiss. “Let’s go before I forget what the hell I’m supposed to be doing.”

Abby absently allowed Dante to lead her back to the shattered mansion. A part of her knew that she should be on guard. She should be preparing for anything from zombies to hellhounds to wizards to leap from the bushes. Hell, at this point, she wouldn’t be surprised if a leprechaun popped out to do a jig.

Her sense of self-preservation at the moment, however, couldn’t compete with strange tattoos that shimmered with crimson fire beneath the moonlight.

Mate. Holy freaking cow.

Abruptly stopping in the shadows of the mansion, Dante turned to regard her with a smile that looked suspiciously smug.

“Stop scratching at it, lover. You’ll make it sore.”

“It looks strange.” She held up her arm. “How am I supposed to go out in public like this?”

The smugness deepened. “No one will notice.”

She shook her arm before his eyes. “Are you kidding me? I look like I got drunk on tequila and ended up in Shanghai.”

“It’s invisible to all but demons.”

“Oh.” Her arm dropped. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Then why can I see it?”

He leaned forward to gaze directly into her eyes. “Because you’re special.”

Ridiculously it took a moment before realization hit.

“Great. First my eyes turn blue and now my arm is red. Are there any other bodily changes you should warn me about? A horn? Forked tongue? Cloven hooves?”

He shrugged, taking her arm and leading her into the house and toward the servant’s staircase.

“Well, there is the tail, but once you get used to the wagging, you’ll barely notice it’s there.”

She batted his arm. “You’re lucky you’re already dead.”

He flashed a grin. “And you are already nagging like a wife.”

Her own lips twitched. God, he was so beautiful. And intelligent and strong and tender and . . . and perfect.

A rush of heat raced through her before she was sternly turning her thoughts to the matter at hand.

“Why are we going upstairs?”

“We can’t leave the spell books. They’re too dangerous to have lying around.”

“No kidding.” She gave a shudder as she recalled the strange magic that had gripped her as she read the spell. That was an experience she’d just as soon not repeat. “What do you think Selena was doing with them?”

He paused on the landing and turned to face her. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

“Maybe we should review what we know.”

“Review what we know?” he repeated with a faint smile. “Law & Order? CSI? Monk?”

“Agatha Christie.”

“Ah.”

“It might help.” She leaned against the wall, suddenly realizing how weary she was. The past few days had taken their toll on her body. “At the very least it couldn’t hurt.”

He gave a slow nod of his head. “True enough. Where do we start this review?”

Abby blinked. It always caught her off guard to discover Dante’s willingness to listen to her opinion. No one, no one had ever done that before.

“I suppose with Selena,” she said hesitantly. “You said you thought she was acting strangely before . . . the explosion? To be honest, I just thought she was crazy.”

He narrowed his gaze as he remembered back. “She was more secretive than usual. She would come and go from the mansion without taking me and then disappear into her rooms for hours.”

“You think she was visiting the witches?”

“Yes.”

“Did she get the spell books from them?”

“That would be my guess.”

Abby bit her lip as she attempted to make sense of the strange path of events.

“What sort of spell would she be working on? Was she afraid of something?”

His lips twisted as his gaze flashed over her. “At the time I didn’t care. I had more . . . intriguing matters to consider.”

The heat returned, with interest.

Damn but he shouldn’t be so distracting.

“And now?” she grimly pressed.

“There’s a possibility that the witches might have stumbled onto the wizard and his followers,” he said. “If they sensed his power, they would have taken steps to protect themselves.”

“That makes sense.” She hesitated, sensing the frustration that simmered within him. “You don’t think that’s the answer.”

He studied her a moment. “Giving you my blood was a dangerous thing.”

“Tell me what’s bothering you.”

He shifted restlessly. “If they were worried about the wizard, they wouldn’t have felt the need to hide it from me. More than likely I would have been sent in to deal with the threat.”

“And?”

“And the spell you were chanting was obviously intended to harm demons, not humans.”

She reached out to touch his arm. She had told him of the demon attacking her, but she had forgotten to confess the wrenching agony that had drilled through her just moments before the spell had been brought to an end.

“Maybe not.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I was in the middle of that spell, I felt . . . pain.”

His brows snapped together, his fingers reaching out to touch her face as if needing to reassure himself that she was unharmed.

“What sort of pain?”

She grimaced. “Like someone was shoving a hot poker through me.”

“The Phoenix?”

She tried to remember back, only to give a shrug. “I don’t know. There was just pain, and then the demon hit me from behind and it was gone.”

His frustration deepened as he turned to pace across the landing. “This makes no sense.”

“After the past few days, you’re going to have to be a little more specific,” she said wryly.

“We still don’t know what the witches were up to, who killed Selena, or what the bloody hell the wizard has to do with all this.”

“You’re saying we don’t know squat.”

His low growl made the hair on the back of her neck prickle. “There’s a connection. We just have to figure it out.” Reaching out, he took her hand and pulled her down the hall. “We need to find those damn witches.”

Chapter 20

They moved swiftly through the darkened house, only pausing when they reached the hall where Selena had hidden her safe.

Dante was intent on the scents that filled the air when he felt Abby dig in her heels. He turned to discover her peering uneasily through the shadows.

“You’re sure the wizard is gone?” she demanded.

“One way to find out,” he whispered directly in her ear. “You go first.”

She rolled her eyes. “Very funny.”

“If the wizard was near, we would hear him screaming for mercy,” he assured her. “Viper doesn’t screw around when he’s on the hunt.”

She sent him a knowing gaze. “Then what is bothering you?”

Dante gave rueful grimace. This mate thing was going to take a bit of getting used to.

“I smell something strange.”

“It’s not me is it?”

His lips quirked. “No.”

“The demon?”

“No. The smell is human, although strangely masked.”

Abby peered down the hall and oddly stiffened before stabbing him a glittering glare.

“What’s with all the charred marks on the wall?”

He shrugged. “The house exploded, lover. There are a lot of charred marks.”

“They weren’t here earlier.” Her hands landed on her hips. “The wizard did that when you were fighting, didn’t he?”

“Abby, the wizard is no longer our concern. Viper will deal with him.”

“The point is that you told me you had a minor disagreement.”

“No one died,” he pointed out in perfectly reasonable tones, flicking a glance over the unmistakable damage. His gaze lingered on the singed carpet before his teeth snapped together. “Damn.”

“What is it?”

“The spell books are gone.”

“The wizard?”

Dante gave a shake of his head. The wizard had shown no interest in the books.

“More likely the demon returned to retrieve them. Along with a witch.”

“They were here and we missed them?”

Dante brooded for a long moment. Dammit, he hated this feeling he was stumbling about like an idiot. Especially when he feared he was putting Abby’s life in danger.

“It was a foolish risk,” he growled. “They must have known the dark wizard was near.”

“They must really have wanted those books.”

“Yes.”

Abby abruptly grasped his arm. “Oh . . .”

“What?”

“Do you think they wanted the books enough to kill for them?”

Dante shrugged. “The witches would not hesitate to kill if they thought someone stood in their path. They are utterly ruthless.”

“Even Selena?”

Dante frowned. “Selena?”

“Maybe they wanted the books and she wasn’t in the mood to hand them over.”

The memory of Selena’s secretive manner flashed through his mind. The woman was certainly arrogant enough to be dabbling in magic the witches would have forbidden. Or even to seek powers that would have given her control of the coven.

But even as he considered the notion of a battle between the witches and Selena, he was giving a shake of his head.

“No. Selena was the Chalice. They would never put the Phoenix in danger. Protecting the spirit is their entire purpose in life.”

Abby grimaced. “Oh. Just a thought.”

“A very clever thought.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you patronizing me?”

“Why would I wish to patronize you?” he demanded in startled curiosity.

“I know I’m not overly bright, but I’m not stupid.”

Dante regarded her in astonishment. Devil spit, but she was the most baffling woman. “Of course you’re not stupid. I always found it astonishing that such an intelligent woman would be content to work as a minion for someone like Selena when you could so obviously do better.”

Her eyes darkened, almost as if she was relieved.

“It paid the bills. Trust me, it wasn’t as bad as some places I’ve worked.”

Taking her hand, he led her down the hall to the back staircase. The trail of the demon was growing ever fainter, and he had no intention of losing it.

At the moment it was their one and only lead to the coven.

“You could do anything with your life. Be anything,” he told her softly.

Struggling to keep up with his long strides, she gave a short, humorless laugh.

“How? My father and brothers abandoned me when I was still a child, and my mother never left the couch until she drank herself into a grave when I was seventeen.” He felt her shudder as she dredged up painful memories of her past. “I dropped out of school and got a job so I wouldn’t be shuffled off to some foster home. I’m lucky I didn’t end up walking the streets.”

With one smooth motion, he reached down to scoop her in his arms and cradled her to his chest. Her fierce, relentless nature made him forget she possessed a human lack of endurance even with the additional power of the Phoenix. And God knew she was too stubborn to confess she might need to rest.

The fact that she didn’t so much as mutter a protest at him taking matters into his own hands told him just how weary she must be.

Taking the stairs in a fluid bound, he studied her too-pale face.

“You would have never walked the streets. You have too much courage and power for such a fate.”

Her features hardened. “It takes more than courage to survive.”

In the blink of an eye, he was out of the house and swiftly moving down a back path.

“You need no longer fear. I will always be here.”

“Not fear? A high school dropout who can’t pay her rent is expected to save the world. How scary is that?”

“The world is in very good hands.”

Her head rested against his chest as she gave a wry laugh. “You’re demented.”

He risked a glance downward as they left the estate, and he slowed to a more cautious pace. Even tired and rumpled as she was, he had never seen a more beautiful woman.

“What would you do if anything was possible?”

There was no hesitation. “Travel.”

“Travel where?”

“Anywhere. Everywhere.”

He paused at the road, sniffing the air until he caught the scent of the demon traveling away from the city.

“Very ambitious.”

She snuggled closer, creating an aching heat that clenched the muscles of his thighs and an assortment of other pleasurable parts of his body.

“When I was little and my dad would come home in a drunken fury, I used to hide under my bed with an old globe that a teacher had given me,” she murmured. “I would close my eyes and point at a spot, and then I’d imagine I was on a boat traveling there. In my mind I have been all over the world.”

A sharp pain raced through him. This woman had been betrayed by those who should have protected and loved her. She had battled monsters in her own home and then been thrown into the world with no one to stand at her side.

But now that was all done.

She belonged to him.

He would devote his life, or even his death if necessary, to making sure she was never hurt or lonely or afraid again.

“Someday you will go,” he swore softly. “I promise.”

Her arms wrapped about his neck, almost as if she sensed his dark determination to do whatever necessary to keep her safe.

“We will go. After all, you owe me a honeymoon.”

“Honeymoon. I like the sound of that.” Without thinking, he reached out with his thoughts to gently stroke her face.

Her eyes widened in shock. “What did you just do?”

His lips twitched as he deliberately shifted his thoughts to cup her firm breast.

“You mean this?”

“I can feel you touch me. How can you do that?”

“You’re my mate.”

“But . . .” She gasped as he teased her nipple to a hard point. “Stop that.”

“You don’t like it?”

“Can I do that to you?”

“Not unless I take your blood.”

Her gaze narrowed. “That’s not fair.”

He chuckled as he bent to press a kiss to her lips.

“Life is never fair, lover.”

“Tell me about it,” she groused, her gaze scanning the darkness about them. “Are we following the trail of the demon?”

“For now.”

She turned her head to regard him with a frown. “You’re worried.”

He sniffed the air. The worrisome smell of blood had been growing stronger. Now the ground seemed to reek of it.

“The Shalott has been injured.”

“Viper?” she demanded.

“He is on the trail of the wizard.”

Her breath caught. “The witches?”

“They may have punished her.”

“Why?”

“You slipped through her clutches.”

He slowly lowered her to her feet. A vague sense of menace was crawling over his skin. He couldn’t yet pinpoint the source of unease, but he wanted to be able to strike swiftly.

Abby shifted close, no doubt feeling his own prickling alert. “You think she was sent to get me?”

“I think it’s a possibility.”

“Then why didn’t she?”

Dante shrugged. At the moment all he could do was speculate.

“If she is in the power of the witches, it’s not by choice. Shalott’s are independent, fierce creatures, and she would struggle against her commands whenever she was able.”

“Like you.”

He smiled wryly. “Yes.”

There was a moment of silence before Abby shifted to stand directly before him.

“We must rescue her.”

“A demon?” he demanded in surprise.

“She could have killed both of us. Or at the very least taken me away while you were unconscious. I think we owe her.”

He allowed his hand to drift over her tumbled curls. “If it is possible, we will release her. First we must find her.”

Viper allowed the man to drop to the ground and licked his fangs clean. He had no real taste for wizard-wannabes, but the guard had to be eliminated, and he hated to waste perfectly good blood.

Not that the man had been much of a guard. A smile twisted Viper’s lips. Despite the small medallion that had proclaimed the man a disciple of the Prince, he had been no match for Viper’s strength. The battle had done nothing more than whet his appetite.

With a flick of his hand, he used his powers to sink the inert body into the ground. The fresh blood that coursed through his body elevated his strength and stirred the dark predator within. He was on the hunt, and he would kill anything in his path.

Sliding through the graveyard, he entered the large crypt and easily found the entrance to the tunnels beneath. He paused to sniff the air.

He could smell humans. And a handful of lesser demons who were willing to serve mortals in exchange for protection. Nothing that could prove a danger to him.

Nothing beyond the wizard.

Melting among the shadows, he slowly traveled down the steps. Although he was always confident, Viper wasn’t stupid. A vampire did not live as many centuries as he had by blundering into danger.

If the wizard was tapping into the power of the dark lord, he would be a formidable enemy. It would take as much cunning as skill to best him.

A perfect means to spend the evening, he acknowledged with a cold smile.

He passed two more guards on his way to the inner sanctuary. On both occasions he killed with silent efficiency and moved forward without missing a step. The few demons he sensed were wise enough to scurry away before he could cross their paths.

With deadly speed he was at the entrance to the lowest chamber. He halted to carefully study the room before him.

It was a large room, but barren with a large brazier set in the center of the stone floor. Before the burning fire, a tall man knelt in obvious worship. The wizard. And in his hand he held a leather whip that he lashed against his own back in a steady rhythm.

Viper curled his lip in disdain.

He had encountered any number of humans who had willingly traded their souls to the dark lord. For power, for immortality, for their love of evil. They became willing servants who would sacrifice anything and anyone to please their vicious master.

Even themselves.

Pathetic creatures.

But dangerous, he reminded himself.

Very dangerous.

Despite the distance, he easily sensed the ancient force that radiated throughout the room. The sorcerer was obviously a favorite of the Prince and allowed to draw deeply upon his power.

It was little wonder he had proven to be such a nuisance to Dante.

Allowing his fangs to run out, Viper flexed his fingers and flowed into the shadows of the chamber.

“Fee Fie Foe Fum, I smell the blood of a . . . not Englishman.” He paused as he sniffed the air and gave a shudder. “Ah, a Saxon. A pity. The last Saxon I devoured made me ill for days. Filthy beast.”

Scrambling to his feet, the wizard clutched the heavy medallion about his neck and scanned the room for the unexpected intruder.

A futile effort. Viper wouldn’t be seen until he wanted to be seen.

“Cooper. Johnson.” The man’s voice held an unmistakable rasp as he called for his guards. Well, at least he was smart enough to be afraid. “Breckett.”

“Dead, dead, and dead, I fear,” Viper purred in cold tones.

The man gave a low growl as he backed close to the flames. “Show yourself, vampire.”

“Later, perhaps. If you are very good.”

“Coward.”

Viper laughed as he drifted through the shadows. “I am intrigued. Why would an all-powerful wizard be hiding in these dark caves beating himself senseless? Are you the sort to delight in self-flagellation?” He paused as he easily read the dark, tangled thoughts that the wizard couldn’t hide. “No, you prefer inflicting pain on others. It must be atonement for the dark lord.”

“I have no business with you. Leave now and I will not try to halt you.”

“But I have business with you.”

“Do you think to challenge me?”

“No, I think to kill you.”

“Fool.” The wizard snarled. “You shall burn upon the Prince’s altar.”

“Actually, you shall be the one to burn. But not until we’ve had a little chat. Have a seat.” Lifting his hand, Viper moved forward, forcing the wizard to his knees with the power of his glamour. He would not be capable of holding the man for any length of time. But he intended to have his questions answered before he took pleasure in the kill. “Now, tell me what you know of the witches.”

Chapter 21

A shiver raced through Abby as she hovered close to Dante.

She seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

Both the shivering and the hovering.

And standing in the dark wondering what the hell had happened to her life.

A week ago she would have already been in her cramped apartment tucked into her cramped bed.

She wouldn’t have known about all the bad things that went bump in the night, or feared that she was about to become a roasted sacrifice for some nasty deity.

Her gaze slid upward to linger upon the tense, perfect profile of the vampire next to her.

Her heart gave a sudden jolt. She might have been safely tucked in her bed, but she would have been alone. And miserable.

Whatever happened, no matter how many beasts and demons and witches crossed her path, she would not regret the events that had led to this moment. Having Dante near her was worth any cost.

Even as the knowledge settled deep inside Abby, Dante stirred with a restless motion, and she sensed a surge of frustration ripple through him.

Her hand reached out to touch his arm.

“What do you sense?”

“The demon is near.”

“How near?”

He flashed a wry smile. “Abby, I’m not a GPS. I can only say that she is close.”

“Then the witches must be close.”

“Yes.”

Abby felt faintly nauseous. A sensation that was triggered each time she thought of the women who she had seen in her dream.

Women who would hold her life, as well as that of Dante, in their hands.

“Do we start searching houses?”

Dante angled his head and sniffed the air. She didn’t know what he could smell, but he gave a sharp shake of his head.

“I don’t want to blunder in blindly. I prefer to have some idea of what we’re going to be facing.”

“I could—”

“No.”

Abby stiffened at his sharp tone. It wasn’t that she particularly wanted to creep through the dark alone. Hell, she’d rather shove a fork in her eye. But she didn’t take commands well. Never had, never would.

“Well, I’m not standing here in the dark all night,” she informed him sharply. “I’m tired, I’m hungry, and my mood is taking a turn toward pissy.”

He cocked a brow. “I’d say the turn has already been made.”

“Dante.”

His arm fell across her shoulders. “There is more than one means of discovering the witches.”

“And they would be?”

He led her from the quiet back street toward the bustling thoroughfare just a block away.

“Trust me.”

She rolled her eyes at the familiar words. “Can’t you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“You will see.”

He turned the corner, and they walked past elegant restaurants with their discreet awnings and closed shops that didn’t put price tags on their items.

The sort of neighborhood where women like her were followed by store security.

She wrinkled her nose as she found herself being relentlessly towed toward a sidewalk coffee shop that was still bustling with preps and corporate executives.

“I’m starting to rethink this whole mate thing.”

“Really, lover, you should have more faith in me.”

“I do, it’s just . . .”

“Just what?”

Abby came to a sudden halt to meet his gaze squarely.

“I’m afraid,” she abruptly admitted.

His arm pulled her close, his lips feathering over the top of her head.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Abby. You have my promise.”

“But what of you?”

“I’m fairly fond of me as well. I intend to take great care.”

She pulled back with a frown. “We don’t know what the witches will do.”

“They will discover a new Chalice, and you will be free of the Phoenix.”

“And you will be the guardian for a new woman.”

His expression eased. “Ah . . . you’re jealous.”

“Maybe a little.”

His fingers cupped her chin. “You are my mate. Even if I wanted to be with another woman, I couldn’t.”

“But I will be mortal again.”

“Those are worries for later. For now we must concentrate upon ridding you of the Phoenix. Until we do, you will be in danger.” His lips lingered a moment on her forehead before he was once again pulling her down the street, pausing before the large window of the bustling shop. “This should do.”

She glanced over the customers, who were all thinner, richer, and prettier than her.

“What is this place?”

“A coffee shop.”

“I can see that. Why are we here?”

“Because of that.”

He pointed to a spot directly over the window. For a moment Abby could see nothing but the red bricks that made up the building. Then as the clouds shifted, she could make out the strange hieroglyphics that glowed in the moonlight.

“Graffiti?”

“It’s a symbol that the owner is . . . nonhuman.”

His arm lowered to point toward the window where a tall man weaved between the tables. Abby’s eyes widened. Yowza.

She had never seen anything like him. Large and muscular with the build a professional wrestler would have envied, he was attired in a loose, green, sequined shirt and leopard-print pants that appeared to have been spray painted on him. Even more eye-catching was the long, brilliant red hair that flowed down his back like a river of fire.

He was an exotic butterfly who oozed a sensuality that was nearly palpable in the air.

“Let me guess. E. T.?” she husked.

Dante grimaced. “Imp.”

It wouldn’t have been her first guess. Or hundredth.

“Isn’t he kinda big for an imp?” she demanded, frowning as he passed out of sight and then without warning popped into the air directly before her.

“Not just an imp, I am a prince among imps,” he corrected in rich tones, performing an elaborate bow. “Troy, at your service, and, sweet pea, big is most definitely better.” He ran a hand down his stomach and then cupped himself with a seductive smile. “Of course, I don’t expect you to take my word for it. I’m quite willing to display my goods if you want. I have the most darling room upstairs where you can taste my wares in private.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Dante’s voice sliced through the air with all the warmth of a snowball in Antarctica.

Turning about, the imp surveyed Dante with open appreciation. Obviously he was an imp with a varying range of taste.

“Well, hellooooooo. Preindustrial meat—just how I like it.”

“Can we speak?”

The imp stepped closer with a lick of his lips. “I have better things we could be doing.”

Dante didn’t so much as blink. “This is important.”

“Nummy.” Running a hand down Dante’s arm, the imp leaned forward to give him a deep sniff. Suddenly the creature stiffened, and, pulling back, he offered them both an offended glare. “You’ve mated. Go away.”

Abby was torn between disbelief and amusement. This was no mischievous sprite dancing about a garden or playing naughty tricks on the unwary. Still, there was something bizarrely fascinating about Troy, Prince of Imps.

There was no amusement in Dante. He was annoyed, pure and simple.

“This will only take a few moments.” Dante pulled his watch off his wrist and held it out so the gold could glitter in the streetlight.

The imp’s nose actually seemed to twitch as he leaned forward to study the expensive watch.

At last he straightened and waved a large hand toward the nearby alley.

“Go around back. There’s a door that leads to the private rooms.”

He disappeared as easily as he had appeared, but Abby had no opportunity to appreciate the startling trick as Dante gathered her hand and pulled her through the shadows to the back of the building.

“So what’s with imps?” she demanded.

He gave a snort of distaste. “They’re flighty, unreliable creatures who delight in pleasures of the flesh and, of course, creating chaos.”

“And this one runs a coffeehouse?”

He shrugged. “Imps can pass as human when they want and are astonishingly very good at business.”

“And we’re here because . . . ?”

“Any demons in the neighborhood will gather here to share information.”

Abby shuddered. Good Lord, the demons had infiltrated the high-rent suburbs? What next? The White House?

Oh no. Don’t even think about it, Abby, she sternly told herself.

“Dante, do you think it’s entirely wise to spend any more time with demons while they consider me some sort of Holy Grail?”

“There are no other demons inside,” he assured her. “I merely want to speak with the imp. He will have heard any rumors floating about.”

“You’re saying the demons come here to drink coffee and gossip?”

“That’s one way to put it. If there are witches in the area, they will be keeping an eye on them.” He halted to push open the door. He paused a moment to carefully scan the room before pulling her over the threshold and closing the door.

With a flick of his hand, the muted lights glowed to life and Abby gave a strangled gasp.

“Wow,” she breathed, her gaze skimming over the vast room. She had never seen so much red velvet and lacquer gathered in one place.

Clearly demons had a taste for the lush and opulent.

Touching her arm, Dante flashed a warning frown. “Don’t touch anything.”

“Why?”

“Imps tend to have a few of their objects enchanted. One touch and you will find yourself compelled to return to this coffee shop over and over.”

She wrinkled her nose. “No wonder they’re such good businessmen.”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

Less than a beat passed before Troy sashayed into the room, imperiously holding his hand out. Dante obligingly dropped his watch into the open palm, and the imp held it up to inspect it with an expert eye.

“Let me see. Gold . . . real. Diamonds . . . real. A small scratch on the crystal.” He pursed his lips and dropped the watch into the pocket of his shirt. “I can give you half an hour. Will you have a seat? Some coffee?”

Dante gave Abby’s arm a warning squeeze before he was offering a smooth shake of his head.

“Nothing, thank you. This won’t take long.”

Troy tossed back his fiery mane of hair. “What can I do for you?”

“We’re looking for witches.”

The emerald gaze shifted to Abby. “Ah. You desire a potion or perhaps a hex? I have a friend who I promise will not disappoint.”

Dante answered, “These witches will be living in a coven, and they won’t dabble in potions. They have power. A great deal of power.”

The too-pretty features abruptly pinched into an expression of distaste. “Oh . . . those witches.”

Dante took a step forward. “You know of them?”

“They arrived a few days ago. The worth of real estate has been plummeting ever since.”

Abby blinked in confusion. “Real estate?”

“The demons are uneasy. These witches are not like others. They do not worship the beauty and glory of Mother Earth. They call their powers from the blood sacrifice. Already there have been several Sespi sprites who have simply disappeared.”

Blood sacrifice? Abby bit her lower lip. That didn’t sound good.

In fact, she was becoming more and more convinced that seeking out these witches was a very bad idea.

If Dante was shocked, he didn’t show it. His alabaster face might have been carved from marble.

“What do you know of them?” he demanded.

“Their house is the large Victorian monstrosity at the end of Iris Avenue.”

“How many?”

“Ten.”

“Is the house guarded?”

The imp grimaced. “Well guarded. They have a tame Shalott that protects the grounds.”

“Yeah, we’ve met,” Abby muttered.

Dante took a moment to consider. “Any binding spells?”

“Not that anyone has detected.”

“They must be conserving their strength,” he murmured.

Troy moved forward, a smile on his lips and a wicked glint in his eyes as he lightly touched Dante’s hair. “I do hope they are on your dinner plans, beautiful. They are beginning to affect business.”

Dante smiled coldly. “For now I just want to speak with them.”

“Pity.” The imp heaved a dramatic sigh and moved toward Abby. He stroked her hair as he did Dante’s. Then slowly he bent forward to sniff at her neck. Abby forced herself to remain still. The Prince of Imps seemed harmless, but he was large enough to crush her with one hand. “What is that smell? There is something within you . . .”

“That’s all we needed.” With a smooth motion, Dante was stepping between Abby and the imp, his entire body humming with danger. “Thank you for your time.”

The emerald eyes narrowed, but with a sardonic smile the imp was performing a deep bow.

“The pleasure was all mine.” He glanced over Dante’s shoulder to stab Abby with a knowing smile. “Still, I think it best you not return. My establishment possesses a few minor spells to dampen the more feral tendencies of my customers, but I don’t think anything could halt bloodshed if they caught scent of you, my precious.”

“We won’t be back,” Dante promised, hustling Abby from the room and into the back alley. Once the door was shut, he peered into the shadows. “Well, we have the information we wanted. Now what the hell do we do with it?”

The cellar was straight off the set of a horror film.

The floor was packed dirt and littered with the droppings of mice and rats. The worn stone walls were damp with a slick layer of mold. Even the air was heavy and filled with a dark sense of menace.

It combined to create an atmosphere that would send most people fleeing in terror. But Edra was made of sterner stuff.

She had no love for the shadows, but she was willing to use them for her own purpose. And after centuries of battling the darkness, she had at last accepted that only by directly confronting evil could she put an end to it once and for all.

Setting her candle on the large altar she had commanded built after being forced to flee the secret coven outside the city, she reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a small amulet.

The darkness seemed to deepen, and the candle flickered. A bone-chilling cold crept through the air.

Edra smiled. So much power.

Enough power to alter the world.

The soft scrape of the door was the only warning that someone approached. With controlled haste, Edra slipped the amulet in her pocket and muttered a few words beneath her breath.

The few remaining witches could barely conjure a binding spell let alone be sensitive enough to the dark aura that clung to the amulet. Still, she wasn’t about to take any risks. Not now.

Not when she was so close to success she could taste it.

With a groan, she forced her stiff joints to kneel before the altar and bent her head in prayer. It was not until she could sense the woman halt at her side that she at last lifted her head.

The intruder was thin with lank brown hair. She no doubt had a name, but Edra had never bothered to learn it. Most of those she had once loved were now dead and gone. The lesser witches in the coven were merely necessary inconveniences.

“The demon lives?”

“It lives, but her wounds are grievous,” the woman reported with a frown. “Sally was forced to heal her.”

“She shouldn’t have bothered. Soon enough we will have no need of the creature.” Edra didn’t miss the annoyance that flashed through the dark eyes, and she rose to her feet. Deliberately she allowed her power to fill the room. There were times when her underlings needed to be reminded that beneath her aging frailty was a will that would destroy without mercy. “You have something to say?”

The witch momentarily faltered before she was squaring her shoulders.

“You have promised for the past year we would be rid of the demons, but we are no closer to achieving our goals, and now too many of us are dead.”

“It was not my fault that Selena became greedy and used the spell books before I could assist her or that the wizard attacked without warning,” she snapped in annoyance.

“We should have been better prepared.”

Edra’s hand dipped into her pocket to finger the amulet. “Are you suggesting that I failed?”

“I suggest that we became complacent.”

“And you wish to challenge my authority?”

Perhaps sensing her imminent death, the witch took a hasty step back.

“No. I simply want to pull back and gather our strength. To continue with the plan while we are so weak is madness.”

“Impossible. All the signs are in alignment. We must strike while we can.”

“But we don’t even know where the Phoenix is. The Shalott failed us.”

A flare of anger raced through the ancient witch before she fiercely thrust it aside. She could not be distracted. Not now.

A cold smile touched her lips. “The Chalice is close. Even now she seeks us out.”

The younger witch blinked in surprise. “You feel her?”

“Yes.” A shiver of anticipation raced through her body. “Prepare the sacrifice. Our time is coming.”

“But—”

“Do not make me repeat myself,” Edra warned in a lethal voice. “Prepare the sacrifice.”

Not entirely stupid, the younger woman was hastily backing toward the stairs. “Yes, mistress.”

Dismissing her companion with a wave of her hand, Edra concentrated upon the vague awareness that was becoming steadier with every passing moment.

At last.

Despite all the grim setbacks. Despite the deaths. Despite the failure of her underlings. Her dream was about to become a reality.

“Come to me,” she whispered softly.

Chapter 22

“This is it.”

Squatting beside Dante in the overgrown hedges, Abby studied the house.

Set well away from the street and nearly hidden behind the hedges, it was an aging Victorian structure. Although aging seemed too kind a description. Crumbling to dust was more accurate.

Even in the shadows it was easy to spot the peeling paint and sagging porch. If Norman Bates needed a vacation home, she had just found if for him. Abby gave a shake of her head. Holy freaking cow. The only surprise would be if there wasn’t a dead mother hidden in the bedroom and a homicidal maniac prowling the grounds.

“Yow,” she breathed. “That’s . . . spooky.”

Dante was in full predator mode. With uncanny ease, he melted into the shadows and held himself motionless. There was none of her fidgeting, no muttered complaints of the hedge poking into his back. Hell, there wasn’t even any tedious breathing to stir the air.

If she wasn’t vibrantly aware of the tension coiled within him, she might have thought he had been turned to stone.

Shifting slightly, she closely studied the alabaster features that were almost unrecognizable. This was not the tender lover or roguish pirate. This was the warrior vampire who still sent a tingle of unease down her spine.

Feeling her gaze, he turned to stab her with his silver gaze.

“Do you sense anything?”

“Yes.” She absently rubbed her arms. The prickles racing over her skin had started the moment she had stepped onto the grounds of the house. “I just don’t know what it is.”

“Tell me.” His voice was a whisper of velvet.

“It’s like I can almost hear whispers in the back of my mind. I can’t make out the words, but I know they’re there.”

“The witches?”

“That would be my guess.” Her breath caught as the white fangs ran out and his hands curled to claws. The demon was in full force. “What was that?”

“What?”

“Did you just growl?”

“I don’t like this.” His gaze returned to the house, his tone flat. “It’s too quiet.”

“Hardly surprising they might want to keep a low profile after being attacked by the wizard. They’re not likely to be having a party.”

“And yet they have no spells to guard the house.”

“What of the Shalott?”

He sniffed the air. “It must be within. Or dead.”

Abby shivered. Or dead . . .

Those weren’t exactly words to bolster a girl’s confidence.

She licked her dry lips.

“Then I suppose there’s nothing to stop us, right?”

He slowly turned back to her, his expression grim. “There is one thing.”

Her head dropped into her hands as she heaved out a rasping sigh. “I knew it. I just knew it. What is this thing?”

“This is a private home.”

“And?”

“And I can’t enter without an invitation.”

She jerked her head up. “You’re kidding me?”

“No.”

“You don’t live in a crypt and you can’t turn into a bat, but you have to have an invitation to enter a house?” Abby hissed.

A reluctant amusement softened the flat eyes. “You wanted me to be vampirish.”

“Not when it’s inconvenient.”

“Sorry.”

She wrinkled her nose, realizing just how ridiculous she was being. “No, this is for the best,” she forced herself to say. “Until we know what’s going to happen, I would rather you stay away from the witches.”

He didn’t so much as flick an eyelash, but Abby sensed his flare of anger. Great, just great. She had managed to rub against his vampire pride. A certain means to ensure he would bull his way headfirst into the nearest danger.

Sometimes her stupidity amazed even herself.

“You want me to hide in the bushes?”

“Dante, it only makes sense to split up,” she attempted to undue her unwitting damage. “I need you to be able to rescue me if I need help.”

“I’m not letting you go in there alone.”

She reached out to touch his arm. It was as cold and unyielding as granite.

“We don’t have much choice.”

His fangs flashed in the moonlight. Not the most reassuring of sights.

“The witches know you’re here. They’ll eventually come out to find you.”

That wasn’t reassuring either.

Especially if Dante was forced to retreat before the witches decided to make an appearance. She would rather go in now and know she had backup.

“We don’t have that long. Dawn will be coming soon.”

“Then we’ll come back tomorrow night.”

“Dante. I think—”

With a blurring speed, Dante had pinned her to his chest, the air shimmering and snapping about him.

“Dammit, Abby, I can’t let you go in there,” he rasped.

If she had a lick of sense, she would have been terrified. Mate or not, this man could crush her without effort. Or worse, rip out her throat.

But it was annoyance that stiffened her spine and brought a frown to her brow.

“I promise I won’t take any risks. I will meet with the witches and—”

“No.”

“Listen, Mr. Macho, I make my own decisions.”

The arrogant nose flared. “Not on this.”

Her teeth snapped together. “This argument is starting to get old, Dante. I’m not a child. To be honest, I don’t think I was ever a child. I won’t be dictated to, not by you or anyone else.”

He studied her flushed features with a steady gaze. “If you die, I die,” he said simply.

The wind was sucked efficiently from her sails.

She searched his hard features. “You will die because I’m your mate?”

“Because you’re the reason I exist.”

“Oh.” Abby set back on her heels, stunned by the stark beauty of his words.

It was hard to remain all prickly and independent when he was making her heart melt.

Damn him.

“Dante—”

His finger touched her lips to halt her stumbling words, his head turning toward the unkempt yard that surrounded the house.

“Someone is approaching,” he whispered directly in her ear.

Her fingers tightened on his arm as a sharp fear pierced her heart. This was why she was here, of course, but that didn’t ease the chill that clutched at her stomach.

These women were not the local garden club. They weren’t going to invite her in for crumpets and tea.

They were powerful witches who could chain a vampire with their spell and control an ancient spirit that kept the world safe from demons.

She would be a fool to underestimate them.

Ignoring the weakness in her knees, Abby forced herself upright. If nothing else, she would face whatever was coming on her feet. She didn’t hear Dante move, but she knew he was standing directly behind her.

Within moments, a thin, narrow-faced woman appeared from the shadows. Halting before Abby, she astonishingly bent in a deep bow.

“My lady, you have arrived at last,” she stated the obvious in somber tones.

Abby glanced at Dante over her shoulder. “My lady?”

“Selena never got over being a noblewoman. Obviously you inherited her title.”

“I wish that was all I inherited,” she muttered.

The witch cleared her throat, blatantly ignoring the vampire who stood only a handful of steps away.

“If you will you come with me, my lady? The mistress is waiting for you.”

My lady? Mistress?

The woman must have spent her summers working at the local Renaissance Fair.

Abby squared her shoulders. “Only if Dante is invited as well.”

The thin face briefly hardened with distaste. “Of course. The protector must accompany the Chalice. This way.”

Turning, the woman headed back toward the dark house. So this was it. Abby pressed a hand to her quivering stomach.

Without a sound, Dante was standing directly before her. “You’re ready?” he demanded.

For a moment she allowed her gaze to rest upon his impossibly beautiful features. Surely nothing horrible could happen as long as he was near?

“As ready as I can be,” she retorted with a grimace.

“Don’t let down your guard,” he warned. “And stay close to me.”

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

He took a deliberate step backward. “Then that staying-close thing was more of a metaphor.”

Grudgingly her lips twitched at his teasing. She knew he was attempting to ease the terrible tension that clutched at her.

“Love is supposed to be for better or worse.”

He lifted his brows. “Love only goes so far.”

“Thanks.”

His hands framed her face with gentle care. “You can do this, lover.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Abby gave a slow nod of her head. “Yes.”

The silver eyes flared. “Then let’s go make you human again.”

Viper carefully adjusted his lace cuffs before returning his attention to the wizard huddled in the corner. The smell of blood was thick in the air. The wizard might be ancient, but he bled like any human when his head connected with the stone wall.

Unfortunately, despite the delicious scent, he felt no urge to drain the pathetic creature. The wizard’s worship of the dark lord made his blood as tainted as his black soul.

Viper gave a flick of his hand as the wizard attempted a feeble ensnaring spell. The man had already been weak from his encounter with Dante. And oddly his few attempts to call upon his darker powers had been unsuccessful. Viper could only presume the Prince was not pleased with his disciple.

He had been no match for an ancient vampire.

“I think what we have here is a failure to communicate,” Viper mocked as he regarded the pasty features.

“Go to hell,” the wizard croaked.

“Eventually, no doubt.” Viper heaved a sigh. “I did hope to do this without undue violence. This is, after all, my favorite jacket, and getting brain tissue out of velvet is a bitch. Still, the pleasure of killing will be worth the effort.”

The once-proud man cringed in fear. “You’re a vampire. Why do you care what happens to the witches?”

“Oh, I have no love for the hags. They can rot in hell for all I care. My only interest is for the welfare of my clansman. You seriously miscalculated when you attacked Dante.”

“He is a pawn of the she-devils.”

“Wrong answer.” Faster than the mortal eye could follow, Viper slashed a deep cut in the man’s cheek.

The wizard cried out, his eyes wide with terror. “If you kill me, then you will die.”

“You believe your god will avenge the death of a pathetic sycophant like you?” Viper curled his lips into a sneer. “He’s more likely to send me a fruit basket.”

The man held up a hand of surrender. “You must listen. It’s the witches.”

“What about them?”

“They intend to murder you.”

Viper narrowed his gaze. He had no trust for the human. Such a man would sell his soul if he still owned it to save his hide. But Viper could smell the sour desperation that oozed from his sweat. The wizard truly believed the witches were a danger.

“The witches intend to murder me? Why?”

“They want us dead. All of us.”

Slowly crouching down, Viper reached out to grasp the man by his throat. At the first hint of a lie, he would put an end to the miserable worm.

“Tell me.”

Dante smoldered with violence as he grudgingly followed the witch leading them through the shadowed house. They had barely crossed the threshold when the familiar scent of brewing spells, drying herbs, and darker, less palatable odors clenched at his stomach.

It was a stench he knew all too well.

The witches were preparing a sacrifice.

He intended to ensure that the sacrifice didn’t include Abby or himself.

No matter who or what he had to kill.

Staying close behind Abby, his senses swept the shadows. If you knew you were walking into a trap, was it still a trap?

Something to consider.

The rooms were large and empty with vaulted ceilings that gave the impression of space. The air, however, was close and thick with a cloaking heat that pressed uncomfortably on Dante. In his mind, it reeked of dusty cellars and prison walls.

Reaching what once must have been the formal drawing room, the witch paused at the doorway.

“Mistress, I have brought the Chalice,” she said in reverent tones.

There was a rustle in the darkness and a low chant before the softness of candlelight chased away the gloom.

With stiff movements, a small, almost frail woman lifted herself from a chair. At a glance she might have been a sweet old grandmother with her fluff of gray hair and lined face. It was only when one noticed the hard brown eyes that the cold, relentless power became obvious.

Managing a tight-lipped smile, the old witch halted before Abby. “My lady. And the guardian.” The hard gaze flicked over Dante before the woman waved a hand toward the cavernous room. “Come in and be welcome.”

Dante felt Abby’s hesitation before she was cautiously moving to take a seat on a leather chair beside the empty fireplace. Dante stood behind her, his body tense and ready to strike.

Just for a moment the unrelenting gaze of Edra weighed his protective stance, as if judging whether or not he would prove to be a hindrance to her plans.

Whatever she decided was not visible on the ancient face. But since he was still standing, he presumed she had concluded he was no threat.

For the moment.

In the blink of an eye, her attention returned to Abby’s pale face.

“We have not yet been introduced, although I feel as if we are intimately acquainted. I am Edra.” Her gaze narrowed. “And you are?”

“Abby Barlow.”

“Ah, the servant,” she murmured. “I should have realized you would be the only one near enough to have taken the Phoenix.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Abby assured the woman dryly. “If I had realized what was going to happen, I would have run screaming in the opposite direction.”

“Quite understandable.” Something that was no doubt supposed to be sympathy touched the lined face. “You look exhausted, my dear. May I get you some wine?”

Abby nervously cleared her throat. “No, thank you.”

“Very well.” There was a short, thick silence. “You are well? You have had no difficulty in carrying the Phoenix?”

“Beyond being chased by every demon and dark wizard in Chicago?”

A gnarled hand waved in an imperious motion. “I mean physically. There is no pain? No sickness?”

“My eyes have turned blue, and I have a tendency to light people on fire, but besides that I feel all right.”

“That is a relief. Still . . .” The woman moved close to bend over the chair, ignoring Dante’s low growl as she reached out to touch Abby’s cheek. “Perhaps you will not mind if I take a moment to ensure the Phoenix is unharmed by . . . recent events?”

Abby shuddered beneath the woman’s touch but didn’t pull away. “If you must.”

Edra closed her eyes as she murmured beneath her breath. Dante couldn’t feel the magic, but he knew it was being woven. His hands clenched at his side. Bloody hell, he hated this.

“It is well, thank the blessed Goddess,” the woman breathed. Then, without warning, she gave a sharp gasp and stumbled backward, her hand pressed to her heart. “Oh . . .”

Abby clutched the arms of the chair. “What?”

With an effort, the witch wrestled control of her composure. Her hand, however, remained an angry red.

The Phoenix had struck out at her.

What the hell did that mean?

“You possess a great deal of power. More than Selena.” She narrowed her gaze before she gave a faint nod. “You shall do well.”

Never stupid, Abby regarded the witch with tense suspicion. “Do well?”

“As the Chalice, of course.”

The words were smooth, but Dante didn’t believe them for a moment. His hand dropped to Abby’s shoulder as he regarded the witch with a cold threat.

“We are here for you to remove the spirit.”

The candles abruptly flared. A not-so-subtle warning of her sheathed power.

“Impossible,” Edra snapped. “The Phoenix has already taken possession of her body.”

“Then bloody well find another body,” he growled.

Her gnarled hand lifted. “Careful, beast.”

Violence hung in the air, and with a nervous motion, Abby was out of the chair.

“Look, I understand your concern, but there’s no way I can be your . . . Chalice,” she muttered in an obvious attempt to halt bloodshed. “I didn’t ask for this, I was never trained, and quite frankly I’m sick of scary things trying to kill me.”

Edra sent her a fleeting gaze, her attention remaining on Dante. “You’re with us now. We will see to your training as well as keep you safe.”

“As you did Selena?” Dante mocked.

“Selena brought on her own demise.”

“How?”

“It is not your place to question what occurs among the coven,” Edra snapped.

“But it’s mine,” Abby intruded again. “And I want to know what happened to Selena.”

“We shall discuss Selena later.”

Dante hid a smile at the imperious command in the witch’s voice. It was custom-designed to set Abby’s teeth on edge.

He was not disappointed as his mate narrowed her gaze and mentally dug in her heels.

“No. I want to know how she died.”

Edra stiffened. The old witch was accustomed to commanding her underlings with an iron fist. Even Selena had grudgingly conceded to her authority.

Surprisingly, however, something that might have been wariness flickered over the lined face as the witch studied the younger woman.

“She attempted a spell well beyond her capabilities,” she abruptly confessed.

“What sort of spell?” Abby pressed. “What did it do?”

“It . . . protected her from demons.”

She was lying.

The knowledge hung thick in the air.

“I thought the Phoenix could protect itself,” Abby challenged.

“Against most enemies.”

“Did she fear being attacked?”

“It is always a fear.” The lined face hardened with hatred. “The darkness hovers and awaits the opportunity to regain what it has lost. There are evil forces in the world that will halt at nothing to destroy us.”

“Yeah, I’ve been introduced to a few of them,” Abby muttered. “Which is why I want this . . . this thing out of me and into someone who knows what they’re doing.”

There was a tense pause before the witch reached out to pat Abby’s arm in an awkward motion.

“We will consider what is best to be done, but first you will desire a short rest. I can sense your weariness.”

The woman turned and headed for the door before Abby could argue. Dante moved faster.

In the blink of an eye, he was standing in the doorway, his fangs exposed.

“Abby will need her herbs.”

Edra gave a blink of shock at his sudden appearance before an expression of regal disdain settled on her thin face.

“Of course.”

“And I will need blood.”

The disdain deepened. “It will be attended to.”

Dante waited a long beat before stepping aside and allowing the witch to leave the room.

He hoped that she sensed just how fiercely he desired to kill her on the spot.

Chapter 23

Abby felt like a bottle of champagne that had been shaken until it threatened to burst.

She didn’t know her nerves could be wound so tightly. Or that she could feel so cold in a room that was smothering.

Worse, she didn’t know if it was being in the lair of the witches that was making her so unnerved or the sight of her lover standing in the doorway.

In the shadows, he might have been carved from the purest marble. There was no expression on the alabaster features. No flicker of life in the flat silver eyes. Not a muscle twitched in the tall, elegant body.

He might have been a beautiful mannequin if not for the fangs that glittered in the candlelight.

She at last cleared her throat. “Dante?”

There was not a flicker of an eyelash. “Yes?”

“You’re looking a bit fangy. Are you all right?”

There was a long moment before a ripple raced through him and he slowly turned to meet her gaze.

“I don’t like being here.”

“Neither do I,” she muttered, wrapping her arms about her waist. “It’s smothering in here but I’m freezing. It doesn’t make any sense.”

His brows lowered. “Magic?”

Abby considered. She was hardly an expert. Hell, she wasn’t even an amateur. More like a bumbling buffoon.

Still, she could feel something in the air. A sense of foreboding that tingled over her skin and clutched at her stomach.

“More like magic waiting to happen,” she attempted to explain the odd sensation. “It’s like an approaching thunderstorm. You can feel the electricity in the air before it ever hits.”

“So what are they brewing?”

She shivered as she moved to stand directly before Dante. She had hoped that meeting the witches would ease her vague fears. Instead the urge to flee was more overwhelming than ever.

There was something . . . foul in the air.

A hint of rotting disease just below the surface.

“I don’t know.” She laid her hand on his arm. “Maybe we should just go, Dante.”

“No.” He covered her hand with his own. His expression was grim. “Not until you’re safe.”

“She didn’t sound like she’s overly eager to rid me of the Phoenix.”

“If you convince her that you won’t be jerked around like a puppet on a string, she will be forced to find a new Chalice. The coven considers the Phoenix as their own, and they won’t lose control. Even if it means endangering the spirit.”

“You mean just be myself?”

The barest hint of a smile touched his lips. “Exactly.”

“And what of you?”

His expression became shuttered. “I can take care of myself.”

Abby swallowed a sigh. It was his me-Neanderthaland-I’ll-be-stupid-if-I-want expression.

Vampires.

“Not if they leash you to a new Chalice. You will be at their mercy.”

His shoulder lifted. “I am already at their mercy. It won’t change much.”

Her brows snapped together. “I want you freed.”

“One thing at a time, lover.” His hand lifted to cup her cheek. “First we must make sure Edra understands you are serious about ridding yourself of the Phoenix. I had hoped she would have already chosen another Chalice and would be eager to assist us. As it is . . .”

“What?”

His fangs snapped together. “She may look old and fragile, but she wields magic like a gladiator wields a sword, and she doesn’t care who gets hurt when she takes a swing. We must be careful to convince her to release you without making her fear you might be an enemy.”

“So you want me to stand up to the witch but not stand up to the point that she wants my head in the stewpot.”

“Something like that.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You don’t ask much.”

His expression was somber. “This is important, lover.”

“I know.” With a sigh she leaned against his solid body and snuggled close as his arms wrapped about her.

In the distance she could feel the prickling tension of a brewing spell and could smell the herbs and nastier ingredients that lay thick in the air. The thick mess crawled over her skin.

But being held tightly in Dante’s arms kept the hovering darkness at bay.

How was that for an oxymoron?

Abby didn’t know how much time had passed, but eventually Dante was gently tugging her to the center of the room and turning to regard the woman who entered the doorway carrying a silver tray.

Abby blinked in shock as the stranger settled the tray on a low table and straightened with a flip of her blond hair.

Good Lord, she looked like she should be flunking algebra class and flirting with the football quarterback, not playing servant to a pack of witches.

Of course, age was not necessarily an indication of maturity, she reminded herself wryly. By the time she was eighteen, Abby had seen more of life than most women twice her age.

Pressing her hands together, the girl kept her gaze glued to Abby’s face. It took a moment for Abby to realize that Dante was probably the first vampire the girl had ever encountered.

Or at least the first vampire she knew was a vampire.

“The mistress requested that I bring you refreshments,” she at last managed to stammer.

In spite of herself, Abby felt a pang of sympathy for the girl. Whatever her reason for joining with the witches, it was clear she was not happy. It was etched in the tension of her too-thin body.

“Thank you,” Abby said softly. “It was very kind of you.”

Something that might have been surprise flickered through the dark eyes before she was offering a tentative smile and turning toward the door.

Before Abby even realized what was happening, Dante was suddenly standing before the girl. Abby’s lips parted to protest. The last thing they needed was a newbie witch having hysterics in the drawing room.

Astonishingly, however, the woman didn’t scream in horror. She didn’t even squeak.

Instead her features became slack and her eyes glazed as if she had taken a blow to the head.

“Do you not want to stay?” Dante breathed so softly that Abby barely heard his words.

“I . . . there is much to be done . . . I must . . .” the girl began to stutter.

Dante pointed a hand at a nearby chair. “Sit.”

With jerky motions, she sat.

Abby caught her breath and stepped forward. “Dante? What did you do?”

He crouched before the chair, his gaze never leaving the witch. “She is young and not yet trained to avoid being enthralled.”

“What does that mean?”

“For the moment she is in my power.”

Abby studied the woman, who was pleasantly lost in her catatonic state, as a cold chill inched down her spine.

“Holy crap.”

“I did tell you that I could do this.”

She swallowed heavily. “Knowing you can do it and actually seeing it done are two entirely different things.”

“And now you are afraid?”

She took a long moment before giving a shake of her head. She could sense the truth written on his heart.

“No.”

“Good.” His lips curled into a wicked smile. “I would never enthrall you, lover. I don’t want a mindless toy; I want you. No matter how stubborn or ill-tempered you can be at times.”

She couldn’t halt her own smile. “You always say the nicest things.”

Slowly he turned his attention back to the silent girl in the chair.

“Tell me your name,” he demanded. His tone was low and flowing. A golden voice that seemed to shimmer in the air.

The girl leaned forward with an eager need to please the man holding her so easily captive.

“Kristy.”

“Kristy, how long have you been with the coven?”

“Not long.” Her brow wrinkled as if she feared she might disappoint the vampire. “Just a few weeks.”

Dante’s gaze remained firmly locked with the witch. “You know of the Phoenix?”

“Of course. It is the reason the coven exists. It is the salvation of us all.”

Dante arched a brow. “Salvation?”

A fervent glow touched the young face. “With the beloved Goddess, we will bring an end to the darkness. The light will shine for an eternity.”

Abby crept closer. She didn’t understand what the girl was babbling about. Eternal light, banish the darkness, yadda yadda.

But she did sense Dante’s sudden tension. And that was enough to send up the proverbial red flag.

Ignoring Abby’s approach, Dante leaned until he was nearly nose-to-nose with the witch.

“How will you bring an end to the darkness?”

“There is a spell. A spell to bring an end to the demon world forever.”

“It must be very powerful.”

“Yes.” The girl gave a shudder. “Only the most talented witch can hope to perform the ritual. It killed . . . the last one to try.”

“Who was the last one to try, Kristy?” Dante’s hands tightened on the arms of the chair. “Was it Selena who attempted to cast the spell?”

“I . . .”

“And that’s what killed her?” His voice held a lethal edge.

Abby’s breath caught. Her thoughts flashed back to Selena’s broken body and then leaped to the spell books that they had discovered in the mansion.

Damn. She had opened the safe and revealed them. God, she had even attempted to use them.

Now they were gone. If something bad was going to happen, it would be her fault.

A distressed expression rippled over the youthful face. “I . . . I am not to say her name. She betrayed the coven and was punished as she should have been. The mistress forbade us to speak of her.”

“Sssh. All is well.” Dante eased the girl’s worry. “Is Edra planning to attempt the spell?”

The girl’s expression cleared in relief. A question she could answer.

“Yes, she will use the Phoenix to battle the dark lord and bring an end to demons.”

The tension in Dante became almost painful. “What demons?”

“All demons.” The witch smiled with a near-sickening joy. “At last the world will be pure.”

Abby frowned, rubbing her arms as Dante’s flare of fury charged through her.

“Bloody hell,” he breathed.

With a jerky motion the witch rose to her feet. Something that might have been pain twisted her lips.

“She calls me. I must go.”

Smoothly Dante was on his feet, his hands framing her face. “Kristy, is there anything else you want to tell me?”

Even Abby shivered as his power pulsed through the air.

“The blood has been tainted with silver,” the witch whispered.

Abby gasped but Dante merely nodded his head. It was precisely what he had suspected.

“You will go to Edra. You will not remember speaking with me. You brought the tray into the room and left. Do you understand?” he murmured.

“I brought the tray in and left,” she parroted.

“Very good.” Dante stepped back. “Now go.”

The witch was walking woodenly from the room. With a shake of her head, Abby held out a hand.

Good God, there were so many questions that had to be answered. She had to know what was going on.

“Wait . . .”

Dante grasped her shoulder and kept her from running after the disappearing form.

“Let her go, lover. Edra will become suspicious if she does not answer her summons.”

Abby whirled to meet his steady gaze. “What did she mean?”

“Wholesale slaughter,” he rasped. “I didn’t think even Edra could be quite so bloodthirsty.”

“Could the witches really kill all the demons?”

“They seem to think so.”

Abby struggled to breathe. She couldn’t count how many times she had been terrified out of her mind over the past few days. How many times she thought some nasty creature might rip her limb from limb. But as horrible as it had been, she had discovered that not all demons were monsters.

My God, Dante was a demon. And Viper. And the beautiful fairies. And Troy, the ridiculous Prince of Imps. And the Shalott who was tortured rather than handing her over to the witches.

She would do whatever necessary to put a halt to the genocide.

“Shit. We have to stop her,” she muttered without a clue as to how to accomplish such a lofty goal.

Half-expecting Dante to charge from the room like a raging madman, she was startled when he merely regarded her with a searching gaze.

“Is that what you want? To stop her?”

“What?”

His fingers touched her cheek. “Abby, if we battle Edra, you might never be able to rid yourself of the Phoenix.”

Her eyes widened at the low words. “You think I would sacrifice you? For any reason?”

He gave an elegant lift of his shoulder. “To rid the world of evil? That seems a rather noble goal.”

She stepped toward him and grasped the front of his silk shirt in an angry grasp.

If she could have, she would have given him a good shake. As it was, all she could do was wrinkle the beautiful material.

“Evil doesn’t belong to demons, Dante. Humans are just as capable of sin as any creature.”

The silver gaze never wavered. “Most would consider us monsters.”

“No. Not all demons are monsters—no more than all humans are saints.” She gave a faint shudder. “Besides, I would never agree to such a massacre. No matter how good the intention, it would be wrong. Evil.”

There was a beat as if he was seeking to determine the depths of her determination. At last he gave a short nod.

“We need to get out of here.”

Abby breathed a husky sigh. “Thank God.”

Shifting to take her hand, Dante headed for the door only to come to an abrupt halt.

“Damn.” He tugged her back toward the center of the room, not halting until they reached the low table that held the untouched tray.

“What is it?”

“Someone is approaching.”

Her heart lodged in her throat as she watched him pick up the poisoned glass of blood.

“What are you doing?”

“Allowing Edra to believe she has been rid of one enemy.” Moving so swiftly he was impossible to follow, he dumped the blood out the window and returned to her side. Then, startlingly, he stretched out on the bare floor. “If the witches believe me dead, then I will have a better way of seeking a means of escape.”

Abby bit her lip. She didn’t like this plan. Not when it might mean she would be separated from Dante.

“But won’t Edra know?” she demanded.

He gave an arch of his brow. “That I’m not dead?”

“Yes.”

“Abby, I am dead.”

“Oh.” She grimaced.

His beautiful features smoothed to somber lines. “Be careful, lover. I will get us out of here as swiftly as I can.”

The footsteps were now close enough to be heard by her human ears.

“Make it very swiftly,” she whispered.

Dante fell deep within himself. Unlike most humans, the ancient witch would need more than an unmoving corpse to convince her that he was dead.

Thankfully vampires could retreat far enough within themselves that only another vampire could sense the spark of life.

No spells or hocus-pocus would reveal the truth.

Reaching out with his senses, he monitored the steady approach of Edra and the feel of Abby as she bent beside him and touched his face. He could smell the sweet heat of her skin and beneath that the sharp scent of fear.

He battled every instinct not to reach out with his mind to comfort her. Even the smallest whiff of power would alert the witch.

The footsteps crossed the room, and Dante detected the scent of iron in the air. Odd. The woman must be carrying an amulet. And not the traditional wooden amulet.

This one was hard and dark and carried with it a feel of black shadows.

“My lady, is something wrong?” Edra cooed with false sympathy.

“Dear God, something has happened to Dante.” There was no mistaking the fear in Abby’s voice. Whether out of terror of being left to the clutches of the witch or because he did indeed appear remarkably dead was impossible to say. “You must help.”

“Of course, I will call for a healer. Come with me.”

Abby’s hand tightened on his cheek. “I can’t leave him here.”

“You have a talent for treating the undead?”

“No, but—”

“Then we must seek out someone who does.”

Her command was perfectly reasonable, and Dante felt Abby slowly rise to her feet.

“Very well.”

It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep from leaping to his feet and halting Abby from her slow retreat.

He didn’t want her to leave his side. To risk being alone with Edra.

But what choice did they have?

He couldn’t directly attack the witch. Not as long as he remained bound to the Phoenix. And Abby was still fumbling to learn the powers she possessed.

All he could do was allow the coven to believe he was no longer a threat and wait for an opportunity to rescue Abby from their clutches.

After that . . . well.

He would deal with “after that” when it came along.

Forcing himself to wait and ensure that no one else was about to enter the room, Dante was distracted by the faint tap on the window.

Warily he allowed his senses to reach out. His lips twitched as he flowed to his feet and crossed the room to regard the vampire standing just outside.

“Viper.”

“Napping on the job?” the silver-haired vampire demanded as he slipped through the open window.

Dante raised his brows in surprise as Viper smoothed his velvet coat and adjusted the ruffles of his cuffs.

“How did you come in?”

A sly smile touched the too-beautiful features. Reaching beneath his shirt, he pulled out a small leather bag that was attached by a leather strap about his neck.

“A gift from a voodoo priestess.”

Dante frowned. “What’s in it?”

“A variety of nasty bits and pieces that are used to animate the dead,” he drawled, a cynical smile tugging at his lips. “It allows me to pass as a living being.”

A handy little object, Dante acknowledged. And precisely the sort of trinket that Viper would collect. He watched as Viper tucked the bag beneath his shirt. His brows abruptly snapped together.

“Bloody hell, what happened to you?” Dante demanded as he studied the charred burns on the smooth flesh.

With a flick of his hands, the older vampire closed his shirt to hide the marks.

“The dark wizard and I had a mild disagreement.”

“What sort of disagreement?”

“I thought he should be dead and he disagreed.”

Dante smiled wryly. There was little use in lecturing Viper in taking such risks. Once he was on the hunt, nothing could halt him.

“I presume you convinced him to your way of thinking?”

“Eventually.” A flare of annoyance rippled over the pale features. “I was careless. His power was greater than I expected.”

So the dark wizard was gone. One less problem to deal with.

“What are you doing here?”

Viper’s presence suddenly seemed to fill the room. Even the candles dimmed.

“Before I ripped out his throat, the wizard swore that the witches intended to banish us all to the depths of hell. I decided that I wasn’t ready to go yet.”

Dante clapped a hand on Viper’s shoulder. There was no need for words. They would hunt together as they had centuries before.

Few things could have given him more hope.

“The witches have Abby,” he said.

“Where?”

Dante took a moment to reach out to his mate. “Below us. A cellar.”

Viper gave a slow nod. “Can you fight?”

“I can’t harm the witches who were part of the spell binding me to the Phoenix. The newer witches should prove no problem.”

Viper smiled to reveal his fangs. “Leave them to me.”

“There is also a demon,” he warned. “We’ll need to make sure it isn’t planning a nasty surprise.”

Viper tilted back his head to deeply sniff the air. The silver eyes widened in shock.

“A Shalott. So, they haven’t all vanished. How very intriguing.”

Dante grimaced at the fevered glitter in the midnight eyes. Shalott blood was rumored to be an aphrodisiac to vampires. Which no doubt explained why they had chosen to leave with the dark lord. Without his protection, they would be hunted to extinction by vampires.

“You take care of Edra; I will see to the demon,” Dante said sternly.

“Why, Dante, don’t tell me you’ve been seduced by the creature?” Viper mocked. “Whatever will Abby say?”

“She wants the demon spared.”

Viper stilled. “Why?”

“Because she could have killed us and didn’t.”

“Humans.” Viper gave a shake of his head even as an unreadable emotion darkened his eyes. “So weak.”

Squaring his shoulders, Dante glanced toward the door.

“Are you up for this?”

Viper moved to stand at his side.

“What’s the plan?”

Chapter 24

Abby bit her bottom lip as the hair on the nape of her neck stirred and her palms began to sweat.

It was the same sensation she had experienced when she had been five and had entered a carnival’s haunted house and spent nearly two hours huddled in a dark corner, too afraid to move so she could bolt for the door.

She hadn’t known why she was frightened. She had only known that she sensed something out in the darkness waiting to devour her.

Of course, with the wisdom of age, it was simple to look back and realize her fear had been caused by a combination of overstimulation, the smothering darkness, and being abandoned in the house by her mother.

Still, the sense of being devoured had been very real.

Just as it was at this moment.

Grimly squaring her shoulders, Abby allowed herself to be led through the dark, empty rooms until the elderly witch at last paused to open a door and began to climb down the narrow stairs.

She was no longer a child.

She didn’t huddle in corners.

She fought back with a vengeance.

Well . . . maybe not a vengeance. More of a combination of bumbling, fumbling, and flaying.

But she would never again be a willing victim.

A musty smell of damp earth and mold rolled over Abby as they reached the bottom of the steps. She hesitated as the utter darkness momentarily blinded her.

“Don’t be afraid,” Edra whispered, her ancient face becoming suddenly visible as a fire bloomed to life in a large brazier. “There is nothing here that would ever harm you.”

Nothing but you, Abby whispered silently.

“Why are we here?”

The witch moved across the floor. “I have something I wish to show you.”

Edra was walking toward what appeared to be a large slab of marble set next to the brazier. It appeared all the world like something you would put on top of a grave.

Along the edge of the marble were precisely arranged black candles and dried herbs. And in the very center was a strange symbol drawn with a thick, clotted liquid that gleamed with a reddish-black hue.

Abby’s stomach clenched as she reluctantly followed in the woman’s wake.

“What is this?”

“My modest altar.” The witch reached out to stroke the cold stone with a reverent hand. “Not what I desired to present to the beloved Goddess, but I was forced to leave much behind after the attack by the wizard.”

“Why are we here?”

The tiny head turned to stab Abby with a glittering gaze. Abby grimaced. In the shifting candlelight, the woman looked like a shriveled lizard.

And just about as warm.

“To change the world, my lady.”

Abby shifted uneasily. “That’s a little vague.”

“It’s time that the full glory of the Phoenix be revealed. Her power will cleanse the world.”

Cleanse the world.

It certainly sounded nicer than mass murder.

“Cleanse the world of what?” she demanded, needing to hear the woman admit her black-hearted intentions.

“Evil.”

“Again, a little vague.” She wrapped her arms about her waist. Any dark and dank cellar was creepy, but with the candles and mortician slab and some goo that might or might not be blood, this took creepy to a new level. “Precisely what evil are we cleansing?”

“The demons, of course. And those who worship the dark lord.”

“The dark lord has been banished from this world.”

Impatience as well as something that might have been anger tightened the older woman’s lips. Obviously she was not a big fan of having her decisions put up for debate.

“His foulness still taints the very air we breathe. He calls to his disciples and they answer. They must all be brought to an end,” she rasped.

Abby licked her lips. “And you expect the Phoenix to do this?”

“Of course. The beloved Goddess was meant to rule.” She held out her gnarled hands as if accepting worship from some unseen disciples. “Just as I was meant to rule. Our time has at last arrived.”

Good God, the woman was certifiable.

Hurry, Dante, she silently breathed. Please hurry.

“I understand your desire. It is no doubt admirable, but there are surely other means of battling evil?” she attempted to soothe. Pacify the crazy person. That was always her motto.

Absurdly the witch appeared outraged rather than soothed.

“Understand?” She moved to stand directly before Abby. “What could you possibly understand, girl?”

“I understand right from wrong.”

“Until a few days ago, you thought demons to be nothing more than fairy tales.”

Abby found her terror being swallowed by a growing anger. Dammit. She hadn’t wanted to be some stupid Chalice. Or to have monsters chasing her around. Or to be some sort of savior of the world.

But now that she had been forced into this position, she wasn’t going to be bullied into becoming the evil they were supposed to be fighting.

“Perhaps I didn’t know, but now I realize that there are many sorts of demons. Not all of them bad.”

“The vampire,” Edra hissed. “He has seduced you.”

Abby clenched her hands. “This has nothing to do with Dante. I will not be a part of wholesale murder.”

The witch stepped close enough to cloak Abby in the sour scent of sweat and cloves.

“Have you battled against darkness for the past three centuries?” she rasped. “Have you given your very soul to keep the horror at bay? Have you watched innocent women slaughtered like pigs beneath the magic of a foul wizard?”

In spite of herself, Abby stumbled backward. Her eyes might tell her that she could pick up the frail old woman and rattle her silly. Her heart warned her that the witch could wave a wand and squash her like a bug.

“I’m the Chalice,” she bluffed. “You can’t force me to perform a spell.”

“I would prefer that you join with me.” Edra raised a hand to point her finger directly between Abby’s eyes. “But we can do this the hard way.”

Oh God, here comes the bug-squashing part.

“No . . . wait . . .”

The words barely left her lips when a blinding pain exploded in her head.

Abby tumbled to her knees. She clutched her head as she realized she was going to die.

No one could survive such pain.

Dante, where the hell are you?

Viper and Dante slid into the shadows as the sound of noisy footsteps echoed through the hall.

Taking a deep sniff, Dante leaned close to his companion and whispered directly in his ear. “Two men, both human.” His fangs lengthened. “I’ll take care of them. You go to Abby.”

Viper paused. “You’re certain?”

“I can’t harm Edra. You can.”

A cold smile touched the elegant features. “It will be my pleasure.”

Not even the air stirred as Viper disappeared from his side. Remaining in the shadows, Dante waited for the men to walk directly past him. Only then did he leap forward, taking the nearest guard to the floor with fluid strength.

He felt the second man reach to grasp his arm. Without even glancing in his direction, Dante threw him into the nearby wall. There was a thud and a groan as the attacker slid to the floor.

The man underneath him grimly struggled to reach beneath his bulky form. Dante smiled wryly, knowing the fool was no doubt reaching for a gun. He either didn’t know a vampire held him or had no idea bullets couldn’t harm the undead.

Grasping a handful of hair, he smacked the thick skull onto the floor, and then again. He felt the body beneath him go slack, and Dante was on his feet.

Both men were out cold, but he wasn’t about to leave them behind. Opening a nearby door, he returned to the unconscious men and easily tossed them into the narrow room. With the same speed, he bound them with their belts and closed the door.

Silently he was once again moving forward. There was the sharp scent of blood ahead of him. Viper, no doubt. Unless the witches banded together, they would prove no match for the powerful vampire.

Ignoring the potent smell, Dante angled toward the back of the house. The fainter scent of the Shalott led him through the empty library to a small closet that had been locked with three iron bars.

Not a barrier to vampires, but Dante was willing to bet that iron was a threat to Shalotts.

With a grimace at the inevitable noise, Dante ripped the bars from the door, tossing them aside as he glanced over his shoulder to ensure that no one had come charging into the room to confront him.

The room was empty, but his momentary distraction didn’t go unpunished as the door exploded outward and a slender form leapt forward to catch him on the chin with a sharp kick.

With a grunt that was as much annoyance as pain, Dante whirled to discover the demon bent in a menacing crouch.

There was a lethal, near-intoxicating beauty in her long, slender limbs and flowing black hair, but Dante had no interest in her physical attributes. Or even the cloud of pheromones that filled the room.

His bond with Abby made him impervious to her potent allure.

Instead he prepared himself for another attack.

She wouldn’t get another cheap shot.

Holding up a hand, he regarded her with a frown. “Let me speak.”

Her hands flexed in warning. “Stay back, vampire.”

“This may be difficult to believe, but I’ve come to help you.”

Her lips curled. “And all I have to do is allow you to have a few sips, right? Thanks, but no thanks.”

Dante gritted his teeth. Had there ever been a woman born—human, demon, or other—that didn’t have to argue?

“I have no desire for your blood, Shalott,” he rasped. “But I will need your skills.”

“Forget it.” She gently swayed, like a cobra preparing to strike. “I’ll see you dead first.”

Realizing she thought he meant her hereditary skills of seducing vampires, he gave an impatient wave of his hand.

“I need your fighting skills.” He allowed his gaze to shift to the savage cuts that marred her arms and upper torso. He would bet she possessed a matching set on her back. She had been whipped as if she were an animal. “I intend to put an end to the witches.”

She stilled, her brows snapping together. “It’s impossible. They’re too strong.”

“Not after they were nearly wiped out by the wizard. They can’t stand against two vampires and a Shalott.”

She sniffed the air as if seeking to determine if he spoke the truth.

“Why should I trust you?”

“I’m chained just as you are.”

Her breath caught. “The beast.”

“Yes.”

Without warning, she straightened and Dante bared his fangs. Promise or not, if the woman attacked him again, he would rip out her throat.

Instead she glared at him with a hint of fear.

“The Phoenix is here?” she demanded. “You must get her out.”

“That’s exactly what I intend to do. With your help.”

“If they perform the ritual—”

“Can you fight?” he interrupted.

“Yes. The spell can only force me to come to them when they call.”

He smiled wryly. “I meant are you well enough to fight? You’ve been injured.”

She appeared momentarily startled by his concern. As if it was the last thing she expected. Then, as if embarrassed by her display of vulnerability, her chin tilted to a proud angle.

“I can fight.”

“Then let’s go.”

There was a tense beat before she gave a jerky nod of her head and they moved out of the room side by side. Neither was comfortable with having the other at their back.

“The cellar,” he muttered, and with a nod she was headed down the hall toward what he hoped was the entrance to the stairs.

As they neared the kitchen, however, she slowed her pace as she shot him a warning frown.

“There is magic being used ahead.”

Dante gave a grim nod as he bent down to pull the daggers from his boots. He could have taken a gun from the guards he had captured, but the last thing he wanted was some nosy neighbor calling the cops.

He doubted Chicago’s finest could be convinced that two vampires and a demon were the good guys.

Slipping into the kitchen, Dante’s gaze flashed over the circle of witches who currently held Viper in a binding spell. Snarling with fury, the elder vampire was battling with all he was worth, but it was obvious for the moment he was trapped.

Thankfully his struggles ensured that the witches were unaware of Dante’s approach. It was taking everything they possessed to keep Viper caged.

Forced to halt as he determined which of the women had held his leash, Dante was briefly startled as a blur streaked past him and the Shalott was launching herself at the nearest witch. There was a loud shriek swiftly followed by another as Dante threw his dagger into the back of a chanting witch.

Belatedly realizing their danger, the witches turned to face their latest threat and the spell faltered. Dante flowed forward even as Viper smiled with vicious anticipation.

In the end, the battle was short and brutal. The older witches were dead at the hands of Viper and the Shalott while Dante had used his powers of enthrallment on the younger witches. They now sat huddled on the floor, nursing their injuries and obediently awaiting Dante’s commands.

His hasty touch had been crushing as he had easily broken their spirit. They couldn’t so much as stir from the floor without his permission.

Retrieving his dagger, he wiped the blood off before slipping it back into its sheath.

As he straightened, he watched Viper slowly stalk toward the female demon, the older vampire’s eyes glittering with a dangerous fire.

“Ah, the Shalott,” Viper murmured in silken tones. “Beautiful.”

Moving until her back was to the wall, the demon held out a warning hand.

“Stay back.”

Viper chuckled. “I won’t harm you.”

The Shalott tossed back her long mane of raven curls. Dante stifled a groan at the unconsciously provocative motion. With the bloodlust running hot in the air, the demon would be better served to play the role of a passive victim than to directly challenge Viper.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that a lot,” she sneered. “Usually right before someone tries to harm me.”

Not surprisingly, Viper slid forward and Dante hurriedly followed directly behind him.

Dammit, they didn’t have time for this foolishness.

Debating how much force would be needed to halt the determined vampire, Dante found himself careening off Viper’s wide back as he came to a sudden halt and sniffed the air.

“Human,” he breathed.

The Shalott’s eyes widened. “What?”

“You’re a mongrel.”

Without warning, the demon leaped on Viper and toppled him to the ground. She ended up seated on his chest.

“Don’t push it, vamp,” she growled.

Viper laughed as he twisted to send her to the floor with his larger body pinning her down.

“Don’t take on more than you can chew, human.”

Dante had endured enough. His entire body vibrated with the need to find Abby and carry her from this house.

“Are we going to fight the witches or each other?” he demanded sharply.

Viper gave a nod as he flowed to his feet and tugged the reluctant Shalott off the floor.

“We’ll have to finish our game later, pet,” he murmured as he moved directly to the door nearly hidden in the pantry. “Business first, I fear.”

Chapter 25

It seemed a shame to leave the darkness.

The darkness was warm and soothing and didn’t have one psychopathic witch or rampaging zombie.

And best of all, the darkness didn’t have the throbbing pain that she could feel lurking in the back of her head.

Unfortunately, along with the throbbing in the back of her head was also the ever-present sense of Dante. Although they were separated, she could feel his cold fury as he battled to make his way to her side.

Until he could reach the basement, it would be up to her to keep Edra from using the Phoenix to perform her demented spell.

Damn.

Slowly absorbing the pounding pain that seized her head, Abby wrenched open her eyes to discover she was strapped onto the slab of marble.

Somehow she wasn’t a bit surprised.

How sick was that?

She bit back a groan and then like any fool who ever found themselves tied up, she instinctively struggled against the leather straps that held her down.

It was a futile effort, of course. The straps were not overly tight, but they would hold her. Still, her movement had brushed her arm against her waist and reminded her of the dagger that was in its sheath. Her shirt had managed to hide the weapon, and thankfully the witch hadn’t thought to check her.

Now if she could get her arms free to use it.

Covertly she scooted to one side. As she expected, the strap bit into her left arm, but it eased the pressure on the other. On the point of discovering if she could wiggle her arm free, she was halted as a shadow fell over the table.

“Ah, so you have awakened.” Edra smiled with cold pleasure.

Forcing herself to hold perfectly still, Abby glared into the lizard eyes.

“You must stop this,” she gritted.

“It is too late. The spell will soon be cast.”

The witch stepped closer, holding what looked to be a silver goblet. Abby shrank against the cold marble. She didn’t know what was in the strange goblet, but she was fairly certain she didn’t want to find out.

At her movement, the candles flickered and her attention was captured by an unmoving lump in the middle of the floor.

Her heart halted as she blinked, and then blinked again.

It wasn’t a lump. It was the body of a woman with short black hair and the sort of Goth make-up that made it impossible to determine anything more than that she was female and young.

And very, very dead.

Lying on the hard floor, her eyes were wide as if caught in eternal surprise and her mouth open. Most horrid of all was the ugly gash that marred her throat and allowed her thick blood to pool onto the dirt below her chin.

Abby gasped as she struggled against the rising nausea.

“Holy hell. Did you kill her?” she croaked.

“Such powerful magic demands blood.”

Abby reluctantly turned back to the woman poised above her.

“You’re crazy. You’re stark raving mad.”

A flare of color stained her pasty cheeks. “You will shut your mouth. You know nothing of the sacrifices I have endured,” she hissed. “For three centuries I have devoted my life for this moment. While Selena pampered and preened and surrounded herself with luxury, I hid in the shadows and protected her. I faced the evil and kept it at bay. I looked into the heart of darkness to prepare myself to bring an end to those who would destroy the Phoenix. It is I who will save the world.”

Abby shifted even farther to the side, further loosening her arm. She had to get free. There would be no reasoning with the lunatic. Whatever sanity she may once have possessed was long gone.

“And so you deserve to slice open the throat of some innocent young girl?” she demanded, determined to keep the woman too angry to notice her odd wiggles.

“Her death will serve a higher purpose.” There was not a flicker of remorse. “It is a fate we should all aspire to.”

“I noticed you didn’t offer yourself up as the sacrifice.”

The goblet trembled in Edra’s hands. “Shut up, you filthy bitch. You have defiled yourself with a vampire. You are not worthy to be the Chalice.”

“Tough luck. I’m all you got.”

“I will soon enough teach you some respect, just as I taught Selena.”

Wiggle, wiggle.

“Better bullies than you have tried.”

Just for a moment, Abby thought she might have pushed the witch over the edge. The fevered glitter in her eyes was darkened to sheer fury, and her lips curled back into a snarl.

The temptation to say “the hell with saving the world and punish the bitch as she deserves” held Edra in its grip before she gave a shiver and pulled back from utter lunacy.

“No. You won’t distract me. Not now.”

She reached her hand into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a small metal object. Abby frowned. After all the horrid things she had endured over the past few days, she had half-expected the witch to pull out a knife or snake or at least a magic rabbit.

The small amulet seemed astonishingly harmless.

At least until it was laid on the middle of her chest.

At first there was nothing. Just a cold sensation that ran over her skin. Then, just when she began to hope that the piece of iron was a dud, the smell of smoke began to fill the air.

Abby screamed as the amulet easily burned through the light fabric of her shirt and hit her skin.

The metal was branding itself into her skin, and there was no guarantee it would halt before it managed to sear its way to her heart.

“What are you doing?” she panted, struggling to free the dagger from its sheath. She no longer cared if the witch realized what she was doing or not. If she didn’t get free, the spell would be cast or she would be dead.

Neither of which were acceptable alternatives.

Thankfully Edra closed her eyes as she held the goblet directly over the amulet.

“The amulet will help me to draw upon the power of the Phoenix,” she muttered.

“Stop, it’s burning me.”

The woman began to chant beneath her breath, and within the pain blazing through her body, Abby could sense the stirring of the spirit within her.

With a grim effort, she managed to slide the dagger free but her arm remained trapped by the straps.

Dear God, she wasn’t going to be in time.

Sucking in a deep breath, she screamed for all she was worth.

“Dante!”

Already on the stairs, Dante moved with blurring speed to stand in the center of the cellar.

His hands clenched as he discovered Abby tied to the marble table with the witch hovering beside her. Even from a distance he could make out the stench of charred flesh.

“Abby . . .”

“Dante, she’s doing the spell.”

“The beast.” Edra’s eyes snapped open to pin Dante with a feverish glare. “I should have known you wouldn’t die so easily. Well, never fear. I won’t be so careless this time.”

“Halt,” Dante growled as he felt Viper and the Shalott at his back.

“We can’t let her complete the ritual,” Viper said in icy tones.

“There is a barrier.”

Viper cursed in an ancient language. “I hate magic.” He turned his head to the Shalott. “What of you? Can you breach the spell?”

The demon shook her head. “No.”

Dante’s teeth snapped together. He wanted to howl in frustration. Or kill someone.

To be so close and not able to reach Abby was unbearable.

Pacing the barrier, he growled low in his throat. The circle had been completed. It was closed until the witch had finished her spell.

He had never felt so helpless in his life.

And he bloody well didn’t like it.

Continuing to follow the line of the circle, Dante searched for any means to distract the witch. If he could make her falter for even a moment, the barrier would be broken. She could never raise it before he and Viper were upon her.

Easier said than done, however. There was nothing in the cellar that offered any help.

Refusing to give up, he moved until he was standing directly behind the witch. There was a soft moan from Abby, and his gaze instinctively moved to where she was stretched on the slab.

For a moment he could see nothing through his red haze of fury. He had to get to her. Now.

Then his attention was captured by the glint of candlelight off the dagger in her hand. He stilled as he realized she was using the keris to cut through the leather strap.

His gaze locked with her own as he silently willed her to hurry. Already Edra was tilting the goblet to pour the blood on the amulet. She was completing the ritual that would allow her to bend the power of the Phoenix to her will.

If the spell was spoken, he wouldn’t be able to rescue Abby.

Or himself.

He darted a sideways glance to make sure that Viper had noticed Abby’s attempt to escape. The older vampire gave a slight nod of his head.

They moved together, ready to strike the moment the barrier was destroyed. The Shalott chose a spot directly in front of the witch. A demon with battle tactics.

Go figure.

Impervious to all but the spell she was casting, Edra held the goblet over her head and then slowly she lowered it to pour a measure of the thick blood directly onto the amulet.

Dante froze.

The spell was beginning.

He might very well be dead before Abby ever got herself loose.

The blood hit the amulet and sizzled against the searing heat. A strange humming filled Dante’s ears, and he pounded his fists futilely against the barrier.

“Abby,” he rasped.

As if sensing his rising panic, Abby gritted her teeth and sliced through the last bit of leather. The amulet on her chest seemed to flare as she knocked the smoldering iron off her skin and struggled to sit up.

From behind, Dante watched as Edra froze in shock.

In her arrogance, she thought that nothing could halt her glorious bid for power. Certainly not a mere slip of a woman with no ability to wield magic and no claim to the darker arts.

She hadn’t counted on Abby’s stubborn determination.

Something he had learned never to underestimate.

Ignoring the obvious pain wracking her body, Abby managed to lift herself upward, using her momentum to slash out with the keris. Belatedly sensing her danger, the witch leaped backward, avoiding a killing strike.

Thankfully the dagger managed to nick her upper arm, sending the goblet crashing to the floor.

More importantly, with her concentration destroyed, the barrier vanished into mist.

With a roar, Viper was across the floor and pinning the witch to the floor. Dante was at Abby’s side, wrenching off the remaining straps and reaching to collect her in his arms.

“No.” Holding out warning hands, Abby swung off the table and struggled to maintain her balance. “Don’t touch me.”

Dante slowly circled to face her, his brows pulled together. “Abby, what’s wrong?”

She wrapped her hands about her waist. “I’m burning up.”

Dante gave a slow nod. Even at a distance he could feel the heat rolling from her body.

“The Phoenix?”

“Yes.” She turned toward the witch on the floor. “The spell has begun.”

“Viper, kill her,” Dante rasped.

“My pleasure.”

Lowering his head to sink his fangs into the witch’s neck, Viper gave a low grunt and then astonishingly was flying backward as Edra struggled to sit up. In her hand was the amulet.

“Shit.” Dante was moving even as Edra lifted her hand to strike at Viper once again.

As fast as he moved, however, the blast of power was faster. He cursed as he realized that he would never arrive in time. Then, without warning, the Shalott was leaping onto Viper, taking the blow in her back and slumping over the startled vampire.

Dante whirled back to glare at the witch who was uneasily forcing herself to her feet.

“You can’t harm me,” she panted, perhaps more to reassure herself than to remind Dante of his impotency.

“Not yet, but soon I’ll see you in hell.”

She gave a wild laugh. “The spell has begun. No one can stop it now.”

He rapidly turned his attention to Abby to discover her on her knees. She was moaning as she rocked back and forth.

“God . . . Abby.”

“She can’t hear you. The Phoenix has taken control, and soon the Goddess will release the power that I have called forth.” The wild laugh came again. “She’s about to kill you, vampire.”

“No!” With a scream, Abby rose to her feet.

Dante stumbled back as the force of her presence abruptly flared through the room.

He could barely recognize his mate.

In the candlelight, her pale skin glowed with a strange luminescence, and the blue eyes had turned to a brilliant crimson, as if flames were lit behind them. Even her hair seemed to float on some unseen breeze as she lifted her arms wide and began to walk toward the witch.

“Beloved Goddess,” the witch breathed as she sank slowly to her knees.

Dante tried to step forward only to cry out as a wave of heat slammed him to the ground. The very air was sizzling around Abby, making it impossible to reach her.

Bloody hell, she was going to burn the house down around them.

After she managed to kill every demon.

Starting with him.

Battling back the blackness that was threatening to overwhelm him, Dante forced himself to his knees.

“Abby, you must stop—” he rasped.

“No.” Abby never took her attention off the kneeling witch. “This must end now.”

Shit. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t do a damn thing.

“Abby.”

Reaching the older woman, Abby held out her hand. “Rise.”

“Yes.” Awkwardly the witch managed to stand, an expression of adulation on her face. “I have waited so long to bathe in your glory. To see the full wonder of your powers.”

“You shall know my powers to the fullest, Edra.”

The words came out of Abby’s mouth, but the voice didn’t belong to her. She had been completely consumed by the spirit within her.

“Bless you, mistress. Bless you.”

Caught and held by the smoldering fire in Abby’s eyes, the witch stepped slowly forward. Dante frowned as Abby wrapped her arms about the woman. What the hell was the Phoenix up to?

He heard Viper and the Shalott groaning behind him, but his gaze never wavered from Abby as she closed her eyes and tilted back her head.

For a moment there was nothing.

Just the pulsing blackness that clutched at him with the promise of death. And then, from seemingly nowhere, there was a violent explosion.

Dante flew backward to land with a jarring impact against a mold-slick wall.

His ears were ringing, and he was fairly certain his brain had become dislodged. But amazingly he wasn’t dead.

At least not yet.

Giving his head a shake to clear the fog, he frantically searched through the thick smoke that filled the air. A sharp fear flared through him as he realized the encroaching darkness had been seared away.

And even more frightening, the leash that had held him prisoner for the past three centuries had been sharply severed.

He was free. But at what cost?

No.

Hell no.

He wouldn’t believe Abby was dead. He couldn’t believe it.

Scrambling on his hands and knees, he crossed the dirt floor to the last place he had seen Abby. It took less than a handful of seconds to move the short distance, but to Dante it seemed an eternity passed.

At last his searching hand encountered an outstretched arm. He gritted his teeth as he forced himself to touch the satin-soft skin.

A touch was enough.

He could feel her soul.

She was alive.

His head briefly touched the cool floor before he was moving to gather her still form in his arms. He ignored the mess that lay only a few feet away.

There was little left of Edra.

No doubt bits and pieces were scattered throughout the cellar. Certainly what was left of the charred lump couldn’t possibly add up to a whole body.

A cold smile touched his lips.

It was a fitting end to the witch.

“Abby.” He buried his face in her hair, holding her far too tight.

He felt her stir, and he pulled back to watch the brilliant blue eyes open.

“Dante?” Her face was covered in soot, her hair was singed, and there was blood on her chin.

And she had never looked so beautiful.

He pressed a careful kiss to her peeling lips.

“You did it, lover,” he husked. “You put an end to the spell.”

“Not me.” Her voice was raw and raspy, as if her throat had been burnt. “The Phoenix. It wouldn’t let itself be used to destroy without cause.”

“Sssh. We’ll discuss it later. For now all that matters is that you’re alive.”

The faintest smile touched her mouth. “And still a goddess.”

He gave a soft chuckle. “So it would seem.”

“Will you worship me?”

He brushed his lips on the dark bruises that marred her beautiful skin.

“Lover, I intend to worship you every night for the rest of eternity.”

Epilogue

Two weeks later, Abby was lying on the bed in Dante’s lair, watching as he carefully lit the candles he had placed about the room.

The witches had fled or been buried after Edra’s death, bringing an end to the coven. Not a great loss to Abby, considering they intended to use her as some sort of catalyst for Armageddon.

Granted, she was now stuck carrying a mystical spirit, but she was becoming much better at disguising her powers from those who would like to see her dead, and there were a number of benefits to being a Chalice.

Not the least of which was the promise of an eternity with Dante.

Above them, Selena’s mansion was slowly being reconstructed, complete with tinted windows and a new library for Dante’s vast collection of books. And, of course, the newer travel catalogues that he had ordered for Abby.

For their honeymoon, Dante had promised to take her around the world.

But first they would share the ceremony that would make them truly mates.

Stirring on the pillows, Abby tugged at the black satin sheet that was all that covered her naked body.

“I get that Selena and Edra were in a power struggle to decide who would be allowed to rid the world of demons and become some sort of demigod,” she murmured in lazy tones. “But I still don’t understand why they waited so long to try and use the spell. You would think as soon as Selena became the Chalice they would have tried to flex their mojo.”

Lighting the last of the candles, Dante turned to face her with a lift of his brow.

“Mojo?”

Her breath caught.

Wearing nothing more than a black silk robe and his hair framing his alabaster face, he looked every inch the wicked pirate.

Yum. Yum. Yum.

With an effort, she battled her attack of lust. “You know what I mean.”

He shrugged. “From what I could discover among Edra’s writings, it seems they were waiting for the stars to be in proper alignment.”

“Oh.”

“Clearly they didn’t realize that the Phoenix possessed a mind of its own and that it would destroy anyone seeking to use it for such evil.”

Abby shuddered. She still had nightmares of her time in the cellar with Edra.

“Not until too late.”

“Enough, lover,” he soothed. “We aren’t going to ruin our night with thoughts of the witches.”

No, they most certainly were not, Abby agreed, her gaze running over the perfect male body.

“You are looking way too sexy for anything to ruin the evening.”

The silver eyes blazed as he moved to place himself on the bed beside her.

“How sexy?”

Abby smiled as she helpfully tugged the robe off. “Surely at your age you wouldn’t be fishing for compliments?”

“I can’t use a mirror to reassure myself, so I must depend upon you.”

With the robe tossed onto the floor, Abby ran her hands over the smooth perfection of his back.

“Well, I suppose I won’t be kicking you out of my bed any time soon.”

His fangs flashed in the candlelight. Suddenly he looked incredibly exotic and every inch a vampire.

“Our bed,” he softly corrected.

Her heart halted as she gazed into the silver eyes.

“Our bed.”

With a slow motion, Dante pulled the sheet aside to allow the cool air to rush over her bare skin.

“Are you prepared?”

Her hands tightened on his back.

With the death of Edra, the spell that prevented Dante from being able to drink human blood had been broken. He was now a fully functioning vampire.

And anxious to complete the ceremony that would bind them together.

She gave a firm nod. “I’m ready.”

Easing himself on top of her, Dante settled between her legs. Then gently he brushed her hair from her neck.

Instinctively Abby stiffened.

“Don’t be frightened,” he husked. “I promise it won’t hurt.”

Breathing in deeply, Abby relaxed her tense muscles. “I’m not frightened.”

“And you’re certain that this is what you want? Once you have mated yourself to me, there is no going back.”

It was a familiar warning. Had it been up to her, they would have been mated the moment they had pulled themselves out of the cellar. Dante, however, had proven to be remarkably stubborn, refusing her demands until she had ample time to consider the consequences.

“We’ve already been through all this.”

“Yes, but—”

She reached up to frame his face in her hands. “Dante, shut up and make me yours.”

The silver eyes flared as a wicked smile suddenly curved his lips.

“Yes, my goddess,” he murmured, his head lowering to her exposed throat.

For all her words of bravery, Abby couldn’t deny she expected at least some pain.

You didn’t need to be a doctor to realize that shoving a pair of fangs through the skin was bound to cause a bit of discomfort.

Still, she didn’t allow herself to flinch as she felt his tongue tenderly stroke over the pulse at the base of her neck. Dante would halt the moment he sensed her tension.

“My love,” he whispered.

And then he bit.

Abby’s eyes widened in amazement. It hadn’t hurt. There was no more than a slide of cool pressure and then a jolt of pleasure so intense she jerked against Dante.

“Holy freaking cow,” she breathed as the heat flared through her body to pool in a blaze of desire in the pit of her stomach.

Her fingers clutched at his back, drawing blood as she arched her hips upward in a silent plea for relief.

His hands tangled in her hair as he continued to drink of her blood, and with one smooth movement, he had plunged deep within her. Abby gasped, the sensations so intense she feared she might black out.

Nothing should surely feel so good?

And be legal.

Trembling, Abby opened herself to his masterful strokes. She groaned with each thrust, her hips lifting to meet him with wild abandon.

The building pressure was delicious. Astonishing. And if she didn’t come soon, she feared she might actually explode.

“Dante . . . please.”

His soft chuckle brushed her neck, but seeming to understand her desperation, his pace quickened until she was arching beneath him and with a faint scream found her release.

Panting in exhaustion, Abby slowly opened her eyes to discover Dante regarding his arm. Slowly she turned her head, watching as the familiar crimson tattooing began to wind its way along his forearm.

A smug smile touched his lips as he turned back to regard her with a glittering gaze.

“I knew I would make you mine,” he murmured in arrogant tones.

Framing his face, she allowed her thumbs to run over the curve of his fangs.

“Dante, I’ve been yours from the moment I walked into this mansion and found a wicked pirate waiting for me.”

“My lover . . . for all eternity.”

“And goddess.” She pulled his head down for a lingering kiss. “Don’t forget goddess.”

He laughed as his hands began to busily stir her body back to passionate life.

“How could I possibly forget?”

Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of

Alexandra Ivy’s
EMBRACE THE DARKNESS
coming soon from Zebra’s Books!
Chapter 1

The auction house on the outskirts of Chicago didn’t look like a cesspit.

Behind the iron fences, the elegant brick structure sprawled over the landscape with a visible arrogance. The rooms were large with vaulted ceilings that boasted beautiful murals and elegant chandeliers. And on the advice of a professional, they had been decorated with thick ivory carpets, glossy dark paneling, and hand-carved furniture.

The overall atmosphere was the sort of quiet hush that only money could buy. Lots and lots of money.

It was the sort of swanky place that should be peddling rare paintings, priceless jewels, and museum artifacts.

Instead, it was no more than a flesh market. A sewer where demons were sold like so much meat.

There was nothing pleasant about the slave trade. Not even when the trade involved demons rather than humans. It was a sordid business that attracted every decadent, demented slimeball in the country.

They came for all sorts of pathetic reasons.

Those who bought demons for mercenaries or bodyguards. Those who lusted after the more exotic sex slaves. Those who believed the blood of demons could bring them magic or eternal life.

And those who purchased demons to be released into their private lands and hunted like wild animals.

The bidders were men and women without conscience or morals. Only enough money to sate their twisted pleasures.

And at the top of the dung heap was the owner of the auction house, Evor. He was one of the lesser trolls who made his living upon the misery of others with a smile on his face.

Someday Shay intended to kill Evor.

Unfortunately, it would not be today.

Or rather tonight.

Attired in ridiculous harem pants and a tiny sequined top that revealed far more than it concealed, she paced the cramped cell behind the auction rooms. Her long raven hair had been pulled to a braid that hung nearly to her waist. Better to reveal her slanted golden eyes, the delicate cast to her features, and the bronzed skin that marked her as something other than human.

Less than two months before, she had been a slave to a coven of witches who intended to bring Armageddon to all demons. At the time she had thought anything was preferable to being their toady as she helplessly watched their evil plotting.

Hell, it’s tough to top genocide.

It was only when she had been forced back to the power of Evor that she understood that death was not always the worst fate.

The grave was really nothing compared to what waited for her beyond the door.

Without thought, Shay struck out with her foot, sending the lone table sailing through the air to crash against the iron bars with astonishing force.

From behind her came a heavy sigh that had her spinning to regard the small gargoyle hiding behind a chair in the far corner.

Levet wasn’t much of a gargoyle.

Oh, he possessed the traditional grotesque features. Thick gray skin, reptilian eyes, horns, and cloven hooves. He even possessed a long tail he polished and pampered with great pride. Unfortunately, despite his frightening appearance, he was barely three feet tall, and, worse, as far as he was concerned, he possessed a pair of delicate, gossamer wings that would have been more fitting on a sprite or fairy than a lethal creature of the dark.

As if to add to his humiliation, his powers were unpredictable under the best of circumstances, and his courage more often than not missing in action.

It was little wonder he had been voted out of the Gargoyle Guild and forced to fend for himself. They claimed he was an embarrassment to the entire community, and not one had stepped forward when he had been captured and made a slave by Evor.

Shay had taken the pathetic creature under her protection the moment she had been forced back to the auction house. Not only because she possessed a regrettable tendency to leap to the defense of anyone weaker than herself, but also because she knew that it aggravated Evor to have his favorite whipping boy taken away.

The troll might hold the curse that bound her, but if he pressed her far enough, she would be willing to kill him, even if it meant an end to her own life.

“Cherie, did the table do something I did not see or were you just attempting to teach it a lesson?” Levet demanded, his voice low and laced with a lilting French accent.

Not at all the sort of thing to improve his status among the gargoyles.

Shay smiled wryly. “I was imagining it was Evor.”

“Strange, they do not greatly resemble each other.”

“I have a good imagination.”

“Ah.” He gave a ridiculous wiggle of his thick brow. “In that case, I do not suppose you are imagining I’m Brad Pitt?”

Shay smiled. “I’m good, but not that good, gargoyle.”

“A pity.”

Her brief amusement faded. “No, the pity is that it was a table and not Evor smashed to pieces.”

“A delightful notion, but a mere dream.” The gray eyes slowly narrowed. “Unless you intend to be stupid?”

Shay deliberately widened her eyes. “Who, me?”

“Mon dieu,” the demon growled. “You intend to fight him.”

“I can’t fight him. Not as long as I remain held by the curse.”

“As if that has ever halted you.” Levet tossed aside the pillow to reveal his tail furiously twitching about his hooves. A sure sign of distress. “You can’t kill him, but that never keeps you from trying to kick his fat troll ass.”

“It passes the time.”

“And leaves you screaming in agony for hours.” He abruptly shuddered. “Cherie, I can’t bear seeing you like that. Not again. It’s insane to battle against fate.”

Shay grimaced. As part of the curse, she was punished for any attempt to harm her master. The searing pain that gripped her body could leave her gasping on the ground or even passed out for hours. Lately, however, the punishment had become so brutal she feared that each time she pressed her luck might be the last.

She gave a tug on her braid. A gesture that revealed the frustration that smoldered just below the surface.

“You think I should just give in? Accept defeat?”

“What choice do you have? What choice do any of us have? Not all the fighting in the world can change the fact we belong . . .” Levet rubbed one of his stunted horns. “How do you say . . . lock, stock and jug—”

“Barrel.”

“Ah, yes, barrel to Evor. And that he can do whatever he wants with us.”

Shay gritted her teeth as she turned to glare at the iron bars that held her captive. “Shit. I hate this. I hate Evor. I hate this cell. I hate those pathetic demons up there waiting to bid on me. I almost wish I had let those witches bring an end to all of us.”

“You will get no arguments from me, my sweet Shay,” Levet agreed with a sigh.

Shay closed her eyes. Dammit. She hadn’t meant the words. She was tired and frustrated, but she was no coward. Just the fact that she had survived the past century proved that.

“No,” she muttered. “No.”

Levet gave a flap of his wings. “And why not? We are trapped here like rats in a maze until we can be sold to the highest bidder. What could be worse?”

Shay smiled without humor. “Allowing fate to win.”

“What?”

“So far fate or destiny or fortune or whatever the hell you want to call it has done nothing but crap on us,” Shay growled. “I’m not going to just give in and allow it to thumb its nose at me as I slink into my grave. One of these days I’m going to have an opportunity to spit fate in its face. That’s what keeps me fighting.”

There was a long silence before the gargoyle moved to stand near enough that he could rub his head on her leg. It was an unconscious gesture. A quest for reassurance that he would rather die than admit.

“I am uncertain I have ever heard such an inelegant speech, but I believe you. If anyone can get away from Evor, it’s you.”

Absently Shay shifted the horn poking into her thigh. “I’ll come back for you, Levet, that much I promise.”

“Well, well, isn’t this touching?” Abruptly appearing before the iron bars of the cell, Evor smiled to reveal his pointed teeth. “Beauty and the Beast.”

With a smooth motion, Shay pressed Levet behind her and turned to regard her captor.

A sneer touched her face as the troll stepped into the cell and locked the door behind him. Evor easily passed for human. An incredibly ugly human.

He was a short, pudgy man with a round, squishy face and heavy jowls. His hair was little more than tufts of stray strands that he carefully combed over his head. And his small black eyes had a tendency to flash red when he was annoyed.

The eyes he hid behind black-framed glasses.

The thickly fleshed body he hid behind an obscenely expensive tailored suit.

Only the teeth marked him for the troll he was.

That and his utter lack of morals.

“Screw you, Evor,” Shay muttered.

The nasty smile widened. “You wish.”

Shay narrowed her gaze. The troll had been trying to get into her bed since gaining control of her curse. The only thing that had halted him from forcing her was knowing she was quite willing to kill the both of them to prevent such a horror.

“I’ll walk through the fires of hell before I let you touch me.”

Fury rippled over the pudgy features before the oily smile returned. “Someday, my beauty, you’ll be happy to be spread beneath me. We all have our breaking point. Eventually you’ll reach yours.”

“Not in this lifetime.”

His tongue flicked out in an obscene motion. “So proud. So powerful. I shall enjoy pouring my seed into you. But not yet. There is still money to be made from you. And money always comes first.” Lifting his hand, he revealed the heavy iron shackles that he had hidden behind his body. “Will you put these on or do I need to call for the boys?”

Shay crossed her arms over her chest. She might only be half Shalott, but she possessed all the strength and agility of her ancestors. They were not the favorite assassins of the demon world without cause.

“After all these years, you still think those goons can hurt me?”

“Oh, I have no intention of having them hurt you. I should hate to have you damaged before the bidding.” Very deliberately his gaze shifted to where Levet was cowering behind her legs. “I merely wish them to encourage your good behavior.”

The gargoyle gave a low moan. “Shay?”

Shit.

She battled back the instinctive urge to punch the pointed teeth down his throat. It would only put her on the ground in agony. Worse, it would leave Levet at the mercy of the hulking mountain trolls Evor used as protection.

They would take great delight in torturing the poor gargoyle.

As far as she knew, their only pleasure was giving pain to others.

Freaking trolls.

“Fine.” She held out her arms with a furious scowl.

“A wise choice.” Keeping a wary eye on her, Evor pressed the shackles over her wrists and locked them shut. “I knew you would understand the situation once it was properly explained.”

Shay hissed as the iron bit into her skin. She could feel her power draining and her flesh chaffing beneath the metal. It was her one certain Achille’s heel.

“All I understand is that someday I’m going to kill you.”

He gave a jerk on the chain that draped between the shackles. “Behave yourself, bitch, or your little friend pays the consequences. Got it?”

Shay battled back the sickness that clutched at her stomach.

Once again she was going to be placed on the stage and sold off to the highest bidder. She would be utterly at the mercy of some stranger who could do whatever he pleased with her.

And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop it.

“Yeah, I got it. Let’s just get this over with.”

Evor opened his mouth to make a smart-ass comment only to snap the fish lips shut when he caught sight of her expression. She was close enough to the edge that he was wary of pushing her over.

Which only proved that he wasn’t quite as stupid as he looked.

In silence they left the cell and climbed the narrow stairs to the back of the stage. Evor paused only long enough to lock her shackles to a pole anchored in the floor before moving toward the closed curtains and slipping through them to face the crowd.

Alone in the darkness, Shay sucked in a deep breath and tried to ignore the rumblings of the crowd just beyond the curtain.

Even without being able to see the potential bidders, she could feel the presence of the gathering demons and humans. She could smell the stench of their sweat. Feel the smoldering impatience. Taste the depraved lust in the air.

She abruptly frowned. There was something else. Something that was subtly laced through it all.

A sense of decaying evil that sent a chill of horror over her skin.

It was vague. As if the being was not truly in the room in full form. More like a looming, intangible presence. An echo of foulness that made her stomach clench in fear.

Swallowing back her instinctive scream, she closed her eyes and forced herself to take a deep, steadying breath. In the distance she heard Evor loudly clear his throat to command attention.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, demons and fairies, dead and undead, it is time for our main attraction. Our pièce de résistance. An item so rare, so extraordinary that only those who possess a golden token may remain,” he dramatically announced. “The rest may retire to our reception rooms where you will be offered your choice of refreshment.”

Despite the lingering certainty that she had just been brushed by some malignant gaze, Shay managed a disgusted grimace. Evor was always a pompous blowhard. Tonight, however, he put even the cheesiest ringmaster to shame.

“Gather close, my friends,” Evor commanded as the dregs of bidders were forced to leave the room. To be granted a golden ticket, a person or demon had to carry at least $50,000 in cash on them. The slave trade rarely accepted checks or credit cards. Go figure. “You will not wish to miss your first glimpse of my precious treasure. Do not fear, I have ensured that she is properly chained. She will offer no danger. No danger beyond her perilous charm. She will not rip your heart from your chest, but I do not promise she will not steal it with her beauty.”

“Shut your mouth and open the curtain,” a voice growled.

“You are impatient?” Evor demanded, his tone edged with anger. He didn’t like his well-practiced act interrupted.

“I don’t have all night. Get on with it.”

“Ah, a premature . . . bidder. A pity. Let us hope for your sake that it is not an affliction that taints your performance in other areas,” Evor sneered, pausing to allow the roar of coarse laughter to fade. “Now where was I? Oh yes. My prize. My most beloved slave. Demons and ghouls, allow me to introduce you to Lady Shay—the last Shalott to walk our world.”

With a dramatic motion, the curtain disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving Shay exposed to the nearly two dozen men and demons.

Deliberately she lowered her gaze as she heard the gasps echo through the room. It was humiliating enough to smell their rabid hunger. She didn’t need to see it written on their faces.

“Is this a trick?” a dark voice demanded in disbelief. Hardly surprising. As far as Shay knew, she truly was the last Shalott remaining in the world.

“No trick, no illusion.”

“As if I’d take your word for it, troll. I want proof.”

“Proof? Very well.” There was a momentary pause as Evor searched the crowd. “You there, come forward,” he commanded.

Shay tensed as she felt the cold chill that warned her it was a vampire approaching. Her blood was more precious than gold to the undead. An aphrodisiac that they would kill to procure.

With her attention focused on the tall, gaunt vampire, Shay barely noticed when Evor grabbed her arm and used a knife to slice through the skin of her forearm. Hissing softly, the vamp leaned downward to lick the welling blood. His entire body shivered as he lifted his head to regard her with stark hunger.

“There is human blood, but she is genuine Shalott,” he rasped.

With a smooth motion, Evor placed his pudgy form between the vamp and Shay, shooing the predator away with a wave of his hand. Reluctantly the undead creature left the stage, no doubt sensing the impending riot if he gave in to his impulse to sink his teeth into her and drain her dry.

Evor waited until the stage was cleared before moving to stand behind his podium. He grasped his gavel and lifted it over his head. Ridiculous twit.

“Satisfied? Good.” Evor smacked the gavel onto the podium. “The bidding starts at fifty thousand dollars. Remember, gentlemen, cash only.”

“Fifty-five thousand.”

“Sixty thousand.”

“Sixty-one thousand.”

Shay’s gaze once again dropped to her feet as the voices called out their bids. Soon enough she would be forced to confront her new master. She didn’t want to watch as they wrangled over her like a pack of dogs slavering over a juicy bone.

“One hundred thousand dollars,” a shrill voice shouted from the back of the room.

A sly smile touched Evor’s thin lips. “A most generous bid, my good sir. Anyone else? No? Going once . . . Going twice . . .”

“Five hundred thousand.”

A sharp silence filled the room. Without even realizing what she was doing, Shay lifted her head to stare into the crowd jamming the auction floor.

There was something about that silky dark voice. Something . . . familiar.

“Step forward,” Evor demanded, his eyes shimmering red. “Step forward and offer your name.”

There was a stir as the crowd parted. From the back shadows, a tall, elegant form glided forward.

A hushed whisper spread through the room as the muted light revealed the hauntingly beautiful face and satin curtain of silver hair that fell down his back.

It took only a glance to realize he was a vampire.

No human could so closely resemble an angel that had fallen from heaven. And fallen recently. Or move with such liquid grace. Or cause the demons to back away in wary fear.

Shay’s breath caught in her throat. Not at his stunning beauty or powerful presence or even the flamboyant velvet cloak that shrouded his slender form.

It was the fact that she knew this vampire.

He had been at her side when they had battled the coven of witches weeks ago. And more importantly, he had been at her side when she had saved his life.

And now he was here bidding on her like she was no more than a piece of property.

Damn his rotten soul to hell.

Viper had been in the world for centuries. He had witnessed the rise and fall of empires. He had seduced the most beautiful women in the world. He had taken the blood of kings, czars, and pharaohs.

He had even changed the course of history at times.

Now he was sated, jaded, and magnificently bored.

He no longer struggled to broaden his power base. He didn’t involve himself in battles with demons or humans. He didn’t form alliances or interfere in politics.

His only concern was ensuring the safety of his clan and keeping his business profitable enough to allow him the luxurious lifestyle he had grown accustomed to.

But somehow the Shalott demon had managed the impossible.

She had managed to linger in his thoughts long after she had disappeared.

For weeks she had haunted his memories and even invaded his dreams. She was like a thorn that had lodged beneath his skin and refused to be removed.

A realization that he wasn’t sure pleased or annoyed him as he had scoured the streets of Chicago in search of the woman.

Glancing at his latest acquisition, he didn’t have to wonder if Shay was pleased or annoyed. Even in the muted light, it was obvious her glorious golden eyes were flashing with fury.

Clearly she failed to fully appreciate the honor he was bestowing upon her.

His lips twitched with amusement before he was returning his attention to the troll standing behind the podium.

“You may call me Viper,” he informed the lesser demon with cold dislike.

The red eyes briefly widened. It was a name that inspired fear throughout Chicago. “Of course. Forgive me for not recognizing you, sir. You . . . ah”—he swallowed heavily—“you have the cash upon you?”

With a motion too swift for most eyes, Viper reached beneath his cloak and tossed a large packet onto the stairs leading to the stage.

“I do.”

With a flourish, Evor banged the gavel on the podium. “Sold.”

There was a low hiss from the Shalott, but before Viper could give her the proper attention, there was the sound of a low cursing and a small, wiry human was pushing his way through the crowd.

“Wait. The bidding is not yet closed,” the stranger charged.

Viper narrowed his gaze. He might have laughed at the absurdity of the scrawny man attempting to bull his way through towering demons, but he didn’t miss the scent of sour desperation that clouded about him, or the blackness that darkened his soul.

This was a man who had been touched by evil.

The troll, Evor, frowned as he regarded the man, clearly unimpressed by the cheap, baggy suit and secondhand shoes. “You wish to continue?”

“Yes.”

“You have the cash upon you?”

The man swiped a hand over the sweat clinging to his bald head. “Not upon me but I can easily have it to you—”

“Cash and carry only,” Evor growled, his gavel once again hitting the podium.

“No. I will get you the money.”

“The bidding is over.”

“Wait. You must wait. I—”

“Get out before I have you thrown out.”

“No.” Without warning, the man was racing up the stairs with a knife in his hand. “The demon is mine.”

As quick as the man was, Viper had already moved to place himself between the stranger and his Shalott. The man gave a low growl before turning and stalking toward the troll. Easier prey than a determined vampire. But then again, most things were.

“Now, now. There is no need to become unreasonable.” Evor hastily gestured toward the hulking bodyguards at the edge of the stage. “You knew the rules when you came.”

With lumbering motions, the mountain trolls moved forward, their hulking size and skin as thick as tree bark making them near impossible to kill.

Viper folded his arms over his chest. His attention remained on the demented human, but he couldn’t deny that he was disturbingly aware of the Shalott behind him.

It was in the sweet scent of her blood. The warmth of her skin. And the shimmering energy that swirled about her.

His entire body reacted to her proximity. It was as if he had stepped close to a smoldering fire that offered a promise of heat he had long forgotten.

Unfortunately his attention was forced to remain on the seeming madman waving the knife in a threatening motion. There was something decidedly strange in the human’s determination. A stark panic that was out of place.

He would be an idiot to underestimate the danger of the sudden standoff.

“Stay back,” the small man squeaked.

The trolls continued forward until Viper lifted a slender hand. “I would not come close to the knife. It is hexed.”

“Hexed?” Evor’s face hardened with fury. “Magical artifacts are forbidden. The punishment is death.”

“You think a pathetic troll and his goons can frighten me?” The intruder lifted his knife to point it directly at Evor’s face. “I came here for the Shalott, and I’m not leaving without it. I’ll kill you all if I have to.”

“You may try,” Viper drawled.

The man spun about to confront him. “I have no fight with you, vampire.”

“You are attempting to steal my demon.”

“I’ll pay you. Whatever you want.”

“Whatever?” Viper flicked a brow upward. “A generous, if rather foolhardy, bargain.”

“What is your price?”

Viper pretended to consider a moment. “Nothing you could offer.”

That sour desperation thickened in the air. “How do you know? My employer is very rich . . . very powerful.”

Ah. Now they were getting somewhere.

“Employer. So you are merely an envoy?”

The man nodded, his eyes burning like coals in their sunken sockets. “Yes.”

“And your employer will no doubt be quite disappointed to learn you have failed in your task to gain the Shalott?”

The pale skin became a sickly gray. Viper suspected that the sense of darkness he could detect was directly related to the mysterious employer.

“He will kill me.”

“Then you are in quite a quandary, my friend, because I have no intention of allowing you to leave the room with my prize.”

“What do you care?”

Viper’s smile was cold. “Surely you must know that Shalott blood is an aphrodisiac for vampires? It is a most rare treat that has been denied us for too long.”

“You intend to drain her?”

“That is none of your concern. She is mine. Bought and paid for.”

He heard a strangled curse from behind him, along with the rattle of chains. His beauty was clearly unhappy with his response and anxious to prove her displeasure by ripping him limb from limb.

A tiny flicker of excitement raced through him.

Blood of the saints, but he liked his women dangerous.

About the Author

Alexandra Ivy lives with her family in Ewing, Missouri. She is currently working on the second installment of her Guardians of Eternity trilogy, EMBRACE THE DARKNESS. Alexandra loves hearing from readers, and you may write to her c/o Zebra Books. Please include a self-addressed stamped envelope if you wish a response.

Real Vamps Don’t Drink O-Neg

Also by Tawny Taylor

SEX AND THE SINGLE GHOST

DARK MASTER

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

Real Vamps Don’t Drink O-Neg

TAWNY TAYLOR

KENSINGTON BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

To my husband, who handles my crazy schedule, a perpetually messy house, and shortage of home-cooked meals like a champ. And my children, who have heard “Mommy’s trying to work” more times than any kid wants to hear. Thanks for being so patient with me.

And my editor, Audrey, and agent, Natasha. You’ve helped make my dreams come true. Thank you.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 1

“I know, I know, I’m a rotten friend—” Sophie Hahn stumbled through her best friend’s front doorway in the hurried, less than graceful gait of a deer that has suffered a near fatal confrontation with a semi truck. “Dao? Where are you?” She rushed through the living room, shouting, “Really, there should be a law against leaving a message that begins with ‘I need you to get over here yesterday,’ and ends with, ‘It’s life or death’ at five A.M. on a Saturday morning. I’ll have you know I ran at least three red lights on the way here, and I think I’ll need a rotate and balance. I’m pretty sure my right tires are shot. Dao? Lisse? Hellooooo!”

She rounded the corner, heading toward the kitchen at a fast jog; however, the sight of her friend—pale, bedraggled, and slouching against the wall as if he lacked the strength to stand upright—brought her to a screeching halt. “Holy smokes! You weren’t exaggerating. What the heck is wrong with you?” She lunged forward and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. No fever. “You’d better lie down. Is it serious? Darn it! I knew I should’ve come over last week—”

“No, no. Nothing’s wrong.” Dao Wen Dong knocked her hand away like it was a pesky fly, gave her an unconvincing shake of his head, and practically dragged his limp-looking body across the living room to shut the front door. “I’ve never been better.” He held her in a stiff, cold hug for an instant, then dropped his arms, motioning her toward the kitchen with a tip of his head.

I’ve had a warmer welcome at the secretary of state’s office. “No offense, but you look like hell,” she said as she leaned back against the kitchen counter and crossed her arms over her chest.

Her friend’s responding smile was hollow, his eyes flat as day-old Pepsi, as he poured a cup of coffee. He offered it to her, but, not a coffee drinker, she refused it with a shake of her head. Despite her best effort, she couldn’t help staring at the deep purple shadows hanging under his eyes like bruises. The dark circles contrasted sharply with the wan tone of the rest of his face.

Had her teetotaling friend gone on a bender?

“Seriously, you don’t look well at all,” she repeated.

“Thanks,” Dao grumbled. “It’s good to see you too, not that you look much better.”

Having forgotten her mad rush to Dao’s house, and the lack of time and attention she’d paid to her hair, clothing, and make-up, Sophie raised a hand to tame her bedhead. “Well, you said it was life or death. Honestly, if you’d wanted me to take the time to get all pretty, you should’ve avoided the words ‘Get over here yesterday.’ So, what’s the big secret? Are you hungover? Did you go on a binge, down a beer or two, lose your head, and do something crazy—like take a midnight road trip to KFC?”

“You know I don’t drink. And even drunk I wouldn’t touch deep-fried food.”

“Then are you sure you’re not sick? Maybe you should go see a doctor. Seriously.”

“Oh. No. I’m quite certain I’m fine. I’m just tired. Been working a lot, between—” He chuckled. “Well, let’s just say I’m not getting much sleep these days. But I’m taking vitamins. Lots of B for fatigue and C to fight off infection. Anyway, I wanted to show you my latest work in progress. It’s sheer genius.” He motioned for her to follow him down the hallway.

“I bet. I’ve loved every book you’ve written. Brilliant. Absolute genius. I wish I could write like you do. Then I could quit my crappy job, stay at home, and work in my jammies. What a life!” Sophie hurried behind him to his office. Despite the fact that the man had to have lost a good twenty pounds or more the past couple of months and looked like a walking skeleton, he could move pretty quickly when he wanted to. Must’ve been those B vitamins kicking in. “Speaking of geniuses, where’s your lovely wife?”

“Er…Lisse had a…late night.” Dao gave Sophie an odd grin and guilty chuckle as he pulled out his desk chair and slouched into it. He added, “She’s sleeping but last night—”

Sophie waved her hands. “Ah. Too much information there.”

“You asked.” He motioned toward an empty chair.

“So, let me get this straight—Lisse doesn’t know I’m here? Even with all my bellowing?” She glanced at the empty chair, then at Dao. “I don’t know. Maybe I should leave. It’s early, Saturday morning, she’s asleep. You’ve only been married a couple of months. I wouldn’t want her to think—”

“No way. First, Lisse could sleep through a natural disaster. Second, she would never think anything about you and me. I’ve told her over and over again that after being friends for so long, sleeping with you would be plain creepy. Like sleeping with my own sister—if I had one, that is. Besides I doubt she’ll wake up for at least a couple of hours.” Dao scooted his chair up to the desk, swept his cluttered desktop clear with one arm, then fired up the Dell. “If I’d known what an effect marriage would have on my writing, I would’ve married Lisse months ago. I can’t believe how inspired I’ve been lately—”

“Please,” Sophie interrupted before he went into any details about the subject of his inspiration. She pulled up a chair and sat. “If I agree to stick around for a few minutes, you must promise me, no more talking about your sex life. I can’t remember the last time I had any conjugal—or even nonconjugal—action. I don’t need to be reminded about what I’m missing.”

Dao laughed, his eyes squinting into the little upside-down smileys she’d adored since the first time she’d met him, on the middle-school playground. “Fair enough.” Those little smiley eyes had always been able to make her feel better, even on her worst days.

“Good, because if you said another word, I’d never be able to look Lisse in the face again without blushing.”

Dao chuckled as he punched keys and clicked the mouse, finally opening a word-processing document. “I want you to give me your honest opinion.” Looking extremely proud, he nudged the monitor so that Sophie could read the screen. “Go ahead.”

She read the first page, or the part of the first page she could see. It was…awful! Some kind of strange story about a freaky woman who was traveling the globe with the sole purpose of having sex with anything she could—male, female…and not always human. Could a woman really do that with a donkey? She shuddered. Granted, Sophie could accept the fact that she was a little uptight about sex. Unlike Lilly, the character in Dao’s book, she took the wheres, whos, and whats of sex seriously, hence the lengthy dry spell. But she couldn’t imagine this creepy story selling anywhere, at least not outside of a porn shop.

She glanced at Dao. This had to be a joke, some kind of trick to get her over there, since she hadn’t visited her best pal in several weeks.

The thing was, she couldn’t find a hint of amusement on his face. Lots of hope, a little nervousness even, but not a bit of laughter. She glanced deeper into his eyes.

Oh boy, he was serious.

“I…wow. I don’t know what to say. It’s very…um, different. Why the change in, er, genres? I mean, you’ve done very well with your mysteries. I love your mysteries. They’re so gritty and real.”

“I felt it was time for a change.”

“And what a change it is,” Sophie said, making every effort to keep her reaction tamed down for the sake of her friend’s feelings. She knew Dao had a very delicate ego, at least when it came to his work.

“So, what do you think?” he asked as he scanned the page with his cute little brown eyes. “I’m on fire for this one. Can’t stop thinking about it, even when I’m sleeping.”

It’s garbage, if you want to know the truth. “On fire? Really?” Yes, burning it sounds like a good plan. Sophie sighed. “Well, who am I to say what’ll sell and what won’t?” Not the least bit interested in reading any more, she leaned back in her chair. “I’m just a lowly secretary, not an editor. Have you shown this to your agent yet?”

“No, not yet. I’m waiting. Want to get it perfect first. It’s almost there.”

“Yeah? Almost perfect, eh?” Better do another read through.

Dao leaned forward, obviously becoming engrossed in whatever he was reading. He clicked the mouse, pecked at the keyboard, then scrolled down some more and repeated the process. “I can’t stop tweaking it here and there…I…oh…” his words trailed off as he started typing furiously. His face twisted into a tight expression of intense effort, like one you might see on someone hanging by their fingertips from a thousand-foot cliff. “This is wonderful! Utterly amazing.” His keyboard went clackety-clack as he continued typing. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Taking that as her cue to leave, Sophie gave his shoulder a pat. “I’ll come back in a few days and see how that story is coming.”

“Ummm.” Dao answered, not missing a beat as he continued typing.

Sophie closed his office door behind her after she tiptoed out of the room. Confused—no, more like freaked out!—by her friend’s bizarre behavior and frightening appearance, she flopped back against the closed door to catch her breath.

Dao had gone from a fun-living, social guy with a sparkling smile and fairly sturdy physique to an obsessed, frail, sickly man in what? A couple of months? A few late nights couldn’t have done that to him.

Something was wrong. Very wrong. And as his friend, she owed it to him to find out what. She’d never let another person she loved down again, never ignore the signs that something was wrong and assume everything would work itself out.

Making that mistake once was more than enough for a lifetime.

And this was Dao, the person who’d practically carried her through the grief of that first loss.

As she straightened up, she caught a dull thump coming from the bedroom he shared with Lisse. She tensed. Nothing like catching a new bride by surprise.

“Dao, honey. Where’d you go?” Lisse crooned from the other side of the closed door.

Not wanting to get in the way of her newly wedded friend’s love life, Sophie hurried down the corridor toward the living room. Before she reached the hallway’s end, she heard the telltale squeak of a door’s hinges, then a female’s surprised gasp. She stopped walking, figuring the sight of a woman running down one’s hallway would be far more suspicious than the sight of one’s husband’s best friend standing all casual-like in the hallway. Still, she couldn’t quite convince herself to turn around and give Lisse the reassuring smile she probably needed.

The door slammed shut behind Sophie’s rigid back before she hazarded a glance over her shoulder. Figuring it was safe to look now, she turned around and said, “Sorry, Lisse. Dao called me over to check out his latest story. I’m headed out now.”

“It’s okay,” Lisse’s muffled voice came through the door. “I didn’t know you were here. I’m…not dressed yet. I hope you don’t mind showing yourself out.”

“Nope, not at all. I was just heading home as we speak,” she said as she hurried toward the door.

“Okay. Goodbye, Sophie. I’m sorry I can’t be more social. You must think I’m very rude but my robe is down in the laundry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Next time I’ll make sure Dao tells you before he invites me over at five A.M. on a Saturday morning.” One hand on the doorknob, Sophie stooped over to slip on her clogs. As she kicked at her overturned left shoe, something opalescent and sparkly clung to the top of it. Curious, she plucked up the roundish shiny object, very thin and delicate, about the size of a quarter, and slipped it in her jacket pocket. On went the shoes and out she went, into the cool, damp early summer morning.

What a way to start the weekend, with a real-life—correction—life-or-death mystery! Regardless of her friend’s insistence to the contrary, she had more than a sneaking suspicion that his health was in serious jeopardy. But how would she get him—a man who’d insisted on weathering pneumonia without seeing a doctor—to go in for a checkup?

Sophie studied the strange shimmery round thing she’d picked up at Dao’s house Saturday as she set the phone back on the cradle. She wasn’t sure if she’d just gotten the brush-off from Lisse or if she was just imagining things. Oftentimes, it was hard for her to distinguish reality from her fairly active imagination.

Looking for an ally in her quest to get Dao to the doctor, she’d called the one person she figured could actually convince him to go—his wife, naturally. Lisse seemed to be on her side as they discussed concerns about Dao’s health, but when it came time to ask her to call and make an appointment for him, she grew very quiet. Granted, she didn’t say she wouldn’t, but for some reason…

Why wouldn’t his wife, the woman who loved him, want him to go to the doctor?

The phone rang, and still lost in her thoughts, Sophie swept it up, tucking it between her chin and shoulder as she answered, “Tri County Paranormal Research Associates. How may I help you?”

Like most folks who called her work, the woman on the other end sounded breathless and panic-stricken as she detailed the nature of her problem. Sophie took down the woman’s information, then put the call through to her boss, Tim, who happened to be in the office today. Most of the time he was out playing ghost buster with a truckload of electronic gizmos that as far as Sophie could tell did nothing but blink and make ugly noises.

Tim was extremely intelligent, like a card-carrying member of MENSA smart. And because she believed genius and insanity were like kissing cousins—too close for most people’s comfort—she attributed his obsession with paranormal gobbledygook to this relationship. At least his stories were amusing, and the interest from his trust fund would keep her paychecks coming for a long time.

After she passed on the call, she set the shiny thing aside, figuring she’d ask Tim what he thought of it later. It had no markings like a coin, and it had a slightly irregular shape. On closer examination, it reminded her of two things—either a dime that had been flattened on a train track or a piece of fish skin or scale. Knowing Dao’s propensity to eat fish, she suspected the latter.

Still, it was an odd thing. Semitranslucent, the color changed, depending on the light it was examined under. In natural light, it was mostly white and blue, but in artificial light it glowed in a wide range of colors from soft pink to deep midnight, depending on the angle she held it. Even more curious, every now and then it seemed to emit a small electrical charge. A little zap that made her fingers tingle.

Unable to resist the urge, she plucked it up one last time and ran her fingertip over the surface. The colors shimmered as she stroked it. The effect was almost mesmerizing. She stared at it a moment until Tim’s voice broke the spell.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“I was hoping you might have an idea. You know a little about everything. What do you think? Is it a fish scale?” She set it in her palm and lifted her flattened hand so he could get a better look.

His eyebrows shot to the top of his forehead as he picked it up and examined it. “Wow, this is amazing. Truly amazing. Where’d you get it?”

“A friend’s house. It was on the floor.”

“Does your friend have a pet snake?” he asked as he flipped it over to look at the other side.

“Pet snake? Heck no! He hates snakes. Why?”

“Looks like a piece of shed snake skin to me. I’d have to get a look at it under the microscope to be sure. Be right back.” He walked back to his office-slash-lab, where he kept all his electronic gadgets and gizmos, and disappeared behind the closed door.

Sophie stayed put, despite her growing curiosity about the strange scale—skin—whatever, and tried to imagine how a piece of snake skin would end up on Dao’s floor. She came up with absolutely nothing. That was, indeed, a mystery all in itself.

Tim returned several minutes later with the most bizarre look on his face. It was something between awe and terror. “I need to meet her. I must meet her—”

“Meet whom? Slow down, would you? What would a snake scale—”

“Skin. Definitely shed skin.”

“Fine. Snake skin. What would a snake skin have to do with…her? It’s a female snake? How can you tell? Did you get a little piece of nipple there? And how does one ‘meet’ a snake? Do you need a formal introduction?”

Tim rolled his eyes and looked at Sophie as if she were an absolute twit—which she was not, thank you very much.

“Don’t look at me that way,” she said. “I wasn’t privy to whatever you saw under the microscope. I’m not a moron. Fill me in.”

“Is your friend a male?” Tim asked as he continued to study the skin.

“Yes. A male human, that is. Just to clarify.”

“Yes. Of course he’s a human. Is this friend of yours dating someone…or married?”

“Yes. He’s married but not to a snake.”

Tim shook his head. “Poor guy,” he murmured.

“What poor guy?” Sophie yanked on Tim’s sleeve. “Poor guy because he isn’t married to a snake?”

“No, poor guy because he’s married to her already.”

“What’s Dao’s marital status have to do with anything? Besides, what’s wrong with marriage? I never imagined you to be one of those ‘marriage sucks’ kind of guys.”

“I’m not, unless the wife happens to be a lamia.”

“What the heck is a lamia?”

“A muse. A female vampire. Is your friend by any chance a writer?”

“Yes, but what’s—”

“And since he’s been married has he been more obsessed with his writing? Has he become ill yet?”

“Yes, on the writing. And yet?”

Tim looked into her eyes and again shook his head. “Poor guy. He’s doomed.”

“Doomed? Why?”

“She’s destroying him.”

“Who? Lisse? She’s a quiet little thing. Maybe a tad demanding in bed from what I surmise, but hardly the kind one would expect to be a vampire. She doesn’t even have a widow’s peak. Don’t real vampires have widow’s peaks? And her teeth all look normal.” Despite all the things Tim seemed to know about Dao, for which there was no reasonable explanation—he couldn’t have been listening in to her conversation with Lisse—she wasn’t buying the whole lamia thing. There was no such thing as vampires. Or ghosts. Or monsters. Nuh-uh.

Tim’s work as a paranormal researcher was a joke. She’d seen nothing to convince her of the existence of anything paranormal. His so-called proof consisted of hazy photographs and less than credible eyewitnesses.

“Yes. She’s a lamia. Half woman, half snake.”

“I’ve seen her. She’s no snake. In fact, she’s very beautiful. And she definitely has two legs. Couldn’t speak for her tongue, though. Could be forked. I’m not about to go ask her to open wide and say ‘ahhhh.’”

“She wouldn’t show her true self to anyone but her lover.”

“If there’s one thing I can be certain of it’s that Dao wouldn’t find a woman covered in scales sexy, even if the scales were rather pretty.”

“He would if he was under her spell. The lamiae are extremely powerful vampires. They find their mates and slowly, over many weeks, seduce them until they are completely under their spell. Once a man marries a lamia, he’s doomed to die a swift, miserable death. He’ll grow weaker and weaker, his life drained from him by his wife.”

“Swift? How swift?”

Tim shrugged. “I’m not sure of the time line. A couple of months, maybe.”

“A couple? Like two? Because he’s been married that long already.” She fought the urge to panic. This was a bunch of baloney. There was no such thing as a lamia. And Dao wasn’t about to die. Dao couldn’t die. He just couldn’t.

Unfortunately, Tim didn’t seem to know that. “Sounds like he’s near the end. Sorry.”

She didn’t like what she was hearing. Not one bit. Which was why she preferred to look for another reason for Dao’s illness. And his strange behavior. And the snake skin in his living room. Okay, there were a number of coincidences here. “There must be another explanation. That skin is from a…a python or something. Who knows, maybe he went to a zoo—”

“It’s not the skin of most common varieties of snakes. I snapped a quick photograph and e-mailed it to my buddy who works in the zoo’s reptile house. He’s assured me it’s not from any snake they have there. That rules out several varieties of pythons and boa constrictors. Just to make sure, he’s forwarding the image to a friend of his who identifies shed snake skins for a living.”

“Ick. There are people who do that for a living?”

“Sure. Out west especially. Think about it. If you found a shed skin under your porch, wouldn’t you want to know if you had a venomous snake living under your house?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

Tim set the piece of skin on the desk and stared into Sophie’s eyes. “Look, when I hired you, I told you I didn’t require you to actually believe in what I study here. So I accept that you’re doubtful. But this is your friend, and if you truly care about him, I suggest you reconsider your position on a few things. Vampires do exist. And they do kill.”

A lump the size of Tim’s SUV formed in Sophie’s throat as she let his words pass through the baloney filter in her brain and really sink in. Even if she still didn’t believe in vampires, didn’t she owe it to Dao to check out all the possibilities? “So, what’s the next step? Do you need to go scan Lisse with one of your gadgets? Shoot her with an ionizing ray? How do I know she’s in fact one of those lamia things and if she is, how do I get her to leave my friend alone?” Oh God. I know this is going to kill Dao. He adores Lisse. But if what Tim says is true, he’s dying already.

“Nothing I have is going to help you.” He patted her shoulder and nodded. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Why are you saying that like he’s already dead? What’ya mean you’re sorry for my loss?”

“I’m saying that because I can’t help you. There’s virtually no way to one hundred percent identify your friend’s wife as a lamia or to make her leave him.”

“Virtually no way? What about Buffy? Where’s a vampire slayer when you need one? Or maybe an old-fashioned stake through the heart would do the trick—on second thought, scratch that. I don’t have the stomach to give someone a paper cut let alone shove a wooden stake through their breastbone. Just imagine all the blood. Have I told you that blood gives me the willies—”

“There’s only one way to both identify a lamia and destroy her,” he interjected, cutting off her mindless rant about television characters and paper cuts. “But each step requires the possession of an extremely rare relic, which I’m not sure even exists. They’re the…Shoot, I can’t remember the names. They’re Hebrew. Never been good with Hebrew. Let me go back and get my book.” He took a single step away, then glanced over his shoulder at the piece of snake skin still sitting on Sophie’s desk. “I don’t suppose you’d let me keep that? For research purposes, of course.”

She picked it up and handed it to him. “Sure. If you’ll help me. I think I’m in trouble over my non-vampire-believing head.”

His eyes sparkled as he glanced down at the skin. “Like I said, I can’t help you much. But I’ll do what I can. Come on.” He led her back to his office. “Let’s hope, for your friend’s sake, the book I’ve read on the subject is right and the relics you need haven’t been destroyed eons ago.”

Chapter 2

“Excuse me,” Sophie asked the librarian a couple of hours later. She glanced down at the piece of paper she’d ripped from Tim’s notebook, then continued, “You got rid of the good-old card catalogue and I’ll admit I’m far behind the common kindergartner when it comes to computers—a real crime considering what I do for a living, but that’s beside the point. Where might I find a book on rare biblical relics?”

The middle-aged woman, slim and scholarly looking with her brown hair pulled into a neat bun at the base of her skull, gave Sophie a pleasant, if not a little condescending, smile. “Let me see what I can find.” She tapped a few keys, moved the mouse around a bit, then looked up. “I’m sorry. I’m not finding anything under ‘biblical relics.’ However, you may find what you need under religious relics. Those are in the two-thirties. The nonfiction shelves are in this direction and they are numbered. In particular, this book Religious Relics, Icons, Visions and Cures by James Murrow may be of some help. The call number is two-thirty-one point seven M.”

“Thank you.” Sophie repeated the title and number in her head as she walked in the general direction of the nonfiction shelves. She scanned the numbers on the ends of the shelves until she found the two- to three-hundred section, then focused on the books on the shelves as she walked toward the back of the section. “Two-twenty, two-thirty, two-forty…” When she reached the two-seventies, she stopped and skimmed the numbers on the book spines. “Two-seventy point three, point eight. Two-seventy-one…two-seventy-one point three, point seven, A, B, C…G, P. Hey, no M?” She turned her body, and while still reading the book spines, she started walking toward the very back of the section. But a brick wall stopped her before she reached the end.

As she twisted her neck to inspect the wall, she realized immediately it wasn’t your garden variety brick wall. This one was wide, tall, hard, and yummy, with a head full of blond curls and eyes the shade of a Hershey bar.

Those eyes traveled over her features for an instant, making her feel all goosebumpy inside, then returned to the book that was partly blocking her view of his face.

She wondered if the rest of his face looked as good as the part she saw. Then she shook her head and reminded herself she was on the hunt for a book, not a delish man who knew how to fill out a T-shirt and pair of snug jeans properly. “Sorry,” she muttered to the wall.

“Not a problem.” He stepped aside to let her pass. Naturally, his bulk took up a fair amount of the narrow aisleway between shelves, which meant to pass, she had to get mighty close to him. She turned sideways, her front facing him, of course—wouldn’t want to show him her less than desirable backside—and took a single shuffling step.

As she paused, her body mere inches from his, the girly part of her—the part she’d begun to think had abandoned her ages ago—woke up from its slumber and started getting all vocal, protesting and demanding equal time as the logical part reminded her she was there to find a book, not ogle a good-looking library patron. Being she was short, his chest was at eye level—and it was the broadest one she’d ever seen. Hugged in black cotton, it was pure, unadulterated temptation. The way the thin fabric skimmed over the lines of his sculpted muscles made her toes curl.

Okay, maybe a little ogling wouldn’t be out of order.

“Excuse me?” the wall said. His book slid lower, blocking a significant part of those yummy pecs.

With that lovely view obscured, Sophie went for the face, hoping it would be as pleasant as the rest of him.

She felt her breath literally catch in her throat, like in the romance novels she loved to read. Oh my. Was it ever!

Not quite as pretty as John Schneider back in his Dukes of Hazzard days, he had that all-American cutie pie thing going for him. But this wholesome boy next door was all grown up and one hundred percent bad boy. The angular line of his jaw and cheekbones, the coating of dark blond stubble, and the wicked glint in his liquid chocolate eyes was enough to make her inner girl swoon with delight. Immediately, without thinking, she checked his left hand for a ring.

When her gaze returned to his face, she noted that one eyebrow had lifted in question. And one corner of his mouth had lifted in amusement, which reminded her that she’d been standing there, sandwiched between his scrumptious body and the bookshelf, for probably too long for safety—his safety, that is.

“Sorry…” Sophie mumbled, not sure what else to say. She’d never behaved like this around a man before. Granted, she’d never seen a man this gorgeous before—at least not in real life. In the movies, yes. On TV, yes. In her dreams, oh yes. “I’ll just shuffle off to Buffalo now.”

His chuckle hit her right in the belly, where it bubbled and tickled her insides. Her face heated.

“I’m guessing you’re either a displaced New Yorker or a dancer then?” he asked in a low, rumbly voice that made that inner girly part perk up and take notice, along with a few other parts of her anatomy.

“Actually, neither. I’m just a secretary from Hazel Park.” Who thinks you’re yummy. Want to go check out the park down the street? I know where there’s a cozy, dark little corner where we could have some privacy, let our tongues get acquainted.

Both his other eyebrow and the right side of his mouth joined the left in their raised positions, producing the kind of smile that could drop a girl of weaker constitution at fifty paces.

She took another step and cleared her throat because she was sure something very large had become wedged in there somehow when she wasn’t looking. “Doing some research on religious relics. I was looking for a book called…” She tried to remember the title but realized it had slipped her mind eons ago, like the second she’d seen him. “Oh, shoot. I forgot. Something about relics and cures.”

He held up the book he’d been reading, turned it over, and said. “You mean, Religious Relics, Icons, Visions and Cures by James Murrow?”

“Yes! That’s the one. Oh. You’re reading it then? Were you going to check it out?”

“I was thinking about it.”

“Oh drat! I…er…” She dropped her gaze to his toes because that seemed to be the only body part she could look at and still be able to operate her brain and took a third sidestep, which landed her a fairly safe distance from him. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to let me have it instead?”

“Hmmm. As much as I’d love to see how you intended to do that, I have to be honest and say no. I really need this book.”

“What about bribery? I’m not rich but I’d be willing to clean out my bank account to get my hands on it.”

To his credit, he looked genuinely remorseful as he shook his head. “Sorry again. But I promise I’ll return it as soon as I’m through.”

“Three weeks could be too late. I need to find the Roman-ick Yee-how-shoo-ah and Mawmee Dahveed before my best friend becomes dinner for his wife.”

“You mean Romakh Yehowshu’a and Mawgane Dahveed?”

“Yes. That’s what I said, er, wasn’t it?”

He nodded. “Close enough.”

“Anyway, I don’t expect you to believe me, but I need to find out about those relics because I think I might need them to help a friend of mine.”

“Your friend’s married to a lamia?”

Sophie threw her hands in the air. “Why is it that everyone seems to know about those lamiae people but me? Well, at least I know now that Tim isn’t completely crackers or making it up.”

“Tim?”

“My boss. He’s a paranormal researcher and half the time you can’t believe a word he says. Good guy but if you ask me, he’s a few cards shy of a full deck, if you know what I mean. The things he believes in.”

“Like?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Ghosts, vampires, and the like. I don’t believe a bit of it but my pal’s pretty sick and although I figure a trip to a medical doctor—and maybe a vacation—would probably take care of whatever his problem is, I owe it to him to check out all the possibilities. I try to have an open mind, you see. I’ve even been to a massage therapist once. Now, that was an experience, let me tell you. But I draw the line at believing in creatures of the night.”

He looked far too amused for her comfort. “Ah, yes. Those are pretty silly superstitions, aren’t they?”

“Yes! Thank you. A voice of reason. Silly superstitions, unless you’re one of those weirdos who go to the dentist and pay for bonding so you can look like a vampire. To each their own, I guess.”

“Yes. That’s a wise stand to take.” He nodded. His eyes sparkled as his grin turned wry.

“Are you humoring me?”

In a flash the expression changed again, this time turning all innocent. She didn’t buy it. Not at all. But that didn’t stop it from making various and sundry parts of her warm and toasty. “Who, me? Oh, no. I never humor a woman. It’s not a smart thing to do.”

“You got that right, buster.” She gave him a playful jab in the stomach. Her knuckles struck cotton-sheathed concrete and popped. “Youch!” She shook her hand. “Spend some serious time in the gym, do ya?”

“I used to. Yes. Been taking it easy these days.” He tucked the book under his arm, caught her wrist in a grip that felt like steel bands, and stared into her eyes. Once again, she felt her breath catch in her throat. His gaze was intense. It seemed to delve deep into her brain. She giggled at the funny feeling inside her head, a soft tickling she’d never felt before, like there was a soft bunny rustling around in there. A flash of heat shot through her body, blazing a zigzaggy path down her torso, through her groin, and down to the ground. Then a wave of ice cold followed, making her shiver and coating her entire body in goose bumps.

Who was this man? More, why did he make her feel like she was going to alternately melt and freeze after the most innocent touch? Normally, she didn’t get this turned on during the main event.

He lifted her hand to his lips and brushed them over her knuckles. The inner girly part dragged out the sex toys and screamed, Let the games begin! as she fought to resist throwing him to the ground and jumping his bones.

Ric Vogel gazed at the adorable chatterbox of a woman in stunned silence. He’d never given much credit to that whole love-at-first-sight thing, had always dismissed it as a foolish notion, something that only existed in movies and songs. But there he was, staring smack dab at it, sucker punched and reeling.

There wasn’t a thing about the woman standing before him, gaping like a landed fish, that he didn’t adore. Her face was that of an angel. Heart shaped with high cheekbones; a little upturned nose; and big, round eyes that were a soft golden brown. A crown of matching hair fell in glorious waves around her shoulders, beckoning his touch. Her petite body was soft and shapely under her well-fitting clothes. And her scent, sweet and clean, like a meadow in springtime, drew him to her.

He inhaled, wishing he could capture the essence and keep it forever as he brushed his mouth over her knuckles a second time.

“I…I…I…ohhh, Sophie,” she murmured in a squeaky little voice.

The voice in his head—a much deeper and louder voice—shouted a flurry of objections to him as he briefly considered taking the cutie pie up on her offer of bribery. He could think of at least a handful of things that could convince him to part with the book still snug under his right arm.

His imagination took that thought as its cue and ran wild, sending image after image through his mind of the woman with the sweet scent and soft body lying naked before him, her legs parted, her eyes closed, her lips pursed, her chest rising and falling swiftly, sighing his name as he brought her to bliss and beyond. Naturally, those images stirred something else—an uncomfortable erection.

He needed to make a few adjustments.

He must have grimaced because the woman’s expression changed from utter awe to puzzlement.

Still looking him in the eye, she gently pulled her hand free of his and tipped her head. “All better. Thanks,” she whispered. Her lips pursed just a tiny bit, their ripe fullness making his erection all the more urgent.

“That’s a matter of opinion,” he grumbled.

“Hmm?” Her eyebrows rose in question.

“I…said that’s good. Glad to hear it.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said.”

Damn, he liked the way her eyes glittered when she was teasing him. He could just imagine how they would shine when she was in the throes of passion.

“So, I can’t convince you to reconsider?” she asked.

Reconsider? What? Taking you home with me? It wouldn’t take much to convince me to do that.

“I mean, I really, really need that book. It’s a time-sensitive issue we’re talking about. A man’s life is at stake. Honestly, would you say you need it for anything that dire?”

Almost. My life’s at stake, and the lives of my people.

“Unless you’re married to a lamia,” she said. “I didn’t see a ring but figured a girl should never make assumptions.”

“No, thankfully, I’m not. Married to a lamia, that is. They wouldn’t be interested in me anyway.”

“I can’t see any female not being interested in you.”

“That’s a generous compliment, but I’m not a writer. They tend to stick with author types. Poets too.”

“Oh. Silly me. Tim did say that…I think. I guess I’d better do some reading on the subject.”

“You’re more likely to find information on the lamiae on the Internet. It’s not a widely researched topic,” he said as he tried to convince himself it was time to leave. Although his next class didn’t start for hours, he had some tests to grade. Since he wasn’t fond of fill-in-the-dot Scantron forms, he had about fifty essays left to read. It would take him hours.

Still, he couldn’t seem to accept the thought of turning from the woman and walking away. It made him ache inside like nothing ever had before. While he was holding her hand, she’d let him inside her mind, for a mere few seconds, but in that time, he’d seen such beauty and intelligence. Wit, caring. She was the woman of his dreams, and more.

Too bad she’d come to him now, when he was in the midst of such important work. He had no time for a serious relationship now.

He slid the book out from under his arm and forced his gaze from her lovely face, knowing that would be a good start. From there, he’d take one step away, then two. He could do it.

He watched as she combed her fingers through her hair. A long, curling strand fell over her face, wrapping around her chin. Without thinking, he captured the silky lock in his fingertips. His index finger traced her lower lip. His gaze fixed to that full lip as he lowered his head.

“Jeesh!” cut in a high-pitched voice from behind him. “Would ya get a room already?”

He jerked his hand away and spun around, finding the owner of the voice, a girl who couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen standing at the end of the row, wearing a typical preteen’s scowl of disapproval.

“There’s nothing grosser than watching old people kiss. Nasty,” she said to a second girl who stepped around the corner to take her position beside her friend.

“They were making out back here?” the second girl asked. “Darn, I miss everything.”

“Come on. They’re done now. Besides it wasn’t exactly pretty.” The first one spun on her heels and dragged her gaping friend away.

The woman, now behind him, laughed softly. “So, what do you do?” she asked.

Figuring the show was over, he turned to face her, the sting of embarrassment still burning his cheeks.

Her eyes widened. “Oh my God! Look at how red you are. You’re not a priest, are you? Did we just commit some heinous sin?”

His gaze leapt right back up to her face. “Priest? No. Whatever gave you that idea?”

“The red face for one. And the religious books, I guess. Maybe something else too, something I can’t quite name.” She chewed her lower lip as she studied his face. Oh boy, did he want to taste that lip of hers. He bet she’d taste sweet, like a ripe summer peach or apple. “You have a priesty air about you.”

“Hmmm. Don’t know if I should take that as a compliment or not.”

“Considering the respect my mother has for her priest, I would.”

“Fair enough. Thank you.”

“I know what it is!” She lifted her index finger. “It’s your soft voice and manner. You move very deliberately and don’t say much, just like Father John.”

“Ah. Well, thank goodness it wasn’t the wrinkles and stooped shoulders.”

She squinted, her lips pursed into a cute little pout as she studied his face for a moment. He was mighty tempted to kiss that pout, show her how wrong she was about him being anything like a priest. “Nope. Don’t see a single wrinkle. And your shoulders are a lot of things but stooped isn’t one of them.”

“That I’ll take as a compliment.” He offered his hand, eager to know her name, just in case…in case he might like to contact her about the relics they both seemed to be hunting. Perhaps she’d even like to work together? It would be a strictly professional arrangement. “Name’s Ric Vogel. I’m a professor of natural science at Midwestern Michigan University.”

“Aha! A professor! Now that makes sense. You seem like the professor type.” She tipped her head down just slightly and batted eyelashes long enough to be illegal in at least a few dozen states as she wrapped her dainty hand around his.

He really liked the way that felt. A wave of warmth washed over him. Heat settled low, below his belt. “I thought I was the priest type,” he teased, adoring the way her face lit up whenever she had a light-bulb moment. He could practically see the bulb blinking over her head.

“I’m not too proud to admit I made a mistake. You definitely fit the professor image more than the priest. It’s your eyes. And my name’s Sophie. Sophie Hahn. It’s nice to meet you.” She gave his hand a single pump up and down and then wiggled her fingers until he released her hand.

“Sophie,” he repeated. “I tell you what, why don’t we share this book? We can go sit at a desk over there”—he motioned toward a row of tables in a quiet corner—“and read over the material together.”

“Wow. That sounds great but…” She checked her wristwatch and frowned. “I’ve got to get back to the office. My lunch hour’s just about over. Maybe we can meet somewhere later tonight?”

“I have an introduction to biology class tonight from six to eight-thirty.”

“Poop. I don’t get off until six. What if I meet you at your classroom at eight-thirty? Would that be okay? I’ll need directions. I’ve never been on Midwestern’s campus.”

“Sure. That’ll be perfect.” He checked his pockets for something to write with but he knew he didn’t have anything. Empty-handed, he motioned toward her purse, hanging from her shoulder. “Do you have something to write with?”

“Oh. Yes. I suppose that would help.” She dug through the contents of her purse until she produced an envelope from an electric bill and a pen with a chewed-up cap. “Please ignore the mangled cap. My boss eats all my pens.” She handed them to him.

“Not a problem.” He set the book on his bent knee and used it as a makeshift desk as he wrote the directions on the envelope. “I’ll see you later, then. Maybe we can get some coffee?” He handed the envelope and pen back to her. His fingers brushed hers and another wave of warmth spread through his body, leaving ripples of wanting in its wake.

“I’m not much of a coffee drinker, especially at night. I’d be up all night long if I drank even half a cup.” She smiled.

He swallowed a goofy sigh. That was one killer smile. He wondered if she knew how deadly it was to a guy. His lower parts ached, and his teeth ached from gritting against the other ache. He was just an overall aching mess. “Fair enough.” He stood there, book in hand, feeling awkward and self-conscious and very, very horny. The horny part didn’t surprise him but the awkward and self-conscious part did. He’d had more than his share of women in his bed. Why did this one make him feel so flustered and unsure? It wasn’t like she’d done anything to make him feel that way. Chatty, friendly, and cute, she hardly gave a superior air. Yet when she looked at him with those golden-brown eyes, he squirmed like a kindergartner in church.

He hoped by tonight he’d be back to his cool, composed self. More than that, he hoped he could keep his true nature from her for just a little longer. She needed more time yet. More time to accept the impossible.

Chapter 3

After work, Sophie made a quick stop at Dao’s house. Lisse answered the door, shooing her away by telling her Dao was sleeping but had a doctor’s appointment in the morning. Sophie wasn’t sure if she believed her, but at the moment she was willing to trust Lisse was telling the truth.

She hurried home, picked at a Lean Cuisine, and freshened up, changing into a comfy pair of jeans and white top that showed off the hint of an early summer tan. She slid on a pair of high-heeled mules to make her stumpy legs look a little longer and headed out to the campus.

It had been a while since she’d been on a college campus, eight years to be exact. But she still remembered the feeling of being a student, racing across campus to make her next class, cramming for exams, going to parties in cramped dorm rooms. The memories made her smile. The parking situation, however, didn’t.

She found Adams Hall without a problem. A three-story structure of glass and steel, it sat in the middle of a circle of similar buildings. The shared parking lot was at least a couple of football field lengths away. And crammed to capacity. Sure, if she’d waited until after eight-thirty to arrive, it probably would’ve been empty, but Sophie had to admit she was so anxious to see the good-looking professor—for a number of reasons—she hadn’t wanted to wait. As a result, she was twenty minutes early and forced to search the back fifty for an empty spot.

After she found one, a tight spot between two mammoth SUVs, she parked her subcompact, did a final hair and make-up check, and then hurried toward the building. About halfway across the parking lot, the sky opened and half an ocean—or so it seemed—dumped from the clouds in the kind of torrent Michigan is apt to see in early summer. Within seconds, she was drenched to the skin and the victim of a nasty case of goose bumps. If only she’d thought to bring an umbrella!

She briefly considered turning around and heading home, but as she stood, dripping, just inside the doorway, Ric’s smooth, deep voice coming from a classroom close by inspired her to cast that notion aside.

So what if she was a tiny bit wet and her shoes made obscene noises when she walked? A little water never hurt anyone. For all she knew, Dao was near death, being Lisse’s primary food source. She owed it to him to buck up and do what she must to find him some help, whether it was from a more traditional source or nontraditional.

If a professor of science at a university believed in a lamia, who was she to question it? A guy with the initials PhD after his name had to know more than she did, with her BA.

Sophie stood outside of room 103 and listened as he answered a couple of last-minute questions about the next day’s assignment. Then she heard the telltale sounds of zillions of shuffling feet as the attendees headed for the door. Feeling out of place, she stood like a sentry outside the door, waiting for the last few stragglers to leave before she ventured inside. The curious stares she was gathering by students as they wandered past made her nervous and uncomfortable on top of cold. All in all, within seconds she was so miserable, she was ready to make a hasty exit. Maybe she could borrow a copy of that book from another library.

She did an about-face and took a step down the hall.

“There you are…oh. Is that you, Sophie?” she heard Ric say behind her.

Too late. Oh well. Gathering what remained of her dignity, she pasted on a smile and turned around. “Yes. It’s me. I was just waiting for your students to clear out before I came in.” A huge droplet of water dripped from her bangs and landed on the bridge of her nose. Following the law of gravity, it slid down to the tip and hung there.

Ric’s gaze followed its path until she swiped the stupid thing away.

Within a heartbeat, she was wishing she had a second water droplet to distract him.

His warm gaze wandered lower, following the line of her neck to her shoulders. It dropped about four inches lower, then didn’t budge. All it took was a quick glance down to see why. The torrent in the parking lot had made her formerly cute white shirt absolutely obscene. It was almost completely translucent now. The lines of her bra showed crystal clear, and even more disturbing, two pink nipples poked at the fabric.

“Oh my God!” She gasped and promptly folded her arms over her chest. Her face flamed. So did a few other parts.

Ric’s eyes widened, then darted in another direction. He mumbled something that was probably an apology, but with her mind screaming a few dozen curse words, she didn’t hear him. He caught her shoulder in one of his huge hands and pulled. “Come inside. You can wear my jacket. You must be cold.”

She could guess where he got that idea from! “Thanks. I’m freezing. Wouldn’t you know it? Out of nowhere it just started pouring. I hate this time of year.” She stepped into the classroom but hung back by the door, letting him go past her. He pulled a tweed jacket off the back of his chair and handed it to her.

Her heart sank. That wasn’t the kind of jacket she was hoping for. That jacket looked like the kind that would get ruined easily. But it did look cozy. “Oh, I don’t know. This looks like an expensive jacket. I’ll get it all wet—”

“I’m not worried about it. Please.” He held the jacket by the shoulders and rounded Sophie. “You look like you’re freezing.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She stuffed her right arm through one sleeve, then twisted slightly to find the other one with her left hand. Her shoulder brushed against Ric as she slid her hand into the opening. She found herself short of breath all over again. This guy had a real talent for stopping all normal biological processes in a girl. She voluntarily sucked in a deep breath and turned, whispering, “Thanks” when she was facing him full front.

His chin tipped down as he regarded her with eyes that seemed more gold than brown, unlike earlier. His fingers skimmed the length of her arms, then caught the collar. “My pleasure.” He straightened the collar—must’ve been lopsided. When he blinked, his eyes shone even more gold, like the color of a cat’s eyes.

That warm, velvet sensation fluttered through her head again, setting her heart rate into triple time. She tried to think of something funny and clever to say, something to break the spell that seemed to be tangling itself around her, snarling the impulses charging through her brain. “I…I…”

His head tipped to the side. His eyelids fell to half-mast, partly obscuring those bizarre gold eyes. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips.

Oh my God, he’s going to kiss me!

She closed her eyes, dragged in a deep breath, and waited, knowing it would be the kiss of a lifetime, like none she’d ever experienced.

Unfortunately, no sooner did his warm, moist lips make contact with hers than a voice called from somewhere behind them, “Professor Vogel?”

Interrupted again! Dammit.

That young person’s voice acted like a bucket of ice water falling from the sky, completely quenching the spark that brief kiss had just begun to ignite. She twisted her neck to look one way. Ric looked the other. The result was impact between her forehead and his nose.

He yelped in surprise. Both his hands flew to his face. “Yes, yes. Matt?”

“Sorry, Professor Vogel. I came back here to ask you a question about Monday night’s assignment.” The young man’s nervous gaze hip-hopped from Ric to Sophie, then back to Ric again. “I can call your office Monday morning if that would be better.”

Apparently checking his nose for a fracture, Ric said, “No, that’s okay. What’s your question?”

“I was just wondering if we had to answer the questions on the section on sexual reproduction or just asexual?”

Sophie snorted through her nose.

Ric gave her a one-eyebrow-lifted, teary-eyed glance, then turned to Matt and said, “You need to read the entire chapter and answer all the questions at the end of each section.”

“Okay. Sorry for, er, interrupting. I didn’t think you’d have company.”

“We’re doing some…research,” Ric said, motioning toward Sophie.

“Yeah. Sure. If that’s what you want to call it.” He chuckled, then called over his shoulder as he walked back to the door, “I think I’ll put in my application for department student research assistant if this is the kind of research the bio department is doing.” He shut the door behind him.

Sophie laughed. “Smart kid. Is it broken?” She pointed at Ric’s nose.

“No. Just sore. Maybe we should take this back to my office. It’s a little more private. We won’t have any more interruptions.”

That last word sent a shudder of expectation down her spine. She’d never done it in a university professor’s office before. Sounded like fun. “Sure. Okay. Say, what’s this about sexual reproduction? I thought you were a biology teacher, not sex ed.”

He gave her a martyred look tempered with just the slightest smile. “We don’t teach sex ed in college. The chapter’s on cellular reproduction, not human reproduction.” He gathered some things from his desk, including the book from the library, then opened the door for her. “Some people’s minds.”

“What can I say? I hear the word sex, I tend to think in human terms. I’d say that’s pretty ordinary,” she teased as she fell into step beside him.

Moments later Sophie and Ric made themselves comfortable in his closet-sized office—the size of which was fine by her. The closer she was to the hunky professor the better. She asked, “Can I ask you a stupid question?”

“Fire away.” He stretched his arms overhead. What a view! Thanks to the well-fitting, short-sleeved shirt he wore, she could see all the yummy planes and ridges of his sculpted chest and arms. Sure she was about to melt, she fanned herself with the nearest scrap of paper she could get in her hands.

“Are you warm?”

“Just a little.”

“You could take off the jacket.” His gaze dropped to her chest; then he said, “On second thought, I could open the door.” He pressed his palms to the desktop as he started to rise from his chair.

“Oh no!” she said, halting him. “I’m fine. Really. I’ll take privacy over creature comforts any day.”

“Okay. But you’ll let me know if it gets too hot?”

“You betcha.”

He settled back into his chair again. She drank in the sight of him, so yummy in so many ways. Perfect hair, perfect face, weirdly wonderful eyes that again looked like molten chocolate. Shoulders, chest, narrow waist and hips. She could hardly believe she was in this room with this man. And even more, she could hardly believe he seemed to be flirting with her! No one who looked like he did ever gave her a second look, let alone a come-hither one.

“You wanted to ask me a question?” he said a few moments later, probably feeling weird being ogled again. She was definitely stuck in ogle mode.

“Oh, yeah. Um. Well, why is a professor of natural science doing research on religious relics? I’d expect that to be appropriate research material for a professor of religious studies or even history. But biology? What would an old spear and shield have to do with cellular reproduction?”

“More than you might think.”

She leaned forward, intrigued. When he didn’t elaborate, she said, “That’s all you’re going to say?”

“For now.”

“Meanie.”

He chuckled as he cracked open the book and thumbed through several pages. She liked the way his voice seemed to frolic with her insides like a bouncy puppy. She also liked the way he moved his fingers. They looked deft and capable of doing some wonderful things to choice parts of her anatomy. She fanned herself again but the bitty scrap of paper did nothing to cool her flaming face.

“This is the only book I’ve found that refers to the Spear of Joshua, or Romakh Yehowshu’a, and Shield of David, Mawgane Dahveed.”

“Do you think they really exist?”

“Yes, I do. But I’m beginning to wonder if they are literally a spear and shield.”

“If they aren’t, what would they be?”

“Well, the Bible’s full of metaphors and symbols. There are those who believe every word is to be taken literally and those who believe none of it should. I’m somewhere in the middle. Some of the historical references have been collaborated by extrabiblical sources.”

“I see you’ve done your homework here. I’m impressed. I can’t say I’ve read the Bible cover to cover. I’ve read bits and pieces, the popular stories mostly, like the stories of Noah and Adam and Eve.”

“Do you know who David and Joshua were?”

She rummaged through the deepest recesses of her mind where she stowed little-used facts learned when she was a kid. “David was the kid who killed the giant Goliath, right?”

“Yes, he did that, among other things.” Ric rested his elbows on the desktop and steepled his fingers. His forefingers rested just below his lips. Adorable lips. Kissable lips. “And Joshua?”

“I’m a little rusty on the Bible but, I vaguely remember he was a warrior of some kind, I think,” she answered, still staring at his mouth.

“Yes. That’s correct.”

She already knew he would taste wonderful, sweet and spicy. She wondered if he’d object if she took up where they’d left off in the classroom.

“So, uh.” She leaned forward. He leaned back. Guess he wasn’t in the mood for a lip-lock now. Bummer! What were they talking about? Oh yeah. David. “Why wouldn’t you think they were literal if the guys were real? Didn’t David have a shield when he fought Goliath?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Oh.” She let her gaze wander for a few. It decided to take a rest on his shoulders for a while. After all, that was some rough terrain, climbing all those bulges and bumps. She fanned herself harder.

Concentrate, you hussy! This is for Dao, the guy who held you together after your sister died. Remember him?

That chastisement cooled her raging hormones considerably, and her foggy head cleared a bit too.

“If you remember the story, David went before the giant with no sword or shield. He had his slingshot and a handful of stones.”

“I guess I forgot that part. I feel a little stupid. I should know this stuff, went to Catholic schools for years.”

“Don’t feel stupid. There are parts of the Bible I know nothing about too.”

His confession didn’t make her feel a whole lot better but she continued the conversation anyway. Obviously the time of impressing him with her knowledge of all things biblical had passed. It was time to get answers. For Dao. “Didn’t Joshua have a spear when he fought with…whoever he fought with?”

“Yes.”

“And didn’t David eventually fight with a shield against somebody?”

“Most likely.”

“Then there you go! What makes you think the spear and shield aren’t literally an old spear and shield?”

He pursed his lips, then drew them into a long, narrow line. Yet his face was still as sexy and perfect as it had been before. “Tradition for one. The Magen David is the Star of David, the symbol worn by the Jewish. The six-pointed star. According to tradition it has magical powers and appeared on King David’s shield and King Solomon’s ring.”

She struggled to keep from falling back into lust mode again. Parts south of her waist refused to listen. “So we’re looking for something with the Star of David on it?”

“Perhaps, and then again, maybe not. I read something once…” He shuffled through the stack of papers sitting next to the book. “This was written about thirty years ago. I think the author was ahead of his time.” He pulled out a smudgy copy of an article and set it in front of her.

She scanned the page. “This is from that tabloid you see at the grocery store? The one with stories of Mary’s likeness burned into roast beef or promises of the Second Coming written in tea leaves?”

He shrugged. “At the time it was probably the only medium that would take this story seriously enough to print it.”

“Maybe there’s a reason for that.”

“You said you had an open mind,” he challenged, his gaze drilling hers until she squirmed, for more than one reason. “Read the whole thing before you make a judgment. We must know what we are searching for before we can find it.”

“That part I can agree with.” She gave him a quick questioning glance, which was answered with a slight shake of his head. Then she dropped her eyes to the article and started reading.

After about two paragraphs, however, Sophie realized she didn’t understand a single word the author was saying. She handed the paper back to Ric. “This is way over my head. It should be in a theology textbook, not in a tabloid.”

“My point exactly.”

“Why would they print this?”

“Because it has a spark of truth yet seems unbelievable as well.”

“Want to give me a layman’s summary then? I mean, if you’ve got this all figured out, why don’t you have the sword and shield already?”

“Spear. Romakh Yehowshu’a. Joshua’s spear. Because I don’t have it all figured out yet. But I’m hoping you’ll be able to help me; we’ll tackle it together. I’ve been working on this for a long time but haven’t been able to make the pieces fit.”

She laughed. “You honestly don’t expect me to believe that I—the one who doesn’t know diddly about the Bible, or David or Joshua or Jewish symbols—will be able to help you—a superbrilliant college professor? How could I possibly help you? For all practical purposes, I’d say I need you more than you need me.”

“That’s very kind,” he said, his eyes sparkling, his expression full of naughty promises, which had her retracing her words to see if she’d said anything too suggestive.

When she realized the “I need you” thing could be taken at least a couple of ways, she felt her face heating again. Her privates went into party mode. “I’m talking about the research, you understand.”

One side of his mouth quirked. “Of course. So was I. In researching this topic, you happen to have one thing going for you that I don’t—objectivity.”

She felt her still-stinging face screwing up into a mask of confusion. “My friend is possibly near death, his very life being drained by what my boss is telling me is a real-life vampire, and you say I’m objective? I’d say I’m desperate.”

“You’re objective because you don’t have any preconceived notions—”

“Sure I do. I assumed the shield and spear were literal weapons. And I’m still skeptical of your theory that they’re not. So why don’t you tell me the real reason why you invited me here tonight? I’m dying to know.”

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, as if he was trying to find a gentle way to break some bad news to her. “Because I sense we both need someone at our side as we travel this road. Am I wrong?”

“You?”

“Yes.”

Her heart did a little pitter-pattering. He needed her. Not just because she was brilliant and could solve some riddle for him—which she wasn’t and couldn’t—but because he wanted her at his side, his partner. “That would be…nice.”

“But before we shake on this deal, I need to hear it. I need to hear you need me too, and not just because I know more about this subject than you do.”

“Wow. Okay.” Her gaze brushed over his features—the cute crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the little mole on his left cheek—and felt the warmth of his companionship and friendship in eyes gone all warm and golden seep into her bones. “I need someone whom I can trust, someone who won’t laugh when I make a stupid mistake, and someone who’ll cheer me on when I get frustrated. Although I haven’t known you but a couple of hours tops, I feel like that person is you. That I’ve been searching for you, that I’ve known you a whole lot longer than one day. Is that strange?”

“Not at all.”

“Good. Then we have a deal? We’re not just going to share this book but we’re going to share this journey, help each other, any way we can?”

“You bet.” Just like he had in the library, he offered his hand to her, and just like before, she took it. Again, a strange tingle buzzed up her arm, like a current of low-voltage electricity. Not sure what it was, or if it would hurt her, she gave his hand a quick shake, then released it, checking her hand when he let go.

Just like that, with a simple handshake, they formed their partnership.

But only one knew what that handshake really meant.

Chapter 4

“Stay the night.”

Sophie took one look at Lisse’s face and gave her head a vehement shake. “No. Thanks.” It wasn’t because Lisse looked particularly bothered by Dao’s suggestion, but the opposite, because she looked fairly pleased by it. If—and Sophie admitted this was still a big if—Lisse was a vampire, the fact that she was seemingly thrilled to have another female under her roof for the night didn’t bode well for Sophie’s health and well-being. What good would she be to Dao if she was dead?

“Please,” Dao said. “We have a great deal of catching up to do. We haven’t seen each other in such a long time, since before the wedding.”

“I was here a few days ago.”

“You were not. Don’t lie to me.”

Now, she was really worried. Never mind the fact that it seemed her already skeletally thin friend looked like he’d lost another few pounds, but now he was confused too. He needed to get to a doctor. Pronto!

“What time’s your doctor’s appointment tomorrow?”

“His appointment is at eight o’clock and it would be a great help if you could take him,” Lisse answered. “I was going to have him drive himself, but I worry about his safety.”

“That makes two of us,” Sophie said, still not feeling real keen on the idea of staying in the same home with a suspected blood-sucking husband killer.

“And I’m afraid I have a prior appointment I cannot reschedule,” Lisse said importantly. “It would be a great help—to both of us—if you’d take him. I know you’ve been a great friend to my husband in the past.”

“I’d be happy to drive by in the morning and pick him up.”

“That’s foolish!” Dao piped in. “You’ve stayed here hundreds of times. In morning rush hour it’d take you over an hour to get here. We have a perfectly comfortable spare bedroom. You’ll have privacy.”

He was systematically killing off every one of her believable excuses. Darn it.

“I don’t have any clothes, toothbrush. Can’t deny the importance of oral hygiene,” she said, frantically working her way through the unbelievable excuses now. She had a feeling in her belly that this was a bad—with a capital B—idea. That if she spent the night there, something very terrible would happen. To her, to Dao, maybe to both of them.

“Yes, you do,” Dao countered. “You left several things here the last time you spent the night. You have some toiletries in the bathroom and clothes hanging in the closet. And since I know you can wear casual clothes to work, I won’t hear the excuse that they’re not dressy enough.”

“Speaking of work, I’d have to call Tim,” Sophie said, pulling one final excuse from her stash, knowing Dao wouldn’t have a card to trump that one. “Tell him I’m coming in late tomorrow. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. I can call the doctor’s office and reschedule the appointment.”

“Very well,” Dao said. “You can use our phone. Call him now.”

Whew! Disaster averted. “I’ll need the doctor’s phone number.”

“No. I mean your boss,” Dao corrected. “Call him.”

“He’s not in the office on Sundays,” Sophie lied, knowing he would be. Tim never took a day off work, not even when he was near death with the flu.

“You can leave a message then,” Lisse offered, handing Sophie the cordless. “Please, this would mean so much to both of us.”

I bet it would. “Well…” Sophie figured her best bet was to call Tim, the boss who expected her to show up as well when she was near death, and let him do the deed for her. There was no way he’d let her come in late on such short notice, at least not without her doing some serious groveling, which she’d been prepared to do if she hadn’t been pressured to stay the night. Now, there was no way she’d get on her knees and grovel. “Okay. I’ll give it a try but my boss is a real slave driver, let me tell you.” She punched the number and when he picked up said, “Hi, Tim. It’s Sophie. Wow, what’re you doing in the office on a Sunday?”

“You know I always work on Sundays,” was his dry response.

“Oh, really?” She tried to look surprised as she gave Dao and Lisse a what-do-you-know look.

“I am talking to Sophie Hahn, my secretary, am I not?” Tim asked.

“Yes, of course. Listen, I need to come in late tomorrow morning.”

Naturally, Tim protested with all the bluster he was famous for. She turned apologetic eyes to Dao and Lisse, respectively, as she listened to Tim’s lecture about the need for him to be able to count on her to show up for work every day no matter what.

“Actually, it’s not me. It’s my friend Dao,” she explained when he paused to take a breath. “He’s ill and his wife can’t take him to the doctor tomorrow morning,” Sophie continued, figuring that last part would lay the last couple of nails into the proverbial coffin. “They want me to stay with them tonight and take him to the doctor in the morning.”

Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect.

“What?” Tim screeched. He then went into Paranormal Geek mode and told her this was the opportunity of a lifetime, one she had to take, no matter the risks. He told her to try to catch the wife by surprise, snap a picture or two when she was in her snakewoman state, and collect any scales or proof she could find, then suggested she sleep with a string of garlic around her neck and wished her luck.

As she punched the button, ending the call, for a few seconds she considered lying to Dao and Lisse but changed her mind. Maybe Tim was right. Maybe this was exactly what she needed, the opportunity to see for herself whether her best friend was married to a grotesque snakewoman. Or just a woman. At least she’d see her friend received the medical care he so desperately needed.

“It’s all set. I just need to go pick up a few things at the store.” Sophie headed for the front door.

“Wonderful!” Dao said, looking as chipper as he’d been on his wedding day.

Lisse caught Sophie’s wrist in ice-cold fingers. “Thank you. You have no idea what this means to me.”

Sophie’s gaze dropped to the other woman’s clammy hand, then climbed up to her face. “No problem. I’ll be back in a few.” She gently wriggled her hand free of the woman’s grip and, fighting a shiver, ran out to her car.

A quick trip to a local Meijer landed her all the goodies she could think to buy for a night spent with a vampire, including plenty of garlic and a throwaway camera. She returned to Dao’s house just in time for some dinner.

The only thing that convinced Sophie that it was safe to eat the delicious-smelling food was the fact that it was served family style, each person helping himself or herself from bowls of steamed rice, stir-fried veggies, and scrumptious garlic chicken. Sophie ate herself into a near coma, then excused herself to the guest room, figuring she’d better get to sleep early if she was going to prowl around in the middle of the night playing vampire slayer.

Dao ate a whole lot more than Sophie expected, considering his weight loss, and then excitedly excused himself to his office to work on his latest project. His office was next door to her room. The distant tap-tapping of his computer keys lulled her to sleep.

“A rare beauty,” a decidedly male voice murmured sometime later. The voice was rich and deep, much lower in pitch than Dao’s.

“Who’s there?” Sophie blinked open her eyes and sat up. The covers slid down, exposing her upper body to the chilly air. Not sure if the room was pitch or her eyelids were still closed, she blinked several times. No, her eyes were definitely open.

“Your skin is smooth as silk,” the voice said.

“Who’s here? And how can you see a blasted thing in here? It’s darker than a bottomless cave.”

“Pit. You mean bottomless pit,” the voice corrected.

“Whatever.” She felt the string of garlic lifting from her chest and swatted at the air, trying to find the hand that was pulling it away. “Hey! What’re you doing? Leave that alone. Dammit, why’s it so dark in here? Where’s the lamp?”

“I can see you just fine. I can see the way your hair falls over your shoulders, how one strand curls around your breast. I can see your pupils, dilated from the dark, and from your fear.”

“Now I know you’re lying. ’Cause I’m not afraid. Annoyed, yes. Scared, not.” She yanked on the strap of her tank top—it had slid down over her shoulder—and tried to pretend her heart wasn’t thumping so hard against her breastbone that she swore she could hear it. The voice-in-the-dark thing was plain too weird for words. She scooted to the side of the bed so she could flip on a light, but as she dropped her legs over the side, something pushed against her shoulders, knocking her onto her back. “Okay, deep voice guy. Now things are getting creepy. Get the hell out of here.”

“Such fire. Such passion. I can smell your fear. It’s the most intoxicating aphrodisiac on earth.”

Something brushed across her breast.

“Eep!” Totally blind and not sure where the guy was, she did a log roll on the mattress and then tried to jump up. Again, she was knocked down. And these weren’t gentle shoves. They were the kind of blows a woman should never be the victim of. They were the kind of blows that sent Sophie’s head spinning and bile up her throat. She screamed but a large, cold hand clapped over her mouth, muffling the sound almost immediately.

“There’s no need for that.” Cool lips pressed against her temple as fingers traced up her arm. “I’m not going to hurt you. At least not much.” His chuckle was empty, evil.

She shuddered and tried to scream again but his hand was still pressed firmly against her mouth. Try as she might, she couldn’t even bite it.

Those icky fingers skittered up her arm like spiders, then along her collarbone and down toward her breast. She kicked at the blackness, hoping to strike him by dumb luck, but the only effect her efforts produced was the weight of a body on the tops of her thighs. That left only her arms free. She raised them to the hand pressed so firmly against her mouth that she felt like she might suffocate and dug her nails into the cool skin.

He didn’t react, at least not the way she was hoping. Instead of recoiling, he threw his weight on her arms, ripped the front of her tank top off, and with little effort gagged her. Then he tore her sweats down the front and pulled them off. In the darkness, the rending sound of the cotton blend struck terror in her. Certain she was fighting now for her life, she struggled against him as he spread her legs and tied them to the footboard, then bound her hands together.

The fabric he used was pulled so tight her skin burned and her hands went instantly numb.

Her throat stung and she realized she had been screaming, despite the gag. Hot tears ran down her temples and wetted her hair.

A split second later, the room unexpectedly filled with light, forcing her to blink and squint as she struggled to get a look at her assailant.

She was shocked. If not for the fact that the jerk had knocked her from here to tomorrow and torn her clothes off her body, she might’ve thought he was a stone fox. Almost the opposite of Ric, this guy was dark. He had long, dark hair, a masculine, square-jawed face with intense eyes. The only things they shared in common were their very large, very strong-looking bodies.

She tried to talk through the gag, ask him why he was doing this. Surely this guy, looking the way he did, didn’t need to sneak into women’s bedrooms in the middle of the night to get some action.

He stood at the foot of the bed, thick, muscular arms crossed over a massive chest, and regarded her with a stern expression. “Look what you made me do. I didn’t want it to be this way, love.” Still completely clothed—head to toe in black—he crawled on top of her. His gaze was fierce and wild as it met hers, like a dog that was poised for attack.

Her nose burned as another round of tears dribbled from her eyes. She shook her head back and forth, trying to plead with him with her eyes, hoping she might reach a soft part of him, somewhere deep inside. A part of him that could show mercy.

“This your first time?” he asked, nodding his head. His touch was unexpectedly soft as he wiped away the wetness streaming down either side of her face. “She didn’t tell me that. I’ll make it good for you. I promise.” He followed the path of her tears with a trail of soft kisses. “I’m so glad you decided to stay here tonight.”

“She? Who? You knew?” she asked around the gag. Naturally, it didn’t come out like that and he had no idea what she said.

He nodded, though she knew for a fact he couldn’t be responding to her question, and sat up on his knees, wedged tightly against her hips. “The first time is always frightening. But after this, you’ll learn to enjoy it. There’s nothing like it, or so I’ve heard. I’ve been told it’s very erotic.”

What? What are you going to do to me? Sophie’s heart hammered against her ribs, sending adrenaline through her body. Every muscle in her coiled like tight springs, despite the bindings holding her legs straight and apart and her arms up over her head. Over and over, she tested the strength of the fabric holding her, yanking, twisting, tugging, but it didn’t give. Not an inch.

Meanwhile, she tried, despite panic so intense she was nearly blind, to study his face. When she went to the police—assuming she lived!—she wanted to be able to describe every inch of this bastard, right down to the mole on his ass if he had one. He would pay! Big-time!

When his hand cupped her breast, she arched her back in a quick thrust, hoping to knock it away. It worked, but only for an instant. He seemed undaunted as he grabbed the center hook of her bra and unfastened it, then squeezed both her breasts, one with each hand. “So lovely. So full and ripe.” He leaned lower and she shut her eyes, unable to watch him as he closed his mouth over her nipple. She was scared. Furious. Panic-stricken. Desperate to get away. Pissed off.

Again, she arched her back, hoping to hit the son of a bitch silly with her stomach, not that it was hard or anything. When it came to weapons, her belly was probably one of the lamest, but at the moment it was all she had. That and her head. She pulled at the strips binding her arms and legs, her mind racing, trying to grasp at a solution, an escape from what was becoming more inevitable with every breath she took.

Then, the inevitable became immediate. In a quick motion almost too fast to see, he ripped the front of her panties away, exposing all of her to his feasting eyes.

She gagged and tossed her head to the side, hoping she wouldn’t choke from her own vomit.

The man drew in a visible breath, his lips curled into a cruel smile. “The scent of your need. So sweet. Almost as intoxicating as the smell of your fear.”

“Go to hell!” she tried to shout.

“I don’t need you nude but”—he ran a finger over her sex, then brought it to his nose and inhaled—“I’ll enjoy my meal much more when you are completely uncovered. Your scent is so incredibly sweet. I can’t wait to taste you. To have your flavor fill my mouth, my throat.” When he smiled, a set of long fangs flashed in the dim lamplight. Fangs like she’d seen in the vampire movie she’d watched last month, and on that vampire romance book cover she’d checked out last week at Borders.

They’re real? Vampires really exist?

“You’ll enjoy the feeding. I promise.” He lowered his head, clearly aiming for her inner thigh.

Not fond of an insect bite, let alone the whopper of a chomp Mr. Fangs was about to impart on her, Sophie fought with a frenzy against her bindings. She tossed her head, kicked her feet, thrashed her body from side to side, twisted her wrists until she was breathless and dizzy and worn out. Finally, completely spent, she stilled and tried to psych herself up for more struggling in a minute or two.

“That’s it, my love. Relax,” he said, watching her dully. “It won’t hurt for long.” Again, he lowered his head to her thigh, but before his teeth even grazed her skin, she went into fight mode again.

Those teeth were not going to sink into her skin! Nuh-uh! That was bound to hurt like a son of a gun, never mind the whole “Will I become one of them?” question.

This time, he scowled. “You do not want to make me angry, my love. I must feed. I will feed.” This time he pinned her hips to the mattress with his hands as he lowered his head.

First she felt damp warmth as his tongue laved her skin. And then the fierce, blinding pain of his bite. She felt those teeth sink into her flesh. As he fed, there was a strange sensation of building ripples of heat washing up her body, ripples that traveled out from the point where he fed. Each one was bigger, hotter, fiercer until they were like gigantic tsunamis blasting her with white heat. She shuddered, her body thrown into an unexpected orgasm. Every part of her convulsed, even as he drew more and more of her strength from her body.

Finally, completely exhausted, she lay still. He lifted his head, licked away the blood smeared across his lips, and smiled. His teeth retracted up into his jaw. He kissed her forehead, whispered a promise to return to her, and flipped out the light. Despite her numb hands and feet, the burn at her wrists and ankles, and the throbbing on her right thigh, she fell asleep instantly.

When Sophie woke, the birds outside the window were chirping, the warm light of morning spilling in through the lace curtains. She was lying on her stomach. The bindings were gone but the red burn marks on her wrists gave testimony to what had happened last night. It hadn’t been a dream.

She tossed off the blanket to check her leg and found she was still nude. There wasn’t even the slightest bruise on her thigh where the vampire had bitten her, yet her ankles were marred with big, ugly red welts.

She couldn’t believe it! Vampires did exist and she’d been a snack for some dark-haired bloodsucker! Worse yet, he’d made her come! She wasn’t sure which part was the hardest to swallow.

She was still trying to deal with it when she stole a quick glance at the clock, then, shocked by the time, scurried from the bed.

“No way!”

Eleven freaking o’clock? One hour before noon! Not only did she miss Dao’s doctor’s appointment, but she was also late for work. “Shit!” She gathered her clothes from the closet, raced to the bathroom, showered, and dressed.

No one stirred in the master bedroom. Maybe Dao’d gone to the doctor without her? She hoped he was okay. Damn it, she’d known something bad was going to happen last night. Lisse was behind that little social call she’d received last night. She had no doubt. Probably to keep her from taking Dao to the doctor.

“Dao? Are you in there?” When Sophie received no answer to her knocks, she tried the bedroom door. It was unlocked. She pushed it open and peered into the darkened room. Right away, she saw there were two people in the bed.

One of the heads lifted—Lisse’s. “Did you sleep all right?” she asked, with the kind of smile that suggested she already knew the answer.

“I…missed the appointment.”

“That’s all right. I rescheduled. It’s just as well,” Lisse whispered. “My dear Dao. He’s so very tired. I didn’t have the heart to wake him this morning. You will lock the door on the way out?”

Was he sleeping or dead? “Yes. Of course,” Sophie said, not intending to do any such thing. She needed to see Dao, to make sure that blood-sucking, no-good snake hadn’t done something awful to him.

“Very well. Thanks anyway. Your heart was in the right place.” Lisse rested her head back on the pillow, effectively ending the conversation.

Not sure what to do, Sophie shut the door. She went back to the spare room; gathered her torn clothes, unused camera, and purse; and went to the living room to place it next to the door. Then, she unwrapped the camera and tiptoed back to the master bedroom door. She’d missed the doctor’s office visit but she had to at least make sure Dao would survive until she could get him to a doctor later.

She did everything in her power to turn the doorknob and push open the door swiftly and silently. Lisse was lying on top of Dao, her head tossed back in bliss as she rode him. The covers were thrown off them both.

It was clear Dao was very much alive. But that didn’t make Sophie feel any better.

A long serpentine tail coiled under Lisse’s torso. The very tip twitched like a rattler’s tail.

Breathless with fear, Sophie raised the camera to her eye to snap the picture. The exact moment she pressed the button, Lisse twisted her neck to look at her and bared hooked, white fangs.

“How dare you!” the snakewoman hissed.

Sophie snapped several shots, then made a mad dash for the front door, her heart up in her throat. Tim was right! Poor, poor Dao. He was being drained of life by the woman he thought he loved.

Sophie left her friend’s house vowing to do whatever was necessary to get him away from that monster. She was so furious, she didn’t even remember driving to work. But, despite her mental gymnastics, she couldn’t come up with a single idea on how to save him.

She walked into the office, late as she said she would be, and answered Tim’s scowl with a wave of the camera. “I have your proof!”

“You’d better because I was ready to fire you. I’ve had to sit here all morning answering phones. I missed two appointments.”

“It’s here. I saw her. She looks like a hairy cobra. Scary.” She gave an involuntary shudder. “I never in a million years would’ve believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. Vampires are real! Vampires…are real.” She dropped into her chair and hit the power button on her computer. She caught sight of the red burn marks on her wrists as she moved. “Oh, and there’s more.”

“More?” Tim grinned gleefully. “What? What?”

“I think one of her evil minions paid me a visit last night too. At first I thought it was a dream but take a look.” She held out her wrists for him to inspect. “He tied me up and the marks are still there.”

“Do I want to ask what he did after that?”

She felt her cheeks flame. “No, he didn’t…you know…you sicko. But he bit me.”

“Where?” Tim’s wide-eyed gaze flew to her throat.

“Not there. On the leg. But there’s no mark. Not even a little red bump. Nothing.”

“Mmmm. That’s bad.”

“It’s bad that there’s no mark?” Despite the fact that the bite had been on her leg, her hand flew to her neck.

“No, it’s bad that he bit you.”

“Why?” she asked, fighting another shudder. “Do real vampires carry some bizarre disease I need to know about? Or am I going to become one of them? I really, really like the sun. I don’t think I could live in eternal darkness.”

“It’s bad because that means he’ll have a certain measure of power over you the next time you see him.”

“I don’t like the sound of that, either. I pride myself in my independence and bullheadedness.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Sophie stuck her tongue out. Yes, it was juvenile, but then again, so was Tim’s comment. “What kind of power will he have over me? Will he be able to hypnotize me? Will I be like a zombie, unable to think for myself?”

“You’ve been watching too much late-night TV.”

“No, I don’t watch any TV at all—outside of The Apprentice. I’m addicted to that show, I admit it. I just have an active imagination.”

“Let’s put it this way, after one bite you might not become a zombie but you’d also find it mighty difficult to resist any commands he might make.”

Her heart stopped. “Even if they were to hurt someone I care about?”

Tim nodded gravely. “Even if they were to hurt someone you care about.”

“Shit.” Was Lisse trying to find a way to use her? To kill her husband? Oh no! “Is there a cure? Please, please tell me there’s a cure or I won’t be able to trust myself around anyone I care about, especially Dao.”

“There’re a couple of ways that I know of. One, you have to defeat the one who made him, if you can figure out whom that was.”

Defeat? Her stomach turned. She could just imagine what that would involve. “Could it be Lisse?”

“The lamia?”

“Yes. That’s the only Lisse I know.”

“It’s possible but unlikely. There’s no record of any progeny from the lamiae.”

“Shoot. Then I have no clue where to start. I didn’t even get the bloodsucker’s name. What’s option number two? I’m assuming there’s at least one other way. You said ‘couple.’ That implies two.”

“Yes, two. The other is to get another vampire to bite you. Not just any vampire, a member of another—”

“Not on your life! That hurt like hell. I’m not letting any more vampires near my person, under no circumstances. That option is out. Besides, it’s not like I can put an ad in the paper asking for vampire volunteers. Could you just imagine the freaks who would answer that ad? Crazies with a blood fetish. Or nuts who haven’t taken their happy pills for a few weeks. I wouldn’t know where to hunt down another real vampire.”

Tim shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you then.”

“In other words, you’re saying I’m screwed.”

Tim nodded again and patted her shoulder. “Sorry to say it but yes, I think so.”

“Shit.” How would she help Dao now? She didn’t even dare get near him.

“Say, do you mind if I take a few readings from you?” Tim asked, eyeing her like a scientist might a frog stretched out in a tin pan. “If you cooperate, I might be convinced to give you a bonus.”

“A bonus? What kind of bonus?” Sophie had a feeling that might come in handy very soon. She had no idea what it was going to take to save Dao and herself from the bloodsuckers, but she figured having Tim owe her a favor or two might be to her advantage. “Tell me your tests don’t involve needles? I hate needles. Or pain. And have I told you that blood—”

“Most of them are painless. But I know you’ll be a good sport. It’s for The Cause. I’ve never had the recipient of a real vampire bite in my office before.”

“Just promise me job stability for the next five years. And any help you can offer regarding vampires would be appreciated too. I’ll give you free reign—as long as you don’t expect me to strip naked for you. That would be too creepy.”

“You got it.” He offered his hand, and for the second time in twenty-four hours, she found herself shaking a man’s hand in a deal.

“Okay. I’m all yours. But be gentle, will you? I’ve been through a lot the past twenty-four hours.”

“No problem.” He raced back to his office and returned with what looked like a medieval torture device.

Chapter 5

“Hello, Sophie.” Even on the voice mail, Ric’s voice sounded silky. Her girly parts got all warm and happy as Sophie listened to his message. “I’ve found a local expert on rare biblical artifacts. She’s out of a small Catholic university up in Grand Rapids. I’m going out to interview her tomorrow. I’d like to know if you might like to join me. I’m thinking of leaving tonight and getting a hotel room in the Grand Rapids area overnight.”

She looked at the ugly purple bruise on the crook of her left arm. After the battery of tests Tim had put her through, he owed her. Big-time. No better time than the present to call in one of the many favors he owed her.

She rang Tim, told him to hire a temp for tomorrow. Much to Sophie’s surprise, he didn’t give her the usual bluster or threats. Instead, he wished her luck and told her if she needed anything to give him a call.

Next, she called the number Ric had left for her. He didn’t answer so she left a message for him, telling him she’d be ready to go, bags packed, by eight.

Finally, she put in a call to Dao, told him she was leaving town for a day or two but would call him later to check up on him. Naturally, Lisse had lied. There was no doctor’s appointment later. Then again, how much could a doctor do for a guy who was being drained by a vampire? Dao sounded tired, but reasonably well enough. His spirits were good at least. He was well enough to tease her about not needing a mother. But he was disappointed when she said she couldn’t come by and read some more of his latest work in progress. She figured that would be risky, for a number of reasons. One, she might insult him if he pressed her to tell him her honest opinion because she didn’t dare lie to her dearest friend. And two, if that vampire showed up and did his vampire-voodoo-hypnotism on her, she might do something to hurt Dao. She couldn’t risk either.

It didn’t take her long to pack her suitcase. She made sure she had her very best underwear—a girl never knew what might happen on a road trip with a sexy college professor—and appropriate professional attire for their meeting tomorrow with the expert. Her stomach was jumpier than normal, so not wanting to risk upchucking in poor Ric’s car, she took a double dose of motion sickness medicine. Ready at last, and feeling the effect of the medicine, she flopped her weary body on the sofa and waited for Ric to show up.

By the time he arrived, ten to eight—she loved a man who was punctual—she was feeling really good. Like had-a-couple-of-Long-Islands good. Who would’ve thought a couple of little bitter pills would do that to a girl? She knew she had a goofy smile plastered over her face when she opened the door to let him in, but she couldn’t seem to shake it off.

“Hi?” Ric half said, half asked as he eyeballed her. “Are you ready?”

“Yeppers, as ready as I’ll ever be.” She thrust her overnight bag at him, then bent to pick up her suitcase.

“I see you packed like a typical female,” he said on a chuckle.

“You know, life isn’t fair. You guys can get away with a clean pair of underwear and socks, a little deodorant, and a toothbrush whereas we women have to pack half our bathroom with us when we go anywhere.” She swiped a second time at the suitcase, which seemed to be sliding just out of her reach when she moved. “I swear I did the best I could.” Not used to wearing heels, she stumbled when her ankle turned. Fortunately, there was a tall, very solid man standing next to her to keep her from falling over.

Sort of leaning against him, she tested her twisted ankle; then when it passed muster, she righted herself.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You seem a little…” He let his words trail off unfinished.

“A little what? A little nervous? Yes, I’m nervous. Who wouldn’t be? I’m going on a three-hour road trip with you, for God’s sake. Look at you. You’re like a movie star or something.” She reached up and combed her fingers through his hair. “Look at this. Soft as silk, with sunny highlights. The color makes you look like a sexy beach bum. I can barely contain myself.”

The left side of his mouth curled up into a naughty smile. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“And this body! What can I say about that? Sheesh! It’s absolutely perfect. I bet there’s a puddle of drool around you wherever you go. Women have to go absolutely gaga for you.” She wrapped her hands around a thick bicep and squeezed. “Rock hard. Yummy.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever seen any puddles, though I appreciate the compliment. At least none that could be attributed to drooling women. Uh, did you happen to hit the happy sauce a little early today?”

“Oh, heck no. I don’t touch the stuff. Hate feeling out of control, if you know what I mean.”

“Sure, I understand completely.” He caught her chin in his hand and tipped it up until she met his gaze.

“Plus I’ve been told I act like a complete moron when I’m loaded….” Sophie stared into eyes the color of honey graham crackers. She was hungry. “What’re you doing?”

“Checking something. They’re a little dilated.”

Dilated? “What?”

“Your pupils.”

“Oh.” That kind of dilated. She giggled. “I was beginning to wonder. Thought maybe you worked a second job in a maternity ward somewhere. I suppose that’s a silly thing to think.” She giggled some more.

“You’re acting a little giddy too.” His cute eyebrows marched to the center of his forehead as he lowered his head.

Oh boy! He was going to kiss her! Her girly parts started doing the wave as she closed her eyes and puckered up. But after waiting for several excruciating seconds, she blinked open her eyes. He was still studying her, like a specimen in his lab. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t smell anything.”

“What did you expect to smell? I brushed my teeth and used mouthwash. Minty fresh, not mediciney. Smell.” She blew a gentle stream into his face.

“Yes, I already did. Thanks.”

“Since I passed the eye exam and breath test, are we ready to leave?”

“I guess.” Ric took the heavy suitcase from Sophie and held the door until she was outside. Her ankle twisted once more when she took the porch steps a little too quick. And this time it smarted something fierce. She let out a little yelp and hobbled to the car.

“I swear I’m not usually this clumsy,” she explained to a worried-looking Ric as she flopped into the passenger seat. “I’m not used to walking in heels, would rather wear a pair of tennies any day, but I figured I should look nice for you.”

“I appreciate the thought.” He shut the door and rounded the rear of the car, tossing her suitcase into the trunk. That minor detail taken care of, he took his seat and started the car. “Okay, off we go.”

“Yippee. I feel like I’m back in college again.” She rolled down the window a crack. Even though Ric’s car was probably twice the size of hers, it still felt mighty cramped in there. Little frissons of awareness skittered over her skin, making her warm. She was thankful for the medicine, which seemed to be working beautifully. “By the way, I figure I can tell you this. I had my very first face-to-face—er, rather face-to-leg—experience with a real-live vampire last night.”

“You did?” He looked surprised, maybe even a little alarmed. His gaze flew from where it should be—the road full of traffic—to her face. “When?”

“When I was sleeping. Eyes on the road, please.” When he returned his attention to where it belonged, she added, “I spent the night over at Dao’s. His icky snakewoman wife sicced some creepy vampire on me while I was sleeping. I’m sure of it.”

“What happened?”

“He bit me, that’s what happened.”

Once again, his gaze flew from the road. “Where?”

“On the leg. It hurt like a son of a gun.” She didn’t add the other part, the part about her having lost all control and succumbing to a bite-induced orgasm. He didn’t need to know about that. No one needed to know about that. Heck, she wished she didn’t know about that.

“Shit!” He slammed his flattened palms against the steering wheel. Hard.

“It’s okay. I swear. Healed up nicely. Though I’m a little scared I might hurt Dao now and I still have the burn marks from where he tied me—” She cut off the rest of the sentence when Ric glared at her. For some reason, she had the impulse to defend herself. “I swear I didn’t enjoy it. Not one little bit. I called him all kinds of bad names but he wouldn’t stop. One of the few people I’ve ever met who actually listened when their mom told them that names don’t hurt. I guess real vampires aren’t particularly sensitive.”

Ric grumbled some incoherent something or other.

“Tim told me I’ll be like the guy’s zombie or something, won’t be able to resist his commands. Do you know anything about that? Do you know anything about vampires?”

“It’s possible. Depends upon how much venom he injected.”

“Venom? Like a snake?”

“Exactly.” He glanced at her again, but only for a split second. “This could explain your erratic behavior tonight.”

“That, or the four pills I took for motion sickness. I get awfully sick when I take long car rides.”

“Ah…so that’s it.”

“Am I acting that loopy?”

“Loopy, no. Clumsy, yes. And you’re being rather…blunt. Whatever you took, it seems to act as a truth serum for you.”

“Oh dear. I’ll have to keep that in mind next time. I don’t know what’s worse, unloading all my deepest, darkest secrets on you or unloading my lunch.”

He grimaced.

“Yeah. I’m with you on that. The lunch is probably more embarrassing and definitely more stinky. Just promise me you won’t repeat anything I tell you to anyone.”

“You have my word.”

“Excellent. Now before I confess anything more embarrassing than my lust for your yummy bod, I think I’d better take a little nappy.”

“No way. I’m having fun talking to you like this. Stay awake and keep me company.” His words were a demand, but his lighthearted tone tempered them. And the smile that accompanied the words, well, that did her in.

“Okay,” she relented on a sigh.

“Let’s see how much we can learn about each other in three hours, shall we?”

“I’m game. There’s lots of stuff I’d like to know about you.” Like what you look like naked. “Can I ask the first question?”

He chuckled like he’d heard her thoughts. Good thing he couldn’t. “Certainly. Shoot.”

She studied his profile for a second. It was a very nice profile. His forehead was neither too heavy like a Neanderthal’s nor soft like a woman’s. His nose was long and straight, his jaw strong. He couldn’t have heard my thoughts. That’s impossible. Then again, I used to think vampires weren’t real and now I know better. “Um…okay, for starters, what’s your middle name?”

“Middle name?” The one eyebrow she could see jumped up an inch or two.

“Yeah. I think a person’s middle name tells a lot about them, sometimes more than their first name.”

“My middle name is Grant.”

“Ric Grant?” she repeated. The sounds kind of got stuck in her throat. “Nothing personal, but that’s a little…I don’t know…short. Hard even. Ric Grant, Ric Grant, Ric Grant.”

“Actually, my full name is Alric Grant Vogel. Grant was my grandfather’s middle name.”

“Alric Grant.” The sounds flowed from her tongue nice and smooth, like his silky hair. Silky like his low, rumbly voice too. Silky like the skin on his chest probably felt too…“Mmmm. That’s better.”

“What about yours?”

“Sophie Elizabeth Hahn. I don’t think there’s an Elizabeth in my family anywhere. Knowing my mother, she picked it because she liked the way it sounded. I’m very different from my mother in most ways, but when it comes to names, the sounds—or specifically how they flow—are most important.”

“Very interesting. So, in what ways are you different from her?”

“Uh-uh! My turn again. No fair sneaking in an extra question,” she scolded. She made sure her tone remained light and playful, though. “Do you have any brothers and sisters?” She lifted her bottled water to her mouth.

“I was the youngest of twelve.”

“Twelve! Ack!” She almost spewed a mouthful of water all over the windshield. “Your poor, poor mother.”

He shrugged, so like a man. No respect for what a toll pregnancy took on a woman’s body. “I had friends in even larger families.”

“Where the heck did you live? Out in the burbs where I grew up, two, three kids tops was the average. My mother had five and we were looked at as the neighborhood freaks.”

“I was born and raised in Germany.”

“Germany? Oooh! How cool! I’ve never been to Europe but I’d love to go there someday. I’ve heard Germany is beautiful.”

“It is. I’ve been there many times. I like to go home a couple times a year.”

“A couple times? Each and every year?”

“Sure,” he said, like it was no bigger deal than going to the car wash.

“Holy smokes! I’d be happy if I got there once in my lifetime. That’s what I get for majoring in psychology in college. Can’t do a gosh darn thing with a psychology degree unless you have at least a master’s. Do me a favor, would ya, stash me in your suitcase next time you go.”

Ric regarded her with those honey-hued eyes of his and said, “Sure.” His expression was so serious, she wondered if he didn’t mean it. And the way he pursed his lips just so made her wonder a bunch of other things, like what they might feel like skimming along her stomach or inner thigh.

Sophie swallowed a sigh and glanced out the window. It wasn’t dark yet. At this time of year it didn’t get dark until well past eight o’clock. But the sky to the west was a pretty combination of purple and salmony pink. The freeway was bordered on both sides by flat, green farmland. “Um…I lost track. Whose turn is it?” There. The flame burning between her legs was down to a mild simmer. She had a feeling it wouldn’t stay that way for long, though.

“I think it’s my turn,” he said, without looking from the road. “I’d like to change gears. I want to know about your friend Dao.”

“Oh, okay. Let’s see, we’ve been friends since childhood but lost touch with each other after high school. He reappeared my senior year in college, briefly dated my roommate. After they broke up, we stayed in touch. He’s an only child and his middle name is—”

“No, I want to know why you two were never lovers.”

“My, my, you don’t beat around the bush, do you? And you called me blunt. Did you pop a few pills too?”

Ric glanced her way and gave her a very non-apologetic grin. “What can I say, I’m a guy.”

“That you are.” Sophie pushed on his cheek until he was facing front again. “As the guy steering the car, you must look forward, please.”

He humphed her and grumbled, “I was driving long before you were born.”

“How’s that possible?” she asked.

“What’s possible?”

“Your driving since before I was born. That would make you like fortysomething. You don’t look that old.”

“Why thanks. But I don’t have to answer that question.”

“Sure you do.”

“No, I don’t. You haven’t answered mine yet.”

“Darn. Okay, Dao and I agreed a long time ago that it would be icky to sleep together so we haven’t. There. Now my turn. How old are—”

“But you didn’t answer my question; you basically restated it. Why did you decide it would be icky? Forgive me, but icky isn’t a word I’d use to describe becoming intimate with you.”

Awww! How sweet! “I don’t know. I guess we knew too much about each other.”

“Then maybe we should stop the question-and-answer session, yes? I wouldn’t want you to decide you know too much about me too.”

Does that mean he wants to sleep with me? Whoo-hoo! “No! We can’t stop the question-and-answer session yet. Not until you tell me how old you are.”

“Take a guess.”

Not that game. She hated that game. She was always very wrong. Insultingly wrong. She didn’t want to insult Ric. Not when things were going so well. “No, you tell me. I don’t want to guess wrong and owe you an apology or something.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? Do you have an age hang-up?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Then just fess up.” She lifted her water bottle to her mouth again and took a big mouthful.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Sure I would. You’re a very honest and believable man. I know that already.”

“Fine. I’m three hundred eighty-six years old.”

This time she did spew the water all over the windshield.

Chapter 6

“Three hundred? Did you say three hundred?” Sophie repeated. “How can that be? That would mean you were born…like in the seventeen hundreds.” She laughed because what else could she do? “What a joker you are.”

“Actually, I’m not joking and your math’s a little off. I was born the year of our Lord sixteen hundred nineteen.”

“Yeah. Right. And I’m the queen of England.”

He bowed his head. “Your Grace.”

“Why are you lying to me? I hate liars. I mean, so I was a little pushy. I don’t deserve such blatant teasing. I’d be happy to tell you how old I am. I’ll be twenty-six this July.”

“Hmmm…that makes us three hundred forty years apart in age. Do large age differences bother you?” he asked, sounding serious as death.

She scowled. “Shut up.”

“I’m not joking. I really am three hundred eighty-six years old. Okay, I’m actually three hundred eighty-five. But my birthday is next month and considering my age, a month doesn’t make much of a difference.”

“Are you trying to creep me out? Because if you are, it’s working. How could you be almost four hundred years old? Huh? How is that possible? It’s not. And that’s why I know you’re lying,” she rambled to no one in particular. When he reached out to give her shoulder a reassuring touch, she shrunk away. “No touchy, buster. Like I said, I have a thing against liars.”

Ric steered the car off the road. The tires skidded in the gravel at the shoulder as he brought it to a stop. Then he turned his entire upper body to face her. “This shouldn’t be too much of a stretch for you to believe, considering the story you told me about last night.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“No.”

“Then what are you trying to say?” Suddenly feeling very cold, she crossed her arms over her chest.

“I’m trying to tell you that I’m a member of a very rare race.”

“Huh? What race?” She scooted closer to the door. Suddenly Alric Grant Vogel, stone fox, was resembling a wolf in fox’s clothing. Was he on the bad guy’s side too? Or just a nut job?

“A race of people who have their roots in an ancient place that was destroyed a long time ago.”

“You’re not making any sense. Use some terms I can understand or I’m outta here. This is getting too weird for words.”

“Okay. How about vampire? I know you recognize that word, although it’s not my first choice of terms. It’s really a misnomer. A very general term to describe a number of races, all very different from each other.”

“You? A vampire?”

“Yes.” He looked dead serious.

“Aw, nuts! No.”

“Yes.”

“Darn it! I knew you were too good to be real. Gorgeous, intelligent—”

“Thanks.” His expression brightened.

She smacked his shoulder. “I didn’t mean that as a compliment. There’s an unspoken ‘but’ there.”

“What but? But what?”

“But…but you’re certifiably insane,” she mumbled.

“I assure you, I’m perfectly sane.”

“I’ve never met a nut who thought they were nutty.” She released the door lock.

“Where are you going?”

“I think I’ll take a walk. A long walk.”

“And you’re calling me the nut? We’re sitting in the middle of nowhere, on a long stretch of highway with nothing but miles of farmland all around us.”

“That’s okay. I could use the exercise. I ate a big dinner.” Sophie pushed the door open, but before she could get out of the car, Ric caught her left arm in a grip as tight as a sprung bear trap. She glared at the offending hand, letting anger hide the panic blossoming in her chest. “Let me go.”

“Not yet. Please, let me explain.”

“Let me go. You can explain in the relative safety of the open space outside the car.” She made sure to emphasize the word outside.

“Fine.” He released her.

She stepped out of the car and slammed the door. Darn it! Now what? She had a friend being drained of blood by his wife, a real vampire. She needed the shield and spear to free him from that sticky situation before his wife drained him dry. She couldn’t be trusted anywhere near her friend, now that some other stupid vampire had bitten her. And now she had a traveling companion who was claiming to be a vampire himself—or some such thing. What the heck did he mean by race of people?

We are descendents of the Atlantians, his voice said in her head as he rounded the front of the car. A small number of our people survived the Great Calamity but our land and history were struck from the pages of history, a great tragedy to humankind. We were successful in curing a great many diseases that still plague humans to this day.

“You can talk in my head. Does that mean you can hear my thoughts too?”

“Yes.”

“Every one of them?”

“Pretty much.”

That fact made her more uncomfortable than the part about his people being from some place that supposedly never existed.

“I do try to respect your privacy. I don’t strive to hear your every thought.”

“Thanks…I think.” She leaned back against the car, tipped her head until it rested against the car’s roof, and stared up at the starry sky. When had it gotten dark outside?

“Then you believe me? You don’t doubt my sanity any longer?”

“I’m beginning to doubt my own. Yours? Well, that’s yet to be determined, and I admit it’s not my place to decide.”

“But you do believe you were visited by what you called a vampire last night?”

“Yes. But I saw him with my own eyes. He did things to me, things no man has ever done before.”

Ric gave her a wounded look.

Was he jealous? Why did that make her feel all warm and happy inside? “Not pleasant things. Oh no, not the least bit enjoyable.”

“I know you’re lying.” His expression darkening with each step, he walked nearer until his chest was a mere fraction of an inch from hers. She could feel her nipples straining against the silk cups of her bra and thin cotton of her shirt. Traitors!

Down, you two, she scolded. There won’t be any action for you—not now. A shame. I had such high hopes. “And he came to me after dark, like a real vampire. You, on the other hand, walk in broad daylight like it’s nothing. You can’t be a vampire.”

“There’s an explanation for that.” Ric caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger and held it. His eyes dark now, as dark and glum as his expression, he stared into Sophie’s eyes. “He’ll come back for you.”

“Who?”

“The one I see in your memory. The one with the dark hair.”

“Why would he do that? I figured he’d been sicced on me to make me sleep in so I’d miss Dao’s doctor’s appointment and snakewoman could have her way with him. Or to make me hurt Dao somehow. But I figured if I stayed away from Dao’s house—”

“No. I can smell his mark on you. Whether he was sent to ruin your plans or not, he has decided you are his.”

“Well, I do have some say in that, don’t I? Because he wasn’t my type, even if he was—” She stared at Ric’s lips as he glared at her. So soft, even when twisted into a troubled frown. If only he didn’t think he was one of those, a bloodsucker. A vampire. Like snakewoman and the dark man last night. How could she possibly be attracted to him now?

With a slight shift in his weight, he leaned forward and pressed his body against hers. Her knees all but gave out.

Okay, so she was still attracted to him. When it came to chemistry, logic plain didn’t prevail.

“There is only one way to save you,” he said through those scrumptious lips.

“Oh yeah? More garlic? Come to think of it, why didn’t that work?”

“Old wives’ tale. Garlic won’t keep away a real vampire. No, the real solution’s quite simple, actually.”

“Simple? For some reason,” she said, breathless and squirming thanks to the brick wall that was his body being so up close and personal with hers, “I’m having a hard time believing that.”

He lowered his mouth until those adorable lips were a fraction of an inch from hers. His gaze snared hers. “When will you cease to doubt me?”

“When you start telling me something that’s believable,” she answered as she struggled to keep her wits about her. They were running for the high hills, taking her willpower with them.

She let her eyelids fall closed and did what every atom in her body longed for—she kissed him. She realized almost immediately that her intended semichaste kiss was going to end up far from harmless.

Even though she was being a good girl and leaving her tongue where it belonged, Ric obviously wasn’t going to give her the same respect. Never mind that it was her choice to open her mouth to let him in.

Lip to lip and nipple to chest with the sexiest man on the planet. Well, a girl could resist for only so long.

Sophie figured she’d lasted at least a second or two. That was darn good.

The moment she opened to him, his tongue swooped into her mouth. Lips, tongue, teeth, they all did things that made Sophie’s knees buckle. Thankfully, before she slid to the ground, a couple of strong hands caught her by the waist and held her up.

Figuring she owed him a little taste of what he was giving her in retribution, she kissed him back with equal fervor, holding nothing back. And tossing some proverbial gas to the fire, she let her hands roam over his chest. Through the material, she felt the tight nubs of his nipples and teased them with her fingertips. As a reward, she received a throaty groan.

His response only acted to crank up the heat in her own body, specifically to the parts south of her waist. She tipped her hips, literally grinding the aching parts against his thigh. Naturally, that wasn’t even close to enough. God help her, she wanted him to touch her there, to stroke away the burn, to fill her. Vampire or not. Imaginary vampire or not.

She moaned into their joined mouths.

He broke the kiss for a split second, stared into her eyes, then pressed the lightest tickly kisses to the corners of her mouth. “Then you are in agreement?”

“Huh?” she asked, running her hands down the center of his flat stomach in search of some lumpier terrain. “Agreement to what?”

“You agree you need to become mine. To save you from a fate worse than death.”

“If that isn’t the most original pickup line I’ve ever heard.” She gave the firm bulge at the front of his pants a pat.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He scooped her up into his arms and she squealed in surprise.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you away from the road. I assumed you’d prefer a little privacy but if I was wrong…” He let the rest of the words trail off, but he didn’t exactly leave the sentence incomplete. The rest was spoken by nonverbal means—some waggling eyebrows, a silent suggestion in those golden eyes that practically melted her, and a cockeyed grin.

“No, no. This girl’s not into exhibitionism. Sorry to disappoint.”

“I will never be disappointed with you.” He effortlessly carried her to the rear of the car and with one hand opened the trunk.

“What are you doing? You weren’t thinking of…of going in there?”

“Heck no.” Still holding her, his knee serving as a temporary support for her bottom, he reached down and pulled something from the trunk’s dark interior. Then he slammed the trunk closed and turned toward the field. She smiled and wrapped an arm around his neck and nuzzled his chest. He smelled wonderful, his cologne spicy and masculine. Underlying the tangy scent lingered his own more subdued aroma. It wasn’t as powerful, but it was far more intoxicating. She practically hyperventilated trying to capture that scent in her nose.

Ric set her on her feet, shook out a blanket on the ground, and then kneeling, pulled her down to him. “My people’s process of claiming a wife is a little more complicated than the process humans go through. There are stages of marriage. There are no laws governing how many we must take.” He kissed her silly again until she’d almost forgotten her objection to his words. Almost.

“Wife?” she said around his tongue, which wasn’t exactly easy.

He reclaimed his tongue from her mouth. “Yes, wife. How else would you become mine?” He pulled off one of her shoes, then the other.

Sophie didn’t try to stop him. “I didn’t realize…I mean, you seem to be a very nice man—er, vampire—but wife? I wasn’t planning on making any major life-changing decisions on this trip. We’re supposed to be tracking down a shield and spear to save my friend Dao from a bad marriage. Why would I go rushing into a marriage with someone I hardly know—a man who claims to be a vampire, to top it all off?”

“Believe me, you won’t be rushing into anything.” He removed her other shoe. “We may remain at the first stage indefinitely. That would be okay with me. It will also serve your purpose.”

Again, she didn’t stop him. Nor did she stop him when he pulled off her socks. Having him see her bare feet was no big deal. Of course, when he started to tug at her top, she had to put up a little resistance. It was only right since she was a respectable woman.

“I do respect you, Sophie,” he said, just before he pulled her shirt off.

She crossed her arms over her now nearly bare torso. Only her satin bra remained. “Quit poking around in my thoughts. That’s not fair. I can’t do the same.”

“You will be able to once we’ve become one, for a few moments. You will see soon.”

“I could appreciate that benefit.” She caught his hands at her waist, before he’d unbuckled her belt. “Hold up a minute. I’m practically naked and you’re still fully clothed. That’s not right.”

“Oh. Well, far be it for me to be unfair.” He yanked off his shoes, then slipped off his socks and stuffed them in his shoes. When he went for the hem of his shirt, Sophie stopped him.

“May I?” she asked.

“Absolutely.” He lifted his arms in a show of surrender.

She curled her fingertips around the bottom hem of his pullover and pushed it up, revealing some of the most cut abdominal muscles she’d ever seen. That scrumptious sight was followed by an even better one when she uncovered his chest.

It was smooth, muscular, and covered with only the slightest sprinkling of crisp hair at the center. Two small pink nipples poked out at her, beckoning her touch. She traced each areola with an index finger and received a sharp gasp as her reward.

She smiled at his covered head, then took advantage of the fact that his shirt was inside out covering him from the neck up to tease each pebbled nipple with her tongue and teeth.

He didn’t let her get away with that. He yanked the shirt off, tossed it on the blanket, and playfully pushed her onto her back. “That isn’t fair,” he growled.

“What? I didn’t do anything that any other red-blooded American woman wouldn’t do.”

“That’s beside the point. Now, off with your pants.”

Sophie shuddered—and not because she was scared. “Are you going to spank me?”

“Not unless you want me to.” Ric grappled with her belt for all of three seconds before he had it unfastened. It took even less time for him to unbutton and unzip her pants. They came off before she drew her next breath. Granted, that had to have been a lifetime, since she was struggling mighty hard to make her insides cooperate.

Why was it when she got around Ric her autonomic nervous system shut down? In contrast, the other part, the part that registered sensations, like taste and touch and smell—she inhaled and sighed—seemed to be working just fine, maybe too well. She wondered if, since he was a biology teacher, he’d have an answer to that conundrum. When he slipped her panties down over her hips, she decided she’d have to ask him later. If she wasn’t in a coma.

Within a couple of stuttering heartbeats, she found herself lying completely naked under the heated gaze of one hot vampire wannabe and a million, zillion stars.

She was dizzy, hot, and tense. There wasn’t a part of her body that didn’t scream for his touch, even the soles of her feet. Luckily, he seemed willing to oblige. Still dressed from the waist down, he kneeled before her and lifted one leg. He massaged her foot and she emitted a sigh of contentment.

“You like?” he asked, with one eyebrow quite a bit higher than the other. One side of his mouth quirked too. It seemed he had issues making both sides of his face do the same thing.

“I’ve never had a foot massage.”

“Did you know that according to Eastern medicine, there are points on your feet and ankles that are directly connected to erogenous zones?”

“You’re joking.”

“Not entirely.” He stroked a small area on her big toe. “Like here.”

She gasped as a rush of warmth gathered between her legs. Score one for the Eastern medicine guys. Course, she couldn’t be positively certain it was his touch that produced that yummy effect or that smoldering gaze of his. Could be both.

His gentle strokes wandered up her ankle and she squirmed as her more delicate parts heated more. By the time he reached her thigh, she was a sweating, trembling ball of gelatinous goo.

No man had ever done that to her. She was practically begging for him to make love to her before he’d even touched her genitals. And when his hand slipped between her thighs, his fingertips grazing her folds, well, that was nearly the end of her.

She cried out into the night. Her voice sounded small and hollow in the open field. He lifted his hands to her knees and gently pulled them apart.

“I want to taste you.”

“Like, drink my blood?” she asked without thinking. His face was nowhere near her neck, but then again the real vampire hadn’t bitten her on the neck either.

“No, I want to taste you here.” He swiped a long, tapered finger down her slit.

Her spine arched automatically at the invasion. Rather than draw closed, her knees parted wider, giving him all the access his heart desired.

And he took it, greedily. His hair tickled her thighs as he tipped his head down and took the first shy taste of her with his warm velvety tongue. That first taste was followed by lots more, and not so shy. His tongue, teeth, lips moved over her, licking, tasting, teasing until every muscle inside her body was tied into tight knotted coils. She trembled all over, writhing under him while he licked, nipped, and kissed her to oblivion and back. Just as she was at the cusp of release he stopped.

She blinked open her eyes. “Why?” she asked between panting breaths.

“It’s time now.” He unzipped his pants and pushed them down his long legs. He kicked them off, then took care of his snug black underwear.

His erection was something to behold. She burned with the need to feel it deep inside.

“Soon, my love. Very soon.”

“Now,” she begged, knowing if he made her wait another second, she’d die.

Chapter 7

Ric fought with his body’s demand for instant gratification, even though he felt like he’d be engulfed in flames at any second. This was their first time. He owed Sophie more than a quick roll in a field. This was the woman of his dreams, the one he’d waited almost four hundred years to find. There wasn’t a single cell in his body that didn’t know this for a fact, which was making it doubly hard to go slow, never mind wait until they were in a more suitable setting, like a five-star hotel suite.

“My sweet. So open and willing,” he murmured.

“Yes. So, how about getting to the good part here? Before I expire?”

He cringed. She couldn’t know how her words ignited his blood. How much he wanted to part her thighs and bury himself deep inside her with a single rough thrust.

She wrapped a soft hand around his erection and he bit back a cry of heated agony. Her hand slid up and down his length as her lush lips pressed against the head. With each swipe of her tongue, he felt his self-control slip. When she opened her mouth and took him inside, it completely snapped.

With a growl, he pushed her onto her back, lifted her thighs, and buried himself in her slick heat. Immediately, his head fell back. He felt his canines elongating as he drove into her over and over. Her smooth, slick walls gripped him tightly, sending him hurling toward climax. Afraid he was going too quickly, he slowed the pace of his thrusting, hoping it would keep him from losing complete control.

Sophie was lying under him, her eyes closed, her beautiful breasts rising and falling with each heavy breath. Her skin had taken on a silver hue in the light of the moon. Silver and perfect. Her body was soft and open and giving, pleasing him in every way. Her skin was like satin, smooth and warm. Her sweet scent lingered in his nose as he inhaled. Her long hair had fallen loose from the ponytail it had been tied into and was fanned out around her head like a halo.

Their bodies working together, moving in the primal rhythm of lovemaking, he bent low and inhaled, catching the scent of her shampoo. Floral. Feminine. As he shifted lower, his chest grazed against her pebbled nipples. Her sharp intake of breath sounded in his ears. He slid his hands between their bodies and closed them over her breasts, kneading them, pulling her nipples and rolling them between his thumbs and forefingers.

Her soft moan drove him crazy. Despite his wish to go slow for her, he couldn’t. Once again, his thrusts came fast and hard. She writhed underneath him, pulled his hands from her breasts, moving them lower until they rested on the crisp hair above the point of their joining. His fingertip found the target she intended for him to find and stroked it, while he listened to the silent cries of ecstasy in her head.

She was close and so was he. Their minds were fused, their thoughts one, just as their bodies were. He finally found the closeness he’d hungered for. For that brief instant, he was whole. Mind, body, spirit. And it was bliss, a profound pleasure he wanted to last forever.

Together, they found their release. Their voices melded as they cried out in ecstasy to the stars. When it was over and her spirit was pulled from his grasp, the crisp slap of reality stung him.

This was all he could ever have, fleeting moments of wholeness, of sheer joy, followed by hours, days, years, eons of emptiness. It was the only way it could be. She would never take the final step, become his bride in all ways. He had to make sure of it. He would only allow her to take the first one, to protect her.

It took at least an hour—okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration—for Sophie’s heart rate to slow to the normal pace and the tingles to stop. Finally feeling herself, she propped herself up on one elbow and gazed down at the very yummy nude man lying beside her.

That had been the most incredible sex in her life, way beyond anything she’d ever dreamed of. It wasn’t because Ric had used any special techniques or crazy positions. It was because of the unique connection she’d felt with him. Like they’d joined more than bodies.

She’d never experienced anything that intense before in her life and although she’d never been the kind to crave sex, she found herself aching all over for the chance to experience that unbelievable connection again with him. It was as if their minds had melded, their spirits. She didn’t just hear his thoughts; she felt his feelings.

She blindly stared at his chest, tracing the lines of his developed muscles as she thought about their lovemaking until she blinked back to the present and actually saw him again. His skin was a cool silver in the light of the moon. Smooth and flawless with the exception of a very large scar on the right side of his abdomen. It cut a jagged line down to his hip. She softly traced it, wondering how he’d gotten it.

She let her head drop onto his chest, realizing after a minute or two that there was no steady rise and fall with each breath. “Are you okay?” she asked, giving him a little shake. She lifted her head to look at his face.

His eyes were closed but the corners of his mouth were lifted into a contented smile. “Yep. Just fine.”

“You aren’t breathing.”

“I don’t have to. Remember?”

“Oh yes. How could I forget? You think you’re a vampire. Or would you prefer some other term? You said that was too general a term. Son of Darkness maybe? Bloodsucker? Nightstalker?”

“Mmmm. No. I’m not a big fan of the dark thing. How about Perfect One?”

“Perfect?” You got that right. “That’s a good one. Ha! I laugh at that. Perfect. Oh, you’re funny. I’d say Conceited One fits you better.” She laughed and slapped his chest. “What do I call you? I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

She smacked him a second time. “You know, you don’t have to claim to be a vampire because you’re jealous or anything. Yeah, when that vampire bit me, something happened. But I swear, I don’t like him. Not at all. I don’t have a vampire fetish. I swear. You’ve got to believe me.”

“I do believe you.” Laughing, he snatched her into the tightest naked bear hug of her life.

“Can’t. Breathe.”

“If you can talk, you can breathe.” He kissed her cheek, her eyes, her jaw, then released her and sat up.

Sitting did some very yummy things to his abs, and lifting his arms to stretch did some very yummy things to his shoulders as well. He smiled down at her as she openly goggled him.

“Shouldn’t we get going?” she asked, tipping her head to check the road. It would be her luck that while she’d been getting her jollies in the field their car had been towed. Luckily, by raising up on her knees, she could see it was still there. “Wouldn’t want to end up stranded out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“Ummm. That might not be such a bad thing.”

“You’re terrible. My friend’s near death and you want to hang out in the cornfields and frolic.”

He cringed. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Thank you. He means everything to me, is the closest I have to family anymore. He’s helped me through some tough times. Now it’s my turn. But I don’t have much time, not if what Tim said is right. It’s killing me that we have to wait until tomorrow to meet with that lady. But it’s the best we can do.”

“You know, we still have the rest of tonight,” he teased, evidently trying to lift her suddenly drooping spirits. “Want to frolic a little more before we go?” He gave her a toothy grin that did indeed pull her out of her worry a bit.

“No.”

He looked injured.

“I mean, it was great. Beyond great, actually. But I’ll feel better when we get to Grand Rapids and know we’re ready for tomorrow. I do have one question.” She sat up and crawled over the blanket, gathering her clothes. “Um…” she said, not sure how to ask the question that was still hanging around the back of her mind. “Are we…am I…what did this mean tonight?”

His left eyebrow shot to the top of his forehead. “Mean?”

“You know. You said you’d have to make me your wife to keep me safe from that other guy. So, when we…you know…did that make us…make me yours forever?”

“Forever? No. Not at all. But it was good for me too. The best.” He patted her knee, then pulled on his underwear.

Her face flamed. She stared at her knee, then glared at him as she yanked on her underwear and jeans. “What the heck was that?”

“Reassurance?” He pulled on his pants and stood to buckle his belt.

“No. That was not reassurance. It sounded…” Egotistical. Demeaning. “…nothing like reassurance.”

“Sorry. Let me try this again. You asked what tonight meant, in reference to my earlier remark about protecting you from the dark one. My clan has a very long, very complicated process for marriage. Mainly because compared to the standard human marriage, ours last a whole lot longer.” He pulled his shirt over his head, poked his arms through the sleeves, then pulled it down over his yummy stomach. “Life span, you know. And there is no such thing as divorce. So you can see why we must make sure we don’t make any hasty decisions.”

“Okay,” she drawled, fastening her bra. “You did mention something along those lines earlier but you didn’t give me any details.”

“You’ll get more details if they are required. As I said, we may only take this first step. It will counter his venom without binding either of us in a relationship we aren’t ready for. I have no need to go further.”

She pulled on her shirt, then pants. “Then neither do I. Sex, eh? That’s all it took? I mean, that was amazing. Incredible. Out of this world. But it’ll protect me from that other guy? So I don’t need to be afraid of becoming that other guy’s zombie and turning ax murderer? Why does this sound like some very convoluted way to get a girl into bed?”

“It’s not. And I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Oh, I did. You’re still hanging on to that vampire thing, are you?”

“Yes. You’ll see I’m telling the truth. Soon enough.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means you’ll have your proof.”

“Tell me then, I’d like to know more about you, about being a vampire.”

“No problem. I can tell you anything you like about my clan, my life, my history. What do you want to know?”

Sophie stared at him for a moment. What did a girl ask a guy who believed he’d lived for nearly four hundred years? Should she ask him about what it was really like living so long ago? Or for some obscure historical fact that would prove he was telling the truth? A fact she might later reveal to the world so she might win some kind of award. Unfortunately, only one question came to mind. And it wasn’t the stuff of a brilliant mind.

She stated it anyway: “I want to hear about all those things but first I have a silly question.”

“Silly? Okay.”

“If you’re a real vampire, why aren’t you all dark and broody like the ones I’ve read about? In books vampires are always tortured souls.”

“Oh yes. Broody.” He sighed and tied his shoe. “I’ve never been good at broodiness. It was the only class I failed in vampire school.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

Ric grinned.

Sophie stuffed her foot into her shoe and pretended to be more insulted than she felt. She liked this playful side of him. A lot. She liked the teasing, the banter. “Don’t make fun of me. I didn’t make the rules. Those other people did.”

“Oh? What other people would that be?” he asked as he tied his other shoe.

“The ones who wrote the vampire books. They must’ve interviewed some real vampires, right?”

“Maybe. I kind of doubt it, though. If what you believe is any indication of what they’ve written—garlic, daylight, broodiness—they couldn’t have interviewed a member of any of the North American clans. I wonder if I contacted them, they’d appreciate my setting them straight.”

“Your ego has to be the size of Texas.” She laughed and, for kicks, threw her other shoe at him. As she expected, he ducked and it flew into the grass behind him. She dashed past him to find it. “Stop teasing me. You know I’m right. North American vampire or whatever, you’re supposed to be tortured and brooding because you have no choice but to drink blood to survive.” She scooped up her shoe and plopped onto the blanket to put it on.

He leaned over her, nibbled on her neck, giving her a severe case of goose bumps. “And why would that make me tortured? I happen to enjoy blood.”

Her gaze shot to his face. He wasn’t serious, was he? She leaned away. “Eww! Because…eww! How can you say you enjoy drinking blood? Oh my God, that’s gross. Have I told you that blood makes me sick? I can’t stand to look at even a drop.”

“It’s easy to say. I enjoy drinking blood.” He traced a warm, wet line down the column of her neck, whispering, “It’s sweeter than the finest dessert, more satisfying than any food you could ever consume.” He nibbled her collarbone. “You have no idea what you’re missing.”

She shivered because he was driving her crazy. She shuddered because he was making her sick. She scrunched up her shoulder and shook her head because she didn’t know what to do about either. “No way. Can’t be better than ice cream—nothing is. Don’t you miss ice cream? And cake? And chocolate? Then again, if you were alive back in the sixteen hundreds, maybe they didn’t have those things back then?”

He answered with a lifted brow.

“There you go. You don’t know what you’re missing. I know I wouldn’t want to live without my Ben & Jerry’s. I’d be positively miserable being on a perpetual liquid diet.”

“Then it’s a good thing you aren’t one of my clan.” Ric took her hand in his and kissed each fingertip, one at a time. It was such a sweet gesture, such a sexy one too. Sophie reconsidered her stand on leaving right away. “Me. Personally, I find a human’s diet disgusting. Think about it for a moment. You consume rotted animal flesh for sustenance.”

That made the little tinglies halt midtingle. “Now you’re just getting sick. And to think that a second ago, you almost had me convinced to frolic some more. But not anymore. No way. The mood is gone after that comment. Animal flesh. You’re serious? You’d rather bite some poor, unsuspecting person and drain them of their life’s blood than eat a little chicken?”

“Yes, but it’s not sick and it’s not gross. Why can’t you see that? I don’t kill when I feed. My…er, donors…give more blood when they go to a blood bank. In contrast…what did you eat for dinner?”

“A hamburger.”

“Animal flesh,” he said, with a smug nod. “And the cow didn’t walk to the back pasture for a snack after he donated.”

“That’s assuming the fast-food joint I bought it from used real meat. You never know. Besides, it’s not rotted. At least it’d better not be! So, if you’re a real vampire, put on the dark, tortured hero face and quit looking so gosh darned happy,” she joked, actually kind of seeing his point. Maybe it wasn’t as gross as she thought.

For that retort, she was gently pushed back onto the ground and kissed to heaven and back.

She had to give him one thing: this so-called vampire knew what to do with that mouth of his, not to mention a few other parts.

And that made her happy. Very happy.

Ric stared down at Sophie, his heart slightly tight at the thought of what he was about to do. This was the only way he knew to protect her, yet he knew there were risks. The kind of risks he didn’t like to take without good cause.

Her trust in him warmed his cold heart until he almost felt complete. To imagine losing that—it was already too painful to consider.

“I must do one final thing before we can leave,” he whispered, watching her eyes for fear.

Her trust continued to pour into him through his fingertips. Like warm water fed into his veins, it trickled up his arms until it filled his chest. “Oh, okay. Well, whatever it is, I’ll just be over here waiting. I promise I won’t watch.”

“No. Not that.” He laughed. “We vampires don’t have to do those sorts of things.”

“Oh. Okay. Then what is it?”

“This…” He lifted her top and kissed her stomach. He unfastened her pants, pushed them out of his way and licked and nibbled his way down toward the junction of her thighs, then continued the trail over one hip. “There will be pain, but only a moment.”

“Pain?” She stiffened under him.

He sensed her panic and lifted his head to meet her gaze. “Nothing more than a pinprick.”

“Are you going to bite me? For real?”

“Yes, for real.” He smiled, displaying his lengthening canines.

Her eyes widened. “Oh! Wow! You weren’t kidding, were you? You are a real vampire. Aw, man. And here I’d sworn off vampires after the last time. I told you, I didn’t like it. Will it feel like it did with that other vampire?”

“Hopefully better.” Her reference to the other one, the one who had left his mark on her, left a very sour taste in his mouth. A taste that only the flavor of her blood, of her sweet essence, would kill.

“Okay,” she said on a sigh. She covered her face with her hands, her body tight under his touch.

“This is the only way.”

“I believe you. Although I would’ve preferred it if just having nookie had taken care of it.”

“Me too.” He held her gaze for a moment, then glanced down at her hip. His tongue, eager for the first taste, moistened his dry lips. Yet, even though his body hungered for her, he hesitated, knowing that the other’s venom—if powerful enough—could kill him. He hoped she’d attracted a lesser bloodline. Something that would give him little trouble. He knew with the first swallow the other’s bloodline would be revealed.

His jaw ached as his teeth finished elongating into their necessary length. When they were in position, he moistened her skin with his tongue, eased his fingers between her thighs to stroke her folds, and when she shuddered, on the brink of orgasm, he bit into her skin.

Her blood was sweeter than any he’d ever tasted. It flowed down his throat, but there the pleasure ended and the agony began. It was like swallowing a great ball of fire. It seared his insides, each swallow increasing the torture. Even so, he forced himself to keep drinking until trembling he nearly collapsed on the ground. Sophie lay below him, writhing in pleasure, her fingers tangled in his hair, the scent of her passion filling his nostrils. His name came from her parted lips just before she fell into a deep sleep.

He had his answer now. Sophie had found an Ancient One. That was both good and bad. Good because the venom wouldn’t destroy him—though it would make him suffer for several hours. Bad because it was extremely difficult to counteract. Sophie would need several doses of Ric’s venom to protect her from the Ancient One. And if the Ancient One returned to her and injected her with more, there was a good chance he would lose her to him.

He had to protect her, whatever it took. Even if she could never be his in all ways, he owed her that much for giving him what she had already.

Chapter 8

“Wake up, sweet thing. We’re here.”

Completely disoriented, like when she’d woken up from shoulder surgery a few years back, Sophie blinked open her eyes. She hadn’t even remembered falling asleep. Didn’t recall dreaming. Didn’t remember anything after their little roll in the grass. It was a very strange feeling. “Where are we?” Her voice sounded rough, gravelly, like she’d swallowed a bucket of crushed glass.

“The parking lot of our hotel on the east side of Grand Rapids. I’ve already checked us in, so we can go straight to the room. Here. Let me help you.” Ric took her elbow and gently eased her to her feet.

Her legs felt boneless, soft and wobbly, her head swimmy. She clung to a very strong, thick arm for support as she half walked, half stumbled inside the hotel. Even though her eyeballs bobbed around in her head like beach balls on the surf, she caught the occasional curious stare as she struggled to walk without looking like she’d downed a fifth of tequila. “What’s wrong with me? I feel awful.”

“Probably a combination of things. You’ll feel better in the morning.” He slid the card into the lock, then opened the door, and still supporting her with one arm, he flipped on the lights with his free hand. “There you are.” He walked her to the bed and then turned to head for the door. “Be right back with your luggage.”

“Okay.” Afraid to try her rubber legs, she stayed put while she waited for him to return. Thanks to a severe case of hotel room jitters—she always got nervous in hotels, even when she wasn’t visiting one with a man who made almost every vital organ in her body stop—she was restless but lacked the strength to pace properly. Instead, she was forced to sit and pick nervously at a thread that had pulled loose from the hem of her top.

Ric returned a few minutes later with both her suitcases. He set them on the bed, unzipped the bigger one, and started rummaging through its contents.

“What are you doing?” she asked, feeling a little invaded. No man—no matter how sexy, or adorable, or scrumptious, look at that tush!—had any business digging through her stuff, not that she had anything to hide. It was a matter of principle.

“Helping you get ready for bed,” he said, shuffling through her undies. He inspected one piece with particular interest.

Her cheeks the temperature of asphalt on a July afternoon in Arizona, she yanked the black lace garment out of his fist and wadded it up. “I can dress myself. Thanks.” She scooted to the suitcase, her head feeling like it was full of water, sloshing this way and that, and pulled out her cute matching shorts set. When he went for the red panties sitting on top, she gave him a warning glare. “Don’t even think about it, buddy. Beat it, so I can get dressed without dying from embarrassment.”

He leaned close. So close his breath warmed her neck. He whispered, “Did you forget? I already saw you naked.” Looking quite pleased, he nodded.

“Yeah, in dim moonlight. Not the glaring light of three hundred–watt incandescent bulbs that’ll illuminate every lump on my rear end like a freaking spotlight.” She jabbed a finger at the nearby lamp.

“I happen to like your rear end. Lumps or not.” He gave her a playful eyebrow waggle, then a wink. “Please. I need to help you. I’m not trying to get in your pants again…well, maybe I am a little bit. But I’m trying to do the heroic thing here and help you out. What kind of guy would I be to leave you to struggle by yourself?”

“A polite one?”

He snatched the red panties when she wasn’t ready to stop him and unfolded them. “But I can turn off the light if you insist—”

She lunged for the underwear in his hands but missed when he raised his hand a split second before she could catch them. Then, figuring her only hope of retrieving them was if she could catch him off guard like he’d done to her, she feigned disinterest. “Besides, why should I have to struggle to get dressed? I think I can manage on my own, thank you. Been dressing myself for twenty-some odd years now.”

He glanced down at the suitcase, presumably to return the panties, but instead finding the matching bra. “But you don’t understand—”

This time she was successful, caught him red-handed, one full of red panties, one full of red bra. She reclaimed both, ignoring his protests. “What is your deal? Are we sharing this room? Are you just trying to find a way to tell me you decided that now that we’ve slept together, you don’t want to pay for a second room?”

“No. I’m next door.”

“Oh. Okay. Then leave. Please. My head hurts. My stomach hurts. And I’m getting dizzy from playing monkey in the middle with my underwear.”

“Fine. I’ll leave. But if you need anything, please call. My room number’s one-fifteen. Or you can just shout loud in this general direction and I’ll hear you.” He pointed at the wall.

“Got it.” She gave him a grateful smile, then tried to stand. Mistake. Her legs buckled and she cringed as the floor flew up to meet her face.

Before impact, Ric caught her and laid her back on the bed. “Better not try to walk tonight.”

“Why? What’s wrong with my legs? And my head? And the rest of me? I really don’t like this. Should I go see a doctor, maybe?”

“It’s nothing to worry about. Promise. I’ll explain it in the morning. For now you need to rest. Do you need to take a trip to the bathroom before I go?”

“No!” There were some things she was simply too proud to do. Peeing in front of a man was one of them.

“Very well. If you feel the urge later—”

“I’ll be sure to call you,” she finished for him, even though she’d almost rather go in her pants than call him for help. “Thanks.”

He leaned down and she prepared for another toe-curling smooch. What she received—a stiff, cold, Hollywood air kiss—was far from what she’d expected.

Puzzled by Ric’s lukewarm farewell, Sophie watched him leave the room. Of course, by the time she had herself dressed for bed, which was a challenge, her bladder had decided it did indeed need to be emptied. Plus, she needed to brush her teeth. Figuring her legs had to be stronger by now, she tried standing again.

Her forehead slammed into the side rail of the bed on her way down to the carpeted floor, making her see stars.

“Ow, ow, ow!” she yelled, sitting on the floor, rubbing her swelling forehead. “That hurt, dammit.”

“You’re stubborn,” a familiar voice, a voice that rumbled through her body like earthquake aftershocks, said from the general vicinity of the bathroom.

“Tell me something I don’t already know.” She blinked several times to clear the stars from her vision and tipped her head to look up at the man standing over her. Even with the world swooping up and down like a carnival ride, she could see his expression was a mixture of amusement and worry.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “I told you to call me.”

“I don’t like to pee in front of people.”

“I promise I won’t watch.”

When her bladder contracted again, threatening to spill its contents on the floor, she mumbled, “Okay.” Humiliated beyond belief, she snatched up her dropped toothbrush and toothpaste and let him scoop her into his very capable arms. He carried her with such ease it amazed her. She was not a slight woman, not by anyone’s standards.

He stopped directly in front of the pot, then slowly lowered her to her feet, supporting her weight by holding her under the arms. “Okay. I’m going to close my eyes now. Go ahead. Take down your shorts.”

“This is weird.” She set her toothbrush and toothpaste on the sink, then tugged down her panties.

“No, being ashamed of a natural process that all humans do is weird,” he said to the tile wall.

“I’m not going to comment on that at the moment.” Her pants adequately out of range, she said, “Okay. Let go.” Grabbing the towel rack, she held her weight up with her arms until she was completely seated on the toilet. Trying hard to forget about the six-foot-something man standing mere inches away, she stared up at the ceiling and tried to relax.

It didn’t work.

“Are you done yet?” he asked.

“No.”

“Okay,” he said on a sigh, giving her a closed-eyed martyred look.

She tried staring at the floor. That didn’t work either. Finally, she said, “You’re going to have to leave for a couple of minutes. I can’t go.”

“Okay. Knock on the wall when you’re ready for me.” He exited and closed the door. No sooner did the latch click than the flow started.

“Chicken,” she scolded her bladder. A couple of seconds later, she yanked up her shorts while still sitting on the seat, then rapped on the wall. True to his word, Ric reappeared, his eyes closed. “You can open them. I’m dressed.”

He smiled. “Good. Ready to head back to bed?”

“I need to brush first.” She motioned toward the items sitting next to the sink.

Like a true gentleman, he silently held her erect while she washed her hands and brushed her teeth, then carted her back to the comfort of the big bed. “Rest well. I’ll wake you at seven. Will an hour be enough time to do whatever it is you do in the morning?”

“Depends. If I’m able to stand on my own two feet by then—”

“You should be able to.”

“I hope I can. If I don’t need you to hold me up in the shower, an hour should be plenty of time. Thanks.”

He nodded, then left. Again, with nothing but an air kiss to send her off to dreamland.

Was he regretting what they’d done earlier in the field?

Until now she hadn’t. She closed her eyes and tried to push aside the memories of a grassy field, the stars, and one naked Ric.

“What have you done?” a deep voice rumbled through Sophie’s dreams. It was familiar but strange at the same time. It both called to her and repulsed her.

Somewhere between being awake and asleep, Sophie rolled over, fluffed the pillow, and settled into a comfy position again.

“You have betrayed me with another,” the voice said again. Even asleep, the venom making his words sharp and bitter caused her to shudder. “Where is he? He’s close. I won’t let him have you. You’re mine.”

A sharp pain burned up her leg, waking her. Her eyes blinking and bleary, she reached down to see if something sharp had scratched her. She felt warm wetness and lifted her hand to her face.

As expected, the near pitch blackness kept her from seeing more than the slight outline of her hand. She reached up to flip on the reading light mounted to the wall above her head. Also, as expected the light left her momentarily blind, well, nearly blind. She had enough optical abilities to see a couple of vital things—the red blood coating her hand and the dark man standing next to her bed.

What does one do when one’s leg is bleeding and there’s an angry man standing over one? One screams. Unfortunately, said dark, brooding man seemed to have anticipated her reaction. He clamped a cool hand over her mouth before the sound made it past her vocal cords.

That left her with no option but one—fight like hell. Sophie swung her arms wildly; grabbed his cold, clammy arm and dug her fingernails into the flesh; rolled and thrashed; kicked and jabbed—but none of her quasi–kung fu motions seemed to do a bit of good. He held her with effortless ease, one hand still covering her mouth, the other pressing down on her shoulder, pinning her to the mattress. She briefly thought of biting him but quickly changed her mind. He was a vampire. Who knew what the results of biting him would be? It could make her his drone for all eternity.

Instead, she ceased all fighting and struggled to catch her breath through her narrowed nasal passages.

His gaze pierced hers, drilling into her head and giving her a headache. “You will not scream. You will answer me now. Where is he?” The man lifted his hand from her mouth, and although she had every intention of screaming her lungs out, not a peep came out when she opened her mouth. It was a strange sensation. She could feel the vibrations in her throat yet nothing but a soft whooshing sound actually made it out of her mouth.

Furious, she clamped it closed and swung her fists at his midsection. No man stole her thunder!

His gaze became even sharper. “Tell me.”

She tried to force her eyes away from his but they wouldn’t move. Her mouth opened. Words sat on her tongue and no matter how hard she tried to wrestle them down, they found their way through her lips. “Next door.”

Why had she told him that? What was going on? She lunged from the bed, took a single step toward the door, then fell like a moldy old sack of potatoes to the floor. The impact sent all the air from her lungs in a loud “oof.” The result: she lay there struggling to inflate them for at least twenty seconds, which felt more like twenty hours.

“He has poisoned you,” the dark man said, pointing at her legs.

“No, he hasn’t. They’re just…asleep. That’s all. I was…sleeping wrong.” She rubbed her numb appendages briskly, trying to get some blood to them. “You’re the one who poisoned me.”

“Why are you so willing to doubt me and believe him?” The dark man stooped down at her side and stared into her eyes again. His gaze had softened a smidge. It wasn’t so scary anymore. In fact, it was somewhat reassuring and warm.

“I…I…don’t know. Because you’re so rough, I guess.”

“I am sorry for that, cherie.” He gathered her into his arms and she had to admit it didn’t feel too awful being there. The shivers making her teeth chatter stopped. He set her on the bed, then climbed on top of her. His lips, which she had to admit were okay—not as nice as Ric’s but attractive nonetheless—curled into a wry smile. “It’s easy to trust him because he looks so normal, isn’t it?”

“I…suppose.”

The man drew in a deep breath. “Let me guess. He is blond?”

“Yes.”

“And some sort of scientist?”

“A science professor. How did you know?”

“He is a Wissenschaft,” he practically spat. “They are nothing to me. They deny their nature, hiding behind scientific theories and logical explanations. You would never wish to be bound to one of them. If you have not taken the second step, there is still time.”

“Second step?”

“He did not tell you?”

“No…. Tell me what?”

The dark man scowled. “That should not surprise me.”

Still not sure if she could believe this man or the one next door, since they both seemed to be calling the other the enemy, Sophie studied the man’s admittedly semihandsome face for any sign of deceit. She found none in his very dark but also very expressive eyes. Or in the sharp but strong line of his jaw. Or the powerful forehead. Or the firm but alluring set of his mouth.

“Will you trust me?” the man asked, leaning closer. He set those deep, dark eyes on hers, which made her already muddy mind get even muddier.

“I…I don’t know. You haven’t even told me your name. You haven’t told me why you’re here. You haven’t told me anything.”

“Unlike the Wissenschaft I have never denied my nature. I am what you see. I am an Ancient One. Our bloodline is the oldest, our people the most respected of all the Immortals. We have no reason to hide who or what we are. Our people wield great political power. We have members in political seats all over Europe and Asia.”

“That’s very…impressive. But what would you want with someone like me? I’m nobody. I’m not a European monarch or even a regular voter. I spent the last presidential election at home watching reruns of Sex and the City. And I’m not an Immortal…I don’t think.”

He sat next to her and plucked a strand of hair off her shoulder. His nearness didn’t stir the kind of reaction Ric’s did. Instead of shudders of pleasure, shivers of unease danced up her spine.

“I admit, I first came to you as a favor for a friend,” he said in a forlorn voice.

“For whom? What friend? Why? Was it that icky snake? Were you trying to make me kill Dao?” she asked as she watched his thumb stroke her hair. Again, she couldn’t help noticing how cold his touches made her feel inside. Frigid. Lifeless.

“That is not important. What’s important is that now that I’ve seen you, tasted you, I know you must be mine.” He released the tendril he’d been stroking and sighed. “My body burns for your essence. My very soul cries for you. But as much as it pains me, I must let the choice be yours. I will not deceive you, or call upon my powers to force you.” He stood and for the first time in who knew how long, she breathed easy again. “You need time to make your decision. I will return to you tomorrow night.”

That sentence put a sudden stop to the free movement of air in her lungs.

“Oh,” she said once she’d been able to inhale again. “I was hoping I could give you my answer now.”

“Have no fear, my sweeting. As I said, the choice will be yours. I will not do as the Wissenschaft did and inject my poison into your veins, forcing you to do my bidding. My first bite was clean, nearly. I only injected a tiny bit, just enough to make my mark.”

“Poison? Ric? But how? He didn’t bite me.”

“He did. You just have no memory of it. His poison erases all memory.” The man traced a line from her earlobe down to her collarbone, then down the side of her torso. “He bit you here.” He stopped at the swell of her hip.

Her hand dropped to the place he indicated. Her fingers brushed against his as she gently prodded the area, feeling for tenderness.

“For a Wissenschaft his poison is strong. It is the reason why you cannot walk. He wishes to keep you weak, under his control, though he will deny it. He will no doubt deny your inability to walk has anything to do with him.”

Sophie nodded and watched as the man turned toward the window. He glanced out and grimaced. “Sunrise approaches. I must go. Remember, my sweeting, to take care with the Wissenschaft. He will deceive you. He has proven that already.” His long legs carried him to the door in a mere three strides. “When you know whom you can trust, you will come to me for help. And I will happily give it.”

Before he left, she called to him, “Wait.”

His hand on the doorknob, he twisted his neck to look at her. An empty smile spread over his face. “Yes, sweeting?”

“You haven’t told me. What’s your name?”

“Until I know your blood is clean of the Wissenschaft’s poison, I cannot tell you that. Perhaps tomorrow night.” With a gust of cool wind, he left.

Suddenly freezing cold, Sophie wrapped herself in the blankets. Shivers racked her, shaking her worse than the time she’d had pneumonia. When the blankets failed to warm her, even a little, she tested her legs again. They were still weak but seemed capable of carrying her weight a short distance. She wobbled to the bathroom, cranked on the hot water, and took a long, scalding-hot shower.

With a couple of hours before Ric was supposed to come and wake her, she dressed and left the room in search of a computer. She needed to do some reading. About the Wissenschaft and the Ancient Ones. Somehow, this little secretary had just found herself at the center of a love triangle, pursued by not one but two vampires.

She was quite sure—though she had no impulse to check for herself—that hell had just seen its first winter.

Chapter 9

“Oh yes. I am quite certain the Magen David and Romakh Yehowshu’a do exist,” Margaret Mandel, the very attractive woman seated behind the huge mahogany desk, said. Her gaze, as Sophie had noticed from the moment they had entered the room, clung to Ric’s face a whole lot longer than it did to Sophie’s. The woman stood to adjust the blinds for the third time, seemingly intent upon shutting out every sliver of sunlight from the room. “Did you tell me, Mr. Vogel, that you’re doing research for a book? Are you an author?” she asked in a smooth, cultured voice as she returned to her chair.

“Actually, it’s Dr. Vogel. I’m a professor of natural sciences at Midwestern Michigan.”

“How interesting,” the woman said. “You may call me Maggy. I have no need for formalities, though I hold a PhD as well, in European history.”

Ric nodded. “Very well, Maggy. In answer to your question, yes, I am writing a book.”

Her eyes lit up like firecrackers. “Oh, I do adore authors. My husband is an author too. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? Maxwell Mandel. He writes erotic thrillers.”

Sophie recognized the name immediately and finally saw an opportunity to join the conversation. Thanks to the looks Margaret was giving Ric, and the subject matter of the conversation, she was feeling more and more like a third wheel. “I loved Blood Reign.”

“Then you’ll love the sequel, Spirit Reign. It’s releasing next month.” Margaret didn’t bother to slide even a swift glance Sophie’s way.

It wasn’t easy to tamp down the unexpected and unwelcome jealousy burning up her insides, especially after reading what she had about Ric’s clan, but she did her best. Dangerous vampire or not, she needed him right now. She needed his help. She needed his expertise. She didn’t need another dose of his potent poison, however, and would make sure to avoid another injection at all costs.

“Wow! That makes what? Six books in one year? How does he do it?” Sophie said, trying to carry on the conversation when all she really wanted to do was turn around and leave both smooth-talking Margaret and sexy, adorable Ric to their love fest. Dao needed her, pronto. She had no time to worry about love triangles and flirtatious historical specialists. She’d called Dao earlier. He wasn’t sounding as energetic as the day before, though he still claimed to be feeling okay.

“He writes morning, noon, and night. I swear he plots his books while he’s sleeping.” Margaret gave Ric a “cat who’s eaten a mouse” kind of smile. “But darned if I can distract him, even for a half hour. Even getting him to take a break to eat a decent meal is a chore. And we’re newlyweds. Only been married two months. I hate to think what it’ll be like after we’ve been married for years. I’ll be forced to take a lover.”

Ric, who seemed to have caught the somewhat obvious suggestion in that last bit, if his red ears were any indication, cleared his throat. “I wish him lots of success. But could we please get back to the spear and shield?”

“Yes, of course. As I was saying, I’m fairly certain the Magen does exist.” She leaned forward and in a low voice said, “I shouldn’t be telling you this because if you put this in your book before my husband’s book releases, years of research will be in vain.”

“I promise the information won’t be released anytime soon,” Ric said in a flat voice that didn’t inspire a bit of faith to Sophie. “My research is not directly tied to the existence of the artifacts but more to their history and application.”

“Is that so?” One overly tweezed eyebrow rose slightly. “I’m intrigued. Would you care to tell me more?”

“Perhaps another time. I’m afraid our time here is short. I have to get back to teach a class tonight.”

“Very well.” Sophie noted the slightly put-off tone in the woman’s voice. “As I was saying, my husband’s research has led him to a collector of biblical antiquities living outside of Chicago. Most recently, this gentleman has donated some very notable artifacts to the Smithsonian, including a fishing knife that has been linked to Apostle Peter.”

“Interesting. Has your husband been in contact with the gentleman?” Sophie asked.

“Yes. Unfortunately, he has been out of the country on expeditions and hasn’t been able to meet with us. However, he is supposed to be returning at the end of the week.”

“Do you think you could share his name with us?” Sophie asked when Ric did not.

“Perhaps I could be…persuaded,” she said, her gaze practically Super Glued to Ric’s face.

Ric stood, ran his beautiful hands down his uncreased trousers, then offered one of them to the woman. “Thank you. We’ll be in touch.”

Be in touch? That sounded like a blowoff.

Caught by surprise by his somewhat rude and abrupt dismissal, even if Margaret did deserve it, Sophie stood and gave the woman a grateful smile. Why was he cutting her off? They were so close to getting the information they needed! Couldn’t he suck it up and flirt a little longer to get the information? Damn it! Dao was counting on her, on them. “It was a pleasure meeting you,” she lied as she offered the woman her hand. “Thank you very much for your time.”

Margaret accepted her hand and gave it a brief shake before releasing it. “You didn’t say, what is your interest in the spear and shield?”

“Personal,” Sophie answered, not wanting to disclose any more, despite the friendly smile the other woman was now bestowing on her. “I have a love for anything related to the Bible, specifically David and Joshua.”

“Oh yes, so do I. My favorite story of the Bible is the one where David sees Tamar bathing and falls instantly in love with her. He sends her husband into battle, knowing he will be killed. It’s such a stirring love story.”

“Yes, it is,” Sophie agreed, feeling a little out of her league when it came to biblical facts.

The woman’s eyes hooded, making Sophie wonder if she’d said something wrong. “I wish you luck with your research, both of you.” She sat, gave Ric one last glance and then visibly dismissed them by lowering her head to read something on her desk.

Good luck? Good luck! That was it? That was what she’d traveled hours to hear? What the hell! How was that going to help her find the relics? How was that going to help her kill that stupid snakewoman and save her friend? It wasn’t. And Ric’s clipped manner hadn’t helped. Why hadn’t he pushed harder, tried to charm the answers from the woman? He’d started in the right direction. Why’d he stop? Yergh!

Sophie didn’t ask Ric about his behavior until they were outside the multistory brick-and-glass building and safe and sound in Ric’s car. “What happened in there? Why did you cut her off like that? Why didn’t you push harder? She would’ve given you the man’s name in Chicago if you’d asked. I can’t believe we came all this way for nothing.”

“I don’t think it was a wasted trip.” Ric said calmly, although he was doing a lot of blinking as he drove. And a lot of sweating, which made her wonder how he was managing to be out in the sunlight without being burned to ash. Didn’t real vampires ignite in unholy blazes when exposed to sunlight? “But I do think she was lying. That’s why I didn’t push for the name. I figured it wouldn’t do us any good.”

“Why would she lie? Is she worried about her husband’s research?”

“No. I’m almost one hundred percent sure she’s a lamia. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has the spear and shield locked up somewhere—or knows where it’s locked up.”

“Damn. What do we do now? We’ve hit a roadblock. My friend’s back home having the life drained out of him and we’re getting nowhere. What if I don’t find the relics in time? What if it takes months and months?”

“Easy, baby.” He reached for her hand but she pulled hers away. He gave her a quick questioning glance, then continued, “We’re getting somewhere. Faster than you think.” He dabbed at his forehead with a paper napkin. “I need to go back to the hotel and get out of the sun. Any chance you could call off work for the rest of the week? I think we need to check out Dr. Margaret Mandel a little more closely, maybe take a trip to the outskirts of Chicago too.”

“She sure wanted to check you out more closely,” Sophie blurted before she thought better of it. Naturally, she regretted it the moment the words slipped through her lips.

Ric slid her a shocked glance, raised eyebrows and all. “You noticed, did you? I was beginning to think you didn’t care.”

“I…I don’t care.” You’re a liar. A killer. A monster. Why should I care?

Another surprised look.

“I mean, I don’t have any claims on you and you have none on me, right? We’re both free to do whatever, with whomever. Besides, I’m here to help my friend Dao. There’s no time to dillydally, as pleasant as a dilly or dally with you might be.” Her mind knew this, knew the last thing she needed was to get tangled up with this man, this vampire. Especially right now. Why wouldn’t her heart cooperate? Why did merely the thought of Ric touching another woman make her want to scream, even though she now knew the truth about him and his bloodthirsty, lying clansmen? Almost choking on her own words, she added, “I have to admit, I don’t see you as the type to sleep with a married woman.” Then again, what do I really know about him, about his heart? Maybe he is the type to sleep with another man’s wife. Lie to her. Then kill her. That’s what his people do best.

“I see.” Ric didn’t speak again. He drove the few miles back to the hotel in silence, which made Sophie nervous and miserable and almost sorry she’d gone on this goose chase. She resisted the urge to fill the big empty void with chatter and instead stared out the window.

Ric walked her up to her room, pushed open the door, then stepped inside behind her, hanging back to block the doorway. His thick arms—the ones she’d been trying to avoid salivating over all morning—crossed over his chest. “Now, want to tell me what’s really going on?”

“Going on?” God, I hope he wasn’t reading my thoughts earlier! But if he was, would he have to ask?

He took one, two, three steps toward her. She took three steps backward in a failing attempt to maintain some space between them. Her steps were about half as long as his. “You’re acting funny. Distant, almost scared of me.”

“No, I’m not acting scared. I’m acting…normal.” Her spine hit the wall behind her and she swallowed a panicked yelp. “I’m just frustrated and upset. I was hoping this woman would give us more than a good-luck wish and a sharky smile. My friend’s dying! Quickly. And I can’t do a damn thing to help him.” Her eyes burned. She blinked the collecting tears away.

He didn’t stop moving forward until his chest was mere inches from hers. He looked down into her eyes. He reached for her cheek but she flinched and turned her head. “See? Why won’t you let me touch you?” He caught her chin, turned her head. His gaze was dark, sharp, demanding. Still, her traitorous body reacted exactly like it had before. Her nipples reached forward, aching for his touch. Her girly parts burned. Her heart skipped beats at irregular intervals until she was almost dizzy. He caught her upper arms in his fists and squeezed. Hard. Even that didn’t ease the celebration going on inside her. “You say you’re acting normal? Normal for whom? Since we met at the library you’ve openly ogled me. You’ve flirted with me. You’ve slept with me. You’ve confided in me. Now you’re acting like I’m radioactive.”

“That’s an apropos term,” she murmured, trying to catch her breath, when he let her go and turned away in a huff.

“Huh? What did you say?” He spun on his heel and drilled her with that gaze again.

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“Okay, okay.” Still reeling from the effect he had on her body, Sophie scooted along the wall, walking the perimeter of the room until she was well out of reach, and well beyond the distance she was capable of throwing herself. The insane notion of lunging at him and kissing him until they were both senseless ran through her mind at regular intervals, like a jogger running laps. Only when she was way on the opposite side of the room did she consider it safe to continue. “You’re right. I am acting funny. I’ve just had some time to think. And well, I think we’ve been going too fast.” Liar! I hate liars! I hate lies. “Way, way, way too fast.” No, too slow. Much too slow. “So, I decided to put on the brakes a bit.”

“A bit? You hardly looked at me all morning.”

“I’m sorry, have I wounded your vampire pride?” she teased before she thought better of it. She cringed the moment the words came out of her mouth, certain she’d pay for them.

And naturally, she was right.

His expression darkened even more, his eyes the shade of rich earth. He lunged forward, catching her upper arms in his fists before she could get out of reach. “What happened to you? Last night everything was good right up until you went to bed….” He let his sentence kind of hang there as he sniffed the air. “Did he come back for you? I don’t smell him.”

“Who he?” She squirmed, her body on fire, her brain in meltdown mode, her conscience ablaze.

“The one-who-bit-you he. That’s who he. Did he come back last night?” Ric lowered his head to her neck until his breath warmed her skin. Shivers of pleasure skittered down her spine even as shudders of fear quaked her insides.

“No.” She blinked twice as his gaze met hers again. She gave a silent groan of frustration. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop it. Whenever she lied, even as a kid, she’d blink. Twice. It was a dead giveaway, had gotten her into so much trouble as a kid. That was, until she’d learned to have her sister do all the lying for her. Unfortunately, her sister wasn’t here now. And that was because of a lie, too.

Ric tipped his head. He looked so adorable like that. Sweet, even a little vulnerable. Could he really be the deceiving, bloodthirsty vampire she’d read about?

“What’s wrong with your eyes? You’ve had problems with them since we came back.”

“Nothing.” Blink, blink. Darn it!

“You’re blinking an awful lot. Did you get something in them?”

“Uh, maybe. I’m not sure.” Blink. Blink. “If you’d kindly release me, I’ll go to the bathroom and check.”

He freed her immediately but he didn’t leave the room when she shut herself in the bathroom for twenty minutes pretending to take care of a troublesome speck of nonexistent dirt in her eye.

She hated what she saw in the mirror—a grown woman hiding in a bathroom because she was too chicken to tell someone the truth. A grown woman who hated lying, who’d learned to despise deception, telling lies left and right.

Lies always led to disaster. To grief and loss. Would her next loss be Dao? Her heart sank at the thought.

Shit!

Rather than spend the rest of the day wasting time, shut in the bathroom, she finally decided to step out of her sanctuary and face the music. If she was going to have any hope of keeping this guy on her side, she supposed she was going to have to be honest with him—or at least mostly honest.

Ric was sitting on the bed when Sophie forced herself from her ceramic-walled haven. His head lifted when she strode into the room.

She halted about three feet away from him, wishing she had at least six more feet between them. “I’m sorry. I’m acting like an ass because I read something today and quite honestly it freaked me out and well…I don’t want this anymore.” She motioned back and forth between them. “You and me. This. Not that I’m not grateful because I know you were doing it for me. But I don’t need you to save me from the Ancient One since he’s promised not to force me to do anything—”

“Ancient One?” One eyebrow hopped up.

“Yesss.”

“You never referred to him as that before,” Ric pointed out.

Oops. Stupid slip. “I…I…didn’t? Oh no, I’m pretty sure I have. Or you have. You just don’t remember.”

Ric jumped to his feet and walked a wide circle around her. “I was right! He was here last night. Damn it. I was…I couldn’t—”

“Yes, okay, you’re right,” she admitted on a sigh. “He came here last night but I’m not going to worry about it and neither should you,” she said, twisting her upper body to follow him. “He’s not going to hurt me, or make me hurt Dao.”

Ric stopped directly in front of her and her body went into instant lust mode again. Tingling, pitter-pattering, swooning, the whole nine yards. “He told you that?”

“Yes. Well, sorta.” She inhaled and caught a noseful of soap and Ric. Tremors of anticipation skipped up and down her limbs.

“And you believed him?” he challenged.

The sharp tone in his voice and in his gaze did nothing but inflame her body more. It was nearly impossible to keep her mind on the conversation. There were so many more pleasant things to think about, like the way the corners of his mouth curled up when he thought he had her bested. And the sparkle in his eye when he challenged her. She forced her chin up to face his challenge head-on. “Yes, I did. He hasn’t lied to me. Not since the first time. And everything I read on the Web site said Ancient Ones are known to keep their word.”

“Let me ask you this.” He caught her chin in his hand and tilted it up even more. She stared into his eyes. At the moment they were very dark, almost black. Once more pure, unadulterated lust charged through her body like a bolt of electricity. “Does every human being behave the same?”

“No. Of course not.” His mouth was so close. Would he kiss her? What would she do if he did? Kiss him back? Oh yes. That sounded nice. Darn it, why wasn’t he kissing her yet?

He lowered his head until his mouth was a fraction of an inch from hers, until his breath cyclically heated her lips. “Then what makes you so certain every Ancient One will?”

Her eyelids fell closed for a brief instant, giving her a moment’s ability to use rational thought. “I…good point. I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

His gaze softened slightly as he released her chin. His hand dropped to her shoulder. “What you might read on the Internet is not only likely to be inaccurate but also dangerously generalizing. Don’t let it give you false security—or false fear. You must learn to trust your instincts or you’ll end up trusting the wrong people, fearing the ones you should trust, and being hurt—or worse.”

So aware of his touch she wanted to crumple into a pile on the floor, she nodded and whispered, “But you lied to me. What was I supposed to think?”

“Lied?”

Gathering strength from somewhere deep inside, from hurt and confusion and anger, Sophie pushed back from Ric and crossed her arms over her chest. “You told me there was nothing wrong with my legs. That I’d be okay.”

“That was the truth. How was that a lie? You’re walking fine now, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but it was a lie by omission. You didn’t tell me you’d bitten me. That you’d injected me with your poison, that the poison was causing my paralysis.”

“I didn’t want you to be fearful. I knew you’d be okay. That it was a temporary effect. It was necessary to—”

“Necessary for what?” she interrupted, now really burning up with anger. “To keep me under your control? That’s why you paralyzed me, isn’t it?”

He looked shocked and confused, but she wasn’t fooled. “Is that what you read on the Net?”

“No, that’s what the Ancient One told me. So, you see, I’m not just believing vague generalizations on the Internet. I’ve talked to a genuine source on the subject.”

“Since you’re in the mood to listen to the genuine source, will you at least give me equal time?”

“I…suppose,” she acquiesced, knowing she’d believe him no matter what he said. Why? Because in her heart, she wanted to believe him.

Ric held his hands out to Sophie, adding a reassuring nod until she took his hands and let him lead her to the bed. “There is venom in every vampire’s bite,” he said, encouraging her to sit with a tip of his head. She sat. “It happens that the venom in my bite has two properties—one, it is an amnesiac that erases your memory of being bitten, and two, it causes varying degrees of temporary paralysis, depending upon where you are bitten, but only the first time. I have no control over the release of the venom. It happens whenever I bite. However, I can control where I bite you, and thereby lessen the effects. I took mercy and bit you where I knew you’d suffer the least.”

“Oh.”

“The venom of the Ancient Ones is far more deadly and its effects are more insidious.”

“Effects? What kinds of effects?”

“An Ancient One’s venom acts as a hypnotic. Even days after a bite, the venom will allow the Ancient One to gain control over your mind and will.”

“That’s why…that’s scary. Really, really scary.”

“Which is why this is so important.” He took both her shoulders in his hands and searched her face with eyes that had gone all warm and brown, like hot cocoa. “You must tell me the truth. Did he bite you again last night?”

She shook her head. “No. Not that I remember.”

“That’s good. Repeated exposure to the venom amplifies the effects.”

“But what about the other part I read? The part about your people torturing humans, killing them for their gain? How do you explain that?”

He dropped his gaze. “Then you have heard what my clan is called and what we are known to do.”

She nodded again. “Wise…wise and something. They…torture people?” She hated the sound of the words, hated the way they felt in her mouth.

“Wissenschaft. We are the ones who seek a cure for our weaknesses through science. However, our research—which does not involve the torturing of innocent humans anymore—has led to rumors of cruelty, nightmarish experiments performed on unwilling victims. But that was a long time ago, hundreds of years. Even humans have been known to do the same, the Nazis, your own government. Just remember, you cannot believe everything you read. It’s as good as the reliability of its source. Also, I am an individual, with my own values, my own morals, my own will. What you read on the Internet are not laws but sweeping generalizations. You cannot accurately describe any individual—human or vampire—according to their race, blood, or creed.”

She nodded as his words eased the worst of her fears. She knew in her heart he spoke the truth. “I’ve always felt that way about human beings. I don’t know why I was so willing to believe so differently about vampires.”

“It’s easy to fall victim to prejudice.”

“But not me! My best friend is a Chinese American. I never assumed he’d act a certain way because he’s Asian. My boss is African American but I don’t even see the color of his skin anymore.” She sighed and crossed her arms over herself. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’re dealing with things that are new and frightening, and yes, extremely dangerous. It’s natural for you to react as you have, to question your instincts and fear everyone, including the ones you should trust. Your life is in peril and you must determine who is the real danger—me or the Ancient One. Did he tell you his name?”

“No. He refused.”

“He is wise.”

Suddenly weary, Sophie flopped onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t understand why he wants me. Why you want me. I’ve been alone for so long. No human male has wanted me. Why am I so irresistible to you vampy types?”

“Most human men are blind to true beauty. They wouldn’t see it if it was standing before their eyes. Wissenschaft, Ancient Ones, we all see you the same way. We see your heart, your soul, your spirit. That is where your true beauty lies. Humans can only see your outside.”

She felt her face flushing red hot. She lifted her hands up to cool her burning cheeks. “I wish I could see the insides of people too, like you. To see their hearts, their souls. Then I would always know whom to trust and whom to fear.”

“There is a way, however—”

“Don’t tell me I’d have to become a bloodsucker too because I’m not willing to give up my Ben & Jerry’s to read people’s hearts and minds. Ice cream wins, hands down.”

Ric shrugged and sat next to her. “The choice is yours. And I am perfectly content with it.”

Her body warmed at his nearness. Her brain confused or not, her body knew which vampire it liked. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not sure living four hundred years sounds all that great.”

“Immortality has its benefits as well as its drawbacks.”

“Will you tell me? What’s it like to live for centuries?”

“Both pleasant and difficult, like life is for all beings, mortal included.”

“But isn’t it exciting? Seeing so many changes, so many advances, right? Cars. Spaceships. Computers. Medicine.”

“Things only began to change quickly in the last couple of centuries. Before that, they stayed very much the same. Quite honestly, I preferred life the way it was back then. There are more creature comforts in this day, with air-conditioning and central heat, vehicles that carry one from place to place with little effort, medicines to ease most kinds of sickness and pain. But it’s also a time of great gluttony. Young humans have very little drive, especially in this country. So many of them have no regard for education, for hard work, for progress.”

“That’s very sad.”

“I long to return to my time, a time when a man’s work had purpose. He toiled for his home, his family, his king. His work gave his life meaning. It’s not the same in this day.”

“I guess we’re all a product of our times. You, the seventeenth-century Europe; me, present-day America. Yet, I feel like we are so alike.”

His gaze met hers, warmed her insides. “Me too.”

She felt herself smiling as her gaze wandered over his adorable face. His stubborn chin, and straight, aristocratic nose, his slightly mussed hair. She saw no hint of his true age on his face. He looked young and full of life. “It’s hard to wrap my mind around the fact that you’re that old, that you lived back when Elizabeth the First was queen—she was, wasn’t she?—and people talked with all those thous and thines, like characters in Shakespeare. I’ve always adored Shakespeare, by the way. And I’ve always sought to live a simple life, strove to live by my principles.”

“And now you see the beauty that I see in you.” He rested his palm against her cheek and gazed into her eyes. His eyes were now a soft golden brown. Warm and rich and comforting. “And sometimes it’s hard to believe I haven’t known you since I took my first breath. In so many ways you feel like a part of me that’s been missing. A part that I’ve been seeking.”

Sophie searched his face, wanting to believe what he said so bad it burned her up inside. She’d never in a million years expected to find a man who would love her, let alone adore her with the intensity she saw even now in Ric’s gaze, after such a short time. He literally looked like he’d move mountains for her. She had to admit it was a smidge overwhelming. “I…I…don’t know what to say.”

“Do not speak with your mind. Speak with your heart and I will hear you.” He pressed his mouth to hers. At the instant of contact, she felt wave upon wave of warmth rush through her body. And as his tongue slipped into her mouth, twisting around and stroking hers, she sent him all the wonderful thoughts and feelings pulsing through her body, both the physical sensations and the emotions.

She felt his body stiffen against hers. He groaned into their joined mouths. The sound fueled the fire blazing through her body. At that moment, all she could think about was giving back to him. Giving the happiness she found in his arms, the warmth she found in his embrace, the passion she found in his kiss.

She reached around and slipped her hands under his shirt, letting them slide up the silky skin of his back. She relaxed into his arms as he slowly crawled on top of her. The mattress groaned as their combined weight shifted.

His mouth continued to torment her, his tongue, teeth, and lips stirring such intense need for completion that she shook. Her fingernails raked down his back. Her pelvis tipped until the parts that ached the most for his touch ground into his hip. She wrapped her legs around him and clung to him.

“Make love to me,” she whispered.

Chapter 10

“I thought you said you didn’t want this,” Ric said between delightful, goose bump–producing nibbles along her collarbone.

Sophie didn’t respond—mostly because at the moment the coordination of brain, tongue, and diaphragm required to produce speech was impossible.

“Hmmm?” he said just before he ran that extremely lithe tongue of his up the column of her neck. “Remember what you said about not needing me?” His naughty tongue dipped into her ear, and she shivered. “Remember?” He caught her earlobe between his teeth and bit oh so gently. His hands slid down the sides of her body until his thumbs teased the outermost parts of her breasts through her clothes. Her spine arched, pushing her chest up against his and she groaned when their bodies made contact.

“I…I…ohhhh,” she said on a moan when his kisses trailed lower, into the valley between her breasts, exposed by the deep vee of her blouse. One of his hands wedged between their bodies and cupped her breasts and she let loose with another moan. Her nipples were tight, sensitive peaks, pressing against the lace cups of her bra. The friction of his touch through the layers of fabric was about to cause her demise. She was sure of it. She’d die right there. In bed. With him on top of her. “Pleasssse,” she begged.

“Please, what?” Ric said, laughter in his voice. He shifted his position to free both hands and asked, “Are you particularly fond of this blouse?”

“No, not really. Why?”

Eight tiny buttons sprayed in eight different directions when he ripped the front of her shirt open. She gasped in surprise, then went ahead and gasped again when she caught the hungry look in Ric’s eyes as they took in the sight of her almost bare torso. Her tiny demibra barely covered her nipples and the lower half of her breasts. Obviously displeased with any bit of flesh hidden, he shoved his hands under her back, clearly going for the hooks. She shook her head, reached between her bosoms, and unfastened the front clasp, keeping her gaze locked to his face as she let the cups fall away.

Blazing hunger flashed across his golden eyes as his gaze traveled over her body like a smooth caress. The heat she saw simmering in his gaze seeped into her body and sank to her groin, where it swirled round and round like a whirlpool. Already she needed to feel him inside, his glorious rod sliding in and out of her slick folds, filling her, completing her. She lifted her hands to her breasts, and smiling against the hunger threatening to put an end to all vital functions, she caught her nipples between her fingers and thumbs, and pinched.

Ric bit his lower lip and his neck turned the shade of beets. “Dammit, woman.” He knocked her hands away and closed his warm mouth over one taut peak, stirring a groan from deep in her chest. His velvet tongue laved the sensitive bud until she trembled all over; then he turned his attention to the other one, giving it equal treatment.

While he drove her crazy, torturing her with tongue, lips, and teeth, she strove to do the same to him—well, as best she could considering her current state. She traced the taut points of his nipples through his shirt until his breathing grew ragged in her ear. Then she slid her hands down, down, down to the bulge front and center in his pants.

He stopped his onslaught on her breasts only long enough to give her a growl of satisfaction. “You said—”

“I don’t care what I said.” She grabbed his hand and set it between her legs.

“But I don’t want to make you—”

“That was a long time ago. At least ten minutes. This is now.” She fumbled with the snap of his pants, plunged her hand inside to stroke his warm rod when she got it unfastened. “I’m telling you I want this, I want you. I…need you.”

She stared into his eyes and pulled her hand free of his pants, lifting both hands to cover her mouth. Had she just said that? Admitted she needed him? Oh God!

Needing him was definitely more serious than wanting to be his casual lover, like she’d agreed to be. Needing involved deep feelings, vulnerability…risk. Like she needed more of that right now! Heck, she was facing risk even in her sleep these days!

Ric stopped tormenting her, gave her a look she couldn’t exactly read, and pulled her into a tight hug. He tenderly palmed her face like it was made of the most delicate crystal and kissed her forehead, both cheeks, eyelids too. She felt special, cherished, reassured. “I need you too,” he said.

With oh so much tenderness, he brushed his mouth over hers, teasing her with soft kisses that made her squirm, sigh, moan. His hands remained on her face but hers wandered down over the lumpy terrain of cotton-covered chest. When he slipped his tongue into her mouth and stroked hers, she dug her fingernails into the hard bulk of his shoulders.

“Oh, God,” she murmured into their joined mouths. Burning need coiled tight, low in her stomach, when he deepened the kiss. His tongue thrust in and out in time to the throb pulsing between her legs. She rocked her hips back and forth, anxious to rub away the ache, ready to cry out and beg him to fill her. She slid her hand into his pants again and fisted his erection, stroking the ridge circling the head with her thumb.

He sucked in a surprised gasp and broke the kiss. He looked sad, troubled as he sat back and looked down at her. “I…I…Forgive me.”

“Forgive you?” Dizzy, barely able to see, Sophie propped herself up on her elbows.

“Can you trust me?” Ric tipped his head, stroked her cheek with his knuckles.

She captured his hand and twined her fingers through his. “Ye—yes? I believe so. I want to.”

His smile filled her soul and spirit with so much happiness she thought she might cry. He unfastened her pants and pushed them down her legs, tugging them off when they reached her feet. Lying there in only her panties, in the bright light of several lamps, she felt exposed, vulnerable again. She reached for the coverlet but he caught her wrist before she could pull it over herself.

“No. Please don’t.” He released her wrist. “Don’t hide from me. I know we haven’t known each other long but I want you to trust me. There isn’t a more beautiful woman in the world. In all humanity.”

“But I’m not skinny.”

“You’re perfect.” He covered her soft belly with tickly kisses.

“And I have cellulite.” Giggling, she motioned toward her hips.

“You’re perfect.” He kissed a path lower, over her hip and down one thigh.

“My rear end looks like cottage cheese.”

“You’re perfect.” Without warning, he flipped her over onto her belly and ran his palms over her lace-covered buttocks. “This is perfect.” He squeezed and she gulped. He stroked and she sighed. He pulled down her panties and kissed the small of her back, just above her bottom, and she shook. Her empty sex clenched and unclenched, hot, pulsing.

“Oh.”

Off came the panties and there she was, lying there with her rear end exposed, in the glaring light. Yet Ric continued like he wasn’t looking at the most grotesque thing on earth. He kneaded her bottom, gently parted her ample cheeks, and ran a probing finger up and down her crack until it found her wet slit. Then he pushed that finger inside.

Sophie dropped her head onto the bed, buried her face in the pillows. Still his words reached her ears, promises of pleasure, rewards for her trust. Reassurances that she was beautiful to him. His fingers slowly plunging in and out, almost but not quite rubbing away the ache deep inside her, he positioned his other hand lower, under her mound, where it could rub against her sensitive nub.

She was in heaven! And hell. Her body had marched itself right up to the point of completion but was refusing to budge from its spot just shy of the pinnacle, despite Ric’s very thorough touches to her most sensitive parts. “Ric.” She groaned, hardly able to breathe. “Please. Now. It’s been long enough.”

“Okay.” He stopped stroking and, while she struggled to inflate her lungs, removed the final pieces of clothing acting as a barrier between them. Then he caught her hips in his hands and pulled until she was propped up on her knees, her rear end high in the air. His penis probed at her crack, sliding up and down from anus to vagina, and spreading cool, slick juices with it. “Can you trust me?” The head of his erection pressed against the delicate tissues between her anus and slit. They burned as he increased the pressure.

“I…I want to.”

“Do you like to be screwed in the bottom?”

“Never tried it. But it sounds terribly painful.” His penis pushed again, this time moving up, closer to her anus rather than back toward her sex. “Oh…is that what you want to do? Now?”

“I was thinking about it.”

“I…I really want you inside the other part.”

“Where?” His penis slid lower again, prodding at the proper opening, and she let out a sigh of relief. “Here?” With a single, smooth stroke, he buried his rod to the hilt, filling her at last, and she shouted out his name, so grateful, so overwhelmed by the pleasure their joining brought. He held her hips still for a handful of seconds, allowing her to really relish the fullness.

She opened her mind to him again, shared the waves of bliss that crashed through her body, one after the other, faster, faster, until she couldn’t tell when one ended and the next began.

Ric pushed on her hips until only the very tip of his member breached her opening, then swiftly pulled back, meeting her backward thrust with a forward thrust of his hips, over and over. Her buttocks struck his thighs when their bodies met, adding an erotic slap-slap to the already overwhelming horde of sensations swirling around her. The scents of their arousal, the sound of his groans, the swirls of colors behind her tightly clamped eyelids. The sensation of tight, trembling need building, building until it drove her every move, every breath, every thought.

And then she felt her chest heating, her breathing quicken. Her legs trembled. Her arms shook with the effort of holding herself up. She rocked backward, eager to feel him deep inside, when that first delightful spasm gripped her.

He shouted her name as she came, her sex rhythmically milking him. He slowed his pace, which amplified her pleasure a hundred times. The orgasm lasted, and lasted, and lasted. It had a grip on her, wouldn’t let her go. It was wonderful. It was horrible. She wanted it to last forever but wanted it to stop too.

“Oh my God!” she cried out.

He withdrew from her, teased her anus while she still spasmed. “Trust me.”

“Stop it, please!”

“Trust me.”

“Yes.”

He pushed slowly, allowing her tight hole time to stretch. The burn didn’t stop her orgasm but only intensified it until tears streamed down her cheeks. He stopped moving the second he was deep inside, shouted out with his release, and dug his blunt-tipped fingernails into her hips.

His thoughts swirled around in her head. His emotions—the kind of joy she only knew with him and the soul-shattering sorrow of hundreds of years of loneliness—filled her heart, pummeling her spirit. She felt every emotion, good and bad. Triumph and defeat. Hope and despair. They gripped her like an iron fist, squeezing the life from her spirit.

And only when he’d spilled his seed deep within her bottom was she finally released from his thoughts, feelings. Peace at last. But also a distance she hated. Their connection was so intense it almost drove her mad, but when it was gone, she felt so empty and lost she ached from head to toe.

Moments later, he pulled out, eased her onto her back, and cradled her in his arms. One finger ran up and down her arm, from shoulder to wrist and back again. With the other hand, he rubbed away the last of the tears clinging to her eyelashes, her cheeks.

“You trusted me.”

She tipped her head to glance at him and her heart swelled at the look she saw on his face. So sweet, tender. His mouth curled into a warm smile, his eyes the shade of golden oak. “Yeah.”

“You know what this means?” He kissed her forehead, brushed away a strand of hair that had worked itself over her eyes.

“No.”

“It means we can take the second step if you want.”

Sophie’s heart leaped. What did this mean? She sat up and twisted, to face him. “But I thought we weren’t going to go any further. That the first step was as far as we needed to take it.”

Semireclined, his shoulders and head propped up on a pile of pillows, Ric ran his hands up and down her arms in a familiar comforting motion. “We don’t have to go any further if you don’t want to.”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know what it means. Will you tell me? Will it keep me from the Ancient One? Is that why you want to now? Or is there another reason?”

Did she dare hope? Could he need to feel close to her too? As much as she did him? Did he want to be fused to her like they were when they made love?

“No,” he said softly.

Her heart sank to her toes.

He cleared his throat. “I want to because my heart aches the moment our connection is broken.”

Her spirit took flight. He did crave that connection too! Just as much as she did! She briefly considered jumping up and doing a little naked happy dance but changed her mind when she took in his very grave expression. Wasn’t he happy?

“I’m weak. I’m selfish,” he said, yanking his hands from her. “I can’t be content with mere moments with you, with our souls joined. I thought I would be. I know it’s not what you want.” He sat up fully, mussed his hair by dragging his fingers through it, then turned his pleading eyes toward her. “You have no idea, do you?”

“No idea about what?” she asked, almost too thrilled to speak. He wanted her! She wanted him, like she’d never wanted a man before. Who cared if she’d known him only a couple of days? Some things a person just knew, right? And so what if he drank a little blood? As long as she didn’t have to watch, what did it matter?

“How beautiful you are. And how rare the kind of beauty you possess is.”

“It is?” Her cheeks flamed and she pressed her fingers to them in a feeble attempt to cool them. “I…wow. This can’t be happening. Pinch me. Pinch me now.” When he didn’t do as she asked, she pinched herself, half expecting to wake up alone in her bed. These days she could never be too sure. Dreams, reality, they’d sort of mushed together, the lines between them blurring. She pinched again, just to be sure.

But by golly, she didn’t wake up! She wasn’t dreaming. Ric was there, her adorable, sexy Ric. With her, looking flustered and confused. And she was happy. Oh, so happy.

“Does this mean you’re glad to take the next step then?” he asked.

“Tell me.” She traced the line between his pecs with her forefinger. “Will that wonderful connection last if I do? Will I hear your thoughts all the time? Feel your emotions? Share your joy, your pain? Will that empty spot in my heart be filled for always?”

He mashed her hand against his chest, sandwiched it between his palm and scrumptious golden skin with just a sprinkling of blond hair. “Not completely, not just after the second step. But we would become closer.”

“Closer?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

“I’d like that.”

His lips curled into a soft smile. “Me too.”

“Yeah?” Her face heated more. “Okay. I’m game. But please tell me step two doesn’t involve blood. Have I told you that blood absolutely grosses me out?” She felt her nose wrinkling.

“No, no blood. That’s later.”

“And I’ll still be able to eat food. Right? ’Cause I’m fond of my rotting animal flesh.”

“Yes.” He mirrored her disgusted look.

She clapped her hands. “Sounds like a piece of cake then.”

“I wouldn’t take it too lightly,” he warned. “The second step involves something that can be very difficult for some people, something foreign, frightening even.”

“Which is?” she prodded when he didn’t explain.

“I can’t tell you until the step has been completed.”

“Then how will I know what to do? How will I know when I’m taking the step even?”

“I hope you will know when the time comes. If not, then maybe it isn’t right for us to continue.”

“Oh, how I hate these blasted vampire mysteries. Why can’t you people make it simple? A couple of blood tests, a vow before a magistrate and be done with it?” Despite the fact that she knew he wouldn’t give with the information, she gave him an intimidating glare anyway.

Naturally, it didn’t work.

Ric knew Sophie was annoyed and frustrated but he was powerless to tell her more. It was the way it was, the way it had always been. And he knew that if he took shortcuts, there were too many consequences to pay.

Although he was overjoyed by the fact that she wanted to take the second step, which up until this very moment he hadn’t thought he wanted, he was worried about her, about the dangers she would face with each step, the risks she would be forced to take.

There were reasons for those risks but he still regretted having to put her through such grueling tests. Failure would cost her more than she could afford to lose, more than they both could afford to lose.

Still, he couldn’t ignore the calling any longer. Her spirit spoke to him, pulling him closer, snaring him in its grasp until he knew he was powerless to break free. He didn’t want to be free any longer.

They were bound even before they’d taken the first step. He knew that now. And he feared they were destined to complete all five steps, despite the risks.

He stood.

“Where are you going?”

“We’re going to get you something to eat before you collapse from starvation, and then I have some work to do if we’re going to find those relics and save your friend.”

“Excellent plan. But how about me? How can I help?” She scrambled to reclaim her clothes and put them on. “I can’t sit around and do nothing. I’ll go crazy.”

“We’ll…er, talk about it later.” He hated to see her cover her body. But they were close to finding the relics; he could feel it. His people’s suffering would end soon. He had to stay focused. Somehow. And keep Sophie out of his way.

He had the perfect solution.

Chapter 11

Like both times before, Sophie knew her Ancient One was in the room before she’d fully awakened. What she didn’t know was who else was in the room with them both.

She could swear it was the crisp sting of testosterone flooding the room that made her pull herself from the incredibly amusing dream she’d been enjoying. It couldn’t be anything else. The room was silent and dark. Noise hadn’t awakened her. Light hadn’t either. Nope. Had to be male hormones. She wondered what she’d done to deserve such a glorious awakening.

Her eyelids fluttered open at the sound of a low, threatening growl, like the warning rumble of a dog.

“Ric?” she said, spying him first. Speaking of dogs, his stiff stance reminded her of the posture her childhood dog took when she spied a cat on the loose. Her dog, Daisy, had been nothing like her name suggested. She was no pansy, either; never took mercy on a stray cat once she had hold of it.

Sophie’s gut instinct told her Ric would be no less vicious once he had his hands wrapped around his prey. In a way, that thought made her warm and tingly inside. The combination of sex appeal and danger was something she’d never tasted before in a man. It was a very spicy, intoxicating flavor.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

His answer was in the form of a continuing glare in the general direction of the bathroom. Naturally, Sophie let her gaze follow the line of his unwavering one.

“Oh,” was about all she could think to say for a second or two. “Hello, there,” she said to the familiar Ancient One, his stiff pose mirroring Ric’s, as he stood frozen just inside the doorway. Her gaze ping-ponged between the two men a few times, then, slightly dizzy, she said, “I feel like I should make some introductions. Ric, this is the Ancient One. Ancient One—by the way, it’s getting real old calling you that so I think I’ll call you…Andy—this is Ric.”

Both men flinched. Muscles bunched, teeth gnashed, cockles raised. Oh boy. Seeing an old-fashioned vampire rumble coming on, she climbed from the bed, grabbed the two-ton book she’d picked up during her earlier trip to the library off the nightstand, and positioned herself between the two glaring men.

Whew baby, now that was a position to be in. The testosterone floating about the room was almost enough to knock a girl out. Sophie practically fell over—undoubtedly overdosed on the stuff—then recovered by musing on the wonder of having both men making love to her at once. Oh, wouldn’t that be heaven? One to pleasure her above the waist, one below? Or front and back? The options were endless.

When neither man spoke, she said, brandishing her book like a raised sword, “I don’t suppose there’s any hope we can settle our differences and all be friends?”

“She’s mine. I found her first,” Ric growled like a Neanderthal man…bedecked in Ralph Lauren.

“Uh, hello? Found her?” Sophie turned to give him a good dose of ugly eyes. “First, have we forgotten I’m still in the room? And second, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t treat me like someone’s misplaced…er, basketball. Last I read, that finders-keepers expression didn’t apply to people.”

“You do not deserve her,” Andy retorted, giving Ric his own dose of ugly eyes. “You’re not telling her everything. As I am sure you know, the law states your lies make her free to make her own choice.”

Sophie waved her book in front of Andy’s face in an effort to get him to look at her. If they were going to fight over her, they’d better at least look at her! “Excuse me, I appreciate your thought process here, but his lies have nothing to do with my choices. And I have no idea what law you’re referring to, but as an American citizen, I’ve always been free to make my own decisions—men, homes, cars, jobs, the whole nine yards.” She poked him in the chest. Her knuckle popped and she yelped, shaking it. “I never even let my sister have a say when it came to men. That was probably stupid. No, I admit that was absolutely stupid. My sister could spot a loser from five hundred feet, but still, you get the point. No one tells me who I sleep with and whom I don’t.”

It looked like neither man was about to listen to a word she said—typical. Like a couple of children, they continued glaring at each other and hurling insults. Ric stiffened at Andy’s questioning of his breeding and hurled back a stinger of his own, topping it off with, “Why don’t you go find a nice cool mausoleum to cozy up in? No one here has an interest in cozying up with the likes of you.”

“Hey, speak for yourself,” Sophie said, not so much because she was even considering making kissy faces with Andy—though the thought had crossed her mind once or twice—but more because if there was one thing a man could do to really piss her off, it was speak for her. She gave Ric a shove, which didn’t budge him even a fraction of an inch. That made her even madder. “I have my own mouth, tongue, and vocal cords, Ric!” she shouted, like that would do any good. “And I’m quite capable of using them, thank you. But I’ll keep you in mind as a standby if I ever get laryngitis. And you—” She whirled around to address Andy again.

“I’m giving you exactly ten seconds to leave,” Ric growled from behind her. She could imagine his dark-eyed stare still focused on Andy.

“—you behave yourself,” she scolded Andy, feeling like she was dealing with a couple of toddlers fighting over a favorite toy. “I appreciate the fact that you offered to help us, but please, this isn’t helping.”

“Ooh, ten whole seconds.” Andy, again ignoring what she said, despite the fact that she was standing in front of him waving her arm like a deranged chicken, chuckled at Ric’s bravado. He checked his fingernails, glanced at his wristwatch until the full ten seconds had passed, and a few extras—Sophie counted them in heartbeats—then grinned. “I appreciate the offer but I think I’ll stick around a while longer. Sophie and I have some things to discuss.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Sophie nodded.

“Don’t believe a word this man tells you. He doesn’t care about you,” Ric said, finally addressing her but his gaze still firmly fixed on Andy.

That set off another round of insult volleys. The language flying between the two was enough to make a sailor blush. Sophie was tempted to take notes, just in case she needed some colorful insults later. Instead, she stood between them, watching the action and musing about the crazy twist her life had taken recently.

Well, this was interesting, if a little bit scary. Sophie had never been fought over by two men, let alone two amazingly gorgeous, incredibly powerful men. Except for the fact that she was slightly leery of the second one, didn’t know how much she could trust him, she might’ve been giggling like a schoolgirl. The fact that she had no clue how powerful either was, or how much damage they could do to each other, also dimmed the giggle factor a bit. Plus, the fact that both of them were essential to her search for a couple of moldy old artifacts that she needed to kill the stupid snakewoman married to her best friend brought the potential glee factor down even a few more notches.

Somehow, she had to diffuse this situation. Pronto! Before the bodies started flying. As it was, the two men were slowly inching their way closer to each other. Their puffed-up chests and thrust-up chins were no more than a couple of feet apart now. And she was still wedged in the middle, but losing breathing space fast.

She dropped the book on the floor and put both arms out, to keep the men apart, at least enough to allow her an occasional deep breath, and shouted at the top of her lungs, “Enough!”

For the first time in close to a half hour, the room was swallowed up in complete silence. She could actually hear herself breathing.

“Ric, Andy, you both say you want to help me but all you’re doing is making things worse! Stop acting like a couple of children, shut up, and let’s figure out what we need to do to find the stupid spear and shield. I have a lamia to kill! And I intend to do it with you or without you. Both of you!” She turned to Ric first and was pleased to see he seemed to have simmered down a bit. It wasn’t more than a degree or two, but it was something. “Please, Ric. You don’t know what this means to me. My best friend is dying, being sucked dry by his wife, a woman I introduced him to! Darn it, it’s my fault. I’m going to cause the death of yet another person—”

Ric began, “You’re not responsible—”

“Just like my poor little sister. I caused her death too. It was all my fault. I knew she was in danger but she was doing it for me…and…” Sophie swallowed several times as rage, regret, guilt burned a hole in her belly. “I couldn’t tell…. She died because of me, because of a lie.”

Both men stood silent, looking at her with wide, unblinking eyes.

Finally, an eon or so later, “How does he think he’s going to help us?” Ric grumbled, pointing at Andy.

She began, “He says—”

Andy interrupted, “I know where to find the items you need. The harp and the sword.”

“Harp?” Sophie repeated. “We aren’t looking for a harp. We’re looking for the shield. The Magen.”

“See?” Andy gave her a doleful shake of his head. “That Wissenschaft has led you astray already.”

“I have not!” Ric said. His chest muscles flexed under Sophie’s fingertips as she pressed her hand against his shirt, with the misguided but hopeful intention of holding him back. “I have brought her this far.”

“Into the hands of the one who would see her fail,” Andy challenged.

“I know Margaret Mandel is a lamia,” Ric said.

“Not only a lamia but also Lisse’s sister,” Andy corrected.

“Her sister. What’s that matter?” Ric shrugged his shoulders. “We know she was lying about the shield and spear. And we had no intention of searching out the gentleman in Chicago.”

“A poor decision,” Andy said, also looking like he was cooling down. “He is a Guardian.”

“Guardian of what?” Sophie asked, finally feeling like they were getting some useful information.

Andy took a seat in a chair that was almost too small to hold his bulk. “Since the lamiae do not procreate, they must protect their population. They pay anyone, humans, dragons—”

“Dragons?” Sophie interrupted, disappointed. So much for her hopes of getting useful information out of this one. “Like the fire-breathing, scaly monster, overgrown reptile variety?” She stole a glance at Ric and noticed he looked as surprised as she did. Or was that something else? Fear, maybe? She turned back to Andy and chuckled, even though the last thing she felt like doing at the moment was laughing. “Real-live dragons. That’s funny.”

“You laugh?” Andy raised one ebony eyebrow.

“Surely you don’t expect me to believe there are real dragons prowling around the earth,” Sophie said, hoping he was kidding, hoping this whole conversation was a joke. Fighting a half woman, half snake was scary enough. Dealing with a dragon—big teeth, fire, scales…big teeth!—that was another thing altogether.

“Yet you believe in vampires, the Wissenschaft, Ancient Ones, and lamiae,” Ric pointed out.

What was this? Were those two joining forces? She was beginning to wonder if that was such a good thing. “You’re standing here.” She poked at Ric’s chest. “See? Solid, firm. Real. And him too.” She poked at Andy’s chest to illustrate. “And in case you’ve forgotten, I’ve been bitten by both of you bloodsuckers, so I know your fangs are real too. How can I not believe in you? But I can state unequivocally that I’ve never, ever seen a fire-breathing dragon…that is, outside of the movies. In particular, the one in Shrek was frightening. And a girl dragon to top it off. She was tough. Whew. That fire breath was something. Wouldn’t want to mess with her. Poor Donkey!”

“Take my word for it, she was a pussycat compared to the real thing,” Andy warned.

“I have no experience with dragons myself,” Ric said. “But I’ve heard of those who have dared tangle with them. Not pretty.”

Ric believed him?

“There’s no way around it, you’ll have to face a Guardian sooner or later if you’re going to get the harp and spear,” Andy said. “He might not have what you’re looking for yet, but he’ll fight you for it or try to steal it from you once you’ve found it. Those guys mean business.”

“Yeah. So I’ve heard.” Ric didn’t sound pleased.

“I can’t tell you how to beat them, since I haven’t defeated one personally, but I can tell you about their weaknesses. Those are well known among the Ancient Ones,” Andy offered.

Ric took a seat in the chair next to Andy, rested his foot on his opposite knee, and looking like they were long-lost chums, gave him an encouraging nod. “Tell me. As men of science, my clan has no use for them and thus has no information on them in our annals.”

“As I expected,” Andy said, with a solemn nod. “I will tell you everything I know.”

And just like that, a new and unlikely friendship was born, between one gorgeous but pigheaded Wissenschaft and an equally stubborn but not quite as yummy Ancient One.

As both of the men’s gazes found her, their brows raised in a collective gaze of assessment, Sophie again wondered if their new partnership was a good thing or a bad thing. She figured it was probably both.

In the meantime, the shower was calling and she was in no position to refuse. To put it mildly, she reeked. Plus she was anxious to do something useful. When she emerged from the bathroom, smelling Zestfully clean, and feeling fresh and energized and ready to go spear hunting, Andy was gone. Ric was reclining in the bed, his head turned so his face was to the wall. His chest wasn’t moving. Even ten or so feet away, she could tell he wasn’t breathing; then again, he’d proven once already that that didn’t mean much.

Just to reassure herself, she called his name.

He didn’t respond.

Now she was worried. She called louder. Nothing. A million possibilities hopped around inside her head like Ping-Pong balls in a rubber-walled room. Had something terrible happened while she was in the shower? Had Andy been pretending to befriend Ric only to attack him once she’d left the room?

A whole lot more freaked out than she ever thought she would be, she ran to the bed, took one good breath to fill her deflating lungs, and grabbed his arm, figuring she’d roll him onto his back and take a look. What she would do after that was beyond her.

Did CPR work on the undead? Would a guy who rarely breathed need CPR? How would she know if there was something truly wrong with him?

It took a great deal of effort, strained muscles in places she hadn’t even known she had muscles, grunting and groaning, to get Ric over onto his back.

Dead weight. Dead…

Shoving that thought aside, she shook him. “Ric?”

He didn’t respond. Not an eyelash flutter, or a nose flare. Nothing.

“Ric, come on! Yeah, I gave you a hard time about being all manly and protective about Andy or whatever his name is, but you got over it…right? Ric? This. Isn’t. Funny!” She shook him harder, slapped his cheek lightly, then again with a whole lot more force. Even with her practically punching him he remained deathly still. “Oh, God! He’s dead? How? Oh, God! What happened? Did Andy do something?” she shouted to no one, because there was no one there to answer her. She ran around, shaking her hands, wanting to do something, anything, to bring Ric back but having no idea what to do. She paced. “Dead. My vampire sweetie’s dead? Was it garlic? A silver bullet? I didn’t see a stake in his heart. Surely I would’ve seen that.” She did a quick check for obvious injuries—bullet holes, burnmarks—and then for garlic and holy water. “Nothing? Did he starve to death? Does he need blood? Oh, man. I hope that isn’t it, because if it is, that means I’ll have to supply it to him and I can’t do that.”

She adjusted the collar of her pullover and leaned over him until her neck was pressed against his closed mouth. “Come on, baby. I know you want some. Drinky-drinky.”

He didn’t bite, slurp, or even lick.

“Darn it!” She glanced at her wrist, then pried his lips open—he looked a little bit like a horse with his lips curled back like that—and rubbed her wrist against the front of his teeth.

That did nothing either. Didn’t inspire even a twitch. Frustrated, near panic-stricken, she smacked his chest. “What the heck am I supposed to do? Huh? Damn it, if this is step two of the big plan, you could’ve given me a warning, a hint or two. A study guide. Something.”

She paced some more.

“Okay. What do I know about vampires?” She stopped pacing. “Not much. They need blood. But Ric knows I’m ignorant of the ways of the vamp. So if this is a test, he wouldn’t expect me to know something he knows I don’t know…. Jeez, I sound like Abbott and Costello.”

Sophie turned around and looked at Ric again. “Blood. That’s the only thing I can think of. It’s the only thing I know. That has to be it. But where do I get it from?” She looked around the room. Like there was going to be a ready supply of fresh blood in the hotel room. “Oh, man, he wouldn’t expect me to actually supply the blood, as in cut myself, would he? Why couldn’t he have passed out at a blood bank? I could just order up a unit or two of O-neg and be done with it.”

She stared at his pale face, wishing he would answer her.

“Shit! It’s a little thing. Right? I just need to make a small scratch. A poke, like the doctor does when he checks for iron. I have to try. I just hope I can supply what he needs before I pass out cold.” Determined to do what she could, she marched to the bathroom, found her pink Lady Schick, closed her eyes, and ran her fingertip along the blade. It stung like heck, had to have sliced clear down to the bone. She yelped and opened her eyes after bracing herself for what had to be a virtual river of blood gushing from the wound.

There wasn’t even a single drop. She could see the narrow slice in the skin but evidently it didn’t go deep enough to cause bleeding. “Darn it! I nick myself every freaking morning while shaving and now I can’t produce a single drop of blood when I need to?” Her heart racing, her hands shaking, stars twinkling before her eyes, she counted to three and tried again. Once again pain shot through her hand. This time it was so bad she dropped the razor in surprise. “Owwww! What I do for you, bloodsucker!”

This had to have worked. There had to be blood pouring from the wound, gushing, pulsing…. Her stomach turned. She blinked open her eyes but could barely see, thanks to the stars shutting out most of her field of vision. She thought she caught sight of some red and hoped it was good enough. At a near swoon, her head spinning, she went over to the bed, wormed her finger into his mouth and rubbed her fingertip along his teeth, the inside of his cheek.

“Wake up, dammit!” she said, tears now making it even harder to see. She felt breathless, near unconscious, like after she’d woken up from surgery and had had a reaction to the painkillers. “I can’t…do…any…more.” Giving in to the darkness that had slowly pulled her, she fell over, landing next to him on the mattress.

Chapter 12

“Wakey-wakey, sweetheart,” Ric said, shaking her shoulder.

Sophie rolled over, burying her head under the pillow. Her head felt like a block of cement and her stomach hurt. “Noooo. Tired. Leave me alone.”

“But, sweetcheeks, I’m in the mood to celebrate,” he said, sounding much too happy for a dead undead guy.

Sweetcheeks? What kind of name was that to call her? “Celebrate what?” she grumbled into the darkness. “You’re dead. Remember? A ghost. That doesn’t sound like something worth celebrating to me. How am I going to help Dao now? All by myself? I can’t fight a dragon. Dao’s gonna die, just like you did.”

“I’m not dead.” He sat next to her. The bed creaked as his weight tested the worn springs. Ghosts didn’t make springs creak, did they? “You saved me.”

“I did?” Nursing a major migraine all of a sudden, she blinked open her eyes, squinting against the glare of the lamp behind Ric. “You’re not dead?”

“Nope.”

Shielding her eyes from the lamplight so her head wouldn’t explode, she sat up and shifted her position so she could look at his face. It looked healthy and handsome and so very alive. She was thrilled! She was overjoyed! She was…pissed! She smacked him. When he didn’t look adequately chastised, she hit him again, and again, and again, punctuating each strike with a single word. “How. Could. You. Do. That. To. Me!”

“It was the second step. I said you’d know what to do when the time came. See? Nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about?” Despite the fact that the world spun like a Tilt-A-Whirl whenever she moved, she jumped up and smacked him some more. “Nothing to worry about? You were dead and I almost didn’t save you. I passed out! What if I’d failed? What would’ve happened to Dao?” This time, her strikes were harder, as her fear and anger worked their way out of her system. Each smack thumped dully against his chest. “Huh? What would’ve you done then, big, bad bloodsucker? What if I’d fainted before I stuck my freaking bloody finger in your mouth? What if I’d been too chicken to cut myself? What if my razor’d been too dull…?” She stomped away, stared blindly out the window. “Men! Gah!” She heard him follow her to the window. Despite the fact that she was fuming, awareness and longing shimmied up her spine.

“Doesn’t matter. I knew you were ready. You didn’t fail.”

Not happy with his answer, Sophie slumped forward, pressed her forehead against the cool glass and crossed her arms over her chest, shooting him “that wasn’t nice” barbs from her eyes as she tipped her head. She could see he wasn’t sorry, not at all. Sure, he didn’t go as far as beaming a smile at her, but he wasn’t doing a very good job at hiding one either. Infuriating man! Sexy, hunky, infuriating man.

Ric gently uncurled her fingers from around her upper arm. Clearly trying to cool her anger, he kissed each fingertip. It wasn’t working. Nuh-uh! Neither was that pitiful look he had on his face, the one that said, “Don’t be mad, I adore you.” She’d be good and angry for a long time. He flipped her hand over and traced a wet line down her palm, then up her wrist. Little tickles did the cha-cha along her nerve endings.

Mad. She was mad. Very mad. Seething mad.

“I checked on your friend, Dao. Found the phone number in your purse. He’s okay. Sounds a little shaky but he’s still alive. Your Ancient One says as long as Dao’s not confused, still knows who you are, who he is, you still have time.” His expression changed from all business to seductive; his eyes shifted from a warm brown to a soft gold. Her hand still cradled in his left hand, he lifted his other to her face, palmed her cheek, traced her lower lip with his thumb. “You’re so sexy when you’re mad.”

“No, I’m not. I’m intimidating. I’m damn scary.”

He called Dao? Wasn’t that sweet? Her heart did a happy little pitter-patter but she forced it to return to normal rhythm.

Mad. She had to stay mad. At least another thirty seconds, if she was going to have any hope of teaching the lughead not to do something so stupid ever again.

“Oh, yes.” He nodded. “Sexy and intimidating. Most definitely.”

“Quit humoring me,” she said flatly. “I hate that. Makes me madder…” She noted the pleased look on his face. “…which is what you want? You masochist! Grrr! Men! Vampires! You’re all crazy.”

“Yes, we are. That’s why we can’t stay away from adorable, sexy, amazing, infuriating, stubborn women like you.”

“Humph. I should be insulted.”

“No, you shouldn’t. I said infuriating and stubborn.” He flashed a grin that nearly brought her to her infuriating, stubborn knees. “Come.” He flattened her hand to his forearm, encouraging her to grip it. “Let’s go celebrate. My treat. You must be starving. How about some dinner? I’ll tell you what I found out while you were taking your nap—”

“Dinner? I don’t think I could eat. I’m too mad at you right now for almost dying—wait! Did you say dinner? What happened to breakfast? What day of the week is it?” She glanced at the clock. “Six in the morning? You woke me at six A.M.? That’s plain not right.” She let go of his arm, marched back to the bed, and made herself comfy-cozy. She knew they couldn’t go anywhere during the day. Why would he wake her up so early? “You vampire types keep some crazy hours. Wake me at eight, no earlier. My head’s about to explode like an atom bomb and I need to recover from the shock of your almost dying, never mind the insult of your humoring me when I was genuinely upset….”

“I’m so sorry, baby.” He completely obliterated every one of her defenses when he sat on the bed and pulled her into a warm hug. She sagged against him, grateful for his warmth, his support. Him. She was grateful for him. “I wished I could’ve warned you but the second step is a test of trust. I had to trust you would know what to do. And I had to trust that you’d have the strength to do it. You did.”

“But I was scared.”

“And very brave and smart. I’m proud of how quickly you figured out what to do. Look at me. I’m good as new. Because of you, because you’re so intelligent and brave and giving,” Ric consoled. “Now come on, it’s six P.M.,” he corrected. “You’ve been out for a while. You’re dehydrated, which is why your head hurts, and you need to eat before we get going.” He rubbed her shoulder; then when she refused to move, he gave her thigh a smack. “Get up! You’re not going to feel better until you drink and eat. Remember? You’re here for your friend. What good will you be to him if you collapse?”

“Fine, fine! You’d better be right because I swear I’m dying from meningitis. Maybe that razor blade was dirty and I got blood poisoning. Oh my God! I didn’t think about sterilizing it.” Sophie reluctantly let Ric go so he could stand, and she stared at the glaring red numbers on the clock. “Six at night? See? I’m sick, dying. I never sleep more than eight hours. I’d have to be near death to have slept that long. That’s like twenty hours. Shit! I can’t believe I wasted so much time.”

“It’s okay. I promise.” Ric didn’t look too impressed or worried. “And you’re not sick. I would know.”

“How would you know?”

“I would feel it too. The second step has brought us closer and although we are not completely joined, if something is wrong with either of us, the other will know. You slept for so long because you were simply worn out, exhausted.”

“But I should be helping—”

“I’ve been working while you slept. I’ll fill you in later.”

“Yeah, yeah. You keep saying that but you never tell me anything. I’m beginning to wonder if you’re keeping me in the dark on purpose—forgive the pun.”

“This time I promise I’ll tell you everything. Let’s get you dressed.” While she dragged herself across the room to check herself for signs of infection in the bathroom mirror—like a rash, a flush from fever—he went to her suitcase, which was sitting on top of the dresser, her clothes a disorganized heap on top. He picked out her sexy black teddy. “Oooh. Nice. How about you wear this?” He held it up to get a better look.

She flipped on the bathroom light, wincing at the jackhammers drilling her skull from the inside. “I think I’ll need to wear more than that if I’m going to stay out of jail—that is, if I don’t end up in the hospital first. Owwwww.”

“Fine, fine.” He sighed melodramatically. “I guess you’d better wear some more conservative clothes.” He chose a pair of cropped jeans and a knit top, handed them to her, along with the toothbrush he found in the pocket of her suitcase, next to her other female necessities.

“That’s better.” She brushed her teeth, found some clean underwear, then plopped her bottom back on the bed again, her pounding head sandwiched between her hands. “Speaking of better, do you have any drugs? I can’t eat like this. I can’t think like this. I can’t even walk like this.”

“Nope. Sorry, sweetie. Want me to go down to the lobby and get something? They probably have aspirin in the vending machine.”

“Yes. That would be wonderful. Thank you. It’ll give me time to get myself pretty for you, take a quick shower. Who knows, maybe some scalding water’ll ease the pounding.”

“Fair enough. I’ll be back in a few.” He brushed his mouth over hers in a soft kiss that momentarily had her thinking about much more pleasant ways to cure an excruciating headache. Didn’t she read somewhere that nookie cured headaches? “While you’re dressing, you might want to pack up. Once we’ve made sure you’ve had enough to eat, we’ve got to hit the road. It’s a long drive to Chicago.”

More surprises? She didn’t want any more surprises. She was tired of surprises. Weary of them. Eager for a boring, humdrum day. But at least they were getting somewhere! That made her breathe a little easier. “Chicago? I thought we weren’t going to meet that man. He’s a dragon.”

“He is. But Julian says it’s the only way we’ll find the spear and shield.”

“Julian? Who’s Julian?”

“Julian Tsiaris. Your Ancient One. That’s his real name. He’s coming too, is meeting us in an hour. So hustle up. We’re planning on hitting the road by seven. We vampire types prefer traveling after dark. It’s a little easier on the skin, if you know what I mean.”

“You mean I’m going to spend the next who knows how many hours trapped in a car with the both of you?” she asked, dragging herself back into the bathroom.

“Yep.”

“Oh, man.” The pain in her head increased tenfold. “You’d better hurry up with those drugs, then. A double dose of vamp testosterone? I can just imagine what kind of hell that’ll be.” She smiled. “We’re really getting closer to finding the artifacts?”

“Yes, we are.”

“Thank God!”

“What’ll it be? Fries, cheeseburger?” Ric twisted his neck to glance at Julian, who sat beside him in the passenger seat.

Julian lifted his brows in response. “I don’t consume human food. You do? And I have seen you travel by day as well. Have you begun the Second Death?”

Great. Now that was all he needed, one small piece of information the Ancient One could use against him. Fortunately, it wouldn’t do the Ancient One much good, yet. While Ric hadn’t started the Second Death, he was close enough to begin feeling a few of the effects. His power wasn’t what it had been a few decades ago. He was paying the price for living with the humans. Blending in with the mortals—walking in daylight, eating, drinking, mimicking breathing and a pulse—they all came with a price for his people. A very dear price.

“Second Death? What—Second—Death?” Sophie asked behind him, nudging his shoulder once for each word. When he didn’t respond, because he knew it would only make her more fearful, she turned to Julian and sighed. “Tell me. Please. Mr. Can’tsharemysecrets won’t talk.”

“I’m sorry I brought it up,” Julian mumbled. “Did I say death? I meant Second Debt.”

“Nice try, Julius Caesar.” Sophie said, using the nickname she’d bestowed upon him since they’d left the hotel.

“My name’s Julian, not Julius. Caesar was a spineless—”

“Hold up!” Sophie said, from the backseat. “You knew Julius Caesar? Like the real Caesar? The guy with the leaves on his head? Exactly how old are you?”

“A man never divulges his true age,” Julian rebutted, sounding injured. “And he didn’t wear leaves—”

“Sweetcheeks!” Ric interrupted, his arm hanging out the window, the buzzing voice on the restaurant’s drive-through intercom grating on his nerves. All he wanted to do was get their food and get back on the road. Why was that so difficult?

“What? Have I told you how much I hate that nickname? I don’t have sweet cheeks.”

“That’s a matter of opinion. What do you want to eat? I think the woman in there is either going to fall asleep waiting for us to finish placing our order or kill me with annoying feedback from her microphone. Please, forget about that other thing. Give me your order.”

“I’d like the truth, please. With a side of patience.”

“Funny. Now what do you really want? You’re the only one here who needs to eat this stuff. Do you want me to leave?”

“No, no. I’m starving—thanks to having to be the food source for the likes of you. I’ll have a burger, fries, milkshake. Do they sell strings of garlic, by any chance?”

Two not-so-amused vampires scoffed at her joke. Ric shouted her order into the metal box serving as a speaker, then made several corrections to their messed-up order—how hard could it be to get two burgers, a couple orders of fries, one milkshake, and one soda correct?

Once their order was confirmed, he pulled up to the second window to pay and collect the paper bags full of food.

“If you want to pull over, I’ll take over the wheel while you eat,” Julian offered, sending Ric’s suspicions to the fore again. Was it an innocent offer, or an underhanded attempt to either delay their arrival in Chicago or make sure they arrived at just the right time to be greeted by the lamiae welcome wagon?

Although Julian hadn’t done anything all night to prove he was a threat, Ric wasn’t about to just accept his seemingly new friendship with open arms. Put on an act? Sure. But he had too much at stake to completely trust the Ancient One, even if they were known for always speaking the truth. There were lies by commission and omission. There was nothing stopping the reportedly 2,100-year-old vampire from committing the latter.

He just needed to keep any vital information from reaching Julian’s ear, not easy with Sophie asking questions.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks anyway.” He steered the car back into traffic, heading toward the freeway entrance ramp. Once on the highway, it was no problem eating and driving. That was what a knee was for.

The food didn’t keep Sophie quiet for long, ten minutes tops, and then she was back to asking the kinds of questions he knew she wasn’t ready to hear the answers to—and questions he definitely didn’t want Julian to hear the answers to either.

“What’s the Second Death?” she asked again.

Julian gave Ric a guilty shrug. Was that honest guilt or feigned? “Sorry. Wasn’t thinking.”

After swallowing a sigh of irritation, Ric said, “It’s the final death.”

“What made Julian ask you if you were dying?”

“Because I can eat food and walk in sunlight,” he explained.

“Interesting. Let’s talk about that eating thing,” Sophie said, wedging her body between the two front seats. “This is the first time I’ve seen you eat and it raises some interesting questions. For instance, I thought you said if I turned into one of you vampy types, I wouldn’t be able to eat food anymore.”

“You won’t,” Julian said.

“Why not? If he can eat, why couldn’t I? That doesn’t seem fair.” Sophie sounded sulky.

Ric peered in the rearview mirror. Oh, yeah. She was pouting. He adored the way her bottom lip protruded just enough to be tempting when she pouted. He could imagine the effect it must have had on her parents when she was a child. He knew for a fact that if they had a beautiful little girl with her glistening mahogany hair, expressive eyes, and full lips he’d be powerless to do anything but give her her heart’s desire.

Good thing they weren’t going to be producing any children. They’d have to complete all the steps of the marriage ritual before they could do that. And that was not going to happen. The second step was as far as he would let them go, if he had any control over it.

No marriage. No children.

“You wouldn’t be able to eat because you would be a young Wissenschaft and as a young Wissenschaft you would lack the power to do so,” Ric explained.

The bottom lip slipped back into place. What a shame.

“Okay. But eventually, I’d be able to eat again, right? Like in a few months or so?”

“No, not months. Many, many years.” He wadded up the wrapper for his sandwich and crushed it into the bag. “Remember, I’m no infant. I’m several hundred years old.”

“And don’t look a day over thirty,” Sophie said, leaning over to nibble on his earlobe. The French fry that was halfway down his throat stopped at midchest level, and one certain part south of the waist went rock hard in two seconds flat, putting thought of anything but sliding it into her slick canal from his mind. He swallowed. Hard.

“Just wait until I get you alone,” he growled, trying to make some adjustments down below while driving—no easy task. “I’ll make you pay for that.”

“For what?” she whispered in his ear. “This?” Her tongue rimmed his outer ear, then plunged inside, making his body rigid from scalp to big toe.

“Hmmm. Does this mean you’re finished being angry with me for earlier?” he asked.

“Not on your life, buddy. I’ll be furious for at least another ten seconds.” She giggled, letting him know she wasn’t even remotely close to being furious. “Actually, it means I’m trying to use my feminine wiles to get what I want.”

“Ah, I see.”

Giggling again, she sat back and resumed her line of questioning. “So, eating real food leads to death?”

“No, not exactly,” Ric said, wishing she’d be distracted by something, anything. Wishing he was in a position to distract her. He could think of a thing or two that would take all thought of eating and clear it from her mind.

“That’s all you’re going to say?” She sat forward again and ran her tongue down the side of his neck, and he sucked in an audible gulp of air.

“Yes,” he said, his voice wavering. His will, too.

“Nothing more?” she asked, now nibbling on his neck. Nipping, licking, driving him crazy. His erection pushed against the front of his pants. His testicles became heavy.

“No,” he half spoke, half ground out through gritted teeth. “It’s very complicated and I don’t think now is the best time to talk about it.”

“Nothing like a vague answer to annoy me. I hate it when people won’t say what they mean. Julian?”

“Don’t ask me to explain. I’m no good at explaining anything.”

“Coward,” she taunted.

“I’d be an idiot to get in the middle of this,” Julian countered.

Sophie let loose with a sharp “Ha!” then added, “You weren’t afraid to get in the middle of things earlier—when you snuck into my room.”

“Yeah, well, that was before,” Julian said.

“Before what? Before we left? Before we slept? Before we what?” she asked.

“Before you took the second step with Ric.”

“What’s that have to do with answering a question?” Sophie pushed.

“A lot.” Julian looked out the window, stabbing out at the dark. “Oh, look. Pretty cows.”

“Chicken,” Sophie grumbled.

“No,” Julian said, with a shake of his head. “Those are much too big to be chickens. Yep, they’re definitely cows. Or steer. Hard to tell from so far away.”

Ric smiled at the grunt of frustration that blasted from the backseat.

His dear, sweet, sexy, annoying, delightful—and did he say sexy?—Sophie. He knew she wasn’t the kind to keep up her silence long, had proven it by spending the past several hours questioning him about some very intimate details of his existence as a vampire, right down to the most sensitive ones, things he couldn’t afford for Julian to hear. If only he could get her alone, even for a second, he’d be able to explain, tell her he’d answer her questions when they had more time. And had more privacy.

Sun Tsu had coined the phrase “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” Ric hadn’t been given the chance to explain that that was what he was doing there, inviting Julian along as they searched for the shield and spear; he wasn’t yet convinced of Julian’s unspoken suggestion that the shield was King David’s harp. He kicked himself for not taking the time to explain before they left the hotel, but he’d been anxious to get going, wanted to have several hours after they reached Chicago to find the dragon before sunrise. With all the bathroom and food stops Sophie kept initiating, they’d be lucky to get there by three. That would only give him about three hours to search.

As if she read his thoughts, Sophie chose that moment to announce, “I need to take a potty break. Was that a rest stop sign I saw back there?”

Humans! They had to eliminate every few minutes, especially female humans. Ric bit back a groan. “Are you sure you can’t hold it?”

“No, I can’t hold it. That’s bad for my innards. Causes bladder infections and then it feels like I’m peeing acid whenever I go. You don’t want to be around me when I have a bladder infection. Believe me. I’m miserable. My doctor said I should never hold it.”

“Okay, okay.” He surrendered with a lift of his hands. “I would never forgive myself if I were to cause you any sort of physical discomfort, at least if I can help it. We’ll stop. Again. But promise me you won’t get another giant-sized fountain drink?”

“Hey, first off, you’re the one who told me I was dehydrated and need to drink more. Plus, I’m so gosh darned thirsty all the time all of a sudden. What happened? Did that second step make me a diabetic or something? I only donated a drop of blood. Or did you take another drinky-drinky and wipe out my memory again? Because if you did, there’ll be hell to pay.”

Julian laughed, and Ric, unable to help himself, laughed too. Hell to pay was all too appropriate an expression. He followed the winding exit to the freeway rest area and parked, taking advantage of the stop to get out and stretch his legs. He watched Julian very carefully, waiting to see if he’d excuse himself, to go off and find a phone to contact someone in Chicago. He knew they could be walking into a trap going to the dragon’s lair. He guessed the dragon didn’t have either of the artifacts they were looking for. And expected they were being led astray, probably to keep them from defeating the lamia who’d sent Julian to visit Sophie in the first place. But lacking any information to confirm his suspicions, he wouldn’t ignore the possibility that Julian was telling the truth.

“By the way,” Julian said, looking innocent as ever, “I went ahead and reserved three rooms for us at the Marriott.”

“Perfect.” Ric figured he’d know which it was, very soon. Was Julian a friend or foe?

Chapter 13

“Let me help you with those, and then I’ll go find my own room.” Ric yanked Sophie’s carry-on from her and slung it over his shoulder, then picked up her suitcase with the other hand. He lifted it like it was light as feathers and trailed behind her to the elevator. As they waited for the car to descend from the fifth floor, she glanced around the lobby.

“Where’d Julius Caesar go?”

“Don’t know. Probably to his room. Since it’s approaching dawn, he’s probably anxious to get out of the sunlight.”

“Oh, yeah. Why is it you can walk around in daylight and he can’t?”

He looked nervous as he glanced around. “I’ll explain it later.”

“So many secrets.” A soft “ding” signaled the elevator’s arrival and Sophie instinctively stepped to the right to allow any passengers to pass. After watching several, including a few men in business suits, a couple with a toddler, and a woman, wearing a scowl and a bad case of bed head, she stepped inside and continued, “Have I told you how much I can’t stand secrets?”

“Maybe. I can’t remember for sure,” he said all nonchalant-like as he reached around her to push the number five. The cozy, albeit brief, contact between her shoulder and his chest made her knees a little wobbly.

The doors slid shut and the car lurched, climbing slowly to the fifth floor. She gripped the metal handrail on the wall for stability. “We’ve taken the second step. Doesn’t that entitle me to a little bit of insider information?”

“Yes. But here and now is not the place or time, neither is in a car with an Ancient One who’d tried to steal you away from me the night before.”

Sophie’s cheeks burned. Duh! Why was she so witless sometimes? And so willing to believe the worst about people? Ric wasn’t trying to keep secrets from her. He was trying to keep secrets from Julian. “Ohhhh. I didn’t think…I mean, I thought you and Julius Caesar were best pals. You two seemed to be hitting it off so well. And I didn’t know the stuff I was asking would be harmful. Sorry.” The elevator came to a bumping, stomach-jarring halt and the doors slid open. She stepped out of the car and glanced at the signs with numbers and arrows, searching for room five-twenty-two.

“Don’t worry about it. This way,” Ric said, turning right down a narrow passageway. “I’m guessing it’s down here at the end.”

He was right. It was way down there, the last room on the left. Good thing he hadn’t allowed her to carry a single thing, not that she wasn’t capable of lugging her own suitcases. She could. But her arms would be falling off by now. It was nice being treated with a little bit of respect, even if he’d been tight-lipped and stubborn about sharing information. At least now she had some notion of why he’d been acting that way.

Sophie swiped the card in the lock and pushed open the door. The curtains were drawn, the lights out. The room was completely dark. She made a beeline for the lamp she’d spied sitting on top of the dresser, but Ric stopped her.

“Wait.” The door closed behind her, shutting out the light from the hallway. There was a thud, some soft shuffling and then two hands gripped her shoulders from behind.

Instantly in the grip of illogical fear, she gave a shocked gasp and jerked. Her heart pounded in her ears like a bass drum. “What the he—?”

“It’s just me, sweetcheeks.” Ric’s deep voice cut through her fear and soothed her frazzled nerves instantly. He gently eased her around, then gathered her into a warm hug. “It’s safe. I just wanted to check the room first.”

She sighed, and even though she couldn’t see much in the inky blackness but a vague outline of his face, she tipped her head to him in a glare. “You can actually see in here? That is so unfair. Anyway, what’s the next step in our relic hunt? Are we going to pay a visit to that Guardian ummmmph…”

He slanted his mouth over hers in a hungry kiss. His teeth nipped at her lower lip; then he suckled it, pulling it inside. His tongue teased with shy, fleeting swipes.

Ready to throw herself mind, body, and soul into the kiss, she opened her mouth, inviting that naughty tongue inside for a party. It accepted the invitation, made itself at home by lounging on the right side of her mouth, then paid a visit to the left. After a second or two there, it grew restless and decided to dance a little sexy tango. Her tongue joined the festivities, giving his a caress or two that had her rubbing against him like a cat in heat. She even purred, for which she received a rumbly chuckle and a pat on the rear end.

Now, seemingly on a mission to conquer, rather than merely pay a friendly visit, his tongue abandoned its gentle caressing motions for a rhythmic stabbing one instead. The change of pace awakened her desire, stirring it from its short nap until it had spread throughout her body like a fever. Parts tingled, her heart rate doubled, tripled, quadrupled. Her breathing quickened until she became breathless.

“You have no idea how much I want you right now,” Ric murmured as he nibbled a path along her jaw and then down her neck. “I’m burning up.”

“Me too.” She pressed herself against him as snugly as she could, molding her body to his. Her pubic bone ground against his thigh, creating a welcome friction. Her sex spasmed, wetness slicking her panties.

“We should get going sometime soon but…damn it…” His hands ran down her shoulders, then slid around to her back, where they found her buttocks. He pressed her into him, increasing the friction between her mound and his leg until she was sure she’d drop. Her knees turned to rubber. Her brain lost its struggle to remain afloat amid the desire flooding it and sent up its last warning flare before sinking like the Titanic. Her body tensed as the promise of what was about to happen reached her ears.

“To hell with the dragon. He can wait a little longer. I’m going to take you very shortly. Just a quickie.”

Sophie shuddered against him, then let him lift her off her feet. He turned, somehow found the bed, and laid her on it. She kicked off her shoes, then scrambled to blindly shuck off her top and jeans.

“I want to share everything with you,” he said, pressing his weight on top of her. “I don’t want to keep secrets from you any longer. And I don’t want you to keep secrets from me either.”

Those words made her smile into the darkness like a goon. Finally! No more secrets. Complete honesty. Naturally, she could wait until…after they were through…to get all her answers. “You have no idea how much that means to me.” She reached up, found his neck, hooked her hand around the back and pulled, ready to give him the kiss of a lifetime to show him how grateful she was. He accepted her tongue’s forceful intrusion into his mouth, accepted her hands’ thorough exploration of all parts south of his neck, and accepted her unspoken invitation to touch her anywhere he liked.

He found her nipples somehow—it couldn’t have been because they were as hard as titanium—and pinched first one, then the other until she couldn’t drag in a single heavy breath. Then his hand traveled lower, down her stomach to her sodden panties. She just about cried when his weight lifted off her as he sat back. But her sorrow quickly morphed to glee when he pulled her knees apart and traced a line down the center of her moist underpants.

“Mmmm. You’re wet.”

“Yeah. Imagine that. Want to check under the panties?”

“You bet I do.” He stripped her of both underpants and bra. Breathless and burning up, her skin practically on fire, desire bubbling through her veins, Sophie lay there, waiting for his touch in the dark.

He started with her breasts, closed a warm mouth over one aching peak and suckled. Waves of need crashed through her, battering her body, washing away every thought before it reached the surface of her mind. She was left with only sensations. The soft smack of his mouth as he kissed, lapped at her nipple. The scent of her own arousal mixed with the unique combinations of soap and man and something spicy and dangerous that always surrounded Ric. The feeling of his velvet tongue as it alternately laved at her nipple and teased it with quick flicks.

Her growing need took the form of a tightness that started deep in her belly. As Ric abandoned one nipple for the other, that need grew. Heat joined the tension, creating a burning knot deep inside her. It slid lower, between her legs, and she groaned, fisted the coverlet, and opened her legs wider, silently begging for him to soothe the fierce blaze burning there.

She found his shoulder and swiped her tongue along the bulge of a muscle, devouring the wonderful flavor of salt and man. Her fingers followed the line of corded muscles stretching down to his elbows. “Please,” she begged.

Even though she couldn’t see him, she could see his smile in her mind, could feel his joy, his hunger and need. They magnified her own, sending spikes of sharp wanting, jagged and painful, through her body. She cried out, called his name until his mouth pressed to hers and he drank in all her cries. One finger slipped between her slick folds, rimmed the outside of her sex, dragging wet warmth up to her clitoris. He drew tight circles over her nub. Round and round.

Her inner thigh muscles stretched and burned as she parted her legs wider, wider. She needed him inside, needed to be filled, needed to be joined with him again. Completed. Whole.

“Ric. Now. Oh, please.”

She felt him settle between her thighs, touch her knees with his hands. His erection pushed at her and she arched her back to take him inside. He entered her in one swift, mind-blowing stroke. Instantly, her body was ablaze. So full. Complete. Whole. She wanted to cry. She wanted to laugh. She did both, arched to meet his thrusts, and rode upon the waves of bliss his body gave her.

When he reached down to stroke her clitoris, she was driven to new heights of paradise, to a place where there was no division between them, where she was a part of him and he, her, and their minds and spirits were fused. His emotions blasted through her being, making her heart heavy and light at the same time. His thoughts filled her head. His cries sounded in her ears.

With the first spasm of her climax, he stiffened against her and whispered her name into her head. And the words, I’m falling in love with you. The moment he found his release, she confessed as well, “And I’m falling in love with you, too.” After a final stroke, he pulled out of her.

Then there was a thud, a shout, and wild jumping all around her.

Confused, Sophie scooted up to the head of the bed and fumbled for the light. It snapped on, flooding the room with blinding white light. She blinked and squinted, struck dumb by what she saw. It didn’t make sense.

How could he? What was happening?

Ric was nude, standing at the foot of the bed, Julian’s wrist caught in his raised fist, every muscle in Ric’s body flexed tight, hard as steel.

Clearly they weren’t dancing.

In Julian’s hand was a knife. A very large knife with a silver, hooked blade that flashed brightly when Julian’s hand twitched.

“What the heck?!” Sophie shouted.

“It’s not what you think. I swear,” Julian said, his eyes full of surprise, fixed on Ric’s red, rage-filled face.

“Not what I think?” Ric said so low Sophie could hardly hear him. “Why don’t you tell me what I think?”

Julian’s fingers uncurled. The knife fell onto the bed. Sophie stared at it in horror. “I wasn’t…I mean there was someone…” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. You aren’t going to believe me.”

“What’s to doubt? I felt the blade. I turned around. You’re in the midst of a full backswing sure to drive that silver through my ribs and into my heart.” Ric shoved at Julian, but Julian barely budged. The worst kind of rage played over Ric’s features, the kind that made men do crazy things, things like kill other men.

Sophie’s gaze jumped back and forth between the two men. Confused, wanting to believe Julian for some reason but having a hard time ignoring the facts, she wrapped a sheet around herself and stood mute, tense, ready to jump if either man did anything foolish—not that it wouldn’t be foolish of her to jump into the middle of a fight between two vampires.

But a girl had to do what a girl had to do when it involved the man she was falling in love with.

“Please, Ric,” she said. “Don’t do anything stupid—”

“Like murder the bastard? Sneak up on him in the dark while he’s making love and drive a fucking silver stake into his black heart?”

“Yeah. That.” Sophie nodded, knowing her feeble attempt at trying to lighten the mood would probably fail. “You know what the sight of blood does to me.”

“I swear, I don’t know how I got here. But when I figured out where I was, I saw another guy here,” Julian insisted, pointing at an empty spot next to where Ric was currently fuming. “He was right there and I…I swung the knife at him just before he tried to kill you.”

“Nice try, asshole. I know it’s not in your disposition to lie, but I’m not buying this story. Was that other guy by any chance a pal of yours? A convenient scapegoat to get you off the hook? Get out of here before I do something we both regret.”

Sophie let out a heavy sigh of relief. No dead vampires. Ric was still alive. Alive, not lying in a pool of blood on the bed. To think she’d almost lost him. Had come so close. Instantly, she caught a case of the shivers.

“Thanks for not doing anything crazy,” she said, trying hard not to let on how bothered by all this she was. And bothered was a misnomer, actually. Scared poopless, out of her wits, in shock. Those were more appropriate expressions for what she was feeling. She resisted the urge to hurl herself on him and cling to him like a baby. She was not the hurling type. She was not the clinging type. And she was no baby.

She was strong. She was capable. She was independent…and she was not fooling anyone, herself included.

She adored this man and even the thought of losing him made her sick. As if on cue, her insides twisted into a double knot.

She received a grunt for an answer to her thanks, a disgusted grunt that suggested he wasn’t particularly happy with the way things had gone.

She smoothed her palm down Ric’s arm, wishing she could cast away the anger she saw in his eyes. He was furious. Still. And she bet it would take him a long, long time to settle down. “I admire the fact that you took the high road and walked away from the fight,” she said. “I’ve always admired men who have the strength to do that.”

“It wasn’t my first choice,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I know.” She coaxed him to sit, then climbed up on the bed behind him and attempted to rub away the knots in his shoulders. It was like massaging a pile of granite. Her knuckles cracked. “I never in a million years expected Julian to do something so…evil,” she admitted.

“I did.”

“Really?”

“Don’t trust anyone. That’s always been my motto. I knew he was up to something. No one makes a one-eighty overnight. He’s on the other team. And he’ll try to stop us again, too. I have no doubt he’s still taking orders from that lamia. Even so, this was a very bold step to take. He had to believe he’d succeed to dare even try it. He didn’t try to conceal his face. Nothing. Either he was so convinced he couldn’t fail or he’s a lot stupider than I thought. I expected him to be more underhanded, lead us astray, deliver us into a trap. I hate to see what his next attempt will be.”

“Oh, God.” She sort of regretted the fact that Ric hadn’t killed him now. She wrapped her arms around Ric’s neck and rested her chin on his shoulder, pressing her upper body against his back. His clean scent filled her nostrils and she nuzzled into his neck, inhaling, wanting to store his scent, to remember it forever.

What if he was right? What if Julian did try again? And what if he succeeded?

“What can we do to stop him?” Sophie asked, fighting against the quakes building inside. Now she knew what a volcano felt like just before it got ready to blow. She was gonna blow and blow bad. Tremors started in her belly.

“Be ready for his next move.”

“And then what?” she whispered.

“Stop him.”

A boulder of concrete formed in her throat. Stop him. She could guess how. “Why…why didn’t you stop him tonight if that’s what you intend to do?”

“I wasn’t ready yet.” Ric rested his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers. “I had to wait and see what his next move was. What if he was telling the truth? I know it’s unlikely. I saw no signs of another man in the room with us, but if what he said was true, then I’d find out about it eventually. And I would’ve realized I’d killed an innocent guy for nothing. I wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt. No. It was too soon. We wait.”

“What about the dragonman? I really don’t want to go there. It sounds too dangerous.”

“We’re going. On our own. To hell with Julian.”

“You think it’s safe?”

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

“Can’t say for sure. You never know with Guardians. The hotel has a computer room downstairs. I’ll look up the Guardian in the phone book and we’ll pay him a visit this morning, while Julian’s sleeping. That ought to reduce the danger factor a bit.”

“Okay. That sounds like a plan.” Still not over the thought that she could’ve lost Ric, just like that, Sophie squeezed him again. The realization that she might still lose him made her stomach leap up her throat. Yes, at first he’d been nothing more than a cute sidekick, someone to help her find the artifacts and save Dao. But now, now he was so much more. He was everything to her now. He was her future—she hoped. “I’m so glad you’re here with me. I mean, I don’t know how I would’ve managed if I’d had to do this alone. I wouldn’t have wanted to.”

“Yeah, um”—he stood up, strode across the room to the door—“I’m going downstairs to find the computer.”

“Sure. Okay,” she said, noting the stiffness in his voice, in his posture. Was he still upset about Julian? Or was there something else going on? “I should check on Dao while you’re gone.” She peered at the clock. It was awfully early. She figured she’d better give him a call anyway. Who knew when she’d get the chance again.

She settled onto the bed, reclined on a stack of pillows, dialed the number, and prepared to talk to a sleepy, grumpy Dao. He hated being wakened.

The phone rang, and rang, and rang. Not home? Odd. Just as she pulled the receiver from her ear, her finger poised over the button, ready to cut off the call, she heard his gravelly, sleep-thickened voice.

“Uh, hello?”

“Dao?”

“Yes. Who’s calling?”

“It’s me, Sophie. I just wanted to call, see how you’re feeling—”

“Sophie? Sophie who?”

Her belly slid to her toes. What had Ric said about confusion? Dao wasn’t confused. No. He was…half asleep. That’s all. “Your friend Sophie. Sophie Hahn.”

“I’m sorry. You must have the wrong number.”

“Huh?” She forced a chuckle. Laughing was the last thing she felt like doing at the moment. “You’re joking, right? Oh, you’re such a crazy guy.”

“No, I’m not joking. But I agree, if this is your idea of a joke, it isn’t funny. Good-bye.”

Her heart stopped. “What? Wait! Don’t hang up.” The phone to her ear, she yelled, “Wake up, buddy! This is Sophie. Your best woman, the one who stood by your side at your wedding.”

“Sorry. I don’t know anyone named Sophie and my friend Bill was my best man. Best woman? What the hell is that? You have the wrong number.”

Click.

“Oh my God. He doesn’t remember me anymore? He doesn’t remember his wedding? He doesn’t fucking remember I exist, and I’m in Chicago, too far away to help him. It’s too late.” She let her head fall forward. Her forehead landed in her palms. “He’s worse. The witch stole his memory. Damn.”

She cried. The tears ran like rivers down her cheeks. It was too much, all of it. Dao’s sickness, and the dueling vampires, and the snakewoman, and Julian’s attempt to kill Ric while he was making love to her, and the dragon guy, and, and…she wasn’t fucking Buffy the vampire slayer. She wasn’t strong enough. She wasn’t brave enough and she wasn’t smart enough. “I want to go home.”

Someone knocked on her door. Three soft raps.

“Oh, God, what now?” Figuring she’d probably regret going to the door, Sophie rubbed the tears from her burning eyes with the bedsheet, then staggered to the door and peered out the peephole.

Ric.

She opened the door and he swept past her with long, purposeful strides.

“I found him, and lucky for us, he doesn’t live far from here. But I want you to stay put while I go have a little chat—”

“Over my dead body. And I mean that literally.”

One eyebrow lifted. “Really,” he said flatly. “You know, I could’ve—and probably should’ve—gone without telling you where I was heading. But I thought I’d do the right thing and come here and explain. No secrets. Remember?” He shook his head, raked his fingers through his hair. “You see what we men have to deal with? We try to give you what you want and you give us grief anyway. And what’s wrong? Why are your eyes so red?”

“I just talked to Dao and he doesn’t know who I am anymore. What’s that mean?”

“Shit.” Ric shook his head. “It means you have probably twenty-four, maybe thirty-six hours tops if what Julian implied is true.”

“Then that settles it. I’m going with you. I’ll go insane with worry if you leave me here to stare at these four walls. I have to do something. Up to this point, you’ve been doing all the work.” When he didn’t agree to let her go, she threw in an argument she figured couldn’t fail. “Besides, what if Julian comes back while you’re gone? Are we sure he was trying to kill you and not me?”

Surprise touched his features. “You have a point. I hadn’t thought of that, just assumed he was after me so that he could have you and more easily distract you from the lamia…but he might…he could…bastard!” He crossed his thick arms over his chest. “You’re coming with me but you have to promise to do what I say. We don’t have time to waste arguing. Got it?”

Got it? Despite the fact that she’d won the battle, she saw red. “Don’t talk to me like a defiant child! No one talks to me like that.”

“Sorry! I swear I didn’t mean it to come out like that.” He pulled her to him, held her tightly. He kissed the top of her head and she sighed into his chest. Safe, warm, secure. “Sorry, sweetcheeks. But the thought of you being hurt or worse…makes me crazy. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you. I’d love to just put you away somewhere safe but I know I can’t.”

“No, you can’t lock me in a tower like a princess. This isn’t a fairy tale. It’s an action adventure. You’re Indiana Jones and I’m Willie Scott. We’re in this together. Remember? Partners. You watch my back and I’ll watch yours. I admit, I haven’t felt in control or brave or strong since we left, but I can’t leave you now, hide here like a chickenshit. Not when someone’s trying to kill you, or me…or both of us. And not when Dao’s getting worse. I let one person down once and it cost more than I ever wanted to pay. It cost her life. No way. I can’t let you down too. I can’t let Dao down. I can’t let myself down.”

“Yeah. I remember we originally said we’d help each other. But since we left Detroit, things have changed. A lot’s happened—”

“Tell me about it.” She smiled up at him, despite the fear and uncertainty making her heart heavy. “I care about you. I didn’t see that coming—okay, maybe I did. Sort of. But I didn’t expect to care so much.”

His eyes were dark, his face a mask of tension, worry. “I care about you too. More than I ever thought I could. More than I wanted to.”

Her smile faded. “I don’t know whether to say thank you or I’m sorry.”

“Neither. It wasn’t anything you did.” He kissed her nose. “But you’d better move back a bit or things are going to start happening again.” He nodded down in the general direction of their bodies and she instantly recognized the hard bulge pressing against her belly.

“Fair enough.” She reluctantly stepped out of his embrace. “But promise me that when all this is through we’ll have some quiet time, just you and me. I want to laze around, soak in the bathtub, watch a movie on TV, eat a meal that doesn’t come in waxed paper.”

“You bet we will.”

“Good. So, what do we need to defeat a dragon? Do we need to collect some supplies? Holy water? Garlic?”

“We need a miracle.” He took her hand in his, kissed her knuckles, and squeezed gently.

“Great,” she said, following him into the hall. “I don’t suppose they’re on special at Meijers, and I’m pretty sure I’d completely exhausted my lifetime’s supply when I met you.”

Chapter 14

Sophie wasn’t sure what she’d expected a dragon’s lair to look like, but she knew for a fact that the little white bungalow with tidy flower beds filled to capacity with petunias was a far cry from what she’d imagined. Where was the forbidding castle? The moat? The rickety wooden bridge and “Danger, stay away” signs?

When they stepped on the front porch and heard a young child’s playful shriek through the closed door, she asked Ric, “Are you absolutely positive we’re at the right place? Do dragons have flowers? And babies? And garden signs with butterflies on them? We’re not even out in the boonies. We’re in the heart of suburbia. Frankly, I’d expect someone’s grandma to live here.”

“If this is the Guardian’s house, he’s no one’s grandma, or grandpa. Don’t let appearances fool you.”

“Sure. Okay,” she said, not at all convinced.

Ric adjusted his badge holder nervously and flipped the pages of paper they’d filled with fake names and arranged on a clipboard. “I just hope he buys our cover.”

“Sure he will. You’re an expert liar.”

He grimaced. “Not anymore, at least not to you.”

“I hope you mean that.” She checked her own name badge—which displayed the name Sheila Potts—and went through what they’d rehearsed on the way over. The wig she was wearing to hide her hair itched. She poked a finger at her scalp and tried to scratch without knocking the wig off her head or setting it off kilter so she looked like her grandma after being caught in a windstorm. “Why aren’t you wearing a wig? This is terrible,” she grumbled. “Why aren’t you sharing my misery?”

“Because they don’t make wigs for men. I wish they did.” He smoothed his fake beard, which matched his new hair color, deep brown. The new color looked great on him, gave him a dark mysterious look instead of the sun god, beach bum one. Both looks suited her just fine. “This is the best I could come up with. I’m not convinced it’s good enough but what can I do now? Ready?”

Sophie nodded and Ric poked the doorbell. She heard the faint chime sound inside, then the not-so-faint bark of at least a dozen dogs. “Uh-oh.”

“Don’t worry.” Ric donned a smile that made her weaker in the knees than she already was.

She followed suit but guessed her smile looked a lot less convincing than his. “You don’t understand. I’m scared to death of dogs.”

“I doubt they’ll come to the door.”

A split second later, it sounded like all bazillion dogs in the house were digging at the inside of the door, trying to bust through to make her their lunch. Sophie backed up one, two, three steps until she was literally teetering on the edge of the porch.

“Don’t you go anywhere. I need you here so they don’t get a good look at me.” Ric caught her sleeve and yanked at the precise moment the front door swung open, revealing a young, pretty woman with an armload of baby and surrounded by the hounds of hell. He gently shoved Sophie in front of him.

The woman eyed them both with suspicion and said through the glass storm door, “Yes?”

Sure those dogs would bust through that single pane of very thin glass at any moment, Sophie cleared her throat. “Hello, madam. We’re with the Humane Society collecting signatures to have a law recently passed allowing the shooting of innocent mourning doves to be rescinded. Would you care to sign?”

The woman’s eyes went from Sophie’s face to some point behind her—Ric’s face, she assumed. He pressed the clipboard into Sophie’s hand. She offered it to the woman.

“Okay. I guess I can do that,” the woman said. Balanced on her hip was the baby, a toothless grin and drool dripping down his chin. She swapped hips, settling him on the opposite side and pushed open the door a couple of inches to allow Sophie to pass the clipboard through.

She set the baby on the floor, signed, and then, smiling, reached for the door, but before she had it opened, Ric said, “Is your husband home too? We could use all the signatures we can get. It’s for a good cause.”

“Oh.” One of the dogs gave the baby’s face a tongue bath and the child laughed gleefully. “That’s enough, Goliath.” The woman shook a scolding finger at the mammoth dog, now working at cleaning the infant’s hair, and scooped up the baby. “Sure. Just a moment.” She turned to take the clipboard into the interior of the house.

Ric poked Sophie’s back. She glanced over her shoulder. “Huh? What?”

Ric shook his head. “Wait!” he said to the woman. “We can’t let you to take that out of our sight,” he explained. “Sorry, it has personal information on it about the other signers. Phone numbers, addresses. I’m sure you understand.”

“Oh. Yeah. I understand.” As the woman passed the clipboard back to Sophie, several noses poked out, sniffing her fingers. Instinctively, Sophie jerked her hand away. The woman looked shocked at Sophie’s reaction. The dog that had groomed the baby growled and bared its very sharp, very long, very intimidating teeth. After giving Sophie a cautious once-over, the woman slammed the glass door shut and scowled at the beast. “Goliath, what’s your problem?” She held up her index finger to Ric and Sophie and disappeared.

The dogs remained. An eighth inch of glass or so the only thing between their teeth and Sophie’s delicate skin.

“They hate me. They want to eat me. Look at that one, he’s so hungry he’s drooling,” she whispered, pointing at the one with the smashed-looking face and strings of slime hanging from his loose lips. She gave Ric a nervous glance, but before he could respond, the woman returned, sans the baby, but with a very nice-looking man; a man, Sophie might add, who looked nothing like a dragon. He looked more like a movie star.

“Hello, sir,” she said, prepared to recite the spiel she’d just given his wife, but she stopped at that point, distracted by the way he was staring at Ric. And the way Ric was staring at him.

It was that “guy sizing up the foe” type of look. Not good.

Ric glanced down at his name badge, breaking eye contact first.

Clearing her throat, Sophie said, “Hello, we’re collecting signatures to send to our…local…representatives….” She stopped when the movie star shut the door in her face. “He knew?”

“He knows something’s up.” Ric turned, walked down the front porch stairs, reading the wife’s signature. “For one, someone who works for the Humane Society isn’t usually scared to death of animals.”

“Oh,” she said guiltily, following him. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay. You can’t help it. Though if I’d known, I would’ve picked a different cover for us.” Continuing down the front walk to the shaded street, he added, “Hmmm. The last name’s right. We have the right guy. I tried to block him from my mind but he’s too powerful. I think he got a few things. I couldn’t get into his. It’s locked up tighter than Fort Knox. But he’s definitely an Immortal. He knows I’m one too. We’ve got to get into that house. Today. Before he moves his cache, or contacts some of his fellow Guardians and invites them to a party.”

“How are we supposed to get in there? Those dogs’ll tear any unwelcome visitors to shreds before they get more than a foot in the door. Did you see them? They were vicious. Man killers.”

“They were grooming the baby. How vicious could they be?”

“That’s only because they know the baby. We’re strangers.”

“I’m not worried about them.” He stopped in the street in front of the tree sitting dead center in front of the house.

“I am.”

“They probably have an alarm system.” He turned around. She watched his dark-eyed gaze travel around the front of the house. “Maybe cameras too.”

Admiring his profile—he had such a cute nose and there was this sexy little mole on his cheek—she circled him. “Do we really need to get in there? You’re not even sure if this Guardian guy has what we’re looking for. Think about it—a lamia sent us here, and an Ancient One tried to kill you. Why would they do that, other than to stop you from getting the shield and spear? It makes no sense.”

“True. But if they know that we know who and what they are, then they would assume we wouldn’t go.” He started walking down the street. Long, purposeful strides carried him swiftly.

“Huh?” She jogged to catch up, snagged one of his arms, and gave it a sharp yank. “Slow down! I don’t have five-foot-long legs like some people.”

“True. But they’re oh so perfect.” He gave her a glittery-eyed grin that made her blush. “If Maggy knows we know she’s a lamia, then she might’ve sent us here on purpose, banking on the assumption we wouldn’t come check it out. And if she also knows—because she’d told Julian to let us in on the big secret—that this gentleman is a Guardian, then she might’ve been even more inclined to send us here, figuring we’d run the other way rather than take on a Guardian.”

“Maybe. But why risk it? Why point us in the right direction at all? Why not lie and send us on a wild goose chase if the lamiae are trying to buy time?”

“I don’t know. This may be a wild goose chase. There’s no way to find out if we don’t get inside. We came all this way. We should check it out.”

“I was afraid you’d say that. But if we’re wrong, we may not find out where the relics are before…before our time is up.”

He clasped his hand around hers and continued down the street, this time at a much more comfortable pace. “Remember, the Ancient One doesn’t like to tell a lie. He can conveniently forget to tell us something important but he’s not likely to tell a lie. And he told us what?”

“That this guy’s a Guardian,” she said, shuddering when his thumb stroked her palm.

“What else?”

“That Margaret Mandel is a lamia?”

“And?”

Sophie rummaged around in her brain, searching her memory banks. It wasn’t easy thinking with Ric giving her that look again—the one that melted her insides, made her all warm and wet and willing. “Oh, yeah. He said that we’d have to face a Guardian sooner or later if you’re going to get the harp and spear, and that the Guardian will fight us for it or try to steal it from us once we’ve found it.”

“You see now? We need to know what he has, who his contacts are, and how powerful he is. Julian told me all Guardians have a weakness. Each one’s different. We need to find what this guy’s is,” he said. Then, tossing an arm over her shoulder, he added, “Don’t worry, sweetcheeks. I won’t put you on dog duty.”

Sinking into him, and falling into step as they rounded a corner, she said, “Why does that not make me feel any better?”

“Because you know me so well. Now let’s go make some plans. Your friend needs us.”

“There’s a strange man at the door.” Sophie backed away from the hotel room’s peephole and turned to Ric.

“What’s he look like?” Ric was sitting on the bed, a pile of papers spread out in front of him, printouts from the library.

She took a second peek. Nice looking. Blond hair. Same weird browny-gold eyes. Same stubborn set of his mouth. “You. Kinda. No, a lot like you, before you dyed your hair, that is. Do you have a twin?”

“Twin? No. Brother? Yes. You can let him in,” he said, not looking up from his reading. “He’s one of the good guys. I know that for a fact.”

“Okay.” She unfastened the dead bolt and pulled open the door, stepping aside to greet the visitor with a friendly smile. “Hello there. Welcome to the insanity.”

“Hi,” Ric’s brother said, looking down at her. His eyebrows were bunched together in puzzlement. “Um, do I have the wrong room? I’m looking for—”

“Hey, Barrett. Get your little scrawny butt in here,” Ric bellowed from behind Sophie.

Scrawny butt? Not!

Barrett was every bit as big and bulky as Ric. Wide chest that would make most women drool. Tall, solid frame that looked like it belonged on a football field.

Ric slung an arm over Barrett’s shoulder and poked him in the ribs. “This is my baby brother, Barrett,” he said, by way of introduction. “Barrett, this is Sophie.”

Recognition dawned over Barrett’s handsome face. “Ahhh. Yes. Sophie.”

“Whatever he told you, ignore it, unless he told you that I’m as beautiful as Angelina Jolie, with Anna Kournikova’s body and Albert Einstein’s brilliant mind.”

“Actually, that’s exactly what he said.” Barrett flashed her a brilliant smile that told her he was lying through his vampire teeth.

“Ric! What have you told this man?” She spun around to give him a scowl.

He answered with a “who, me? I’m innocent” bat of the eyes.

“Nice to meet you.” Barrett gave Sophie a shake of the head, then turned his attention to his brother. “What’s all this stuff about taking on a Guardian? You’re crazy. Besides, what do you care about a couple of crusty antiques? Your research is about the biological—”

Ric interrupted him with an elbow in the gut. “Later.”

Barrett eyed Sophie. “Got it. Sure.”

Sophie felt her blood boil. What was that all about? More secrets? Always secrets! Secret research. Secret, secret, secret. She hated secrets!

Two people who were facing life-and-death battles with dragons and lamiae and Ancient Ones had no business keeping secrets from each other. Two people who said they cared about each other, were falling in love with each other, had no business keeping secrets either.

“Got a minute?” she asked Ric. Not willing to wait for his answer, she grabbed whatever body part she could get her hands on first and pulled, hard, toward the bathroom.

Unfortunately, the part she grabbed—the waist of his unsnapped jeans—gave him the wrong impression.

“You sexy little vixen,” he whispered, following her. “I don’t have time for this right now. Barrett and I need to make some plans….”

“You’d better make time. Sit.” Trying to sound authoritative, so that he’d realize his assumption was wrong, she frowned and pointed toward the toilet.

Why couldn’t he be honest with her? What was he hiding now?

“There? Why?” he asked, looking confused. “I don’t need to go. Remember? I don’t do those things. And even if I did, I wouldn’t do it in front of you.”

“Just sit down!” It took every ounce of self-control she possessed to keep her voice below shouting level. “I’m getting a stiff neck from looking up at you.”

“Sorry,” he said, looking somewhat apologetic. He dropped to his knees, which left his head down around her midchest region. “Better?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Damn it, he looked so adorable from this vantage, all wide-eyed and sweet. And sexy. She felt her anger fading already. Secrets! Remember, he’s keeping things from you. Now is not the time to go all soft and girly. Be strong!

“Hmmm. I’m liking this position.” He reached around, grabbed her butt and pulled until her pelvis was pressing against his face.

Strong!

He rubbed his chin back and forth over her mound.

Ssstronnng…

He slid his hand between her legs and rubbed her through her clothes. She felt her temperature spike. Had to be at least 110 about now. Her knees melted. Her brain was melting too, turning into a blob of gray goo.

Ssssstronnnng…Oh, hell. Screw strong. I’m weak and proud of it.

She decided to embrace her weakness for a moment and started rocking her hips back and forth, back and forth. Her sex rubbed against his hand, creating delightful friction. Little jolts of desire blazed through her body. It was a delightful reward. Weak was good. This was great.

She glanced down at his face, peered into his shuttered eyes. Eyes that were hiding things from her.

No, this was not good. Not at all.

Summoning up the very last bit of strength she possessed, she pushed against his shoulders, attempted to put some distance between her body—which was ready to throw Ric to the floor so she could have her way with him—and the wicked, secret-keeping man in front of her. Unfortunately, Ric refused to let her go.

“Oh, yes. This is perfect.” His eyes focused up at her face, he opened his mouth and bit down on her crotch through her clothes. Even with a thick pair of jeans and a flimsy bit of lace between her delicate parts and his mouth, the sensation was so intense she was ready to drop down next to him on the tile and invite him on board.

Mad! You’re mad. Remember?

“No, Ric.” She shoved again. “We need to talk.”

“Oh.” He unfastened the button on her jeans. “Okay. Go ahead.” Her button open, he yanked down the zipper. “Oh, look! Black lace. Nice.” He pulled the crotch aside and said, “Hello, sweet thing. How about I have a taste? Mind a visitor? My tongue might like to come in and play.”

Mad. Really, really…really…maaaad… She was losing control. Fast. She shut her eyes, dropped her head back, and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. “I can’t talk when you’re doing that. You’re having a chat with my privates, for heaven’s sake.”

He pulled at her jeans, tugging them down over her hips, down her thighs. “I like your privates. They’re sweet. And I think they like me too.”

Dizzy, not sure how much longer she could remain standing, Sophie released Ric’s shirt, lifted her arms, and braced them against the tile wall behind him. Ric continued tormenting her, rubbing her sex through her panties. “They do. But that’s not what we’re in here to discusssss…ohhhh.” Her knees gave.

He caught her as she fell and laid her gently on the cool tile floor. The chill felt wonderful against her burning skin.

“Ric?” she said, making herself comfy. She lifted her hips to let him remove her panties.

“Hmmm?” he said to her thigh. He nibbled. He licked. He laved. He did all things that could be done to a thigh, then did the same things to the other leg.

“I’m seriously pissed at you,” she said on a sigh. Even she had to admit, she didn’t sound the least bit angry.

“Is that so?” he said to her other thigh. He moved his attention north, to her sex. “What about you, sweet thing? Are you mad at me too?” He pressed a finger inside and Sophie bucked against him, taking his finger as deep inside as it would go. “Mmmm. I’d say she’s in a fine mood.”

“We are going to…talk. About. It.”

“Yes, love. We’ll talk about anything you like. Whenever you like.” He pushed her top up under her chin and unhooked her bra, filling his palms with her breasts. He kneaded her soft flesh, rolled her nipples between his fingers until they were stiff, painful peaks. “Damn it, I can’t help myself. I want you all the time.”

“I want you all the time too,” she said breathlessly.

“No, you don’t understand.” He crawled on top of her, feathered soft kisses over her mouth until she could think of nothing but the way he tasted, and the way his weight felt, warm and reassuring, on top of her. The way her vagina burned to be filled. “I’ve never felt like this. God help me, I want to forget about the spear and shield and just stay in here with you making love until the end of time.”

She blinked open her eyes, which she hadn’t even known she’d closed, and searched his face. She saw the truth in his soft gold eyes. The need. The desire. The passion. And she mentally sent him all the desire she felt for him in return. Sent all her emotions, all her fears and doubts, too. She gave them to him with a kiss. When their mouths joined, their spirits joined as well, fused together like steel in a kiln.

His tongue dipped inside her mouth, sipping, tasting, taking. Hers stroked his, welcoming it inside, begging it for more.

As he shifted his weight, taking it off her, she caught his hands and placed them over her breasts in a silent plea for a caress. He answered her plea with light tickling touches, little circles around her nipples that made them tight and hard. Her blood pounded hot and fast through her body. Her need twisted and turned inside, tugging her muscles and tying them into tight knots. Her breathing sounded hoarse and fast in her ears.

She needed him. Now. “Ric,” she croaked.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

“Hey, Ric?” Barrett’s muffled voice sifted through the wooden door, putting an instant damper on the fire blazing through Sophie’s body. “Hate to…er, interrupt. But there’s a guy at the door. Says he’s a friend of yours.”

“Shit.” Ric shook his head, his shaggy hair brushing against Sophie’s belly, giving her goose bumps. “Sorry, sweetcheeks. Later, okay?” He helped her sit up, found her underpants and jeans; and, looking as sorry as she felt, handed them to her. “After we tackle the dragon.”

Quickly shimmying into her jeans—and intentionally forgetting to put on the panties—she said, “But we still need to talk. I was…um, I am…still mad at you. You’re still keeping secrets from me—”

Barrett knocked again. “Ric? He’s not going away.”

Ric pressed an index finger to Sophie’s lips, shushing her. “Later. I promise. I need to see who this is. I didn’t call anyone but Barrett.”

“Fine,” she grumbled. “If you don’t, I’ll make you pay.”

He opened the bathroom door. Sophie gave Barrett a guilty, fleeting look, as they exited the bathroom then took a seat at the small round table at the back of the bedroom, hoping the telltale blush on her face would fade soon.

No man had affected her like Ric had. She wasn’t sure she was so thrilled about that fact at the moment.

Ric went to the door, opened it a couple of inches, then said in a low, warning growl, “Julian? I told you to leave. What the hell are you doing back here?”

“What are you talking about?” Julian said, standing outside the doorway. “I’ve been sleeping for hours, since we arrived this morning.”

Puzzled by Julian’s seeming confusion, Sophie watched the men with keen interest. Ric looked like he was ready to strangle the Ancient One. The muscles in his arms strained into tight cords.

In a show of brotherly support, Barrett stepped up behind Ric and the two created a rock-hard vampire wall, blocking Julian from coming inside.

Because Sophie could no longer see Julian’s face, she was forced to wander closer. She tiptoed up behind the brothers and peered between them.

Julian was speaking in an earnest voice, explaining how he couldn’t have been in the room when the attempt on Ric’s life had been made. And Ric was shaking his head and throwing icy glares back. Clearly, he wasn’t buying the story that Julian was telling now any more than he’d bought the one he’d tried to foist on them earlier.

But Sophie had to give Julian credit—he was a convincing liar. Although she’d been told Ancient Ones were not fond of telling an untruth, she knew he was lying. He had to be this time. She’d seen him earlier, with her own eyes. And he had no valid explanation for how that could be.

Finally, clearly having heard enough, Ric shoved Julian back out into the hallway and slammed the door. He turned, facing Sophie, and paced the small area of floor between the foot of the bed and the dresser.

Whew, that was one red face. He was beyond pissed and it was obvious Barrett knew it too. Barrett was trying to reassure Ric that they’d find out the truth and get whoever’d tried to slice him up like deli meat.

Sophie’s heart ached for him. Yes, there was fury and his anger was intimidating. But there was also vulnerability. And fear. And frustration.

And perhaps that was why she was so confused. Because despite everything, in her heart she wanted to believe Julian. His stuttered, lame explanations made him look more guilty than innocent, yet there was something in his eyes that spoke of his innocence.

Regardless, she trusted Ric and more than anything she wanted to give him her unquestioning faith and support. Urgh! What a mess! If Julian was speaking the truth, why wouldn’t he remember being in the room with them earlier? And if he was guilty, why would he come back, knowing how furious Ric was?

Something didn’t add up.

“Ric?” She had to ask him, see what he thought.

“Forget about that dumb shit for now,” Barrett said in a cool tone. He sat in the sole chair in the room and crossed his ankle over his knee. “We’ve got to take care of that dragon first. And since you don’t know squat about dragons, that’s going to take all your attention. Shut up and listen. I’ll give you a crash course in Guardians.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Looking anxious, Ric sat on the bed, waved at his brother. “Go ahead, I’m all ears. Tell me everything you know and don’t leave a single thing out, even the most insignificant detail.”

“Okay. But this is going to take a while.”

“That’s fine. We’ve got all afternoon.”

Chapter 15

“Why did I know I’d get dog duty?” Sophie asked, scowling at the raw steak hanging from her pinched fingers.

“All you have to do is wave that steak and toss it into the dog run,” Ric said, pulling the black ski mask over his face. “Then, when all the dogs are in the pen, close the gate. I know you can handle it. You’re a brave, capable woman.” He gave her shoulders a quick rub, which she assumed was meant to reassure her. It didn’t. But she wasn’t about to tell him that.

“No, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’m not brave. We’ve covered this subject already. I’m a chicken. Grade A. Can’t you see my feathers? The little red rubbery thing hanging from my chin?” She pinched at the skin under her chin. “What’s that thing called?”

“A wattle,” Barrett said, pulling an identical mask over his face. With both of them dressed in the same head-to-toe black, faces covered, hair concealed, it was almost impossible to tell them apart.

“A what’ll?” Sophie asked, dropping the steak into foil and wrapping it up. Her hands were slimy. Ick.

“No, wattle,” Barrett repeated, shaking his head. She glared at him when he started an eye roll.

“Don’t you dare.” She went to the bathroom, washed her hands, then secured her hair into a tight, low ponytail. That done, she returned to the room, tucked the meat under her black sweatshirt, and pulled on her ski cap. But unlike the guys, she left her face uncovered. “Don’t you think those getups are going to set off a few alarms when you go walking through the hotel lobby?” she asked. “It’s bad enough you’re wearing all black. But a ski cap in this weather is a bit lame.”

“We aren’t going through the lobby,” Ric said. He pointed at the window. “We want the hotel staff to think we’re still here, just in case something…unfortunate…happens, like a dragon dies tonight and it’s somehow traced to us. Claiming we were in our room all night by ourselves is not much of an alibi, but it’s better than nothing.”

She followed him to the window. The very hard asphalt parking lot below was a long, long way down. She felt sick. She felt dizzy. The world started spinning and she had to back away from the window. Way, way back. “You’ve got to be kidding. I’m not Spiderman. I can’t scale walls with my super-sticky spidey web. And I can’t jump. If I lived—which is a big if—my leg bones would be splinters. And that’s assuming I landed on my feet. Imagine what my head would look like if I landed on that instead. Ever seen that comedian who smashes watermelons on stage for kicks? What’s that guy’s name?”

“Gallagher,” Ric said.

“Huh? Who’s Gallagher?” Barrett asked.

“The guy who used to smash watermelons. You have your meat?” Ric asked, taking a step closer to her.

She saw a sparkle in his eye and wished she could see the rest of his face. It was, after all, a very adorable face. Especially when he was sporting a “fuck me now” look. She guessed that was the expression he was wearing at the moment.

Then the sparkle dimmed when he took a second step.

“Yesss.” She took a step backward. What was he up to? She wasn’t liking the gleam she saw in his eyes now. Cold determination.

“Good.” He lunged forward, caught her by the waist, and crushed her against him. That wasn’t so bad. In fact, it was mighty nice. She tipped her head, hoping for a kiss. Unfortunately, he didn’t remove his mask.

She motioned toward his face. “Um, this might be better if A, you took that thing off, and B, you sent your brother on a little walky-walky for a few minutes.” She glanced over her shoulder at Barrett and gave him an apologetic smile. “Give us maybe fifteen, twenty minutes? You don’t mind, do you?”

Barrett didn’t respond.

Then, taking her by complete surprise, Ric got all cavemanish, tossed her over his shoulder like a barbarian, and jumped up on the window ledge.

“What the? Oh, God! I’m going to die. Ric! Stop!” Her fingers closed around the cool aluminum window frame and she hung on for life as he pushed the sliding window open. Cool, damp night air brushed her face like invisible feathers. “Ric? What are you doing? Are you going to throw me?” While she was grilling Ric the caveman, Barrett pried each finger free. “Ric!” she shouted, too afraid to fight. They were, after all, on a narrow ledge five stories above the ground. She swatted at Barrett and tried to get a hold on the window frame again, but Ric shimmied out away from the window on the narrow ledge outside. “Ric!”

“Shhh! Trust me?” Ric asked.

“No! Not when you’re standing on a window ledge holding me like a sack of potatoes.”

“Trust me?” he repeated, setting her on her feet next to him. Instinctively, she wound her limbs around him like a grapevine around a wooden stake. He felt stable and strong, even standing on a five-inch ledge.

She hesitantly glanced down. The parking lot was a long way down. Surely he was just testing her, to see if she was really capable of trusting him. “Okay. I’ll trust you. A little. Later. Like when we’re back safe and sound inside. But—”

“Trust me,” he repeated, firmer, wrapping his arm around her waist and hauling her against his side.

“Okay. Okay.” She let her head fall to the side, rest against his bulky upper arm. “You made your point. Now let’s go back inside—”

Ric jumped, taking her with him.

“Ric!” Sophie clung to him like a drowning woman to a life preserver. Midair, she gritted her teeth, tensed every muscle in her body, and clamped her eyelids shut, waiting for the impact of her body against rock-hard concrete.

It was taking a long time getting to the ground. She took those precious moments to pray for forgiveness for everything she’d ever done wrong in her life and then listed all the sins she hadn’t had the chance to commit yet.

Life was so unfair!

Their landing was tooth jarring, but surprisingly lacking in the pain department. It was as if Ric’s legs had been made of rubber, or the concrete had turned to a big foam mattress. They bounced slightly and then Ric set her on her feet.

Naturally, as always the case when she’d had a near-death experience, her knees were like butter. They gave way and she landed on her butt. She gaped up at the caveman and struggled to catch her breath. She swore her lungs had completely collapsed somewhere on their descent. She guessed between the third and second floors. “How?” was all she could say.

“I’ll explain later. We need to get going.”

Sophie double-checked to make sure she was really as okay as she thought she was—she’d heard shock did crazy things to a body, like make a person walk around with missing limbs and such.

No blood. No protruding bones. All parts checked out okay. Another miracle. Miracle?

Maybe there was hope they’d defeat the dragon tonight after all.

She stood and turned around, just in time to watch Barrett fall from the sky behind her and land lightly on his feet like a freaking ballet dancer. “Oh my God, I want to know how you guys do that!”

“It’s a vampire thing,” Barrett explained as he headed toward a black Suburban parked only a few feet away. He opened the rear passenger door for her, then slammed it shut after she climbed in.

Ric and Barrett took their seats in the front and off they went, to the dragon’s little bungalow on the quiet tree-lined street a mile or two down the road. For the second time in the last twenty minutes, Sophie was glad her stomach was empty.

Ric’s mind worked over every piece of information his brother had given him about the Guardians. As it looked now, he’d be lucky to get in and out of that house with his hide intact. His brother, a member of an elite Immortal police force, was his only hope of making it out alive.

But he had no choice. This was it, his chance of getting the spear and shield. A once-in-a-lifetime chance. If he failed, he had no doubt the relics would vanish. The Guardian would send them off to another Guardian through the underground system of couriers they used. Impossible to trace. He’d never get this close again.

During their earlier visit, he hadn’t been able to breach the dragon’s mental defenses, but he had been able to intercept bits and pieces of what the Guardian had mentally said to his mate: “That’s the Wissenschaft and his woman. They’re here for the items we talked about.”

That was enough for Ric. No doubt thanks to either Maggy or Julian, the Guardian not only knew who Ric and Sophie were, but also what they were after.

But most important, the Guardian knew where the spear and shield were. He had to. Despite the fact that wisdom would dictate the relics needed to be moved, Ric felt in his gut they were still in that house. Somewhere. The Guardian was not threatened, which meant he was prepared.

What sort of defenses would the dragon use to keep them from it? Kingsley was a red dragon. His element was fire, heat. Thus, Ric fully expected to be blasted with flame. Not a particularly pleasant way to spend the night, especially since as a vampire, fire was not something he could easily defend himself from.

Adrenaline was coursing through his body, making him tense, his senses focused and alert as they parked the car. Sophie looked scared and the need to ease her fears burned in his heart. Unfortunately, there were good reasons to be afraid and he didn’t want her going into this without knowing how grave the situation was. Fear wasn’t always a bad thing.

Her gaze sought his. “Ric?”

He pulled the ski mask up and gave her a serious look. “Sweetcheeks, this is it, our only chance. And I’ll be honest with you, we’re not prepared. This Guardian is a red dragon, a fire dragon. The most dangerous.”

“Why don’t we wait then? Call for more help?”

“There’s no one I can call. If I knew a mage, that would help….” He didn’t hold back the sigh sitting in his throat. “If we don’t do this tonight, the Guardian will move the relics.”

“You know he has them?”

“I have a good feeling. But if we don’t get them tonight, we won’t find them again. You know what that means for your friend?”

She dropped her gaze to her feet. “But you’re risking your life to save his. If you fail, you’ll be gone. Dao will die. I’ll…lose everything that matters.”

Guilt pricked at his heart. She didn’t know his true intentions yet. He hoped when she learned what they were, she’d understand.

“Then I won’t fail.” He pulled her into his arms, crushing her soft body against his. In his mind, he tried to prepare himself for the possibility that he might never hold her again. He listened to her quick, panting breaths, inhaled the bitter scent of her fear, and almost told Barrett to forget it.

And then he reminded himself of his reason for finding the spear and shield.

There were few things that were worth risking life and limb for. There were few things that were worth risking the life of his dearest brother for, and of Sophie, a human who had no idea the true power of the relics she sought. A lovely, kind, intelligent, sexy, delightful human he adored.

But the chance to find a cure for millions of tormented souls was worth all that, and more. Surely Sophie would understand when the time came—if the time came—to explain it to her.

He brushed his mouth over hers in a soul-deep kiss that left him wanting more, so much more. Then he pulled his mask back into place and turned to Barrett, took the fire extinguisher in one fist, the bag of battle supplies in the other—if the assorted bathroom and kitchen products (the most useful weapons they could assemble on such short notice) qualified as battle supplies.

“Ready?” Barrett whispered, his hands full as well.

“Yeah.” Ric watched Sophie pull her ski mask over her face. “Let’s go.”

They walked down the quiet street. Outside of the flickering fireflies and the occasional stray cat, there wasn’t any movement around them, no sign of life. They reached the house quickly. Ric and Barrett took their positions at the front and side doors. Sophie tiptoed around to the back, the raw meat in her hand.

Ric looked at his watch, waited for the precise moment they’d agreed on, then drew back to batter the door.

On a whim, he tried it first. Unlocked?

Not a good sign.

He opened it just enough to slip inside, then closed it behind his back. His eyes swept the house’s dark interior. He stood in a small entryway, a three-by-three-foot area that led to the living room. There was no sign of movement. He looked up and down. No sign of a trap.

He hesitantly took a single step into the living room and flinched.

Nothing flared, barked, or blew up. Was the Guardian hoping he’d come closer? Where were the dogs? No traps? No defenses?

Barrett’s voice sounded in his earpiece. “Found something in the basement.”

“Any sign of the dogs?” he said into the microphone clipped to his chest.

“Nope. Not down here.”

“Sophie?” Ric said.

“I’m here.” Her voice was shaky. “No dogs back here. Nothing.”

“This isn’t right. It’s got to be a trap,” Ric said, creeping through the living room, alert for signs of trouble. “No Guardian would leave his lair unprotected.”

“I’ve seen it once or twice,” Barrett said. “Some of them get so cocky, thinking their reputation is enough to keep people away. Where are you? Get down here.”

“Fine, fine. Coming.” Ric passed through a small dining room into the kitchen. The basement stairs were at the rear. He took them very slowly. “Where are you?” he asked Barrett.

“Way in the back. Follow the furnace ducts.”

“Okay.” When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he said, “Sophie, you still with me?”

“Yes. What’s going on in there?” she asked. “I’m scared.”

“Nothing. We’re okay. It’s dead quiet.” Ric glanced up, caught sight of the furnace ductwork, and started following it to the left.

“Ric?” Sophie’s soft voice was like a soothing caress.

“Yes?”

“Please be careful.”

“I will be. Promise.”

“I don’t want to live without you,” she said. “I…love you.”

Her words tore his insides to shreds. She didn’t know what she’d done by saying those words just then. She’d taken the third step by confessing her love for him in the presence of his brother, a fellow clan member.

“I love you too. And I promise I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you won’t have to live another minute without me, if that’s what you really want. But you need to be sure about this. You know what I am. As a man and as an Immortal. Are you sure you want me?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

He wanted to sweep her into his arms and crush her to him. Then again, he wanted to step back and knock some sense into her too. He’d started the process of the Joining in an effort to protect her from the Ancient One. Now, thanks to her willingness to take both the second and third steps, he faced the endless agony of wanting to complete it. His soul cried out for her. His spirit, mind. It would be like an eternal hunger that couldn’t be sated, a fire that couldn’t be doused. A thirst that could never be quenched.

Completing the Joining was not an option. He would never again Join with another human. He was a scientist who’d spent the last several centuries searching for a cure to his people’s disease. Why would he choose to pass it on to another human being? A human being he loved?

He passed through a storage room, full of unmarked cardboard boxes stacked on metal shelves. “Barrett?”

“Getting bored waiting for you. What’s the holdup?”

“I’m almost there.” He paused at the door in the back of the storeroom. “I see a door.”

“Yeah. Come on. I’m back here. Let’s hurry up and get this over with.”

“Okay.” He turned the knob, pushed. The room was enveloped in pitch blackness so thick even his sensitive eyes couldn’t find Barrett. “Where are you? It’s too damn dark in here—”

A set of hands clamped around both his arms.

Sophie’s scream shot into his ear through his earpiece.

A roar of rage rumbled up from his chest and bellowed from his mouth. “Barrett!”

Chapter 16

They burst through the back door like a pack of rabid wolves. One, two, three, four, five…six. Six teeth-baring, growling, snarling, people-eating beasts.

“Oh shit!” Taken by surprise, Sophie dropped the steak at her feet and stared, gape mouthed, stunned into a state similar to that of a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

Teeth flashed in the moonlight. The dogs formed a line and crept closer. She had no doubt they’d be on top of her in about a second flat. She could see their muscles rippling under their fur as they readied to pounce like wild dogs on injured prey.

It was too late. She couldn’t run. She knew she couldn’t fight them all off. She was a goner.

“Ric,” she whispered. Her voice shook. “I love you.” Then, as the pack lunged forward, she turned and sprinted for the shed.

She got the door open, but before she could close herself inside, the first animal caught her ankle in his jaws.

The pain stole her breath away. It razored up her leg, charged along her spine, then exploded in her head. Out of instinct, she started kicking her free foot at the biting animal. But a second one caught that ankle and down she went, on her butt.

Within a heartbeat, there were mouths everywhere. Teeth. Pain. The terrifying sounds of clothes ripping, teeth chomping, and dogs growling. Her own screams.

She smelled the sickly sweet scent of blood. The pungent, sulfurous odor of their breath. Wet animal and earth.

Her vision was blurred by her movement, arms flailing, thrashing in a frantic, fruitless effort to find relief from the pain.

She could feel her strength waning. Her limbs were getting heavy and it was getting harder and harder to lift them. Her will to fight was fading as she began to accept her fate. She was dog food.

“Please, just let it be fast. Let one of them bite me in the neck or something, end it quickly.” She stilled, then realized the beasts had stopped biting.

She forced her heavy eyelids up and gasped. The dogs were gone.

There were now six enormous, naked men standing in a circle around her, looking down. They were all dark haired and gorgeous. Perfect bodies. Perfect faces. Perfect…other parts. Outside of the fact that their eyes glowed red, it was like being stared at by the Chippendales.

Hell spawn or angels?

As she mulled that question over, one of the Chippendales reached down and raked a fingernail over her partially exposed nipple, igniting an unwelcome chain reaction in her body. A great ball of fire burst inside her belly. White-hot need blazed a path down to her sex, where it churned round and round, like thunderclouds over the ocean. Storms were brewing. She dragged in a deep breath and tried to will away the lust threatening to carry her away like a tsunami.

She felt like she was outside of herself, like her body was no longer connected to her mind. She knew she loved Ric, knew these oversexed boy toys were not appealing to her. Yet wanting crashed through her body, carried on the waves of pleasure the strange man’s touches stirred.

“This way,” the one who had touched her said. He reached a hand down to help her stand. She accepted his help, but the instant she was upright, black and white flashes cut through her vision. Tired. So tired.

She felt the ground smack her in the face.

Her final thought before she let go was of Ric and Dao. She’d let them both down. “I’m…sorry.”

The dark and quiet was welcome relief from her fear, confusion, pain…and lust.

Stripped of his clothes, as well as his lifeline to Sophie, the two-way radio, and tied spread-eagle in the center of a circle painted on the basement’s concrete floor, Ric glared up at his brother. His brother! The one person on the planet whom he’d ever trusted. What the fuck?

Barrett was standing next to the Guardian, looking smug.

Speaking of smug, on the dragon’s other side stood none other than Margaret Mandel. She looked very pleased as she rubbed her hands together. “Look who we have here. My sweet little Wissenschaft, Ric Vogel. So nice to see you again,” she purred.

Ric didn’t respond. Instead he looked at the Guardian. “And here I thought you would be my biggest problem.”

The Guardian smiled. “From the look of things, I’d say I’m the least of your problems.”

Margaret clicked her tongue and shook her head. “You know, you had a choice. I offered the option of becoming my lover but you turned that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity down. Now I’m forced to use you for a much less pleasing purpose—at least from your point of view. A shame, since your body is absolutely exquisite. I would’ve worshipped it daily.” She crouched down, spreading her knees to reveal a pair of black lace panties under her short skirt, and gave him a long, hot sweeping gaze.

Rage piggybacked on confusion charged through his veins, heating them. He trembled with the need to grab hold of the lamia’s neck and snap it in two. Her gaze found his face, snared his. Knowing what she’d do, he fought to break his free. It was too dangerous. He would lose the battle if she tried to charm him.

Too late. He felt the velvet touch of her mind to his and instantly the fight left him. He felt his body reacting, warming. His mind slipping away.

He was weakening, falling under her glamour.

“No,” he heard himself mumble. He tried to fight back, to resist the lamia’s song, calling, calling to him. So sweet and tempting. She was too strong, her will, her mind, her spirit. Then she knelt next to him, pressed her warm, wet mouth over his, and kissed him.

He couldn’t stop her.

He hated the fact that he was a male at that point, hated the fact that his body had a mind of its own and didn’t give a flying fuck who or what was kissing him. His brain told his traitorous body this was wrong. The danger of falling under the lamia’s seduction aside, he loved Sophie. Loved her more than anything, more than he ever expected to. If Sophie saw this, if she knew, it would kill her. Still, his body heated. Wanting coursed through his body on slow ripples.

He bit back a growl, knowing his anger would only encourage the lamia, and instead thought of the most boring, mundane things he could think of, knowing that was the only way to best his aching, lust-filled body. Waiting at the secretary of state’s office. Or spending eons in line to collect an unemployment check. Or sitting in rush-hour traffic during the height of summer road-construction season on I-75. Oh yeah, that was a good one. He felt his expression relax into one of complete and utter boredom, despite the vigorous oral attention the lamia was currently giving his neck.

It got to her. When she tried to kiss him again but he refused, she shrieked in anger, “That human couldn’t possibly have that much of a hold on you yet!”

He tried not to smile but it was hard. Feeling a little smug, since that was the first time he’d ever won a battle with his single-minded hormones, he just looked at her with raised eyebrows.

“I know why you want the shield and spear.” Rising up to a squat, she pulled on her skirt until the hem was up around her waist. She parted her knees and fingered her panties. “Look at me. Don’t you want me? Why are you fighting this? I know what you want to do for your people.”

Black lace. Wet. Slick. His body warmed again. His brain started to melt, overheated by the unwelcome lust pulsing through his body. It was the glamour, the lamia’s most potent weapon. He turned his gaze to the ceiling.

Wood beams. Furnace ductwork. Cobwebs. Much better. At least his brain worked when he stared at those. “Yeah, so what?” he said.

“You weren’t thinking of letting that human have the spear and shield, were you.”

Was that a question or a statement? He wasn’t sure. But he decided not to respond anyway, partly because he wanted to piss the lamia off, partly because he didn’t want her knowing anything, and partly because he didn’t know the answer himself. When he’d first stumbled into Sophie at the library, he’d expected to continue his search, expected to find the relics and deliver them to the mage. Expected to receive the spell that would free his race from the damnation of a slow, painful death.

Even when he’d taken Sophie as his lover, he’d still expected to carry out his plans. He figured she’d be angry at first, hurt. But he’d help her find another way to defeat the lamia. Divorce was an option, granted almost impossible, and sometimes deadly. But it was something. It was the choice between two good deeds: the salvation of an entire race versus the salvation of a single human being.

Such a simple choice, or so he’d thought until today.

But now…now he wasn’t so sure he could go through with it. He knew Sophie would hate him for lying to her. Despise him for taking the relics for his purpose, no matter how honorable it was.

That would kill him faster than a day spent sunbathing at the equator.

He would tolerate the most horrid torture easier than he would handle seeing hatred in her eyes, turned on him. He would endure hundreds of years of agony to avoid seeing pain in her eyes, for even a minute.

He cleared his throat. “You just hope I’ll take the relics because then your sister’s safe from Sophie,” he said, turning his gaze back to Margaret.

She shrugged. “No, not really. She wouldn’t be safe for long; none of us would. Once Ysgawyn gets the relics, he would have the power to exterminate our entire race, me included.”

“You lie. He’s a sworn mage, powerless to hurt anyone with his magic.”

She shook her head and tsked through her teeth. With slow, deliberate movements she removed her skirt, her blouse, her bra. She stood proud, her brown-tipped breasts high and firm, her waist narrow, her hips full enough to be tempting. The musky-sweet scent of her arousal filled his nostrils. Smiling, her eyes glittering with passionate promise, she reached up to loosen her hair from the tight bun at the back of her head. It fell in heavy waves over her shoulders, framing her siren’s face. “Didn’t anyone tell you, you can’t believe the words of Ysgawyn? He’s no longer sworn. And he’s not above using any form of deceit to get what he wants. The spell that will bring the destruction of the lamiae will give him power beyond your wildest imaginings. Power like no mage has had in centuries.”

Ric closed his eyes against the distraction of her standing nude before him and tried to concentrate on what she’d said. Ysgawyn casting a spell to destroy all the lamiae? Impossible! Or was it? He’d seemed mighty eager to get his hands on those relics. If they didn’t serve him in some manner, what could he possibly want with them? “Who am I to believe—”

“Believe Margaret, Ric,” Barrett interrupted. “She speaks the truth.”

Ric opened his eyes to glare at his brother. The brother who stood by the lamia’s side. The brother who seemed to have led him into this trap. “You want me to believe her?” He squinted at the lamia, who had taken a step behind Barrett, the coward. “I’m having a hard time trusting you after this. You lied to me, pretended to be here to help me. Then led me straight into the lamia’s trap. And now you have the balls to tell me to believe her? How could I possibly do that? You know what she is. What she and her clan have done to humans. To our people. How could you stomach standing by her side watching this?”

“Yes, I know what she is. But I couldn’t let you go through with it,” Barrett explained. “I couldn’t let you give Ysgawyn the shield and spear. It’s against the law of the Immortals.”

“You prize the law over the blood we share? We’re brothers. Remember? Or has the lamia already worked her glamour on you too? Are you under her spell?”

“No.” Barrett shook his head. “I have all my mental capacities intact—”

“That’s up for debate.”

“Shut up, you bastard, and listen for once.” Barrett was gritting his teeth. His face practically glowed it was so red. “You want to know how much you mean to me? I prize your pathetic ass over the law. Your life over my own, even. My freedom. My career. My future.” He held out his wrist, showing the mark of the Bond. A deep purple stain forming a full circle around his wrist.

Ric didn’t often have to inhale, being a vampire. But at that moment, his lungs burned for air. He sucked in the deepest breath he’d taken in centuries, then fought against the metal cuffs securing his wrists and ankles to the ground. “What. Have. You. Done!”

“I went to the Judicial. Signed a promissory note. My life for yours. I had to. What you were about to do would’ve cost you your life if you’d succeeded—what you would’ve done if I hadn’t let Margaret stop you. Lamia or not, she’s spared you the mistake of an eternity. Please, don’t be a fool! Don’t go through with it. We both have too much to lose if you do. We all do.”

“Went to the Judicial? Why would you do that?” Ric wanted to roar out his rage, shout long and loud until the walls around him tumbled to the ground. His brother had taken The Bond to protect him? For what? Barrett had promised to give up everything, had volunteered to pay the price for his transgressions. Would never again be able to make a decision freely if Ric went through with his plans. Why had Barrett done such a thing? No part of Ric’s plan was illegal. “I didn’t ask you to. I would never ask you to.”

“What choice did I have? After I found out what you were doing, that you’d made a pact with Ysgawyn—”

“To save our people!” Ric hollered. “To spare them the agony of the Second Death. Why should that be against the law? We’ve sought other ways, spent eons searching for a medical cure, but there is none. Magic is the only answer. And if turning to magic is illegal, then the law has bound us, kept our people from the cure they deserve.”

“It’s not the magic that the law forbids. It’s the end results that would bring judgment to you. Your plan to save our people will ultimately cost the lives of a whole race of Immortals,” Barrett explained in a cool voice. “And so many more if that mage is able to complete the spell harnessing the power of the Fury. Forget about the mage for a minute and the disaster he could bring to the Immortals and the humans both. You can’t save one race by destroying another.”

“But why would I be held responsible for another man’s actions? I didn’t know what he was going to do with the relics. He didn’t tell me. I only knew the price for the spell I needed was the shield and spear. I thought no mage could use them—”

“It doesn’t matter. Whether you knew or not, the guilt would be yours.” Barrett knelt next to Ric and looked at him with pleading eyes. He unfastened each of Ric’s wrists, then ankles. “Please. Complete the spell with Margaret. The relics must be destroyed to bring our people and the lamiae back to harmony, and keep Ysgawyn from completing his spell. It’s the only way.” He took Margaret’s hand and pulled until she was on her knees next to Ric.

Hundreds of years of searching had led to this moment, to a decision so difficult and complex. How could he possibly sort through it all in the space of a heartbeat? Ric knew the agony of watching his brother sentenced to death by the Supreme Immortal Council would likely destroy him. He’d probably not survive to see the freeing of his people from the bonds of the Second Death.

Still, there was Sophie. And her friend. Maybe he couldn’t save a race but he could save a single human being. But were there unknown risks involved in that quest too? He had no idea what was involved in the freeing spell. Would that cause more innocent deaths? Would his brother still be forced to pay with his life? Ric’s gaze zigzagged between Barrett and Margaret. Was one human life worth the risk?

Barrett stood and took several steps back until he was out of the circle. Margaret pressed gently on Ric’s shoulders until he was sitting up on his bent elbows. She traced a circle on his chest and chanted the first lines of the spell. “No,” Ric interrupted before she’d completed the first verse. A flare of guilt and anger shot through his spirit as scalding fury pulsed through his veins. He pushed on Margaret’s shoulder. Forced her away from him. “I can’t. Sophie…”

“She has made her own choice. There is nothing you can do for her now.” Barrett motioned toward the wall behind him. The Guardian blew a stream of air at the wall and a tiny pinpoint of light glowed in the center, then spread out until the entire wall looked like it was consumed by fire. The flame flared for several seconds, then dimmed, leaving a transparent circle in the center.

“Sophie?” Ric said on a gasp. “Sophie!”

She didn’t hear him but he could see her. As clear as if she were right next to him. She was lying on a bed. Her glossy hair was fanned out about her head. Her spine was arched, her breasts pushed high into the air. His mouth watered. His body ached to feel her beneath him.

Why couldn’t he be there with her right now? All their worries gone. Their loved ones safe. Why couldn’t those be her fingers stroking his stomach, making the muscles tighten?

Sophie’s face turned to the side facing him. She stared blindly for a moment, obviously unable to see him. Then she blinked her eyes and shuttered them closed. Peace touched each of her features. Her lovely lips pursed, the corners lifted into a shadow of a smile.

He remembered seeing her react that way to his touches, his kisses. Only this time it was another man whispering in her ear, gliding his hands up her cotton-sheathed thighs.

Julian stood beside her running his hand up her leg. Her stomach. Her breast. He knelt on the bed and lowered his head to kiss her.

For a moment, Ric simply shook his head in disbelief. “It’s a trick. Sophie would never—”

“It’s no trick.” Barrett motioned toward the Ancient One. “You see? They’re performing the binding ritual.”

Ric looked again, saw the shimmering, translucent rope in Julian’s fist. “No.” For the third time in the past hour, white-hot rage blasted through his body. Why would Sophie bind herself to another Immortal? It made no sense. Surely she wasn’t doing it just to get the spear and shield? She wouldn’t do something so foolish. So dangerous.

“She’s not binding herself. She’s binding you,” Barrett said.

Ric shook his head. “No!” He couldn’t believe that. Wouldn’t believe it. Sophie wouldn’t bind him for eternity just to be able to destroy one lamia. She loved him. She trusted him to help her. He knew it; he’d felt her love and faith, had heard her thoughts whispering through his soul like a soft breeze through a forest.

They’d tricked her somehow. That had to be it. But goddess help him, if it wasn’t a trick, he needed to stop her before she completed the ritual.

“The human is no longer your concern,” Margaret said, sounding impatient. “She has chosen another path. You never completed the Joining with her.” She traced a long, slick path up his stomach with her tongue. “It’s time. We need to complete the abolition spell. We must destroy the spear and shield. Now.”

“This is what you’ve wanted all along, isn’t it,” he growled, glaring at her with such hatred his mouth burned with acid. “That’s why you told us about the Guardian. You wanted us to find the relics, to get this far so you would be able to convince Barrett that the shield and spear had to be destroyed. That way none of your people will ever again face the threat of death.”

“Perhaps.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. It’s no longer safe with the Guardian. If you give the spear and shield to Ysgawyn, your brother will pay the price with his death. And untold millions will pay when the mage summons the Fury. You can forget about helping Sophie’s friend too. You don’t know the price to be paid for using the relics to destroy my sister. Do you really wish to risk your brother’s life? Or Sophie’s?”

“You must complete the spell,” Barrett echoed.

Margaret smiled triumphantly. “You have no other choice.”

This time Ric didn’t hold back. He roared, releasing the frustration, anger, and powerlessness boiling and churning inside like hot magma deep in the belly of the earth.

Chapter 17

“No. This is wrong. I can’t go through with it.” Sophie shoved Julian’s head away seconds before it found its target—her mouth. “I love Ric.”

“Which is why you must continue,” the dark-haired Ancient One explained for the umpteenth time. She was getting really tired of hearing his explanation. For some reason, it wasn’t making any sense to her. She loved Ric. Ric loved her. Ric was in danger. So she had to do the nasty with this strange—albeit attractive—man to save him? How was that again? Maybe it was the shock of nearly being torn apart by those hounds from hell, but her brain wasn’t able to wrap itself around that concept.

Didn’t these Immortal people use any form of logic?

Feeling very…dirty, she sat up and wrapped the sheet around herself. “Sorry, bud. But I’m not buying your line. I have a feeling you could explain it to me another thousand times and I still wouldn’t get it. I see no way that sleeping with you will save Ric from death or eternal damnation or whatever. Sex is just…sex. It doesn’t have any power to save people. I’m sure a number of people wish it did. Just think how powerful a porn star would be—”

“You must believe me,” he said, looking damn earnest. “I wouldn’t lie to you. For the Immortals, the act of sex is the greatest source of power. It enables us to complete spells. Binding spells to keep people from doing things we don’t wish them to. Abolition spells to destroy certain items—”

“Sounds like a pile of cow dung to me. And if sex is such a source of power, like you say, why didn’t Ric perform any spells while we…you know?”

“Because he cannot. Wissenschafts possess no powers of magic. They are beings of science. Logic and natural law. To complete any spell, he would need another, either a human or an Immortal, to join with him.”

“So, bring him in. I’ll make love to him and cast the spell.”

“It won’t work. You can’t bind the one you’re performing the spell with.”

“And binding him will stop him from what? Helping me destroy the snakewoman who’s feasting on my friend?”

“No. He never intended on helping you do that.”

“Bullshit. You’re lying. Just like you lied about trying to kill Ric in the hotel room.” Sophie stood and shoved Julius Caesar aside, heading for the door. Before she pulled it open, he caught her by the waist and hauled her backward until her back was pressed against all six-foot-something, 250 pounds of frustrated vampire. It was an intimidating place to be, especially with his seven-incher poking her in the backside. “Let me go.”

“I’m not lying now and I wasn’t lying then. I won’t let you go until I have a chance to show you something.”

“Buddy, I’ve seen everything you have, and although I’m impressed, I’m not that impressed. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to leave, get these scratches and bites cleaned up before I get rabies.”

His laughter made his belly bounce against her spine. “You can’t catch rabies from those dogs.”

“Who’s to say?” She struggled to break free from his hold, but like Ric, the man had the strength of a hundred men. She was growing to dislike the Immortals. The whole lot of them. Nothing but trouble. Bullies. Liars.

“Ric doesn’t have to know who performed the binding spell,” he whispered in her ear. “I would tell no one.”

She shook her head, scrunched her shoulder up to block her ear. “No way. I hate secrets. I haven’t lied to Ric and I don’t want to start now. Especially about something so important.”

“That’s very honorable, considering how many lies he’s told you, how many secrets he’s kept,” Julian challenged.

“There were reasons, I’m sure. He’ll explain when the time’s right.”

“This way,” he said, pulling on her arm. “I should’ve shown you this an hour ago.” He opened the door, letting a second man inside, a very tall, very strong-looking man with deep auburn hair, then forced her to turn around.

The red-haired man walked by her like she wasn’t even in the room and blew a stream of air at the wall. It went up instantly, consumed by a deep red flame. That was some trick, the most impressive illusion she’d ever seen in person.

Or so she thought.

When a transparent circle formed in the wall’s center revealing a scene right out of her worst nightmare, her heart stopped. Again.

“Ric?” she whispered, alternately staring and blinking, trying to determine whether what she saw was real—God, she hoped not!—or some kind of illusion.

“He can’t hear you,” the red-haired man said.

She ran closer, flattened her palm on the wall. It felt cool to the touch, smooth, just like a regular, everyday, drywall type of wall. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the scene before her. Ric was lying on a concrete floor, nude. Margaret was next to him, running her hands up and down his torso, her head thrown back, her long hair brushing against her bare rear end. Ric had one hand on her hip. Small white marks surrounded his fingertips.

Sophie shook her head. “This is a trick. A mean one, too. He would never…” Her eyes burned. Her stomach rushed up into her throat. “He would never get naked with her. Not if he had a choice in the matter!”

“He’s performing a spell,” Julian explained, pointing at Margaret’s face. “See? You can’t hear her but you can see her mouth moving.”

“No.” This couldn’t be real. “You’re lying.”

“I can’t lie. She’s performing an abolition spell, to destroy the shield and spear.”

“Why? That makes no sense. He was looking for them too. He wouldn’t want them destroyed.” Or would he? Was that why he’d been searching for them in the first place?

“He’s destroying them because he doesn’t want you to kill the lamia.”

“He can’t do that. My friend will die and he knows how much that’ll hurt me. He promised to help me. Why would he want to stop me now?”

“Are you so sure he ever wanted to help you?”

No. I’m not sure of anything anymore. “Yes. Maybe it’s Margaret. Has she put him under some kind of spell? I’ve seen how powerful those lamia things are.”

As Sophie watched, confused, angry, hurt, Ric pushed Margaret away from him, and looking mildly annoyed, Margaret walked out of the room.

“There. See?” she said with mild triumph. “He pushed her away.” She held her breath as she watched to see what he’d do next.

Ric stood and turned to Barrett.

“Would you like to hear what they’re saying?” the red-haired man asked.

She briefly considered saying no but put that option out of her mind immediately. She wasn’t a coward. She’d already seen enough to shatter her heart into a million gazillion jagged, razor-sharp shards. Her insides were being ripped apart. What would eavesdropping on a conversation do to make things worse? She closed her eyes and nodded. “Yes.” She would finally know what kinds of secrets he’d been keeping from her.

The red-haired man muttered some gobbledygook and the wall shimmered again. Then as if a switch had been flipped, the sounds of the room beyond the wall filtered into the room in which she stood.

“You haven’t completed the spell.” That was Barrett, Ric’s brother. She knew she hadn’t liked him! Jerk! “You must complete the spell.”

“I…I will. I just need a minute.”

“I don’t understand why this is such a difficult decision,” Barrett insisted. “It wasn’t like you’d planned on actually helping her. You’ve always intended to follow your plan. You used her to help you find the spear. You knew a human would be more likely to find it than an Immortal.”

No!

Ric turned and stared blindly at the wall between them and for an instant she wondered if he could see her.

“Yeah. I know.” He dropped his head into his hands. “You’re right.”

“You lied to me?” she whispered. “You slept with me, and made promises and used me and lied to me and…and…I hate you,” she said on a sob. “Lying, secret-keeping, bloodsucking double-crosser.”

The transparent window closed in on itself, shutting out the sight of Ric’s guilty face, the sound of his voice. That was a good thing. She knew she couldn’t stomach another second looking at him.

“He lied to me,” she repeated, over and over, still unable to fully accept what she’d seen and heard.

“He’s going to complete the abolition spell to destroy the spear and shield unless you stop him first.”

“And we have to…to…you know to do that?” Her lip curled up in mild disgust. She’d never had a one-night fling with a stranger. Never even considered it. “Are you absolutely positive there isn’t another way? Could I give a drop of blood even?” she asked, recalling the time she’d donated some blood to Ric to save his life. “I mean, the sight of blood makes me all queasy, but if it meant we wouldn’t have to…I can’t say it!…I’m willing to poke myself again. I don’t think I could…sex right now. Ugh. Nothing personal, of course.”

“Of course,” Julian looked genuinely solemn. “But I’m afraid there’s no other way.”

“Darn!”

“He’s going to destroy the relics.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, tried to stop the shaking that was rattling her teeth. “I know, I know.”

He held her shoulders gently, but even the small bit of contact was painful. She didn’t want him to touch her. Not anywhere. “Without the relics you have no chance of saving your friend.”

Sophie shrugged away from Julian, hating the feel of his hands on her. “I know!” She paced across the room, her mind clogged, her insides twisted and torn. She couldn’t think, couldn’t feel, couldn’t breathe. She needed room. Air.

Julian followed on her heels. “He has gotten worse, hasn’t he?”

Angry, she whirled around and glared at him. “Yes. But I wonder why you’re so willing to help me?”

“Because I had a friend once, many years ago. He was a human. Married Lisse, despite my pleas. She killed him, within months of their wedding. I was powerless to stop her then.” He visibly swallowed. “But I’m not powerless now. Together we can stop her.”

His confession cooled her storming emotions somewhat. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

He reached for her again, and this time, she let him touch her. He held her hands in his so very gently. “My friend’s been gone a long time and although a shadow of the pain remains at his loss, it’s not as bad as it once was. But for you, how much worse will that pain be knowing you had the chance to save him? The guilt for having been afraid to do what you could. What will that do to you?”

She recalled the last time she’d been afraid to help someone she loved. Had let a few self-manufactured excuses stand in the way of saving a life. A dear life.

When she’d first found out about Dao, she’d made a promise not to let anything stand in the way of saving him, yet here she was, faltering, wasting time while Ric was doing God knew what with that lamia, performing the ritual that would stop her.

She swallowed a sigh of regret. This was the way of the Immortals. If sex was the only way to conjure the power needed to set the spell in motion, then sex would be what she’d do.

It was a matter of life or death. Dao’s life was worth it.

Besides, it wasn’t like she owed Ric anything. They hadn’t completed the wedding steps; she was quite sure of that. So they weren’t married. He was clearly not considering their arrangement an exclusive type of relationship. Hell, he was willing to let her friend die, despite the fact that she’d told him how important it was to her.

Who knew? Maybe this handsome Ancient One would do something for her that Ric would never have been able or willing to do—help her.

After all the risks she’d taken, what was one more?

“Okay.” She swallowed the burning in her throat and prayed a little vomit wouldn’t stop the spell from working. “I’ll do it. For Dao.”

Chapter 18

The gods help him, Ric couldn’t go through with it. Despite the price he’d likely pay, he wouldn’t complete the spell.

He had to help Sophie. He loved her. Whatever happened as a result of slaying the lamia he’d worry about later.

First, he had to find her before she bound him. That wouldn’t be an easy task. Although he was still free from the metal cuffs that had secured him to the floor, there was a Guardian to get past, and his brother, before he’d make it out the door. And since he hadn’t fed in a while and they’d begun the abolition spell, which drained his strength, he knew he couldn’t just force his way past them.

He paced back and forth trying to think of some way to distract them, trick them. All he needed was a split second to slip through the door. What would distract them? He glanced around the room. There was a tall metal shelf standing against the wall. What if he knocked it over? If he did it just so, he’d make a pile of rubble that might slow Barrett and the Guardian down for a second or two.

Where was Margaret? In his state, if he bumped into her on the other side of that door, he’d be cooked. She was much older than he. And even though she would be drained from the partially completed spell too, she was stronger.

If only he knew where the spear and shield were!

Time was running out. He could sense it. Deep in his bones. He had to make his move right now.

Knowing this was probably his only chance, Ric lunged for the shelf, caught the vertical support in his fist, and pulled. The contents came crashing to the floor, and just as he hoped, they created a handy pile of rubble between Barrett and the Guardian and him. He dashed for the door, leaving them shouting and scrambling over the heap.

Once out into the main part of the basement, he shut the door behind him and shoved a heavy chest up against it to buy him a few extra seconds. Then he sprinted for the stairs. He took them two at a time.

From the vision, he knew Sophie had been in a bedroom. But which one? There were probably one or two on the main floor and another couple upstairs. And if he made the wrong choice, thanks to the layout of the house, he’d be blocked by his pursuers, would never make it to her. They were already working on getting through that blocked door downstairs.

As he ran, he reached for her with his mind, gently testing the delicate connection they’d formed between them by having taken that unwritten fourth step. It was as delicate as a single strand of spider’s web. So fragile it wouldn’t take any effort at all to snap it.

He found her mind at the other end. Rage and hurt buzzed along their connection and burned through his body. Her rage. Her hurt. Betrayal. Loss.

Fearing she’d break the connection at any moment, he tried to connect with her senses. He felt Julian’s fingers on her skin. Felt the warmth of his breath on her neck. He struggled to see through her eyes, but they were closed tightly.

He stopped running and stomped his feet, hard. The sound reached him through her ears.

Above. She was upstairs.

He turned right, dashed through the doorway that closed the upstairs off from the ground floor, and locked the door from the inside. The little brass bolt wouldn’t stop Barrett and the Guardian for long.

“Sophie! Stop!” he shouted as he ran up the stairs. “I love you. Please stop.”

She was on the bed, still dressed. Julian was lying on top of her. She opened her eyes and glared at him when he ran into the room. “Get out,” she said on a low growl.

“You don’t have to do this,” Ric said, taking a single step forward. “I’m here to help you. I know you don’t believe me and I don’t blame you. If you saw…if they showed you…But I’m telling the truth. I didn’t complete the spell with Margaret, even though it could cost my brother his life.”

Surprise swept over Sophie’s face.

Julian sat back on his knees and looked at him. “I believe what he’s saying.”

Sophie scrambled to sit up. She handed Ric a sheet to cover with.

“I swear,” Ric explained as he wrapped himself toga style, “I didn’t want to do it at all. But I felt trapped.”

“You lied to me.” Her bottom lip quivered. Her eyes filled with tears. He felt his own eyes burning as he looked into hers, read the pain there, the anguish.

“I wasn’t completely honest with you. You’re right. At one point I wanted to use the spear and shield for my own purposes, to save my people. But I know that I can’t help them, not just because it would cause untold destruction to who knows how many Immortals, but because I want to help you. I want to keep my word. We can still save your friend but time is running out.” As if on cue, Barrett and the Guardian started working on the flimsy door down below. “They’re coming to stop me. The relics must be here somewhere.”

Sophie looked confused as she eyed Ric, then turned her questioning gaze to Julian. She trusted the Ancient One more than him. That fact burned Ric’s heart. But he could understand why.

Julian smiled. “Go with him.”

She nodded, stood, and walked into Ric’s arms.

It was the most wonderful feeling to have her in his arms again. The world was right.

The door below gave and he reluctantly released her, then pulled her toward the windows overlooking the front of the house. “This way.”

“Do we have to jump out of another window?” Sophie said with a semi-smile.

“With Barrett and the Guardian hot on our heels? I don’t think we have another choice.”

“I’ll hold them off as long as I can,” Julian said, standing at the top of the stairs and shooing them toward the window. “Hurry. Go for the shed.”

“Fine. But this is the last time. I swear.” She looped her arm around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist. “Have I told you I hate heights almost as much as I hate blood?”

“No.” Ric pushed up the window and jumped. They landed with a tooth-jarring jolt on the front lawn and Ric started running toward the street with Sophie clinging to his front like a monkey.

She yanked on his hair. “Wait! Stop!”

“What? Barrett’s faster than me. Always has been. I really don’t want him catching me.”

“Julian said to head for the shed. That’s in the back of the house. I figure there must be a reason he told us to go there.”

“I don’t know.”

Could he trust Julian? Julian had been trying to bind him. Julian had tried to kill him. Julian had tried to take Sophie from him. More than once.

“I trust him, Ric.”

“I know you do. But I’m not sure I can.”

Sophie unwrapped her legs from his waist. “He wouldn’t send me there if it meant I’d be hurt. I know it.”

Ric lowered her to the ground. “But he tried to kill me. He’s tried to take you.”

“He still says that wasn’t him in the hotel room. I don’t know how that could be, but I believe him. It’s tough not knowing whom to trust, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I gave you another chance.”

Yes, she had.

Ric nodded, took Sophie’s hand in his, and squeezed. “Okay.” Side by side, they ran around the side of the house. Ric lifted Sophie over the fence, then jumped it and met her at the shed door.

They pulled it open just as Barrett and the Guardian rounded the corner, coming from the opposite side of the house.

“Quick!” Ric kicked the door open, then helped Sophie inside the cramped, dark interior. He glanced around the space, filled with gardening tools, a riding lawn mower, sacks of potting soil. There was no sign of a spear, a shield, or an exit. “Dead end. He lied. Dammit.”

Sophie gasped. “No.” She dropped to the floor on her knees and covered her face with her hands. “No more lies!” She vaguely heard Ric swear and scramble to brace the door, which was being battered from outside, but she was too lost in her thoughts to really pay attention. Julian couldn’t have lied. He’d never lied to her. There had to be a way out of there, or there was a clue about the spear and shield hidden somewhere, something important. Unfortunately, the second Ric shut the door, the little bit of moonlight that had been coming inside was cut off, leaving her sitting on a dirty floor in the dark.

Working fast, she ran her hands over the gaping wood-plank floor searching for something, anything. A hiding place big enough for the relics to be slid between the planks. Toward the back, next to the lawn mower, her fingers closed around something that felt like a leather strap. She pulled and was caught by surprise as a heavy part of the floor lifted with it.

“Ric!” she yelled. “Here!”

“What? I’m kinda busy at the moment. Holding the door from being kicked in.”

“There’s stairs.” She dropped her legs, found the first step, and half ran, half stumbled down several more. It was pitch-black. She had to feel with her fingers along the cold stone walls. They were lumpy and uneven, slick with slime like an old cave. “Ric!” she shouted as she kept going down, down, down. The air was heavy and thick, difficult to breathe, and smelly. Finally, she bumped smack-dab into a flat, hard surface, what she hoped was a door. “I’m at the bottom but I can’t see.” She frantically searched for a doorknob with her fingers, groping blindly, her heavy breathing echoing in the tight space.

And then she felt Ric’s heat behind her and the worst of her fears eased.

“I can see it,” said Ric.

There was a loud bang and then a creak and then a blade of light cut through the darkness as the door in front of them opened into a wide storeroom. Pushed gently from behind, Sophie stumbled into the room and grinned in triumph. “I knew Julian hadn’t lied! This is it, isn’t it? The dragon’s lair.”

“Sure looks like it is,” Ric said behind her. After securing the door, which was slightly damaged by Ric’s forceful entry, he stepped around her.

Rows and rows of glass-enclosed shelves filled the room, floor to ceiling. As Sophie ran to the first one, she saw that each relic was displayed and marked with a tag. “This shouldn’t be too tough. They’re all marked like a museum display.”

“This seems too easy.”

Sophie just shooed him toward another row of shelves. “You look over there, and I’ll look here. It might take us a while to find them, but I just know they’re here.”

“They’d better be. Because otherwise we’re in big trouble. That door isn’t going to hold much longer.”

Sophie cringed as the sound of heavy metal striking metal reverberated through the underground room, rattling the artifacts in the glass cases.

“It isn’t here.” Sophie stopped at the last case and spun around, dumbfounded. “How could it not be here?”

“It’s here. Somewhere.” Ric turned the corner around another row of shelves, disappearing from her view. “We’re just looking in the wrong place.”

Panic was making it impossible for Sophie to think. The big metal door at the front of the room was groaning against the battering the Guardian and Barrett were giving it. It wouldn’t last much longer.

“We were performing an abolition spell,” Ric said, coming into sight again at the end of a long row.

“Yes. I’m painfully aware of that fact. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Plenty. It means the artifacts would have to be positioned in a circle identical to the one I was in.”

“Not in a case?”

“Maybe not.”

“Okay.” She started jogging up and down the rows again, this time looking for a circle of any kind. A circle painted on the ceiling, the floor, the walls, anywhere. Nothing. Just rows and rows of lighted glass-enclosed cases with gobs of crusty old bits and pieces of history. “Anything?”

“Not yet.”

She ran to the end of one row and rounded the corner, then ran even faster up the second. At the very back, on the concrete wall, she found a large wooden-framed, circular shadow box hanging on the wall. It had some strange pictures or symbols etched into the wood frame. In the center, behind glass were a couple of strange-looking relics. What looked like a spearhead and a piece of rock with a scrap of wood with some metal protruding from it. Could it be? Oh, God, she hoped! “I think I found something!”

“Where?”

She tried to open the cover but it wouldn’t budge. When the metal door at the entry groaned a warning that it was about to give, Sophie reached for the nearest hard thing she could find, wound up, and slammed it into the glass. It shattered, sending a spray of glass shards into the air, all over her face and arm, and onto the floor. Too scared to care whether she was bleeding to death or not, she dug at the ties holding the artifacts in place. Ric found her and hurried to help her remove the second one. And with each of them clutching an artifact to their chest, they ran the perimeter of the room looking for a way out.

Nothing.

And then the door gave and a very angry Guardian stormed into the room.

“Oh, God!” Sophie fought to stay conscious as all the blood remaining in her body drained to her toes.

Chapter 19

“Quick, behind me!” Ric stepped between Sophie and the obviously furious Guardian. Ric’s body was stiff as steel, every muscle tight, ready. He held the chunk of rock in one hand and used his free hand to push Sophie behind him until his body completely shielded her.

The Guardian watched him with fierce eyes but didn’t move.

Barrett rushed into the room behind the Guardian but quickly hurried around his side to give Ric a pleading look. “Ric, I can’t believe you’re going through with this. You know what it means.”

“I’m not giving them to Ysgawyn. I’m helping Sophie. Even you don’t know what’ll happen. We have to take this risk. It’s too important to Sophie not to.”

“I’d hate to see you get hurt or killed.”

“Me too. But I’m willing to take the chance. For Sophie. For her friend.”

“You’re such a martyr.”

“No, I’m just in love.” His gaze slid to the Guardian. Why hadn’t he moved yet? That being had enough power in his pinky to send both him and Sophie into orbit. What was he waiting for?

Margaret dashed into the room hollering, “Stop him!”

The Guardian didn’t remove his gaze from Ric’s. “I can’t,” he hissed. “You know that.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” Margaret said, sounding bewildered. “You’re the most powerful Immortal here. You could send those two to Hades with a sneeze.”

“I can’t destroy the relics.”

“So, blast them in the knees.”

“I can’t use my powers against anyone who is in possession of those artifacts.”

Margaret’s face turned three shades of red and then one more.

“You get the spear and shield out of their hands, and then I can do something.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” she asked through gritted teeth. “Especially now that they may know you can’t hurt them as long as they keep hugging them to their chests?”

The Guardian shrugged, glanced at Barrett in question, then stepped to the side, unblocking the door.

“What are you doing?!” Margaret shrieked.

“Letting them go,” the Guardian responded. “You’ll have to stop them some other way. It’s out of my hands now.”

Not sure if he believed the Guardian, Ric kept Sophie snug against his back as he shuffled his way between the Guardian and Margaret. Once Sophie was at the entry and heading up the stairs, he relaxed somewhat, turned his back on all three Immortals watching them, and followed her up the stairs.

When they emerged from the shed, he took her hand in his and they headed back to the car. He made sure they both held one of the weapons in their laps, in case the Guardian decided to follow them. Once they were back on the main road, he breathed a sigh of relief, the first breath he’d taken in a very long time.

“Where are we going?” Sophie asked.

“Back to the hotel for our stuff, I guess. But I don’t think we should stay there. Barrett and Margaret’ll be looking for us.”

“I’m sorry about your brother.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. He’s doing what he thinks is best. He wants to protect me, just like he did when we were kids. He’s always wanted to protect me.”

“I guess it’s not such a bad thing when you put it that way.”

“He’s really a good guy. It probably doesn’t look like it right now, but he is.”

She leaned closer until the scent of her filled his nostrils and her head rested softly on his shoulder. Despite all the stress pulling at his insides, he smiled. Balancing the rock with the shield embedded in it on his lap, he lifted his arm, wrapped it around her bare shoulder, and pulled her snug against his side—or as snug as the bucket seats of his car allowed. “I haven’t really absorbed everything that happened back there yet. It’s all very confusing. Did you say that you love me?”

“Yes,” he said, his heart thumping heavily in his chest. He’d forgotten how that felt, to have blood coursing through his system, his heart beating. What was she thinking? He mentally reached out for her mind, followed the thin thread between them but found her thoughts shut off from him.

“What does this mean for us?”

“What?”

“The fact that we love each other.”

His heart soared. She was going to forgive him. She really, honestly loved him. She wasn’t saying it during a moment of duress. “Anything you want it to. Anything, that is, but marriage. I won’t make you take that final step. I know how hard it would be. How much you’d be giving up. I won’t make you do that. We can be together anyway. Every day. Every night. If you want.”

“Okay.”

They drove a mile or two. Her head grew heavy on his shoulder and a soft buzzing snore sounded in his ear. He left her sleeping in the passenger seat, locked the car and made sure she had the spearhead securely clutched in her fist, then went up to the room, gathered their belongings, and checked out.

She was still asleep when he returned.

Thoughts churned through Ric’s mind as he drove them back east toward Detroit. He’d finally found the spear and shield and yet he was no closer to finding a cure for his people than when they’d started their search.

But so many more things had happened. Good things. Surprising things. Most notably, he’d fallen deeply in love with Sophie, who’d turned out to be a whole lot stronger, braver, and more capable than even she knew she was.

He was simply in awe of her.

Over the centuries there had been a number of women. Most hadn’t lasted long. Many had fallen short of his expectations, not that that was their fault. It was always him. With an incomparable past woman having set the standard so high, most women would fall far short.

But not Sophie. She was everything he craved in a wife. His body, soul, and spirit clamored to be one with her, to find the completion he could only have through her.

Yet, he knew it couldn’t be. He would have to resist, even if he suffered for the rest of her natural life for it. Even if he had to watch in agony as she drew her last breath. Even if he had to live with the heartache of having loved her and lost her to natural death for the rest of his unnatural life. Maybe it would take centuries, but he would wither and die too, fall to the Second Death, just as his clan members had before him. It was only a matter of time.

It wasn’t fair to ask her for more, to make her suffer the same fate he was facing.

He had a feeling she was doubting her earlier decision regarding completing the marriage ritual. It was something he saw in her eyes. Heard in her voice. But he had to stay strong. Had to keep her safe. Had to refuse, no matter how much his whole being ached for it to happen.

Damn, he was in for a lot of pain. But it was still better than what he’d face if he turned her.

Sophie hadn’t pretended to sleep in who knew how long, since she was a kid. Was it the mature thing to do? Maybe not. But it was necessary.

But she needed the break, a chance to gather the thoughts bouncing around in her head like Super Balls blasted from a cannon. She could hardly get a grasp on all the events of the past few days. She didn’t even know how she felt at the moment. She was rather numb. But she knew herself well enough to know that she was on the edge and could easily overreact to some benign comment Ric was about to make at any moment. She had to spare both of them that agony.

And so, she spent the next several hours exploring her mind and heart trying to sort out her feelings. About Ric as a man. About Ric as a vampire. About Dao’s cure and what it could cost Ric if what she gathered from the conversation with his brother was true.

Could she live with herself if something happened to Ric while they tried to save Dao? She doubted it.

It was at that moment, her head resting on Ric’s firm shoulder, that she made her decision.

She would steal the relics and go to Dao’s house without Ric.

She had no idea what she was supposed to do with them once she got there. Maybe a visit to her boss was in order when they got back in town. He’d know what she was supposed to do with them…she hoped.

Because one thing was absolutely clear: she could not let Ric risk his life or his brother’s life for Dao. As Dao’s friend, that was her risk to take, not Ric’s.

She knew he wouldn’t understand. That he’d be furious. He’d probably yell and turn red and she hated it when he was hurt and angry at her. But that beat the hell out of watching him die. She’d been down that road once. She’d die herself before making a repeat trip.

Finally, the car stopped, from the look of it, several hours before sunrise. Now dressed in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, Ric carried her into his house and laid her on the bed. She gently shifted her weight, preparing herself for a stealth maneuver to slip out. Unfortunately, Ric was still there, close enough to feel her movement and tighten his grip.

She’d have to wait a while.

“Where you going?” Ric said, sounding sleepy and sexy and tempting. “It may seem careless, but I want you to stay here, at least until I get the relics inside and we can figure out what exactly we’re supposed to do with them. I figure dawn is best. The lamia is at her weakest at sunrise.”

“Sounds like a plan. I just hope we’re not too late. But rest assured, I’m not going anywhere. Just making an adjustment.” She squirmed a bit when he settled beside her, and she flopped a leg over his. All kinds of parts warmed, thanks to the contact. Her body was in for some celebration.

Maybe that was what they both needed. Ric was dead to the world after lovemaking. She rubbed against him like a happy pussycat.

“Mmmm,” he said. “You keep doing that and I’ll have to make an adjustment too.”

She slid her leg up until it met with the lump in his shorts. “Oops. What did I just bump?” she said with exaggerated innocence. A smile pulled at her mouth.

Ric growled, grabbed her hand, and pushed it into his pants. “This. That’s what.”

“Oh, dear. I certainly didn’t mean to cause you any discomfort,” she teased. Her fingers closed around his shaft. Her thumb stroked over the head. “Is there anything I can do to make it better?”

Ric grunted. “I could think of a thing or two.” One of his hands fisted her hair at her nape. The other went to her throat. He drew a line with his fingertip from her ear to her collarbone, then traced the same line with his tongue. When he nipped on the hollow between her neck and shoulder, she shivered. Goose bumps coated her upper body. Liquid heat pulsed through her body in slow, pleasant waves, warming her from head to toe. She tightened her grip on his erection and stroked. Up and down. Up and down.

“You know just how to touch me, woman.” Not waiting for her to respond, Ric unzipped his shorts and rolled Sophie onto her back. He wedged his hips between her thighs and kissed her. Like his touches, his kiss was slow and thorough, with a hint of the restraint he was clearly trying so hard to exercise. She could feel his muscles trembling. She could feel the stiff erection grinding against her belly. Could feel the temptation coursing through his body as his tongue slipped into her mouth to taste her.

It was as if their senses were tied together. She could taste herself as he tasted her, sweet and wet, like a ripe apple. She could hear her own soft moans as he heard them, sexy little hiccups and sighs. She could feel the need coiling inside his body, round and round, fed by the tastes and touches and sounds her body supplied him.

The end result of their blended senses was intoxicating. Overwhelming.

His kiss grew more urgent, more demanding. Slow, erotic strokes of his tongue gave way to quick, rhythmic thrusts. Instead of soft lips and gentle pressure, his mouth grew firm and demanding. The change stirred her desire. Sparks of heat shot through her body, igniting little blazes in her chest, stomach, sex.

Clothes. Too many clothes. She writhed underneath him, her mouth drinking in his flavor, her breath mixed with his. She pulled at his underwear, but thanks to the fact that his entire front was squashed against hers, she couldn’t get them down. She groaned in frustration, the sound echoing in his mouth, and in her head.

He broke the kiss, doing more damage to her neck and ear with tongue and teeth. “What’s wrong, sweetness?”

“Clothes.”

“Oh. I agree. We have too many clothes on. Yes.” He levered himself off her with two thick arms, then sat back on his knees. His eyelids were heavy as he looked down upon her, but they didn’t hide the raw hunger in his eyes. Nothing could hide that.

He ran all ten fingertips down her body, starting at her shoulders. They skimmed over her breasts through her cotton shirt, teasing her nipples to aching hardness before stopping at the hem and curling.

The shirt came off with minimal effort. Pants too. Still, even though there wasn’t a bit of skin that wasn’t exposed to the air, she was burning up. It was his expression, the hunger she saw in his eyes. The way his lips curled at the corners. The way his tongue darted out occasionally to trace a damp line along his bottom lip. The tension she saw in his jawline.

“Your turn,” she said on a sigh.

Ric crossed his arms over his chest and yanked his shirt up over his head.

Glory, the things his arms and shoulders did when he moved! A giant lump formed in Sophie’s throat. A lump made out of something hard. It was no use trying to swallow it either. Her mouth was dry as dust. When he pulled his pants down, the lump slipped south, landing with a heavy thunk in her belly.

Ric’s body was perfect, lean and hard and one hundred percent male. A soft dusting of hair covered his legs, arms. She longed to trace the sexy line of hair arrowing down from his belly button to the nest at the base of his privates. She ached to taste his skin. She hungered to feel the weight of his testicles in her palm, to measure the girth of his erection with her sex.

She lifted her shoulders off the bed, her arms outstretched, her fingers just short of their target. But he gently pressed her back down. “No. Will you touch yourself for me? I want to watch.”

“Oh. I…I’ve never…done that with someone watching.”

“You trust me, don’t you? After everything. And you know I think your body is the most beautiful, most exquisite thing on earth, right? Because I do. I love to look at you. To look at all of you.”

His sweet words touched her heart and stoked her desire. He wanted to watch her masturbate. He wanted to see her do something so intimate she’d never even admitted to another human being she’d done it, at least no human being with a face. She’d purchased her one and only vibrator from a mail-order catalogue so she wouldn’t be embarrassed.

“Please,” he said, his eyes as pleading as his voice. “Take it one step at a time. Okay? Open your legs for me. Close your eyes if you need to.”

Sophie wanted to please him so much! More than she’d ever wanted to please another person in her life. More than she wanted to protect her fragile ego. She let her eyelids shutter her eyes, closing herself in safe, reassuring blackness, then let her knees fall apart.

“Oh yes, that’s it,” he whispered. “We won’t ever again hide from each other. No more secrets. I promise.”

She was so thrilled to hear him make that promise, the guilt of what she was about to do ballooned. Here he was, asking her to open herself completely to him. Here he was, promising to share everything with her from now on. And here she was, plotting how to run away from him.

The heat in her body cooled to a mild simmer.

“Let me see your sex, sweetness. I know it’s wet and ready for me.” He gently eased her knees farther apart.

Even though her mind was still drifting in the wrong direction, down the highway of guilt to the land of What-the-heck-am-I-doing? her body was zooming down another road, a direct route to the city of Bliss. Nothing like being in two places at once.

She tried to knock her brain into submission, knowing a trip down Guilt Lane wasn’t going to serve any purpose right now; reached between her legs; and parted her vulva.

She heard Ric’s breath catch in his throat and realized the significance of such a simple reaction—since he didn’t breathe too often. Her lips pulled back into a tense smile as she lightly teased herself with a forefinger.

“Oh yes. That’s the way. I can see your juices. You’re so wet. So ready.” The mattress springs squeaked as he leaned closer to whisper, “Now tell me, what are you thinking about?”

She stopped stroking for one, two, three seconds, then resumed. What was she thinking about? Lying to him. Running away and taking on a creature she had no idea how to defeat. Saving him from untold danger. Sparing him from paying the consequences of using the spear and shield. The fact that the minutes were ticking by and she had no idea if Dao was still alive or not.

Ironic. She’d spent all this time angry and frustrated with him for keeping secrets, for not telling her everything, and now she was considering doing the same to him.

Thank goodness he couldn’t read her mind at that moment!

“I’m thinking…about you. About your tongue swirling over my sex in soft, slow circles like this.” She mimicked the circular motions with her fingertip. Blades of pleasure licked up her spine, despite her worries. “And this.” She lifted her other hand to her breast and drew the same slow circles over her nipple. A sigh slipped through her lips. The thoughts swarming her mind fled.

“Oh, yeah,” Ric said.

Oh, yeah.

She scissored her fingers apart, parting her labia wider, and left her breast for better territory, down below. Two hands to her privates, one stroking her nub, one teasing her tight canal. She slid a finger inside and gripped it with her inner muscles, groaning against the building tension working through her muscles. Face. Chest. Arms. Legs. Stomach. Her hand trembled. She bit her lip and increased the pressure on her clitoris, occasionally dragging wetness up from her vagina to keep it lubricated.

She ached for a touch from Ric, even an innocent one. She was so hot, so ready, yet unfulfilled. The vision of herself lying on the bed, legs parted, hands stroking played through her mind like a live-feed video. It made her hot. It made her desperate. “Please,” she whimpered. “Please touch me.”

“Thank you,” he said, so close his breath warmed her face. “Thank you for opening to me.” He pressed his palms against her knees, spreading them until her inner thigh muscles burned. Her hands were replaced with his. He knew exactly how to touch her, how much pressure, what speed. He played her body with the skill of a concert pianist. Lovemaking was a true art form when performed by Ric.

It wasn’t long before she was sure she’d die if he didn’t bury his thick rod inside her before the next beat of her heart. She was sure it would stop. And her lungs would quit. And her brain would die from lack of oxygen. And life would be over.

His fingers were stroking, thrusting, teasing, tormenting.

“Now,” she commanded. “Now, before I die.”

He hooked his arms under her knees and dragged her to the edge of the bed. And with a single thrust, he entered her.

She cried out, overwhelmed by the bliss of being filled. Thankful for an instant of relief before her body demanded more. She clenched her inner muscles around him and rode the waves of pleasure as they washed through her body. The waves quickened with each thrust, building in strength until they practically knocked the air from her lungs. She dragged in each breath, gulped it like it was her last.

Ric pulled out unexpectedly, and Sophie shouted, “No!” He gripped her hips with his hands and pulled, easing her over onto her stomach. Her legs slid down the side of the bed until her feet hit the floor. He gripped a fistful of her hair and pulled until she arched her back and thrust her rear end up in the air.

“Look at that bottom. Oh, yeah.” He parted her cheeks and probed her bottom with the head of his cock. It found its way home with a single swift stroke, along the way dragging against sensitive parts of her anatomy that had been sorely lacking attention until then.

She fisted the covers twisted over the bed and rocked back and forth, meeting his thrusts to increase both their pleasure. Oh, the ecstasy! Her whole body, from toe to forehead and everywhere in between, was quaking. The first tingles of a building climax spread through her sex, then swept up into her belly.

Just before the last, fluttering spasm, Ric joined her in paradise, thrusting hard with each beat of his climax. He huffed with each inward thrust, repeating her name, over and over like it was the word that brought his pleasure, not the act of making love.

Finally, he slumped forward, feeling heavy and boneless on Sophie’s back. “I love you, baby,” he said to her shoulder. His erection softened and slipped from her body. She smiled into the mattress, then nudged him with her bottom.

“I love you too. But you’re heavy, buster. Unlike you, I need to breathe. That’s a bit of a challenge when I’m smooshed like this.”

“Sorry.” He lifted his heavy frame from her and then dropped it on the bed, spread-eagle, facedown. Oh, yeah. He was worn out, just the way she’d wanted him. “Just give me a minute to rest and…then I’ll…we’ll…leave…before…”

Silence. He was out.

Now, she could go to the bathroom, get herself cleaned up, and sneak out undetected. She’d be at Dao’s long before he woke up. With her gone, and the relics, she figured Ric would be safe from his brother and the Guardian.

Her plan was flawless except for one small detail: being so sneaky and secretive was killing her. Here she’d just made love to the man, told him she loved him.

I hate secrets. Her words echoed through her head.

But what other choice did she have? Let him come with her, take a risk with his life, or with his people’s lives, all to save one guy he’d never even met before?

Never in her life had she let another person take those kinds of risks for her. No. She had to do this alone, face the lamia that was sucking the life from her friend. It was the right thing to do, the right decision for everyone’s sake.

She hoped Ric would find it in his heart to forgive her. If she survived.

She collected her clothes, purse and snatched the car keys from Ric’s pants pocket. Then, before she chickened out, she pressed a kiss to his cheek and headed for the door, whispering, “This is my battle now. I hope you understand. I love you. I really, really love you.”

Chapter 20

“I was beginning to think I’d never see you alive again.” At dawn, Tim met Sophie at her desk, his gaze anxious as he met hers; then he dropped it to the dusty relics sitting on her desktop. “Are these the spear and shield? Did you find them?”

“Yes. I mean, I think they are. I guess I could be wrong.”

“Oh, wow!” he said, sounding like a kid who’d just been shown the latest video game system. He picked up the spearhead and studied it. “I can’t believe you found them.”

“Neither can I. But now I have a question. What do I do with them? I have maybe fifteen minutes to figure it out. Julian said Dao would last no more than thirty-six hours from the time he first became confused. He’s gotta be near death.”

“I don’t know,” Tim answered, not taking his eyes off the little piece of carved rock or flint or whatever it was. “I don’t know what you’re supposed to do with them.”

“But you told me I needed them. I figured you’d know what I’d need to do with them once I got them.”

“Nope. I just read about it on the Web. Some guy said lamiae can be destroyed only with these two artifacts. How, he didn’t say.”

“Can you e-mail him?”

“No. He posted it on a bulletin board. I don’t even know his e-mail address.”

“Damn it,” Sophie said, slumping into her chair. “I’m pretty sure Ric would know, but I don’t want to ask him.”

“Why not?”

“Long story.”

“How about sharing the highlights, like who Ric is?” Tim rested his rear end on Sophie’s desk and turned to inspect the shield.

“Ric is just a guy.”

“Just?” Tim lifted his head for a moment to deliver a single raised-eyebrow, “yeah, right” expression.

“Yeah. Just a guy who was helping me find these.”

“Sounds like a pretty good guy to me. Why wouldn’t you want him to help you fight the lamia?”

“Because…because this is my battle, not his.”

Tim set the shield back on her desk and drilled her with his paranormal ghost-hunter-on-the-hunt scrutinizing gaze. “You’re in love with him.”

“Yeah. So?”

“Does he love you?”

“It doesn’t matter. I mean, it does, but not when it comes to Dao and Lisse. I need to take care of this on my own.”

Tim stood and shook his head. “You’ve de-balled the poor guy.”

“Have not!”

“You’re not letting him be a man. Does he know you’re doing this on your own?”

“Probably by now he does.”

Tim shook his head even harder. “I’m guessing he’s going to be pissed.”

“Yeah. I know. But I couldn’t let him do this. There was too much at stake, too many things that could’ve gone wrong.”

“So you figured you’d protect him by doing it on your own.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“What do you think he’ll be feeling if something happens to you because you were too damn stubborn to accept his help?”

“Um…” She thought about that one for a few minutes, tried to put herself in his shoes. The resulting image wasn’t a pleasant one. “Bad.”

“Badder than bad. Call him.”

“But I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

“Yeah, I know. But sometimes you have to risk losing everything to gain everything. If that makes sense.”

“Yes. Yes it does.” Her mind still not made up, Sophie took up the relics and headed out of the office. She needed to think, maybe do some reading.

The library was open.

She hid the relics carefully in Ric’s car trunk, then drove to the library, not even bothering to go home yet. She half expected Ric to show up at her house any time now and she wasn’t ready to deal with him yet. She wasn’t sure if she was still going through with her plan to take on Lisse alone or wait for Ric.

The fear of losing him, of having something terrible happen, was definitely steering her toward the go-it-alone route.

She wandered the aisle where she’d first met him, her mind and body replaying the memory of how those first few moments had felt. Her body tingled all over as the memories played through her mind. Fragments of conversation. The quirk of his lips. The glitter in his eyes. The feel of his strong, hard body against hers.

She missed him. Something fierce. So bad, in fact, that she could swear she felt him near her right then, sensing him like when she entered a room and sensed someone staring at her. A buzzing, skittering, electric feeling that zipped up and down her spine.

“Sophie,” she heard him say. She spun around. Her heart stopped.

“Ric.” His eyes were filled with rage. His jaw clenched so tight a thin muscle there bulged. “I told myself I wouldn’t look for you, but dammit, I couldn’t help it. Why? Why’d you sneak out like that? After everything? After we made love and I promised not to keep any secrets?”

“I know, I know.” She held her hands in front of her chest, fending him off, back stepping into a shelf full of books.

“What were you thinking? Can you tell me that?” he asked, closing the distance between them until she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak.

“Eep.”

“Huh?”

Her mouth was dry again. He seemed to have that effect on her a lot. “I…” She sidled sideways, her spine dragging along the lumpy surface of book spines. “I was thinking about you.”

“How could you say that?”

“Because it’s the truth. I saw the hell you were going through when you’d thought about using the spear and shield to get your cure. I heard it all.”

The anger in his eyes cooled a tiny bit.

She continued, “If you use those things, you’ll die, or your brother’ll die, or someone’s going to die and I won’t be responsible for that if I can help it. Dao’s my friend. He needs my help, not yours. And if I can do this myself, I’m going to. Because I’m willing to lose my life for my friend. But I’m not willing to lose you for him.” Her nose burned. Her eyes too. She sniffed and ran the back of her hand over her eyes. She wouldn’t cry. Not now. Not here. “You were supposed to stay asleep for a while. Give me a head start.”

“I was up before you left the hotel.”

“Obviously.”

He closed his hands around her upper arms. “I love you. Don’t you understand that? I’d do anything for you. I’d die for you.”

“But I don’t want you to. I just want my friend to be okay. That’s all. And I don’t want anyone else to be hurt in the process.”

“Sometimes you have to risk everything to get everything.”

She froze. “You been talking to Tim?”

“Who’s Tim?”

She shook her head to clear it. Her thoughts were not on the topic at hand. They were wandering. “No one. My boss. He said the same thing today when I went to talk to him.”

“Smart guy.” His thumbs rubbed her inner arms. Who knew inner arms could be so sensitive? She was about ready to melt.

“Yeah,” she said on a sigh.

“Are we ready now?”

“Ready?”

“To go take care of that lamia. You aren’t still insisting on doing it alone, are you?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?” he repeated, looking confused.

“Yes, I’m ready. And no, I won’t insist on facing her on my own. If you make me one promise.”

“Tell me what you want and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Promise me nothing’ll happen to you. That you won’t break some law that’ll land you in vampire prison or get yourself killed or hurt.”

“Sweetheart, I can’t make a promise like that.”

Her heart sank.

“But I will promise you one thing.”

Her heavy-as-lead heart lightened a smidge. “Oh?”

“I promise to do everything in my power to keep those things from happening. Okay?”

It wasn’t good enough, but it was what it was. It was realistic. “Okay.”

“Now, let’s go get her before afternoon arrives. You don’t want to take on a lamia after dark. Have you talked to your friend recently?”

“Yes. Yesterday.”

“And?”

“He’s still alive but he didn’t remember me.”

“Then we’d better hurry. Some of the damage may not be reversible.”

“Okay.” Sophie put her hand in Ric’s and together they ran to the car. It felt so good to have him by her side again. She just hoped it wouldn’t be the last time.

She directed him to Dao’s house, too nervous to drive herself. When they parked outside of the house, she asked, “Do you know what we’re supposed to do with those things in the back?”

“I’m a Wissenschaft. We believe in science. I have no idea.”

“Great.”

“We’ll wing it. Between the two of us, we ought to be able to figure it out.”

“I hope so. She’s one scary snakewoman.”

“I can tell you this—all vampires, muses included, are susceptible to death if their hearts are pierced. So I’m thinking we should go for the heart.”

“With that little scrap of chiseled rock?” she asked, motioning to the spearhead. “Yikes. I was hoping we wouldn’t have to get that close to her. What if she spits venom or something?”

“I’m assuming that’s what the shield is for.” He handed the hunk of rock with the wood embedded in it to her. “Here. I want you to hold on to this.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“I hate this.” Her hands shook. Her legs were rubbery. She felt like a giant block of cement had been dropped on her shoulders. Yes, she wanted to save Dao. She loved him. She had vowed to help him. But the thought of losing Ric was killing her. What would she do if he was truly hurt or worse?

“We’ll be okay. Don’t worry. Just concentrate. That’s important right now.”

Sophie nodded and tipped her chin to look up at him. “If something happens, I want you to know, I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. And this is killing me inside.”

Ric pressed his palms to her cheeks and slanted his mouth over hers in a soft, sweet kiss. His lips worked gently over hers, first on one corner of her mouth and then the other. “I love you too. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. So much that when I found out you’d left me, I thought I’d die. So much that the thought of you taking this risk by yourself made me want to move the heavens and the earth to get here to stop you. We will never again face danger alone. I will always be here by your side. No matter what happens today.”

She didn’t quite understand what he meant by that but she nodded her understanding anyway. Then, the shield clutched to her chest, her heart in her throat, and her stomach dragging down around her toes, she followed Ric up the walk to Dao’s front door.

This was it.

“What are you doing?!” Sophie yelled just before Ric hit the front door with his shoulder. Taken by surprise, he tried to stop, but the momentum pushed him forward into the door anyway. It didn’t give.

He grimaced. Now the inhabitants of the house would know they were coming. So much for the element of surprise. “I was trying to bust in the door so we could take them by surprise.”

“I have a key.” She held a key in her fingers to illustrate, then gently shoved him aside to use it. Sheesh, make a guy feel like a brainless lug. She turned the lock softly, like she was trying to be quiet. He didn’t bother telling her that it was too late, that her friend and his muse wife had to know they were on their way in by now.

The door swung silently open. Ric took the lead, stepping into the living room. He motioned for Sophie to leave the door open, in case a quick exit was necessary. His body was tense, ready for a battle with a pissed-off lamia. The spearhead was securely gripped in his fist. Sophie motioned toward the hallway at the end of the living room and he nodded and headed that way. The doors lining the corridor were all closed. She pointed at the first one and mouthed, “In here.”

“Ready?”

She nodded.

He tightened his grip on the spearhead, turned the doorknob, and pushed the door open.

The room inside was very dark, but he could make out the shapes of two bodies in the bed.

“I can’t see a thing,” Sophie whispered next to him. “Should I flip on the light?”

“Yes.”

The room was instantly awash in blinding white light. The two bodies in the bed shot to a sitting position like dummies fixed to springs in a haunted house. One lamia in her human form—which Ric had to admit was quite lovely—and a skinny, bedraggled-looking Asian man.

The lamia took one look at Ric and smiled. “We have company. How nice. Hello, Ric.”

“Hello.”

“Mmmm,” the lamia said, assessing him with cold eyes. “My sister was right. You are something.”

“I’d take that as a compliment if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re sitting next to your husband,” he said, feeling like a hunk of beef in a butcher’s window.

“What do you have there, lover?” the lamia cooed, pointing at his fist.

“Just a little something. I brought it just for you.”

“How thoughtful.” She stood. Nude. Lovely. Long legs, slim body with curves in all the right places. Full breasts. “Aren’t you going to show it to me?” she asked in open invitation. She was making this too easy. She had to know something he didn’t.

Ric tensed his shoulder and arm muscles and leapt forward, swinging with all his might, her left breast his target. The blade struck her skin, then bounced away, like it had hit hard rubber. His arm and shoulder muscles jerked painfully from the impact. The spearhead went flying through the air and Sophie screamed behind him.

He heard a thunk, scrambling. He spun on his heel, catching the two women wrestling for the dropped spearhead. The shield lay on the floor, forgotten. He grabbed the lamia by the shoulders and yanked, giving Sophie a chance to snatch the spear from the floor in the nick of time.

The lamia hissed and spit in his face. He reached for the shield to block the venom with one hand, but the lamia knocked it away. Instantly, his skin was on fire. He heard himself howling and released the lamia to frantically rub away the excruciating burn. “The shield!”

“Ric?” Sophie said beside him.

He couldn’t see her. Couldn’t see anything. The pain was almost unbearable. He staggered, his arms out in front of him, and walked back toward the exit. “Sophie! Run!”

“No.”

“I can’t see. I can’t…help you.” He tried to pry his eyes open but they wouldn’t budge.

“This is my battle,” Sophie said.

“What a brave, foolish girl,” the lamia hissed. “It’s a shame I’ll have to kill her.”

Ric howled in rage and threw himself in the direction of her voice.

Chapter 21

Ric was blind, swinging wildly at Lisse but doing absolutely no damage. In fact, he was doing nothing but wearing himself out. Dao staggered to his feet, gave Sophie a blank stare, and then lunged at Ric’s back, clawing at him like a ticked-off bear.

Ric howled and turned, swinging blindly at Dao.

Sophie screamed.

Ric stopped.

Dao stopped.

Lisse stopped.

They all stood and looked at her—well, all but Ric, whose eyes were still clamped tightly closed—like she was going to tell them all what to do.

“You. Men. Get out,” Sophie barked, hauling the shield to her chest.

“I won’t leave my wife here defenseless,” Dao said through gritted teeth. “A couple of crazed strangers come into my bedroom and I’m supposed to stand idly by and watch them attack my wife?”

“Yes.” Sophie nodded. “Don’t you remember me? I’m not a stranger. I’m Sophie. Your best friend.”

“Don’t listen to her, my love,” Lisse said.

“I don’t know you.”

Ric swung, knocking Dao to the ground.

Lisse screeched and spit at Ric again.

Sophie saw red. No snakewoman spat venom at her man! She swung her arm in a wide arc aiming for the same area Ric had. But the stone blade didn’t even cut the skin. It bounced like a stone off a tire. “What the fuck?”

“You can’t kill me,” Lisse scoffed. “You’re a human.”

Sophie didn’t want to believe the lamia. She hadn’t come all this way to fail. What did she mean she couldn’t kill her? They had the magic spear. They had the magic shield. What more could they need?

“Liar.” She jumped forward again, spear aimed right for the heartless snake’s chest. Lisse didn’t even try to block it. Again, the blade bounced off her chest, wrenching Sophie’s shoulder. She huffed her frustration. Her fear, at the hunger she saw in the lamia’s eyes as it looked at Ric.

“I think next I’ll take that one. He’s delightful.”

“He’s taken, bitch.”

Lisse smiled, displaying two elongated canines. “Who’s going to stop me? You?”

“Yes.”

“I told you, you can’t. Only a newly born Immortal has the strength to kill me, even with the Romakh. Our friend here is too old.”

“Only a newly born…” Sophie repeated, turning to look at Ric.

He seemed to read her mind. He shook his head. “No. I won’t let you. I love you.”

“He’s my friend. I can’t save him if I don’t.”

“Isn’t this sweet. The little lady thinks she can become an Immortal and kill me? All for her dear friend who couldn’t give a shit whether she lives or dies.”

“Shut up!” Sophie said in a low growl, her mind whirling round and round.

Lisse knelt beside Ric. “He’s a Wissenschaft. My venom might kill him if I took a little taste.” She dodged a blind swing from Ric and caught his wrist, then dragged her flickering tongue up his arm from palm to elbow. “Oh, he’s sweet.” Smiling, she dragged a fingernail over his skin. A crimson trail followed the line she’d drawn.

“No!”

Lisse licked the trail away. “Oh, yes. Delightful. You know, he was wrong to have once thought a lamia can’t wed a Wissenschaft. He could make a nice husband.” Lisse leaned forward and kissed his lips. He fought for a brief second, then sagged against the wall.

“No.” Sophie stood frozen, scared, confused. If she completed the wedding ritual with Ric, she’d be an Immortal. He’d pretty much made that clear. But what was the final step? And did she want to take it? Could she take it? Did she have the strength? The courage? What would happen to her? What would happen to Ric? And Dao?

Ric moaned and slumped forward, lifeless.

“Ric!” She knew she couldn’t take another moment to think, couldn’t wait. Her choice had been made for her. Not only for Dao, who was starting to stir and was taking in the scene before him with rage-filled eyes, but also for Ric, who was falling under the lamia’s spell. She caught his hand, closed her eyes, and sucked at the red blood dripping from his wrist.

To hell with life. To hell with fear.

When the salty blood hit the back of her throat, she gagged. But out of fear and rage, she forced it down. A flare of heat blasted through her belly, like she’d swallowed a lit firecracker. She forced another mouthful down her throat. God, it burned. Worse than shots of 200-proof liquor. Her insides were boiling. Her blood was like volcanic lava rushing through her body, sending the agony to every cell from the top of her head to her toenails.

She heard Ric yell below the loud thud of her slowing heart. The world grew hazy and dark. She staggered, dropping the shield. She fell to her knees.

The lamia stood over her, smiling. “Too late, baby doll. Your Wissenschaft’s mine.”

Sophie felt the strength draining from her. Felt her soul lifting out of her heavy body. It whirled around the room and then plunged inside Ric’s body. But it was a shell—empty, lifeless, cold. Ric was gone. Where? Her spirit shot from him again, returned to her body. She tested her arms, legs. They were heavy, weak but could still move. “Ric?”

He was gone. She’d lost him. Lost Dao. Lost her own life. Lost everything. She dropped her head, letting her forehead rest against the shield’s cool surface. “Oh, God, help me. I’m too late.” The shield heated, as if a flame had ignited inside.

Then she felt Ric fill her, felt his strength surging through her veins. She felt strong. She felt powerful. She felt new. She pretended to stagger to her feet, the spear clutched in her fist, and tripped on her own foot, falling forward. Lisse lifted her hands to push her away, but she didn’t block Sophie’s strike to her chest.

It was a clean shot. This time the blade sank in. Frigid air blasted from the wound and Lisse’s body crumpled to the ground like a deflated balloon.

Dao screamed behind Sophie, scrambled to his feet, then shook his head and stared at her, confusion pulling his face into a mask of tension. “Sophie? What happened? What’s going on?”

Sophie hugged Dao. “I’ll explain in a minute.” She kneeled next to Ric’s limp, cold body; palmed his cheeks; and kissed him. She felt his spirit rush through her mouth and out into his body. He stirred under her. Tears blurred her vision.

She’d done it; they’d done it. The lamia was gone. Dao was alive.

And she was now officially a vampire, or so she assumed.

“I guess there’s no more Ben & Jerry’s for me, unless they make a new flavor—AB positive.”

Ric’s chuckle was the sweetest sound on earth. “Not exactly. You see, you kind of skipped a part in that last step. Which means you’re not a real, full-fledged vampire. You’re a little bit human and a little bit vampire.”

“Oh?”

“But we are Joined and you know what this means, don’t you?”

Oh no! More secrets?

“Noooo.”

“It means you’re stuck with me for the next, oh, I’d say five hundred years or so. I hope you can deal with my snoring.”

Sophie kissed the daylights out of him. “No problem. I’ll wear earplugs. I’m just grateful for your being alive…or dead…or undead.”

“Sophie, what the heck are you talking about?” Dao asked incredulously. “Since when did you start believing in vampires?”

“Oh…about four or five days ago, when I met this incredibly handsome guy in the library who just happens to be a real vampire.” She then held her index finger to her lips and whispered, “It’s a secret. My secret vampire.”

“Sounds like a great story title.” Dao said, heading toward the door. “Mind if I go do some writing? I’ve just been inspired.”

“No way. I’ve just had a spark of inspiration myself,” Sophie said, pulling Ric to his feet. “First stop is the bathroom to clear up those eyes. I want you to see me when we’re making love. All of me,” whispered Sophie.

“I’m all for that plan.”

“I thought you would be. If there’s anything I learned the last couple of weeks, it’s that real vampires never say no to a good thing. And speaking of good things, I’m starving. How about some Ben and Jerry’s? I don’t know what being a half human, half vampire means, but I’ve got a taste for some Chocolate Therapy.”

DEALING WITH THE OTHERS

No matter what I did, who I chose to work for, or what choices I made, I’d be pissing somebody off. I had my pick between The Circle, Royce, or the White Hats. The White Hats were obviously an unstable element, considering they thought I’d be more amenable to joining their fun and games at knifepoint. The Circle had me in a contractual pinch I wouldn’t be able to break out of with any ease. Royce would probably hit the roof as soon as he figured out what I was really after. Each and every one of them had the resources and clout to make my life miserable or even make me disappear. One, or more, of them would have a reason to want me to, once I made a move.

I wandered back to my bed and sat down on the edge, staring blankly at the wall. My hands had started shaking again. Right now, Royce seemed like my safest bet, seeing as he was the only one of the three who hadn’t threatened me.

Yet.

I was so dead…

HUNTED BY THE OTHERS

JESS HAINES

ZEBRA BOOKS

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To my unofficial number one fan, Binah, and all the friends who supported me through the publishing process. You know who you are. To my tireless cheerleader, Mom. To my compadre, caffeine, followed closely by his sidekick, chocolate. I love you guys!

A special word of thanks to my agent, Ellen Pepus, and to my editor, John Scognamiglio (along with the rest of the team at Kensington). Words cannot express my appreciation for all your time, advice, patience and hard work. Thank you so much for helping me bring the world of the Others to life.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 1

Long, delicate fingers caressed the stem of a wineglass, trailing upward to catch a few small beads of condensation on the glass. Sultry eyes the color of the sky during a summer storm bored into me from across the cloth-covered table, with all of the woman’s not-inconsiderable power of compulsion behind them. I knew what she was trying to do, which didn’t make it any easier to resist.

Taking a deep breath, I forced my gaze away as nonchalantly as I could to look through the bay window beside our table. Staring at the rippling black waters of a little man-made pond, dotted with reflected lights and a single white swan, beat falling into a black enchant by looking into Veronica’s eyes. The bird floated, serene and oblivious, as a laughing young couple threw bits of bread at it to try to lure it closer.

Swans were pretty but vicious if you got too close. Much like my dinner companion.

She was still waiting oh-so-breathlessly for my reply. With a sigh, I dragged my attention off the sights outside and back to the mage, careful not to meet her gaze directly.

“Look, it’s not that I don’t need the money, but I don’t kill vampires for magi. First and foremost, I’m human. I can’t compete with you guys. Second, I’m a private detective, not an assassin. Not to mention that it’s still illegal to kill vamps without a signed warrant.”

It took every ounce of willpower I had not to look into those overbright eyes and change my mind. Hey, I hated vampires as much as the next human, but I wasn’t about to go hunt one down like a crazy person and get myself killed. My job was scary enough as it was without adding angry vampires to the list of stalkers trying to get a piece of my hide to make up for the grief I caused them.

“Shiarra, I’m not asking you to kill him. Just,” Veronica paused, her persuasive tones trailing off into a throaty “hmm” before she continued, “just find out what he’s up to. Detain him if necessary. Find the location of a little trinket for us. My coven will take care of the rest.”

Her cherry lips curved in a smile more predatory than any vamp’s, her pinkish tongue darting out to run suggestively along her upper lip once she noticed that was where my attention was focused. God, I hate magi.

In the back of my mind, I wondered darkly why Jenny, our receptionist-slash-bookkeeper, had set this appointment without checking with me first. Belatedly recalling that she went over the bills with my business partner on a regular basis, I realized she must have decided the need to pay our bills outweighed my likely moral outrage. Under any other circumstances, the moment I found out a potential client was an Other, I walked. Jenny knew this. She also knew that since money was so tight, I’d probably at least agree to hear the mage out.

After finding out what she wanted, though, I was starting to regret agreeing to stay through dinner.

“I know I made the news with that whole Were incident at the Embassy last month, but honestly, that was my first run-in with supernaturals. I don’t have the experience or the equipment to deal with vampires.”

I tried to sound reasonable, though I was afraid I was coming across more testy and frightened. This woman really put me on edge, though I tried to tell myself it was what she was asking me to do, not the aura and crackle of magic surrounding her, that did it. Maybe it had something to do with her coming on to me? Either way, I didn’t like it.

“Frankly, I don’t think you could pay me enough to put my life on the line against a vampire. Shouldn’t you be getting a half-blood? Or another mage to deal with him?”

Little furrows appeared between those perfectly shaped brows of hers. Her hair was a lovely mahogany shade that didn’t quite match the dark brown of those eyebrows, framing her delicate, oval face. I hated that she could pull the look off so effortlessly. My hopelessly curly red hair would never look as sleek and sophisticated as her artfully careless ’do. It was probably spelled to look that way.

“The Ageless would know us for our magic. That wouldn’t work at all. A half-blood would kill first, ask questions later. Same with a Were.” She paused, thinking. “Unless, of course, he killed them first.”

I leaned back in the chair, crossing my arms over my chest. “Not really helping your cause here.”

The woman started tapping her perfectly manicured nails on the table, leaning back as she eyed me anew. Something in that look told me wheels were turning and her plans were changing. Uh-oh.

“A human is our only chance. You have no taint of magic, no scent of change on you. You also now have some familiarity with, and have proven yourself capable against, supernaturals.”

For a moment, Veronica’s lip curled faintly in a sneer, venomous but gone almost as soon as it appeared. I would have missed it if I hadn’t been staring at her lips and nose, avoiding looking directly into her eyes. Her features resumed that intent predatory look that told me she was only barely hiding her contempt for the lowly pure-blood human, doing what she could to put me on edge. Sadly, it was working.

“As I said, we do not want him dead, just watched. You can get close without fear of injury, since he has plenty of willing donors and is known for his restraint. The worst that could happen is you being banned from his places of business.”

It was my turn to tap my nails. “Aside from an abrupt, painful death, that is the worst thing that could happen to me. Alec Royce owns half the nightclubs and restaurants in the city. Those are the places I go to track my marks.”

I glanced at my watch in an effort to give her the hint that I wasn’t going to stick around much longer for this crazy talk, even if she was picking up the tab.

She gave an overly dramatic sigh, no longer hiding her annoyance. She dropped the sickly sweet tones she’d been affecting and finally put a cap on the damn aura she’d been exuding since this dinner started. No wonder the waiter hadn’t come to refill our glasses in almost an hour.

“Shiarra Waynest, you forget yourself. The other half of the city belongs to The Circle, and we are more than prepared to compensate you. Fifty thousand, plus expenses, and an extra ten thousand if you find what we’re looking for. Five thousand up front, and your pick of equipment from The Circle’s own security vaults. We’ll give you protection, and more work if you do well at this job.”

I sat back, speechless. Five grand to start? My usual take only came out to two thousand, sometimes up to four if it the job was tricky or somewhat dangerous. Plus equipment? Expenses? Maybe this really was a godsend in disguise. I wondered if she might know that I had debt up to my ears and a car payment that was killing me. Plus I think my PI license was about due for renewal, and let’s not forget taxes coming just around the bend. Mental note: get Jenny a very, very nice thank-you card and a bonus.

Taking my stunned silence as a bad sign, Veronica narrowed her eyes and threw another bone on the table. “Is that too little? Fine, make it ten if you get the information, and another twenty if you find the location of the artifact.”

Lifting my napkin up to my mouth to hide the fact that I couldn’t snap my jaw shut, I took just a moment to close my eyes, take a breath, and remind myself that I’d be walking right into a death trap if I took this job. I thought bleakly about the stack of bills that seemed to grow larger every day. Most unsettling was the one from my landlord that had appeared in my mailbox a few days back. I hadn’t quite been able to bring myself to open it yet. My cut of the deposit for this job would be enough to cover the demands of my landlord, and maybe a few of the other creditors demanding a good chunk of my income.

“Well?”

Though I couldn’t help but feel I was betraying something inside myself, something important, I gave her the words she wanted to hear, however grudgingly. “I’ll do it. What is it I’m looking for?”

Veronica leaned back in her chair and smiled grimly, a sly light in her eyes. I really hoped I would live long enough to regret this.

Chapter 2

The next morning, my partner stared at me in shock over the scarred and pitted kitchen table in the tiny break room of our office, coffee mug paused inches from her lips. Sara Halloway blinked as if trying to clear her vision—to make sure she was really seeing what was in front of her.

“Run that by me one more time. Slowly.”

I rubbed a hand down my face, groaning as I tried to figure out how to explain my reasoning to her without sounding like I’d finally gone off the deep end.

“I know. I can’t believe I took the job either.”

I reached into the back pocket of my jeans and carefully smoothed out the crumpled check on the table, staring down at the five grand under my fingertips so I wouldn’t have to face Sara’s disbelief. I had enough of my own.

“What is it you’re supposed to be looking for exactly? You know it’s got to be dangerous if they’re paying so much.”

“Paying so much? This is a drop in the bucket to The Circle.”

Shaking my head, I brushed a few loose tendrils out of my eyes before reaching for my own coffee on the table. “Anytime a vampire or spark is involved, it’s dangerous. You mean more dangerous than that? Sure, I’m positive whatever it is will get me killed if I don’t watch my back. It may be worth the risk. I can always back out if things get too hairy.”

She made a rude noise, but at least she wasn’t giving me grief for my little racial epithet, calling the mage a spark.

“It’s part of the arrangement. I can keep the nonrefundable deposit on my services.” I flicked a few fingers, while carefully cradling the coffee mug, to point to the check. “I can end the contract at any time at my discretion if it looks like my life is on the line. Veronica e-mailed me the paperwork right after dinner. I looked it over last night; it’s clear and concise, and damned if it isn’t actually a fair deal.”

Sara’s clear blue eyes narrowed, thoughtful rather than annoyed. “What equipment are they going to give you? Did she say?”

I shrugged. I had plenty of my own equipment, so it was doubtful I’d be using any of The Circle’s stuff anyway.

“No, not really. Just ‘my pick of the security vaults’—whatever that means.”

Her soft harrumph was reassuring. That meant she was mulling it over and wouldn’t bug me about it too much more until she had a chance to work it out in her own head. Maybe she was starting to see the same twisted sense in the plan that I had.

Pressing on, I added, “Honestly, it doesn’t seem that dangerous a job. All she asked me to do was find out what I could about some artifact.”

The speculative look returned. “Did she tell you anything about it?”

I nodded. “A little. She showed me a picture. It’s a black stone about the size of a man’s fist, carved into a lizard-bat thing. Little rubies for eyes. Older than dirt, powerful, priceless, blah blah blah.”

Sara narrowed her eyes again, only this time in that dangerous don’t-even-try-me look. “Elaborate on that blah, blah, blah thing.”

“She didn’t tell me what it’s for or what it can do. She did say I’ll have to get my way into Royce’s good graces to find out more about it. Including where it might be hidden.”

A look of horror crossed her face. It would’ve been comical if my own face hadn’t mirrored her expression last night when I’d come to the same conclusion she just did. “You mean you’ll have to talk to the leech directly? Face to face? You’re crazy!”

“Not that crazy.” I tried to keep from showing outward signs of the sudden fear-induced surge of adrenaline her words gave me. “Reporters interview him all the time with no problems. He frequently makes appearances at his nightclubs and restaurants. There’s never been any kind of incident except last year when that White Hat tried to stake him at the opening of his new restaurant, La Petite Boisson. Remember that?”

Wow, go me. My voice didn’t crack or quiver even once getting all that out.

She chuckled, her crystalline blue eyes glinting with mirth. “Oh yes, I think I do. The one who knocked the mayor’s wife into the punchbowl, right?”

I smiled back, losing some tension. “That’s the one. Everything went backward for the White Hats after that. Poor, misjudged, minority vampires…”

“Yeah, I think she even kissed him on the cheek after for helping her up and making light of the whole thing. The tabloids loved it.” Sara’s expression hardened, and I braced myself for what I knew was coming next. “You know he’s still dangerous. I mean, Christ. Come on. A vampire?” An ominous, suspicious pause. “How exactly were you planning on meeting him anyway?”

I couldn’t help but redden a bit under her scrutiny. It doesn’t help that I blush easily with my pale skin, but the topic was making me more uncomfortable by the moment. “I was going to go in as a restaurant and nightclub guide reviewer or journalist. There’s a whole calendar of events on his website on when he makes appearances at his clubs. I figured it would be the best way to go in and get a chance to talk with him.”

She shook her head, frowning. I was about to protest, but she cut me off. “That will never work. He’s got press agents and marketing people to deal with the journalists. Not to mention his security. They’d spot you coming a mile away since you work that beat, and you’re more high profile after that thing at the Embassy. You may not have noticed since they usually leave us alone when we’re in his clubs, but that’s only because we generally don’t hassle the clientele.”

It was my turn to frown, more in consternation than anything. I’d thought the journalism thing was a stroke of genius on my part. “What do you suggest?”

She grinned at me in a way that suggested I really wasn’t going to like her idea. “Go exactly as you are. No pretenses.”

An incredulous laugh burst from my lips. “Are you kidding me? First, he’d laugh in my face before banning me. Second, what in the nine hells makes you think he’ll actually talk to me if I go now versus the other few hundred times I’ve visited his clubs?”

“Shia, don’t doubt me.” That know-it-all look somehow managed to get even more smug. “I know exactly how to do it.”

Chapter 3

The rest of the day seemed to take an age to creep by. I was inundated with paperwork to fill out from the last couple of runs I had done, so that kept me busy until a little past lunch. Afterward, Jenny wanted to crunch some numbers with me.

I usually let Sara do all of that, but she left after lunch to go do some recon on her latest mark, a charmingly lecherous teenager who’d run off from his parents about three weeks before. It wasn’t the first time he’d run away, but it was the first time he’d done it with a vamp. That the parents knew of. Seeing as how the parents were rabid White Hats (card carrying, with little antivampire legislation pamphlets they carried in their pockets—I kid you not) and the teen was a Goth, judging from his picture, this was neither surprising nor entirely unexpected. At least for Sara and me.

Since the boy was nineteen (and the parents were psychotic), the police didn’t give much of a hoot that he’d gone missing. They’d gone through the motions of searching after the missing persons report was filed, but that basically just meant an APB went out, some flyers were posted, and that’s about it. So now the kindly Mr. and Mrs. Borowsky waited until the trail was almost cold to set us on his tail.

Hence Sara’s bright idea for how I could meet Royce. I go in, ask around after the kid, ask for the management and whatnot. After all, he was the most influential vampire in the city. Almost every bloodsucker for three states had to clear their movements, purchases, political aspirations, and most important, who they “turned,” through Royce. If nothing else, he might at least be able to point the way to the sire of the vamp who ran off with the teen.

So now I had a perfectly legitimate reason to talk to him. The idea didn’t make me feel any better about it.

“Shia? Did you hear what I just said?”

Whoops. “Sorry, Jen, what’s that?” It took a real effort to actually concentrate on the figures in front of my eyes. I hate bookkeeping. Hate, hate, hate it.

“I was saying that two of our permits are due for renewal next week, and even with what you brought in on that deposit, we’re going to run shy unless we skip part of the rent or insurance payment. We’re really in the red here.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

Jenny sighed, turned, and pointed to the computer screen across the desk, jabbing a finger at a couple of figures on a spreadsheet column.

“See this? Between what you pay me, gas, electricity, and a few other things, we’re running at a loss. Hasn’t Sara been over this with you?”

I shook my head, ire rising. “How long have you known this? When did you first let Sara know?”

“After we almost failed to pay the rent about seven months ago. I don’t know how, but Ms. Halloway…” Oh God. If she was calling Sara “Ms. Halloway,” we were really screwed. “…dug up the money from somewhere and saved the day. She’s managed to scrape us out of a tough spot a couple of times. I’m sorry, I would’ve mentioned something sooner, but I thought you knew.”

Which meant Sara was dipping into her coffers to keep us afloat. Great.

One of the benefits to working with Miss Sara Jane Halloway was that her parents had been very successful in their investments in stocks and real estate before they were killed in a horrific accident—a drunk driver on the interstate who careened into theirs and three or four other cars—three years earlier. Sara and her younger sister, Janine, split the estate; it left both of them very, very wealthy.

It cheesed off Janine and the surviving relatives that, instead of carrying on the family tradition in real estate, Sara had partnered with me in this private investigations venture. Janine hadn’t taken up real estate either, but for some reason she expected Sara to pick up the slack and run everything.

Though she’ll never admit to it, I’m almost positive that pissing off her family was why Sara did it.

We first met five years ago in college; I was working on a degree in criminal justice, she was halfheartedly pursuing a joint business and corporate law degree. I was frantic to keep my grades up so I wouldn’t lose my scholarship. She was considering dropping out and taking an extended vacation in the Hamptons.

Since we had a few classes together, I helped her out and urged her to at least finish up the term. By the end of the following year, we both had our degrees and had cemented a friendship. I met her parents a handful of times when she invited me along to parties or other outings at one or another of her family’s properties. The parents were nice enough but the rest of her relatives kind of left me cold, especially the neurotic, whining Janine.

More often, I invited her over to my parents’ place—a little ramshackle house on a hill overlooking the Sound. It was tiny compared to what she was used to, but the warmth and affection my Irish-Catholic family showed her made her far more interested in going to my clan’s gatherings than her own.

While I loved it that Sara helped finance the start-up of this crazy idea of mine, I told her all along that if it didn’t look like we were going to make it financially, we’d have to just sell the biz and start something fresh. I didn’t want to be a burden or a freeloader. I hate being indebted to people.

She protested and bitched about it a bit, but in the end we came to terms. I even paid back most of my half of the start-up money she’d fronted me. A couple more takes like my latest and I’d have the balance paid off in no time.

I really didn’t relish the idea of selling the business, but I also didn’t want it to be said that I was a hanger-on to Sara for her money. I got enough of that back in school. Plus, with two successful brothers, I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of letting on to my parents that my biz was a failure. They already gave me enough crap for being a PI instead of a lawyer like Mike. My mom was fond of dishing that one out, along with the whole don’t-you-think-it’s-about-time-you-settle-downand-pop-out-a-few-grandkids-for-me speech. Sara gave me hell for that, laughing about it and bringing it up every few days for weeks afterward.

Rather than keep Jenny waiting, I took a breath to get some semblance of control over my temper and told her not to worry. “I’ll go over the numbers with Sara when she gets back. Look, it’s Friday. Why don’t you go ahead and take off. I’ve got to go get ready for tonight anyway; I’ll just wrap up here and lock up.”

Behind her glasses, her brown eyes held a hint of sympathy, though I had the feeling she’d head straight home and start posting her résumé all over the Internet. She was probably convinced we were going under. But between Sara’s generosity and my latest contract, I was sure we’d be able to pull out of this mess just fine.

So why did the whole situation still rankle so much with me?

“I heard you took a job doing something with that vampire who owns all those nightclubs. The one who’s in the news all the time. Is that right?”

I grimaced and nodded, avoiding her questioning gaze.

“Be careful, Shia. Those things are dangerous.”

“I know. Don’t worry. I don’t plan on doing any more than asking a few questions and leaving. They give me the creeps.”

She put a hand on my arm, surprising me with her serious expression and the touch of worry in her voice. “I’m not kidding, Shia. My cousin died about two years ago while she was dating one of those—those things. Those monsters.”

My eyes widened and after a moment I remembered to close my open mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. When? Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shook her head, not quite looking at me now. Her voice grew into a quiet, broken whisper, and terror gleamed in her soft brown eyes. “It was a couple of months before I started working here. Shia, you need to know this. You need to be careful. The coroner—he said it took her hours to die, bleeding out like that. The way it left her…after. I can’t bear the thought of it happening to someone else I know. Not again. Not you, please don’t let it get you, too.”

Almost involuntarily, my hand came up to gently wipe away the single tear that trickled down Jenny’s pale cheek. The feel of her trembling even under that light touch was frightening all on its own. For her sake, I smiled and took up her cold hands in both of my own to try to put her at ease, steeling myself against letting any of my private doubts come to the surface. Despite that, I knew the sincerity in my voice never touched my eyes. There was too much fear in them for that.

“I won’t. I promise.”

Chapter 4

Royce’s clubs are a shade more risqué than his restaurants, though all of them are usually packed. Vamp-run establishments are “the thing” right now. I guess to some people, the idea of rubbing elbows with a leech is titillating.

His newest restaurant, La Petite Boisson (I suppose “The Little Drink” sounds more tacky in English), is the kind of outfit where you’d spot people like the mayor, celebrities, visiting dignitaries from other countries, that sort of thing. I would stick out like a sore thumb there. Not to mention that even a glass of water from that place was way outside my budget.

Luckily, his website said he was going to make an appearance tonight at The Underground, one of his less expensive nightclubs. I’d been there plenty of times. The bouncers know me on sight, and usually let me through at the front of the line as long as I wave some money at them. It’s not my favorite hangout, mostly because of the BDSM theme. The music is heavy industrial or dark techno stuff, and they have scantily leather-clad male and female dancers in cages hanging up near the ceiling, high over everyone’s heads.

Maybe that’s some people’s idea of a good time, but it usually just gave me a headache.

Unfortunately, it seemed the majority of my “find-that-cheating-rat-bastard” clients (as opposed to “find-that-rat-bastard-that-owes-me-money” and “watch-that-shifty-eyed-rat-bastard-for-me” clients) thought their significant others were hanging out in establishments like this. What was even more unfortunate was that they were usually right. Every once in a while they’d prove me wrong by actually working late in the office. Once the boyfriend I was checking up on was working a second job in secret so he could pay for the engagement ring he wanted to spring on his paranoid soon-to-be fiancée. Yes, really. There may be some hope for humanity yet.

After tidying up at the office, I locked up and headed home to change. Pressed slacks and a business jacket wouldn’t fly at The Underground. Now, standing in the cold about a half a block away from the club in the reassuring pool of light of a street-lamp, I was glad I’d taken the time to change. Staring up at the garish neon sign flickering over the entrance, in one of the two pairs of black leather pants I owned, with a white button-down shirt that flared at the wrists and waist, topped with a black wool peacoat to keep warm, I shoved my hands into my pockets and shivered against more than the biting winds coming in off the river.

The line was long. I guess I wasn’t the only one hoping for a peek at the owner of the club tonight. My feet were already hurting, too. The heels on my boots were a little higher than I normally cared for, but I wasn’t planning on dancing. Much. This was work, after all.

Muttering under my breath, I withdrew a slightly trembling hand from my pocket to clutch my jacket collar closed around my throat before resignedly clomping across the street and past the leather and PVC-clad crowd chattering behind a length of black velvet rope. How cute, someone had chained little handcuffs to the support poles for the rope since the last time I was here. I also picked up the scent of some smoke on the air that smelled suspiciously unlike cigarettes.

Yup, it was the same old club scene I knew and loved. There wasn’t much difference between the vamp-run establishments and the human-run ones, honestly. These days, the pedigree of the owner was all it took to make the difference between what was cool and what was not. Were-run bars and restaurants weren’t as common, but they also seemed to get more business than those run by us poor humans.

Oh well. Bruno, the blond bouncer on the left, who was built like a truck and probably hit with those ham-sized fists like a ton of bricks, gave me a once-over when I brashly stepped around the front of the line to greet him. He cracked a Hollywood smile, all gleaming rows of pearly whites, when I held out a hand to shake. I was holding the requisite bills in my palm to bribe my way past the two-block-long line of complaining would-be patrons, who’d probably been standing in the cold waiting for entrance for at least a couple of hours already.

“Hey, Red, lookin’ good tonight.” Waving off the other three guys working security and unclasping the velvet rope for me to step through, he engulfed my hand in one of his. It looked like a shake, but he was really just palming the cash. I couldn’t stop from shuddering when he ran his thick, calloused thumb over my wrist. I wondered briefly if he could feel the staccato beat of my pulse before quickly drawing my hand back and shoving it back into my pocket.

“You gonna take me up on my offer yet?”

I laughed, though it was a little forced. Ugh, I’d tried so hard to forget that “offer” he’d made me last time I was here.

“Not yet, Blondie. Maybe next time.”

One of the other bouncers, new from the look of him, was holding the door for me. I didn’t keep him waiting and hightailed it inside to the sounds of catcalls and pissed-off complaints. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn the leather.

Walking into the entrance was always a little intimidating. It was a short, pitch-black hallway, occasionally lit by the hint of a strobe light creeping under the thick metal door at the end. I could already feel my bones vibrating from the bass of the music inside. Taking a breath, I slid my hand into one of the pockets of my leather pants and drew out a silver chain with a matching silver cross. Not much in the way of protection, but at least it should prevent Royce from getting any ideas.

Once I’d settled the necklace around my throat, the cross prominent against my breastbone, I pushed my way past the door and dropped off my coat with the checker, a heavily tattooed boy with a blue Mohawk and more piercings than I could count.

The first bar was far too crowded, so I brushed past the first hurdle of bodies crushed against each other and worked my way toward the dance floor in the next room. The place had four floors. There were three dance floors, one with a stage, and a number of quieter rooms with plush couches and sideshows and whatnot for those who wanted a break from dancing or just wanted to get their rocks off watching the exhibitionists that came out of the woodwork for the sideshows. The rumored “private” show rooms and employee’s offices were all upstairs as far as I knew. Never been in them, never planned on being in or even near them, thank you.

I’d made nice with one of the bartenders a while back. James often helped me find my marks and made for good conversation when said marks were no-shows. Unfortunately, he was completely inundated when I made my way to the second floor, barely having enough time to return my wave of greeting. There went my bright idea of asking him where to find Royce.

Looking around with distaste, I figured I might as well work off some of my jittery energy on the dance floor for a few minutes until some space cleared up at the bar. If I didn’t calm my nerves, I’d probably end up looking and sounding like an idiot once I finally found the vamp anyway.

I headed to the one that was playing the least obnoxious remix, relieved to see that the third, smallest, dance floor was also the least crowded, as was the bar. Glory hallelujah!

After two songs without a partner to dance with, I was bored out of my skull. There were only a handful of other people dancing here, and there was plenty of room for us all to leave a good deal of personal space between one another.

Weaving past the gyrating bodies on the dance floor to get to the tiny bar, I waited just a couple of minutes to get the attention of the bartender and shout an order for a bottle of water. Much as I would’ve liked something with a little more kick to it to steady my nerves and give me a shot of much-needed liquid courage, I didn’t think it would be a good idea for me to interview a vamp while toasted.

One of the men who had been leaning indolently against the wall watching the dancers walked over to me, and I had to fight back a sigh and an eye roll. He was taller than me, though still average in height. He was dressed much like the other Goth posers on the floor, albeit without the heavy white makeup, dark eyeliner, or multiple piercings. At a guess, judging by his smooth, slightly dark-toned skin, he was in his late twenties, early thirties, tops.

I braced myself for what I was sure would be a cheesy pickup line, but the guy surprised me with a much more subtle opening.

“Alone, are we? You don’t seem like one of the usual crowd. What brings you here tonight?”

The directness of his question was what caught me. I took a quick sip of my water to hide my indecision. Well, I didn’t think it would hurt too much to tell him the truth. It’d probably work to make him move on to greener pastures.

“I was hoping to catch the club owner for a few minutes. I would’ve asked one of my friends who works here, but he was busy. Just killing some time until some of the bodies clear out.”

On closer inspection, I saw he had thick dark hair that hung down to his shoulders and partially obscured equally dark eyes, though in the dim lighting I couldn’t tell if it they were pure black or simply a dark brown. His features were strong, as were those well-defined shoulders and taut, flat stomach I could see through the netted black shirt he wore. Those leather pants seemed painted on, showing equally muscular and painfully well-defined legs. He was, dare I say, devilishly handsome?

He arched a brow at my answer, his gaze shifting from mine to the cross. It was a brief glance, not lecherous, simply speculative. I flushed a little anyway. Come on, the guy looked at my (albeit small) chest. Also, knowing I was coming to speak to a vamp with the cross on was pretty much blatantly stating that I was either a White Hat or the closest thing to it. Very cliché, and, depending on who you asked, very rude.

I didn’t mind committing the social faux pas as long as it meant Royce would keep his fangs to himself.

He surprised me further at his next words. “I can help you with that. Follow me.”

Chapter 5

Follow a stranger in a vamp-run bar? I hesitated, but only for a moment. Figuring it beat waiting around to try to spot Royce myself or for James to have a spare moment to help me, I did as he asked. As I followed him toward the back of the club, I managed to take note that he looked almost as good from the back as he did from the front. My, my. If these were the sorts of people in Royce’s entourage, maybe I needed to come by more often, if for nothing more than the eye candy. I wondered if the guy was security or vamp chow.

We weaved through the crowds, working our way to an elevator hidden around a bend I’d never cared enough to explore before. Once inside, he pulled out a key and used it to unlock the button for what I noted was a heretofore-unknown fifth floor. Even in the elevator, I could hear music pounding through, making it seem somehow uncomfortable to start talking just yet. As the elevator “pinged” almost imperceptibly, he reached forward to hold the doors and gestured for me to precede him.

I stepped into a silent, well-lit hallway with a number of thick mahogany doors leading to what were presumably management offices. It felt like stepping into a different world. The austere design would have looked more at home in a well-to-do law firm than a nightclub. There was no music once the elevator doors slid shut, only the soft burble of water flowing over rocks from a little fountain sitting on a low table.

The man slid past me and led the way to the last of the doors at the end of the hall. There was no sign to indicate whose office it was. He opened the door, flipped the light switch, and stepped inside.

It was a pristine white-carpeted, white-walled space, with two chrome-and-leather chairs facing a sleek black desk, and two black leather couches surrounding a gleaming marble table. He gestured for me to sit on one of the couches, which I did, a bit stiffly, holding on to the bottle of water since I didn’t see any coasters and wasn’t about to chance pissing off the vamp by getting spots on his nice, shiny table.

As I sat, I noticed a little wet bar in one of the corners, with two gleaming chrome barstools set before it. There were no papers on the desk, nothing but a pen, a desk calendar, and a silver paperweight shaped into a little pyramid. No computer? No phone? Odd.

The walls were hung with tasteful paintings of English riders and hunting scenes. A few potted plants, mostly ivies and ferns, added some color to the room. The view behind the desk was fantastic, overlooking the moonlit river spilling out into the ocean. Somehow the mix between sleek modern sophistication and rustic English lord came together into an unexpectedly comfortable workplace. I don’t know what I expected of an office for Royce, but I don’t think this was really it.

After I’d taken it all in, I said, “Thank you for showing me up here. I hope this isn’t much trouble for you. Will Royce be long?”

He chuckled, pulling the door shut and walking over to take a seat on the couch next to the one I’d chosen. He surprised me yet again when he leaned back and propped his combat-booted feet on the table.

“He’s here. What did you want to ask me, Ms. Waynest?”

Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God.

Alone in his office. Alone with a vampire. Oh God, I’d checked out his butt!

Seeing my mouth drop open and my sudden speechlessness, he grinned, giving me an unnecessarily good view of sharp, pearly canines. They weren’t much longer than a normal human’s, since they weren’t extended to feed just now, but the razor tips were obvious, if only to me.

“Surprised, I see. Not to worry, I know you’re here for business rather than pleasure. I take it you weren’t expecting to see me under quite these circumstances, hmm?”

“Uh, no, not exactly.”

Not in leather pants and a netted, see-through shirt. Not looking quite that good, or so…alive, I suppose. Which for some reason made me sort of suspicious. He had approached me first and now called me by name. I knew I’d never met him before. Why would he come to me?

“How did you know who I was?”

He shrugged, sitting back comfortably and lacing his hands behind his head. His eyes never left mine, though, and it was getting more unnerving by the second.

“I make it a point to familiarize myself with others using my places of business to further their own ends. Forgive me for saying so, but you are much more lovely in person. Your picture in the paper last month did not do you justice.”

Argh. I could feel the heat and color rising in my cheeks. I would not let his flattery sidetrack me. Turning my head so my red curls hid the obvious blush on my pale skin, I started fumbling in my pockets to find the photo I’d brought with me. How could a vamp’s skin tone be darker than mine?

“I—listen, I actually wanted to just ask for your help. H&W Investigations has taken on a client whose son is missing. He was last seen fleeing his home in the company of a vampire.”

“I see.”

The flat words weren’t encouraging. He didn’t move, or say anything else. It was almost eerie. That was when I noticed out of the corner of my eye that his chest did not rise and fall to take a breath. He wasn’t bothering to “play human” for me now. Great.

Finally finding the picture, I dragged it out of my back pocket, only slightly creased from the abuse I’d put it through by carrying it back there. “This is the boy, David Borowsky, and his girlfriend Tara. Do either of them look familiar to you?”

I couldn’t help but shudder when his fingers brushed against mine as he leaned forward to take the picture. His gaze flicked from the picture to me, then returned to focus fully on the photograph. A low “hmph” escaped him, his coal black brows slowly furrowing and a frown forming on his forehead. “She’s not one of my number. Nor one of any of my current guests’ flock. She’s poaching.”

Poaching. Just hearing him use that word so casually to mean taking the life of another human being made me feel ill.

At my silence, he glanced back to me again, still frowning. “I will assist you in finding her. You should get a warrant for her extermination. Do you have the connections?”

I shook my head, almost unable to believe my luck. This would tie him to me for a few days at least, possibly leading to the opening I needed to find that little figurine. I wondered why he recognized me but didn’t already know that I don’t do exterminations. H&W specializes in lost persons, tracking, surveillance, and photographing and videoing our marks. Sara and I left the rest up to our clients or the police if we discovered wrong-doing in the line of duty. My contacts at the local police stations were all pretty casual, not enough to get a warrant on short notice.

“Then I shall handle that for you.” He pointed at the photograph. “May I keep this?”

“Sure,” I croaked, feeling way in over my head. What the hell was I doing, partnering up with a vampire on a run?

“Very well. I’m sure we have the information on file somewhere, but would you mind giving me your card in case I need to contact you on the matter? I’ll give you my direct number as well.”

He rose with glacial slowness to head over to his desk, pick up the pen, and open a drawer to pull out a business card. Probably moving that way on purpose to keep from scaring me further. He scrawled something on the back of it and came back over to the couch. We exchanged cards, and this time I managed to keep from having a physical reaction when our fingers brushed again. Outwardly, anyway. I was pretty sure my stomach was still somewhere in the region of my knees.

Once that was done, he held out his hand. It took a long moment for me to realize he meant to help me up. I hesitated at the idea of putting my hand in his, and worse yet, it was noticeable. He actually smiled, amused rather than annoyed.

“I don’t bite without permission, Ms. Waynest. Or did you want to stay and chat?”

Oh no. No, no, no. I shook my head vehemently, probably too much so, taking his hand and rising quickly to my feet with little help on his part. He probably felt me shaking despite how brief the contact was. I certainly felt how cool his flesh was; it made my skin crawl.

“Do you need me to see you out?”

After swallowing my heart, I managed a few words. “No, I can find my way.” I hesitated again. What I said next felt like the equivalent of forcing ground glass out from behind my teeth. “Thank you, Mr. Royce. I’ll be in touch.”

I got a glimpse of fang as he grinned again before he turned away and moved toward the windows overlooking the river. He clasped his hands behind his back, his words seeming distant through my haze of fear. “The pleasure was all mine, Ms. Waynest. I’m sure we’ll speak again soon. Good night.”

Chapter 6

When I got home, all I wanted to do was collapse in bed. I had the shakes in the car all the way across the river. I still had them when I shoved the key in the lock after the third try. Even after I turned on every light and snapped every lock and deadbolt in the apartment, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

What the hell was it about vamps that scared me so much? They’d come out of the closet, so to speak, along with the rest of the supernatural community shortly after 9/11. It was pretty creepy for most people to find out they’d been doing lunch with an elf in the next cube for the last few years and that a Were had been giving them their manicures. That the janitor was a vamp flunky. The plumber was a warlock. That the state representative they voted for was a mage and the one they didn’t was a Were. The initial panic that hit most people settled down when a handful of prominent celebrities, businesspeople, and even some government officials all came forward to let the world know they had supernatural origins.

Actually, that kind of explains a lot.

Anyway, it was common knowledge now that vamps, along with the rest of the underworld, have been around for ages plodding alongside the rest of humankind as we worked together and shaped what now passes for civilization. Even though they hid their identities and usually no more than scraped by in the past, making a living as best they could without giving away their origins, the layers of secrecy surrounding their existence are slowly coming undone. They’ve been here through our good times and bad, fighting and bleeding and dying alongside us in our wars, not to mention in their own secret turf wars in the shadows.

In the aftermath of the World Trade Center attacks, a Were known as Rohrik Donovan came forth, offering the aid of his pack members in searching the rubble of the Twin Towers for survivors. They worked hard and long into the night side-by-side with the police and firefighters, digging desperately through the remains of the collapsed buildings and using their superior sense of smell, blinded as it was by the toxic mix of chemicals and ash thick in the air, to find any signs of life. Actually, some of the firefighters first on the scene were Weres, and only revealed themselves after Rohrik announced the Moonwalker tribe’s offer of assistance that day.

At the same time, magi and vampires found it became necessary, because of their ties to the financial sector, to reveal themselves once the World Trade Center collapsed. While the stock market was already in flux over the act of terrorism, The Circle stepped forward a few days later with offers to dip into their coffers to give the halting economy a much-needed boost in the days following the country’s near collapse, as well as to use their supernatural skills to fortify strongholds in some major cities in the event of future attacks.

Royce, soon followed by a few other vampires, also stepped into the limelight to add his support to The Circle and speak on behalf of other vampires their wish to see the United States fortified against future acts of terrorism and rebuilt stronger than ever.

Their acts of charity in the name of patriotism and the deep shock people the world over had already suffered from the terrorist attacks was probably the only thing that saved the Others from the hysterical panic of the masses. Those who had stepped forth in other countries were not so fortunate.

Owing to their efforts, these days racism was simply not done when it came to creatures not fully human. It had become more than just a social no-no. If you were going to discriminate, you needed to be prepared to deal with it in court. Royce was the one who brought that about, actually. A. D. Royce Industries v. Amaretto Confections was notable not only because the plaintiff was a vamp, but because the vamp was suing a distributor for discriminating against his restaurants by jacking up their prices and treating his staff like crap whenever they placed an order. He’d gathered the evidence and proven that they, along with a number of other businesses, charged more to Other-run establishments. Word on the street said The Circle was still bitter that he got to keep the majority of the winnings from the case since they hedged too long about joining the potential class action suit.

The result was more rights and privileges for our undead or otherwise nonfullblood citizens. There were other supernaturals who had made it a point to push for equal rights, and after the first few riots and massacres that broke out, things were settling down and they were actually getting their wishes. In the United States, at least, the Others are now considered to have the same rights as fullblood humans, perhaps more because of their minority status.

These days, it was illegal not only to inquire as to potential employees’ national origins or religion, but also to ask whether they were “daylight impaired” or for other clues to their not-quite-full-blood status, since Weres and vamps now fell under the Americans with Disabilities Act (don’t ask me how, I’m no lawyer). You couldn’t kick someone out of a theater or off a bus for being Other-blood. You also couldn’t expect to hunt or assault an Other without consequences, or vice versa. When a vamp sucked someone dry or turned the person without signed papers, they got staked after a quick, low-hassle trial. When someone staked a vamp without a signed warrant, in thirty-four states they got twenty to life for murder. The way the other sixteen states handle killers of Others varied between lethal injection and a bounty from the local authorities for “getting rid of varmints.”

I wanted to be enlightened and tolerant about vamps, but all I could do was be scared shitless when met face-to-face with one. Me and a good percentage of the human population were extremely thankful for the legislation that had been rushed through Congress to both protect them from us fullbloods, and vice versa. At least it meant Royce couldn’t legally touch me without my written consent. Though whether that written consent came before or after the fact could be fudged, I’d sooner cut off my own hand than sign those papers.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not completely anti-Other. I only had a minor spastic fit when I found out that my last boyfriend was a Were. We still talked now and then. I haven’t quite gotten around to forgiving him for showing me instead of telling me what he was. He did a great job hiding it from me and lying about all the little tell-tales right up until he wanted me to sign a contract. Instead of leading up to it in conversation, his way of explaining was to suddenly turn into a timber wolf in my living room.

It was good that he at least knew better than to take his freaky half-man, half-wolf form in front of me. If the cops had shown up with him like that, they would’ve shot first and asked questions later. I mean, they would have seen this big, hairy something straight out of an eighties B-movie lumbering around my living room. Okay, maybe not an eighties movie. The special effects in those films don’t do justice to the oddly sleek and graceful in-between form Weres can assume.

Either way, he scared the bejeezus out of me, and—worse—shamed me by effectively hiding any sign of his true nature for months. The Others had grown adept at hiding themselves from mankind out of necessity, and I certainly wasn’t the first girl in the last decade to find out her boyfriend wasn’t a fullblood human. That had ceased to be a novelty on daytime soaps and talk shows five or six years ago. It didn’t make it right, but it stung when I realized I was just another statistic, and hadn’t been observant enough to spot any warning signs.

His motives for hiding his nature from me were even somewhat understandable. Besides being worried about my personal feelings on the matter, there were an awful lot of people out there that would happily hunt him down or ruin his business reputation if they found out what he was. I wasn’t one of them, but I knew they were out there.

The group who thinks every last supernatural should be exterminated call themselves the White Hats. There are others, but they’re the most vocal and active of the lot. Last I heard, they were lobbying to reinstate segregation laws for separate dining and public transportation facilities for Others. That was since their attempts to lobby for mass extermination (read: genocide) was shot down in flames before it even reached the floor in Congress. Their new idea has about a snowball’s chance in Hell of passing, too.

Not that they always use the legal route to get their way. Every few weeks there was something else in the papers about a building being burned down, some poor wretch being beaten or even killed just for being Other-blooded. The cops in this part of the state didn’t take kindly to that sort of thing, and if a White Hat was caught in the act of vandalism, slander, or assault, his butt was toast.

So. Why was I terrified of Royce, what with all of our progressive achievements where his kind were concerned? I like my bodily fluids just the way they are. Inside me. The fact that vampires are stronger, faster, and very often smarter and craftier than your average human gives me the willies. It wasn’t unheard of for them to use guile or even black enchants to get those contractual papers signed so that your blood, your life, and quite possibly your eternity rested in their hands. Yes, they are people, and not all of them are bastards, but their bodies are mostly dead. They have to feed on other people in order to survive. Cannibalism and black magic, no matter how you couch it, is still wrong and downright scary in my book. Sure, the man looks pretty, but knowing what he has to do in order to stay that way, and knowing also that he has his own brand of dark magic, is more than deterrent enough.

Frankly, I was lucky to get out of there without being spelled. Veronica the mage wasn’t the only one who could cast a black enchant with eye contact alone. It was well and truly unwise of me to stare into his eyes like I did, but of course the thought of what could have happened only occurred to me after the fact.

It didn’t help that I had read in the papers about that one vamp who went off the deep end about three months ago and went on a rampage. She started—literally—tearing the limbs off the White Hats who were (granted, illegally) accosting her and her flock of followers (read: food) at a downtown restaurant. The papers really spiced it up with unnecessary details, but most didn’t mention the fact that one of the White Hats had been holding a knife to the throat of her latest boy toy.

I heard the whole story when I dropped off some evidence down at the police station the night it happened. When I walked in, the blood-spattered White Hats who hadn’t been torn up by the vamp and shipped to the hospital or morgue were all in cuffs waiting to be processed. So were the vamp’s followers. The vamp herself had been staked in the line of duty by some of New York’s finest.

The vamp’s followers were either weeping their eyes out or screaming and shaking their cuffed wrists, basically pitching a fit over the loss of their leader. The running mascara and caked white makeup, black clothes, and multicolored dyed hair contrasted sharply with the clean-cut White Hats, all pressed shirts and crisp jeans or slacks. So did the heartwrenching cries for their lost “master.”

That was the thing. It wasn’t the sensationalism of the newspapers, or even the fact that the vamp had been throwing body parts around like a child’s discarded toys. Hearing more than one of my fellow humans cry for “master” was probably what got under my skin the most. Slavery, like cannibalism and black enchants, is not only illegal but wrong on every moral and ethical level, no matter which way you look at it. Whatever she did to them, even after taking their blood and seeing her tear apart other living people, instead of being overjoyed when she died for having their freedom back, they were utterly despondent. Whatever hold she had on them was still hooked deep, urging them to protect and love a leech even after her death. The memory still gives me nightmares.

I’d never let that happen to me. Never.

With all these cheerful thoughts in mind, I undressed, pulled on an oversized T-shirt, and got into bed. I left the lights burning in all the rooms, the cross still around my neck for comfort, and lay staring up at the ceiling as I drew the blankets up to my chin and shivered with more than cold. I’d effectively tied myself to Royce now, and willingly, too. Even if it was only for a short while, I would really have to watch my step. The minute I started feeling any kind of draw to him, that’s when I’d know it’s time to hit the brakes and back out. Now if only I could manage to fulfill the contract before that happens, and get the money in the process.

That gave me a moment’s pause.

What if backing out pissed off The Circle? If Royce and The Circle both got ticked at me, I would be royally screwed. I had no trouble admitting that I was small fry and so was my business. I wasn’t so egotistical as to think one short clip and my picture in the news was enough to make H&W Investigations a Fortune 500 firm. Hell, we’d be lucky to make the Fortune 50,000 at the rate we were going.

A. D. Royce Industries and The Circle were both incredibly affluent and politically powerful factions, not groups I wanted to come between. The only wealthy contact I had to speak of was my business partner, and she didn’t come with the contacts or political muscle to flex that Royce or Veronica had at their fingertips. This meant I’d also be bringing down the house on Sara if I did decide to cancel the contract. Being my partner, even though it wasn’t her run, meant that she was tied into this mess almost as much as I was. Crap.

I had no choice. I couldn’t back out of the contract now. For the time being, I had the dubious safety of The Circle to run to if Royce got pissed. Right now, he thought I was an ally or at least a business associate of some kind. If what I was doing for Veronica was a betrayal of some sort (and I had no doubt in my mind the vamp would view it that way if he found me out), then I had no choice but to carry things through or I’d lose that protection, however minimal it might be. If I broke the contract I’d have not one, but two, incredibly pissed-off powers-that-be after my hide.

Which brought up another great point. Royce knew me, and acted almost like he was expecting me when I showed up at the club. It would be foolish to believe that he’d simply recognized me from the papers and that his “helpful nice guy” show was little more than coincidence. Sure, the Were thing was on the front page, but that was over a month ago. I’m not that memorable, and neither was the take.

Was he taking that old saying “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer” to heart? Did he know I was actually working for The Circle? Was he going to try to play me somehow?

What the hell had I gotten myself into?

Chapter 7

Something woke me in the middle of the night. I cracked my eyes open, not sure whether a feeling or a sound had disturbed me. Squinting out from under my cocoon of blankets, I saw that my digital alarm clock read 3:17 in very large red numbers. I grimaced. Oh well, at least I wasn’t expected to go into the office later.

Throwing off the covers, I glanced over at the window and noted absently that light from the streetlamps was filtering in between the blinds. Pausing, I looked up at the ceiling.

The light was off.

“The hell?” I muttered, getting out of bed. Hadn’t I left all the lights on in my moment of insecure paranoia after meeting with the vampire? I had just changed the bulb not that long ago. Did it burn out from being left on all night?

I moved to the door. As my hand rested on the knob, about to turn and open it, a very large, very male hand clamped over my mouth as another snaked around my waist and yanked me back, pinning my arms in the process. I didn’t have time even to gasp in shock, my eyes widening as I was pressed back against the guy’s chest. His sour breath slid over my cheek as he whispered in my ear, “Don’t move, or we’ll gut you like a fish. Are you one of his whores?”

Another man became visible, stepping around the guy who’d grabbed me so I could see the hunting knife glittering in his gloved hand. It was too dark for me to see his face. “She’s not. Not yet. Look what she’s wearing.”

My eyes were open so wide they stung. I didn’t want to hyperventilate and pass out, but I was scared shitless and couldn’t move. The guy’s gloved hand stayed clamped over my mouth while his other hand slid between my breasts and fingered the cross at my neck. He gave a little dissatisfied grunt. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

“Sure it does. It means she saw him, but she didn’t let him touch her. Isn’t that right, princess?”

I made an incoherent sound of confusion against the glove held to my mouth, rolling my eyes to the side to try to make out the features of the other man. What the hell was going on?

“If we let you go, do you promise not to scream or run? My companion wasn’t joking. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to. Blink once if you agree.”

I did. He nodded, and his beefy companion reluctantly let up his grip on me. The second the man let go, I rounded and slapped him. “Don’t ever touch me!”

The big guy staggered back, a hand lifting to his cheek in shock. Seemed like that was the last thing he was expecting. Turning back to the smooth talker, who appeared to be the leader, I balled my fists at my sides and seethed, “What the fuck are you doing in my apartment, threatening me? Get the hell out!”

“That’s quite a mouth you’ve got on you. Don’t worry, we’ll be gone soon enough. We just want to know if you’re one of us or one of them.”

That gave me pause. Us or them? “What are you talking about?”

He laughed softly, the sound for some reason making me shiver. This guy was nuts, completely unhinged. It was his companion who answered me, his low voice rumbling in a growl deep enough to do any Were proud. “Are you a donor? Do you work for or with the corpses?”

Oh no. White Hats. Not like the uptight Mr. and Mrs. Borowsky. These were the right-wing, guntoting, business-torching kind. The ones who made vamps and their people disappear.

“God, no. Of course not, I’m not psychotic.” Not like you, buddy.

He nodded, gesturing with the knife for me to back up and sit down on the bed. I did, yanking the sheets over my bare legs and wondering what was coming next.

“You saw him tonight. The leech. What was your purpose?”

Well, this was just a peachy keen development. Was I being followed, or did they just happen to be scoping the place out when I got there?

“I was there on business. I’m a PI, and I’m trying to track a missing person for a client.” I took a breath, noting the unspoken condemnation in their postures, and plunged ahead, hoping I wasn’t digging myself a deeper grave. “He was last seen with a vamp. The leech’s contacts may be the only way for me to find the kid in time.”

Maybe using the offensive slang for vampires would help my cause. Maybe making him think the kid was in danger would make him back off. Yeah, and maybe they’d put on top hats and coattails and start singing showtunes for me while they’re at it.

The bigger guy glanced to his partner, who didn’t relax. “That’s only a half-truth, Ms. Waynest. We’ve been watching you. I know you have some ties to The Circle.”

Shit.

“That’s true,” I muttered warily, trying to swallow back the sudden surge of fear those words caused in me. Some White Hats were more liberal when it came to magi than they were with Weres and vamps. What type were these two? “We want you to join us.”

More than a little nonplussed, I stared in the general direction of his shadowed face. Would he take a stab at me if I let out the hysterical laughter that threatened at his words? It took more than a little effort to swallow my first reaction back.

He slid the knife into a sheath at his belt before spreading his hands and taking on an apologetic tone.

“I can only imagine what you must think of us, but we had to make sure you had not gone over to the vampire. As I said, we’ve been watching you. You are capable of dealing with and against the Others, and you have an excellent front of a legitimate business to carry out our line of work. You simply forced our hand by going to the leech so soon.”

Good God. This was getting more and more like a bad gangster movie by the minute.

“Look, no offense or anything, but no thanks. I’m just trying to do my job.” Man, I could be remarkably polite when under threat of having my throat slit. “I didn’t ask to get involved with these things, and I have no plans on ever working for either leech or mage ever again once I finish out my contract.”

Since my eyes were adjusting to the dark, I was finally able to make out the small white cowboy hat pins at their collars, and some of the smooth talker’s features. Tall and skinny White Hat was about as white bread as they come, probably blond and blue-eyed though it was still too dark to be sure. Mr. Deep Voice had mahogany skin, blending well with the shadows. They were both wearing dark clothing, leaving most of their bodies indistinct, though I could now see well enough to note that Mr. Smooth Talker was frowning.

Thankfully, it didn’t seem like they were going to press the issue. After the two shared a look I couldn’t read, Mr. Deep Voice spoke up.

“We’ll give you some time to think about it. Remember what you’re dealing with, little girl. Leeches and sparks are dangerous. They both play for keeps. Be a real pity to stumble over your body in an alley somewhere.”

“Thanks for the advice. Get out.”

Under the circumstances, that was about as polite as I could be. I wanted to add a few colorful expletives, threats, and suggestions of my own to the mix, but I figured I could do without the gaping stab wounds I’d likely get for my efforts.

The two of them quickly exited the bedroom, fading into the deeper shadows of my living room. I got up and rushed over in time to watch them slip out a window and onto the fire escape. Damn, they’d cut a neat little hole in the glass and simply flipped the lock over to let themselves in. I considered calling the cops, but chances were I could call in an order for pizza, too, and the food would get here first. The trail would be stone cold by the time they arrived.

Just great. Slamming the window shut and locking it behind them, not that it would do much good with the four-inch hole in it, I thought about what the two men had said and how exactly I would explain the damage to the window to my landlord.

No matter what I did, who I chose to work for, or what choices I made, I’d be pissing somebody off. I had my pick between The Circle, Royce, or the White Hats. The White Hats were obviously an unstable element, considering they thought I’d be more amenable to joining their fun and games at knifepoint. The Circle had me in a contractual pinch I wouldn’t be able to break out of with any ease. Royce would probably hit the roof as soon as he figured out what I was really after. Each and every one of them had the resources and clout to make my life miserable or even make me disappear. One, or more, of them would have a reason to want me to, once I made a move.

I wandered back to my bed and sat down on the edge, staring blankly at the wall. My hands had started shaking again. Right now, Royce seemed like my safest bet, seeing as he was the only one of the three who hadn’t threatened me. Yet.

I was so dead.

Chapter 8

After a very long, very sleepless night, I finally broke down and called Sara around 7:30. That was pushing it on a Saturday morning, but I desperately needed some reassurances. She picked up on the fifth ring.

“Ugh. Yeah, what?” Her grouchy, morning-gravelly voice was comforting in its familiarity.

“Sara, someone broke in during the night. I’m in deep. I met with Royce last night, and now I’ve got White Hats on my tail.”

Yeesh, and I’d thought the White Hats were being melodramatic last night. Must be rubbing off.

“What?!”

The edge to her voice made me cringe. I hadn’t quite meant to get it all out in a rush like that, but there was no help for it now.

“Shia, what the hell? I mean, great, you got ahold of Royce, but what’s with the White Hats? Are you okay? Anything stolen?”

Sighing, I rubbed a hand over my face. “No, nothing stolen. I’m okay. These two guys broke in through the fire escape and politely asked me at knifepoint to join their cause.”

Her silence was making me nervous.

Then she said quietly, “And what did you tell them?”

“I invited them for tea and crumpets. Give me a break, Sara, I told them to get the hell out and leave me alone.”

She sounded more relieved than anything. “I was just checking, chill out. So what’re you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Probably go down to see Veronica today and take her up on that offer for equipment. Might as well take advantage of it. Maybe they have something useful against vamps and rogue zealots.”

After a short bark of laughter, she asked, a little more normally, “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, I’m okay. I just needed to tell someone.”

My turn to hesitate. I didn’t like having to say the next part, but the White Hats didn’t leave me a lot of choice after last night. Not that I’d had a choice since agreeing to work for The Circle.

“Listen, watch your back. I know this is my run, but I’ve got a bad feeling this one’s going to go wonky and I don’t want you getting hurt because of me.”

“Hey, what are partners for? If you need a place to crash until this blows over, just bring some clothes and come by. Oh, and check in with me before sunset or I’ll come looking.”

“Thanks, I may just take you up on that. I’ll call you after I see what The Circle’s got to offer.”

“Be careful, Shia.”

“I will. Thanks, Sara.”

Only after I hung up did I remember that I was supposed to chew her out for not telling me about the financial straits our business was in. Oh well. I’d bug her about it when I had a few less important things on my mind. Things like my impending demise and need to decide what side of the supernatural fence I was on.

I still had the jitters and didn’t feel like lying around, so I got up to shower and get dressed. After pulling on a comfortable pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, I made myself a bagel with lox and cream cheese, a cup of coffee, and headed over to my computer. A few clicks and passwords later, I was staring at my e-mail.

Two were from Mom, one a joke and the other a reminder for Sara and me that my brother Damien’s birthday barbecue was on Sunday. Spam. Spam. More spam. A note from my brother Mikey asking if I knew what Damien wanted and if I wanted in on a joint gift. A few offers to enlarge my PEN15 and get a better mortgage rate. Lo and behold, my in-box also had an e-mail from Veronica Wright sent early last night, and another from Alec Royce from less than two hours ago.

The sun had risen about three hours ago. Did that mean vamps could move about in daylight? Great, that was more than I needed to know.

I clicked open Veronica’s e-mail first.

TO: S. Waynest
FROM: Veronica Wright
SUBJECT: Update

I haven’t heard since you signed the contract Thursday. I am concerned. Update?

Irritated at her impatience, I clattered out a quick response.

Met with our subject last night. Progress being made. I would like to get together with you this afternoon RE: equipment. Are you available?

Next came Royce’s message. I remembered belatedly that he’d written something on the back of his business card before he gave it to me, and wondered if that had anything to do with it.

TO: S. Waynest
FROM: Alec D. Royce
SUBJECT: Security

I have received word that our friends the W.H.s have paid you a visit.

That was scary. How the heck did he know about that already? Chilled, I pressed on, scanning the rest of the note.

I would be displeased to see our business relationship terminated prior to completion of your assignment. I will extend you some measure of protection against the W.H. element and give you an update on the missing boy.

The requisite forms are filled out and the warrant should be signed by noon. Call the number on the back of my card if something comes up during the day.

Please come to my office on 52nd as soon as convenient after sunset. Present my card at the security desk for entrance.

Cordially,
Alec D. Royce
A. D. Royce Industries

Well, that was a development. Why was he offering me protection now? What exactly did he plan to do to keep the White Hats off my back? Something about the letter struck me as off, aside from the fact that I was reading an e-mail from a friggin’ vampire. Royce was supposedly older than dirt, but he didn’t appear to be the technophobe I would’ve thought considering the height of technology at the time he was made a vamp was probably a sundial.

Reading it over a second time, I decided that there were two things about it that bothered me. First, he was being far more formal in writing than he’d been in person. Second, “prior to completion of your assignment” didn’t quite make sense. It was just a little too carefully worded. It was the sort of thing that made me think he might really know about the agreement I had with The Circle and that he was planning on using me to get to them somehow.

Maybe I was reading too much into everything.

I jotted down a quick “I’ll be there” reply and sent it. Just as I was about to turn off the monitor, another e-mail popped into my in-box. Veronica was an early riser, apparently. I opened the e-mail.

Come by at 2PM. Ask for Arnold at the front desk. He’ll get you whatever you need.

Nice. Things were starting to look up. Maybe when I met with Royce this evening, I’d actually be prepared for it.

Chapter 9

Even though I’d forced myself to lie down and take a nap so I wouldn’t be a complete zombie later that night, I was still feeling groggy when I entered the lobby of The Circle’s downtown office tower. I’d almost slept through my alarm and ended up hurriedly throwing on presentable clothes, fluffing my hair and slapping on some makeup before running out the door. Traffic had been hell, and even though I knew it was better to park somewhere and take the train, I just didn’t want to deal with it. So between traffic and finding parking, I was twenty minutes late.

The design in the lobby was impressive: lofty ceilings; high windows that allowed sunlight to stream in; low-slung red couches; and intricate arcane symbols inlaid on the floor. Feeling hassled, rumpled, and cranky, I approached a sleek, polished desk where a bored-looking receptionist tapped away at her keyboard. She didn’t bother to look up.

“Excuse me? I’m here to see Arnold.”

The girl slowly raised her eyes from her flatscreen monitor to look at me over the rim of her glasses with cool, studied contempt. I couldn’t help but notice that her clothes were all trendier and nicer than mine and that her expensively dyed blond hair framed a thin, elfin face with heavy, but expertly applied, makeup. She was stick-thin and pretty enough to be modeling those clothes on a runway somewhere.

She looked me up and down and cocked a dismissive eyebrow before sliding her eyes back to the screen. Obviously, I failed her inspection.

“You’re late.”

More tapping on the keyboard. A pause.

“He’ll come get you in a moment. Please have a seat, ma’am.”

The bored voice couldn’t hide the underlying irritation. I’d probably interrupted a game of solitaire.

Making a heroic effort not to flip her off, I hefted my purse higher on my shoulder and had a seat on one of the uncomfortable but stylish red couches. The magazines spread on the table were up to date, but stuff I’d never read. Arcana Quarterly and Familiar Fashion: How to Accessorize Your Fae Focus just isn’t my cup of tea. I pulled out my cell and started fumbling with the text messages, trying to find something to focus on other than the rapid clicking of nails over keys coming in rattling spurts every few seconds from the reception desk.

Arnold kept me waiting exactly thirty minutes. His way of telling me off for coming late, I supposed. I looked up at the sound of him clearing his throat from the glass double doors next to the receptionist’s desk.

He was tall, skinny, with thick glasses perched on a narrow nose and an untidy mop of sandy brown hair, and wearing jeans and a faded T-shirt that read JESUS SAVES. THE REST OF YOU TAKE DAMAGE. Oh great, a geek.

“Ms. Waynest?” He appeared distracted, glancing at me from a thick sheaf of papers he clutched in one ink-stained hand, offering the other to me to shake. His shy, somewhat weak smile was genuine, however, and I realized he hadn’t been keeping me waiting on purpose. He was probably just tied up in his work. He actually looked a trifle apologetic under all the distraction.

“Thank you for seeing me, Mr., uh…Arnold.” I realized I didn’t know his last name. “Veronica told me you’d be able to help me.”

He nodded, reddening a bit at the mention of Veronica. A crush, perhaps? Poor guy. That love was destined to remain unrequited, and for more than one reason if her hitting on me in the restaurant the other night was any indication.

“Yes, ah, Ms. Wright told me you were coming. She said you needed something from our security vaults, is that right?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

I found myself liking the guy despite his geekiness. He was nice enough. Too bad he worked for scum like Veronica.

“This way, please. Follow me.” The receptionist didn’t look up once, still tapping away as I followed the guy into the room behind the glass doors.

Inside it looked pretty much indistinguishable from any other cube farm in corporate America. Gray and drab, with a few amusing cartoons tacked to cube walls or mildly entertaining screensavers on the computers we passed, but otherwise unremarkable. I couldn’t hear the sounds of anyone working, and it looked pretty deserted. Guess even magi took the weekends off.

He led me to an elevator oddly stuck in the middle of the floor between two rows of cubicles. I wasn’t going to question it. Magi could do whatever the hell they wanted with their architecture.

As we stepped inside, he pressed the button for the lowest basement level instead of one of the double-digit high-rise levels I was expecting. All the corporate bigwigs must get the view.

He didn’t speak during the short ride, just zoned back into the papers he was holding. When the doors opened, he looked up with confusion, as if surprised we had arrived so soon. Weird.

Stepping out, he led the way down a damp, obviously underground hallway. Thick insulation pipes ran overhead and the paint was dull, institutional gray-blue. We passed a number of doors, one or two with strange inscriptions where one would expect a name tag or some such. Then I noticed we passed one that had a nameplate for the boiler room. Lovely. Poor Arnold must be among the lowest of the low on the corporate ladder to be stuck working down here.

We rounded a bend or two, then he abruptly stopped at an unmarked door with peeling paint. I probably would’ve walked right past it. There was nothing special about it that I could see, but he opened it anyway and stepped inside.

Following him into the room, I was a little disappointed to see it looked like an entirely unremarkable, if high-tech, security office. A collection of monitors gleamed against one wall showing various scenes inside and around the building. A guard in a slate gray uniform glanced over at us briefly at the sound of my heels clicking against the floor but soon returned his attention to the monitors. A couple of fans were running, keeping the computers under the table cool. I noted with some amusement that the guy was hiding a paperback under one thick palm against his leg, probably hoping we wouldn’t notice.

Arnold continued walking, nose in his papers, and I have to admit to being surprised when he walked without stopping into the blank far wall and disappeared. I paused, mouth agape, not sure whether to attempt to follow or just stand there staring like an idiot. Guess which option I took.

“You can follow him. Just keep walking straight ahead, you’ll be fine.”

The guard’s voice was bemused but kindly, and I felt just a little foolish for being so shocked. Magi do magic. Duh. I should expect that here. It still gave me the willies.

Swallowing my discomfort and putting on a brave face, I took the guy’s direction and kept walking. I shut my eyes when I got close, expecting-but-not to have my face smashed when I walked into the wall. Nothing happened. Well, nothing except a slight tingling sensation against my skin and my footsteps suddenly being muted by carpet.

Opening my eyes, I saw Arnold watching me expectantly from across the room. I took it all in, feeling a mix of elation at having survived walking through the wall with my dignity intact and disappointment for the plain homeliness of the room he’d brought me to. There was a big, beat-up desk in the middle of the room, one leg propped up with a bit of cardboard to keep it level. There were tons of papers scattered around the room and on the desk, piled on a table off to the side and on top of the two tall filing cabinets shoved into a corner. A pizza box was perched on top of one pile, an open box of Chinese food, and a couple of coffee mugs on the desk. One held pens and pencils, the other what looked to be very old tea. The smell was a mix of old pizza and gym socks, with a very faint undertone of incense.

I knew it was Arnold’s office almost immediately, not because of the clutter but because of the scatter of dice on the desk and the dinosaur and alien action figures on top of his monitor.

“I just need you to sign a form for me, then we can go into the vault.”

I shrugged and took the form he deftly pulled from somewhere in the middle of the stack in his arm. Looked like a standard requisition form, nothing terribly exciting. I signed and dated it and left it on the desk. He dropped the rest of his stack of papers next to it with a muted “thump” and moved behind the desk, twisting a ring on one of his fingers before placing a hand against the wall. I blinked as he revealed another wall behind it as the first simply blinked out of existence at his touch.

This one looked like the back of a cave, all sandstone and multicolored layers of reddish rock. It curved inward a few feet behind the desk. There were a pair of arched double doors made out of some kind of gray stone, closed tight and covered with intricate patterns—runes or something like them, I supposed.

The hair on the back of my neck rose when I realized the runes were moving and changing even as I stared at them. Solid stone is not supposed to move.

An idle wave of Arnold’s hand and a short “Aperto” and the thick, rune-inscribed doors slowly opened inward.

Chapter 10

“Don’t touch anything while we’re inside without asking first,” Arnold said before we walked through the doors. “Some of the stuff in here is dying to get out and might try to attach itself to you.”

Oh great. Sentient artifacts, just the sort of thing to make my day.

He led the way inside. The walls here were of red sandstone marked with runes similar to the ones on the doors. Every few feet there were arches with burning torches for light. The flickering lights drew my attention to the runes that moved and swirled in a way that was making me feel dizzy. I had the sick feeling we left New York behind the minute we walked through those arches.

“What did you need exactly anyway? Vero didn’t tell me what to give you.”

I sighed, hoping I wouldn’t sound too ridiculous and unprofessional. “I was hoping you might be able to tell me. I was hired to find a statuette in the possession of a vampire.”

He snorted laughter, drawing my attention sharply to him and off the weird walls. “Oh, that. I’ve got just the thing.”

We continued on for what seemed like forever. I should’ve worn flats instead of heels. Abruptly, the tunnel opened up into a large circular chamber with other tunnels branching off in four other directions. I noted the five-sided star etched into the sandstone, each point set before a tunnel opening, including the one we now stood in. There were fat candles set on each point of the star, none lit.

“Luminare,” he whispered, and I took an involuntary step back as the candles simultaneously lit themselves up. “Guidare.”

One by one, the candles flickered out, leaving only one with a steady flame. He gestured cheerfully, his voice resuming normal tones. “That way. Follow me.”

I did. My curiosity was really getting the best of me. “What’s down the other tunnels?”

“Traps. Death for the really stupid.” He was pretty nonchalant, considering the topic. “Most of the ones who make it this far don’t know enough or are too arrogant to ask for guidance. We put that little safeguard in a couple years ago. Works like a charm.”

I swallowed hard. “Who comes down here? Aside from you, I mean.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Disgruntled former employees, rival corporations and covens, people like you who get a glimpse once and think they can make it past our safeguards.” He laughed softly, the sound making me shiver despite the nasal quality. “Greed getting the better of them, I suppose.”

“People like me?”

I knew my voice had an edge, though I didn’t mean it to come out as harsh as it did. The way he said “people” led me to believe he didn’t think very highly of us plain ol’ magic-less humans. It’s one thing when you voice your little bigoted thoughts in private, quite another to do it to the person’s face.

He laughed again, a little more heartily this time. “Don’t take offense. I meant outside contractors.”

“Oh.” My turn to be embarrassed.

“Here we are.”

He waved me into another large cavern, this one positively overflowing with junk. It looked worse than his office. There was old dusty crap scattered everywhere, all over the floor, piled on tables, everything from books and scrolls to rusty suits of armor and old-fashioned weaponry. There was jewelry and vials and gems and statues and coins strewn as far as the eye could see.

Despite the mess, I had to admit I was impressed. The Circle had literally tons of junk. And because it belonged to The Circle, all of it, every piece, had an element of magic to it. My respect for them went up a notch, despite their obvious lack of house-cleaning skills.

Arnold waded into the mess, carefully stepping over and around the stuff on the floor. He picked up a little stick-looking thing from underfoot, made a surprised “huh,” and continued on. I stayed behind, not sure I’d be able to follow in my heels.

He disappeared around a mountain of books. I’m not kidding. There were so many, I couldn’t even begin to count them.

“Wait there, I’ll be back in a sec.” His voice sounded far more distant than I would’ve credited, considering he was only a few yards away.

So I waited. And waited. After a little while, I pulled out my cell phone and checked the time, noting with dismay that it was nearly five o’clock. Had we really been down here that long?

“Arnold?” I called, hoping he hadn’t gotten distracted and forgotten me down here. I’d never find my way back to his office, not without help.

“Just a sec, almost got it!” came a faint reply from somewhere in the midst of the mess.

Despite his words, I was sorely tempted to go look for him and see if I could maybe help move this along a little faster. I still had to meet with Royce tonight, and didn’t want to keep the vamp waiting too long after sunset. Who knew how he’d take it if I showed up late to our scheduled meeting.

From somewhere out of my sight, I heard a prolonged crashing and clattering. It sounded like the whole place was about to fall down around our ears. A minute later, dust-covered and triumphant, Arnold appeared from behind the books and carefully picked his way back to where I stood.

He had a few things in his scrawny arms and cupped in his hands. I reached out as soon as he was close enough to take a few from him, and he looked grateful for the help.

“Thanks. Sorry for the wait.”

“No sweat. What is all this?” I looked down at what we were holding, a little confused. None of it looked very useful.

I’d taken a couple of delicate crystal vials filled with an amber-colored liquid and a plain-looking silver chain with a tiny black stone pendant hanging from it. He was still holding the stick he’d picked up earlier, along with a leather belt folded over one arm and a dusty book and loose papers cradled in the other.

“Got some good stuff for you. That perfume is faint to someone like you or me, smells a little like cinnamon.” He nodded at the crystal vials. “It depresses a vamp’s appetite and makes you smell less like food to them. Alchemists came up with it a few hundred years ago.”

I raised my eyebrows at that, examining the sloshing liquid with interest. In that case, I’d bathe in the stuff before I went to see Royce.

Reading my expression, he grinned. “You just need a dab at the throat and wrists, against the skin. Works best over a pulse point and it’ll last until you wash it off. Next,” he continued, starting to walk back the way we came, “I got you that necklace as a deterrent against any mind games the vamp or even one of us might try to pull on you. You’ll see through illusion and can’t be forced with magic to do something against your will.”

Jackpot! “Wow, thanks,” I couldn’t believe my luck. This was great! “That’s amazing, I never knew there were such things.”

He grinned, apparently pleased with himself. “Yeah, The Circle’s pretty good at keeping secrets. You won’t find any of this stuff on the market; it’s all made in-house.”

I hid a pang of worry. Did this mean I’d have to keep quiet about the items, or could I tell Sara? I decided to leave that problem until later.

“Anyway, that’s not all. This belt was a lucky find, I thought we’d given the last one away a decade ago. The stakes will always return to the belt after use. Oh, and remember, don’t wear it until you’re ready to use it.”

My elation suddenly dried up into something nearing terror. “What? No, no stakes. I don’t do exterminations. I told Veronica that when we met on Thursday.”

“Trust me, you’ll want these.” Arnold wasn’t ruffled by the panic in my voice. We’d reached the double doors leading into his office, and I couldn’t help but be further alarmed noticing that the walk took a lot less time, and we hadn’t passed the star and candles this time around. “Maybe not right away, but they’ll come in handy.”

He thrust the bundled-up belt at me, ignoring my protests. Reluctantly, I picked it up, surprised at how heavy the silly thing was. I hadn’t seen the three solid metal stakes attached to it since he’d had them pressed up against his chest. Peachy keen.

Sourly, I gestured at the book, papers, and stick he was still holding. “What about those?”

He shook his head and dumped them unceremoniously on top of the papers on his desk. “These are for me. You’ve got Veronica’s e-mail, right? If you need anything else, just have her give me a little forewarning and I’ll have it all ready for you. It’ll save you the walk next time.”

I sighed. “Okay. Thanks Arnold, you’ve been a big help. This was way more than I was expecting.”

“Don’t sweat it.” He grinned again, his gaze shifting down to the dice on his desk. He picked up a few and rolled them absently against the desktop. I noted the bright little bits of plastic came to rest with the 20-side, the 10-side, and the 1-side up. His voice was faint, and probably would have gone unheard if I hadn’t been so on edge, taking note of every detail. “And they say divination is a dead art.”

The look he turned to me was speculative, intrigued, and something else I just couldn’t read. Clearing his throat, he walked me over to the blank wall we’d entered through earlier.

“Let me know if this job gives you trouble. You can just call our main number and ask for me.”

I walked through, looking back at him over my shoulder. “Thank you very mu—”

My last words were cut off abruptly as I stepped through the wall and into the main lobby, right next to the receptionist’s desk. She was still typing, and didn’t look up at the sound of my voice. I reached up a hand to lightly run a finger over the huge Impressionist mural on the wall that I’d stepped through. Solid.

With a slight shudder, I rearranged the stuff in my arms, stuck the necklace and vials in my purse, and wrapped the belt up into a loop made awkward by the stakes. As I headed toward the exit, the girl looked up.

“Have a nice day!”

I was so edgy that the sound of her voice cutting through the silence made me jump. She smirked, then focused back on her screen, content to pretend I didn’t exist.

What a day this was turning out to be. I cringed when I realized it had barely started; now I had to face Royce.

Chapter 11

When I left the building, I saw Veronica standing off to one side near a planter, talking to another woman I didn’t recognize. Both of them were wearing chic business suits, and it looked like the other lady’s charcoal gray pantsuit was even more expensive and well tailored than Veronica’s navy blue skirt and jacket. The two of them had cigarettes in hand and were in a heated discussion. Veronica did not look pleased.

I started to approach but she saw me out of the corner of her eye and shook her head at me, mouthing “later” and turning back to the other woman. The woman turned to me, her startlingly bright green eyes staring at me from a lined, frowning face. Her graying hair was pulled tightly back on her skull into a severe bun, making it impossible to miss the disapproval in her gaze, like the teacher that just caught you playing hooky.

If I’d done something wrong, I might have felt uncomfortable. As it was, I just shrugged and kept walking. Maybe she didn’t like my clothes. Yeah, that was it. I’d just call or e-mail Veronica later.

Thinking better of showing up to meet with Royce with stakes on my person, I returned to my car, parked a couple of blocks away, and hid the belt under the front passenger seat. I wanted it out of my hands as quickly as possible. Next I poured a few drops of the perfume onto a finger and dabbed at my throat and wrists, finding the cinnamon-and-cloves scent curiously pleasant. I could get to like this alchemy stuff.

Rather than carry those delicate-looking crystal vials in my purse, I put them in the glove compartment, figuring they were less likely to get jostled around that way. Digging the necklace out from the depths of my purse, I put it on and locked the car up again, hefting the bag over my shoulder. Royce’s downtown office wasn’t too far from The Circle’s high-rise. I’d hop on the subway and be there in no time.

The ride was quick, but I had time to send a text message to Sara to let her know what was up and give her a brief description of the loot Arnold had given me. When I stepped back out onto the street, the sun was still just barely hanging in the sky. I figured I might as well grab a bite to eat before dealing with the vamp. I wanted to be as clearheaded as possible.

I found a café half a block from my destination. By the time I finished my overpriced sandwich and coffee, it was fully dark and I was feeling that familiar gut-wrenching fear settling into my bones. The food hung heavy in my stomach as I pushed through the revolving doors and stepped into Royce’s office building.

There was no snide receptionist in this place, only a guard in a sharp-looking suit who got up to greet me from behind the security desk. “Can I help you, miss?”

I dug into my purse and pulled out Royce’s card. “I have an appointment with Mr. Royce.”

He gave the card a cursory examination before handing it back with a nod and a smile, pointing to a bank of elevators. “Eighth floor and to your right. You can’t miss it.”

“Thanks,” I said, and meant it. Praise all for good service.

The eighth floor wasn’t terribly exciting. When I stepped out of the elevator, there was a pair of double doors to my left, and a similar pair to my right. A little plaque on the ones on the right read A. D. ROYCE INDUSTRIES. Guess I found the place.

There was a sticky note stuck to one of the doors. I peeled it off, figuring it was probably for me.

Ms. Waynest:

Please come in. My office is in the back.

—Alec

Well, that was nice, going from “Mr. Royce” to “Alec” in the space of one meeting and an e-mail exchange. I guess he wanted a more casual business relationship than his last e-mail implied.

The front office looked deserted but I could hear voices coming from the back. Following the voices, I recognized Royce’s in short order. I soon found myself standing in the doorway to his office, peering in.

“…will work just fine, and I’ll bring the paperwork with me. Thanks, Jim, I’ll see you Wednesday.”

“You got it, Alec. Take care.”

He had his feet propped up on his desk, and he gestured for me to come in as he tossed the pen he’d been toying with on top of the papers scattered there and reached to turn off the speakerphone. This office looked a little more like somebody worked in it, phone and computer included this time. The furnishings and view were still nice, but not as impressive as the one over The Underground. I noted the low bookshelf in the corner had a curious mix of cookbooks and classic literature. Guess he was a fan of cheesecake and Shakespeare. Who knew?

There was no conference table here, no couches or wet bar. The walls were hung with corkboards covered in papers and Post-it notes instead of paintings. From the look of it, he didn’t get visitors here very often. This was obviously where the real work got done.

I noted with a touch of amusement that he was just as casual today as he’d been in the club. This time he wore blue jeans and a plain white T-shirt instead of leather pants and a netted shirt, but he still looked good to me. Damnably so. Undead, blood-sucking fiend, Shiarra. Remember that.

He rose and moved around to pull out a chair for me, a warm smile curving his lips. I felt pretty overdone in my makeup, pantsuit, and heels, but a second later my fashion worries were overtaken by a surge of unreasoning fear at his approach.

“Ms. Waynest, thank you for coming.”

I took a seat, relaxing slightly when he slid back around to sit at his desk. I kept my purse clutched in my lap, however.

He leaned back comfortably in the chair and regarded me with heavily lidded eyes. I wasn’t fooled. He looked more like a waiting python than a relaxed businessman to my eyes.

“Have you eaten? Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you, Mr. Royce.”

What was with the formality and looking after my happiness and well-being? Was he trying to put me off balance with his solicitousness on purpose?

“Did you get any news about the missing boy or the girl he was with?” I asked.

“Yes, actually. The girl’s name isn’t Tara, it’s Anastasia Alderov.”

I nodded, impressed despite myself. His people must move fast to get that kind of information on such short notice.

“She’s the progeny of one of my competitors in Chicago. I imagine she was here to scout the area when she met the Borowsky boy.”

Yeesh, he was doing me out of a job. “That still means that she’s…” The words died in my mouth. I just couldn’t say it.

He seemed to sense my discomfort and his tone turned serious. “Yes. It’s still grounds for disposal. She has no guest permit to hunt in this state.”

Good God. He made it seem like he was talking about deer season. I swallowed hard, trying to calm the sudden racing of my heart.

“Unfortunately, we have not pinpointed her resting place yet. She’ll turn up, and so will the boy.”

I nodded, not quite trusting my voice just yet. He sighed, spreading his hands in a helpless, frustrated gesture. He looked so human and convincing, for a moment I forgot my fear.

“What is it about me that frightens you so? I am not about to leap over the desk and go for your jugular, Shiarra.”

Now that was embarrassing. I must have been exuding nervousness more than I thought for him to be remarking on it. Turning my eyes away, I forced myself to relax a little, leaning forward to put my purse down between my feet to show that I wasn’t about to make a run for it.

“It’s not you exactly, Mr. Royce.” How could I explain my fear without sounding like an unenlightened racist idiot?

“There is no need for the formality; call me Alec. Has someone at The Circle been filling your head with stories about me?”

I started. He smirked. Damn it, he knew, he already knew what I’d gotten myself into and was just toying with me now. I started to rise, but he held out a staying hand.

“Please, sit. I know you’re doing something for them, and I know it has something to do with me. I’m prepared for that. What I don’t understand is why it is you. You’re obviously terrified to be here, yet here you are. What hold do they have on you? Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”

An arrangement. Would he be able to keep The Circle and the White Hats off my back? Doubts immediately assailed me. I didn’t have much to offer a vampire like Royce. He had more money than God, owned a good chunk of prime real estate in several states, and had more flunkies and fawning donors than one would think he’d know what to do with. I didn’t have anything to give him that he didn’t already have, except maybe a line into The Circle.

Not to mention he’d probably be pissed once he knew what I was really after. Plus, I was contracted. There were all kinds of confidentiality clauses tied into that contract, and I could lose my license if The Circle didn’t just splatter me out of existence for turning on them. Oh, and let us not forget that this was a vampire I was dealing with. Judging by our previous encounter, he’d probably try to charm me into revealing what I was really after. The devil was a sweet talker, too.

Thoughts racing almost as fast as my pounding heart, I chose my words very, very carefully. “With all due respect, Mr. Royce, I can’t divulge my other clients’ information without their blessing. I wouldn’t last long in this line of work if I did that.”

He leaned forward on the desk, folding his hands and propping his chin on his knuckles. Those black eyes narrowed as he took in my words, weighing what I did and didn’t say.

“I would hate to see you come to some harm on my account.”

Oh great. That was comforting.

“My resources are considerable, Ms. Waynest. I’m not withdrawing the offer of protection, even if you choose to continue this farce and work against me. I take care of my own.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean? I wasn’t one of his donors, or even an employee.

“I appreciate that. I’m sorry I can’t give you what you’re looking for in return.”

About as sorry as a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. I still wanted my cookie, er, money, damn it. I had bills to pay.

He inhaled through his nose deeply, eyes closing. I wondered why. Vamps didn’t need to breathe like a living person did.

“The Circle wants something badly if they’re giving you Amber Kiss perfume. I thought the alchemists stopped making it centuries ago. It does an admirable job of hiding your scent, but your heartbeat gives away your fear.”

Hairs on the back of my neck rising in renewed terror, I tried to quell the shakes that started up at his words. What the hell was he playing at?

“I’m not sure I understand where you’re going with this.” That sounded safe enough. Except that I really, really wasn’t sure I wanted to know where this conversation was going.

His eyes stayed shut. He didn’t look at me at all, or speak right away, instead kept taking the occasional deep breath to, I guess, see what he could smell on me under the perfume. Talk about creepy.

“You’re attracting the attention of vampires, The Circle, and the White Hats. You’ve managed to upset the power structure of a local Were pack. You are human, and yet you find yourself caught up with those like myself. You do it despite being afraid for yourself. It is interesting to me.”

“And we all know how much you value that which cures your boredom, however momentarily.” The bitingly low feminine voice came from behind me, startling me so badly I had to stifle a cry.

Royce’s eyes finally opened as he looked to the door, his expression going carefully blank. I turned in the leather chair to look and see who had come to join us.

It was The Circle’s receptionist!

Chapter 12

The girl sauntered over to Royce, dropping her purse on his desk and giving him a friendly kiss on the cheek. I don’t think I could have been more stunned and horrified if she’d grown horns and a tail and started singing “New York, New York.”

Through the shock, part of me distantly noted that the girl didn’t look quite so skinny or perfect as she had behind the desk at The Circle’s headquarters. Her hair and makeup weren’t quite so flawless. She was still pretty, but not the runway model she’d appeared to be earlier.

My fingers itched to touch the charm around my neck, which I remembered was supposed to let me see through illusion. I suppressed the urge with difficulty and kept my hands primly folded in my lap. Seeing the girl this way made me wonder what Veronica must look like under the veneer of magic.

“Ms. Waynest, this is Allison Darling. I believe you’ve met.” Royce’s voice couldn’t have been more carefully noncommittal and disinterested. Was that for my sake or hers?

Though I would rather have stuck my fingers in an electric socket after how she treated me earlier, I leaned forward across the desk to offer her my hand. As long as Royce was here to referee (imagine that), I’d play nice. She waited longer than was strictly polite before offering me her limp-wristed shake.

“I can’t stay long,” Allison said to Royce, leaning against his chair with an arm casually flung around his shoulder. As she spoke, her bright blue eyes were locked on mine, glinting with malice behind those trendy glasses. “I thought you’d want to know that she was given the hunter’s belt today.”

Royce arched a brow in surprise, turning to look up at Allison questioningly. She shrugged and nodded, and I noted with growing alarm the almost imperceptible shift in the air as anger stirred below the frighteningly blank mask of his features.

“Allison, love, go on back to the restaurant. Let me finish my business here and I’ll speak with you later.” His voice had taken on a dangerously silky undertone, a promise of something unspoken. What worried me most was that I couldn’t tell if it was me or her that he was mad at, and what exactly he was planning to do if it was me.

She shrugged, uncaring, as if this happened all the time. Acting like she had all the time in the world, she lightly patted his shoulder, picked up her purse, and made a hip-swaying exit. I watched her go, still in a state of shock trying to figure out the convolutions and consequences behind whatever this relationship of theirs was. The look she threw him over her shoulder at the door was unbelievable, a mix of warning and what looked like lust. I sincerely hoped it wasn’t really some of the latter. Gross.

“Don’t keep me waiting too long,” she purred.

Didn’t she realize she was provoking an already pissed-off vamp? Probably doing it on purpose, knowing she was leaving me to deal with it.

Tense and unblinking, I shifted around in the chair to face Royce. He stayed silent and unmoving until the muted sound of Allison’s heels on the carpet faded and the front door of the office suite opened and closed. When I say he was unmoving, I mean no twitches, no fidgeting, no breathing, still as a stone. It was creepy as hell. His pitch black gaze soon slid back to focus on me, and I felt myself contract, as if I could disappear into the leather chair if I pressed against it hard enough.

“My, my. The facets of your personality become more and more complex with each passing moment.” His tones stayed dangerously soft, thoughtful, and contained a hint of that promising lilt. I was so dead. “You have not yet made any overt moves against me. You are smart enough to be afraid of me, but beyond stupid to think you could take on an assignment as my assassin and survive the attempt. What is driving you? Your family line has no history of mage blood, so it can’t be the carrot of an apprenticeship with The Circle. You don’t have any known ties to the White Hats. Is it a threat on someone you love? Greed, perhaps?”

I went cold at that. He’d researched my bloodline? Oh no, if this went bad, that meant he knew where to find my family. It took quite a long moment for me to find enough of my voice to speak.

“It isn’t like that. I didn’t want the belt. He made me take it. I didn’t take a contract on your life.”

He said nothing, simply stared in silent accusation. I could feel the anger building under the veneer, and it made me feel even more panicked than if he’d dived across the desk for my throat.

I plunged ahead, heedless of what the cost might be. Screw my license, and screw the contract. I wanted to live. I’d figure out some other way to pay my rent and keep all my creditors from camping on the landing—my life wasn’t worth this kind of trouble for a few thousand dollars.

“I swear, I never agreed to hunt you. All I agreed to do was help find some little statue thing.” If anything, his anger seemed to grow at the mention of the artifact. I knew I was babbling, but I was scared out of my mind. “I need the money or my business is going to go under. Please, don’t be angry with me, I swear I never meant to do anything more than this job and then leave you alone.”

He rose slowly, unfolding from the chair like some great predatory bird preparing to dive down on its prey. I shrank back even further as he came around the desk, slowly and deliberately setting his hands on the arms of my chair and leaning forward right into my face. Both of my hands involuntarily came up to shield my neck as I slid back in the chair. My knees drew up to my chest as he glared down at me, my mouth dropping open and eyes wide in shock and fear. His breath, when he finally spoke, smelled like a mix of mint and copper, cloying and chokingly thick.

“I am buying out that contract. Whatever they offered, I’ll triple it. With a few added conditions, in case you’re thinking of running back to The Circle.”

I didn’t know what I could say without making him even angrier. From the sound of it, I wouldn’t have a choice in the matter. A hint of fully extended fang behind his lips was even more reason to keep my mouth shut until he said what he had to say and, hopefully, calmed down.

“One—you’re to turn over the hunter’s belt to me. You may keep the Amber Kiss, and whatever else they gave you. Two, you are to end all contact with The Circle except to tell them that your contract with them is null. Direct any questions on why to me. Three, you may not speak of the focus to anyone other than myself. That includes your business partner.”

This didn’t sound so bad. He stared down at me expectantly, like he was waiting for something. I belatedly figured out that he was waiting for an acknowledgment, so I stammered one out. “Oh—okay. I can do all that.”

He pulled back from the chair. Instead of aggressively standing right over me, he aggressively folded his arms and stared down at me from a few feet away, leaning back against the desk. It looked like his anger was abating but not entirely gone. Not gone enough for me to feel comfortable about removing my hands from my throat or putting my feet back on the floor. His eyes were narrowed, black pits boring into me, keeping me pinned in place with their intensity.

“One last thing. To ensure your loyalty, you’re to sign papers by the end of the next business day. I want a notarized copy in my hands by no later than Monday night.”

A sudden sick feeling swept over me. I could literally feel all the blood drain from my face.

“P-p-papers?”

He nodded tersely, his gaze staying sharp and pitiless. “I won’t have you turning back to The Circle or the White Hats for help. You’re mine now. The Circle can’t touch you if I lay a claim, and the White Hats won’t come near you if you bear my mark. Your partner may want to consider doing the same.”

Bear his mark. His bite, he meant. Oh shit.

“By Monday, Shiarra. If you don’t deliver them, I’ll come looking. Trust me, you don’t want it to come to that.”

“No, please!” I had to fight this. I couldn’t let it come to that. Death would be better. “Please, you don’t need to do that, I won’t go back to them! I swear!”

He actually laughed at that, the sound soft and bitter. “Begging is in poor taste, lovely. You should’ve thought of that before you stepped outside the bounds of your confidentiality agreement. You broke under pressure. Right now, your promises are just words. The claim will ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

He wasn’t just talking a little love bite. He meant a full-fledged bond, tying me to him until my death. Bloody hell. There had to be a way out of this. There just had to be. Panic was making me feel ill, and I was afraid I might end up losing my lunch on his nice, clean tennis shoes if I didn’t find a way out of this, fast.

“It doesn’t need to come to that, please. You don’t need to do this. Give me a chance, I’ll prove it to you somehow.”

“I’ll be in this office Monday night. Meet me here.”

Strain made my voice crack. “Please!”

He shook his head, unmoved by my pleas. Pushing off the desk, he moved around it and pulled out one of the drawers. He thumbed through some folders, finally withdrawing papers from one and returning to press them into my trembling hands.

“This is for your protection as well as mine. Come on now, I’ll have someone take you home.”

I jerked back from his touch when he reached for me, and he withdrew, waiting patiently for me to rise on my own. The thing that bugged me most was that he now seemed so bored with the situation. It was like the anger never existed. Like he’d planned this from the start, knowing I’d break.

When I looked at the papers he’d put in my hand, my stomach gave a sickening lurch as I saw they were already filled out with both our names in all the right places. I flipped to the last couple of pages and saw that the part for the vamp to sign had already been filled out and notarized earlier today. All that was left was for me to sign on the dotted line and get my portion of the agreement notarized.

Damn him to hell, he’d known I wouldn’t be able to keep my cool if he got in my face or flashed his fangs, and he used that fear to put me in this position. This wasn’t a burden to him; he’d wanted to put me under his thumb from the start. No wonder he wouldn’t even consider giving me the chance to prove I could be trusted. The worst part of it was that I still wasn’t any closer to knowing why, or what he expected to get from me or use me for. Blood aside, there had to be a reason for his actions. He had too many willing donors, so he wasn’t doing this just for a chance to sink his fangs into me. There was something else he wanted out of me that he hadn’t put on the table yet. Judging by the lengths he went to and the methods he used to put me in this position, he probably wouldn’t lay it out in the open until I was bonded and didn’t have the will left to oppose him.

I slid from the seat with as much grace as I could muster under the circumstances, grabbing my purse from the floor and turning away from him to wipe at the hot sting of tears in my eyes before they could fall. He would not see me cry. I’d disgraced myself enough already tonight.

“Wait downstairs in the lobby. I’ll have my driver get you.”

I kept walking, almost running to get out the door. He didn’t follow, thankfully. I’d be damned if I waited around for Royce’s driver. Forget it, I’d take a cab back to my car and then go straight to Sara’s. She’d know what to do.

There had to be a way out of this. There just had to be.

Chapter 13

The security guard wasn’t at his desk when I stepped out of the elevator. I practically ran to the revolving doors, glad there was no one to witness my ineffectual palm swipes at the tears streaming down my cheeks. The cold spring wind made me shiver, and I looked around dismally for a cab. I knew I looked like crap but fortunately there were few pedestrians meandering around this time of night.

It didn’t take long for several yellow cabs to prowl around the corner. I flagged one down and it came to a screeching halt at the curb, narrowly cutting off another driver who had seen me first and was trying unsuccessfully to cut across three lanes of traffic.

The cabbie was a Were. I knew immediately from his faint scent of musk and the thick mat of dark hair poking out from under the sleeves of his jacket and running along the backs of his hands. The hair and the dark stubble on his chin was probably more prominent than usual, not because he hadn’t shaved, but because the full moon was less than a week away. There was also a sticker plastered to the Plexiglas between the front and back seats that I recognized as a local Were pack’s symbol, a moon with a wolf paw print in the center for the Moonwalker tribe. The back of the cab was clean, but there was an undertone of cigarette smoke and fast food that clung to the interior, mingling with his musky scent in a way that wasn’t doing my already queasy stomach any favors.

“Where to?” he growled, twisting in the driver’s seat to look back at me.

I gave him the cross-streets where I’d parked and turned my gaze to the window, rolling it down a crack to see if the fresh air might help settle my nerves a little. The cabbie pulled out with a glance at me through the rearview mirror. I pointedly ignored his questioning looks. I’m sure I looked terrible, makeup smeared, eyes red, and mascara running from my crying.

“She’s not worth it,” the guy said, startling me.

“What?”

“I said, she’s not worth it. Whoever made you cry. Move on.”

Oh great. He thought I’d just had a bad breakup. Better yet, a bad breakup with a girl. For whatever reason, that started up the tears again.

Taking a few deep breaths to avoid having my voice crack, I managed to say, “It’s a bad business deal, not a relationship.”

“Yeah?”

Great, a cab driver who thought he was a therapist. Just what the doctor ordered. For some reason, I did want to talk about it, if only to get some of the immediate weight and terror off my chest.

“If I agree to this deal, my life is over. If I don’t, it’s still over but I’ll be dragging all of my friends and family down with me. No matter what I do, I’m screwed.”

He nodded, his gaze sliding back and forth between the road and the mirror. After dodging an idling truck, he put a little more attention on me again.

“Sounds rough. Pack business is like that sometimes. You either go with the flow, or you stand up to the alpha, at least take a shot at getting your way. May take a few lumps in the process, but when you look back, at least you know you tried, eh?”

I couldn’t help but laugh, choking on my tears. That was good. Comparing my screwed-up business relationships to a Were pack’s internal politics sounded just about right, the way things were going for me the last few days.

“I’m not alpha enough to stand up to the people putting me in the middle of this mess. I don’t have that option.”

The Were laughed and returned his gaze to the road, not looking back now that he was probably sure I wasn’t going to have a mental breakdown in his car.

“Even the smallest runt in the pack can take a shot at standing up to the alpha. He may know he’s going to lose if it comes to a fight, but oftentimes it’s seeing that he’s stood up for himself and has his own teeth that makes the alpha give way.”

That wasn’t the way I thought wolves did things in the wild, but since Weres had the intelligence of a human blended with, and usually overcoming, their wolf instincts, maybe he was right. If I showed Royce and The Circle I had teeth of my own, it was entirely possible they’d back off. I just wondered what would be threatening enough to pass for said teeth, and how I could do it convincingly without getting myself or my family killed in the process.

“There, see, got you thinking of a solution to those worries of yours.”

I smiled thinly, though the Were was right. He gave good advice. “Thank you. I only hope it’s as easy as you say.”

He gave voice to a barking laugh, making my hair stand on end. “Sure it is. Even a leech will listen if you make them think the potential profit is outweighed by the trouble you give ’em.”

I sat bolt upright, eyes widening in alarm. He still didn’t look back at me, eyes on the road like a good driver should be. I was almost sure he was grinning, judging by the tone of his voice.

“Don’t get yer panties in a twist. I smell it on you. That and the fear-smell, and a touch of someone else’s perfume. You’re also wearing something that makes the scent of your blood and skin faint. Magework, seems like.”

Annoyed, I sat back, folding my arms and glaring at the back of his head. “Is every Other I run into going to know I’ve been dealing with vamps and magi?”

“Until you shower, probably.” He looked at me through the rearview, and I could see the twinkle of mirth reflecting in his eyes. “Shows you’re smart, that you’re afraid of ’em. Not afraid of me, though. Why’s that?”

A little nonplussed, I didn’t answer right away. Now that he’d put my attention on it, I realized he was right. I wasn’t afraid of him.

“I don’t know. I guess I’ve just known enough Weres to be used to you guys by now. My ex-boyfriend runs with the Sunstrikers.”

I was careful not to mention that I’d broken up with Chaz after he changed to wolf-form in my living room; his way of explaining why he was never around on certain days of the month. Prior to that, he’d told me he’d been busy delivering private sessions with clients, not running around with his buddies as a wolf-man. Considering I was normally so busy I barely knew what day of the month it was, let alone whether the moon was full, it wasn’t that unusual that I’d missed the signs. He got up the nerve to tell me the truth after we’d been together a few months. Though he admittedly scared the hell out of me when he shapeshifted, he had never quite clued in that I was more pissed at him for lying and hiding things from me than anything else. Ass.

He scoffed at that. “The Sunstrikers are a bunch of good-for-nothing showoffs. Good thing you two broke up.”

I made a noncommittal sound, wondering what the friction was between the clans. Local Were politics were none of my business, and I had enough problems of my own.

“So what’re you going to do about this business deal you can’t refuse? Tell him to shove those papers where the moon don’t shine?”

I looked down at the now-crinkled and slightly sweat-stained papers I still had clenched in one hand. Funny thing was, the Were’s words had given me some hope. And an idea.

“Yeah, looks like I’ll be doing that.”

He pulled to the curb and I saw we were already at the block where I’d parked my car. After stopping, he put his hand on the passenger headrest and twisted around to beam at me, looking all too pleased.

“You’d make a good bitch in our pack. Good luck dealing with that leech.”

“Hey, thanks.” I think.

I put the papers down and dug some cash out of my purse. I gave him a good tip; he deserved it.

“One more thing,” he said, taking the money. “Even if it scares you, don’t show it that. Wear that stuff you’ve got on now and it should help confuse your scents enough that it won’t be able to bully you as easy. Not unless you let it.”

“Oh, thanks!”

I hadn’t realized that. Maybe that was part of why Royce was so direct this time. He couldn’t tell by my scent what I was feeling so he went for more obvious tells, like my trembling and attempt to curl into a fetal ball to hide.

The guy started to take off before I’d even fully shut the passenger side door. The door slammed shut as he flipped an illegal U-turn and slid a hairy-backed hand out the window to give me a cheerful wave, disappearing as he turned a corner.

The advice he’d given me was actually comforting. I’d figure out a way to best Royce at his own game yet.

Chapter 14

By the time I reached Sara’s, I was feeling much more calm and collected than I had when I left Royce’s building. The drive and some good music helped put things in perspective. The lack of traffic also helped.

Sara lived closer to the office than I did. She had a nice little two-story house out in suburbia that was humble enough to keep her family from visiting too often. She also had a scary-looking but completely harmless and affectionate pair of pit bulls that she let the neighbors’ kids come over and play with. They made good guard dogs since they barked at anything from the ice cream truck that passed by every afternoon in the summer to the mailman that snuck them treats every other day or so. They also had a habit of jumping on and slobbering all over anyone who walked through the front gate.

I was pretty sure the dogs were a better deterrent to prying family members than the ordinary suburban house.

Grabbing all my stuff from the car, including an emergency bag of clothes I kept in the back seat and, after a moment’s hesitation, a vial of that Amber Kiss perfume and the belt, I opened the wooden gate and headed up the walk. As predicted, the dogs started barking the instant the gate squeaked open, charging out from their doghouse around the side of the house and practically bowling me over in their enthusiasm. For some reason they seemed more interested in how I smelled than usual.

Laughing, I rubbed their big ugly faces and struggled past to the door, trying to keep their drool off my clothes. “Go on, get down, you two. Buster, sit! Damn it, Roxie, that belt isn’t a chew toy, let go!”

The porch light flicked on, and I squinted at it as Sara pulled the door open. She had on jeans and a scarf tying her hair back.

“Hey,” I said.

She gave me a sympathetic smile as she let me in. I had to hustle so the dogs wouldn’t squirm past me and go tearing through the house.

“I take it there’s trouble?”

She turned off the porch light and locked the door behind me to a chorus of disappointed howls and scratching at the door. I heard music blaring from the kitchen, and the scent of some pine cleaner. Yeah, when Sara got bored, she cleaned. She’d probably make a great housewife someday, after she got over the wild and crazy “take-the-wackiest-jobs-I-can-find” private investigator phase.

Nodding, I led the way to her living room and plopped down on the couch, letting my stuff fall. Her eyes widened at the sight of the trio of stakes on the belt, and she held up a hand.

“We need coffee for this. Two sugars?”

“Make it three.”

She disappeared into the kitchen, cutting the music and tinkering around. I closed my eyes and listened, wondering what exactly I should do with the papers currently getting even more wrinkled and probably ripped from being shoved into my duffel. I thought about what the Were had said back in the cab, what Arnold told me when I left The Circle’s tower, and how Royce had manipulated me so neatly. The Were was right. I needed teeth. Which meant Arnold was right. I did want the stakes.

“So what’s the deal?” Sara asked a few minutes later, coming back from the kitchen with a steaming mug in each hand. She settled down in the recliner across from the couch and handed me one. It was my favorite, a black mug with white letters that read DO I LOOK LIKE A #*%!ING MORNING PERSON?

I reached over to the duffel, dragged out the papers, and tossed them on the coffee table for her to see. Her eyes widened immediately in recognition, and even more so when she picked them up and saw my name and Royce’s neatly typed in all the appropriate places. I waited for her to riffle through and see that he’d already taken care of his signature and now it just needed mine. Then I quickly filled her in on everything that happened at The Circle and my meeting with Royce.

“…so I broke when he flashed fang at me. He’s got me pinned in a bad place. I can either go to him willingly, sign the papers, and make everyone but me happy, or I can piss off everyone at the same time by cutting loose from both him and The Circle. However, Royce made a very effective threat. I don’t want to see you or my parents or brothers get caught in the crossfire.” I sighed deeply, feeling about three times my age and very tired all of a sudden. “I need help.”

Sara had been listening intently, nodding or giving an encouraging word here and there, but hadn’t interrupted. Now that I was done, she gave a little hmm before turning back to the Notice of Mutual Consent to Human/Other Citizen Relationship and Contractual Binding Agreement in her hands. Her brows were furrowed, and her shoulders tense under the flannel T-shirt, her coffee in its ASK ME ABOUT MY EVIL PLAN mug untouched by her side.

“Well,” she said cautiously, “I don’t know exactly what to do either. Did you have any ideas, or are you still in panic mode?”

“More like apathy than panic now. I might be able to arrange my own funeral to keep everyone else out of the picture, but I don’t see any happy endings with any of the plans I’ve come up with in the last couple of hours.”

Sara grimaced, but kept her gaze on the papers. “What do you think?”

“I don’t expect I’ll have much in the way of a chance physically fighting against either The Circle or Royce. However, if I take on one, I think the other might back off. The Circle gave me the means”—and here I pointed to the belt—“to fight Royce, if I’ve got guts enough to use it. However, they both have the means to fight dirty, which I don’t. Both organizations have more clout than you or I do. The thing is, I can’t legally use weapons against them either, and even with the threat against my family, I haven’t got enough evidence to go to the cops for help.”

She looked pale and drawn, about as good as I felt. “Royce did a pretty good job of backing you into a corner.”

I cleared my throat and looked away, knowing she wouldn’t like this part of my idea. Steeling myself against the shivers wracking me at the thought of what I was about to do, I bowed my head over the coffee cup and took a deep breath before I answered.

“I think I can win my way out of this, but I’d really need your help to do it.”

Her gaze shot over to me, the abject fear and desire to help I saw etched on her features not making me feel any better about what I was going to ask of her.

She said, “If it’ll get you out of this mess, I’ll do anything. How can I help?”

“You’re much more versed in contract law than I am. That’s what I need your help with. I can sign the papers, but I need you to doctor them first.” I could see her incredulousness and went on the defensive. “Look, it’s just an idea. You don’t have to go along with it. Just hear me out.”

She was forcing herself to relax, taking a few deep breaths before nodding for me to continue. She tried hiding her expression behind her coffee mug as she took a sip, but I caught the look of displeasure that crossed her face. I knew it went against her morals, but this was the only chance I could see to get out of the hole I’d dug for myself.

Gesturing at the contract in her hand, I stared right into her baby blue eyes, holding her gaze so I wouldn’t lose my resolve.

“Word it so that it swings both ways so I can injure or kill Royce with impunity.”

She choked on her coffee. “What?!”

“You can do it. I know you know how. I’ll help you reword it and we can print a new document that looks just like this one, except tweaked enough so that instead of it reading like a living will and me being completely under his thumb, it’ll go both ways. It won’t take much to do it, and I doubt Royce will read it once I deliver the signed copy. All he’ll look for is my signature on the last page.”

Papers usually read like you were signing over your body, mind and soul, mostly because some of the Others couldn’t feed without taking one or more of those things from a human in the process. It was so tightly regulated because, like any other citizens, Others needed to be held responsible for their actions up to and including emotional distress, stalking, and assaulting or killing a human in a frenzy of passion, anger, hunger, or whatever it was that drove them. The mystery I’ve yet to figure out is why people sign the papers letting them do those things in the first place. I mean, I know the Others don’t want to be hunted down and exterminated, but why would a rational human being willingly agree to something sucking their blood or initiating them into the world of the terminally furry?

Anyway, generally the contracts read that the Other could destroy your will, drink every last drop of blood in your body, and rip you to itty bits in the process, and they are considered free and clear from all wrongful death suits. These days, when they could get away with it, they also added in a clause giving immunity from any lawsuits that might result from turning the person with irreparable damage. After that suit last year, when some kid who had been left for dead turned Were without a hand, facial scarring, and a horrific chunk of flesh taken out of his arm, and sued the pants off the pack of the Were who infected him, any human who would sign a full immunity pre-/post-death clause was considered a highly prized commodity among the more feral Others.

In addition to all of that, if you (permanently) died while under contract, all material possessions were turned over to the “partner” if you failed to turn into an Other. Most of the time, the agreements were not worded to work both ways. Meaning, if I signed the document as is and I survived an attempt to kill or hurt Royce, I’d get thrown in jail, and my shares in H&W and my apartment and belongings would get turned over to him. But if this worked out the way I was thinking and I was successful, killing him instead, everything he owned would fall into my possession. It would also leave me free of any assault charges or wrongful death suit that might be brought against me for trying to kill an Other without a valid warrant.

It also gave me leverage to get him to just leave me the hell alone. While he was powerful, much more powerful than me, physically and otherwise, vampires don’t live as long as Royce had without having a strong sense of self-preservation. If he thought of me as a threat, he’d back off. With the contract worded to my benefit and the addition of the stakes to urge him to reconsider, this just might work. Not to mention if I got Royce to back down, it would more than likely cause The Circle to back off as well. They’d hopefully see me as more trouble than I’m worth.

I could see that Sara wasn’t happy with the idea, though she knew the dangers of signing the contract as it was, ignoring it entirely, or doing things my way. Probably better than I did. Still, I understood what I was asking her to do. If it ever got out that she did such a thing, she could be disbarred, fined, probably jailed, and lose her reputation as a fair and law-abiding citizen. She wouldn’t look at me when she finally spoke.

“Shia, I know I’m not a practicing lawyer, but I could lose my license over this. It could destroy the reputation of H&W. We may lose the business over this.”

I took a deep breath before answering, keeping my voice quiet and level so I wouldn’t betray my own feelings about the whole mess.

“I know. Believe me, I know. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Isn’t my life worth more than the business?”

I didn’t have to say it, and I felt horrible for even letting the words cross my lips, but without Sara’s help, I’d never survive this nightmare.

Eventually, she managed to drag her gaze from the ground to meet my eyes again, looking more drawn and pale than I’d ever seen her before.

“I’ll do it. This once, I’ll do it. But don’t ever, ever ask anything like this of me again.”

I nodded agreement, breathing a deep sigh of relief. With that out of the way, now I just needed to figure out how I could make an ancient vampire view me, a normal human, a woman, food, as a threat.

Chapter 15

I slept fitfully on the couch in Sara’s living room. She had guest bedrooms, but I wanted to be woken up if the dogs started barking at any intruders. After a little more talk and planning, she’d gone upstairs to work on the contract on her computer. I didn’t envy her having to retype the whole thing, not only that but then having to use her skills to edit the document just enough that Royce and I could legally go for each other’s throats without worry of legal interference.

I stared at the ceiling for a while, finally drifting off a little past midnight. Then I scared the crap out of myself when I rolled off the couch onto the floor in the middle of the night in the throes of a nightmare. The bruise on my hip from landing on my keys did not improve my mood one bit. The dogs barked for almost fifteen solid minutes, too. Thankfully, Sara must have figured there was no problem since she didn’t come down to check on me and grind my embarrassment home any further.

Two nights in a row of too little sleep didn’t make it any easier to answer Sara’s cheerful “G’mornin’” when she came downstairs around eight o’clock. Muttering darkly under my breath, I dragged myself off the couch and followed her into the kitchen, blearily watching her make coffee, scramble eggs, and toast bagels for breakfast.

“Hey, it’s Sunday,” she said.

I didn’t say anything, just stared back for a minute before riveting my gaze on the Mr. Coffee. I really, really wanted my caffeine fix.

“Sunday,” she said, grinning at my lack of response, “as in, it’s Damien’s birthday and we’re both expected at your mom’s house in a few hours.”

I started, practically jumping out of the seat I’d slumped into at the kitchen table. “Holy crap! It’s that Sunday?”

Dismayed, I looked at the clock on the microwave. I wouldn’t have enough time to get the gift from my apartment, shower, change clothes, call The Circle, and explain to Veronica why I was reneging on the contract while still making it to the party on time.

“Yup.” She shook the spatula at me threateningly. “Don’t even think about it. Deal with work tomorrow. Today’s supposed to be your day off anyway.”

I slid back into the chair, running my hands through my hair in agitation. Well, as much as I could with the unbrushed, tangled curls.

“It’s not just that. I need to get Damien’s gift. It’s in my closet at home.”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t. Not since the White Hats broke in the other day. If they’ve been watching you, they may have tried something drastic since you met with Royce again.”

Damn it all to hell and back, I’d forgotten about them. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any bright ideas for that, too?”

“Well, sure. We can swing by the mall on the way over to your mom’s.”

I meant the White Hats, but her idea to handle my brother’s gift made me feel a bit better. Though I soon remembered the contract, my not-quite-good mood shattering. “Did you finish with the papers last night?”

“No, not yet. I have to tweak the fonts and cut out a little of the wording to make it all fit right and say what we want it to say but still look enough like the old contract to pass a casual inspection.”

I nodded, wondering miserably how I was going to stand up to Royce. I quivered just at the sight of him, let alone his fangs. What would I do if he actually jumped at my throat?

“Do you really think he’ll just lodge them with the court without looking at them?”

She laughed at the worry in my voice. “Of course. Nobody but lawyers ever wants to read this kind of stuff. The form he used was really cookie-cutter, too.”

That made me wonder how she was familiar enough with this type of contract to know that it was cookie-cutter. “You’ve worked on these before?”

“Yeah,” she said, looking more sheepish than I’ve ever seen her. Was that a touch of red in her cheeks? “I took a job for a Were about six months ago. She thought her contract partner was cheating on her with another Were and wanted to know what he was up to. Turns out he was cheating, just not with another Were. She wanted to know what her rights were, so she showed me the fill-in-the-blanks standard form they had signed. I helped her a little since the guy she was dating was scum and I felt bad about having to break the news.”

Gross. I made a face and shook my head. “You pick the weirdest jobs.”

“Heh, yeah, I guess I do.” She grinned, plucking the hot bagels from the toaster. “Trust me, he’ll just look for your signature. You’re going to have to act really reluctant to hand them over if he’s going to believe you’ve given in, though.”

“That should be the easy part. I am reluctant to hand them over.”

The coffeemaker beeped. Finally. I rinsed out our mugs from last night and poured fresh coffee into both, picking through the cabinets, drawers, and fridge to get spoons, sugar, and cream. After fixing up our drinks, I handed one over to Sara before settling back into my seat at the table with a mug cradled in my cold hands.

Relaxing back into the chair, I shut my eyes, only to be startled by the earsplitting sound of one of the dogs going mental right under the window next to me. Some of the coffee sloshed over onto my hands, dragging a pained curse out of me as I sucked my burning fingers into my mouth.

“Shut up, Buster!” Sara shouted, handing me the spatula on her way to the front door. “It’s probably just the paper.”

I got up to tend to the stove, alternately sucking the fingers of one hand while poking and prodding at the eggs with the other. Sara walked back in a minute later, ashen and pale.

“Shia, what was the name of that woman from The Circle you met on Thursday?”

I glanced back at her over my shoulder, wondering at the slight waver to her voice. “Veronica. Veronica Wright. Why?”

She tossed the paper down next to the stove. I dropped the spatula and grabbed the paper, reeling in shock.

MAGE FOUND MURDERED!!! ARE THE OTHERS AT WAR? screamed the headline splashed across the front page. Right above Veronica’s smiling picture.

Chapter 16

I didn’t have much of an appetite, but I picked at the eggs Sara set down in front of me. I don’t even remember staggering to a seat, but somehow I managed it.

Whatever the cops found must have been pretty bad for the papers to jump on it that quickly. Apparently a neighbor complained about some strange sounds coming from Veronica’s apartment late last night. When the police showed up to investigate and no one answered the door, they busted in and found her body, mutilated and drained of blood. No witnesses and no leads except that it “looked like an Other attack.”

Of all the Others, magi were the closest relations to fullblood humans, according to the hematologists who had done studies. Despite that, any high school kid could tell you that we were still so fundamentally, biologically different that it was almost impossible for us to interbreed. Not impossible, but almost. We weren’t the same species, though we were closer in physical similarities than to once-human Weres or vampires.

Vampires used to be human, but like Weres, what turned them was a magically enhanced virus. It made them both completely different, biologically and metaphysically, even while, for the most part, retaining the physical structure that let them appear nearly human.

The vamp virus animated dead tissue, giving it the semblance of life only without the ability to retain or process certain proteins and enough oxygen to keep it “alive” without periodic infusions of fresh blood.

With Weres, the virus fundamentally altered the structure of their DNA so that they turned furry a few days out of the month. They were still basically human, and the males could and often did have kids with normal human females, with a seventy-five percent chance of said kids also turning furry on the full moon come puberty. Female Weres couldn’t have kids due to the fact that shapeshifting was so violent it generally ended up killing the fetuses well before they came to term.

Due to their “normal” appearance and fewer inhuman characteristics, magi weren’t normally treated like the rest of the Others, instead being considered to have the rights of humans. You didn’t need to sign any contracts to work with or have a relationship with a mage, unlike vampires and Were-folk. The White Hats, Mothers Against Others, Concerned Human Citizens, and other similar groups were mostly pissed off about vampires and Weres, and rarely lumped magi into their overzealous rants and witch hunts. However, when something freaky happened, you could rest assured the newshounds and extremists would slot mages into the “Other” category as quickly as a vamp or Were.

Hence Veronica being thrown into the “Other” mix in the headline. The news really didn’t give me much to work with. “Drained of blood” sounded like a vamp attack, but “torn to bits” sounded more like something a Were would do. Vamps didn’t have claws to shred with, and were generally too “refined” to bother using their strength to tear the limbs off their victims. However, Weres generally weren’t aggressive enough to do that kind of damage unless they were being threatened on their own turf while under the influence of the full moon. Plus, if they were shapeshifted, most types of Weres didn’t have the right mouth shape to suck blood out of a body.

“What do you make of it?” Sara asked around a mouthful of food.

Harrumphing, I laid the paper down and sipped gingerly at my coffee, reaching for my fork to poke at my eggs again. “I’m not sure. The police don’t have any leads. The way the paper makes it sound, it’s like a vamp worked together with a Were to tear her apart.”

Which isn’t technically possible, since vamps and Weres are pretty much natural enemies and get into pissing contests with each other at the drop of a hat.

Sara reached across to drag the paper over, skimming the article while she munched on her bagel. “We’d probably have more luck if we get the police file.”

I snickered, shaking my head. “Good luck. Unless you’re still dating Officer Lerian, I don’t see how you expect to get ahold of that.”

Her stiff silence told me enough.

“Oh my God, you are? I thought you two split for the last time like a month ago! ‘I’d rather chew my own arm off than go out with him again,’ you said.”

Muttering, she shoved her plate and the newspaper away, not meeting my eyes. “Yeah, well, so what? I changed my mind, big deal. He’s a nice enough guy.”

Yeah. The “nice enough guy” that tended to leave her in tears within a week or two of their falling back in bed together. I didn’t understand it. Mark Lerian was the proverbial tall, dark, and handsome man, though despite his profession and looks, he was one of the nicest guys I’d ever met. There was no conceit in him at all. He didn’t drink, smoke, or so much as cast an eye at other women whenever he was dating Sara. I know she thought she loved him. That’s what she said anyway. If not for the spats they inevitably had, they’d make the perfect couple.

Why these two couldn’t get along was beyond me, but I hated to see Sara cry. What drove me nuts was that she kept going back to him. They’d split up for a few weeks or a couple of months over something or other, usually because he disapproved too vocally of her lifestyle. Sara wasn’t the only one who disagreed with his views that being a detective was “too dangerous for a woman.” Instead of coming to terms, they inevitably fought, broke up, and within a few weeks were acting as if it never happened. Sara would come in to the office one day gushing about how everything was all better between them—then, BAM! It’d be over. Spectacularly over. Again. The record so far was twenty-two days between the rekindled romance and breakup fight. Wonder how long it would last this time.

I shook my head, figuring I’d give her a rough time about her love life when my own priorities were straightened out and I actually had some moral high ground to stand on. “Will he be able to give you anything on it?”

She shrugged, obviously relieved I wasn’t going to pursue the subject. “I don’t know without talking to him first. Since it’s all over the front page, he may not be able to get any useful info if he’s not assigned to the case. He also may not be willing to talk about it.”

Sighing, I finished off my bagel and got up to take my dish to the sink. I busied myself with the dishes as I tried to figure what Veronica’s murder might have to do with me. Who should I contact at The Circle since she was dead? Maybe Arnold would know what I should do. He might even be able to give me some help with Royce, since he’d offered.

That in mind, I turned back to Sara, who was trying to pull out the funnies without being too obvious about it. “Do you mind if I go upstairs and check my e-mail?”

“Nah, go for it.”

She settled back in the chair and I headed up to the office. She’d left the contract open on the monitor, and I skimmed the first couple of paragraphs, feeling my stomach churning with unease. Rather than freaking myself out any further, I minimized the window and opened up the Internet browser, logging into our work e-mail remotely.

I felt my stomach give another lurch—there, amid the massive amount of spam, was an e-mail from Veronica. It was from last night, around the time I was meeting with Royce, and from a personal e-mail address instead of The Circle’s corporate account. She was still alive while I was spilling out The Circle’s secrets to the vamp.

It took a minute for me to focus beyond her name and see what else was there. There was one from this morning from “ArnieGoblinSlayer20,” which I figured had to be from Arnold.

Feeling ill at reading a message from someone I knew was dead, I opened Veronica’s e-mail.

TO: S. Waynest
FROM: Veronica Wright
SUBJECT: RE: Update

Arnold told me you met with him. I know you’re probably with our subject as I write this, and I can only hope you remembered what I told you in our first meeting. I’ve also got some news you need to hear ASAP RE: this assignment. When/where can we meet?

It’s probably too late, but remember, watch and listen. You must find the mark. Time is of the essence, and it may mean the life of you and everything you love if it isn’t secured in time. I’m not threatening you, just letting you in a little late on the importance of this mission. I’m sure you’re smart enough to have realized by now that there’s more to this project that I haven’t told you. Unfortunately, I haven’t been left with a choice and need to give you some additional details and instructions before you continue looking for this thing.

Also, don’t antagonize the subject. You shouldn’t be in any danger, but I’ve gotten word that your cover may be compromised. Wear the perfume and charm at all times after nightfall. The belt may be overkill, so don’t wear it unless your life is truly in danger. Consider them gifts from The Circle.

One last thing—if you’re feeling in over your head, you are. There are more players in the game than I initially thought. I’m trying to buy you time. Don’t screw this up, or losing your PI license will be the least of your worries. That is a threat.

I reread the message. And again. Damn, that woman was good at making me uncomfortable, even when she was dead.

Shaking off the willies from reading a dead person’s e-mail, I clicked open the one from Arnold. I was mentally counting down the minutes until the police might start looking for me in connection with Veronica’s death, since I was probably one of the last people she called or e-mailed before she was killed.

TO: S. Waynest
FROM: ArnieGoblinSlayer20
SUBJECT: V.W. and the belt

Hi, Shiarra, hope this makes it past your spam filters. I am e-mailing you from home, I just saw the news. If you haven’t already, pick up the paper or check the local news on the Net, you’ll see.

I figure by now you’re probably in a tough spot. I might be able to help.

Start wearing the belt at night, no matter what. Don’t leave home without the necklace or perfume on. You might be in danger during the day, too, so call my cell as soon as you get this (212-555-9035).

Arnold

I sighed deeply, running my hand over my face. This whole tangled mess just kept getting better and better.

Chapter 17

I printed out both e-mails and brought them downstairs, going straight to my purse and digging out my cell phone. Sara came into the doorway, leaning against the frame to watch what I was doing.

“Anything interesting in the mail?”

Punching in Arnold’s number, I listened to the other end ring while holding out the printouts for her to read. She sat down next to me on the couch, propping her feet up on the coffee table while she read them.

Arnold picked up on the fifth ring.

“Arnold? It’s Shiarra.”

“Oh, thank God.” He sounded both rushed and relieved. “I was afraid you might be dead, too. Listen, if you’re at home, get out. Go somewhere safe, somewhere no one knows you. A hotel maybe, out of the county or even out of state would be best.”

“What?” I knew it sounded stupid, since I’d heard him clearly. I was just so incredulous.

He sighed into the phone, making me cringe at the crackling sound right in my ear. “Look, there’s some crazy stuff happening. Word must have gotten out that Royce has the focus. We were trying to keep it quiet, but somehow a couple of packs of Weres, another coven of magi, and a whole shitload of other vampires found out about it. Even some of the White Hats might know something about it by now. They’re all gunning for it, and him. I wasn’t expecting this or I would’ve given you more firepower when you came by.”

I propped my elbow on my knee and held my head up with that hand, closing my eyes as I tried to think of something useful to say. “What the hell did you guys drag me into?”

“Not ‘you guys,’” he said, annoyed. “Veronica hired you, not me. I never would’ve gone this route if I’d been in her shoes, but she thought she knew best. I tried to tell her the probability of success was less than thirteen percent doing it this way, but no, I’m just the Head of Security for the Arcane Division and she’s the Assistant VP of Purchasing and Acquisitions. Apparently I don’t know squat about these things.”

“Yeah, right, be quiet a sec. It’s a little late to hold a grudge. Not to sound like an unfeeling bitch, but she’s dead and I’m not. I’d like to stay alive. Can you help me?”

He took a deep breath and once again let it out right into my ear. I held the phone a few inches away until he started talking again.

“Yeah, sorry. Yeah.”

“Great. So what can you tell me about this thing?” I asked, trying to rein in my temper. A headache started pulsing right between my eyes, not improving my mood one bit.

“I can’t,” he said, sounding nervous now. “Not over the phone. Where are you now? I’ll come meet you.”

I thought about what I had to get done this morning and gauged the urgency of his tone and what I knew of the situation against the probable amount of hell I’d receive if I missed Damien’s birthday bash.

Sara took my moment of silence to interject a few words. “Hey, what’s he say? Is he going to talk?”

Arnold must have overheard her voice, because he spoke up immediately, his nervousness even more pronounced. “Who was that? Who’s with you?”

I waved at Sara to be quiet while trying to make my tone of voice reasonably soothing. I don’t think it worked. “Don’t worry about it, she’s on our side.” My side anyway. “I’m supposed to go see my family in just a couple of hours. How long do you think this will take?”

“Oh, geez, don’t let the possible end of the world as we know it get in the way of your family plans.” I could almost see him on the other end of the line waving his hands in the air dramatically to punctuate his words. “Your life is about to be taken and probably everyone you know is in danger, but hey, by all means go to the movies or whatever.”

“Are you finished?” I asked, more than a little annoyed. I didn’t ask to get dragged into this, and I was getting pissed off that everyone I dealt with the last couple of days assumed I’d do things their way. That or they bullied me into it.

He growled something harsh under his breath, but a second later he said calmly, “I’m done. But I’m thinking it would behoove me to stick with you for the next day or two, at least until this blows over. Especially after what happened to Veronica. I don’t want to see the same thing happen to you, and I feel partly responsible for putting you in this danger in the first place.”

“Uh, yeah, about that,” I started, suddenly remembering with crystal clarity and a sinking heart how Royce had laid down his terms. “I’m kind of in a tough spot at the moment. Royce found out what I was after, and he said he’s buying out The Circle’s contract. He wanted me to tell someone if there were questions, refer them back to him, but afterward cut all ties with The Circle.”

Arnold went quiet. I could have just about died of embarrassment, sure he must have figured out that I broke under pressure. When it came, his voice was low, even, and controlled, belying the near-panic of a few moments before and the geeky exterior he put on.

“What else did he say? Did he literally say ‘cut all ties with The Circle’ or how did he word it?”

My, he was taking this much better than I thought he would. I was starting to see why they chose him for the head of security.

“He actually said, ‘You are to end all contact with The Circle except to tell them that your contract with them is null.’ He also told me I need to turn the belt over to him, but I can keep the other stuff. I’m supposed to keep my mouth shut about that little statue thing. He also wants me to sign papers.”

“Good God, and you agreed to this? Willingly?”

“I had to!” I couldn’t keep from raising my voice, and I jumped when Sara put a hand on my shoulder in a silent attempt to calm me down. It didn’t work. “He’s threatened to bring my family into this. I didn’t want to do it, but I didn’t have much choice at the time. I’m trying to do the best I can with what I’ve been given, so at least give me some credit for that. Besides, I’ve got a plan to deal with him anyway.”

To his credit, he at least made an attempt at sounding sheepish. “Sorry. Under the circumstances, it just sounds a little extreme, even for a vamp. He must want something out of you to put you in that kind of position.”

“No kidding.”

“There’s a bright side to this, though, since he didn’t tell you to cut ties with all employees, just with ‘The Circle.’ That means I can still technically help you as long as I’m doing it as your friend instead of as part of the coven, under the corporation’s cover. I’ll waive any fees since I’ve got a personal stake in this anyway.”

Well, fancy that. I hadn’t even thought of Royce’s terms that way. Maybe I did have more slack to work with than I thought, and I was really lucky Arnold was going to help me get through this pro bono. Getting a professionally trained mage to act as your metaphysical bodyguard generally was something only the very well-to-do could afford.

“Thank you.” I felt like ten-pound weights had just lifted off my shoulders. “I’m really grateful for all your help. You’ve already done a lot for me.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Like I said, I’ve got personal reasons for doing this, it’s not all for your sake. Oh, and where is this thing with your family? Are you leaving now? I’ll just meet you there and stick with you until I can figure out a better solution to keep you safe.”

Recalling the dice, the coke-bottle glasses, and the weird T-shirt, I couldn’t help cringing at the idea of having him show up at my brother’s birthday party. They’d probably think I was dating him, and I’d have to go along with it since I couldn’t tell them what he was really doing there.

“This can’t wait just a few more hours?”

He sounded less enthusiastic than I felt. “No. I don’t want to take any chances at having another death hanging over my head. Especially a preventable one.”

“Great.” I sighed, steeling myself for the inevitable twenty questions from Sara, my brothers, and worst of all, my parents. What the heck could be so dangerous as to merit having a mage bodyguard at a family barbeque? “Then you’re going to have to keep quiet around my relatives about what’s going on. And be prepared to deal with my overprotective brothers.” And politically incorrect parents. I sincerely hoped they wouldn’t realize right off that he was a spark. And even more, that they wouldn’t say something offensive.

“No sweat. Give me the address.”

I did, feeling more and more uneasy by the minute. My family hated that I was a PI instead of doing something “safe” like nursing or waitressing or being a secretary somewhere and “letting a man take care of me.” I briefly thought about asking him to pretend to be human, then realized resignedly that would make me even worse than my family for trying to make him be something he wasn’t. Besides which, I doubt he had any way of tamping down the aura that followed in the wake of any actively practicing mage.

“Great, I’ll meet you there in about an hour?” he said.

“Yeah, maybe an hour and a half.” I made a face at Sara as she mimed being love-struck, clasping her hands over her heart and fluttering her lashes goofily. I smacked her in the arm, wincing when she hit me right back. “See you there.”

As I ended the call, Sara once again kicked back in the chair, examining her nails. “You really think your dad isn’t going to notice he’s a mage?”

I shrugged, staring at the phone in my hand. “Maybe not at first. Eventually he’ll figure it out.”

“Guess you better get ready to face the music then.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, rising with a groan to head to the shower. “I guess so.”

Chapter 18

After I was ready, Sara and I drove to my parents’ place on Long Island, swinging by the mall so I could grab a latte and a gift. I felt especially cheesy for getting Damien a gift card and a movie, but I figured he’d get a laugh out of Zombie Cheerleaders from Outer Space and might forgive me if I gave him something cool later. Assuming I lived long enough to get the real gift I’d bought him, buried in a closet back at my apartment.

Though I wasn’t comfortable about it, I stuffed the belt and perfume into my duffel and put on the necklace before I left. The bag was perched in my back seat, and I felt a little better knowing I had some manner of weapon with me, even though I didn’t know how I’d ever bring myself to use it.

The street was shaded with old oaks and elms, the yards wide and deep, with lots of kids running around and riding bikes up and down the steep hill. I loved the view from up here; the balcony at the back of my parents’ house looked out on the water less than a mile away. The smell of salt was thick in the air and the sky faintly overcast, but it was clear and warm enough that it wouldn’t stop my dad from firing up the barbecue. It would probably rain tonight. Just what I needed to improve my mood.

Arnold was there already, though I almost overlooked him leaning against a high-end sports car, which probably had a monthly payment higher than most people’s mortgages. He hadn’t struck me as the type to drive something so flashy. Surprise, surprise, he was also wearing presentable jeans and a nicely unassuming black button-down shirt under a leather jacket, with the hint of a white T-shirt showing at his collar. Somewhere along the way he’d lost the glasses. He looked like a totally different person, and made me feel like a heel for thinking that someone that worked for a company as high profile as The Circle wouldn’t know how to dress.

“Hey, you made it,” I said. “How long have you been waiting?”

“Not long.” He turned to Sara, who was eyeing him from my side. He extended his hand to her in greeting. “Hi, I’m Arnold.”

“Sara.” She shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Arnold.”

“She’s my partner.” I noted the strange look he was giving us and rolled my eyes. “My business partner.”

From the way his expression immediately cleared up, I knew he had been thinking Sara and I were an item. Ugh. Moving right along.

“Do you want to tell me now what you couldn’t say over the phone, or after you deal with my prying siblings?”

He frowned at me like I was foolish for asking. “I don’t think this is a good place for it. Why don’t we discuss it after we leave? In the car, maybe?”

“You planning on leaving your car here?” I asked, incredulous. I mean, not that there’s tons of crime in this neighborhood, but you don’t just leave a car like his sitting out in the middle of the street, even in suburbia.

He sighed, now obviously annoyed. “I thought I’d be driving, since I’m supposed to be watching over you, not the other way around. There are probably some people on the streets looking for you right now, which means they’re also going to be watching for your car.”

“Oh.” Brilliant. And here I thought I knew what I was doing, being Miss Bad Ass PI and all. “Okay, you’ve got a point. I’ll see if I can leave my car in my parents’ garage for the week, but I’ll need a cover story.”

“That’s easy enough,” Sara chimed in. “Just tell them that we’re all going to my place in the Hamptons for a week and you don’t want to leave your car in the garage at the apartment. Didn’t someone steal your radio a month ago?”

“More like three, but yeah. Good idea.”

With that settled, I headed toward my parents’ house. It was a fairly decent-sized two-story colonial with a vibrantly green front yard, whitewashed walls, and dark green trim. My mom likes traditional décor and my dad loves the rustic look, so along with antique furniture and plush carpeting, they have trophies and hunting equipment hung up all over the place.

Someone had left the front door open, and I could hear a football game on the big screen in the living room. The three of us walked up the wide steps and through the screen door. My mom, who was an older, shorter, curvier version of me, poked her head out of the kitchen to see who was in the hall. She brushed a few faded red curls out of her eyes and smiled, a reflection of my own amber eyes glinting back at me.

“Hey, honey, you’re just in time. The potato skins and hot wings will be done in about five minutes. Who’s this you’ve got with you?”

Arnold peered over my head, lifting his hand in a friendly wave and smiling. “Hi there, Mrs. Waynest. I’m Arnold, hope you don’t mind my dropping in with Shiarra.”

“Not at all.”

She stepped into the hall to usher us in and give Arnold a warm handshake and a once-over. Not to mention shoot me a questioning look. There was something close to guilt behind it that made me instantly suspicious, though I couldn’t exactly say anything about it in front of Arnold.

“Is Janine coming?” Mom asked.

“No, I’m afraid not,” Sara said, amused.

My mom loved Sara and had taken her under her wing and wanted desperately to do the same with Janine. She invited her to everything and Janine always said no, except once when she unexpectedly showed up at a Superbowl party. Mom took the opportunity to try to pair her up with Damien, but it was a disaster and Janine never accepted another invitation again. Though we never knew whether it was her general fear of men or something about my brother (his horrible taste in movies, perhaps) that drove her off, I couldn’t say I was sorry not to have her along today. My mom still persisted in cheerfully inviting her to every family shindig we had. She was nothing if not tenacious.

“I think she’s still in London, but I’ll tell her you asked after her the next time I see her.”

“Oh, that’s unfortunate. Well, the boys are all in the living room watching the game, why don’t you go on in there and relax? I’ll bring the finger food out in a few minutes, and I’m sure Rob will be firing up the barbecue soon.”

“Sounds great,” Arnold said, giving me a sidelong look and a smile that bordered on sly. I couldn’t imagine why, and it made me even more uneasy.

“Thanks, Carol. Do you need help in the kitchen?” Sara asked.

“No, everything is just about ready. Go on inside, I’ll join you kids in a few minutes.” She hurried off into the kitchen, almost like she was trying to avoid further conversation. Usually she’d ask Sara and me to help or at least stand around and talk for a few minutes to see how we were doing. Weird. Especially since I’d brought Arnold. Every other time I brought a boy to the house, it always started with twenty questions, usually ending up with me embarrassed, if not the guy, too, so this was a nice change of pace.

Glad that we’d passed the first hurdle smoothly, I sincerely hoped my dad and brothers would be equally easy to deal with as I led the way to the living room. Damien and Mikey were avidly watching the game on the TV, and it looked like Mikey’s girlfriend, Angela, had curled up on the couch next to him and fallen asleep on his shoulder. I glanced to the side as I walked in and almost tripped over my own feet at what I saw.

My dad was in the corner playing chess with my ex-boyfriend.

Chapter 19

“Hey love, nice to see you,” Chaz said as I froze in horror in the doorway.

He looked just as good as ever, bright eyes as blue as the summer sky, blond hair sticking up in short, gelled spikes, and utterly oblivious to the cold spring winds outside, in a tight tank top that matched his eyes and did an admirable job of showing off his slightly hairy but firmly muscled arms and chest. Everyone but Angela looked up as Sara and Arnold came to a dead stop behind me, and I could almost feel the attention riveting on Arnold the second he appeared.

My dad rescued me by standing up. I know some gears must have been turning but he showed no sign as he wrapped one of his tree-trunk arms around my shoulders.

“Glad you made it, girls. And who’s this?” He didn’t let go of me as he extended his free hand to Arnold.

Arnold didn’t flinch at putting his much smaller hand in my dad’s, and I tensed in anticipation of it getting crushed in Dad’s grip. He used to play football, worked in construction for over twenty years, and was built like a truck. His thinning yellow-reddish hair was straight but almost as long as mine. He liked to tie it back at the nape of his neck, making him look like an aging heavy metal drummer or retired Hell’s Angel or something. Thankfully, Dad generally isn’t a “mutilate first, ask questions later” kind of guy, and he didn’t destroy Arnold’s hand when he shook it.

“Mr. Waynest? I’m Arnold. I’m a friend of Shia’s.”

“Nice to meet you, Arnold,” he said, glancing down at me before hastening into introductions. “I’m Rob. That’s Chaz at the chess table, and my boys Michael and Damien on the couch. That’s Mike’s girlfriend, Angela. Why don’t you come on in and have a seat?”

They each gave a little wave, except for Chaz, who looked like he was fighting an inner battle not to launch himself across the room for Arnold’s throat. He’d always been the jealous type.

Sara immediately headed to the far end of the room, plopping into one of the recliners and watching the rest of us with interest. I felt like a bug under a microscope as Mikey and Damien scooted over on the couch, making room for Arnold and me. Mostly it was Chaz making me nervous. What the hell was he doing here? I’d told my mom we’d broken up almost two months ago.

I sat down next to Damien and we hugged. “Happy b-day, little bro.”

Damien grinned at me, a younger, thinner version of my dad with my mom’s eyes and hair. He usually kept it cropped short and bleached it a little so it wasn’t a shock of fire red ringlets like mine and Mom’s. Mikey was the one who inherited the softer, straight coppery hair and green eyes of my dad, though both of them were built like him and took after him in the sports department.

“Thanks, sis. Hey, so, Arnold,” he said, leaning forward to peer around me at the mage, “what do you do?”

My mom walked in with a tray of goodies, throwing me a pained, apologetic look as she set it down on the coffee table. That made me about ninety-nine percent sure that she was the one who invited Chaz.

Arnold reached out to grab a potato skin. “I’m in security. How about you? Oh, and happy birthday, man. I didn’t realize or I would’ve brought something.”

Damien chuckled and took a hot wing. “Don’t worry about it. Security, huh? You and Shia must be like peas in a pod then. I’m a firefighter.”

Mikey added, “I’m a lawyer. Angela here is a paralegal. She’ll probably talk your ear off about it once she wakes up.”

He and Damien shared a grin, and I couldn’t help but add to it. Angela really is a chatterbox. A very blond, very cute, and very smart chatterbox. I hope the two of them get hitched soon; they’ve been dragging things out way too long.

Chaz made a move on the chessboard and got up, heading for the snacks. His movements were even more sinuous and snakelike than I remembered. I guess when Weres thought someone was horning in on their territory, they started acting more predatory.

“Any of you boys want a drink?” my mom asked, edging away from the table.

A chorus of “yeahs” came up from around the room and my mom skittered off back to the kitchen.

Chaz didn’t take any food but stood close, next to the couch, and kept his gaze riveted on Arnold. Even with his hands pocketed in his jeans, the air of suppressed violence made me glad I was sitting between two guys, even if there was nothing they could do against an angry werewolf anyway.

“So. How long have you two been together?”

Hoo boy. This didn’t bode well.

Arnold answered before I could even open my mouth. “Not long.” His tone of voice said “drop it” but it didn’t look like Chaz was about to back down. I couldn’t believe that Arnold was playing along with it like we were an item.

“Guess you two met and sparks flew, hmm?”

I started at that emphasis, wondering how Chaz could possibly know he was a mage. Arnold leaned back, putting one arm up on the back of the couch and the other over my shoulder. I shot him a horrified look, but I think the only person who saw it was Sara, who looked like she was trying hard not to laugh.

“Something like that,” Arnold replied, his own tones as casually biting as Chaz’s. “That’s why we’re headed out of town after this. She mentioned being tired of being up at all hours, especially with the full moon coming. Wants to get away from all the furballs and fanged things coming out of the woodwork for a few days. Can’t say I blame her.”

I could have just about died right there. I could not believe a werewolf and a mage were having a pissing contest in my parents’ living room, veiled or not. Feeling this was getting way out of control, and far too fast, I cut in, a little desperately, “Um, Dad, how much longer before the barbeque? I’m starving.”

My dad looked up absently from the chessboard, though I knew he had been paying close attention to everything being said. He was a smart cookie; it would be a small miracle if he hadn’t realized what was going unsaid in the conversation just a few feet away. Mike was frowning and Damien just looked amused.

“I’ll go fire it up now. Mikey, Damien, come give your ol’ dad a hand.”

The boys got up, Mike carefully dislodging Angela so she could curl up on the couch. She stirred a bit but didn’t wake. Chaz stayed where he was, and I just sat stiffly next to Arnold, who was all too relaxed. The two Others sized each other up silently as my dad and brothers shuffled out of the room.

Once they were gone, Sara spoke up first. “Chaz, stop being a jerk. She broke it off with you two months ago. Why are you even here?”

As one, Arnold, and Chaz, and I all turned to look at Sara. I think I was more surprised than either of them.

“Carol invited me. I wasn’t about to turn down the chance to make things right with Shia.” He turned back to look at me, his gaze softening and deep voice turning faintly pleading and cajoling with that hint of a growl to it that I’d once thought sexy as hell. Now realizing the guttural quality was due to his being an Other, it just gave me the shivers. “You know I never meant to scare you like that. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”

Chaz was adorable. He had a look of such contrite longing with that edge of question and desire that it was difficult to remember why I needed to say no.

Shifting while we were alone and postcoital was quite possibly the worst method imaginable he could have used to break the news. A few drinks and the afterglow did absolutely nothing to stifle my shock, not to mention my fear at having a monster straight out of a fairytale appear in my living room—even though said monster had not long before done such boyfriend-esque things as pick up tampons and watch While You Were Sleeping with me.

I don’t know what got into his head that he decided to spring it on me at the time. We’d worked our schedules to align so that we had that night and the whole of the next day off together. I made dinner, we had some wine, and I put a movie on in the living room we didn’t bother to watch. Afterward, he insisted he needed to tell me something that couldn’t wait. There I was, getting excited and thinking he was about to pop The Question. Instead, he got up and stood next to the couch. Before I knew it, after a short series of sickening pops and creaks and a rush of fur, there was this big, gray wolf with Chaz’s eyes staring at me.

I screamed bloody murder and had a fit. It took me a few minutes to get brave enough to grab one of the throw pillows to cover myself while I opened the door and booted him out. He didn’t do anything but whine and put his tail between his legs, skittering out of my apartment like a kicked puppy. It was rather incongruous since as a wolf he was roughly the size and dimensions of an exceptionally buff Saint Bernard. None of my neighbors had called the cops or done more than peek into the hall before slamming their doors shut.

I mailed his clothes and a few of his things he’d left at my apartment back to him a week later, and wouldn’t talk to him for over a month afterward, vowing I’d never date the lying furball again. What if there was something else he was hiding? If we were ever to sleep with each other again, I’d have to sign one of those freaky contracts binding me to him. It would leave me open to the possibility of him turning me Were—with or without my consent. His deceit throughout the entirety of our relationship made trusting him impossible.

He got off light under the circumstances. Me screaming at him and kicking him out was a cake-walk compared to being jailed and, in all likelihood, killed for his indiscretion. The justice system didn’t take kindly to Others who ignored the legal requirement of Weres and vampires to contract anyone they got “intimate” with—in any sense of the word. I hadn’t filed a formal complaint, but that didn’t mean I was open to fooling around with him again. Bad enough I was about to be contracted to Royce; it was time to put my foot down.

Even though that look of his made me blush like a schoolgirl, I didn’t turn away. Instead, I took a deep breath to steady myself, eventually managing to find my voice. “Doesn’t matter. We’re done. It’s over. Move on.”

Arnold seemed immeasurably pleased at my words, though he was wise enough to keep his mouth shut. Chaz’s shoulders slumped and he trudged over to a recliner, sitting on the edge and leaning forward expectantly.

“I wish you’d reconsider. At the very least we can still be friends. It’ll kill me to see you with a mage, but as long as I still get to see you now and then, I’ll be happy.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa. What the hell was this? Chaz was never the sentimental type. I was instantly suspicious, though unfortunately I couldn’t seem to suppress the growing attraction I had for him.

He’d been a sweetheart (if a bit of an egotist) before we’d split up. Not so much in the flowers-and-chocolates kind of way as the hold-the-door-and-pick-up-the-tab way. And damn but did he ever look good; he had everything I liked. Muscles, intelligence, and a touch of the bad boy—a formidable combo when it came to my hormones. At least I knew now where the hint of danger in his personality came from. It didn’t help said hormones any that he was eyeing me like he was wondering just how close Arnold and I had become and what his chances were of getting back in my pants. Yeah, I recognized that look.

Knowing he could probably smell the first stirrings of desire on me, I gave a little frustrated curse under my breath before shoving myself off the couch and walking toward the kitchen. If he’d been human, maybe, maybe I would have been able to sit there and bear his scrutiny, but knowing what I knew now about Others, I couldn’t deal with it. Not this soon after Royce, and especially not on less than six hours of sleep in the last forty-eight.

“Chaz, I can’t talk about this right now. Just stay here, I’ll discuss it later.” I could almost feel the three of them—Chaz, Arnold, and even Sara—starting to protest. “Don’t even get me started. All of you stay here, I’ll be back.”

I had to talk to Mom about this.

Chapter 20

My mom was putting sodas and beer on a tray when I came in, her back to me as she rummaged in the fridge. She almost dropped the bottle in her hand when she turned around and saw me, her eyes widening with surprise and a measure of guilt.

“Oh, sweetie, you startled me. Help me carry this in to the boys.” The words were rushed, and she started to bustle around like she was going to run out of there and avoid me some more.

“Mom, hold up a sec.” I walked over and put a hand on the tray to keep her from grabbing it and rushing out. “Why did you invite Chaz over? I know I told you we broke up.”

She sighed, leaning her hip against the counter and folding her arms. “I want grandkids, Shia. You and Chaz seemed to be getting along great, and frankly I don’t see Mikey or Damien settling down before you do. Chaz is a nice boy. I can’t understand why you didn’t try to work things out with him.”

A spot of red betrayed her embarrassment, but she sounded firm and sure of herself. That was something we both shared; when backed into a corner, even if we were afraid or embarrassed, we usually came clean about what we were thinking.

“You were with him for almost five months, that’s the longest I’ve seen you with anyone since high school.”

Oh God, not this again. “So you thought by inviting him over today we’d just magically end up back together?”

I knew it came out snotty, but at that point I didn’t care. I hated it when my mom tried to set me up with someone, more still when she was sneaky about it.

“Well, I didn’t think you’d be bringing another boy over,” she said defensively. “I was starting to worry about you. Spending all your time with Sara makes people wonder, honey. I just want the best for you.”

It felt like my cheeks had suddenly caught fire. My face must have looked about as red as my hair. Even my mom thought I was into girls now? This was getting well and truly embarrassing, not to mention annoying.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. I date, Mom, I just don’t usually bring men over! The minute you start talking grandkids, you know they’re going to run for the hills.”

She gave me a pitying look and I remembered again why I never brought boys over to the house. “It’s okay, I believe you. Just remember, you’re not getting any younger and neither are me or your dad. We want to see you safe and happy with a family of your own, that’s all.”

Safe? With a werewolf? I remembered guiltily that I hadn’t told her that part about the breakup, and it made me feel even worse since I couldn’t say anything about it now. She’d have conniptions if she found out there was a Were in the house. My parents aren’t so déclassé as to be White Hats or part of the less vocal, but just as obnoxious, Concerned Human Citizens. However, they aren’t exactly supportive of the equal rights movement for the Others either. As long as none of them moved into the neighborhood and they stayed out in the city, my parents would tolerate them, but that was about it.

“Yeah, well, Arnold’s a great guy, too. He’s looking out for me.”

I truly hoped I wasn’t digging myself a deeper hole by telling her this. If she somehow found out later that Arnold was a mage, she’d kill me. Probably not so much because he could do magic but because, even if we somehow ended up together, the chances of us having kids was slim to none. Not that I was considering actually dating him. Yikes.

“You should let him take care of you, then. Your line of work is dangerous, honey. Dealing with monsters should be left to the experts, like the police. That stunt last month almost gave your dad a heart attack.”

That made me cringe. I hadn’t realized they knew about the thing at the Embassy.

She continued, “The last thing we want is to see you or Sara get hurt.”

I reached over to grab one of the beers, feeling more than shitty about having to hide what was really going on in my life. I just couldn’t see a way around it; the truth really would give my parents a stroke. Especially if they found out about Royce and the papers. My dad would probably try to stake Royce himself if he found out. Who knows what my mom might do.

Keeping my gaze off her own, I held the cold beer to my forehead for a few seconds, hoping to cool the burning heat of embarrassment while I also tried to swallow down the guilt and think of something useful to say. That’s when I remembered I was supposed to leave my car here and had a cover story to match.

“That’s part of why I’m going out of town. We’re going to take a vacation in the Hamptons for a week.” God, I was so going to burn for this later, I just knew it. “Look, I know my job is dangerous but it is my job, and I can’t just fob off the dangerous stuff on someone else. I won’t ask Sara to take the dangerous stints for me.”

She frowned, busying herself with the cans and bottles again. “I don’t want you to give all the dangerous jobs to Sara either, I want you to give them to the cops where they belong.”

I threw my free hand up, trying to convey my exasperation. “The cops won’t take the jobs we take, Ma. That isn’t what cops do. We track people down and do surveillance, not arrest them. Most of the time I never even talk to the people I’m tailing. It’s not as bad as you think.”

Most of the time. Except when dealing with magi, Weres, and vamps, it wasn’t that dangerous at all.

“All right, all right. No need to get in a huff about it.” Finally, she was backing down. “I only bug you about it because I care about you.”

Twisting the cap off the beer, I took a swig and stared out the window. There was a fat squirrel on the bird feeder in the elm tree, stuffing itself silly on stolen birdseed.

“Can I leave my car here in the garage until I get back? I don’t want someone breaking in again.”

That much was true, at least. I had just spent a ridiculous sum fixing the broken window and replacing the stolen radio and would hate to have to go through that hassle again.

“Sure, that’s fine. I just wish you’d think about a career change. You know your dad and I would be more than happy to help put you back through school if you want to do something different.”

“I like my line of work, Ma. I’m going to stick with it.” Turning my gaze back to her, I smiled to soften the blow I knew those words were trying to make light of it. “At least I’m not a cop, right?”

She laughed, obviously heartily amused by the thought. Yeah. Funny.

I felt really bad about hiding things from her, especially how dangerous my job had actually become in the last few days, but at least she was nodding agreement now instead of badgering me about my love life.

“You always were headstrong, doing things your own way.” Her wry grin of amusement dragged one out of me in return. “Got it from me, you know.”

I chuckled, feeling another pang of guilt, fear, and heartache that I wished more than ever I could share with her. Especially since, after next Monday night, I might never see her again. Tears stung in my eyes, and I turned away so she wouldn’t see.

“Yeah, Mom, I know.”

Chapter 21

Throughout the rest of the day, things settled down into an uneasy peace. Chaz and Arnold threw a few verbal salvos at each other, but never outright clashed or degenerated into anything physical. They were actually civil to each other over dinner on the deck, sitting across from one another at the picnic table. I wasn’t sure if it was for my sake, or for the sake of blending in with my family. Probably the latter, since the survival of the Others had depended upon their ability to pass for human prior to their announcing their existence to the world. Hard to believe that happened less than ten years ago.

Once Angela woke up and joined us, she had, as predicted, chattered up a cheerful storm about the case her boss had won against Mikey. He groaned and complained and tried to get her to shut up about it, smiling the whole time. She also took a keen interest in Arnold and managed to glean some interesting tidbits from him, like the fact that he had graduated from a very upper-crusty institute of technology, was from a well-to-do family from Seattle, moved to New York just over a year ago, and was overly fond of cheese fries.

Fortunately, he didn’t say anything about magic or dice or Dungeon Quest or whatever the heck it was he played.

Damien cracked up over the movie when he unwrapped it, and I promised to come over and watch it with him soon. Once the cake was eaten and the last of the presents unwrapped, I said it was time for us to go back to Sara’s.

Chaz was the only one who protested, though only mildly. I think he knew he was pushing my buttons by hanging around tonight. The good-byes were quick and relatively painless, my dad making it a point to invite Arnold over to watch the game on the big screen the next Sunday with him and my brothers.

Weirded out by the strain and awkwardness of the day, I slid into the back seat of Arnold’s car and shut my eyes, too tired and drained by two nights of almost no sleep to think anymore. Sara offered to put my car in the garage and grab my stuff, and I was quick to take her up on it.

A few minutes later, she tossed the bag into my lap, waking me from my stupor as she slid into the front passenger seat. Arnold had already started the car, and the faint sound of rock music drifted out of the speakers. I shifted around as much as I could to get comfortable, closing my eyes again as he pulled out.

“So, Shia,” he said, “that was remarkably awkward. You dated a Were?”

I growled a curse under my breath before answering. “Yes, I did. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Your life is my business right now. Anything else like that I’m going to have to field if I’m hanging around you the next few days?”

Sara cut me off before I could speak. “Of course there is. This is Shia we’re talking about.”

I flipped her off, not that she could see it. “There is a lot I need to tell you. But you promised to tell me something once we got in the car. You go first. Spill it.”

His grip tightened on the wheel so hard I could hear the leather squeak. Touchy.

“Okay. Veronica asked you to find an object called a focus, which grants powers to the holder. Depending on what type of creature is using it, the powers it grants are different. It’s never been in the hands of magi so far as I know, but when a Were uses it, he can summon and force the transformation on other Weres around them. It augments the strength of the pack in possession of it, and can actually bind other packs temporarily into one much larger force, all working toward whatever the holder’s goal may be. When a vampire uses it, he or she can also summon, control, and force transformation on a Were. However, it doesn’t do much else for vamps and they have a harder time calling more than a few Weres at a time.

“This thing was supposedly destroyed before World War One. I have no idea how Royce found it, but we got a tip that he was using it about four months ago. Veronica was in Acquisitions. She was assigned to get it from Royce at any cost, but quietly and discreetly. Before she got in touch with you, she had tried contacting Royce directly. When he refused to sell, she sent someone in to steal it.”

He muttered a faint curse, coming to a smooth stop at a light and once more throwing me a quick glance.

“The focus was hidden and the mage who tried to get it was killed. It was hushed up and a directive came down that Veronica needed to find a way to smooth things over with Royce and a different method of locating it and getting her hands on it without any more losses to the coven. Hence her hiring you. I’m assuming Royce found out somehow that you were working for us, and that he’s the one responsible for Vero’s death.”

Though I’d been on the verge of falling asleep when he started speaking, by the end of his little speech I was bolt upright in the cramped back seat. What he’d just said meant that spilling my guts to Royce about working for The Circle effectively sealed Veronica’s death warrant. I don’t think it was possible for me to feel more heartsick or guilty than I did at that moment.

Knowing it would come out sooner or later, I gritted my teeth and just said it. “I was the one who told him I was working for The Circle. He knew about it before I said anything, but I confirmed it. Some girl named Allison came in, the one who works reception at your office. She told him about the belt you gave me and after that he thought I was sent by The Circle to kill him. I didn’t go in there intending to tell him anything, but when he looked like he was about to go for my throat, I couldn’t help it. I spilled and told him what I was really there for.”

Arnold didn’t move and didn’t look back at me. His gaze seemed faraway and his attention elsewhere, because the light had turned green and he hadn’t taken his foot off the brake. Since we were still in the ’burbs, no one was behind him honking for him to get a move on yet. Eventually he came back to the present, flooring it and jolting me back.

“He knew before you even came to his office? That you were working for us? You just confirmed it for him.”

“Yeah. And let us not forget Miss Bitchy Receptionist of the Year who came in and blew my cover story out of the water.”

Irritation cut through his voice. “I heard what you said. I knew Allison was up to something with Royce’s business, but I didn’t think she had a direct line in to him. Two-timing corporate whore. I told the CEO to fire her months ago.”

Sara actually laughed at that, though it was more incredulous than amused. “You knew she was a mole?”

“Well, yeah. She was kind of hard to miss. For some reason people don’t listen to me in that place. I mean, I told them we needed a better screening process ages ago, but that never went anywhere. I was lucky to get them to update the security system on our vaults. They never do anything until something actually happens and they have no choice.”

Recalling that “security system,” I shivered and pressed on. “Anyway, you need to hear the rest of this. I already told you I’m banned from working with The Circle now. Royce wants me to sign papers and get them to him by Monday night.”

He cursed, eyes glued to the road and thoughts obviously racing. “And turn over the belt, right? Well, you know what, he has to purchase it from you. It was gifted, so it belongs to you. And if you put it on, he can’t take it from you anyway.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” Sara asked, quicker than I to ask the question.

“Once the belt is put on, the wearer can’t remove it until the next sunrise. It also gives the hunter an edge, granting things like strength, speed, stamina, and heightened senses to put the wearer on par with the things they’re hunting. We’ve since lost the spelling instructions on how to make them, but The Circle was gifted with a couple of them a few years ago in payment from another coven for services rendered. Courtesy of a very pissed-off mage who lost a family member to a vamp ages ago.”

I couldn’t see her expression from this angle, but Sara sounded pleased. “Really? That’s handy. Especially since I doctored the papers to read that Shia will be able to hurt or kill Royce, too, not just the other way around.”

“Smart, I like it,” he said, grinning at her as he gunned the engine and pulled onto the expressway. Once he’d merged into traffic, he turned to me.

“Looks like you get to be the fearless vampire hunter after all.”

Chapter 22

When we got back to Sara’s place, I took her up on the offer of a comfy guest bedroom. Arnold, very kindly, had decided to take a week of vacation time to work with us, and he and Sara were going to stay up and work on the contract. Comforted by the fact that I had some friends solidly at my back, I was finally able to get a good night’s sleep.

The next morning, feeling much refreshed if a bit groggy without my coffee, I stumbled down the stairs to find Arnold sprawled on the couch snoring away. He really took his guard duty seriously. Smiling at that, I tiptoed by into the kitchen to make coffee and breakfast for the three of us.

The smell must have roused them both, since Arnold soon came in rubbing his eyes and yawning, followed a few minutes later by Sara, and we sat down at the table to toasted English muffins and coffee.

“So, Sara,” I asked, taking a bite of muffin. “Are we actually going into the office, or are we really playing this out like we’re leaving town? If we are, we need to tell Jenny.”

If our receptionist was even still working for us. After our meeting on Friday afternoon, I was willing to bet she’d gone job hunting over the weekend. Yet another reminder to talk to Sara—later, privately—about our finances.

“Yeah, I’ll take care of it. I’ll tell her to come in to answer the phones and that we’ll be out this week.”

I nodded. “I guess I should find a notary. ETA on the contract?”

“It’s done,” she said, sipping her coffee. “I just have to print it, and you should manhandle it a little so it looks like the same one you walked out of his office with.”

Sighing, I looked to Arnold next. “You going to play chauffeur so I can get this done?”

“Sure. I can’t go with you to see Royce tonight, but I’ll drop you off and stay close in case you need help.”

That was a relief. I smiled at him, grateful that he was willing to come save the day. My good cheer faded when I remembered what he’d said yesterday—he was doing this for his own reasons. I had to wonder what was on his agenda.

“What about me?” Sara asked.

Arnold and I stared at her like she’d grown two heads. “You can’t be serious,” he said at the same time I sputtered out, “Are you nuts?!”

With a scowl, she leaned forward on the table and pointed at me. “You shouldn’t be going in there alone. I haven’t signed anything and he doesn’t have any leverage against me, so there isn’t much he can do to hurt me. You, on the other hand, could use all the help you can get if you expect to get out of this alive.”

In a sudden panic, I shook my head, curls flying wildly before I pushed them out of my face. “Sara, no! You don’t want to do this, trust me. I didn’t think he had anything on me either, but he still put me in this spot. He told me I should tell you to consider signing a contract with him, too, and believe me, you don’t want that!”

Her eyes narrowed and I wanted to throttle her, knowing she was thinking about doing just that. I held my breath, waiting for her to answer. Arnold looked like he was biting his tongue to keep from adding his own thoughts to the conversation, though I don’t know why he chose to stay out of it. After a moment she relaxed and slumped back in the chair.

“You’re right, I don’t want to get involved. Not yet. Royce would get suspicious if I showed up with you now, ready and willing to sign.”

That was not exactly why I didn’t want her involved, but hey, at least she wasn’t going to try to face him head on.

We all got quiet for a few minutes. I stared at the table, Sara sipped her coffee and looked thoughtful, like she was planning something, and Arnold just cleared his throat and scuffed his feet a little. It was an awkward silence, and I really didn’t want to be the first to break it.

Eventually, Arnold stood up, the sound of the chair scraping over the linoleum sounding overly loud. “I’m going to shower and get dressed. Shia, you might want to think about what you want to do with the rest of your day. We can’t be seen by anyone you know if we’re going to stick to the cover story that you’re out of town. I only hope that ex of yours carries the word back to any packs looking for you.”

I gaped at him, realizing all of a sudden what his behavior of yesterday was all about. “You really wanted them to think I was out of town so they wouldn’t come after me? Or know where to look?”

He nodded, a wry grin slowly suffusing his lips. “Of course. I told you that you have a tail. That should throw them off the scent for a little while at least.”

I felt about a thousand times more stupid than I had a moment ago for not realizing it sooner. Here I’d thought he might actually be trying to save me from Chaz’s affections, not his pack.

That thought made me frown. I was hesitant about sounding dumb or egotistical, but I needed to know what was going on if I was going to save my skin. So I asked the question.

“You really think Chaz was there because of something to do with this mess I’ve gotten into? Not because of me?”

“I don’t have any doubts about it.” The touch of sympathy in his tone made me want to sock him. He didn’t have to rub it in. “He might want you, but he must have known he was taking a risk contacting you after revealing himself. He hid what he was, didn’t he? Never gave you a contract before…”

“No.”

I knew where he was going with his question and wasn’t interested in hearing him finish it. I didn’t think I could bring myself to press charges against Chaz for initiating a relationship with me without a contract, but if he persisted, I sure as hell wouldn’t stick around to see what other laws he was willing to break. Vamps and werewolves, considered too dangerous to interact with people without some kind of safety net, were required to keep any physical contact to a minimum until their partners signed contracts. Embarrassing as it was to look back on, Chaz and I had been intimate plenty of times without my spotting any signs of danger. It didn’t mean they weren’t there—only that I hadn’t seen them.

Arnold nodded, giving a helpless shrug. “That just leads me straight to the conclusion that he was sticking his neck out in the hopes of getting close to you again in case you might have a lead on the focus.”

So much for my thoughts of Chaz having a heretofore-unknown romantic streak.

He continued, apparently unaware of, or ignoring, my sudden sour expression. “Anyway, I’m going to go take that shower. Let me know if there is anything else you need to get done or pick up before tonight.”

Once he was out of earshot, Sara turned to me, brows raised and expression wry. “You really believe that?”

I slouched back in the chair, folding my arms across my chest and glaring with helpless rage at the cheerful, sunny day shining through the kitchen window.

“I don’t know what to believe. Chaz could be a dick, but he was never that slick or conniving before. I have a hard time believing he wasn’t just there to see me again.”

He wouldn’t have given me all those flowers, sent all those cards, or left all those messages if he hadn’t truly wanted to get back together. Right? Of course, it didn’t matter since I wasn’t exactly planning to jump in the sack with him. As far as I knew, he’d been honest with me about everything except what he was. Even now, thinking about how he’d looked and felt in those moments before he shattered that perfect image with fur and fangs sent a pang of regret through me for kicking him out. That had been an act of necessity and self-preservation, though. I wouldn’t have changed my actions if he’d been Don Juan incarnate. At this point, it was nothing more than an ego boost to think he still cared.

“Well,” Sara said, slathering some jam on her English muffin, “you can always call him and ask. Maybe he’ll play it straight with you this time.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, and maybe tonight Royce will say this whole mess was just a mistake, so sorry for the inconvenience.”

She grinned at that, blue eyes glinting with mirth. “You never know.”

Oh well. At least we could make light of the situation.

Taking a bite out of her muffin, she mumbled at me through her mouthful, “So what’s the plan for today? I’m going to work some more on the missing persons case, that Borowsky kid, while you guys are out. What about you and Arnold?”

I rubbed my chin, thinking about it. What exactly did one do on (probably) one’s last day alive?

Chapter 23

On one’s (probably) last day alive, one apparently stood around for almost an hour waiting for a notary to stumble over the clauses in a contract before signing it.

The man was in his mid-forties, balding, lisping, and had glasses thicker than Arnold’s that he used to squint at the fine print. Arnold had driven me to a place not far from Sara’s, a little copy and print shop that had a sign reading CHEAP NOTARY! in the window. Cheap being the operative word.

The notary finally looked up at me across the counter, lips pursed in disapproval.

“It’s not my place, miss, but are you sure you want to sign this? It’s not too late to back out, you know.”

I fought back the urge to rub at my aching temples. “Yes, I’m sure. Can we get on with it, please?”

Looking even more displeased than before, the guy handed me a pen. I scrawled my signature on the Human Notice of Willing Consent and Agreement to Binding Contract with Other Citizen page and shoved the pen and paper in his direction. He picked up the pen and put his own neat, professional signature under mine, dated it, and stamped his seal on the page.

God save me, I’d just signed myself over to Royce.

I had a copy of the contract made and paid the guy. Taking my receipt and the contract with me, I devoutly hoped that Sara was right and Royce wouldn’t bother reading the contract over or examine it for anything but my signature before taking it down to the courthouse for filing. Arnold opened the car door for me once we got to the tiny parking lot, putting a hand on my shoulder before I got in.

“Try not to worry. We’ll figure out a way to get you out of this.”

Irritated, I shrugged his hand off my shoulder and slid into the seat, staring down at the papers clutched in my lap.

“It’s too late for me to get out of it. Once this gets lodged with the court, that’s it. Until one or both of us are dead, Royce can make whatever is left of my life miserable.”

“You can do the same to him, you know.”

Arnold shut the door and went around to the driver’s side. Once he got in and revved up the engine, he looked at me again, his green eyes bright but narrowed in seriousness.

“Vampires, even more than humans, hate when things don’t go the way they plan them to. Especially ones as old as Royce. They pride themselves on their ability to predict what others will do and keep the odds in their favor. It’s something of a survival instinct. As soon as he knows the contract is different, he’ll probably try to weasel out of it. Particularly if you show up with that belt on.”

I frowned at that, brushing my fingers over my temples. “I’m not sure how I can show up in his office pretending to have given in while wearing a bunch of stakes at my hip. It’s just not going to match the image of me meekly handing over a contract.”

The grin that suddenly curved his lips was alarmingly sly. “I know. I thought of that. We’re going shopping.”

Shopping. I was going to be branded a vampire’s toy tonight and he wanted to go shopping?

“It’ll be cold tonight, so you can wear a long jacket to hide the belt. I want to make sure you have the right look—you need to look like you intend to hurt him back if he tries to hurt you. It might make all the difference in whether he stands down or tries attacking you anyway.”

It took a minute to digest that. “You’re saying I need to look the part of the ‘fearless vampire hunter’ so he thinks twice before trying to bite me? But I have to hide it long enough to get close to him so he knows I’m actually a threat?”

He nodded, not taking his eyes off the road. “You got it.”

What exactly did a “fearless vampire hunter” wear? Combat boots? A trench coat? Reflective shades at night?

Thinking about that, as well as what I’d inevitably have to face tonight, I shifted around uncomfortably and stared out, unseeing, at passing buildings.

“Royce has been at least ten steps ahead of me every time I’ve dealt with him so far. Did I tell you I had some White Hats break into my place the other night? They tried to bully me into joining their cause. He knew they had come before I’d told anyone. Now here I am, doing their work, and not even getting a nifty white hat to wear while I’m at it.”

That startled him. He looked at me, horrified, before quickly focusing back on the road. “Don’t for a second even think that the White Hats are on your side. They’ll happily gut you and burn you at the stake for signing those papers, no matter what your intentions really are.”

“I know that. Jeez. I was just being facetious. Though it would be nice to go in with backup, I’m sure as soon as they finished up with Royce, they’d gun for me next.”

“Not necessarily in that order. They hate donors almost as much as they hate the vamps themselves.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“On another note, you should still be on the lookout for the focus while you’re with Royce tonight.”

I grimaced, wishing mightily that I didn’t have to worry about that stupid thing, too. I had enough of my own problems.

“Are you sure I really need to look for this thing? I mean, not that I like the idea of Royce having more power over anyone, but why not just let him keep it?”

Arnold frowned and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “It’s too dangerous to leave it in a vampire’s hands.”

Oh really? And a power-hungry coven of magi are better guardians of this thing, huh? What actually made it out of my mouth sounded a lot more civil than what was going through my head.

“I remember what you said to me over the phone yesterday. You said something about the end of the world as we know it. I take it that wasn’t just a lame reference to a song?”

His thin lips briefly quirked in a smirk, his grip on the wheel relaxing a tad. “No. You’re right, I did say that.”

The silence dragged on. I helped him along with an “And?”

“This thing is really, truly dangerous.” Brows lowered in thought, he stole a glance at me, then looked straight ahead again. “You heard about what Veronica’s body looked like when the cops found her, right?”

With a sudden chill of foreboding, I nodded. “Royce used that thing to do that to her?”

“I think so. There isn’t any other logical explanation for it. Like I told you before, that thing lets a vampire have a measure of control over Weres.”

I remembered the description in the newspaper. “So Royce drained her, and used the focus to make a Were savage the body?” Ew.

“Best as I can figure it out, yeah. I don’t have any solid proof, but it fits.”

“Okay, not that it isn’t bad enough, but what does that have to do with the end of the world?”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, and I watched the emotions flitting across his face. He had a good poker face, but I could see that he was fighting an internal battle. When he finally spoke, the words were careful and measured, which meant he was likely hiding something else beside whatever he was about to tell me.

“Certain people have more will and finesse in using arcane objects than others. Royce is one of the oldest known vampires, and he’s not averse to stepping out into the public eye. He flaunts it, actually, which you may have already noticed, considering he was one of the first Others to use the legal system and the press to win over human support for things like equal rights for vampires. While what you may have already seen of his work is impressive, he is capable of a lot more than he lets on.

“Since it is in his hands, I’m assuming, based on what’s known of this thing, that he is perfectly capable of using it to start a war. While it might not serve his interests yet, I don’t think it’s too far-fetched to assume he might use it for that purpose sometime soon.”

Arnold paused and drove in silence for a minute. I had the feeling there was something else underlying what he was telling me, something he wasn’t saying and that I was just missing.

He continued. “He’s not happy with The Circle. What intelligence we have on him indicates he’s been gathering up similar artifacts and actually making some deals with the local Were packs. The newshounds weren’t too far off Sunday morning. He can use that thing to turn Other against Other in an all-out war, weakening the power bases of magi and Weres to a point where he can step in and take over.

“If he accumulates too much power, or creates too many other vampires, he can use it to overtake the city and spread outward from there. Remember, he’s been around at least long enough to have seen the rise and fall of Rome, the burning of the Holy Land in the Crusades, and learned firsthand from the triumphs and mistakes of some of the greatest military minds in our history. He knows what he’s doing, and I for one am not interested in seeing vampires overrun the planet.”

I listened to all that with a growing sense of unease, trying to picture the charismatic vampire as some kind of warlord or dictator. It didn’t fit with what I’d seen of Royce so far, but there was no doubt that Arnold was right about his growing power base. However, even if Royce did make it to the top of the Other food chain, there weren’t nearly enough vampires, Weres or magi combined to be able to overthrow any major government or country. What did Royce need with a dictatorship anyway? He already had most of New York under his thumb as it was.

I couldn’t figure it out. I guessed I’d just roll with the punches for now.

“You’re right, I’m not interested in seeing vampires take over everything either,” I said. “I’ll keep an eye out for the focus.”

I was careful to keep my voice from betraying any doubts or hesitation. What I didn’t tell him was that if, by some miracle, an opportunity presented itself to snatch this thing from the vampire, I sure as hell wasn’t going to be handing it over to The Circle.

Chapter 24

Arnold took me to a specialty shop near Central Park. From the display in the window, it looked like some kind of tattoo parlor and leather fetish shop. I was leery of going inside, but once Arnold finally persuaded me to follow one of the heavily pierced and tattooed assistants through the “Staff Only” door in the back of the shop, I saw why he had brought me here.

The assistant led the way down a rickety flight of wooden stairs and unlocked a nondescript door marked STORAGE, half-hidden by piles of boxes and crates. We then entered the obviously less than legal part of the business, a large, well-lit room with an admittedly impressive array of body armor and weaponry on display in glass cases, hanging from racks and tacked on the walls. I was reasonably certain they didn’t have permits for any of that stuff, particularly the heavy caliber minigun under a lighted display or the neatly stacked boxes of incendiary grenades next to the register cheerily marked ON SALE—30% OFF WHILE THEY LAST!

I noted the back wall had a section with a carefully hand-crafted wooden sign over it declaring HUNTER’S PLAYGROUND: FOR THE EXPERT EXTERMINATOR. From what I could see, it consisted mostly of wooden stakes with faux-leather grips, fragile-looking vials of holy water probably meant to shatter on contact, crucifixes, crossbow bolts and arrows that ranged in size from a bit thicker and longer than a pencil to as long as my arm, UV flashlights, and some other odds and ends I couldn’t quite make out.

Arnold headed toward a fairly normal-looking guy perched on a stool behind the register, leaning against the counter and reading a paperback. Unlike the assistant who showed us down, this one had no piercings or visible tattoos, and was wearing a plain white button-down and slacks instead of ripped jeans and a T-shirt with some obscure band’s logo on it. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t figure out where I’d seen him before. His features were nondescript, neither handsome nor ugly, and he didn’t seem to recognize me either once he looked up. I dismissed the nagging sense of familiarity as nothing more than my imagination.

“Arnold,” the guy said, a smile slowly curving his thin lips, “haven’t seen you around here in a long time. How are you, man?”

“Could be better.” The mage smiled back, though it was a grim, cheerless thing. He reached over the counter to shake the guy’s hand, tilting his head toward me. “Jack, this is a friend of mine. She needs some extermination equipment.”

Jack came out from behind the counter, leaving the paperback behind and extending a hand in greeting. When we shook, I had to make an effort not to withdraw immediately, as his hands were dry and calloused, sandpaper rough. His gaze was as empty as his smile, but he led the way without comment over to the portion of the wall I’d been admiring from afar. I was shocked-but-not to see there was also a decent selection of cutlery on display in a glass case below the more mundane stakes and holy waters.

“We need some body armor and some decent cover-up. What do you have in her size?”

Jack looked me up and down, his gaze and expression reminding me of someone looking over fruit in the grocery store for bad spots. It wasn’t pleasant being under his scrutiny, but I stood there and took it and inwardly vowed to get back at Arnold for putting me in this position.

“Well, we don’t have much on short notice. I might be able to trim something down, but I need to know what kind of weapons she’ll be using so I can work with it.”

“Stakes,” I said sourly, figuring I could do some of this myself.

“What else?”

I must have looked blank, because he turned to Arnold after a couple of seconds and raised a brow, his expression hinting that I’d said something rude or stupid.

Arnold shrugged and turned to me. “What weapons do you know how to use? Guns? Knives?”

Irritated, I gestured at the rows of guns on the walls. “Do I look like the kind of girl who carries hardware like that in her purse? I don’t use this stuff, Arnold. The most I’ve ever done was pop a few shots in a shooting range with my dad when I was a teenager.”

Jack grinned at that, his expression finally betraying some amusement. “A novice? Interesting choice of hunter, Arnold.”

We both shot him a look that had him holding up his hands and backing down, still amused despite our glares.

“Take a look around and see what catches your eye. I’m going to see what we have in the back in the way of body armor.”

Once he stepped away, disappearing through a curtained alcove, I put my hands on my hips and turned to look at Arnold. “This was not what I thought you had in mind when you said we were going shopping.”

His look was all too calm, even bland. “Where did you think we were going to go? The mall?”

“I don’t know. I thought whatever it was would at least be street legal.”

He shrugged, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture. “Not much help for it, I’m afraid. There isn’t enough time or any kind of easy way for me to take anything else from the vaults. It’s either this or go somewhere that will broadcast your presence to every side that’s looking for you right now, including any tail Royce put on you. Or go in with no protection at all.”

I muttered darkly at the injustice, but chose to keep most of my thoughts to myself. I picked up a set of bolts, read the hand-lettered label that proclaimed GUARANTEED TO EXPLODE ON CONTACT! and quickly put them back where I found them. Sidling a little down the aisle to the handguns on display, along with a series of different caliber silver bullets, I tried to figure out exactly what kind of hardware I wanted to carry around with me. I’d already decided on a handgun, since I had no intention of getting close enough to use a sword, stakes, or daggers, nor the know-how to use those or a bow or crossbow. A rifle or shotgun would be too big and unwieldy, and there was no way I was even going to think about carrying grenades in my pockets.

After some internal debate, I pointed out a matching pair of silver pistols with tiny, built-in laser sights and black grips that appeared to be small enough to fit my hands comfortably. Probably expensive as anything, but I figured I could deduct it as a business expense. Arnold nodded his approval, and while we waited for Jack to come back out, I started poking around the UV flashlights.

Jack came out a few minutes later with some folded-up material in his arms, setting it on the counter of the gun case. “Decide what you want?”

I pointed out the guns and he unlocked and opened up the case, placing the twin pistols in my hands. They were a bit heavier than they looked, but the grips were comfortable and the laser sights were a huge plus. If I had to hit a moving target, I’d probably miss by a mile since I was never much of a shot to begin with. However, I was fairly confident these looked badass enough to make even the hungriest Other think about finding its meal elsewhere.

“I’ll take them,” I told Jack, “and some clips with speedloaders if you’ve got them.”

He nodded assent, but held up a hand in caution. “Don’t fire these anyplace where cops might be able to see you do it. The bore was altered so the bullets won’t be traceable, but if you don’t have a permit and since there’s no serial numbers on these, you won’t be able to sweet-talk your way out of jail if you’re caught with them. Or out of the hands of their maker if he finds out the cops got their hands on some of his work.”

Oh, that was comforting. With more than a little trepidation, I nodded agreement before asking, “What did you find in the back?”

His lips quirked in a secretive smile, like he knew something I didn’t. He probably did. Carefully unfolding and laying out the black clothing he’d pulled out, I frowned on noting that they just seemed like a normal pair of black tights and a turtleneck save that the material was a bit thicker than usual.

“Ever see one of those nature shows where some divers go swimming with sharks?” His crystalline blue eyes betrayed nothing.

“Sure, maybe once or twice.” I eyed the clothing speculatively.

He placed his hand over the shirt, showing pearly white teeth in something approaching a predatory grin. I had an urge to step back, but fought it down and listened.

“Then I’m sure you’ve seen that they wear a different type of diving suit, one that’s meant to keep the sharks from taking a bite out of them. Same principle with this, only a tighter weave and different material. It’s a bit more flexible, too. Feel it, tug at it, you’ll see what I mean.”

Miniature chainmail? I reached out to finger the sleeve of the sweater-looking part, getting the feel of it. It was pretty thick, and I could feel another layer of something hard but somewhat flexible underneath the slick, silk-like black cloth. I did as he suggested, taking part of the sleeve in each hand and tugging at it to see how much it gave. It barely stretched, and I kept pulling as hard as I could until I was reasonably reassured that he was right—the material wouldn’t tear easily. Feeling a little uneasy still, I gestured at the case of knives and swords a little farther down.

“What about something sharp? Will it stop those?”

He shook his head. “Depends. This isn’t meant to stop bullets or knives, it’s meant to slow down or stop an Other from being able to claw at or bite the protected areas. If they slash at you with claws or a knife, it should protect you. With the strength of an Other behind a knife stab? Probably won’t save you. They won’t be able to bite through, though, and I believe that’s what you were most worried about, yes?”

Considering the vamp and Were viruses were usually transmitted through bites, yes, it was. I nodded, trying not to feel sick with worry and not succeeding well at all. He gathered up the clothing and guns, taking everything over to the register to ring it up. I reached for my purse, cringing internally at how much this would probably cost me. Arnold put a staying hand on my arm and stepped forward with a thick bundle of cash, handing Jack a few bills off the top. I glanced at him in surprise, and he answered me with a sly grin.

“Call it a bonus. The Circle owes you for this.”

Jack placed the cash in the register and handed a handwritten receipt over to Arnold. He placed the guns in small wooden cases lined with red cloth, along with a clip for each. Then he threw that, more ammo, and a shoulder holster for an easy cross-draw along with a little tissue paper on top into a plain white paper bag on top of the neatly refolded clothes, handing it over to me. Once I took the handles, he walked us over to the door leading back to the storage area. He gave me a grim half-smile and spoke a few cryptic words before shutting and bolting the door behind us.

“Pleasure doing business with you. Glad to see you made the right choice.”

I glanced at Arnold as we started up the rickety stairs. “Any idea what that was about?”

He shrugged in an uninterested way. “No. Maybe he just meant you picked a good gun or something.”

We left and headed for his car. While he unlocked the doors, I peered into the bag, poking through the boxes to take a closer look at the clothes beneath, hoping they would fit. Then I slid into the leather seat and fiddled with the radio. Since the day was fairly warm, he put the top down, then slapped my hand away from the knobs and tuned to a preset station playing some kind of techno rock.

“Let’s hit the mall, get you a jacket, then grab some food and head on back to Sara’s.”

He eased the car into traffic. I tilted my head back against the headrest, closing my eyes and just trying to enjoy the fact that I was in a convertible with a reasonably good-looking guy who’d just paid for a bunch of stuff that would probably help save my life.

All I could think about was that, in less than eight hours, I would have to face Royce and put those signed, notarized papers in his hands.

Chapter 25

It didn’t take long to find a suitable jacket in the mall. I needed something that would hide the weaponry well enough for me to get my foot in the door and, hopefully, add a little protection while still allowing for freedom of movement. Especially when it came time to draw down, if it came to that.

One of the stores actually had a nice selection of leather trench coats, and I was lucky enough to find an ankle-length black one in my size. I also swung by the shoe store and bought some combat boots. I didn’t normally wear those, but they seemed suitably badass and like they would fit with the jacket and the clothes and the guns. I think. Come on, I’ve never seen a fashion guide that tells you how to accessorize your shoes with your stakes and guns, have you?

We picked up a pizza and sodas on the way back to Sara’s. Once Arnold had parked at Sara’s place and I started to get out, he put a hand on my arm. I paused with one foot resting on the curb.

“Is Sara single?”

I blinked. That was unexpected. “Maybe. She mentioned something yesterday about this cop she’d been seeing. They’re usually on and off. I thought they were off but now I guess they’re on again.”

He nodded before getting out of the car. I watched him for a moment, trying to decide if he was asking me for security reasons or something more personal. Since Veronica was out of the picture, I wondered if that was why he was suddenly interested, and I felt an irrational twinge of jealousy.

Whatever, it wasn’t my problem and he was not my type. I don’t knowingly date Others. Not after what happened with Chaz. I hadn’t particularly gone out of my way not to before, but I wasn’t one of those thrill seekers that spent all my free time at the bars and restaurants frequented by the local supernaturals either. Plus, even the thought of being contracted gives me the willies. The extent of my experience with Others has led me to believe that the majority of them are deceptive, conniving, and occasionally violent assholes. No offense to any assholes out there.

I held the dogs back while Arnold hustled inside with the food and shopping bags. They barked up a storm as usual and tried to squeeze past me when I hopped up the porch steps and ducked inside.

Sara had set out the pizza and soda, and we all grabbed paper plates, poured some drinks, and settled around the kitchen table. Arnold watched Sara and me with an odd expression as we folded our pizza slices in half before eating them. After a minute or two of this, Sara grinned at him. “What, you’ve never eaten pizza with a New Yorker before?”

I picked a piece of pepperoni off my slice, popping it in my mouth before turning to Sara. “Are you going to use the rabbit ears or should I just carry my cell with me tonight?”

She shrugged, getting up to grab the garlic salt from one of the cabinets. “Probably just your cell. We don’t know what Royce can and can’t hear or sense, so it might be best if you limit the electronics. Just make sure you have me set in your speed dial this time.”

I nodded sheepishly, and Arnold looked mystified. “Rabbit ears?”

“Yeah. Just a nickname for a bug we wear when we speak to someone and think the conversation may require recording or turn ugly. It lets someone else listen in, and that’s mostly what we use it for, in case we need someone to bail us out in a hurry.”

“Ah.”

“What?”

“We use similar tactics at The Circle, except we use charms or familiars, not electronics.”

Oh, that was comforting. At my sudden wary look, he laughed and shook his head. “Don’t worry, none were used with you except during your initial meeting with Veronica.”

He took a big bite out of the pizza, all too cheerful about that. It gave me the willies, which decreased my appetite, though not enough to stop me from finishing off the slice I was working on.

“Hey, Shia, no luck on the Borowsky kid,” Sara said. “All I got was a tip from one of his friends that he’s into the Goth and vamp scene, way more than his parents knew. Nothing surprising, nothing helpful. Anyway, you’ve got a few hours ’til sundown. Do you know what you want to do for the rest of the day?”

“Hiding under a rock somewhere sounds good to me.”

Arnold nudged the bags beside the table with his foot. “You should probably put everything on and practice moving in it. If it’s been a while, I’d suggest taking a few practice shots with the gun, too.”

“You really think I’m going to need to use it?” I felt the blood drain from my face. God, I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

His lips curved downward, gaze sliding away from mine. “I don’t know. I hope not.”

Well, worrying about it hadn’t helped anything yet. I resolved to start thinking about what I could do instead of how everything could go wrong. At the very least, I could do what he said and try on the clothes, get used to moving in them, and make sure the whole ensemble wouldn’t look too ridiculous when I showed up at Royce’s office.

Wiping my greasy fingers on a crumpled napkin, I got up and gathered the bags, belt, and vial of Amber Kiss perfume.

“I’m heading upstairs to change. Be back in a few minutes.”

They both gave me the thumbs-up, munching on their pizza. I wasn’t hungry, but I’d probably make myself eat another piece later when I was feeling a little more secure. Like after I had some stakes and guns on my person.

It took a minute for me to pull on the new clothes. At first, the turtleneck shirt and pants seemed uncomfortably tight. You could see the slightest bump under the shirt where the charm necklace that let me see through vamp and magi illusions rested against my skin, plastered in my cleavage. I hadn’t removed it since the meeting with Royce, and wasn’t planning on willingly taking it off for as long as I lived.

The shirt covered almost my whole neck, but I noticed that the slick material made it difficult to slide my fingers under it and yank it down lower. After getting over the initial irritation, I realized this was a good thing. It meant Royce would also have a tough time pulling it down enough to reach anything vital. Same with the wrists and ankles, though the pants were just a touch too long and I had to figure out a way to fold the material under so it wouldn’t bunch up in the shoes and irritate my skin.

I took a little time to stretch, reaching down to touch the floor, squat, split, and basically just make sure my freedom of movement wouldn’t be too restricted. Thankfully, the stuff clung like a second skin and wasn’t so stiff that I lost any flexibility. The burning ache in my muscles was a reminder that I’d missed my normal exercise over the weekend and would have to figure out some time to make it up—if I survived tonight’s ordeal.

With the pants tucked into my new combat boots and the silver cross at my neck gleaming against the flat black of the shirt, I had to admit as I examined myself in the full-length mirror, that I did indeed look the part of a vampire hunter. Or maybe a thief. Or a Goth? Yeah, I didn’t like where this train of thought was going.

The shoulder holster was next. I had to fiddle with the straps to adjust them. Then readjust them when I realized I had put it on wrong. Then fiddle with and adjust it a little more so it didn’t dig into my boobs quite so much. What a pain. It would make for an easy cross-draw, though, and the weapons wouldn’t be too conspicuous under the jacket.

The belt came last. I stared at it for a minute, laid out on the guest bed, looking utterly innocuous except for the big-ass silver stakes in their sheaths on one side. The trio of silver stakes had leather grips, worn and stained a dull gray from the sweat of many palms. The belt itself was a dull black that hadn’t yet been bleached by time. On the inside, where it would lay against cloth or skin, I knew it had glyphs branded into it, though I didn’t understand what they were for or what they meant. Putting it on meant it would adhere to me until the next sunrise. It meant I would be knowingly, willingly dipping my fingers into a magic melting pot.

Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I reached out a trembling hand, praying that the choices I’d made were right and that this thing really would help see me through ’til tomorrow’s sunrise.

Chapter 26

There was no flash of light, crackle of magic, or thunder of epic orchestral music from an unseen band in the background when I put the belt on. I half expected something, maybe even just feeling a little different.

Absolutely nothing changed once I settled it around my waist, adjusting it so the buckle and a couple of clips of extra rounds hung off one hip and the stakes off the other. I was both relieved and a little disappointed.

If not for the stakes, the outfit wouldn’t look half-bad. A little dark for my taste, definitely not something to wear around the office, but to a club? Maybe. I tied my hair back in a loose ponytail to make sure it would stay out of my face. Then I picked up the duster, figuring I might as well give it a try though it was too hot to wear for long and I certainly wasn’t interested in parading around the house like I’d just stepped off the set of the latest sci-fi action movie.

I reached into the bag and pulled out the pair of wooden boxes that held the guns so I could holster them and see how they “fit” with the outfit. When I lifted the lid of one of the boxes, the first thing that caught my eye was something gleaming white against the red velvet lining.

It was a pin of a tiny white cowboy hat. A White Hat pin. The symbol of their little clique of vigilante vampire and Were hunters.

I stared at it for a minute, trying to figure out why in God’s name it would even be there. The guy, Jack, must have slipped it into the box while he was putting the guns away.

Suddenly I recalled where I had seen him before. The bastard looked a bit different in plain clothes and under bright lights where I could see his features clearly. He was the one who had politely let himself into my bedroom to “ask” me to join the White Hat cause—at knifepoint.

Crap, he must think I’d tracked him down and taken him up on his offer. Did that make me a card-carrying, pin-wearing member now? How did this development fit in with all my other troubles? Were Jack and his buddy planning on coming back?

Ugh. I’d just have to deal with that worry later. I only hoped it didn’t come back to bite me in the ass once that “later” eventually rolled around.

The trench coat worked admirably to hide the weapons. It didn’t do much for my figure when it was buttoned up, but I practiced doing a quick draw of the guns, then the stakes. Everything went almost too smoothly.

With the addition of the jacket on top of the body armor, it was quickly becoming stiflingly hot. Before long I shrugged it off and gathered it up in my arms, leaving the rest of the outfit on so I could get approval from my posse downstairs. On my way down, I debated whether or not to mention the pin to either Sara or Arnold, and decided against it. Things were complicated enough already, and I was reasonably certain I could figure out a way to get the White Hats to leave me alone on my own. Eventually.

The two were in the living room, heads close as they leaned over the contract I’d already signed. I couldn’t hear what they were muttering to each other, but they looked up when I cleared my throat.

Sara grinned and Arnold simply nodded, his brows raised. “It came together better than I thought it would. Can you draw the guns easily?”

I tossed the duster to a chair, then demonstrated the quick draw I’d been practicing upstairs. They both jerked back in surprise, and I laughed.

“Hey, I’m just fooling. But just so you know, they’re not loaded yet and the safety’s on. The trench hides everything well, too. I think this might actually work.”

Sara rose with a languorous stretch. She walked over to me and lightly ran her fingertips along my sleeve. “What is this stuff?”

I shrugged. “Some kind of body armor that protects against Were claws and vamp bites apparently. Won’t stop a bullet or a knife thrust, but it should do the trick if Royce goes for my throat.” Or something else. Yikes.

She regarded me thoughtfully for a moment. “And have you decided exactly what your plan of action is once you get into his office? Or what you’ll do if he does attack you?”

“Yes,” I said with more confidence than I felt, “I have. I’m going to show up, try to sweet-talk him into forgetting about the contract. When he refuses, I’ll reluctantly hand the papers over. Then, if he tries anything, I’ll tell him about the changes in the contract and give him a chance to rethink his actions.”

“And if he persists?” Arnold asked. “What then?”

I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose with the tips of my fingers. “Then I’ll hit the speed dial on my phone to call you guys and open up the jacket so he knows I’m prepared for and will retaliate against whatever he wants to dish out. Tit for tat.”

“Okay. I’ll wait in the car with Arnold then,” Sara said. Turning to him, she spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “Not that there’s much I can do if we need to go in shooting, but I imagine that’s where you come in.”

He cracked his scrawny knuckles and assumed a menacing look that was more comical than intimidating on his features. His green eyes sparkled with mischief, which didn’t help make him look any more menacing, more like a kid in a candy store.

“Fortunately, unlike you ladies, I won’t have to worry about legal backlash if I go in with guns blazing, so to speak. Other-to-Other battles are still for the most part left up to us to work out amongst ourselves.”

I had to admit to curiosity. “How come you didn’t just do that in the first place? I mean, couldn’t you just, you know…magic missile him or something and save you and The Circle—and me—a lot of trouble?”

“Sadly, no. The political backlash would be more than even The Circle could handle. Aside from which, singly, I’m not really a match for him. However, with you there wearing the belt, the two of us together should be able to handle him. Plus, I won’t have to worry about the stir it would cause since we have witnesses who think you and I are an item. If it looks like I just went in to protect my girlfriend, I won’t have to worry as much about being canned for it later.”

Lovely. I sighed again, folded my arms, realized how uncomfortable that was with the holster on, and unfolded them to leave my hands dangling at my sides. “That’s just peachy keen.”

Turning to Sara, I put my hands on my hips and looked at her questioningly. Usually she thinks of something I haven’t when it comes to planning, so it felt a little odd that she hadn’t added much to the conversation. “Got any other bright ideas about tonight?”

She shook her head, folding her own arms and rocking back on her heels. “You’ve thought up about as much as I have. I can’t think of anything else to do or any other way to handle it.”

My jaw dropped open in shock. I’d thought everything out as much as she had? Now that was scary.

Chapter 27

We waited until past sunset to leave Sara’s place. I didn’t think it would be a good idea to keep Royce waiting, but Arnold and Sara disagreed, telling me it would put him on edge and make him think I was having thoughts of running instead of facing him tonight. It would be more convincing if I acted well and truly reluctant to hand over the papers.

I had slid some ammo clips into the pockets of the jacket along with my cell phone. When they dropped me off in front of Royce’s office building, Arnold promised to park close enough to come to the rescue or make a fast getaway if needed.

Now, I stood in front of the office tower, staring up at the building while clinging to the closed edge of my trench coat with my free hand and taking a few deep breaths to steady myself. I glanced at the documents in my other hand, feeling my stomach flip-flop in queasy reaction. “This is it,” I breathed, knowing that everything in my life was about to change.

Keeping my head bowed, I tucked the stack under my arm and affected as wooden and reluctant a stance as I could manage as I walked in through the revolving doors. I didn’t know if there were cameras or security guards, and I didn’t want to take the chance that Royce might have some other kind of sentry watching for anything suspicious. There was a guard at the desk, a different one this time. He barely glanced up as I headed to the elevators, the coat flaps slapping softly against my legs with each step I took.

I felt my palms starting to sweat, my heart creeping up into my throat as I entered the elevator and hit the button for the eighth floor. This was it. This was really it. I hoped and prayed the Amber Kiss perfume I was wearing would dull the scent of my fear, that he wouldn’t realize what I’d done, that he wouldn’t think to look over the papers before filing them with the courts.

When the elevator “pinged,” I took another deep, steadying breath, stepped out, and clumped slowly to his office. When I opened the door, I was surprised to be greeted by a receptionist and a bunch of other people sitting at the desks and in the offices that had been empty before.

“Can I help you, miss?”

I stared for a second, that deer-in-headlights look of complete shock at being confronted by an actual human being written across my face. People really worked here at night? “Yes—uh…” I stammered, “Mr. Royce is expecting me?” Why in God’s name were there people here?

She nodded, gesturing for me to take a seat in one of three chairs lined up against the wall, near a small table with restaurant and fine dining magazines scattered across it. I moved over to a chair and slumped into it, trying to get around my shock at seeing people working so late. They probably kept odd hours due to working for a vampire. It made sense once I thought about it. After all, he couldn’t be here to supervise them during the day, and someone with an empire (so to speak) as diverse and widespread as Royce’s would need support staff. Funny, I hadn’t given it any thought until confronted with it, except maybe to assume the empty desks and offices were for show.

In an agony of suppressed terror and fading adrenaline, I sat and fidgeted for close to an hour. It was getting unbearably hot in my jacket, but I didn’t dare take it off or even unbutton it, not with the chance of someone seeing the guns, ammo clips, and stakes. I don’t know if he was trying to irritate me or heighten the sense of anticipation with the wait. Either way, it was driving me crazy.

Finally, an eternity or so later, a young man who, in his slightly-too-big suit and crooked tie, looked like an earnest intern trying hard to fit in with the big boys came around the receptionist’s desk to greet me. “Ms. Waynest? Come with me, please.”

I did as he bade, rising slowly from the chair, clutching the papers to my chest. He led me down a long hallway to a small conference room. On the way, we passed Allison, The Circle’s receptionist, going in the other direction. She gave me a scathing look as we approached. What bug crawled up her ass? Her obvious and intense hatred had no ready source that I could see. She whacked me with her purse when we passed, and didn’t look back. I stared at her over my shoulder until I bumped my shin on a desk, cursing softly in pain before hurrying to catch up with the little intern. He was watching me with a mixture of confusion and amusement, but politely said nothing.

Once inside, he indicated I should take a seat. A pencil-skirted older lady was arranging a dish of pastries, coffee, and tea at a sideboard, and as soon as she saw us, she hurried out. After I sat down, the kid cocked his skinny wrist to look at his watch and then stood at one side of the door, eyeing the painting on one wall with studied disinterest. I soon found myself doing the same, wondering what this was all about.

Royce entered a few minutes later, sporting an elegant navy blue suit and striped tie, his gleaming hair tied back at the nape of his neck. He nodded to the young man and approached me, holding out his hand expectantly. “Shiarra, I’m glad to see you did as you were told. The papers?”

I tightened my grip on them, twisting around in the chair a little and shrinking back. I knew I was gaping at him, but it took a second for me to regain enough of my poise to stammer out an answer. “I—Mr. Royce, can we maybe talk about this first?”

The vampire exchanged a look with the guy by the door, who grinned widely enough to show fully extended fanged incisors. Oh shit.

Unthinking, I jerked back from the table, stumbling to my feet and backing away to put some distance between us. Royce and the other vampire stayed where they were, seeming no more than vaguely amused by my panicked reaction.

“Look, you can’t—this—it doesn’t work like that. You can’t touch me until they’re filed!” I babbled. “Whatever it is you want from me, there has to be another way. Please just tell me what you want from me, you don’t need the papers for that.”

“Shiarra, we’ve already had this discussion. My terms are simple, and you’ve already done the difficult part.” He sighed, sounding a trifle annoyed. “Just give me the contract and let’s get this over with. I’d rather we not be here all night. I’m a busy man.”

Stalling, I looked back and forth between Royce and the other vamp. “Why is he here?”

“To take the papers to the courthouse. He won’t touch you. Isn’t that right, John?” The other vampire nodded, though that fiendish, toothy grin remained prevalent. I think he was enjoying my frightened reaction a little too much. “There, you see? Come on now,” Royce continued, his voice soft and pleasantly cajoling. “You’ll make this much easier on all of us if you just hand them over.”

I looked down at the documents I was holding, feeling my heart rate rev up another notch. Here goes nothing.

I hesitantly sidled around the table and held out the papers, keeping as much distance between us as I could. I didn’t have to fake the tremors making the papers shake. He took the stack out of my hands, doing just as Sara had thought he would and immediately skimming to the last couple of pages just to note my signature and the notary’s stamp. Turning his back to me, he passed the papers over to the other vamp.

“Make a copy of this for our files and then run it down to the court. Call my cell once you’ve paid the fees and filed it.”

John nodded, took the papers in hand, and left, closing the door. I wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, knowing he’d bought it, but I couldn’t relax just yet.

My stomach about dropped down to my shoes when he turned back to me, those depthless black eyes boring into mine with a hunger so primal and dark, I knew for a certainty that he would gladly drink every last drop of blood in my body and not regret it for an instant. The social veneer had been stripped away, leaving the monster beneath bare to view.

“Now,” he said softly, his pace slow, measured, and as predatory as a stalking jungle cat, “we can get down to business.”

Chapter 28

“Do try to make a run for it,” he snarled, my heart skipping a beat at the soft promise in his tone. “It’s been so long since anyone’s been afraid…”

Afraid? Try terrified. I staggered back a step, one hand behind me to keep from backing into something, the other held out in front of me to ward him off. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute! No, we’re not doing this!” I desperately tried to think of a convincing reason to make him wait. “It’s not filed,” I squeaked, “not yet, you can’t do anything to me yet!”

“Oh,” he murmured, easing the rolling chair I’d been sitting in back under the table as he matched me, step for step, “but I can. John will be in the courthouse in about twenty minutes. After that, none of your laws apply to us anymore. Until then, I can still push every button you have to make the first drop of blood on my tongue worth every bit of trouble you’ve caused me.”

“Trouble? Trouble I caused you!” I felt a sudden surge of anger. Good, much better than quivering terror. “I told you I wasn’t out to hurt you, and now the stupid focus and the stupid contract with The Circle probably don’t matter anyway since Veronica is dead! If not for you and Veronica, I would probably be home in bed watching TV right now. Instead I’ve got every Other and White Hat on both sides of the river gunning for me. Don’t even start with me about trouble!”

He grinned without any real humor at my outburst. “You underestimate yourself. And your worth. It doesn’t matter anymore. The contract makes you mine.”

I was clearheaded enough to pull out the rolling chairs to try to slow him down, anything to block his way and keep him from getting his hands on me that much sooner. He calmly pushed them aside, inexorably closing the distance.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, ticked that he wouldn’t just say it already and get it over with.

“I want,” he said, his arm snaking out lightning quick to close tight as a vise on my upper arm before I could stumble out of his reach, “you to save me.”

“What?” I choked out, trying to writhe out of his grasp. His fingers tightened until I cried out in pain, tears squeezing unbidden from the corners of my eyes.

He didn’t draw me closer, only held my arm still, that glimmer of hunger still shining evilly in his black eyes. His voice took on a low, guttural quality, as though coming from some beast below the surface of his hardened, all-too-human features. “Stop struggling. I can’t control the hunger and fight the focus. Stay still.”

I tried, honestly, but there was a part of me screaming “OH-MY-GOD-THAT’S-A-HUNGRY-VAMPIRE-HOLDING-YOUR-ARM” that made it awfully hard to just sit still and listen.

“I’m bound to someone, just like you will be to me. Listen to me, because I can’t fight this forever. I don’t have the focus. I’m not able to tell you who does.” He paused, and his jaw clenched tight, fangs bared fully in a grimace as he turned away from me. I prayed whatever it was he was fighting internally lasted long enough for me to figure out a way out of this. He started speaking again, all in a rush, and I noticed that his voice sounded slightly different from when he was talking about what a pain in the ass I was. There was an urgency behind it, and he sounded a lot more like he had when I had met him back in The Underground. “Don’t fight the binding, and don’t fight me, or the one who has the focus may be able to force my hand into killing you. You need to find it and take it from the holder.”

His fingers spasmed, tightening around my arm, his other hand reaching out to steady himself on the table. It took everything I had not to scream in pain, but somehow I managed. God, he was strong, probably strong enough to snap my arm if he put just a little more effort into it.

“Not interested,” I panted, using my free hand to slide under my jacket and grab one of the guns. “But thanks for the offer,” I said as I shoved the muzzle under his chin.

He abruptly shoved me away from him, sending me sprawling back on my ass. It was a good thing the safety was still on, or the gun would’ve gone off and he’d be missing a good portion of his face.

“You conniving little bitch!”

“Alive and whole conniving little bitch,” I shot back, using one hand to grab on to the sideboard next to me to pull myself up. I knocked a bunch of cookies or something to the floor in the process, but didn’t bother to look. My eyes stayed firmly focused on the vampire just a few feet away, who looked like he was having a tough time deciding whether or not to rush me. My other hand kept the gun trained on him, though technically I couldn’t do anything to him with it just yet.

“You can’t fight back,” he growled, taking one menacing step forward. “Are you crazy or stupid or both? There is no provision in that contract that can save you from your own people if you shoot me.”

Levering up to my feet, ignoring the twinge in my back, I brandished the gun at him and gestured for him to back up. Panting a little from fear and pain, I narrowed my eyes and deliberately flicked the safety off the gun.

“Au contraire,” I said, feeling particularly high and mighty right at that second for having gotten the better of a vampire as old as he was. “It’s been doctored. You touch me, and I swear to all that is holy I will use this gun to shoot those pearly white fangs of yours into the back of your skull. Want to try me?”

His face twisted into an angry, silent snarl, but he backed up a couple of steps. Thank the Lord, it was working. The plan was working! I unbuttoned my trench coat very deliberately, very slowly, revealing the other gun and the stakes. His eyes widened at the sight of the belt, and his fists clenched at his sides. “I told you to give that to me!”

“Tough shit. It was a gift. It’s mine, not The Circle’s, and doesn’t come with buying out their contract.” After a moment’s thought, I added, “Aside from which, you don’t own me. We have a binding agreement that we can legally hurt or kill each other with impunity. That doesn’t mean we should act on it.”

He growled, low and deep, rumbling in his throat and sending a shiver through me. I really needed to reconsider baiting the already very pissed off vampire.

“Check,” he said, his tones resuming that honey-sweet lull that made it hard to decide whether or not to be frightened of him. The fangs made it easier to stay scared. “But not mate. I’ll let the contract stand as is, then. You’ve caught me off guard this time, it’s true. But you can’t hide from me forever, and the minute you let your guard down, you’re mine.”

“Is that Royce speaking, or the one holding the focus?” I asked snidely, cocking my hip to look a lot more relaxed and arrogant than I was. “You’re starting to sound a little like a bad B-movie.”

He snarled and narrowed his eyes, leaning forward threateningly. “You’re speaking to the holder of the focus. I know who you are, Shiarra Waynest. Do you know me?”

I paused. What the heck was this? “No.” I let a bit of my own glare come out. “I don’t care who you are or what you’re after, I just want you to leave me alone. Can we make a deal, you go your separate way and leave me out of whatever it is you’re up to?”

“No,” he said, the scowl easing into a dark, dangerous smile, the kind that would melt your insides if you didn’t know there were fangs hidden behind those velveteen lips. “Maybe, if you’d been less intuitive, if you hadn’t worked for The Circle. Maybe. Not now. I’ll find a way to hunt you down, whether I have to use Royce or another means of reaching you. Your little pet mage can’t keep you safe from me.”

Okay, this was just getting creepy. “That’s nice. I’m leaving now. You stay right where you are or so help me I will use your teeth for shooting targets.” I cautiously backed around the table, never taking the gun or my eyes off him and some part of me intuitively knowing where to step so as not to bump into any of the scattered chairs.

He did what I said, seething, something dark and menacing moving behind his eyes. Alien thoughts, not his own. I could almost see him fighting to regain some measure of control of himself, clawing toward but never quite reaching the surface. Like a part of him wanted to spring at me and another wanted to stay put. It was hard to tell which side was winning out.

Just in case he lost his mind and decided to jump me, I slid my other hand into my pocket, fingering my cell phone to turn off the key lock, and pressed until I heard the reassuring beep that said my preprepared text message had been sent to Sara. If I wasn’t downstairs in the next five minutes, she and Arnold would come looking for me.

“Shiarra.” Royce’s voice was faint, slick with unspoken promise, hissing out between his clenched teeth. “I know where your parents live. I know you’ve been staying with that rich little cunt. I know you’re still working with someone from The Circle. Walk out that door, and I will personally see that every Other in the state makes it their business to destroy everything, everyone you’ve ever known.”

Chilled, I paused with one hand on the doorjamb. What was with this guy? “What did I ever do to you? I already said I don’t want any part of this.”

He took a slow step forward, creeping closer to me. There was still a healthy distance between us, but no more table or chairs to bar his way. “You interfered. You forced my hand.” Anger started creeping into that not-quite-Royce’s voice. “You made me have to take it before I was ready. But you know what?”

“What?” I asked, unnerved. He wasn’t making any sudden movements, but I didn’t like that surreal gleam to his eye as his snarl turned into a dark, nasty grin.

“Seeing you bleed will make it all worth it.” With those few words, he sprang at me, faster than I would have thought possible.

Chapter 29

I screamed and jerked back as he came at me, moving with a boneless grace, his fingers curled into grasping claws. My finger tightened on the trigger and he twisted to one side, hissing a spitting mixture of pain and epithets as he fell just short of me when I pressed my back flat up against the door. The bullet barely slowed him down, since he gathered his feet up under him and leapt up almost as soon as he’d fallen, black blood oozing sluggishly out of the wound in his shoulder.

I seemed to have acquired a sixth sense, knowing exactly what he was going to do before he did it. As he sprang forward again, I ducked, twisting my body around to get in another shot to his torso as he came at me. There was little room to maneuver, and he was driving me back from the only exit, but I wasn’t so interested in that as in avoiding having him sink his fangs into me or crush my arm again.

His eyes had shifted to glowing red pools of hot hatred, his fangs nearly cutting into his lower lip as he came at me. There was no room for thought as he reached grasping fingers for my wrist, capturing the one that held the gun and forcing the third shot to go wild. I could hear shouts and pounding on the door as we fought, but they were distant, somewhere outside myself. As he crashed into me, I fell back, digging a knee into his stomach and forcing him to flip over my head and land painfully on his back. Whoa. Where’d I learn to do that?

His grip loosened as he hit the floor, and the two of us twisted and shifted like snakes, coming back to our feet in seconds and warily facing off just a few feet apart.

As I reached for the other gun, he came silently forward once again, lips peeling back from his fangs as he slid one arm around my waist in mockery of a lover’s touch. The other came up to grab my wrist again, forcing my arm back and to the side as he drove his fangs against my neck, trying to bite through the material.

I could feel the pressure of the bite, but the fangs never penetrated. I’d probably have one heck of a weird-looking bruise at the crook of my neck later on. Enraged, he scraped his fangs over the material as he kept trying and failing to pierce the shirt, which I was more than thankful for right at that moment. His grip on my wrist was painfully tight, but my other arm was still free. I slid my free hand up and under his jaw and shoved, hoping to at least get him off my shoulder.

The result was a little more than either of us were expecting. His jaw audibly snapped shut and he staggered back unsteadily, like I’d given him one mother of an uppercut. His fingers at my back slipped and slid against the slick material of my shirt and finally lost their grip entirely. He had wrapped the fingers of his other hand entirely around my small wrist, and didn’t let go, almost jerking me off my feet as he pulled back.

Unthinking, quick as a whip, I closed the newfound distance between us with a stake in my free hand, just barely piercing his chest right above where I somehow knew, just knew, a blackened husk of a heart rested. He went very still, the hatred frothing behind those black eyes turning into an abrupt kind of panic and fear. I was willing to bet it had been a very, very long time, if ever, since he’d had to worry about an untimely end to his existence. He hadn’t had a doubt in his mind when he attacked that he would win. I knew for a certainty that it was the “real” Royce looking so afraid. After all, what did the holder of the focus have to worry about other than losing a valuable pawn? If not for the fact that I knew he had been trying to kill me a few seconds ago, I might have felt sorry for him right at that moment.

“Look,” I said quietly, realizing dimly and with a vague sense of horror that there was a part of me that wanted to push that stake home, wanted to end his existence, and that I had to put effort into not destroying him then and there. “I don’t want to kill you. I don’t want to fight you. I just want to get out of here. So you’re going to back the fuck up, give me some space, and let me walk. Capeesh?”

He nodded, and I watched in morbid fascination as something twisted and swam behind his eyes even as his fingers slowly released their vise grip on my wrist. Though I didn’t really want to show weakness in front of him just then, as soon as he let go, I shook my wrist out and grimaced just a little. Man, he had a tight grip.

Fortunately, I had never lost my hold on the gun, so once I’d worked a little circulation back into my wrist, I lifted the weapon until it was aimed square at his nose. Next I tucked the stake that had magically found its way into my hand back into its sheath as I slowly backed toward the door again. He stayed right where he was, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, but otherwise unmoving. It looked like the holder of the focus was trying to goad him into doing something stupid, and he was gamely fighting against it. That, and, oddly, the blood that had been trickling out of the bullet holes in his shoulder and stomach had ceased flowing. Creepy.

Once I put my hand on the door handle, he spoke, voice low and uneven, like his control was wavering. “La Petite Boisson tomorrow night. Bring the mage.”

His eyes were closed, his expression contorting like he was in pain. When his eyes opened again, that feral glitter had come back to them, and he took a step toward me. His voice was once again that sickeningly sweet lull, promising all sorts of things that I really, really didn’t want anything to do with. “When I get my hands on you, you will beg to die. But I won’t let you. I am going to drag out your death for days, weeks, years. You could only wish you had gone the easy route and given yourself over to Royce.”

“That’s nice. Here’s how it’s actually going to play out,” I said with far more brashness than I felt. My insides felt like they’d turned to iced jelly, but I kept talking smooth and bored like I was going over my grocery list instead of threatening the obviously psychotic holder of the focus. “When I find you, and you stop hiding behind your big bad vampire flunky”—Wow, did I really just call Royce a flunky?—“I am going to kick your sorry, cowardly ass from here to the Mississippi. And trust me, I will find you.”

He snarled and took another threatening step, so I shot him in the knee. He fell, howling and cradling his injured leg, and I stared in stupid shock. I hadn’t even thought about pulling the trigger, hadn’t even really tried to take aim. The laser sight wasn’t on. How could I have managed to hit him? I’m not that good a shot.

Yet somehow I’d just felled him with no real effort, knowing instinctively that it would take him too long to recover from the knee injury for him to follow me. Go in for the kill. He’s easy prey now, a soft voice whispered in the back of my mind. He can’t run or fight back as well wounded like that. All it will take is one quick thrust and it will all be over. Chilled, I shook my head violently to stop the thoughts prodding at me, holstered the gun, and yanked the door open.

The people who had been gathered outside the door backed up immediately, all of them looking frightened and shocked. I threw one last, pitying look over my shoulder to the vampire who was glaring at me with someone else’s hatred in his eyes. There was some part of me that was hating back, not Royce, but the one who was making him lash out against me. Sure, he was a manipulative bastard, probably worthy of some loathing, too, but I knew what it was like being under someone else’s thumb. It couldn’t have been easy for someone who was so used to being in control to be subjected to something like the hold of the focus. He was suffering from that indignity a lot more than I was just now.

He was a vampire, but he had also been human at one time. While he’d been a manipulative asshole in the short time I’d known him, he hadn’t done anything to physically harm me exactly, only use me. The holder was something else. Whoever it was seemed out for blood. Royce was smart enough to have let me go once he knew the papers had been doctored; it was the holder forcing him into acting like such an unconscionable, unreasoning shithead.

That made it much easier to make my next decision.

“I’ll save you,” I promised before turning on a booted heel and rushing past the people and through the offices, faster than I’d ever run in my life. The cubicles and doorways were a blur, and once out the door, I barely paused in my rush to the gleaming exit sign down the hallway. I’d take the stairs and meet Arnold and Sara outside so we could make a quick getaway.

But who will save you? asked that mocking voice in the back of my mind.

Chapter 30

Arnold and Sara were in the lobby, having a shouting match with the security guard, who was also shouting orders into a walkie-talkie and waving a gun at them. When my friends saw me burst out of the stairwell, they started shouting in relief at me instead. I couldn’t make out a single thing anyone was saying, and even though I was nearly shot by the skittish security guard, who trained his gun on me the instant I appeared, I didn’t stop running for the doors leading out into the street.

“Let’s get out of here!” I cried on my way past the guard desk.

They followed quickly enough, and I glanced back just long enough to see Arnold pointing in the direction of the car. Three blocks away, I finally spotted it, and only then turned to see what happened to Arnold and Sara.

They were trailing gamely behind, but a block and a half away. A New York City block is pretty dang long, and it surprised me to see how much distance I’d put between us. Strange. Just like my newfound strength and Annie Oakley shooting skills, it seemed I’d picked up some peculiar latent talents in the last half an hour or so. The sound of police sirens in the distance was getting louder, but I couldn’t see where they were. There was a part of me that simply knew that the cops were roughly half a mile away, coming toward Royce’s office building from a different direction than we’d been running. Weirded out, I started pacing, only then noticing I wasn’t even winded once Sara and Arnold joined me, huffing and puffing, a minute or so later.

“Go, speed racer.” Sara grinned at me weakly, taking a few quick breaths. “When did you turn into a marathon runner?”

“When…she…” Arnold gasped, wheezing more than I would’ve expected considering it was only a couple of blocks. Maybe he was a heavy smoker? “…put on…the…belt…”

Horrified, I looked down at the plain black leather circling my waist. “This did that?”

He nodded, braced his hands on his knees for a moment before clicking the car open. We all slid inside, me in the back, Sara in the front, and I cringed as something that sounded like faint, mocking laughter bounced around in my skull. I can do a lot more than that if you let me, that strange, whispery voice said.

“What the blue flying fuck!” I exclaimed, scrabbling at the belt buckle. Arnold and Sara twisted around in their seats, eyes wide as they stared at me having a fit over the buckle. It seemed like the tongue had adhered with superglue to the rest of the belt and wasn’t about to be pried loose by my frantic fingers.

That won’t help anything, it said, that edge of mocking laughter grating on what few nerves I had left. You’re stuck with me until sunrise. Relax.

“I won’t relax! Get out of my head!” I cried, redoubling my efforts. Sara and Arnold exchanged a look and I glared at them. “Snide looks aren’t helping me get this thing off any faster!”

“Uh, Shia, you do realize you were just talking to yourself, right?” Sara said, amused.

“She was talking to the belt,” Arnold said, though he was still staring at me like I’d grown two heads. I finally folded my arms across my chest and growled in frustration, quickly unfolding them when the guns started digging into my ribs again. Damn it, I had to remember how uncomfortable it was to do that. “It’s…uhh…It’s sentient. A dead hunter’s spirit inhabits it and gives it its power.” He had the grace to look sheepish, I’ll give him that.

Seething, I reached out and grabbed the collar of his shirt, practically dragging him into the back seat with me. He yelped and grabbed at my wrist, but wisely didn’t fight back. The way I was feeling just then, I probably would’ve punched his teeth in if he had. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?!”

“Would you have put it on if you’d known?” he shot back. That gave me pause. Knowing that some dead guy would be talking to me through a fashion accessory all night? No, no, I most definitely would not have put it on or even touched it with a ten-foot pole. However, I had to admit that it had saved my skin in the fight with Royce.

I gradually relaxed my grip on Arnold’s shirt so he could settle back in his own seat. Looking a trifle offended, he straightened his collar and started the car, quickly pulling out into the street. Probably so I wouldn’t pull that stunt of dragging him into the back with me again.

“It’s most likely been dying for someone to talk to. According to the logs, we’ve had it in the vault for over fifteen years, and I don’t think the coven that had it before The Circle used it more than a handful of times prior to giving it to us.”

“Great.” I was just thrilled to hear about the sordid—okay, boring—past of the talking inanimate object around my waist. “So when the sun comes up, I can take it off again, right?”

“Yes,” he said at the same time that weird voice started chattering at me. You heard the vampire, he wants you to return tomorrow night. You’ll need me as much as I need you. This is freedom for me. Wear me, let me out, and I will reward you with strength and knowledge beyond your wildest dreams. You don’t have to hunt if you don’t want to, just let me out, wear me, use me, LET ME GO LET ME OUT LET—

Sara had been saying something, but the droning of the belt kind of drowned her out. “Fine, whatever, just shut up already!” I said, relieved when it did as I said. I hastily turned to Sara. “Not you. Sorry, repeat that?”

“I said,” she replied dryly, “that you might want to consider wearing it until the current crisis is over. I take it by the way you were booking it out of there that things with Royce went south?”

Cringing at the thought of it, I nodded, wondering if the belt had anything to do with the fact that I wasn’t shaking in terror or suffering any kind of adrenaline rush. Especially after that battle royal in the conference room. I felt an odd sense of smugness just then, as if it read my thoughts and agreed with them. Creepy thing.

“Yeah. Apparently he doesn’t have the focus.”

Arnold almost snapped his own neck with whiplash when he looked back over his shoulder at me. “What?!”

Yelping, I pointed back at the road, and he turned his attention back just in time to keep from plowing into a cab cutting into our lane. Once he’d straightened out of fishtailing from braking so hard and my pulse resumed something resembling a normal pace, I continued my explanation.

“Someone was controlling him with it. I don’t think he really wanted to attack me, but it didn’t seem like he had a choice. We fought, I won, and I promised I’d try to bail him out.”

Arnold made a choking sound that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Sara, who was rigidly holding on to the oh-shit-handle on her door with one hand and the dashboard with the other, was staring at me over her shoulder. “You’re joking, right? Seriously, you, saving a vampire?”

I glared at her. “Oh, can it. I felt sorry for him. Besides, whoever was controlling him is seriously pissed off at me right now and is out for blood. Royce is my only lead to the one who actually has the stupid thing.”

“Check your forehead. Do you have a fever?”

“For God’s sake, Sara!” I smacked her shoulder, eliciting a pained “Ow!” out of her. “If I don’t meet him tomorrow at his restaurant, I might as well throw in the towel. Whoever it is had some kind of evil master plan that I spoiled, and now they want me to pay for it. If I don’t go, I might never get another chance to find out who’s behind Veronica’s murder and trying to kill me now.”

“All right, all right.” She let go of her death grip on the door so she could rub her bruised shoulder. “Tomorrow night, though? What are we going to do until then?”

“Hide,” Arnold cut in before I could speak. “We’ll find a place to bed down for the day, a hotel or something out of town, and come back tomorrow night to find Royce. Maybe there’s something I can do in the meantime to track down the holder. Get some clues or something.”

“Why should I hide?” I asked, irritated. “I was safe enough at Sara’s before.”

“Because Royce has the resources to have tracked her down, and if you aren’t at your apartment, that’s the next logical place to look. After that fight, aren’t you worried whoever it is might try to find you to finish things off?”

Recalling the alien hatred blazing in those black-and-crimson eyes, I shuddered and nodded. “Yeah, but I shot his knee out. He’s not going to be finishing anything tonight.”

Arnold sighed at that, sounding tired and beaten. “I didn’t say Royce. I was talking about the holder. He’ll probably start using another vamp tonight, or switch to a Were to fight you during the day when the belt won’t protect you. Assuming the holder isn’t another vampire, who would probably rest during the day.”

“Oh, that’s just great. Peachy keen,” I grumped, settling back in the seat and wishing mightily I could cross my arms but having to make due with putting my clenched hands on my thighs.

“Honestly, I’m kind of surprised he didn’t gang up a bunch on you up there. It was just you and Royce?”

“Yeah,” I said, recalling how Royce had balked more than once against the one speaking through him to me. “He was trying not to fight me. A couple of times he managed to hold back when I think he was being ordered to attack.”

Arnold laughed, and I frowned at him. Laughter didn’t seem like a very appropriate response. “We’re in luck!”

I gave a very unladylike snort, followed by Sara’s own incredulous laughter. “Luck? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“No, we are,” he said, grinning wolfishly. I’d have been worried if he was a vamp or a Were with a look like that. “That means that the holder is weak-willed. Can’t control more than one Were or vamp at the same time. Not of Royce’s age and strength. Maybe a couple of younger ones, but at the very least, it’s an advantage in our favor.”

Wow. Maybe that explained why the holder was so bitchy and pissed off.

Sara threw in her own two cents. “Then we actually have a chance at beating this thing?”

Arnold nodded, and I breathed a deep sigh of relief. That was some of the best news I’d heard all week.

Chapter 31

Later that night, the three of us sat around a cheap, scarred table in a remarkably seedy hotel a few blocks down from Times Square. It was the only one we could find on short notice that would take cash and didn’t check ID against the names of their guests. That was primarily mine and Sara’s idea, not Arnold’s. Credit cards and everything else could be traced, and I was still pretty sure that, in addition to Royce, my ex, and the holder of the focus, the cops were probably looking for me in connection with Veronica’s death.

So we’d gotten two rooms, though so far the three of us hadn’t been interested in separating. Especially with roaches the size of Godzilla skittering around the floors and walls. Ugh.

“Remind me again why we’re doing this?” I propped my feet on the edge of my chair and wrapped my arms around my legs so I wouldn’t chance a bug running across my foot.

Arnold looked as grossed out as I felt, watching with morbid fascination as the shadowed outline of a roach sedately marched across the TV screen, right across the news anchor’s face. “I thought it would be safer than waiting around for a vamp or a Were to find you. I’m starting to think we should take our chances somewhere else.”

Sara curled her lip, staring at the TV, too. “Yeah, Roachzilla over there is big enough to be a Werebug. Screw this. Why don’t I just ask Janine if we can crash at her place for the night? She might even be out of the country so, if we’re lucky, we won’t have to deal with her face to face.”

“Who’s Janine?” Arnold asked.

“Janine’s? Are you sure?” I’m pretty sure my face showed about as much distaste for that idea as Sara and Arnold’s did for the roach.

“Uh, guys? Who’s Janine?” Arnold asked again, ignored by Sara and me.

She shrugged, not looking overly pleased. “Got any better ideas? I personally don’t want to wake up with bugs in my hair or crawling around on me while I sleep.”

Oh God. “Call her.”

She did. I heard Janine’s high, panic-frantic voice from across the room, and rubbed my temples. Guess she was in town. The belt was adding its own muted background noise somewhere in the back of my skull, twittering laughter that mocked the tinny, high-pitched tones coming out of Sara’s cell phone. Deciding to drown them both out, I finally answered Arnold’s question, talking a little louder than was strictly necessary. “Janine is Sara’s younger sister. She’s a bit of a pill. Nice enough, but very flighty and scared of everything.”

“Oh. Great. She going to have a problem with me being a spark?”

I started, and he cracked a goofy smile. Guess he thought it was funny to call himself a spark the way some minorities thought it was funny to refer to themselves in derogatory terms. “Probably. Just don’t do anything flashy, and we may not have to take her to the ER with a heart attack.”

He chuckled and nodded. “I can do that much.”

“You know,” I said, “you don’t act anything like I thought a mage would. I haven’t even really seen you do anything, except light those candles and make the wall disappear. You just said a word and poof, it happened. No grand gestures, no bolts of lightning from the sky or flashes of light. Is all magic like that?”

“No, not really. The only reason it was like that is because those spells were set to certain key words. The actual preparation work beforehand is where you get the sparkly lights and cracks of thunder in the background.” He grinned and I stared at him, trying to figure out if he was being serious or just pulling my leg.

“Want to see something cool?”

“Uhm,” I said, not sure I did. The belt chose that moment to interject a snide You know you’re curious. I wished mightily that it would just shut up. “Okay, I’m curious,” I said.

He cupped his hands together, whispering a few words so quietly I couldn’t hear them over the sound of Sara and Janine in the background. When he opened his hands, a tiny black mouse poked its head out between his fingers and I jerked back in surprise and fright.

“Oh my God, that’s a mouse! Get it out of here!” I might’ve jumped up on top of the bed if I wasn’t afraid there would be roaches under the covers.

He seemed disappointed at my reaction, and cradled the mouse up to his chest, lightly stroking its head with the tip of one finger as he frowned at me. “Bob’s my familiar, he won’t hurt you.”

“Stop being a baby, Shia,” Sara said across the room, covering the mouthpiece of the phone with one hand.

Reluctantly, I settled down a little more in my chair, taking a closer look—but that’s it. No way was I going to touch a mouse. “His name is Bob? You named your mouse Bob?” I asked, hearing the touch of a frightened whine in my voice and hating it. I hated the sound of mocking laughter from the belt even more.

“I didn’t name him, he named himself. He’s a familiar, not a normal mouse,” Arnold explained, putting his hand down on the table so the mouse could scamper down and start twitching his whiskers at me a little too close for comfort.

Making sure my legs were tucked very close to my chest so no part of me was near enough to the table to touch it, I shot a look at Sara, who was listening to Janine jabbering and shrugging at me helplessly. “Um. What’s a familiar?”

“Kind of like an extra helping hand. Different types of animals do different things. Bob, like most rodents, is good at collecting information for me.” When he put his hand on the table, the mouse quickly ran over to it and leaned against it. His thumb absently ran along the slick black fur as he talked, and the mouse seemed happy enough to stay where it was, so I gradually started relaxing a little more. “Some magi like using birds to carry messages for them. It’s a little old-fashioned, especially considering most everyone has e-mail or a cell phone these days, so it’s mostly the backwoods Europeans still doing it. Some magi use cats, as they’re an excellent way to focus and channel energy between the world of the living and the dead. The Egyptians were particularly fond of them.”

“Why would anyone want to deal with the dead?” I asked him, not sure if I was actually curious or just trying to keep my attention on something other than the furball at his fingertips.

He pointed with his free hand in the general direction of my waist. “Things like that are made with the use of energy from where the dead linger. Different magi specialize in different forms of magic. That’s one of the benefits to working with a coven instead of going solo. When you have magi like me who specialize in information and security, it works well when you also have magi who specialize in defensive spellcasting, offensive spellcasting, with the occasional crafter to make artifacts like the belt to augment the intangible stuff the rest of us do. Even an illusionist has a place and purpose along with the rest of us. It just depends on what our clients want, or what the coven as a whole is striving to do. Our flexibility is part of what made The Circle’s services so in demand, and such a great place to work.”

“Yeah,” I said dryly. “Sounds like a dream come true. Where do I sign up?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Wow, I did sound like a walking, talking advertisement for a second there. Sorry.”

“Hey, so Janine says we can stay at her place,” Sara said as she flipped the phone shut, walking back over to resume a similar crouched posture as mine on her seat. Guess she was afraid of having Roachzilla crush her foot, too. “However, she doesn’t want to have to play hostess and said we’re on our own as far as food and entertainment. I don’t know about you guys, but that’s fine with me.”

Arnold and I nodded, rising to pick up our things. I watched in fascination as Arnold closed his hands over the mouse and it once again disappeared to parts unknown. He wasn’t wearing long sleeves, so there really was no other explanation than magic for why it wasn’t there when he moved his hands off the table. While it raised his creepy factor a few points, it was admittedly kind of cool to see him do some real magic.

When he saw me watching, he grinned and gave me one word in explanation. “Conjuration.”

Whatever that means.

Chapter 32

Janine was waiting on the wide marble steps in front of her building when we pulled up, and she did not look happy to see us. A shorter, skinnier, more nervous version of Sara, her blue-as-the-summer-sky eyes never quite managed to meet anyone else’s, and her hands never stopped fluttering over something, smoothing the bright golden strands of her hair or fussing with her clothes, fingering a piece of jewelry, that sort of thing. She was very pretty and scared of her own shadow.

If looks could kill, the one she shot to Sara when she saw Arnold with us would’ve turned her into a crispy critter. Though I hadn’t been paying much attention to their arguing on the phone, I figured out easily enough that Sara had left out the small detail that we’d be bringing someone else with us.

After we introduced Arnold, we followed Janine up the steps. Arnold was polite enough not to remark on the fact that Janine was visibly reluctant to shake his hand and carefully kept as much distance between them as possible. We passed through the automatic glass doors, which slid open with a soft hiss to grant us entrance, and into the elegant foyer of the apartment building.

Unlike Sara, Janine chose to live in one of the pieces of property her parents had left to them on their death. The apartment was very close to Central Park, and while it was far from a penthouse suite, being on the first floor, there was no doubt that it was very costly to stay here. The foyer was quiet, decorated in gold leaf and marble pillars with a few tasteful pieces of artwork. The soft burble of water trickling over the fountain in the center of the room masked the hiss and crackle of static of the security guard’s radio.

Despite the serious atmosphere of the lobby, it was reassuring having the security guy there, even if it was highly unlikely anyone would think to look for me or Sara here. The guard didn’t do much more than crack a thin, polite smile and give a short wave to Janine, passing a curious look over the rest of us filing behind her.

“Make yourselves at home, guys,” Janine said as she unlocked her front door. Rather than stick around to give the guided tour, she tossed her keys on a delicate end table next to the door and promptly headed toward her bedroom, not looking back. “I’ve still got some work to do, so if you want to watch a movie and order in pizza or Chinese or something, there are menus in the drawer next to the fridge.”

“Thanks, spaz,” Sara said, not without a touch of affection. “I owe you one.”

Janine flashed a quick half-smile before disappearing into the back. Arnold folded his arms and checked out the living room, one brow arching in surprise at the size of the place and the obviously expensive furnishings.

Sara and I tossed our duffels and purses on one of the oversized couches. I settled into one and flipped on the big screen, channel surfing while Sara went to the kitchen to order some food. Arnold went to the bookcases and started examining the titles, brushing his fingertips along the spines as he read them.

“So,” Arnold asked me, keeping his voice fairly low, “what’s with Janine? She doesn’t seem so bad.”

I smirked, turning up the volume on the tube just a little to make sure she wouldn’t overhear. “She’s not. Yet. Once you’re around her a little, you’ll see. She ran out of here like her ass was on fire because we brought you with us.”

“Why? Am I that scary?” He turned with a grin, looking about as dangerous as a kitten.

I smiled back and shook my head. “She has trouble dealing with new people and new situations. She’s never talked about it to me, and Sara’s never told me anything, but I suspect it may have to do with her parents’ sudden death or maybe something else bad happened to her in her past. She’s been that way as long as I’ve known her, almost five years. It’s nothing personal, don’t worry about it.”

He frowned, looking speculatively off in the direction Janine had gone. Hmm. Was he interested, or just covering his bases?

Sara came in a moment later with a grab bag of menus, and every one blessedly delivered, even at that late hour. We all threw some cash on the table and decided on Italian, ordering far too much food for the three of us.

We fell on the food when it arrived, a marathon of old Japanese monster movies playing in the background. Then, in a blissful, carbohydrate-induced stupor, we spent the rest of the evening watching downtown Tokyo get destroyed over and over again.

Janine must have turned the TV off, cleared the food off the coffee table, and thrown blankets on us sometime during the night. We’d fallen asleep on the couch, all sprawled against each other. When I woke up, Sara had her legs in Arnold’s lap, and my head was on her shoulder. One of my legs dangled over the arm of the couch, the other tucked up until my knee was almost against my chest.

My back screamed a protest when I got up, and I groaned when one or two of the stakes jabbed me in the ribs as I twisted up to a sitting position. Arnold was already awake, but unmoving, blinking blearily at me as I sat up.

“G’mornin’,” he managed to say, sounding like he needed coffee almost as badly as I did. “Sleep well?”

“Sort of. A bit cramped up, though. We must have been exhausted to crash out here.”

I stood with a stretch and a yawn. The belt didn’t feel quite so snug this morning despite the heavy meal, and I tentatively pulled at the buckle. It worked! I yanked it off, immeasurably relieved now that it was daylight and I could remove the silly thing.

“I’m going to shower and get dressed, I’ll be out in a little bit,” I said, grabbing my duffel and heading toward a bathroom.

He nodded, closing his eyes and tilting his head back against the couch. He looked pretty wiped out. I figured I’d do the nice thing and make breakfast for everyone, including our absent hostess, once I was ready to face the day.

Peeling off the body armor I’d slept in was no easy feat. It felt like a contortionist act just to get the shirt off. Once I did, I almost wished I’d just left it on.

Beneath the shirt I was a mass of bruises. None of them really hurt too badly, but overall it looked like I’d had a ton of bricks dropped on me. The ones at my neck were the only ones that were painful, sending little sparks of agony through my shoulder when I gingerly pressed a fingertip to them. Wincing, I cut that out soon enough, and with a sigh started up the shower, not having to wait long for the water to be almost hotter than I could stand.

As I washed my hair and scrubbed myself off, I reflected on what had come of having a full-out physical fight with a vamp. On the bright side, I was alive. On the brighter side, I still had all my bodily fluids. I could deal with some bruises if it meant survival. Still, I could see little indentations inside the bruises around my collarbone where Royce must have come pretty close to actually breaking the skin even through the body armor. There were impressions of fingerprints in black and blue on my arm, and sickly greenish-yellow spots around my legs and butt from when I’d fallen and, no doubt, from when I’d flipped the vampire onto his back.

All in all, not too shabby. I’d come out on top, if a bit worse for wear.

Oh, well. So no bikinis for a few weeks. It was spring anyway—I’d live.

Chapter 33

Later, feeling clean and refreshed, the three of us were walking down the street in search of good bialys and coffee. Janine had recommended a bakery a few blocks from the apartment. Unfortunately, I hadn’t thought I’d need a turtleneck when I’d packed my emergency bag of clothes, and kept flipping my jacket collar up in a vain attempt to hide the bruises around my neck. Janine had fluttered around a little when she saw the discolorations, her concern actually making me feel kind of bad and awkward. Especially since she was obviously afraid but too well mannered to ask outright if we’d dragged some of that trouble back to her place and just hadn’t told her about it.

Sara and Arnold had politely declined to say anything, but I felt their eyes slide over to my neck every few minutes. Finally sick of the scrutiny, I tried arranging my hair so the fiery curls might hide the marks. Mostly they just ended up flying into my face and getting caught in my mouth when I tried to talk.

“How could you?” I heard a bitter, growling voice behind us and whirled, surprised. “How could you have signed for him but not for me? You lying little slut!”

“Chaz!” I exclaimed, taking an involuntary step back as he jumped out of a car stopped in the middle of the street with a snarl on his lips and fists clenched at his sides. He ignored the irate honks and curses from other drivers as another two guys got out of the car after him. More Weres from the looks of them. Great. “What are you talking about?”

He pointed accusingly at my neck. “Look at you! You let him bite you already, didn’t you? You never went out of town, you went straight to him.”

He was coming closer, his packmates following hot on his heels and seeming to get hopped up on the scent of anger and fear thick on the air.

“Chaz, what the fuck? She doesn’t belong to you, back off!” Sara, arms folded, glared up at him. Was she crazy? None of us had weapons and tonight was the full moon. You don’t get in the way of an angry Were-anything during the full moon!

“Shut up, he wasn’t talking to you,” one of the others told her. I saw part of the pack tattoo visible under his short-sleeved T-shirt, the spear and sun for the Sunstriker pack. His eyes were a feral ice blue, the glittering gaze of a wolf on the hunt staring back at Sara from under a sweep of artfully emo dyed black bangs. The rest of his hair was short, except for the strands arranged to fall across his brow and hide one of his eyes.

Looking at the third Were grinning savagely at Chaz’s side, also tattooed and wearing a more nondescript T-shirt and loose-fitting jeans with practically half his boxers sticking out of the top, I suddenly realized how right that cab driver from the other day had been. The Sunstrikers really were just a bunch of posers. Bullies, yes, but posers nonetheless.

My attention was abruptly brought back to Chaz, who was looking more than a little miffed. Was that a hint of fang showing in that snarl? “He hurt you, didn’t he? I’ll kill him!”

“Chaz, for God’s sake, calm down!” I backed away as he advanced toward me and Arnold tugged on Sara’s arm, pulling her back with us. “It’s not as bad as it looks, and you don’t need to do anything. Just stop a minute, will you?” Finally he listened and stopped trying to close the distance between us. I stopped when he did, and Sara and Arnold moved behind me to get my back. Or hide behind me. Whatever.

Chaz’s companions stopped, too, looking to him for direction. I guessed Chaz must be the pack leader or something. I’d never really bothered to ask him anything about it after I’d screamed bloody murder for him to trot his hairy ass out of my living room and stay out of my life. To this day I still don’t know why the neighbors never called the cops. I sure was loud enough for them to have heard me.

“Listen,” I said, finding a little of that old anger burning deep down, fanning into flames at the sheer gall of him, accosting me on the street like a jealous boyfriend. “You and I are done, finished, over. You burned your bridges with me when you hid what you were, you insufferable ass. Then, bringing your goons with you to try to scare me and my friends? Who the hell do you think you are? I’ve got I don’t know how many people after my ass trying to kill me in the last few days, and you think this show of bravado is going to win my affection? I broke up with you because you lied to me, and you hid things from me, and you were a dick, not because you’re a Were! Get over yourself!”

Everyone was staring at me; I even saw a touch of awe on Sara’s face. Chaz was speechless, opening and closing his mouth as he started to say something and then thought better of it. He looked both chagrined and angry, wavering in between as though he wanted to be offended but wasn’t sure if he should be. I folded my arms across my chest (no holsters to jab me in the ribs this time) and tapped my foot, waiting for him to spit out a reply or rebuttal.

He slowly lowered his head, spreading his hands and deflating somewhat as the anger was finally overtaken by his embarrassment. “Shia, I’m sorry. It’s just, I know how you feel about Others and the thought of a vamp’s hands on you makes me mad enough to lose my head.” He sighed and stood up straighter, resuming that effortlessly strong, body-builder’s pose he knew I liked so much. Playing me like a fiddle, that’s what he was doing. Of course, knowing that didn’t make it any easier to resist those gym-made washboard abs or sad puppy dog eyes. “Will you at least let me help you? Give me a chance to show you I’m not that bad?”

I glanced back and forth between Sara and Arnold, wondering what they thought. Both of them had stony expressions, looking about as moved as a pair of boulders. I fidgeted, trying to think rationally but already knowing the battle was lost. True, the holder might be able to make him turn on me, but what if they didn’t know about him? Arnold had said the holder was weak willed. Maybe that meant I could still count on Chaz, since the holder wouldn’t be able to control him and Royce at the same time.

Chaz didn’t have that strained look about him that Royce had when he was being forced into doing something he didn’t want to. His gaze was clear, and his voice sounded exactly the same as I remembered it, with no hint of poisoned honey sweetness to it. He would’ve attacked me already if that was his intent. And what he’d said at my parents’ place was true: he’d never hurt me, and I don’t think he really ever meant to scare me like he did. I could admit to myself now that I had overreacted a little when I saw him shift. He’d been putting trust in me to accept him as he was, all of him, and I’d given him the boot. How I’d reacted—that I’d been a bigoted, racist moron—did not sit well. Having now seen firsthand that vampires and Weres and magi had feelings to hurt, just like me, I suddenly felt like the bad guy for having thrown him out instead of the other way around.

The past couple of days had well and truly skewed my once plainly black-and-white views on Others. Maybe Chaz really wasn’t the Big Bad Wolf. After all, if I’d been in his place, I probably would’ve hesitated to tell me I was a Were, too. Grimacing, remembering my reaction and some of the unthinking things I had said in the past about Others, I could see why I might have neglected to ever say anything about it. He was braver and maybe stupider for showing himself to me than I had previously given him credit for.

Not to mention I didn’t like the idea of him possibly going Rambo on me and trying to take down Royce on his own. I’d much rather keep an eye on him.

I figured I could risk giving him one more chance. I threw up my hands and tried to keep my voice as brisk as it had been, rather than letting any sheepish note creep into it. “Fine, whatever. But leave the Three Stooges behind.” I pointed to the two dorks at his side and the driver who was idling at the curb.

One of the Weres growled softly at that, showing a little bit of upper and lower fang. They weren’t too pronounced, as he wasn’t shifted, but it was more than enough to make all three of us non-Weres take a quick step back. Chaz casually smacked emo-boy in the chest with a closed fist, sending him stumbling back with a yelp. “Done.”

The other Weres shook their heads, exchanging the universal well-that’s-the-boss-for-ya-what-can-you-do look before shuffling off to their car. I overheard one of them say something about “alpha my ass” to the others, though they silenced themselves quick enough when Chaz gave them a menacing look and a growl from deep in his chest. The hairs on the back of my neck rose at the sound, nothing that should come out of a human throat, and the other Weres continued on their way a little more speedily. Chaz turned back to us with an expectant look, all innocence, as if he hadn’t just acted completely inhuman a moment ago.

A bit nonplussed, I gestured for everyone to follow me. I took a quick look around my ex to make sure that the other Weres weren’t coming back. The tall, skinny one who Chaz had smacked threw a black look at me over his shoulder. Annoyed, I flipped him off before turning on my heel and continuing down the street, figuring it would do me a world of good to at least act like I was a bigger badass than the werewolf at my heels. One thing I’d noticed over the last couple of days was that every Other I’d dealt with so far, even Arnold, stopped treating me like a pushover when I acted sure of myself. Because of that, I kept my head high and didn’t look back, acting like I expected everyone else to follow, including my ass-kissing ex.

Despite the cool façade, I still had doubts and worries. The moon was going to be full after dark. How the heck was I going to keep Chaz from killing Royce tonight?

Chapter 34

Sara and Arnold were not pleased with my decision. I wasn’t too happy about it either, but that wasn’t going to change anything. My mind was made up as far as Chaz was concerned. His help could prove invaluable to us later.

“So, I came up with a theory this morning,” I said to Sara as we walked along looking for the bakery.

She arched a brow, glancing over at me before returning her gaze to the sidewalk. Arnold and Chaz were both watching me with interest. “Do tell.”

I shrugged the jacket up a little more on my shoulders, eyes narrowing in thought. “When I went to go see Royce the last two times, there was a girl there with him.”

“Allison Darling,” Arnold said.

“Yeah, her. I already know she doesn’t like me. Don’t know why, but there’s something there.”

Arnold glanced at Chaz, then me. Chaz looked curious and had a touch of an eye twitch when I mentioned Royce’s name but wisely kept his mouth shut. “You think it’s her?”

I nodded, ticking off the points on my fingers. “She’s the most likely suspect. She was there both times I’ve gone to Royce’s office. She’s pissed at me for some reason, I haven’t quite put my finger on that yet. She told him when I had the belt. And whoever it was making Royce go schizo on me obviously wants me dead, or at least hurting. It makes sense as much as anything else I can come up with that she’s the one.” I was careful not to mention the focus. I was trusting Chaz, but not that far, not yet.

“Someone wants you dead?” Chaz asked, the first touch of anger coloring his voice. We all ignored him. Better not to get him too riled up at this point. Not this close to the full moon.

Sara frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense, though. Why would she want you dead? Do you know her from somewhere else?”

“No, but since when did any of this shit make sense? These are Others. No offense,” I quickly added as Chaz and Arnold looked over at me, irritated.

Sara said, “I don’t know. Arnold, what do you know about her?”

We all turned our attention to him as we waited in a crowd of people to cross the street. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking straight ahead instead of focusing on any one of us. “I don’t know. It’s a possibility. I know she was funneling information to Royce as early as last November. But I can’t imagine what she’d hope to gain with you dead, especially since Veronica is out of the picture now.”

“No witnesses, maybe?” It came out a little more archly than I meant, but hey, this was my potential murderer we were talking about here.

He glanced warily at Chaz before answering. “Maybe. I don’t know. If I swing by my place later, I can log on to the server at the office and pull up her address. We can go ask her in person.”

Chaz looked just as confused and left out as ever. I guess he really didn’t know anything about what was going on and wasn’t on the side of the bad guys after all. If that’s what Arnold was suspicious of.

“Hey, look, guys,” Sara pointed up the street.

We had finally arrived at the little bakery. It had a scrumptious-looking selection of freshly baked goods and delicious-smelling coffee. The four of us ordered bialys and coffee from a man behind the counter absorbed in the morning paper, which he reluctantly set aside to serve us.

Chaz pulled out some cash from his wallet. “Want me to get yours?”

I shook my head, smiling. Trust Chaz to be the gentleman.

Sara peered around Chaz to me, an odd look on her face. “Shia, what was that girl’s name again?”

Arnold answered for me. “Allison Darling. Why?”

Giving the guy who was ringing up her stuff an apologetic look, she grabbed the paper off the counter, ignoring his “Hey!”

She held up the cover story, one eerily similar to the one we’d stared at a lifetime or so ago back in Sara’s kitchen. ANOTHER MAGE MURDERED! COVEN VOWS VENGEANCE! I snatched the paper out of her hand, scanning the story below the grainy photo of Allison. The other three crowded to read over my shoulder while the guy at the register impatiently tapped his fingers on the counter.

The story was similar to Veronica’s in that the body looked like both a Were and a vampire had gotten to it. Last night the body was spotted floating in the East River. The cops dragged her out, or what was left of her anyway, and apparently someone at the paper had made an early call to the CEO and coven leader of The Circle to get her opinion. Alexandra Peterson was horrified and saddened, and promised the help of The Circle in any way they could to find and stop the madman behind the murders.

So much for my theory.

Chapter 35

Okay. So my number one suspect was obviously not the right one, since she was just as dead as Veronica.

This was awfully coincidental, but there wasn’t a whole heck of a lot I could do about it. It all put me back at square one.

We had bought our breakfast and decided to find a place to sit down outside to eat. Not that any of us had much appetite after reading about the new murder. We wandered into Central Park looking for a bench that all four of us could sit on with enough personal space between us to fit ten or so more people.

Chaz remained remarkably placid, almost servile in how he treated me. It was odd having him hover, offering to pay for my food, carrying the bag for me, holding doors open, all the things he used to do. When I made a suggestion, he deferred to my idea more often than not. It was a little unnerving how eager he was to please.

Sara and Arnold weren’t buying it. When he held the door for Sara, she stood there and waited until he went out first. When he offered to carry the bag of bialys, Arnold casually plucked it out of my hands and walked right past him. It was a little embarrassing how they were treating him, but I understood their caution.

Eventually, we found a big-enough, empty park bench. Sara and Arnold sat on one side of me, Chaz the other. I could almost taste the fear in the air, the way they said vamps and Weres could, coming off Sara and Arnold. Their nervousness around Chaz wasn’t rubbing off on me, for some reason.

I almost pitied Chaz for having to deal with this, knowing that anytime a non-Were knew what he was, they’d have that touch of fear in the backs of their minds that he’d shift and tear them apart, no matter how civilized he appeared at the outset. Truth is, most Weres are not very violent except when provoked. They earned their reputation simply because once the beast was unleashed, it was well and truly deserving of some fear. A vampire’s strength usually pales in comparison, unless they’re ancient, and an enraged Were is fully capable of tearing even the hardiest vampire apart.

Chaz was watching the rest of us thoughtfully as we ate. Sara and Arnold were giving him the silent treatment. After taking a sip of coffee to steady myself, I twisted around on the bench to turn my back to them and talk to Chaz without straining my neck.

“You know, I don’t mind spending time with you, but today’s really not the best day. Maybe we can just go catch a movie in a few days, after this job is done.”

He frowned. “Shia, you signed a contract with a vampire. If someone doesn’t protect you, you may not be alive in a few days.”

The truth of those words made the rest of my bialy look entirely unappetizing. I took another chunk off it and stuffed it in my mouth anyway, knowing I’d need my strength tonight. Mumbling around the bread, I shifted my gaze away from his. The concern in those baby blue eyes was just too much.

“I know. I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve. Don’t write me off just yet.”

“I don’t want to see anything bad happen to you. Why were you getting involved with Royce anyway?” He glanced around me at Arnold. “Magi, too? I don’t understand why you’re doing all of this. It could get you killed if you’re not careful.”

Wow. Did this mean he didn’t know about the focus? I peeked over my shoulder at Arnold, ignoring the twinge of pain it caused. Fortunately, Arnold seemed willing to answer, though he looked wary enough that I guessed he was being careful how he worded things. He had reason to be careful, too. If a Were knew a mage was trying to one-up or control them with magic, there were no laws on the books that could protect that mage from being splattered all over the street.

Finally, Arnold said, “My coven hired her to do some work recovering something from Royce. When he found out who she was working for, he basically blackmailed her into signing the contract. I’m helping her because, like you said, she needs assistance or she’s going to die. Personally, I don’t want that kind of karma on my shoulders. That simple.”

How sweet. If only it were true.

Sara piped up. “She’s not completely helpless. We’ve reworded the contract so that she can hurt or kill him with no legal ramifications. The door swings both ways this time.”

Chaz nodded, looking surprised and maybe even a little pleased. “That was a smart move.” Turning his attention back to me, he lightly placed his hand over mine on the back of the bench. I think it was to my credit that I didn’t pull away or even flinch at the touch, and he seemed relieved by that. “I’ll take care of you, if you’ll let me. My pack can help keep you safe.”

“Thanks,” I said, finally letting a bit of a smile through. “You don’t have to do that. Tonight we’re going to have our little showdown, and after that, everything should be smooth sailing.”

He nodded, then pushed off the bench to stand, clenching his fists tightly at his sides. I could hear his knuckles popping from here. “I’ll come with you. I’ll help keep you safe.”

“Um,” I said, turning to Arnold and Sara for help. Arnold didn’t seem to know what to say, but Sara cut in.

“Won’t you be…uh…furry tonight?”

He grinned, a bit of elongated canine visible on both top and bottom. They were so tiny, you wouldn’t notice it unless you were looking for it, like we were. “Yep.”

“So doesn’t that mean you need to go hunt or run with your pack or something?”

“No.” He folded his arms and looked off in the distance. His tone and manner took on a measure of seriousness I wasn’t used to seeing in him. “We’re not unthinking beasts when we shift. We are primarily driven by instinct, true, but there is a part of us that knows and remembers what it is to be human.” He looked at Sara, and the intensity of his gaze drove her to pull back. Just a little, not very much, but it was enough. Confidence crept into his voice, an easy command, something else I hadn’t ever seen in him before. Not like that. “You all smell like food, but for the most part we remember enough of ourselves to keep from doing harm.”

For the most part. Great. Clearing my throat to break the growing tension, I said, “I need you to remember something else, too. You can’t kill Royce tonight.”

“Why?” Chaz demanded, sounding puzzled and angry.

“Because…” I took a deep breath, glancing at Arnold and Sara, trying to think of something to say that would sound convincing enough. If I was going to have a Were with me tonight, it would only be fair if he knew about everything. Including the focus. Keeping my gaze steady on Chaz, I decided to go with the truth. “I promised to save him.”

Chaz’s mouth dropped open in surprise, his arms unfolding as the shock of what I’d just said hit and sank in. His mouth worked for a second, trying to wrap his wits around the fact that I, the one who was terrified of everything Other, now wanted to save one. A very, very dangerous one.

“Someone’s using magic to control him. They might try the same thing on you. It may be better if you just let me handle things tonight.”

He took a couple of unsteady steps to sit down heavily on the bench again, confusion soon twisting into a horrified understanding. “The Dominari Focus. Someone has it? Here?”

Arnold answered for me. “Yes. Unfortunately, we don’t know who. They’re using it to control Royce, but not very well. Our only hope at this point is that the one using it doesn’t have the strength of will to control more than one Other at the same time.”

Chaz reached out, fast, too fast, his hands on my shoulders and worry glinting in suddenly feral eyes. I didn’t even have enough time to jerk back or gasp in shock before his hands were on me. Arnold and Sara jumped to their feet as he spoke, fright and concern making his usually calm, stoic voice waver. “Shia, you can’t involve yourself in this! I can’t—I don’t want to end up hurting you…”

I put my hands up to rest on his cheeks, lightly rubbing my thumbs over the coarse hairs as I met his eyes, unflinching. “It’s too late for that, Chaz. I’m already involved. I have to do this, and it would be better if you stay back so the holder doesn’t try to use you, too.”

A low growl rumbled in his throat, soft but infinitely more frightening for the helpless rage that dragged it out of him. I hoped and prayed he’d keep calm enough not to shift right here in the park. After a very long, tense moment, he slowly withdrew his hands, turning away and pulling back from my touch. His brows had lowered in a scowl as he glared at nothing in particular somewhere in the trees. “Then you’ll go. But I’m coming with you. It’s pack business now anyway if someone is using that thing. There’s got to be something I can do to help.”

Arnold expelled a shaky breath, and I looked at him in some surprise. He was truly frightened, pale-faced and his hands shaking. Was he afraid for me? Or afraid Chaz was going to turn on him? “Are you sure you can fight the focus if the holder tries to use you?”

Chaz slowly turned to look at Arnold, who took an involuntary step back, bumping into Sara. Even I felt myself contract a little at the force behind that gaze. “No. I’m not.” His soft conviction didn’t brook any further discussion or argument on the matter.

I felt a touch of pity for him. I hadn’t meant to drag him into this, but his pride and concern for me, as well as the responsibility for ensuring the safety of his pack, meant he had an obligation to see this through. Rising off the bench to stand, I extended my hand to him, unable to keep myself from smiling slightly when he took it without hesitation.

“Then let’s work together, and make a plan,” I said. “No matter what happens, this is ending tonight.”

Chapter 36

Sara went back to Janine’s to pick up our stuff. None of us, despite my change of heart, thought it prudent to let Chaz know about Janine or where she lived. Chaz offered to let us wait out the rest of the day at his place, but that didn’t seem particularly wise either. Arnold didn’t like the idea of going back to his place, my place, or Sara’s, so I finally made a snide remark about spending the day in the park.

“Actually,” Arnold said thoughtfully, “that’s not a bad idea. Central Park is big, and I doubt anybody would come looking for any of us here.” He turned to Chaz, who did not appear pleased at the prospect. “What do you think?”

He shook his head, lip lifting briefly in a touch of disgust as he glanced around. “Depends on how long we stay. The Moonwalkers might take it wrong if I stick around here too long, especially since tonight’s the first night of the full moon.”

I recalled how the cabbie that had driven me back to my car from Royce’s building the other day had dissed the Sunstrikers. Seemed there was no love lost between the two packs. After a moment of thought, I said, “I’d rather not stir up another pack or bring them into this. What about the zoo?”

“The Central Park Zoo? Since it isn’t technically part of the Moonwalkers’ territory, I suppose that could work,” Chaz said. Then he grinned in a way I didn’t like; it was far too predatory. “Though the animals won’t care for me much.”

“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes. “We’ll just have to leave with enough time for me to get ready. The park closes before sunset anyway.”

We waited for a while for Sara to come back. I found a sunny spot to lie down on, folding my hands behind my head and closing my eyes. It would be nice to relax and not think about my possible impending demise for a few hours, but there was way too much on my mind for any hope of that.

Arnold parked his skinny butt on a big rock next to me, keeping an eye out for anybody or anything suspicious. Chaz leaned up against a tree and watched people pass by on the path; joggers, mothers pushing strollers, people walking dogs.

I thought about everything I had seen and learned and done in the last few days. Somewhere in this mess there had to be a solution, or at least a hint to what might lead me to figuring out who had the focus. There seemed to be something there, an idea hovering just out of my reach, the glimmer of a thought that seemed to become less and less substantial the harder I tried to grasp it.

My phone started buzzing, startling me into a yelp. Arnold and Chaz both looked alarmed, then gradually relaxed, smirking at each other at my reaction. Muttering in irritation, I dug into my jeans and pulled it out, picking up the call from Sara.

“Hey, where are you?”

Low, masculine laughter answered me. I stiffened, looking down at the phone in shock for a second before putting it back to my ear. “Who is this?” I demanded, wondering what in God’s name had gone wrong this time.

“La Petite Boisson. Tonight. Leave the mage at home, or your little friend is dead,” an unfamiliar man’s voice said. I could hear muffled sounds in the background, what I sorely hoped were not muted screams, which abruptly ended when the guy hung up on me. I lowered the phone from my ear and stupidly stared at it, trying to get my wits around what just happened.

Arnold reached down and put a hand on my shoulder. “What happened? Is everything all right?”

“Fuck!” I exclaimed, loud enough to startle both men and cause a mother with her two toddlers on the path below us to shoot me a dirty look and hurry the kids along. “Somebody has her. The fucker kidnapped Sara!”

Arnold swore and Chaz leaped to his feet.

“We never should have sent her alone…” Arnold said.

“Yeah, well, it’s too late for that now,” Chaz replied, irritation clear in his voice. “You didn’t trust me alone with Shia and you didn’t trust me enough to show me your daytime hiding spot. So now we pay the price for separating.”

“Don’t start that shit, you two,” I said, rolling up to my feet and starting off at a run back in the direction of Janine’s apartment. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! I hope they haven’t hurt Janine, too…”

This changed everything. Oh God, Sara might end up hurt or even killed if I didn’t play my cards right. It was one thing for me to get tied up in this craziness—it was quite another for this psycho to drag my friends into it, too.

Even though I wasn’t wearing the belt, I seemed to have retained some strength from it, and as I bolted along, I suddenly realized Arnold wasn’t keeping up. I slowed my pace for the mage’s sake, though it was difficult not to burst into a full-out run. He was having a tough time of it, blowing and huffing like a bellows and lagging a bit behind. Chaz, on the other hand, was barely breaking a sweat by the time we’d run from the park to Janine’s building.

Everything looked okay when we got there. The security guard at his station recognized Arnold and me, giving us a nod. That gave me some hope for Sara’s sister, at least. We hustled past him to Janine’s door, which fortunately wasn’t locked.

Janine was sitting on a couch with the remote in her hand, glancing up from channel surfing when the three of us stumbled in. She sat up abruptly, confusion and fright contorting her pale china doll features. “Shiarra? What’s going on? Who’s this?” She gestured at Chaz.

I paused to steady my breathing, and watched poor Arnold brace his hands on his knees and lower his head. That Janine was okay, at least, was a blessing, and he seemed almost as relieved as I did. “Something’s happened. Did Sara come back here?”

She shook her head, her panic rising. “What happened? Where is she?”

I closed my eyes, cursing the stupidity that led to us splitting up. From everything that happened the last couple of days, I thought I was the target. Stupid as it was, I never would’ve credited a bad guy with trying to use Sara to get to me. Not like this.

Janine really wasn’t going to like this. Steeling myself to the inevitable breakdown, I swallowed my grief and anger to explain, “Sara’s been kidnapped. I’ll—I don’t know exactly who did it, but I’ll find out. Tonight. I’ll get her back.” Before she can get torn apart like Veronica and Allison. Please, God.

Janine jumped about three feet in the air. “Oh, God! We have to do something! Call the police, the…somebody—you have to do something!” Her hysteria made Chaz and Arnold shift uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at her.

I moved closer and placed a hand on her shoulder, urging her to sit back down. “Don’t worry, we’ll save her.” I prayed I wasn’t just mouthing platitudes. God, how I hoped. “Don’t drag the police into this. Whoever took her might kill her out of hand if I don’t do what they asked me to. We’ll figure out a way to get her out of there.”

“Oh, no,” she moaned, wringing her hands and gradually, tensely lowering back down to the couch. She shot a fearful look at the men, tears glimmering in her eyes making me vow not to let mine fall. One of us had to be strong here, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Janine. I could dissolve into a puddle of misery later, after I saved Sara. For now, I focused on the anger, clinging to it, using it to keep from driving myself into despair over increasingly overwhelming odds. Those responsible would pay dearly for causing so much pain and misery.

“How could this have happened?” Janine said, wiping at her tears.

I shared a helpless look with Arnold before shaking my head and running my hands through my curls, getting some of the sweat-plastered strings off my forehead and out of my eyes. I wanted to shake my fist at the sky, shout and scream against the holder of that thrice-damned focus, throw and destroy things and beat them into submission. I wanted to hunt them down like the cowardly curs they were, let them know what it felt like to be hounded and hunted and harassed. When I got my hands on them, I would make sure they felt every last indignity, bruise, cut, and abrasion they put Sara and me through.

If they didn’t keep their word, if they did the unthinkable and killed her, I don’t know what I would do. Whatever it was wouldn’t be pretty.

But it would all have to wait until after sunset.

“I’ll let Arnold and Chaz fill you in. I need to get ready to fight this thing.”

With that, I turned and stomped off to the guest bedroom. I’d be damned if whoever was doing this caught me unprepared again. The next minion I met was going to get a bullet between the eyes, contract or no contract.

Chapter 37

Chaz let out a low whistle when I strode back into the living room in the armor, belt, and holster. The guns weren’t going to be out of easy reach until the holder of the focus was dead, no matter how many times I forgot and jabbed myself in the ribs by folding my arms. The sweet scent of cloves and cinnamon also clung to me, as I’d applied some more of the Amber Kiss perfume, just in case. I put the trench coat on, slung the duffel over my shoulder, and headed for the door.

“Let’s go, guys.”

Chaz and Arnold stood and started to follow me, but I paused at the door and looked back over my shoulder. “Janine, I’m sorry, but I’d recommend you go lay low somewhere else for a couple of days.”

She looked up when I spoke, her eyes red from her tears. What surprised me was the anger there, glinting in the icy blue depths so like Sara’s. I’d never seen her anything but a neurotic, nervous wreck before, so the sudden intense animosity was unexpected.

“You find her. You get her out of this mess. If you don’t, I’ll—I’ll do something. Something bad. You won’t like it.”

“Janine.” I hesitated in the face of her anger. “You know I don’t want anything bad to happen to her. She’s my best friend. I swear, I’ll do everything in my power to save her, to get her back.”

She continued to glare at me from her seat. The two men were awkwardly shuffling their feet and trying to back away as inconspicuously as possible. “Do it. I swear to God, Shiarra, if she gets hurt because of this mess you dragged her into, I will do everything I can to make your life miserable.” I might have taken offense if the angry look hadn’t suddenly crumbled into helpless despair. She lowered her head into her hands, hiding her tears.

“Janine, I promise, I’ll do everything I can to get her back.”

She didn’t turn in my direction when I spoke, not that I could blame her. All she did was nod in response.

I felt bad, but with everything else going on, I didn’t have any time to sit and hold her hand. There was too much work to do. I had come up with the semblance of a plan while getting dressed and scrubbing the worst of the sweat off my face. My hair needed a wash, but I didn’t have time, finger combing it instead and using water to slick the curls back out of my face as much as possible.

As the three of us stepped out into the noonday sun, I waited until there were no pedestrians nearby and then said, “Arnold, you were talking about familiars last night. Mage familiars.”

“Yeah. What about them?”

“Does every mage have one?”

“No.”

Crap. That was disappointing. But he wasn’t finished.

“Newer magi fresh out of the Academy generally don’t. Neither do some of the less well off or not very powerful ones. Generally any practicing mage has one, though, particularly if you’re part of a coven and expected to be casting on a regular basis. Why?”

I grinned. Maybe something was finally going right after all. “Does that mean Veronica had a familiar?”

After a moment, recognition dawned and he started grinning right back at me. Chaz was looking at us like we were crazy. Maybe we were. “Yes. Yes, she did. A cat.”

Somehow I wasn’t surprised. “Excellent. Do you think there’s any way we can get into her apartment to find it? Without alerting the cops?”

He looked thoughtfully at me, then frowned as his gaze slid to Chaz. “No.” An awkward, hesitant expression crossed his face, which reminded me of what he was like when I first met him. All he would need to complete the look were the coke-bottle lenses. “I guess we can go back to my place and I can summon it. I’d need equipment anyway to be able to speak with it and see what it knows.”

Chaz’s brows rose. “Summon it? You can do that?”

“Yeah. Familiars are planar beings. Technically, it’s considered rude to call someone else’s familiar uninvited, but since Veronica is dead, I don’t have to worry about the consequences quite so much.”

“And you can talk to it, right? Find out what it knows, the way you do with…uhh…” I asked, fumbling for the name of the mouse he’d shown me. “Bob?”

“Sort of. Enough that I can maybe figure out who was there when she died. If we’re lucky, maybe the holder of the focus was there and the familiar saw it.”

Chaz’s brows finally unfurrowed as understanding dawned. “You think somehow the person who had the focus was using Others to kill a mage?”

Guess he didn’t read the Sunday paper.

“Yeah. It’s kind of a long story,” Arnold said. “Let’s get going, I’ll explain in the car.”

We hurried to Arnold’s car, parked in a guest spot at Janine’s building. I let Chaz sit shotgun since the tiny sports car would have forced him to tuck his knees under his chin just to fit in the back.

Arnold efficiently wove through traffic heading downtown. Finally he turned onto a side street in the Village and pulled into a gated garage below a small, new-but-made-to-look-old, red brick apartment building. The majority of the cars parked down there were trendy sports models like his. No minivans or broken-down junkers here. He pulled into a numbered parking space and Chaz, ever the gentleman, helped me clamber out of the back and shouldered my duffel.

Arnold led us to his apartment, which was open and spacious, with large windows offering a great view of the street and a park down the block. The floors were a clean, shiny hardwood, and rather than the expected geekdom or magic paraphernalia, he had some nice electronics and plush, comfortable-looking furniture. There was a stereo, a large flatscreen TV, and a bank of four computers lined up against one wall, along with more movies than you could watch in a year shelved in floor-to-ceiling bookcases.

I left my duffel next to the door and shrugged out of my jacket, tossing it over the back of a couch as Arnold led the way down a short hall. I managed to catch a peek into his bedroom, a bunch of bookshelves lining the walls and a laptop sitting open on the rumpled blue and white sheets. Arnold shut the door before I could get a good look at all the figurines and gaming books on the shelves, but I still saw enough to be amused.

We moved on to the next room, and as Arnold flicked on the light switch, it only took one look for me to know without a doubt that this was where the magic was done.

Chapter 38

My first thought was that his landlord probably wasn’t going to like it that he’d etched—no, on closer inspection, burned—a very large pentagram into the center of the room, right into the nice hardwood floor. It wasn’t the usual star and circle that I’d seen a thousand times in movies and on book covers and magazines. There were dozens of other symbols inside the circle, mostly outside of the star, none of them familiar to me.

There were white candles set at each of the five points of the star, just inside the line that made up the circle. I noticed a number of bookshelves here, too, though none with gaming manuals. Nothing but arcane texts, spellbooks, books on herbs, and surprisingly, a couple of shelves devoted to books on physics, languages, and history. Tucked away in a corner was an altar holding dried flowers, crystals and stones, a small silver knife, a mirror, and a chalice.

It smelled mostly like dusty books and dried flowers, but there was an undertone of ozone or something that made the air positively crackle with energy. I noted distantly that Chaz’s nostrils were flared and the hair on his arms had risen. Guess he didn’t like the feeling any more than I did.

Arnold waved us back to the door, heading over to a chest of drawers beneath heavily draped windows. “You guys can stay if you want, but it might be better if you waited outside. I need quiet and concentration for this.”

“No,” I said, “I’d like to see what you do. I’ll stay.”

“Me, too,” Chaz said, folding his arms and leaning against the wall. I sat on the floor facing the windows, carefully adjusting the holster and belt so I wouldn’t jab myself in the process.

Arnold pulled some things out of the dresser and set them on top. I watched with interest as he flicked through some files, selecting a small packet out of one, then pulling out and neatly arranging on a silver tray a piece of quartz, a plain wooden disk, two silver bowls, a few pieces of twine braided into a circle, a bottle of spring water, and a lump of what looked like sculptor’s clay.

One by one, he moved the items into the circle. He put one of the bowls in the center of the star. The quartz, twine, clay, remaining bowl, and disk were each put inside one of the triangles that made up the points of the star. Next he poured some of the water into the bowl that was in a point. Lastly, with two deft fingers he plucked something too small for me to make out from the packet and dropped it into the bowl in the center, resealing the packet and returning it to its file in the drawer.

After that, he walked over to the shelves, perused the titles briefly, then took down a thin, unlabeled volume. Skimming through the pages, he moved around the outside of the circle, plucking up the small dagger and moving back to the center. Without looking up from the book, he absently pricked his finger with the dagger, letting a couple of drops of blood drip into the bowl before moving to stand before one of the points.

Chaz and I exchanged mystified looks. It was odd seeing Arnold, the nerd in jeans and a rumpled button-down, performing this arcane ritual and muttering over the pages of an ancient book.

Eventually he found what he was searching for and looked up, holding the book open with one hand, the dagger in front of him with the other. “Luminare. Jungere!” he said, and Chaz and I jerked back slightly as the candles all simultaneously lit themselves and a haze shimmered in the air, enclosing the circle in a huge sphere.

Arnold started in on a rapid, fluid litany of unintelligible words. Every now and then he threw in a word that sounded almost, but not quite, familiar. Maybe it was Latin or Greek, or some heretofore-unknown tongue. I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“Speak to us. Do you know what happened to your mistress?” he finally said, in such a normal tone of voice that I almost missed it. I glanced in the circle, surprised to see that a small black cat was now sitting on its haunches in the center, next to the bowl. The clay and water from the points of the star were now gone.

The cat pricked its ears forward, bright yellow eyes drifting over to look at Chaz, tail twitching slightly as it did so. My jaw dropped open as it turned back to Arnold and spoke in a soft, hissing voice. “A vampire and a werewolf worked together to kill Veronica Wright. I take it I was summoned for information rather than a new binding?”

“That’s right,” he said, snapping the book shut and regarding the cat with a touch of wariness. I wondered why. Despite the fact that it was talking, in all other ways it looked like a normal cat to me. “You will not be bound as a familiar; I only ask for your assistance to find the ones responsible for Veronica Wright’s death, and in return will call any hold you have on this plane by The Circle void. You will never be summoned by one of us again.”

“Spare me the platitudes,” the creature hissed, flexing its claws. “You cannot enforce that trade. I have another offer.”

A slight twitch like a nervous tic started under one of Arnold’s eyes, and I watched in fascination as he spoke, his voice carefully controlled in a way I’d never heard out of him before. “What do you want in return?”

It looked directly at me. “I want information. A piece of data or insight from each person in this room. No more.”

A chill washed over me for no reason I could readily put my finger on. What was so bad about that? Arnold didn’t seem to like the idea. “Three pieces of information from me. I am your summoner, not them.”

“You called me in the presence of witnesses, mage.” It yawned as though bored, rising to walk slowly around the inside perimeter of the circle, never quite touching the edges of the haze. “Take it or leave it.”

“I can’t speak for them.” He shot a look at me out of the corner of his eye. I knew he didn’t want us to talk to it, but at this point I didn’t see much of a choice.

“Will you tell us everything you know about Veronica’s death, who killed her and who was involved if we agree?” I asked it. Arnold looked like he wanted to throttle me.

The cat made an eerie sound that was half-laugh, half-purr. “Of course.”

“I agree, then,” I said, looking to Chaz.

After a brief hesitation, he shrugged and nodded. “Me, too.”

Arnold swore softly under his breath before agreeing as well. “Information only. What do you want to know?”

It looked all too pleased. “No time limit was imposed. I reserve my question for the girl and the wolf for another time.”

“No!” Arnold cried, desperate. “That was not part of the agreement. I’m not resummoning you later just so you can ask them questions.”

“I didn’t ask to be resummoned, mage. I will collect from them when I am ready.” It lifted a paw to delicately lick at it, carefully splaying razor-sharp claws before making a big production out of cleaning its face. “My question for you is a simple one. What do you think to gain by taking control of the focus when you know full well that any who wield it are destined to have its power turned against them?”

My gaze shot from the cat to Arnold, who was very carefully avoiding my gaze. The cat was asking the very question I’d been pondering since he’d mentioned that he was helping me for his own reasons. Not that I hadn’t figured out by then that he wanted the focus for himself, but it was still a bit disturbing to hear it from a talking cat instead of straight from him.

“I want to restore balance to the—”

“No!” it hissed. “Information, I said. Not, as you might say, ‘PR’ bullshit.”

He took a deep breath, his fingers tightening around the dagger and book at his sides. His green eyes narrowed to thin slivers, anger filtering through his voice. “Like I was saying, I want to restore balance to the Other community. If I can accomplish that, my standing in the coven will rise, and open the way for me to lead when Alexandra steps down.”

The cat tilted its head to one side, thoughtful. “Your logic has two flaws. First, magi currently outnumber vampires and Weres. Particularly in this city, the ratio is almost four magi to one vampire or Were-creature. It does not make sense that you would want to bring more power to those not of your species. Second, Alexandra is unlikely to step down. You would need to fight her, and if you won, fend off many other aspiring, grasping magi for the reins of your coven. And therein lies the fault in your plan. You are not stupid, though I suppose avarice could make a fool of anyone. No. What is it really? Remember our deal, or I shall call it null and exact immediate payment on the penalties.”

I could swear I saw him tremble at that. What the hell was this thing? “I wanted to use the focus to fuel a spell that grants me permanent power over vampires and Weres,” he ground out between his teeth. A trickle of nervous sweat slid down his temple as he glanced at Chaz, who had pushed off the bookshelves to stand with his hands clenched at his sides, blue eyes glinting with suppressed rage. “I wanted to take its power into myself so that no one else could use it.”

“Ahhh,” the cat breathed, leaning forward on its paws. “This answer I accept. I will tell you what I know of my former master’s death.”

Despite my own intense fury with Arnold at that moment, I shifted my attention back to the cat. This was really what we needed. Maybe it knew something I could use to track down whoever had taken Sara.

“She was in the middle of preparing her usual vanity charms,” it said, a touch of disgust in its voice, “when a knock came at the apartment door. As she was mid-preparations, I could not leave the circle and so could not follow when she went to answer. Before she could set a defensive ward, I heard the voice of a man speak the spell command for silence.

“Almost immediately, a female vampire, not long turned, pushed Veronica back into my line of sight. The vampire was already drinking from her as she screamed with no sound. As she was under the male’s spell, I formed my own circle and watched as the vampire took from her.”

Arnold quietly cut in. “Do you know the identity of the vampire?”

The cat’s ears lowered and its eyes narrowed faintly. “No. It was not of a bloodline that I have experience with. Though once the vampire took its fill and backed away, I did see and recognize the werewolf that took her place when the male ordered it forward. Reluctant as it was, I imagine because she was still alive, it obeyed the order to shift and ravaged the body as I watched. The alpha of the Moonwalkers was not pleased to be ordered, but he could not withstand the command of the focus.”

Chaz swore, stepping forward. “Rohrik Donovan was being controlled by that thing?”

The cat slowly turned an infinitely contemptuous gaze upon Chaz, the kind of look only cats can truly manage. “Of course. No matter how strong the will of the victim, the focus grants the holder the power to overcome any resistance and come to full physical control of the Other over which they seek dominance.”

“Did you see the focus, or the mage?” I asked, though at this point I didn’t have much hope of it.

The cat turned to look at me, and I had to suppress another shiver. “I did not see the focus, but I felt its presence. Also, though I did not see his face, I do know this—the male was not a mage. It was a sorcerer.”

“Oh crap,” Arnold whispered, his eyes widening.

I looked back and forth between the two, confused. “What’s the difference?”

“The difference,” the cat said in a voice so flatly bored that it frightened me more than Arnold’s loss of composure, “is that magi use the energy that composes matter to bend, break, or otherwise manipulate the laws of nature. They learn how to control their abilities by study and apprenticeship with other magi. A sorcerer, also known as a ‘wild’ mage, uses a mix of his own life energies and the life energies of others as his fuel, and generally consorts with demons to learn, cast spells, or gain power. They do not rely on covens or other magi to assist them, rather on sacrifice and the tutelage of demonic forces to fuel their more powerful spells.”

“Holy shit,” I breathed, rising so unsteadily that Chaz had to reach out and take my arm so I wouldn’t fall over. “You mean whatever thing has Sara might use her as a sacrifice to fuel a spell?”

“Perhaps,” it said, cocking its head to one side as it regarded me. “Though I do believe the intention behind her kidnapping was to force your compliance in some matter. It does appear to be working.”

“Son of a bitch,” I swore, hating the tremor in my voice. “We’ve got to find her. Do you know where they are?”

“No,” it said, rising to all four paws and arching its back with a stretch and a yawn. “Frankly, I’m not sure that any of you have anything of enough value to offer me in return for the information even if I had it. Though,” and here it turned to Arnold, baring its tiny fangs in a semblance of a rictus grin, “I might be persuaded to find out for you with another slight concession…”

“Partire!” he demanded, his voice cracking in a mix of rage and fear. The candles immediately extinguished themselves, the cat and sphere over the circle disappearing to the sound of faint, mocking laughter.

Chapter 39

“What the hell was that thing?” I asked Arnold, shaking slightly as I thought about what the cat had said, that Veronica had been torn apart while still alive. There was a real possibility that neither Sara nor I would make it whole out of this fight. For some reason, knowing it hadn’t been Royce who killed her didn’t make me feel any better about facing him and whatever else was out there tonight. My confidence had been shaken, and I desperately needed something to focus on other than the mindless brutality of this thing. That way I could at least pretend Sara would still be alive when I went to rescue her later that night.

So far as I knew, I would only have one shot at saving her. I needed to make every action count.

“That,” Arnold replied, seeming as nervous as me as he stumbled to the dresser and dropped the book and dagger with dull, muted thuds, “was a planar being. They are devious little shits. I was worried he might try to con a way out of the circle.”

“What would be so bad about that?” Chaz asked, even as he drew me closer to wrap a protective arm around my waist. Any other time I might have resisted, but right now I was thankful for the supportive touch.

Arnold started picking up the items in the circle, and I noted with a bit of dull curiosity that the bowls were both empty and the lump of clay was vaguely cat-shaped, settled right where I had last seen the thing crouched. “It wouldn’t necessarily do any direct harm to us, but unbound it would be free to act however it wanted. Since they dislike being summoned, it wouldn’t be far-fetched to think it might try to do us some mischief. I remember one of my teacher’s former apprentices summoning one once. He let it out of a circle unbound, and it promptly turned around and trapped him in a circle of its own making. Then it started using him like a familiar to channel energy through while it cast some spells. My teacher heard the screams. All of us did. He came in and banished it, but it burned the guy out so badly he couldn’t talk for days and still couldn’t cast even the simplest of spells when my teacher sent him home three weeks later.”

“Nasty,” I muttered, fighting the shivers and closing my eyes for the space of a breath before sliding my own arm around Chaz’s waist. Werewolf or not, it was comforting to have his solid warmth there to lean against just now. For the time being, he looked human, and that was enough for me. “Arnold, will you do me a favor tonight?”

He looked up from the floor, where he was crouching over the silver tray and picking up his magical items. “What kind of favor?”

“Stay back and out of the fight. Whoever nabbed Sara told me to leave you behind tonight, and at this point, I won’t do anything else to jeopardize her life. Maybe they’ll take me instead, if I offer to take her place.”

Chaz growled, a low rumbling that I felt more than heard as he twisted around to place both hands on my shoulders, looking down into my eyes. The worry in his gaze tugged at my heartstrings, and I steeled myself against having to argue the point. “Shia, you’re upset. You’re not thinking straight, you can’t just give yourself over to this thing!”

“I’m thinking perfectly straight. Sara’s in the hands of a killer. The killer wants Arnold to stay away tonight. They took Sara and are doing all of this because they’re trying to get to me. I think it’s perfectly logical.” Especially since I planned on wearing the belt, and completely destroying anyone who so much as looked funny at me.

Arnold rose from the floor. He looked grim and frightened. “You’re right. I’ll stay here. But I won’t stay out of it entirely. There are things I can do with your help. And to help you.”

“Then do them. But don’t follow me down there.” I returned my gaze to Chaz and placed a hand on his cheek to bring his attention off Arnold and back to me. “I know there’s a possibility that the holder might try to use you. But I will be eternally grateful if you’ll come with me. If you can keep the alpha of the Moonwalkers busy—what did you say his name was? Donovan?”

I noted with fascination that his pupils dilated, something like fear passing behind his eyes even while his expression hardened in resolve. “Rohrik Donovan,” he said softly, his voice flat and betraying none of the emotion I thought I’d seen a moment before. “He’s the strongest alpha male I’ve ever seen. I don’t know anyone that’s fought him and lived.”

My heart skipped a beat at that. I had no alternatives and this was the most solid plan I’d come up with. But could I rely on Chaz to guard my back? For an instant, my newfound conviction wavered and I felt myself on the edge of some black abyss waiting to swallow me up.

“I’ll come. My pack will come. I don’t know if I can fight the focus, but I’ll try. We all will.”

My breath came out of me in a swift rush of relief at that. The Moonwalkers would have another reason to hate the Sunstrikers now, but nonetheless I was still grateful beyond words that he would back me up tonight. I’m sure it must have showed in my face, but I still felt I needed to tell him I didn’t expect him to play the hero tonight. “All I want you to do is keep any Weres he has guarding him off my back, and give me a chance to get close enough to try to get the focus. I don’t know who else will be there tonight, but I’m assuming Royce, the vamp that killed Veronica and Allison, and maybe some of Rohrik’s people, plus the sorcerer who has the focus.”

He nodded, leaning forward to brush his lips in a featherlight kiss over my forehead. “Don’t worry. I know what to do.”

Throwing caution, and every reservation I had, to the wind, I reached up with both hands and pulled him down into a kiss. It seemed to surprise him almost as much as I surprised myself, as he briefly drew back in shock at the touch. Before long, though, he slid his arms tightly around me, drawing me up against him and tilting his head to deepen the kiss, quickly shifting from soft and gentle to demanding and possessive. Feeling heat and electric desire rising in me, I wondered dimly why I ever let him go. His touch was just the way I remembered and loved it.

He drew back with a sharply indrawn breath at Arnold’s loud “Ahem!” I fought back a mixture of disappointment and sudden keen embarrassment, looking away as I raggedly brushed a few stray crimson tendrils out of my eyes. “If you’re finished, can we continue planning here?”

Chaz and I stared at each other for a heartbeat, too, before he slowly released me and turned to look at Arnold with a pleased, lazy grin. Answer enough.

“Yeah,” I muttered, running a hand over my flushed face and looking anywhere but at the two of them. I don’t know what got into me. I was never that forward.

“Good,” he said, both of us pointedly ignoring the smug, heated look on Chaz’s face. I wondered guiltily if my lips were as red and swollen from the kiss as his. “Here’s what I can do…”

Chapter 40

The rest of the day felt interminable and too short at the same time. Chaz and Arnold left me to my own devices for a while as Arnold worked out protection spells to keep the focus from dragging Chaz under its influence immediately. Frankly, I was surprised Chaz agreed, considering what Arnold told the cat he wanted to do with the focus if he got his hands on it. Since what they were doing required concentration and zero distractions, I wasn’t allowed in the room during their little experiment.

Actually, I’m pretty sure the reason they kicked me out was to put their heads together and figure out a way to keep me from handing myself over to the bad guys later.

As for me, I pulled the rolling chair by the computers over to the living room window and sat staring at the park down the street. Maybe I should have been planning or using those computers to try to hack into the floor plans for La Petite Boisson or something, but I felt completely empty of thoughts and emotions, blank as I watched the treetops outside swaying in a breeze I couldn’t feel.

No, that’s not quite right. Not entirely empty. I felt a distant ache, a touch of loss and fear for Sara.

She’d defended me, supported me, gone along with my crazy ideas even when she knew they were nuts or wouldn’t work. She’d been there for some of the best and worst times of my life, helped keep H&W from going under even when we both knew the whole thing was just a crazy dream we clung to, to prove to ourselves and our families that it could be done. She was one of the smartest, bravest, and most supportive people I’d ever known.

And it was all my fault that she’d been taken.

“You’re crying,” I heard quietly from behind me. Without thinking, I reached up and touched wetness on my cheeks as I turned to see Chaz standing in the doorway.

I tried putting on a brave face, though I was pretty sure it failed. Smiling weakly around the tears, I turned my unfocused gaze out the window again. “I was thinking about Sara.”

He moved close to me, placing a hand on my shoulder as he looked outside, too. It was too beautiful a day, with a few cotton-ball clouds scattered across the pale blue spring sky, the sun now hanging low but still shining down on the children playing in the street.

“If you sit here and dwell on it, all you’ll do is upset yourself. We’ll make it through tonight, don’t worry. We’ll save her.”

“I know,” I said, absently rubbing my fingertips under my eyes to wipe the tears away. “I just can’t help but feel it’s all my fault.”

He took hold of the arms of the chair, twisting it around to make me face him as he knelt in front of me, taking my hands up in his own. “Don’t torture yourself, Shia. It’s not your fault Sara’s gone. We’ll get her back.”

He looked so earnest and concerned, I nearly burst right back into tears. Never had I felt like a more horrible, wretched person than right at that second. His words were soothing and may have been true, but a part of me couldn’t let go of the fact that I’d dragged Sara along for the ride, and that I’d been terribly, horribly wrong about Chaz all this time. He was patient, caring, and understanding, all the things I wasn’t. I’d been a fool.

“Thank you,” I whispered, knowing it wasn’t enough, knowing it would have to be, even as I pulled my hands out of his and wrapped my arms around the back of his neck, leaning in to rest my forehead in his hair. He smelled like shampoo, sweat, and musk—male and alive. The musk scent was strong, and I knew it would only get stronger yet as the day waned and the sun finally set. His arms slid around my waist, just holding me, and I was grateful for his silence.

We stayed that way for a long time, though it must have been uncomfortable for him to remain in that kneeling position. Eventually he shifted under my arms and pulled away. He lifted a hand to sweep the curls back from my face and delicately run a thumb under one eye to brush away any remaining hint of my crying.

“I’ve got to call the pack to tell them what’s going on. Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, a tremulous smile curving my lips as I carefully brushed my own fingers through his hair to fix it back into spikes after my cheek had flattened it against his head. Funny, I think I actually meant it. I really would be okay, I just needed someone to hold my hand through the grief to the point where I could actually think straight again.

He stared up at me for a few more moments, concern bringing a few lines to light around his eyes. Then he nodded and rose, reaching into a pocket of his jeans and pulling out a cell phone. He wandered to a sofa and sat down. I twisted around in the chair so I could watch him, curious.

Most of the calls he made were about the same, mostly, “Meet at La Petite Boisson tonight. Yes, I know what tonight is. No, I’m not joking. Be ready for a fight. Tell so-and-so, too.”

I got bored with listening after a while. Instead, I ran my fingertips over the handle of one of the stakes and pulled it out of its holder. Regarding the silver gleaming in the fading sunlight, I asked myself if I would really, truly be able to drive this piece of metal into another living (or perhaps unliving?) being.

My thoughts skittered back to Veronica’s murder, the flat, bored tone of the cat speaking of her being ripped apart while still alive. To Royce asking me to save him, even as he visibly fought the control of the focus so he wouldn’t kill me. Allison’s picture in the paper this morning. To the sounds of muffled screams when Sara’s kidnapper called me.

Yes, I decided. I would.

Eventually, Chaz made his last call. “It’s done. They’ll meet us there tonight. Though we’ll have to figure out a way to get in without being seen.”

“Either the service entrance in the back, or through the sewer or ventilation systems underground,” I said, flicking a nail against the silver to make it thrum out a soft chime. “It’s Royce’s building, which means he’s probably made about a million secret passageways to get out if something goes wrong.” Even as I wondered how I could know such a thing, I knew without a doubt it was true. Royce was old, very old. One didn’t survive as long as he had without having backup plans, contingencies, and more than one way out if things got too hairy.

Arnold came in cleaning some blue-gray dust or ash off his hands onto a rag as he peered at us. “You guys about ready to go? It’s getting late.” His gaze flicked over to Chaz, and I knew what he was thinking. He was worried he’d turn furry either here or in his car on the way to the restaurant.

I put the stake away and rose to stretch, pulling my hair back into a ponytail and picking up my duffel and duster. Time to face the music.

“Let’s go.”

Chapter 41

There was a line in front of La Petite Boisson when we got there, but this place was nothing like The Underground. People standing outside here were dressed in eveningwear: fur coats, tuxedos, silk dresses, business suits. Diamonds and other precious gems glittered from throats, ears, and fingers, not silver chains, studs, and leather collars. There were no handcuffs hanging from the red velvet rope cordoning off the line from the rest of the sidewalk. A large red awning shaded the smoked glass double doors, and down the street, marquees advertised plays and musicals, not the latest skin flick or strip shows.

The guards out front were wearing sharp black business suits and little twirls of plastic trailing from their ears to their collars. Security would be much tighter here than it was at either Royce’s downtown office or The Underground. Not that it wasn’t expected, but still, the sight was a little unnerving.

Arnold had driven us past the restaurant and dropped Chaz and me off in an alley a few blocks down. I didn’t want him to be seen, and he promised to do whatever he was going to do to help far away from the actual battle. I wasn’t entirely sure I believed he’d stay away, but he knew as well as I did that Sara’s life depended on it. Maybe he would. God, I hoped he would.

Though I knew I was woefully underdressed and would stick out like a sore thumb in the crowd, I didn’t care. I had the belt on, and my guns, all hidden under the trench coat again. As I adjusted the holsters for the umpteenth time and Chaz exchanged a last few words with Arnold through the open window, I looked up as I heard Arnold call my name.

I took Chaz’s place in the window, leaning over to meet Arnold’s gaze squarely. “You’re going to stay away tonight, right? For Sara’s sake?”

His eyes narrowed and his cheek twitched. That tic again. “Of course. Listen, I want you to take Bob with you.”

I blinked. Of all the things I was expecting to hear from him, that wasn’t one of them. “Your familiar? Are you sure?”

He nodded, extending his closed hand toward me. I flinched as he opened his hand and revealed the same little black mouse, beady eyes staring up at me behind twitching whiskers. “Bob will keep me in the loop on what’s happening so I can step in if I need to. I can also channel some things through him. He’ll help keep you safe.”

As much as I was hesitant to touch the little beast, particularly now that I knew what planar beings were all about, I didn’t want to offend either it or Arnold. I tentatively reached out my hand and it skittered up my arm to my shoulder, where it huddled against my neck between the turtleneck of the armor and my jacket. I could feel whiskers twitching against my ear and had to fight the urge to dance around and scream like a girl, instead making do with a shudder and a glare at Arnold for not warning me what Bob was going to do.

“He can’t speak, but he’ll understand if you talk to him. He can relay information, too.” He grinned. “Just don’t forget he’s there and crush him or something.”

I laughed despite myself. “Sure thing.” I glanced at him as best I could with him on my shoulder. “Just…uhh…squeak if you need something, Bob.”

He chattered softly at me, almost like he was laughing. Weird.

Chaz lightly brushed my arm as he backed farther into the alley. “The others are coming now.”

“Others?” Even as I said it, I could see the hint of glowing eyes—many glowing eyes—farther back in the alley. The sun hadn’t quite set, but it was too dark for me to make out more than vague shapes amid the rubbish and Dumpsters. Where had they all come from so quickly and quietly? It gave me the willies, but no more than anything else I’d faced so far. I could handle it.

Arnold cleared his throat. “I’m going to get going. Remember, just tell Bob if you think you need me. He’ll relay the message. Good luck.”

“All right. I’ll see you later tonight.”

He nodded and waved, taking off out of sight, and I turned to see who had come to join Chaz and me in the alley.

There were at least thirty of them. Mostly men, ranging from teenagers to thirty-somethings. At first all I could do was stare blankly, wondering where the heck they’d all found parking spaces in this part of the city. That, and why their eyes had that weird luminescence, reflective like a cat’s in the oppressive shadows of the alleyway.

“Everyone, listen up!” Chaz immediately drew the attention of most of them, though I could feel the gaze of a few lingering on me, making my skin crawl. It was a hungry stare, and not in a sexual sense. I might’ve been able to shrug that off, but this was the hunger for food, for a hunt. For two-legged prey. “The Moonwalker tribe has been attacked, and we may be next if we don’t do something about it tonight. This human”—and his hand swept back to indicate me, though I didn’t particularly like being referred to as “this human,” kind of like how I said “this Other,” or “that spark,” I realized guiltily—“is going to help us. We need to keep her alive to fight the mage responsible. The rest of us are going to keep the vampires and Moonwalkers off of her long enough to deal with the mage.”

“I thought you said the Moonwalkers were attacked? What’s going on?” one of the Weres asked, a young man I recognized from earlier this afternoon. He was the driver who had been carting around Chaz and his buddies.

Chaz took a deep breath, glancing at me before speaking, keeping his voice low. “Someone is using the Dominari Focus.”

A horrified murmur spread through the crowd, a panicked voice calling out, “How can that be? It was destroyed years ago!”

Another said, “That thing is a myth! No way someone really has it…”

“What if it takes control of us?” from another. “What then?”

“I don’t know how. But Rohrik Donovan has fallen under its sway.” The low hum of the crowd grew louder, astonished, frightened. “That’s why we’re fighting the Moonwalkers tonight. Try not to kill them; they aren’t doing anything under their own power anymore. Not until the holder is destroyed. Together, as a pack, we’ll overcome any of them under its power.”

The murmuring and whispering flowed and I could feel the tension gripping them like a palpable thing. Fear drifted almost immediately into anger and hatred, growls and hisses becoming more prominent than fearful whispers, the abrupt mood swing catching me by surprise.

“Obey me in this. No killing unless you can’t avoid it!” Chaz sensed the change as I did. There was a hint of resentment, a brief brush of defiance before Chaz growled softly. Almost immediately, any rebellion festering in the crowd died away into nothing. His eyes swept the crowd, each and every one of the strangers lowering their eyes and backing down in silent, not-quite-respectful agreement to his commands.

I noticed, when he glanced back at me one more time, that his eyes had taken on that odd luminescence, too. He grinned at me, full of promise of something unnamable, as a gleam I recognized as primal predatory hunger drifted into view.

“Remember, protect her!” I gasped when I saw the finger he pointed at me was now tipped with a claw, hair thickening into fur growing darker and longer on the back of his hand even as I watched.

A number of howls and yips answered those last words, soon joined by Chaz as he threw his head back, adding his own deep cry to the chorus around us. I threw my hands up to cover my ears, and some of the people on the street a few yards away cried out and started running away from the sounds drifting out of the alleyway.

I had just enough time to worry that someone might call the cops before I was surrounded by a pack of furred, clawed bodies, all of them hungry and staring at me with feral, inhuman eyes.

Chapter 42

“Oh my God,” I whispered, my eyes widening at the mass of furred bodies pressing in around me in the alley.

Werewolves don’t look much like men or wolves when under the influence of the full moon. Most of them can shift fully into wolf or human form, but when under the sway of the moon, they are something in between. The ones surrounding me either crouched on their hind legs, clawed “hands” resting against the walls or the ground and long, bushy tails sweeping behind them, or they stood completely upright, even the shortest towering well over my head. Their muzzles were long, dog-like, with pointed ears perked or flattened against their skulls. When they lifted their lips to snarl or snap at each other, they revealed elongated canines up to three inches long.

Their clothes for the most part lay in tatters on the ground around them, revealing sleek muscles overlaid by thick, just as sleek fur. Like any creature, their coloration varied; some had reddish pelts, others were brown or gray or black, some were salt-and-pepper, and one or two were a solid white.

I was startled when I realized I could see in such detail even in the alley, lit only by dim streetlight from around the corner. Then I remembered the belt, my fingers dropping to my waist as that odd awareness of another “self” drifted into my consciousness.

Even shifted, Chaz was easy to recognize. While the majority of the wolves had green or yellow eyes, his were a solid ice blue like a husky’s. His fur was the same steel gray color I remembered from when he changed in my living room. None of the others had his color, or his massive, muscular bulk. He was a hunk as a human, and he made most of his money as a personal trainer; as a Were, he could bench-press a car.

One of the other Weres started creeping toward me, black fur bristling, green eyes wide and staring like a cat that just realized a bird was trapped in a room with it. My heart started creeping up into my throat and I took an involuntary step back, before Chaz suddenly slid between us with a kind of sinuous grace you wouldn’t expect from a creature so large. As the black Were jerked back, Chaz snarled, baring fangs long enough to cleave through flesh and bone as he crouched down on all fours in front of me. The other Were turned away, snapping at the air before slinking back to cower behind some of the others nearby.

“Thanks,” I muttered, though I found myself pressing back against the dingy brick wall when those icy predator eyes turned to me. I stiffened as he came closer, moving with a peculiar ease on all fours, though it was only so he could press his cold, wet nose against me and start nudging me deeper into the alley.

Incredibly creeped out, I did as he urged, walking slowly through the multitudes of shifted Weres, who watched me with their hungry, glowing eyes. Chaz strode a little ahead of me, leading the way through the darkness. We didn’t go far before he reached down and dug his claws under a manhole cover, lifting it with ease and setting it quietly to one side.

At first, I wasn’t sure if he meant for me to follow until he crouched down to become eye level with me, pointing one of those curved talons at me and then to the opening of the alley. He then swept his hand around in a gesture that I took to mean the werewolves around us and himself and then pointed down into the sewer. I nodded, understanding. He and the others would find their way to the restaurant following the sewer lines. I would have to go in the front to allay any suspicion.

One thing you could say for Weres, they retain most of their human intelligence when shifted. I watched in fascination as, one by one, they crept on quiet paws past me and down the shaft leading into the dark tunnels below the city. Chaz went last, pausing to look back to me. I reached out a tentative hand to gently brush over his furred cheek, and he tilted his head, closing his eyes as he rubbed one of those pointed ears under my hand. I was amazed at how soft and thick the pelt was, though he turned away and was gone before I could analyze either of our actions any more closely.

I turned back toward the distant light beckoning at the mouth of the alley, shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket and dragging the edges close around me so no one could see the guns, shoulder holsters, or stakes.

Consorting with Weres? I didn’t take you for that sort, a by now familiar voice whispered in the back of my skull.

“Yeah, whatever. They’re going to help tonight,” I muttered, hoping any people on the street wouldn’t think I was crazy and talking to myself. Except that this was New York, and chances were nobody would notice or care.

I looked up and down the street as I reached the end of the alley, turning toward La Petite Boisson. We are going to fight vampires? the voice asked.

Sighing and lifting one hand to run over my face, I glumly told it what I could. “Vampires, other Weres, and a sorcerer.” I didn’t like the twinge that last gave me, some touch of emotion or something like it from the belt that I couldn’t readily identify. “They have my friend and a powerful magic item that I need to find and take away from the sorcerer.”

Ah, the Dominari Focus. That is troubling.

It didn’t speak again after that. I wondered how in the heck it was that every supernatural creature and even inanimate objects in this city seemed to know about this thing when I’d never heard of it.

Then again, vampires, Weres, and magi had been the stuff of cheesy movies and silly kids’ novels up until a few years ago. If someone had told me even a week ago that I’d be working with a mage trying to save a vampire, while my werewolf boyfriend helped keep my ass out of the fire, I would have laughed myself silly. As it was, I was still having a hard time coming to grips with the fact that I was talking to a belt, for Christ’s sake.

It seemed that Chaz’s pack had scared off a good portion of the pedestrians, as the street was unusually empty for a block or so. Legally, packs were restricted to public or national parks or their own homes when shifted. They could shift at will, but most of the time didn’t change fully, instead choosing the halfway point because they were forced to shift that much by magic or hormones or whatever it is during the full moon. Being locked into restricted areas while shifted was supposed to be for “their safety,” but it was mostly because they scared the hell out of humans when they were something half-man, half-animal. And scared humans smelled like food. Which led to all kinds of problems, lawsuits, so on and so forth, that nobody, including the Weres, liked to deal with.

Not to mention that Animal Control had a field day when they picked up a Were in full animal form who then shifted to human in the back of the truck or the cages at their facilities. Usually it was teenagers who pulled that prank, though the last couple of snots who tried it got some hefty fines and even jail time for their trouble. Though you’d think the fact that there were timber wolves running around downtown Miami might have tipped someone off.

I didn’t start seeing normal foot traffic again until I got within two blocks of the restaurant, and that was because of the line waiting to get in. Figuring they were expecting me, I bypassed the lot, heading straight up to the big guys with muscles straining their matching suits who were guarding the front door.

One of them headed toward me when he saw me coming, looking at a clipboard and nodding. “Shiarra Waynest?”

“That’s me.” I stopped about a yard away. He looked me over with disdain, not liking the look of my combat boots or trench coat, no doubt. Didn’t fit with the diamonds and silk of the usual clientele. Tough titties.

“This way, please.” Without bothering to hide his sneer, he gestured for me to follow him around the side of the building, away from the crowds. Not liking where this was going, I did so, my hands easing from the pockets of the trench to rest with a comforting kind of familiarity on the belt. For some reason, the brush of my fingertips along the leather grips of the silver stakes and the cool metal casings of extra rounds for the guns made me feel immeasurably better, more secure.

The guy pulled out a key and opened a locked, narrow passageway between the restaurant and the next building. It was well lit with small recessed lights trailing all the way to the end, and there was barbed wire protecting the top of the fenced wrought-iron gate. I noticed with unease that you needed a key to get out, as well as in, to the passage. The way led to another entrance on the side of the restaurant, which was covered by a short awning and up a few steps. He produced another key for it.

He unlocked the door and held it open for me, revealing a cheerfully lit stairwell leading above the main part of the restaurant. No way to go but up.

“Just follow the stairs. Someone will meet you at the top and show you the rest of the way.”

The guy sounded flat and bored. However, I could see the curiosity in his eyes as he looked at me. He didn’t know what I was here for. Interesting.

I stood there for a moment, indecisive. Knowing it was a trap did not make it any easier to force myself to walk into the lion’s den. It was the thought of what they would do to Sara if I turned tail now that goaded me into walking past the bouncer and taking the first step onto the stairwell, even as the door swung shut with an overloud “click” of a lock behind me.

Chapter 43

There was nothing overtly ominous about the stairs. None of the lightbulbs illuminating the way were out or even flickering. The stairs and banister were of a matching dark wood, the walls a nice, clean off-white. No artwork, no posters, no graffiti. Starkly clean.

When I got to the top (forty-two steps, I counted), there was another door. This one was also a plain, dark wood and had a brass handle with no lock. It opened easily under my touch.

My lips parted slightly in surprise and I glanced around the room with wide eyes. There were a number of Weres lounging on the carpets. They looked up immediately when I opened the door, raising their large, shaggy heads from their paws. There were far too many for me to possibly fight. I stood straighter, one hand sliding toward a gun as one of the Weres rose and approached me. I flinched but stood my ground, watching warily as it reached out one long, muscle-corded arm and pulled the door farther open. The door creaked alarmingly under its grasp and I couldn’t help but notice that its claws left little indentations in the wood.

It made a sweeping gesture with the other paw—hand—whatever, baring its teeth at me in a silent snarl as it motioned for me to enter the room. Then it just stood there, waiting, slaver trickling down the side of its jaw as it stared at me with overbright golden eyes.

The idea of running sounded really good right then, possibly even while shooting at it, but there was no way for me to outrun one of these things. Shooting at it would probably just piss it off, especially since I hadn’t sprung for the silver-plated bullets back at the White Hat Weapons Emporium.

There were too many to fight, and since I wasn’t interested in having it drag me wherever it meant for me to go, I reluctantly followed its direction and stepped into the room.

Five more Weres were watching, waiting, their tails and claws twitching as they crouched along the walls. Watching, but just that. I imagined they’d probably jump me quick enough if I tried anything funny. The first one turned, I guess assuming I’d follow it as it made its way across the room. Two more followed up the rear, and I had to try really, really hard not to look over my shoulder every few seconds as we made our way down a hall past several doors and to another room.

It looked like it had originally been a ballroom of some kind, large and echoing. The ceiling was high, domed, with an ornate chandelier dangling from the center and illuminating the softly glowing wood of lovingly waxed floors. Real candles on tall brass stands stood in alcoves around the room, adding to the cheerful warmth of the place. There were no windows, but I was pretty sure this room was over the main lounge and eating area downstairs.

A pentagram marred the floor directly under the chandelier. It was big, much bigger than the one in Arnold’s apartment. That same ozone-ish smell hung heavy in the air, a shimmering haze rising up from the circle. Sara was in the center of it, lying on the floor with her eyes closed, unmoving.

A small, ugly sound rose from my throat, and I started to step forward but the lead Were put its arm out, barring my way. It pointed to something I hadn’t seen at first, a small table at the other end of the room where a man and woman sat, another man standing a few paces behind them with arms folded. Another Were, bigger and far scarier looking than Chaz with a number of visible pink scars under its reddish-brown fur, was crouched next to the table, arms across its bent knees as it stared at me from across the room.

I did as I was directed and took a few steps toward them, skirting around the bubble rising from the floor. Sara didn’t stir, and as I passed, I watched for a moment to make sure she was still breathing. Much to my relief, she was. Aside from a bruise I could see forming at her temple and her clothes being a little rumpled, she looked okay. I prayed that the one bruise was all they’d done to her.

I approached the table, jumping slightly as the door thumped shut behind me. My heart skipped a beat when I saw that the standing man was Royce. He came around, face and eyes empty of emotion, pulling out a seat for me opposite the seated couple. The table held a decadent spread of food and drink. I came forward but remained standing before the table, mustering a glare for the two at the table.

The guy was smiling a secret little smile, mirth twinkling in his bright hazel eyes. He was dressed well in a charcoal gray suit, his dark hair neatly combed away from a narrow face. Slender, pale, and with an air of suppressed energy almost as frightening as what was exuding off the Were at his side, I started when I recognized him as the boy Sara had been sent to find by his crazy White Hat parents.

“David Borowsky,” I whispered, noting his pleased nod. My gaze slid to the girl sitting next to him, her bright cherry lips curved in a sweet smile as she regarded me with a kind of insincere amusement. There was something dangerous glittering behind the flinty gray depths, her delicate china doll features showcased by her long chestnut hair, which was swept up into a cascade of artful curls. She was wearing a long evening gown the color of heart’s blood that left her shoulders and neck bare, a single faceted ruby the size of my thumbnail hanging from a delicate gold chain at her throat. I was willing to bet the dress would swirl around her ankles when she stood up. My words for her were almost, but not quite as, surprised. Definitely confused.

“Tara. No, Anastasia Alderov. How?”

David gestured to the chair Royce had pulled out for me. “Please sit, Shiarra. Did I say your name correctly? It’s rather unusual.”

“Yeah, well, my parents were hippie gamers who liked fantasy novels.” I stayed standing. “What do you want with me? With Sara?”

Anastasia laughed, a soft tinkling of bells. “Cuts right to the chase, doesn’t she?” I was a bit surprised to note a rough Brooklyn accent lurking behind the mellifluous voice. It didn’t match the china doll face, the delicate hands, or the pretty dress. She smiled at me, a dazzling curve of lips baring just a hint of pearlescent fang. “Oh, don’t be so surprised. Born and raised in Brooklyn Heights, though I was living in Chicago up until recently.” Malice dripped from the honey-dipped tones of her voice, and I knew without doubt that she had been the one to speak to me through Royce. She turned to look at David, and the two of them locked eyes in a sickeningly sweet way which said to me that, despite being evil and all that, they actually had feelings for each other.

This vampiress was not under the influence of the focus. Both of them used it. Both of them controlled the local vamps and Weres. And considering how many Weres greeted me on the way in, it looked like he was a lot better at it than she was. This kid was the sorcerer?

Fuck.

“Your parents have been looking for you, David,” I said, realizing that he looked older and more sophisticated in the suit and with his hair slicked back than he had in the photo his parents had given me, taken of him in a ratty T-shirt with his hair dangling in his eyes.

Tight irritation lines appeared around his eyes, the hint of a pout curving his lips. “My parents don’t own me. I’m old enough to do what I want. Go where I want.” His gaze returned to Anastasia, softened. “See who I want.”

Good God. The little emo freak was kidnapping and murdering and causing mayhem to spite his parents?

He turned back to me, and I backed away from the vicious force behind his gaze. “Anastasia doesn’t like you. Royce wanted to turn you into one of his own, did you know that?”

I glanced at Royce. He remained as he had been, hands clasped behind his back, black eyes staring at nothing in particular somewhere off to the side of the table. No movement, no breathing, still as a stone and about as lifelike.

“Anastasia wanted to become a vampire but Royce wouldn’t accept her. Thought she wasn’t good enough for his tastes.”

The vampiress narrowed her eyes, that glint of malice switching from me to Royce in a heartbeat. Suddenly, the reason she hated me so much became clear, if no more insane than any of the other reasons I had imagined they wanted me dead.

Incredulous, I spelled it out, seeing how they both glared at Royce and nodded while I spoke. “She was jealous of me. That he wanted me but not her. But how did…who made you a vampire then?”

“No one you would know. He was a patron of the arts. When I went to school out in Chicago, he saw me and took me under his wing. When I asked to come back here to negotiate a treaty with Royce, he let me go.”

“So what does that have to do with you two being together? Or the focus?” Or me, I wondered. At least they were obliging me for the time being, answering my questions. Maybe if I kept them talking long enough, Chaz and the others would find a way to sneak in.

David smiled a pleased cat-that-got-the-canary smile, one I didn’t like at all. “We went to high school together. Stayed in touch by e-mail when she went to Chicago. When she came back, we wanted to do something special, live the kind of life we dreamed about. So I made a new Dominari Focus.”

My jaw went slack, eyes widening. This kid had the kind of power it took to make something like that? I mean, I was impressed with a talking belt, and it apparently took a whole coven of magi working together to make one. This was something entirely different.

He looked with something like pride to the gigantic Were panting at his side, then with a hardened, sadistic joy at Royce. “The vamp fought pretty hard not to kill you. You’re lucky, you know. The last meeting you had really took the fight out of him. He would’ve made you his slave if he could’ve bound you instead of killed you. We would’ve just killed you quickly and kept using him to front this little empire of his, and live a nice, safe, happy eternity together. He would’ve made whatever was left of your life hell.”

Oh, and that made me feel ever so much better. I shifted my weight, one hand stealing toward the stakes as he told me this. An air of tense readiness took over Royce and the Were, sensing I was up to something. That didn’t stop me. “Well, aren’t you the most kindhearted of souls. So what do you want with me now? Really?”

He slowly stood, the Were rising to tower at his side, Anastasia leaning back comfortably in her chair to watch. A calm, sly grin curved his thin lips as he reached one hand into the pocket of his dinner jacket, pulling out the ugly lump of the focus to set it on the table before him. He kept his fingertips on it.

“Why, I want to give you your reward for getting in our way, for making my baby jealous. For being so intuitive and resourceful. For helping my parents try to stop me, you redheaded little bitch.” Despite what he was saying, his voice never wavered or grew angry. Just the same antagonizing calm, grating on my nerves.

Anastasia looked so pleased, I knew I was in deep shit. Alarmed, I tried to think of something to do, something, anything to stall them. “Look, I don’t think—”

He cut me off as he offhandedly gestured in my direction with his free hand, chuckling softly. “I’m going to make you an Other so I can use you like the rest. What did you think I was going to do, make it easy and kill you quickly?”

I gasped and jerked back as Royce and the big werewolf both rushed at me at once, hands and claws reaching out to grab me.

Chapter 44

Without thought, I drew the guns in each hand, firing shots as I staggered back out of the immediate reach of Royce and the Were. Jesus Christ, the open mouth of that Were could’ve easily engulfed my entire head.

I twisted and turned, avoiding their grasping hands as I shot at them, doing what I could to ward them off while ignoring the commands Anastasia and David were shouting. Some part of me distantly heard the double doors across the room slamming open, the sound echoing across the great ceiling as a chorus of howls and yips and barks came spilling in to join the fray between me, Royce, and this monstrous Were I was starting to think must be Rohrik Donovan.

There wasn’t much time for anything but reaction. I did everything I could to ignore the screams and inhuman sounds surrounding us. Royce made a grab to catch me around the waist and tackle me to the floor. When I dodged to the side, I twisted right into the swinging, hairy arm of the Were.

It was like being hit by a flying tree. A very large, very solid, very hairy tree. All the air rushed out of me as I flew across the room, coming to a painful landing against the table, with its lovely spread of flowers and expensive food and wines which were probably bottled before I was born.

On the bright side, I hit it on my side instead of my back, snapping a couple of ribs instead of my spine, and knocking the table over in the process. I could hear the dull crack of bones, but it was distant, like it came from somewhere else. At least, it felt that way until I tried to struggle up to my feet, gasping and fighting back tears as I hurriedly grabbed at the fallen table with one hand, trying to steady myself. The pain was incredible, blinding, but even now I knew Royce and Rohrik were both coming for me.

I managed to raise the one gun I’d been able to hold on to in time to catch Royce in the gut, making him gasp and fold over in pain. Despite myself, and despite the incredible pain of breathing against the jab of broken ribs into my lungs, I screamed in sheer terror and threw up one of my arms as the Were leapt on top of me, an unbearably heavy pressure on my legs and stomach. Its fetid breath washed over my face before it tilted its head and bit down on the arm I’d lifted to protect myself.

It didn’t bite down very hard, only twisted its head slightly to one side like it was trying to catch and tear the fabric or skin. The weight of it crushed me, forcing the table under me to scrape with a high-pitched screech over the floor as the Were pushed me down, making it even harder to breathe than it was already.

All of a sudden, something else was on top of the Were, a grayish blur forcing it right over the edge of the table and off me. I heard a woman scream, and hoped to God whatever it was had landed on top of that bitch Anastasia.

Chaz stood over me, one clawed paw splintering the edge of the table as he leaned forward and howled a challenge to the Were that had attacked me. Rohrik came sailing over my head and crashed into him, the two of them gray and red blurs streaking over my head and tumbling in a roll across the floor, snarling and clawing and snapping at each other in movements so quick I could barely follow them.

I stood, panting, trying to get a handle on what was going on and clutching the gun to my chest like my life depended on it. There were furry bodies clashing against each other everywhere I looked, biting and snarling and clawing as they tumbled over and around each other and the bubble of energy, or whatever it was, in the center of the room.

Anastasia was nowhere in sight. David was a few yards away, dodging around the fallen table and running toward the circle, where it appeared Sara was stirring.

Though every muscle on my right side seemed to protest the movement, I slowly raised my arm and aimed the gun using the laser sight. I hadn’t counted down the shots when I was fighting with Royce and Rohrik, and I didn’t know how many rounds were left. Just one more would have to be enough. Just one.

It seemed overly loud, even amid the pandemonium in the room. David staggered and fell gracelessly to the floor, the focus spilling from his fingers as he howled in pain and clutched at the knee I’d shot out. What do you know, it works just as well on sorcerers as it does on vamps.

Unfortunately, his dropping the thing didn’t seem to have the immediate effect I was hoping for. Everyone else was still fighting. Even worse, he twisted around from his stomach to his back, hatred hot in his eyes, and flung his hand at me in an abrupt, angry gesture. A ball of snot green energy shot toward me. I yelped and dived to one side, scrambling around to hide behind the upended table even as the magic missile, or whatever it was, destroyed the top half of it.

To make my day complete, Anastasia was on the floor next to me, looking extremely rumpled and pissed off, particularly as she noticed I’d come to join her hiding behind the furniture. I was right, I thought dimly as she dived at me, fangs extended and nails curved into claws to gouge out my eyes. Her dress was ankle-length.

Her own momentum impaled her on the stake I had somehow pulled up to meet her charge, the gun falling to my side as both hands braced the slick metal against my stomach. The two of us howled in pain simultaneously; her for the stake shoved deep in her chest, ruining that pretty red dress, and me for the butt of the stake grinding against my broken ribs. I must have missed her heart. She was scrabbling at the stake and trying to yank it out, probably trying to avoid having it go any deeper and piercing her dead, shriveled excuse for a heart.

I let go of the stake and grabbed her shoulders, shoving her to the side and twisting so I could straddle her waist.

“Get off me, you bitch!” she screamed, one hand still curled around the stake while the other came at my face, red painted nails seeking to score my cheek.

I grabbed the hand with one of my own, catching her slender wrist and forcing it back to the floor. Then I snagged the wrist of the hand that was trying to yank out the stake, finding it much easier to subdue her than I had Royce. Either the belt was giving me more strength this time around, or she was a pushover.

She’s young, an easy kill, it whispered. Just twist the stake up and to the left and she’ll be truly dead.

“Not yet,” I muttered, twisting to one side as she arched up in an attempt to bite me. Her fangs scraped harmlessly along my collarbone, unable to find purchase against the body armor. Unfortunately, I think she might have made holes in my nice new leather jacket. At least I was alive.

Using the leverage of my grip on her wrists, I stood and yanked her to her feet with me, twisting her wrists so that I had them locked at the small of her back with one hand. I was slightly annoyed to see that she was quite a bit taller than me, my head coming up only to her shoulder. I slid the other hand around to her stomach, grabbing the stake protruding from her. It was slick with blood, but I tried not to think about it, even as I had to choke back a gag reflex when I shouted at David.

“Yo, dumbass!” It was supremely gratifying that his pained gaze almost immediately locked on me, still glaring daggers in my direction but now with a touch of obvious concern for his ladylove. “Let Sara go, you fucking nutjob, or I swear to God I will finish what I started here.”

To drive the point home, so to speak, I twisted the stake just a little to make Anastasia gasp in pain. Thank goodness the darn things had leather grips, or I wouldn’t have been able to hold on against the slick flow of blood.

“Let her go or I’ll kill Sara! I’ll kill you all!” he shouted back, shrill, furious.

I glanced at Anastasia, who was staring up at the ceiling, mouth agape in pain and terror as she took deep, gasping breaths she probably didn’t need. More an involuntary reflex than anything, I was sure. I racked my brains, trying to think of something to say that would convince him I meant business. “Do you really want to risk your girlfriend over a human?”

“No!” he screamed, lurching forward as if to stand and falling back with a pained cry as he clutched at his wounded knee. If he survived tonight’s ordeal, he’d walk with a limp for the rest of his life.

Though there was a part of me that felt bad for causing him that kind of pain, the rest of me knew he was the reason Veronica and Allison were dead, and Sara would be, too, if I gave him half a chance.

“Hurry up, let her go!” I shouted.

Anastasia tried to wrest her hands free, and I got her to stop that quick enough by tightening my grip on the stake and jiggling it just a little. Just enough to hurt.

I watched, suspicious, as he reached out a hand to the circle. Only then did I notice Sara was standing, pacing, on the other side of the shimmering curtain of energy. When David’s fingertips brushed the surface, it was as if all that energy got sucked back into him through his hand. In seconds, it was gone, and Sara was racing in my direction. Smart Sara, stooping to pick up one of my fallen guns on her way, halfway between David and me.

Only when she picked it up, she took a shooter’s stance and aimed it right at me.

Chapter 45

I pushed Anastasia sharply away from me and dived in the other direction to get behind what was left of the table as the first bullet whined over my head. It knocked Royce back to a kneel, snarling at me as he clutched his shoulder where the bullet had embedded itself. Guess she was still on my side after all. Glory Hallelujah.

I looked around frantically for the other gun, but somehow in the shuffle with Anastasia it had gone missing. Not only that, but both Royce and Anastasia were getting back to their feet. The stake made a disgusting slurping, popping sound as she slid it out of her stomach and flung it across the room. Judging by the look she was giving me, I’d better think of something else quick because she was going to flay me alive the second she got her hands on me.

Though every part of me screamed some kind of protest, from my chest down to my knees, I took to running, skittering around table legs to meet Sara. I tossed her some extra ammo while I ran, my breath coming in tight, wheezing gasps. My eyes widened when I saw the focus on the floor, just a few yards away, dangerously close to where Chaz and Rohrik were still fighting with each other. Both of them were covered with bites and claw marks, dripping blood on the floor, but I had no time to worry about it.

I ran past Sara and slid on my knees to scoop the thing up in my hand. Abruptly, the room seemed to shift like I was seeing two of everything.

No, not everything. The room itself was steady. It was the people in it that weren’t. I could see the Weres, the vampires, and even David clutching at his injured knee and shouting something in a language I couldn’t understand. Sara was shouting at me, too, but I couldn’t hear her clearly over the snarls and yips of the Weres.

It was as if there were two of each of them, all moving and shuffling and fighting in motions too fast for me to completely make out. Like there was something solid and then a ghostly bluish-white “something” behind and a little above them. What were those things? Despite the danger, I took a second to try to focus on one of them, maybe figure out what it was and if it was something I could use.

Almost the second I did look at one, I had a complete awareness of the Were I was looking at. Mark Roberts of the Moonwalker tribe. Accountant and happily married father of two by day, werewolf by night. Not too high nor too low in the pack’s pecking order. He was afraid, desperately, for himself and bleeding heavily from a bite in his throat. One of the not-pack had bitten him, tried to take out his throat. He could feel it, the pain, the blood, but he couldn’t stop fighting. Something was making him fight, making him stay, even though he wanted to run, to be out of this vampire den that smelled like blood and death, to hide and lick his wounds.

I could feel his pain. His fear. His confusion.

I had no idea what I was doing. Didn’t want to know. Just as abruptly as I’d come to focus on him, I lost whatever it was as something else, a sense of gathering power, nabbed my attention. The hair on the back of my neck rose, and I twisted to look in David’s direction.

Another one of those balls of energy was coming at me fast—too fast. I had no time to dive out of the way and nothing to protect me. All I had time to do was clutch the focus close to my chest as the sickly greenish thing hit me square in the stomach. I screamed in agony as what felt like liquid fire splashed over my skin, spreading all over my body. Sara cried out, but I couldn’t hear the words, couldn’t think beyond the pain other than that I knew I couldn’t let go of the damned piece of stone in my hands or I was dead, all of us were dead.

After a moment, the pain faded enough for me to stop screaming, and I lay there, panting and staring but not exactly seeing what was across the room from me. Except that something was wrong. Different. Quiet, except for my pained whimpers and a faint, angry chitter from Bob, who had somehow managed to cling to my jacket throughout all the fighting. I had just enough of my senses left to know it shouldn’t be this quiet.

Every one of the Weres in the room had stopped fighting. They were shaking their heads a little, some clutching at their ears, looking around in confusion and fright.

“Give it back to me! Now!” David screamed, his hands in tight fists at his sides. Somehow, while I’d been distracted by burning into a crispy critter, he’d found his balance and managed to stand. “Give it to me before I kill you!”

“I think not,” came Royce’s smooth, angry voice from somewhere I couldn’t quite see. My vision was too blurred, even without the weird haze of energy surrounding everyone in the room but Sara and me. I still tried to look, though just the simple act of turning my head made it feel like skin was being peeled off my neck and shoulder in the process. It took everything I had not to cry out in pain again.

Royce was holding Anastasia by the throat. He held her up and slightly to one side as easily as a child might hold a balloon, despite her nails clawing at his arm, making tatters of his shirt. She was snapping her fangs at him, her twisting body as sinuous and unnatural as a snake’s. It looked for all the world like it took him no effort to casually heft her off the ground. Her feet were fourteen inches off the floor and even from here it looked like his fingers would leave permanent indentations in the skin of her neck.

David took a wobbling hop-step toward me, the fingers of one hand extended in my direction while the other arm was flung sideways for balance. His voice was urgent now, afraid. Not like before. “Give it to me, now, or we’re all dead. They’ll kill you, too, if they aren’t controlled!”

Royce laughed, amused even as he was crushing the windpipe of the woman in his grasp. Her mouth was opening and closing like she was trying to scream. “No, my friend. She’s not yours. Not one of your puppets.”

A low, steady growling was building up. Not from Royce. From the Weres in the room. I could feel their attention swinging to David, knowing him for the cause of their fear, tasting his own on the air like a fine wine. He smelled like food, and in that moment, I knew, knew without a doubt, what his flesh and blood would taste like. I could almost taste the salty sweetness of blood on my tongue. I hoped to God that whichever Were I picked that stray thought from wouldn’t become more solid in my consciousness. I didn’t want to know who it was, his name or profession. Who he had killed.

“We’ll kill you, but she’ll be left alone.”

“No!” David screamed, and I flinched as that green light started to form at his fingertips again.

Royce threw Anastasia like a rag doll, a casual gesture, and I winced in sympathy at the sound of the impact, the unmistakable crunch of breaking bone. I watched helplessly as the two lovers flew across the room, sliding in the Were blood spattered on the floor to stop in the midst of the werewolves. Immediately the beasts started to circle, closer, closer, and I closed my eyes as the mingling horrified screams of the vampire and sorcerer became frantic, animal, panicked. I managed to catch only a brief glimpse of their panicked faces as they clutched at each other when the Weres moved as one, converging on the two like a living carpet of fur, teeth, and claws.

The screams didn’t last long. But by all that is holy, those sounds, the shrill wavering cries cutting off so abruptly, the sounds of cracking and ripping like wet cloth being torn apart, were going to haunt me in my nightmares. If I got out of this alive tonight.

I turned away, not wanting to see the roiling, furred bodies converging on whatever was left of Anastasia and David. The thick cracks and sounds of flesh tearing made me want to throw up, but I hadn’t eaten anything in hours. Dry heaves made something grind low in my chest, and I had to fight the encroaching blackness in my vision as my mind tried to turn off the pain and horrors around me and just pass out.

That’s when Royce came toward me. I also noticed Chaz, out of the corner of my eye, bleeding from numerous wounds but alive and stalking in my direction. And lo and behold, there was Arnold standing by the door, horrorstruck and unable to come closer due to the three dozen frenzied, feeding Weres between him and us.

Sara stepped between us and lifted the gun, shifting her stance so she could keep both the vampire and the Were in sight. They both froze. “You okay, Shia?”

I tried to answer. Bad move, trying to breathe. After a brief fit of extremely painful coughing, I managed to choke out an answer. “I’ve been better.”

She gave a faint laugh, forced, shifting her weight uncomfortably as Royce sidled another step closer. “You got any bright ideas on how to get out of here?”

Oh great. Sara asking me for ideas. Royce called out, his voice that same, melodic tone I remembered, just as friendly and smooth as it had been while he told David he was dogmeat. “I can escort you out. Just give me the focus, and I’ll get the Weres out of here.”

Chaz answered those words with an abrupt, angry growl, hackles rising and bloodstained teeth snapping at him in a truly frightening display. Royce didn’t even flinch.

I wanted to say something witty. It hurt too much to talk, so I just settled on shaking my head. Bob made a small sound in my ear that seemed like a warning, though against what I had no idea. Both of the Others came closer still, Sara’s voice shaking as she looked back over her shoulder at me for direction. “Shia…”

Enough was enough. This stupid focus was the cause of enough pain and misery to last several lifetimes. Thanks to this thing, two magi, a vampire, and a sorcerer were dead. Who knew how many Others or how many people had been killed due to David’s handiwork, or what he’d had to do to get the power and knowledge to make it. If Royce got his hands on it, he’d use it to get the Weres out of here, all right. But then he’d use them, just like David had. If Chaz took it, he would take over the Moonwalker tribe, maybe others, and control his own pack on an entirely new level. I couldn’t let Arnold have it, or he’d use it, too, manipulating everyone—maybe even Chaz this time—just like David had.

“Are you still with me?” I whispered, coughing slightly again and doing my best to keep my eyes open so I could keep an eye on Royce, Chaz, and Arnold. Sara was a good shot, but she wouldn’t be able to stop them all in time.

The belt answered me, just as I’d hoped. Faint, but it was there. Still here. You’re bleeding internally—I can’t do much more than slow it down. It’s tough keeping you humans alive.

I almost laughed, but the slight hitch of muscles in my chest and more of that grinding feeling, pressure and pain on one of my lungs, were deterrent enough. “Just a little longer,” I promised it, twisting from my back onto my side, panting as I clutched the focus to my chest. It wasn’t a lack of strength. It was the pain of my broken ribs and the sensation like my skin had charred, even though what I could see looked perfectly healthy, if a little pale. The pain of that spell David lobbed at me was all in my head, I guess. Didn’t make it hurt any less.

Royce inched forward again, Chaz hesitantly following in his footsteps. “What are you doing?”

Sara backed up another step closer to me and lifted the gun, firing a warning shot into the ceiling. Glass tinkled and plaster rained down between her and the Others. The two froze, the other Weres lifting their heads from their “meal” and turning toward us, ears pricked in alarm or curiosity. They were behind me, but I could “feel” them looking, the same way I knew Mark Roberts had been bleeding and afraid. Just like I could feel a mixed sense of hunger, elation, and fear from Royce. Funny to think that he was afraid. Funnier still that his fear was of me.

I coughed again and spat out a bit of blood, taking a few shallow breaths to compose myself before I looked up at the vampire and gave him his answer. “What needs to be done.”

With that, I focused every last ounce of energy I could muster, doing what I could to pull more force with the help of the belt, lifting the focus as fast and high as I could then smashing it into the hardwood floor.

The last thing I knew before the world turned black around me was an intense backwash of energy from the bits of stone crumbling under my hand, throwing me back toward the gathered Weres to the sound of Sara’s screams.

Chapter 46

I woke up. Which was both a pleasant and an unpleasant shock all on its own.

The low droning beeps, bluish-white curtain around the bed, and tubes strapped to my arms, nose, and chest told me more than the fuzzy, dreamlike quality of my thoughts and vision that I was in a hospital. Every part of me ached abominably, but it was distant, like I was feeling everything through a curtain of cloth gauze.

I tried thinking back on what happened, how I got here. No such luck. The last thing I remembered was breaking the focus and passing out. Everything after that was just…empty. Blank.

Blinking my eyes to clear my vision, I turned my head to the side and found it in me somewhere to dredge up a smile at the sight of Sara seated at my bedside, her eyes closed as she leaned against the metal rail, head pillowed on her arm. She must have fallen asleep waiting for me to wake up. It was good to see she was alive and, aside from a bandage I could see winding around her other arm, unharmed.

“You’re awake,” came a surprised voice from behind the curtain. Chaz carefully brushed it aside, sidling around it to stand on the other side of the bed.

I nodded and tried to smile, my voice coming out no stronger than a faint whisper. “For what it’s worth, yeah.”

He smiled back at me, gently taking my right hand in both of his own. The left was tightly bandaged up and I could only see the tips of my fingers. Must’ve done more damage to it than I’d thought when I destroyed the focus. I lifted the bandaged hand to examine it, took a deep breath to sigh, then decided that was a bad idea and immediately expelled it.

“How long have I been out?”

“Your family was here. Visiting hours ended twenty minutes ago, but we snuck back in.” Chaz said, not meeting my gaze. I stared hard at him until he finally capitulated, squirming like a kid caught playing hooky. The doctors probably told him he shouldn’t tell me anything about the injuries to keep me from being worried. “We were all here yesterday, and the day before, too. You’ve been out for four days.” So much for that.

I closed my eyes, fighting back the sudden sting of tears. We won. We came out alive, on top. Chaz was apparently okay. There wasn’t even the hint of a scar to show where he’d been bitten or scratched during all that fighting. Chaz took the tears the wrong way, concern making his face fall as he reached up one hand to gently brush his fingers over my cheek. “Don’t cry, please don’t. Everything’s okay now, the focus is gone and so is the holder.”

I couldn’t help it. Despite the pain it caused, the tightness in my chest, I started laughing. The soft, wheezy quality and the sharp pain made it hard to keep it up, but I did it anyway. Chaz looked shocked, even as I covered his fingers on my cheek with my bandaged hand. Tears spilling down, I laughed, and it felt good. Apparently it was enough to jar Sara, who lifted her head and blinked blearily at me before her eyes widened.

“We’re alive. We won.”

“You did. I owe you for that,” came a new, unfamiliar voice, deep and rough with the hint of a smoker’s husk behind the twang of a New Jersey accent. A man I didn’t recognize was hanging back by the curtain. Chaz glanced over his shoulder, a wary look, but Sara didn’t seem afraid.

He came forward to stand near the foot of the bed, keeping some distance between himself and Chaz while still keeping me from having to strain my neck to see him. He was tall, half a head taller than Chaz, with short black hair that had a touch of white threading through here and there, warm brown eyes showing little laugh lines at the corners, and skin burned dark by years in the sun. He wore jeans and a white T-shirt, along with a long-sleeved flannel shirt to cover his lean, muscled arms, and had a touch of stubble on his strong jaw. He looked like a forty-something construction foreman, and had the same air of casual strength, command, and lingering musk scent as Chaz did.

“The Moonwalker tribe owes you, girl. You saved them, me, from a nasty fate.”

“You’re Rohrik Donovan?” I asked after a moment, having to concentrate harder than expected to dredge the name up, absently wiping the tears off my cheeks. Man, whatever the doc had me pumped up on was making me slow.

He nodded and exchanged a look with Chaz, who didn’t seem all that pleased that he was here. “I just came by to see how you were doing. Also, to let you know that you can call on any of the Moonwalkers when you’re in need. We’ll help you any way we can.”

“Thanks,” I said, though as much as I meant it, I was praying I would never be desperate enough to turn to a pack of werewolves for help again.

“I’m…uhh…I’m sorry about hitting you. Back there. The pack has taken up a collection to help defray any medical bills,” he said, his gaze creeping off me to stare at the ceiling. My, was that a touch of red in his cheeks? He was embarrassed for hurting me. So much for being the Big Bad Wolf.

It hurt a little less when I laughed this time. Eventually he managed to look back at me, relief creeping into his features. It was good to see.

“I’ll be in touch.” He lowered his head and gave me a little salute, nodding to Sara and Chaz before leaving. Chaz watched him go, and I could feel his fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around mine. Mr. Sensitive today.

Sara spoke up next. “How do you feel?”

“Like warmed-over shit.” I grinned at her to soften the words. Even that hurt. “I’ll be okay, I think. As long as I don’t have to fight any more Weres or vamps or insane sorcerers, my day is made.”

Arnold cleared his throat from the door, carrying a bunch of coffee cups. Unfortunately, none for me. I guess he hadn’t thought I’d be awake when he got back. “Hey, good to see you with your eyes open. Was that Rohrik Donovan who just walked out?”

I nodded, closing my eyes when the movement made my vision blur and head spin.

Arnold walked up to the bedside, carefully handing cups of coffee to Sara and Chaz before taking a sip of his own. I was pleased to note Bob’s tiny triangular head poking out from under Arnold’s shirt collar, whiskers twitching. Good to see the little furball survived.

Sara reached out to offer me some of her coffee, but I shook my head, figuring it would probably be better to stay away from caffeine while on whatever it was they were feeding me through the tube in my arm.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to do anything in time. To keep you safe.” Arnold sounded bitter, though part of me wondered whether it was for the focus or me. “I couldn’t cast anything that might have helped with all those Weres in the way. It was all I could do just to keep Bob with you.”

“Don’t sweat it,” I said, wondering if it was my imagination or if my voice really was slurring the way I thought it was. It was getting harder to keep my eyes open.

Just then, a nurse strode in, though I was barely able to rouse myself enough to look over and see. “She’s awake? All right, you three, let’s give her some rest. You can all come back tomorrow.”

I waved halfheartedly, smiling in amusement at their protests at being given the boot. I’d see them all when I woke up. Tomorrow.

Chapter 47

After a month and a half in the hospital, the doctors finally decided that I’d healed enough that I wasn’t likely to start that nasty internal bleeding again and could go home. They were probably just getting sick and tired of my parents alternately threatening to kill me the minute I was well enough to withstand a beating and thanking God and everybody that I was alive. It was embarrassing as hell that my mom kept fluctuating between weeping with relief and berating the hell out of me for messing with Others, both loudly enough to disturb patients across the hall. I swear, I felt like an errant teenager again with all the new rules and restrictions they imposed on me, and I even had to promise my mom that when I was released from the hospital, I’d go to church with her for confession.

It helped my morale immeasurably that Chaz, Arnold, and Sara kept sneaking in after hours to see me every night.

Sara kept on top of things—paying my bills, answering e-mails, watering plants—while I was in the hospital. I owed her big-time. Though I had saved her life back in that room, she saved mine by making sure my rent and car payment were sent in on time.

There was also a spike in phone calls and e-mails requesting my services after the news media reported on the ultimate showdown above La Petite Boisson. Arnold brought me the paper one night to show me my picture next to Royce’s on the front page. I asked him, politely I thought, to burn it.

I had insurance, but it didn’t exactly cover Were or magic attacks. There weren’t any clauses in my crappy HMO that covered being beaten to shit by a werewolf.

So Rohrik Donovan and the rest of the Moonwalkers made good on their promise and helped pay off the sky-high medical bills. A couple of them also showed up to thank me in person, including a bookish, balding gentleman named Mark Roberts. It was odd seeing what he looked like as a man, but he seemed pleased to meet me and was kind enough to offer me a cut-rate deal on my bookkeeping and taxes.

Most of the rest of them sent me flowers. My hospital room looked and smelled like a goddamn florist shop. Even Janine stopped by at one point with a “Get Well Soon” card and a mumbled thanks and apology. I’m happy to report that she’s warmed up to me quite a bit since I saved her sister’s life.

Royce, thankfully, never showed up at the hospital. He did send a bouquet of white roses with a card bearing a picture of a sunrise or sunset on the front. I recognized his, or perhaps a secretary’s, neat penmanship from the note he’d left me a lifetime or two ago when I first met him at his office.

Ms. Waynest:

My humblest apologies for these inconveniences you have endured.

Wishing you a speedy recovery.

—Alec

Inconveniences. Right.

When the doctors finally got around to answering all my questions, I almost wished they hadn’t. Apparently I’d needed emergency surgery to fix my rib cage, pull bits of shattered bone out of one of my lungs, and some other nasty stuff that should have, but somehow miraculously didn’t, kill me. Arnold told me it was a mix of the belt and his interference, via Bob, that had kept me alive. I’m thinking it was mostly the belt.

A mysterious benefactor anonymously paid the rest of my hospital bills. I haven’t been able to figure out whether it was The Circle or Royce. Either way, it doesn’t bear thinking about. If it was The Circle, it means they still want something from me. If it was Royce—that’s the part that really doesn’t bear thinking about.

A couple of days after I woke up, the police came to my hospital bed and took my statement about Veronica and Allison’s deaths and the mess they found above Royce’s restaurant. Turns out that sometime between Sunday and Monday, Mr. and Mrs. Borowsky had also been found murdered in their own home. No, I didn’t know anything about that. Yes, the circumstances—bodies found in a circle burned into the floor and suffering a mix of vampire and Were bites—sounded like David and Anastasia’s handiwork.

The police had taken statements from Royce, Arnold, Chaz, Sara, and a whole shitload of Weres at the time of the incident. Apparently, during the scuffle, a diner in the restaurant had called the cops when a stray bullet shattered his soup bowl and embedded itself in the table. Never mind the screaming or howling coming from above everyone’s heads.

That’s what saved my life, because an ambulance came with the cops to treat some guy who had a heart attack from the excitement of running for his life out of the fine establishment with the rest of the diners.

The police never found out which Were worked with Anastasia to kill Veronica Wright or Allison Darling. The bodies of David Borowsky and Anastasia Alderov? Never found. Presumed dead. Heh. So no charges were filed, probably because the cops couldn’t figure out who the hell to arrest, and it was hard to keep a whole pack of werewolves, particularly during the full moon, enclosed in a jail cell. Plus, I imagine it must have been awkward taking the statements of a few dozen naked people who were bone tired from fighting for their lives, staying up all night, and going from furry to human in the course of a few hours.

So after a month and a half of going stir-crazy between physical therapy sessions and daytime soap operas, Chaz picked me up at the hospital and took me home. We swung by a grocery store so I could restock my fridge. My parents promised to drop my car off in a day or two. Everything was going back to normal.

Chaz helped me take everything upstairs, including the belt, holster, and body armor. Normally the hospital personnel just cut the clothes off you when they’re trying to reach your vitals to save your life, but in this case they were too damned hard to cut. So I still had most of my ass-kicking outfit. Alas, the trench coat did not make it. They also sliced through, rather than take off, the gun holsters. The charm necklace never came off and was tucked safely beneath my T-shirt.

By the time everything was put away, it was almost eight and I was a bit sore and exhausted, but pleasantly so. I kicked Chaz out with the promise that he could come by the next night, and we’d watch some movies. For now, I just wanted to get some rest.

I puttered around a little, refamiliarizing myself with my home. All my plants were still alive. I had a ton of e-mail, mostly get well wishes, a few inquiries from journalists and the usual spam. The place was just as I’d left it; even the dirty clothes I’d forgotten to toss in the hamper were still lying on the bathroom tile. Damien’s gift was still sitting in the back of my hall closet, untouched. Apparently nobody had busted in while I was gone. Everything was as it should be.

Except for the note I found on the bedside table. The neat block letters read:

DEAR HUNTER,

YOU’RE ONE OF US NOW. WHEN YOU’RE READY TO JOIN THE CREW, YOU KNOW WHERE TO FIND ME.

JACK

I crumpled the note and threw it in the trash before I slid into bed, gingerly touching the new scars on my stomach. They didn’t hurt anymore but I’d never be able to wear a bikini again. Not really wanting to look at the scars and too tired to deal with the rest, I kicked off my sneakers, left my jeans and T-shirt on, and lay staring at the amber bars of light from the streetlamps reflecting through my blinds.

The White Hats could find someone else to play their games. I was done dealing with supernaturals. Except for Chaz, of course. And Arnold. And the Moonwalker tribe. Oh, hell, you know what I mean.

Chapter 48

Just as I was drifting off to sleep, there was a knock at my door. If it was Jack or some other White Hat, someone was really going to get hurt.

With a pained groan I got up, muttering darkly about the injustice of it all as I stumbled toward the door. Somebody knocked again before I was halfway there.

“For Chrissakes, I’m coming! Hold on.” The knocking stopped.

Through the peephole I saw a man standing with his back to the door. I couldn’t really make him out and was too tired to play games. I left the chain guard locked and pulled the door open a crack.

“What do you want?” I didn’t quite mean for my voice to come out in such an unfriendly growl, but there it was.

Royce turned to face me, an amused smile curving his lips. He stood with one hand in the pocket of a well-cut black suit, which showed off his wide shoulders and flat, lean waist. The other hand held a bundle. I nearly backed up a nervous step but caught myself.

“I came to see if you were well. I didn’t wake you, did I?” he said.

Bastard. “No. I’m okay. If that’s all, thanks for stopping by.” I started to shut the door, but he put his hand out, catching it before it could close. A herd of elephants couldn’t have pushed it shut against that casual lean.

“Please. May we speak for a moment?”

I thought about it. Mostly I wanted to tell him to go to hell, but in a way I kind of owed him. Worse, he owed me for pulling his ass out of the fire and saving him from David and Anastasia’s tender mercies. Also, he did say please. I wasn’t that rude. After a purposely noticeable hesitation, I undid the chain and pulled the door open, stepping aside and folding my arms.

He slipped inside past me, black eyes glancing around, taking in the small kitchen, cheap dining set, and mismatched living room furniture. Him in his expensive suit, which probably cost more than all the furniture in the apartment put together, looked dreadfully out of place, but I wasn’t about to apologize for my living standards. I shut the door and headed for the kitchen, carefully keeping my eyes off him.

“Possibly a stupid question, but can I get you anything?”

“Water would be fine,” he said, his voice and manner deliberately bland. I wondered if it was for my sake or his.

I got him his water, and a soda for me, before easing myself down on the couch. He waited until I sat before choosing a place for himself, an overstuffed recliner, which tilted forward awkwardly when he sat down. I felt enormously frumpy in my I HAVE PLENTY OF TALENT AND VISION, I JUST DON’T GIVE A DAMN T-shirt and faded jeans but wasn’t about to change on his account.

“So what did you want?” My voice was flat and unamused. I tucked my socked feet under me and leaned against the arm of the couch. I was tired, cranky, and in no mood to deal with vampires. Though I suppose one never is.

He tried, and failed, to hide a smirk behind the glass of water. After taking a sip he put down the glass, offering me the bundle of black cloth he carried. I hesitated again, just for a moment, before shrugging off my worry and taking it. My brows about lifted to my hairline when I unfolded the cloth and revealed my guns. They weren’t with the stuff I took home from the hospital, so I’d assumed the police had found and confiscated them.

Now that I had my weapons back, I wasn’t sure what I would do with them, but it did seem to warrant some kind of response. “Thanks,” I said, carefully refolding the cloth and setting them aside.

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior,” he said with what sounded like regret. His eyes still sparkled with suppressed mirth, but I wasn’t about to point out the inconsistencies. A man like Royce apologizing for his behavior. Fancy that.

“I won’t lie to you. David was speaking the truth. I had thoughts of turning you, or at least binding you in the hopes that you would be able to maintain your will but still operate within my interests and perhaps take the focus from the two of them. It is probably for the best that it was destroyed.”

“That’s great,” I said, shifting uncomfortably and looking away. This was not a subject I was comfortable speaking about. Particularly when I was alone and in pain from the beating of my life, with a vampire sitting five feet away. “So you came all the way to my neck of the woods to tell me this?”

He sighed and rubbed his fingertips against his forehead as if he were trying to rub away the first signs of a headache. A human gesture from an inhuman creature. No matter how good he looked, no matter how warm and sincere his smile, I couldn’t put the thought out of my mind that it was the living, or maybe unliving, dead sitting across from me. When he looked at me, the amusement was fading, a small frown curving his lips.

“You do make things difficult. I’m trying to apologize. As you might imagine, I don’t do this very often.”

The first hint of sheepishness was creeping into my voice, but I bit back on it as best I could. I was pretty sure my cheeks were red, too. “Look, that’s great. I’m glad you’re getting in touch with your softer side. However, I’d like to remind you that you came damned close to tearing my throat out more than once and that doesn’t exactly give me warm fuzzy-bunny feelings toward you right now, no matter how sorry you are.”

He seemed to be a bit nonplussed, like he wasn’t sure whether to be offended or amused. Eventually, he offered a neutral “As you say.”

Warming up to my theme, I switched the soda to one hand so I could level an accusatory finger at him. “It’s probably been a long time since you’ve been human, but I know you felt a very mortal kind of terror for me, not just when I got my hands on the focus but also back in your office. You want to control everyone and everything around you so you won’t have to face the fact of your own potential mortality—it’s why you wanted the focus for yourself.”

He flinched as if I’d slapped him. In a way, I had. There was no way I could have known that without having had the focus to help me see into his thoughts. Maybe it was cruel of me to abuse the knowledge this way, but I needed to get my point across.

“As far as I’m concerned, there’s a part of you that’s still afraid that some nice, sunshiny day, I’ll come find your daytime resting place and put an end to you. You know I’m not afraid of you anymore.” The funniest part about that was how true it was. I hadn’t been afraid of him, really afraid, since I realized that he was more scared of me than I was of him. “That’s why you’re here making nice now, to win me over so I won’t turn you into a crispy critter. Am I wrong?”

He stared at me, his entire body gone into that odd, deathly stillness, only his eyes betraying some alien thoughts I couldn’t comprehend. Eventually, he dropped his gaze and looked away from me. His voice, normally smooth and confident, came out in a whisper. “No. You’re not wrong.”

“Great,” I said, though it seemed a hollow victory.

Summing up the reserves of whatever politeness was left to him, he straightened and looked pointedly into my eyes. Maybe he was trying to use his powers to spell me, or maybe he was just playing it straight. Either way, it was intense, charm or no charm to block his…uhh…charms.

“I would normally never turn someone without their consent. Believe what you will, but if I’d had a choice, I would not have done things the way I did. Like any other creature, survival is my priority. And—I mean this—I’m sorry for manipulating you the way I did.”

I took a deep breath to steady myself, ignoring the dull ache it caused in my ribs. With as much graciousness as I could muster, I said, “I accept your apology.”

He seemed relieved. Fancy that. “Good. There’s one other thing I came for tonight,” he said, dark eyes glittering with some emotion I couldn’t place. Whatever it was, I didn’t like it.

“What?” I finally prompted when he paused longer than seemed necessary.

In the blink of an eye, he was suddenly there, right in front of me, his lips pressed to mine and his fingertips lightly cradling the back of my head so I couldn’t pull away. I was too shocked to think, move, breathe as he kissed me. I’d never seen anything move that fast. The only thing my mind managed to register around the cool, velveteen softness of his lips was the fact that there was not even the slightest hint of fangs behind them. That, and the desire I felt, brief and intense, that shocked me almost as badly as his touch.

Before the thought of struggling even entered my mind, he pulled back, the fingertips of one hand lightly trailing under my jaw, before he stood. I stared at him, open-mouthed, in pure shock. Just then, I didn’t know whether to be angry, flattered, or afraid. So I simply gaped at him as a hint of that wicked, melt-in-your-mouth-sexy smile he’d won me over with back at The Underground curved his lips.

“Good night, Shiarra. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon.”

With that, he turned, adjusting the lapels of his jacket as he walked over to and out my apartment door. I was still gaping when it shut quietly behind him.

Chapter 49

So that’s the story of how I became a vampire hunter and came to see Others as just another, if scary, kind of people. I haven’t actually hunted down any vampires since Anastasia but I keep finding little white cowboy hat pins in my apartment, my office, even one left on the passenger seat of my car one morning. I’m not sure how much longer Jack will let me ignore his little calling cards, but I’m willing to find out.

Arnold helped me put some spells on my doors and windows to keep the bad things out. Somehow, in the crazy aftermath of the fight, he and Sara had tumbled into each other’s arms and are now dating steadily. Stranger things have happened, I suppose.

Like the fact that Chaz comes over any night we’re both free. We’ve decided to give the whole relationship thing another shot. He promised not to come by during the full moon or shift in my apartment, and I promised not to freak out if he accidentally lost control and did it anyway. We go on double dates with Sara and Arnold sometimes. Talk about oddball relationships.

Royce has left me a couple of notes, sometimes in the mail, sometimes delivered as little cards with flowers. They’re all invitations to see him again. I’ve done my best to ignore each and every one, though some perversity has led me to keep them in a little wooden box in my bottom dresser drawer, the same red cloth–lined box that cradles a pair of matched guns. Next to the box is a coil of leather with three identical silver stakes sheathed all in a row. I wear the belt when I’m alone at night so it has someone to talk to now and then. I won’t tell if you won’t.

Like I said in the beginning, I’m a private detective, not an assassin. Since I’m human, without outside help there’s no competing with Others, so I’m doing my best to stay out of their world.

Unfortunately, they all seem to want in to mine.

Please read on for an exciting
sneak peek of the next
Shiarra Waynest novel,
TAKEN BY THE OTHERS,
coming in January 2011!

I don’t usually have people pointing guns in my face. Or in my direction at all, really. I’m a private detective, so I know some people have certainly thought about shooting me after I reported their illicit activities to my clients or the cops, but looking down the barrel of a forty-five was a new experience for me.

“Jack, can we talk about this without the gun?”

Jack was precisely as I remembered him. Tall, slender, with close-cropped blond hair and the coldest blue eyes I’d ever seen. His flannel, long-sleeved shirt was rolled up to just above his elbows and left unbuttoned for easy access to his shoulder holster. He’s clean-cut, looks like the poster boy for some white bread good ol’ boy magazine, and crazy as a loon. He belongs to a group of extremists and vigilante hunters who call themselves the White Hats.

His thin lips quirked in a polite smile. No real emotion shone through the empty mask. I was praying he was just using some of his psycho scare tactics again. I deeply regretted leaving my own guns in my bedroom all the way across town. Fat lot of good they did me there. Maybe I should have our receptionist frisk the clients before letting them into my office from now on.

“Shiarra, I’m disappointed. I’ve left you a number of invitations to come work with us. Why didn’t you get back to me? Did you succumb to Royce after the little fiasco this spring?”

That again. A few months ago I took a job I should’ve known well enough to leave the hell alone. When your business is failing and someone offers you a lot of money, sometimes you do stupid things. For example, accept a job trying to find some powerful magic artifact that a vampire was hiding from a bunch of magi. I suppose you could call accepting a proposition like that suicidal. These days, I just called it a bad business decision.

“No, I haven’t gone to see Royce since the fight at his restaurant.” One little white lie couldn’t hurt. He’d come to see me, not the other way around. I’d stringently avoided Royce since the day I got home from the hospital, when he visited to apologize and thank me in his own way for pulling his ass out of the fire. “Listen, I don’t deal in that shit anymore. Once was enough.”

“You’ve taken on clients, done other jobs for supernaturals since your recovery. You have strong ties to two of the most powerful Were packs in the Five Boroughs. You’re linked to the most influential vampire in the state. We need your expertise, and your connections.”

The only reason the Moonwalker tribe had anything to do with me was because, like Royce, I saved their butts from a crazy power-hungry sorcerer. They owed me. They only reason the Sunstriker tribe had anything to do with me was because the leader of the pack was my boyfriend. Aside from that, the occasional (non-dangerous) case notwithstanding, I tried to keep my connections to anything furry or with fangs to a minimum.

I took a deep breath to steady myself while I thought about how to get Jack to get the hell out of my office, and take his gun with him. He’d tried this tactic before; I wondered why he’d never figured out that waving a weapon in someone’s face was not a good way to get them to cooperate with you for any length of time. “You know I don’t like vampires. I don’t have much to do with Weres anymore, either. I don’t take jobs that have anything to do with the supernatural, no matter what the papers say about me.”

“You have the equipment and connections to be a hunter.” He frowned. “We need you. I won’t have you going to them, taking their side.”

“Whoa now, who said anything about that?”

His eyes narrowed, something passing through them I couldn’t read. “There’s a new player in the game. It’ll be down to him or Royce. Or us.”

I stared blankly. “Who?”

“Word on the street is that Max Carlyle is coming to town.” He stared back, expectant.

Silence. After a moment decidedly lacking any explanations, I urged him along. “And he is?”

“You really don’t know?”

“Would I ask if I did?”

He grinned; the flash of white teeth against his pale skin was ominous. Predatory. Too much like the things he hunted—vampires.

“My, my. I hate to spoil the surprise.” One hand reached up to rub his smooth-shaven jaw while he stared at me. After another long, drawn out moment of silence, he raised the gun, thumbed on the safety and tucked it away in its holster under his flannel. “Ms. Waynest, again, I must apologize for my methods. Unfortunately, your reputation leads me to worry about what needs to be done to ensure you’re playing on the right side of the field.”

Holding a knife to my throat in the dead of night after breaking into my bedroom didn’t exactly give me warm fuzzies, and neither did holding a gun on me in broad daylight. I was hoping my expression was more neutral than pissed, but wasn’t holding my breath.

“Look, for the last time—I don’t want anything to do with Others. I don’t talk to Royce, I don’t give a shit what the White Hats are doing, and I’m not about to do the tango with things that could eat me for breakfast. I’m a private detective, and that’s all. Someone go missing? Think your girlfriend is cheating on you? Great. I’ll go look for them. But I will not,” I stressed, leaning forward across the desk and pointing one admonishing finger in his direction, “be bullied into dealing with vampires and Weres again. Coming close to dying once was enough. You can’t pay me enough to put my own life on the line. Not again.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Ms. Waynest. They’ll be coming to you soon enough. And once they do, you’ll come running to us for help.”

I stood, a thread of fear trailing down my spine, even as I finally boiled over. I pointed at the door. “Get the hell out of my office! Stay away from me!”

He swung the door open and sauntered out of the room, his cool, arrogant laughter trailing behind him. My glare stayed trained on him until his shadowed frame was no longer visible behind the frosted glass of the front door.

Jen twisted around in her chair to peer into my office, staring at me with wide brown eyes over the rims of her glasses. “Jeez, Shia, what was that all about?”

I shook my head, coming around my desk to shut the door to my office. “Nothing. But if he comes back, or tries to make another appointment, I’m out of the office. No—out of the country.”

She shrugged, muttered something, and turned back to her desk to work on the stack of papers in front of her. I glared at the frosted glass door with its gold leaf-inscribed “H&W INVESTIGATIONS,” even though Jack was long gone.

As much as he pissed me off, he scared me more. Or maybe him saying the Others would come looking for me scared me more. Hell, I think I was entitled to be a little unsettled considering I’d had a gun waved in my face. Irritated and upset, I twisted around, calling over my shoulder as I shut the door, “Hold my calls. If anyone asks, I’ve gone home for the day.”

Some preventative measures needed to be taken about this Max Carlyle, I thought. I went to my desk and sat in the squeaky office chair, rolling it back so I could rifle through the back of the top drawer. After rummaging through a scattering of old Post-it notes, paper clips, pens and papers, I finally found the leather-bound notebook I kept business cards filed in.

I flipped through the pages until I found the neat, professional card for A. D. Royce Industries. It had all the data I needed to contact Alec Royce, the vampire I’d been doing my best to avoid the past several months. The one I’d ended up legally, contractually bound to, who’d been sending me invitations to a night on the town and, presumably, other things. All of which I’d carefully ignored up until now.

Daylight still shone through the window behind my desk, but I figured I could leave a message if he didn’t pick up. I grabbed my cell, dug the card out of the little plastic holder, and dialed the handwritten number scrawled on the back.

Tucking the phone between my head and shoulder, I fixed my eyes on the framed photograph of Chaz and me on the corner of my desk. We were leaning back against the rail together at the end of the pier in Greenport and his arms were wrapped around me. I tried not to think about what Chaz would say about me calling the vamp, listened to the ringing, and finally, a click. “You’ve reached the desk of Alec Royce. I’m not in right now, but if you leave a message with your name and number, I’ll get back to you.”

That mild, friendly voice gave me the shivers, worse than anything that Jack had said or done. Did I really want to get back in touch with the vampire? Even though we were technically no longer enemies, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe he’d get the wrong idea about why I’d called him. After swallowing hard and hesitating a bit longer than I should have, I remembered I was supposed to be leaving a message and squeaked out a few words.

“Yeah, Mr. Royce, this—it’s Shiarra Waynest. I’d like to ask you a couple of questions. I might need your help with something.” I left him my cell number and was about to hang up, hesitated again, and added, “Thanks.”

I set the receiver down, wondering if I’d done the right thing. Damn it all to hell and back, I was putting myself back in the fire by contacting him again. Regardless, I needed to know who Max Carlyle was, and what sort of danger he represented. Since Jack specifically brought up Royce when talking about Max, I had to hope Royce would have some idea about what was going on. After all, he was an elder, influential vamp. He had all sorts of connections that informed him well ahead of time when somebody gunned for him or planned to do something that would influence him or his properties. I knew at least that much about him from prior experience.

Depending on what Royce told me, I might have to lay low and hide somewhere out of town for a few days. Or a few months. Whatever would keep my ass out of the fire.

KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

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The Real Werewives of Vampire County
Compilation copyright © 2011 by Kensington Publishing Corp.
“Where Darkness Lives” copyright © 2011 by Debbie Raleigh
“Murder on Mysteria Lane” copyright © 2011 by Angie Fox
“Werewolves in Chic Clothing” copyright © 2011 by Tami Dane
“What’s Yours Is Mine” copyright © 2011 by Jess Haines

When Darkness Comes
Copyright © 2006 by Debbie Raleigh

Real Vamps Don't Drink O-Neg
Copyright © 2007 by Tawny Taylor

Hunted by the Others
Copyright © 2010 by Jess Haines

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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ISBN: 978-0-7582-8098-5