If you're in her way, it sucks to be you.

After three hundred years of unlife, narcissistic vampire Zara Lain has seemingly done it all, and she's now making a living as a successful thief-turned-assassin. Her newest assignment seems simple enough: kill the aging leader of the O'Connor coven and his only heir, and she'll have another ten million in the bank.

But in the dangerous world of the supernatural, few things are ever “simple.”

When a massive assault decimates the continent's population of powerful witches and warlocks, and its orchestrator has vampires being hunted down and captured, Zara realizes the tables have turned and now she'll be playing the hero. Forced to join with a smart-mouthed fellow vampire, a demonologist who's also a fan of hers, a recently widowed—and frequently brooding—warlock, and her best friend's mom, Zara's grudgingly willing to do what she can to save the day.

If only people would stop ruining all her outfits...

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Warning: Contains heavy doses of snark, a sexually confident heroine who likes killing people and has no secret heart of gold, lots of explosions, and very naughty language.

Also, some terrible stuff happens to expensive formal wear. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.

Bloodlines

A Demons of Oblivion Novel

Skyla Dawn Cameron

Books by Skyla Dawn Cameron

DEMONS OF OBLIVION

Bloodlines

Hunter

Lineage

Exhumed

9 Crimes: A Nate O’Connor Novella

Damaged: A Zara Lain Novella

Oblivion (Coming Soon)

Whiskey Sour & Other Stories

Howl: A Juliette Aubrey Novella (Coming Soon)

Soulless

Haunted

RIVER WOLFE

River (Coming Soon)

Wolfe (Coming Soon)

Bloodlines

Copyright © 2008-2013 by Skyla Dawn Cameron

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Cover Art © 2012-2013 by Skyla Dawn Cameron

3rd Edition: October 2013

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9921281-4-2

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

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

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this or any copyrighted work is illegal. Authors are paid on a per-purchase basis. Any use of this file beyond the rights stated above constitutes theft of the author’s earnings. File sharing is an international crime, prosecuted by the United States Department of Justice Division of Cyber Crimes, in partnership with Interpol. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is punishable by seizure of computers, up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 per reported instance.  Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material.

If you obtained this book legally, you have my deepest gratitude for the support of my livelihood.

If you did not obtain this book legally, you increase the likelihood that there will be no future books. Please do not copy or distribute my work without my consent.

Dedication & Acknowledgments

To those like my Zara who loves clothes and boys.

May you have many of both.

To Mum for always putting a book in my hand. To Aunt Judy for encouraging every incarnation of Zara. To Dina for always talking me off of ledges (you’re a Ferrari). To Danni for her vast awesomeness.

Biggest thanks go to Melissa Hayden, who was drawn in by the jacket copy and didn’t let up until I finally rewrote and rereleased the book. I’m not certain the series would’ve re-launched without her.

Thanks to the writers who have made me strive to be better, though they’ll never know the extent of their influence, from Louise Cooper (Rest in Peace) to Lilith Saintcrow.

Finally, to Hanna, for always.

Chapter One

Easy Prey

Someone was following me.

I’d known about him for half a dozen blocks. It wasn’t hard; as his sneakers hit the cement, they made three times the noise my high-heeled boots did. A shallow heartbeat and heavy breaths, though not noticeable to a mortal, pounded in my ears and through my skull. If I’m not focused on tuning it out, the sound of human breathing is near unbearable to me.

I guess that’s why I’m so often the cause of it permanently ceasing.

In all fairness, I gave him the chance to continue on his merry way; I wove through the deserted city streets, cutting around corners and doubling back the odd time. But he still followed. After spending over three centuries of undead life looking like a woman in her late teens, I’ve grown accustomed to men stalking me in the night.

That doesn’t mean I don’t still find it bothersome.

The streets in the lower east end of the city were always empty by this time of night. From dusk ’til dawn, the humans stayed in their homes. Those who ventured out wound up emptied of their blood and discarded in dumpsters. Or worse. Even the village idiot knows to stay in when the body count rises at night.

Not that I bothered much with feeding from the humans there, but it had been a popular haunt for the undead since the city, Macamigon, was a little hamlet in the nineteenth century. It seemed after a century and a half, the humans had finally grown wiser. Multiple gruesome murders often do that. Even as parents tell their children not to fear the monsters in their closets, they are sure to lock their windows, bolt their doors, and always sleep with some sort of weapon next to their beds.

But for whatever reason, my stalker decided not to heed the whispered warnings of the human residents, and was doing some street prowling of his own. Someone ought to have a talk with him about that.

I wasn’t really in the mood for talking, though.

I pretended not to notice him as I walked with purpose along the sidewalk. I kept my stride casual while I made out his exact position. When we started this game, he was a block behind me, but the distance was closing at an exponential rate.

Impatience. It’s done a lot of humans in. Non-humans, too, but then those like me could afford a little impatience now and then since we had mad skills to back us up.

Lust fills a human body with heat; I felt it radiate from him a couple yards away. It works like a fever, moving through the body, bleeding away thought and focus until there’s only the hunter and prey. Sexual desire and need to control are a little like bloodlust that way.

I looked small to him, my five-feet-nine-inches-without-heels dwarfed by the apartment buildings that lined the streets. From his location, all he could see was some leggy chick with waist-length black hair—a fragile, little girl. Easy prey. For a moment I imagined myself whimpering, “Oh, please don’t hurt me.”

That thought amused me.

The streets had a wet smell, like there’d be rain though the pavement was dry. Damp and moldy. Even if I didn’t need to breathe, the habit stayed with me; part of being aware of your surroundings is knowing what things smell like. If jaded, broken dreams had a scent, this would be it. Old and unclean.

Only a quarter of the streetlamps worked, as no one from the city council thought this part of town warranted any repairs. Hookers and drug dealers and welfare cases weren’t real people, right? The unflattering orange streetlight hit me and I watched my own shadow creep up. I moved casual, so he could keep an eye on me. I had to remain in his view...for now.

A soft click. My gaze shot to the store window across the street as a flash of light flickered across the glass. A few seconds later I saw it again, just as my stalker passed under a streetlight.

Either he opened a compact mirror to check his makeup or he brought a switchblade to play.

Total lack of logic—who would bring that thing here? In what world would a fucking switchblade even the odds against something that goes bump in the night?

A few feet ahead, an alley intersected the street. Perfect. With his eagerness growing, I could hardly expect him to wait much longer. I calmly rounded the corner.

The alley plunged me into darkness. A blink of my eyes and my pupils dilated, adjusting swiftly. Moonlight speared over the tops of buildings and stabbed the long, narrow alley, highlighting bags of trash overflowing from a dumpster. A closed pawnshop with a cracked wood sign lay to my left. No apartment above, it was only one story. Good height, for my purposes.

Tension rippled through my muscles and I pushed silently off the ground with grace and ease. Positively cinematic. I cleared the dozen odd feet and landed on the roof of the shop; I crouched there, hunched low and focused. Black hair whispered against my cheeks, still fluttering after the jump and the only sign I’d moved at all.

My pulse thrummed and electricity danced over my skin: I loved this part. The waiting, the watching, the hunting. A vicious smile turned my lips, my icy blue eyes watching the edge of the building across the street.

And he appeared. My smile widened.

He’d run to catch up; he was breathless now, chest rising and falling, lips parted. My stalker paused just three steps into the alley and looked around. His thought process bled through his actions: first he glanced ahead of him, thinking he just couldn’t see me, then he stepped back to the corner in case I was still in the street. When I wasn’t there, he stalked over to a trash bin and, with the knife poised in his hand, he checked to see if I was hiding behind it. Still, I was nowhere to be found. Poor guy. A rapist without a victim was such a sad sight to behold.

Really, my heart was breaking for him.

At some point this kid had toppled over into adulthood: he had the filled out body of a twenty-something, but his steps were unsure—a little unsteady. Ridiculously large jeans told me he didn’t do this kind of thing very often; the hem dragged under his heel and when he tried running from me later, he would likely trip and not get very far. Most seasoned predators dress more sensibly.

He swung around, searching for me, and my focus zoomed in on the red cuff on his left wrist. Maybe it signified a group or a gang he belonged to. Mortal social politics didn’t exactly interest me, though. Gangs came and went. I remained.

But that jacket, I liked. A black, knee-length number. Surprisingly quiet—it was some sort of canvas. Snug on him, too. It would definitely go with my black boot-cut jeans and scoop necked top. Perhaps I’d get more out of our encounter than just dinner.

I love clothes. It’s a fault, probably, but clothes are like a billboard to everyone you meet—easy to manipulate people if you know how to dress. Clothes tell people whether you’re a wimpy little girl, a sultry vixen, or a badass chick they shouldn’t fuck with. I always waver between the latter two...except for that time I posed as someone peddling The Watchtower to get into my target’s house and make the kill. Surprisingly, no one opens the door for a Jehovah’s Witness in a satin bustier.

My fingers flexed, bloodlust roaring through my veins like a tidal wave. Muscles readied to leap down, to grab him, to take this life that so carelessly would take mine.

Movement at the other end of the alley cautioned me. Chills of awareness rolled down my back like ice water tossed on me—someone was there. And my stalker? He knew it too; he glanced down there and lifted his shoulders in a shrugging gesture.

And how many others were there? I picked through the din—through my stalker’s heart beating and lungs breathing, through rats in the streets and dull music throbbing against apartment building walls... Pushing noises aside, filtering through and...I had nothing. Couldn’t determine how many were there, but he had friends. So I couldn’t just kill this one—I had to make it a show.

And who doesn’t love a good show?

Seconds ticked by and turned into a minute. He shuffled, stepping heavily on first his right foot then his left, and then started down the alley again.

I could have let him go; I didn’t need to play. I’m late, I’m late, I’m late for an important date. I had places to go, people to kill, money to make.

I’m no avenging angel, not someone looking to spare others from this attack that very well would have taken my life if I were a mortal. That game bored me now. But this little waste of time, this distraction, was an indulgence on my part—something I engaged in not because I needed to but because I could. Because I liked taking the time to make someone rue the day they fucked with me.

Even if his death would cut the ruing down to just two or three minutes.

I followed, edging along the roof, one hand touching down to steady me and head kept low. Wind kicked up, sending shivers over my skin and rustling my hair. The air was fresh, clean, sweeping from the south where the harbor and lake sat a few miles off.

My would-be stalker halted once more, his head turning and neck craned to check the corners I could be hiding in. Now he was really confused.

And I was ready.

My resting crouch shifted into a braced one until I was poised, ready for a leap. I launched into the air, hair whipping back, then a second later my boots touched down on grimy concrete. Hair settled again, long waves wrapping around my shoulders like the shadows did.

Good predators are silent. Another lesson my new friend had never learned.

I stood but inches behind him in a slice of moonlight. Waiting. Watching that familiar reaction as awareness crackled around him, instinct telling him I was there an instant before his brain processed it.

Ever have that feeling you’re being watched? I was the thing doing the watching.

He turned, eyes doubling in size. “Fuck!” left his lips as he stumbled back, sneaker treads scraping on the pavement.

I smiled brightly with feigned innocence. “Hi there! Looking for me?”

His lips parted and a jumble of unintelligible sounds spilled out. I know a couple different languages—pretty sure he wasn’t speaking any of them.

“Okay, confession time: I really like your jacket.” I took a step forward. “Would you mind taking it off? I’d hate to get blood on it. Despite some product commercials to the contrary, it’s damn hard to get that stuff out.”

Shock wore off and his eyes changed, like a blanket of confusion drawn aside. He straightened his back and thrust the knife toward me. “D-Do what I tell you and you won’t die, bitch! On the ground! Now!”

Such drama. I rolled my eyes. In what passed for only a second to mortal eyes, I grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the pawn shop wall, holding him two feet in the air.

He blinked twice, then looked down at me. Another smile crept over my lips as I watched his gaze track over me and to the ground. His skin paled, blood draining away, and beneath my fingertips I felt his pulse double its beat.

This part never gets old.

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” I said. “My name’s Zara. I’m strong, I’m fast, and I totally kick ass. It’s great to be me...but that means right now it sucks to be you.”

Terror has a taste for a predator; for me, it’s savory and hot, like spices slow roasted. It sparked against my tongue now as my victim panicked and struggled against my grip.

The switchblade flashed in the moonlight as he slashed at me. The blade grazed my inner arm, then slid between my ribs.

Shit. Stupid knife—I forgot about that. Pain swiped at me, biting and stinging. But it was bearable.

I dropped the guy to inspect my wound, an exaggerated sigh blowing past my lips. I hauled the knife out and the wound spit blood, but I didn’t stress it. I’d been stabbed, like, a lot over the years and I knew the healing process had started. Pity I couldn’t say the same about my shirt.

“Goddamn it.” My gaze snapped back up to him. “You damn well better have some money to cover a replacement or I’m going to be rather unhappy with you. I just bought this.”

I released the knife and he winced as it struck the ground, a decisive click that echoed in the alley.

I’m terrible with empathy, but I tried to imagine it from his perspective when I didn’t fall down mortally wounded. Somewhere in his head he must have remembered all the stories of strong, healthy men being found dead in the streets, and, despite how absurd it seemed, he was cowering before a girl who didn’t die when he stabbed her.

My empathy is still a work in progress; I didn’t feel pity. Just...glee.

He screamed, a burst of fear that reeked of cigarette smoke and rancid tequila. He scrambled for the knife at my feet, twisted and ran, feet thumping down the alley. Dirt and stones crunched underfoot, scraping between his shoes and the concrete. He smelled of fear. My stomach rumbled.

The air shifted as I moved and then I was there, in front of him, and he skidded to a halt.

Before he could take another swipe at me with the knife, my fingers wrapped around his hand and squeezed. The weapon fell, but I tightened, tightened, feeling the grind of bone against bone.

A shriek started in the back of his throat, high-pitched and grating on my nerves; my other hand snapped out to clamp over his mouth.

“You were following me, presumably with the intent to violate me. I suppose you were going to kill me too.”

He vehemently shook his head in response.

I tightened the death grip on his hand. “I don’t like people who lie to me.”

Tears sparked in his eyes, building, welling, then spilling down his cheeks. He made some sort of moan of protest against me breaking his bones.

“I know it’s wacky, but I really have a problem with people who try to rape and murder me,” I continued. “Do you have any idea how rude that is? Here we are, in the twenty-first century, and despite the progress women have made, men still think they can dominate them. That makes me so angry. Doesn’t that make you angry?”

Weakly, he nodded.

“I mean, what is humanity coming to when in this day and age a woman still can’t even walk down a deserted alley, all alone, in the middle of the night, without fearing being attacked?”

Another whimper, a weak little broken sound.

“Tell me, are you at all aware of how this has affected me? How am I ever going to walk freely at night after what you’ve done to me? Did you even think of my feelings when you started stalking me?”

He mumbled something.

Ah, so you finally decided to join the conversation. I removed my hand from his mouth so he could speak freely.

“Yes?” I said. “You were saying?”

He parted his lips and his high-pitched scream filled the air, like the female victim in a horror film. The sound drove spikes into my brain—I hate it when they scream this far into the act.

His neck twisted to look behind him, at the mouth of the alley where we both knew others waited. “Help me!”

I leaned toward him as he looked back, my voice taking on a soft whisper. “Something tells me they aren’t coming.”

That thought settled in his brain and his face changed, twisting into something ugly and frightened, then he yelped as I flung him by his broken hand across the alley. He hit the bricks hard and crumpled to the ground, a broken puddle that used to be a tough guy.

My heels clicked on the concrete as I strolled over. He stirred, cradling his broken hand, eyes coming to settle on the toes of my boots.

I’m not all bad; I reached down to offer my hand. Not surprisingly, he stared back, agape and fearful.

So little trust. I hauled him to his feet by the collar of his shirt. “Do you now see the error of your ways?”

He nodded, cowering in my grip.

“Do you promise not to try to rape any more girls?”

Again, he nodded.

“Good.” I grinned. “Now go my child, and sin no more.”

He didn’t move.

“Okay, okay,” I said. “Of course you aren’t getting off that easy. Brace yourself ’cause this will hurt...quite a lot, actually.”

A throb started in my gums. They make it look so easy in the movies, but even after a few centuries of it, the growth of my teeth into fangs hurt. The throb sharpened into pinpricks dancing on my gums and then my canines grew longer, sharper. Saliva formed, swelling in my mouth as I reached out and yanked my would-be-killer toward me. His body went limp in my arms, then contorted and shook as my teeth pierced his skin. The hot blood swirled past my lips, but rather than satiate my thirst, it made me want more.

I held him there in the moonlight as I drank, ensuring his friends would see. With any luck, that would serve as a warning to them. If they came after me, I’d be forced to kill them, which—though enjoyable—was a waste of perfectly good blood. I couldn’t very well feed from all of them, as one human was enough to fill me for a week, and overfeeding would leave me feeling ill for a few days afterward. Besides, I was already late for a very important meeting.

Generally, I don’t take enough blood to kill. It doesn’t make sense in the grand scheme of things—if the human lives, he can always produce more blood, so there’s no danger of ever having to go without a meal. I rarely ever drain a human.

But sometimes I just can’t stop myself.

Chapter Two

Business Opportunities

Not fifteen minutes after my meal, I stood in front of my destination. Or, rather, on top of it. After my unexpected dinner, I opted for the rooftops for the rest of my walk. It’s faster than stopping to kill every loser who decides to follow you.

Plus I probably looked killer with that knee-length jacket flapping in the wind as I ran.

Mishka’s window lay wide open without a screen, a big happy mouth ready to let me dive inside. How nice of her.

I dropped noiselessly onto the fire escape and stole down two levels to her floor. White sheer curtains fluttered, cutting across the open window. Beyond them was the living room, and beyond that the kitchen; Mishka Thiering sat with her back to me at the chrome dinette table. Blonde hair was coiled in a bun at the nape of her neck, not a strand out of place even at three in the morning. I swore that witch never slept.

A blue ceramic mug touched down on the table, then she moved her hand back in front of her; the flipping of pages followed. Her flowery peasant skirt trembled as she shifted in her seat.

I failed to see why she’d have all the damn lights on so anyone could see into her place. Despite living in what could only be described as “the slums,” all her furniture was either new and stylish or antique and priceless. That chrome dinette set wasn’t there the last time I dropped by for a visit, nor was the 1930’s lounge chair tucked near the window. Maybe she didn’t think anyone would bother carting off furniture in this neighborhood. Or maybe local thieves were scared of the witch next door.

I’d both steal good furniture and risk the wrath of a witch...good thing we’re still friends, Mish.

I bent and slipped through the window. Two lights were on either side of me and I stole through the living room at an angle, dodging the light where I could as to not cast a shadow in her line of vision. My boots moved soundlessly on the plush gray carpet and soon I stood directly behind her.

Her attention stayed on the book as I leaned over her shoulder to peer at the discoloured pages.

“Invocation of the Summer God,” I read aloud.

Her shoulders lifted in a start and her body jumped in her chair. “Goddess damn you, Zara!”

“Hmm.” I took the seat opposite her and dropped down to sit, draped one long leg over the other, and tapped my scarlet-painted fingernails on the tabletop. “Is it possible to damn someone already damned?”

“Funny,” she said without smiling. “Why can’t you just use the door like a normal person?”

Because I’m not a person, dumbass. “I like to make an entrance. Besides, you shouldn’t leave the windows open.”

“The air conditioner doesn’t work—that’s the only way to get any fresh air in here since the landlord won’t replace it.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s why I moved out. Maybe you should buy one yourself or at least invest in a spell to keep out unwanted visitors, rather than...” I snatched the leather bound book from her hands to look at the cover. “Raven’s Grimoire of Dark Magick?”

“Gimme that.”

I let her grab the book back. She was way too smart for that trashy kid magic they sold in occult stores—why bother with something wannabes read? But I didn’t ask, because I had trouble taking interest in something that wasn’t directly related to me. “So, the invoking thing...how’s that working out for you?”

She ignored me. “Nice jacket.” An exaggerated inhale through her nose and her face scrunched up. “Ugh, when did you start smoking?”

“I didn’t—the charming gentleman I killed and stole it from did.” I reached into one of the pockets, pulled out a small pack of cigarettes, and tossed them on the table. “You’re welcome to what he had left.”

“No thanks.” Her chair scraped on the kitchen tile floor as she rose, hardcover book in hand. A tall, dark walnut bookcase with a heavy bottom sat next to the couch, and she moved to set the book at eyelevel. I had long suspected she kept all the good magic stuff hidden away in her fireproof safe—which she didn’t think I knew about—and leaving ol’ Raven’s Grimoire up there confirmed my suspicion it was filled with shit spells. She paused there, skirt swirling around her feet as the wind kicked up and blew through the open window, and eyed the books for a moment. “I didn’t think you fed in this area anymore.”

“I don’t, not since Dustin got that little heroin problem after feeding on too many addicts. I think that was a valuable lesson for us all—you are, indeed, what you eat. But someone follows me, he doesn’t live to tell about it.”

Her green eyes glanced back at me, sharp and alert. “Was it random?”

“Probably. He seemed surprised when he realized I wasn’t human.”

A smirk lifted the corners of her lips. “Imagine that—someone who hasn’t heard of you.”

“Fucking tragedy of biblical proportions, I’m telling you.”

She moved to the tall cabinet next to the shelf, a four drawer number in white that looked out of place between the antique pieces. But then she was a shitty decorator. Hadn’t even painted in the couple of years she had the place to herself. Of course, neither had I before her, but I was going for grungy apartment at the time and the discoloured walls kept up that theme.

Not locked, I thought as she went for the top drawer of the filing cabinet. No key, no magical barrier keeping it closed that required her witchy words to open. The well-oiled wheels hummed as she hauled it open, then again when she found what she searched for and closed the cabinet.

Mishka turned to face me, large manila envelope clutched in both hands. For a fraction of an instant, she paused there. Then perhaps overcorrecting after the intermission, she sped forward and her bare feet carried her back to the table. I waited, nails still going click click click on the table until she slid the envelope to me and took her seat.

My last name, Lain, was written on the front in big fat Sharpie letters. So formal. “This is my shiny new contract?” I slid my fingernail along the sealed flap to open it.

“Yeah.”

An eight-and-a-half by eleven, black and white photo waited inside along with a single sheet of typed information.

The photo was snapped from far away, I guessed: zoomed in and everything but the target had a touch of blur. A man stepped out of a car and I saw him from the chest up: dark business suit with crisp creases and a no-nonsense tie, thinning hair, and one of those faces that conjured images of a beaten leather catcher’s mitt. Behind him, a limo—dark, probably black—and three broad-shouldered bodyguards surrounded him.

A light over the dinette table cast shadows over the brief synopsis of info on my target. I might have guessed him to be fifty or so, but...Jesus, age seventy-four?

“Who is he?” My gaze flickered to Mish, briefly, taking in the fidgeting of her hands, before dropping back to the photo again.

“Sean Charles O’Connor...the Fourth.”

“I can see his name right here—I meant what is he?”

“Warlock.”

Huh. Don’t play with them too often. Modern covens, typically, have money and they’re total fucking snobs—I didn’t deal a whole lot with those types these days. The odd rogue, like Mishka, was a different story. Her type wasn’t backed up by the cash and monarch-like organization.

So some warlock, probably with a coven, with a contract on his head...and no details on the info sheet regarding why. Or payment... “That’s some great anti-aging magic he’s got. What—is he threatening to sell his secrets to Hollywood’s richest, and some plastic surgeons have hired me?”

“He’s the leader of a rivaling coven.”

“Exactly whose is it rivaling?” I looked at her and raised a brow. “Mommy and Daddy’s?”

Her face tightened into a scowl. Mishka had virtually disowned her family during her teenage rebellion, and left one of the more prominent covens in the northern hemisphere. Became a rogue. I supposed I was partly to blame; late one night when the kid caught me stealing from her wealthy parents, Jeffrey and Heaven Thiering, she not only showed me to her father’s safe, but tracked me down the next day and camped out on my doorstep until I agreed to let her stay with me.

The unlikely friendship we struck up when she was sixteen had blossomed into a business relationship as well. Proving herself useful in my transition from high class thief to full-blown hitwoman, four of the past seven contracts I’d been given came through her. And Mr. Sean Charles O’Connor the Fourth would be number five. The witch had great contacts.

Her chair creaked as she shifted and arranged her hands on the table. “Heaven contacted me. This is just your basic blood feud five centuries in the making, and they think it’s time to deliver a major setback to the O’Connors. Take out the head of the coven and it will cause chaos. You in?”

“What are they paying?”

“Five hundred.”

“There had better be more than three zeros attached to that number.”

“No—they said five hundred G’s.”

I stared at her for a moment. That wasn’t funny. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Plus any expenses—”

“No.”

“—and whatever you can grab on the way.”

Now that got me thinking. In the sheet of information, the Thierings specified that they wanted it done at his home, which meant if I was quick about it, I could probably find and crack open his safe while I was there. But doing the job at a heavily guarded mansion was going to be tough, even for a vampire. Important people rarely had mortal guards...and since the number of undead assassins and thieves was on the rise, they could quite possibly be prepared to take me out.

And I’m not just a thief anymore, damn it. Sure, I subscribed to the ‘want, take, have’ philosophy, but that wasn’t how I made my living now. How fucking embarrassing to be expected to make up the rest of the money just stealing?

“No deal.” I leaned back in my chair. A whiff of smoke drifted up from the jacket, tickling my sensitive nose. “You can call them back and tell them I said there’s no way in hell I’m doing anything for less than a mil.”

“As disgustingly rich as they may be, you know damn well my family doesn’t have that kind of money lying around. Jeffrey’s got that gambling habit, and I don’t think his spell-casting skills are getting any stronger, ’cause he still sucks at roulette. And now, if we get O’Connor out of the way, it’s going to get ugly, and almost everything they’ve got will be going into protection.”

I can’t believe she’s playing this goddamn game with me. Mish knew how I felt about money—I liked it even better than I liked boys. And I really like boys. “Then it seems they can’t really afford to be doing business. One murder seems rather pointless if it’s going to leave them bankrupt.”

“I don’t even expect a cut of this,” Mishka said. “No commission. Personally, I’m not sure I want to be in this business anymore. But this isn’t just about money—if you’re the one to take out the leader of the O’Connor coven, you’ve got it made. No more petty theft—”

“Hey, when I thieve, it certainly isn’t petty—”

“It is compared to this.” She leaned forward, arms sliding across the table and green eyes focused on mine. “Zara, this is big. Bigger, I think, than you know.” Her words were heavy, an unseen weight tipping them toward ominous.

My skin went prickly, itchy, all creepy-crawly with annoyance. I didn’t like ominous and I didn’t like her implication. “And I think I’ve got more perspective, Mish—I do have a few centuries on you, remember.”

The corners of her lips twitched and the thin line between her brows deepened. “But you don’t know how we work.”

Of course I knew. I couldn’t not know—I was over three hundred goddamn years old. Covens were filled with hereditary witches and warlocks. The covens were in a constant struggle to have better, stronger magic than one another, and the most powerful ones had been around for centuries. I knew that if I was the one to take out a major player, I would be highly respected...but I also knew that he was worth a lot more than what I was being offered.

“I only do charity if you’re registered with the government. Gotta think of my taxes, honey.”

“You’ve killed for less.”

“Yeah—humans. Anything supernatural that might cause me problems, I want six figures. Rich guy like this? Seven. You know that.”

“Kill O’Connor and you’ve hit the big time.” Her voice took on a higher pitch and she shifted in her seat. I was missing something, but suspected she wouldn’t let me in on the secret. “Several covens have been after him for a while. He needs to go.”

“I’m sure at least a couple of these covens would be willing to pay more then,” I said. “Perhaps I’ll go to them.”

“The word is they already have someone. Someone good. If you don’t act quickly, someone else will, and you’ll be left with nothing.”

Damn, and I thought I had her there. I couldn’t even let myself consider doing it, though—as respected as I would be in my field for this hit, if it got out I did it for mere pennies I’d never get a decent contract again. Self respect: no matter your profession, you’ve gotta have it.

“Then someone else will have to do it.”

Mishka’s pale green eyes darkened, and she chewed at her bottom lip.

Keep debating, witch. I don’t say yes ’til you start talking.

Slowly, silently, she stood. Back to the living room she went, stepping softly and skipping the cabinet.

In the far corner, a lamp sat on a square table with a long burgundy cloth draped over it. Mish knelt in front of it, cast the cloth aside—goddamn, I knew she had a safe!—and angled her petite self so I couldn’t see her twirl the combination dial. A click and it opened, then slammed shut again before I could glimpse the contents. Sneaky witch—it was like she didn’t trust me or something.

Another manila envelope, this time with no one’s name printed on it. Her throat worked as she swallowed nervously and walked back to me, skin going almost as pale as mine. She sat once more only when the envelope was in my hands, and even then she poised on the edge of her seat.

I sat back casually. It never pays to look rattled even if you’re wondering what the fuck is going on.

Tension thickened the air, palpable and weighted. The envelope tore open easily, a rough sound in an otherwise silent room. Inside was another photo, headshot taken from somewhere high. Young man in his twenties, dark hair to his chin. His cheekbones were high and sculpted, nose straight. Full lips—the mushy kind girls love to kiss—were pulled into a frown that did nothing to spoil an otherwise incredibly pleasant face. I might like money more than boys, but my heart went pitter-patter nonetheless when appreciating such a fine specimen.

No accompanying information. I glanced up at Mishka.

Her face was starkly pale, eyes grave, and she spoke next in a chilling low voice. “Ten million if you take out his son too.”

This was getting interesting.

Chapter Three

Preparations

Someone throws ten million bucks at you, you accept. Even in Canadian dollars.

But I’d lucked out on the genetic lottery: I was both pretty and smart. If someone throws ten million bucks at you and every molecule in your supernatural body is thrumming with worry, you at least pause.

“The son?”

Mishka didn’t reply. She’d stopped even looking at me: gaze was locked on the chrome tabletop, as if she glimpsed something in its depths beyond her own reflection.

“The son’s worth nine-point-five million dollars?”

The silence dragged on.

“Do you mind telling me what in your Heavenly Goddess’s name is going on?”

“Will you do it?” Her whisper held an edge, a rasp—a sharp, broken thing that didn’t sound like the rogue witch I knew and sometimes liked.

So I chewed. Dragged that silence on and on, ’cause hey, she wasn’t being too forthcoming with the detes and I’m a bit of a sadist at heart. My long nails drummed on the table, emphasizing the quiet and—I hoped—pulling her nerves taut.

“Do I still get my expenses covered?”

A relieved sigh passed her lips and her eyes dropped closed. Colour touched her cheeks once more, a blush spilling over her face and down her neck.

“I’d still like to know a bit more about what’s going on,” I said.

She sighed again, this time weakly. Maybe the late hour was getting to her. “Like what?”

Age is an ugly, ugly thing. There’s a nice moment in time, usually your late teens, when you’re flawless; you’re past gawky teen but show no signs of aging. Lucky me was stuck that way. But even Mishka, now twenty-four, had the tick tock of death’s clock all over her. My sharp vision narrowed in on the fine creases around her eyes, the skin that lost a bit of its firmness, its glow.

Being aware of the mortality of those around you is something you can never quite be prepared for. Even if you’ve seen it happen for centuries. Even if you don’t keep friends for long. Undead like me—the immortals—live in the moment. The now. What else is there? Feeling frozen there in time while everyone else moves on is just unsettling, and left a twisting in my gut and dryness in my throat.

Mishka brushed a few curly tendrils from her brow. Swept her fingers over her eyes and across her face, smoothing the skin as she went. When she glanced up at me again, the clouds in her eyes spoiled her attempt at looking renewed. “Well?”

“A name, to start.”

“Nate...Nathan Gregory O’Connor.”

“No numbers attached to that one?”

“Nope. But he’s Sean’s sole heir.”

Interesting. I knew how covens worked and “sole heir” wasn’t usually in the cards; they planned better than that, like the royal family did. “Doesn’t the power and title usually go to the surviving spouse first?”

“His wife, Delores, is dead. Seven years next spring.”

“And this Nathan is the eldest son?”

“He is now. Sean Charles O’Connor the Fifth died almost a year ago in a car accident. There are no other children, which only leaves Nate’s aunts and uncles, all soft in their old age.”

The proverbial light bulb went off in my head. Now I understood why this was so important. A weak coven and now the sharks were swimming, ready to take out anything left.

“With the oldest son dead,” Mishka continued, “Sean knows he’s in trouble. He’s strong, but he can’t hold out for long. Besides bringing Nate into the fold again, he’s been shopping for a new wife and to potentially produce a couple more heirs.”

A mental eww went through my head—that guy was wicked old. I pitied whatever bimbo he picked up to be a vessel for the continuation of his coven. It would make more sense to encourage grandchildren, at least in my mind, but then I wasn’t some wealthy, powerful old guy. They had their own logic.

“And Nate’s only twenty-seven,” she said, oblivious to where my mind had drifted. “He’s not nearly as powerful as he could be one day, so it’s best to strike now.”

“So why didn’t you just tell me about the son before?”

“I wasn’t sure...that is, it wasn’t completely necessary...”

I watched her closely. With my cold gaze boring into her, she began to twitch, and was soon shifting around in her chair again, face on fire.

“Whose money is paying for this, Mish?” I asked.

“Jeffrey and Heaven are—”

“Oh, I don’t doubt they contacted you about the old guy. I mean the son. Who’s covering that one?”

After a long pause, she relented. “I am.”

It hit me. She had said she didn’t want to be in the assassin business any longer...

“You finally dipped into your trust fund, I take it. This Nate is a little gift for Mom and Dad so they let you back in the country club?”

“Go to hell.”

I grinned. “I don’t blame you. It’s not like this is high living, and rebellion hardly looks good on someone your age.”

She sent a glare in my direction, sharp like razors, and might have muttered a few words of a curse at me if she hadn’t known I’d rip her in two before she got the spell out.

“So you’ll do it?”

“I already said I would. But regarding my expenses, I want an extra five grand per guard I have to kill.”

“Zar—”

“They might not be mortals, and if they are, they could be Hunters, so they’ll be a bitch to kill. Should the need arise. I won’t go out of my way to kill them. Promise.”

“Fine. But you’re capped off at fifty thousand—any more and you’ll have to suck it up.”

Bitch. “And of the guaranteed ten mil, I want half now.”

“You know damn well that I’ll pay—”

“Half now.”

She eased back into her chair, shoulders slumping and arms coming to cross over her chest. “I’ll have it wired to your account.”

I nodded my agreement. “Good. Now I want details. Schedules, blueprints, security information, and everything else you have on them. What you don’t have, you’ll point me toward someone who can find it for me.”

****

I returned to my studio apartment around five in the morning, just before dawn.

Sunrise has a scent, like a brand of accelerant I couldn’t place. And didn’t want to. So I ducked inside just as the stink tinged the air, and ensured the curtains were pinned in place and I wouldn’t burst into flames when the sun rose. Not that I would literally catch on fire, but my skin blistered in direct sunlight, leaving me looking like a burn victim. And that look doesn’t work for me.

I hung my lovely new jacket outside on the fire escape to air out the smell of cigarette smoke clinging to the fabric. In one of the pockets I found a small wad of cash, which would cover the cost of purchasing a new shirt. I wasn’t hurting for money or anything, but I’m all about principles.

A night prowl around the city was great and all, but I loved my apartment. It sat in one of many old warehouses in the industrial district that had been turned into apartment complexes. While it lacked a loft, which I had originally been looking for, I fell in love with the place the moment I saw it. Being so damn old, you’d think a girl would learn not to become too attached to material things. Nothing lasts forever. But I tried not to think of that when surrounded by the brown brick of the warehouse walls, huge windows that stretched nearly to the ceiling, and dark hardwood floors.

I’d had hundreds of homes over the years, but I never got tired of decorating them. In this apartment, I’d kept nearly everything the way it was, including the steel support beams throughout the space. The only paint was a rich splash of violet in the kitchen, and a single light blue wall amongst three white ones in the bathroom. Furniture was sparse, though I didn’t get a lot of company, so I didn’t require much seating. Mishka occasionally dropped by, and for her visits there was the lime green couch and white armchair in the living room space.

Anyone else I invited over was usually confined to my bed, and not encouraged to hang around much afterward.

After changing, I paused in front of the full-length mirror next to the bathroom to check my wound. Contrary to the ridiculous myth, I had a reflection, so I was able to clearly see the two inch, bloody gash in the side of stomach. It healed over at the usual fast rate. Within a couple of days there wouldn’t even be a scar to flaw my smooth, pale skin. Lucky me.

I wouldn’t be able to sleep yet, and I had at least fifteen hours before nightfall, so I rolled up the Persian area rug in my living room, took everything Mishka had faxed over to my place, and spread the sheets across the floor.

I was to hit the O’Connor’s mansion on Friday, which only gave me three days to prepare. Mishka had provided me with all the information she and her parents had, and I knew right away the job wasn’t going to be easy.

Luckily, the younger O’Connor was staying with his father, which meant less running around for me to do. Mish and I had decided on the Friday because Sean was holding a social gathering, and about three hundred guests were expected to attend. That meant easy access. Not in that security wouldn’t be tight—it would be, and far more so than usual—but with that many people, I could probably get in unnoticed. Mish figured he wouldn’t know all of the guests; the covens O’Connor played nice with had lots of extended family he’d never met. During the party, I’d take note of the guards and security, then slip away to steal what I could and wait in hiding for everyone to leave. After that it was just a matter of taking out my targets, grabbing my stuff, and I was home free.

Mishka had a contact taking care of getting me an invitation to the party and a fake ID, so all I had to do was perfectly learn the layout of the mansion. As strong, fast, and kick-ass as I was, the one thing I didn’t have was a photographic memory. That part would take some time.

Shortly after noon, someone buzzed my apartment. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and even if I was hungry, I was careful about where I ordered take-out. One too many pizza delivery boys returning to their employers looking a little peaked—with bite marks on their necks—starts to make people wonder. I had exactly one I trusted and he didn’t work afternoons.

“Miss Lain,” a guy’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Mishka Thiering sent me.”

Unless I’d blinked and missed a couple of days, he was kinda early. I let him in and a few minutes later hauled up the industrial elevator door as he arrived.

He was young—barely seventeen or eighteen—and was reedy-tall and thin, and almost as pale as me. I doubted it had anything to do with an aversion to sunlight, though—he probably just spent most of his time forging documents in his parents’ basement.

“You finished those quickly,” I said as he handed me my papers.

His eyes darted around the apartment, then shot back to me. “Huh?”

“Ah—Mish probably got you started a few days ago, didn’t she?”

“A week ago yesterday.”

Clever girl. Still, if she was so sure I’d say yes, it would have been nice if she’d informed me sooner. I didn’t like having to prepare on such short notice.

I flipped through the envelope that contained my new driver’s license, social insurance number, health card, birth certificate, Visa, bank card, local library card—all in the name “Helene Walker.”

“Oooh, a clothing store membership too. You certainly go above and beyond, don’t you?”

A blush rolled from his face down his neck at the compliment and he cast his gaze to the side. Even though I had eaten the night before, the rush of blood to his face made me hunger.

Humans are kinda like potato chips in that you can’t just eat one sometimes.

I looked down at my new ID again to avoid thinking about food. “Wait—you made me twenty-five? I’m not trying to buy a carton of smokes, I just want to get into a party.”

“Well...but-but Mishka said—”

“Never mind, it’s all right.” Twenty-five. Once upon a time, all I dreamed of was reaching eighteen...but I was just under two weeks shy of that. Ten days before my birthday, I was turned. My unlife was suspended at seventeen years, three hundred and fifty-five days. Waiting centuries didn’t change things; those ten days never passed.

“A passport too.” I flipped open the little book. “Wow, I get around.”

“You’re an heiress and you spend most of your time in Europe. There’s a Walker Coven in New Jersey, but there’s also a well-known one in South Africa. No one from either is said to be attending the party, so if you just say the name ‘Walker,’ Mishka said they probably won’t question you further.”

“Because they wouldn’t want to seem stupid and not know me?”

“Right. I’ll hack into a few networks and fake some files so, in the unlikely event someone does a background check, they’ll find enough to think you’re legit. You even have a Facebook account.”

I just hope no one compares it with Zara Lain’s Facebook profile. “All my bases covered,” I said with an approving smile. “I like you. You’re quite helpful.”

Just as his usual lack of colour was returning, his face flushed again. “There is one problem, though.”

My gazed narrowed on him and he went back to pasty.

“I-It’s just a-a minor one—”

“What is it?”

“The invitation. I-It’s better than an exact replica—it’s perfect. The same paper, the same ink—all of it.”

“But?”

“There’s a problem with the seal.”

I looked over the invitation. The vanilla parchment was folded and sealed with a dark red circle of wax, the O’Connor crest imprinted into it. A gryphon. Probably a symbol of strength but it always made me think of myths, which equaled untrue. Not a way to inspire confidence.

“It looks good to me.”

“The problem is that it’s supposed to be a magic seal. An incantation—and O’Connor blessing—was said as it was pressed into the wax...every one of the invitations was done individually.”

“This is crucial to my job how?” This was really turning into a hassle. I should just kill Mish—bet someone would pay me for it.

“Magic is a lot harder to forge than a simple invitation.”

“So there’s no magic here?” Bloody hell, why didn’t I just decide to break in?

“There is, but I had to send it to Mishka to do, so it’s Thiering. No one will probably sense the difference, but—”

“But as magic is built right into a witch’s genes, it has a family genetic imprint to it...I get it.” Stupid witches. “Will this get me in the door or not?”

“It will. So you really need it? You need to be invited inside?”

Yet another stupid superstition. Christ, was I ever sick of hearing those. “No, it’s just rude to show up at a party without one.”

“I’m sure there won’t be any problems, Miss Lain.”

“Good. I’ve decided I won’t eat you.”

His eyes doubled in size. “You were going to—”

I laughed. “No, not really. Well, probably not.”

Chapter Four

The Dark Place

I dreamed I awoke in the dark place.

No sound. Nothing at all. I’d never experienced silence like that; even in the dead of night, in an otherwise empty room, something could always be heard. But in here, the dark place, there was nothing. Just a stillness that seemed loud in how quiet it was.

A deep inhale. Stench filled my nostrils and a choke rose in my throat. It was awful and I resolved I would not breathe again.

That didn’t turn out to be a problem.

I tried to open my eyes, stretching them wide—but they were already open. Yet I saw nothing. Only blackness.

My hands instinctively tried to fly out, but they were nailed to my sides. The dull ache coursing through them told me they were still there, but I couldn’t lift them. Same with my legs.

I opened my mouth to call out something, anything—to beg and cry and scream for help—but my voice wouldn’t come. It lodged somewhere in the back of my throat, as if afraid to come out to confront the darkness with me.

Focus, focus... If I knew where I was, I might know what was happening. What did I feel? What was I touching?

I was lying down—of that I was certain. On my back...yes—lying on something hard, on my back.

How did I get here?

For a frightening moment, I didn’t know. I didn’t who I was or where I’d been, only that I had a sick sense of longing, of betrayal, aching in my chest. There were whispers there, threading around my mind...I’d risen early one morning, when the sky of dawn was still dark, and then hands reached for me—

No, no. Forget.

And then I did because the cold struck me.

I’d felt it all along, but something switched on in my brain and it hit me in waves. I wasn’t shivering, no; the cold was deeper within me and seemed so natural, so much a part of me, that it hadn’t registered initially. But once it caught my attention, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I’m not sure I ever have.

Worse still, my stomach was twisting, knotting, aching. Worse than anything I’d ever felt, the hunger was like a worm traveling through me, hollowing me out, bit by bit, until all I could focus on was the pain. The need to eat, the need to...feed...

It consumed me.

I had no idea how long I lay there. Sometimes I cried. Sometimes I fought with everything in me to scream, but no sound ever came. My body wouldn’t move, and all I could do was lie awake with my thoughts and memories. The latter were hazy, at best.

And then one day—or week, or month, or god, it could’ve been year—my voice returned. Soft moans at first and useless, yes, but they gave way to whines, and eventually graduated to a whisper. When I was able to shout at last, the sound bounced straight back at me, piercing my ears.

I wasn’t simply lying in a dark room—I was confined in a space barely big enough to fit me.

At times, madness took a hold of me. I remember little of that. But after a while, my muscles obeyed me again. It started with some twitching. Though my progress was slow, it was enough to renew my confidence.

When I was able to move my arms and legs completely, I reached forward to feel my surroundings; shock rocked me because I punched straight through the barrier in front of me. Stone clattered to the floor and dust hit my face. Light assaulted my vision, blinding like I stared directly in the sun; as I tried to shield my eyes, I lost my balance and toppled onto the dirt floor. Weakly, I pulled myself up and waited for my eyes to adjust to the light.

Light that wasn’t so bright after all.

My gaze moved to the two small windows high on the wall to my left. Beyond the cloudy, spider web-covered glass, the waxing moon hung high in the sky.

A glance around and I wanted to crawl back into my prison. Sarcophagus after sarcophagus sat on stone pedestals around the room. Coffin-less corpses lined the walls’ manmade crevices...

I was in a mausoleum.

My feet were stumbling, leading me in a circle, desperate to escape. In my terror, I accidentally breathed in again and retched from the smell. Words wouldn’t form in my head, thoughts had no shape, no sound, but just the instinct bone-deep to get out.

I bolted from the room and tore down the first corridor I saw. The moonlight was gone, and I had no idea where I was going, but I still pushed on through the darkness. With one hand in front of me and the other to my side, I ran blindly, only pausing when a wall blocked my path.

I had no idea how I managed to find my way out of there. I repeatedly ran in circles—sometimes ending up back in the room I had awoken in, while other times I just seemed to end up in the same corridor again and again. But finally I found what appeared to be a main room, where there were small windows on three walls, and no more corpses.

I yanked open the door, expecting freedom at last—nearly salivating at the anticipation of a fresh breeze on my skin and the stink of corpses put behind me. Instead, two terrified-looking children confronted me: a boy of perhaps five and a girl only a couple of years older, both with dark hair and dressed in their night clothes. The girl carried a lantern and she thrust it toward me as the boy cowered behind her. She muttered some curse, which, had I been focusing, I might have understood, but I was too consumed with other thoughts.

The hunger was back.

It wrapped not around my stomach, but around my head with cold steel bars. I couldn’t see, couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything but the coursing of blood in their veins and the beat of their hearts.

I didn’t know how I snatched the little girl up so quickly that she didn’t even drop the lantern. But I did. My mouth was over her throat and after the horrible pain around my teeth subsided, I bit into her flesh and drank.

And it was glorious.

That first drink after being so hungry was the single greatest moment—it was bliss beyond reason, beyond awareness almost. I sighed deeply, felt my shoulders sink in satisfied relief.

The boy screamed out for his mother, and turned to run toward the house in the distance. The girl’s last drop of blood had barely passed my lips when I was upon her brother. He shrieked and tried to fight me as I drank, but soon his body went limp in my arms.

Within minutes I had fed from them both.

Someone burst through the back door of the house, lantern in hand and followed by two others. Who were they—why were they...

I looked down at the lifeless child and dropped the body as I jumped back, horror spiking through my veins. What am I doing? They were only...

Despite the rational protests that ran through my brain, something wonderful had happened: I was warm. Their blood rushed through me, and for the first time since I had awakened in the dark place, the hunger didn’t gnaw at me.

The people who came from the house screamed and rushed. A fallen lantern at my feet still burned; they could see the children. I had little doubt.

Run.

I raced past the mausoleum, though the fields, into the woods, faster than I should have been physically able to, and continued on until I was sure my pursuers were gone. And then I cried.

The metallic taste of blood remained in my mouth. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those children...so tiny...so breakable... But I killed them.

God Almighty, what have I become?

****

When I awoke for real, back in my apartment, I pushed back with near physical force at the memory of my dream. Or, rather, the dream of my memory.

Of all the memories I tried to suppress, that was one that wouldn’t go away. Maybe I didn’t really want it to. Maybe I was a masochist at heart. But on the occasion that I did dream—which, granted, was a rarity—that was often the gist of it.

Grow up, Zar—got more important things to do. It was Friday evening. The clock next to my bed said I had three hours to ready myself for the party. O’Connor would be opening his doors to his guests around seven-thirty, though I hoped to slip in around eight when the sun was in bed.

I took the hanger from my closet and ripped the plastic away from my gown. Spaghetti-strapped, ruby red, and it fit nicely enough that it showed off my hourglass figure, but gave me just enough room to hide what needed to be hidden—mainly my lock picking kit and the two well-folded satchels I strapped to my inner thigh.

I started for my tiny bathroom to shower, but paused as I reached the doorway. For a moment I was there, back in my dream, or my memory, or whatever it was called. I was there, for barely a second, and icy cold fear washed over me.

Just as quickly as the memory came, it faded again. I flipped on the bathroom light and started running the water.

It occurred to me, however, that no matter how many lights I turned on, I never really left the dark place.

I wasn’t certain I ever would.

Chapter Five

Covens and Quesadillas

Sean O’Connor’s estate was several miles north of the outer fringe of the city, and once I had my ten million from Mish, I was totally going to get me a fucking “estate.” I mean, it just sounds classy.

Though I had arrived a half hour after the gathering began, my rented limo came to a halt behind several other cars waiting in the circular driveway. My lateness hardly seemed fashionable when everyone else arrived at the same time I did.

Twenty minutes ticked by—and I was seriously considering just getting out and walking—when the inner window that separated the front of the vehicle from my side rolled down.

“Ms. Walker,” the driver called. “Shall I see what is keeping them?”

“Yes, thank you.” I sighed, a perfected “bored heiress” sounding thing that came naturally because I always thought of myself as A Very Big Deal even without the rich bitch persona. As the driver left the limo to investigate, I pulled a compact mirror out of my small evening bag and put a fresh layer of ruby red lipstick over my full lips, then touched up the smoky shadow over my eyelids. A bit of blush added some colour to my cheeks, and my heart pumped the blood of the man I killed only days ago, raising my body temperature enough for me to seem human. With any luck I would simply pass for some exotic beauty rather than a cold, pale, undead chick. Should anyone suspect the latter, I might be in some trouble.

The driver returned looking less than impressed. That might have just been his natural expression, though; I had yet to see a single smile touch his face in the past hour, which is unusual because just about anyone with a Y chromosome, regardless of sexual preference, grinned like an idiot when I was flashing cleavage.

“Is there a problem?” I asked when he was sitting in the driver’s seat once more.

“Not really, miss, it’s just that an uninvited couple were trying to sneak in, and so they’re bringing in extra security.”

“Sneak in?” Ah, shit. I feigned surprise. “Isn’t this invitation only?”

“Yes and it seems their invitation was a forgery.”

Oh, damn it. “Really!”

“Indeed,” he said. “It seems the gentleman tried to bring in a gun and when the weapon was detected, his invitation was checked.”

Double damn it.

“I wouldn’t worry though, miss—they seem to have the situation under control. Security took the couple, and after some extra precautions are taken, everyone will be allowed right in.”

“Thanks very much,” I said with a smile. The inner window hummed as I powered it back up.

Shitty shit. Okay, be logical, Zar. So what if the invitation was a forgery. That could mean anything. That could mean some regular person just made it up...it didn’t mean they were checking the blessing attached. I might still be okay on that count. It wasn’t as though the names of the guests were on the invitation—it was just the sort of thing only those familiar with the O’Connor coven would receive. No one would be looking into how I obtained it.

Probably.

And then I had the weapons issue to contend with. Since I didn’t think they’d actually be frisking guests—I mean, some things you just do not do when welcoming rich people to your home, and feeling them up was pretty high on the list—I had to assume there were metal detectors of some sort. Probably something hidden in the door frame; I’d seen those before. I didn’t usually carry a weapon unless I thought I’d be needing it, so that wasn’t a concern, but the lock picks would still show. Not too many women keep sharp, steel objects in their garters.

The vehicles in front of us moved at last, leaving me little time to consider my options. Luckily, I think fast on my feet—or on my ass in a limo, as the case may be. I pulled out the kit of picks and went about rearranging my hair. Though my tresses looked better down, it wasn’t as though I would be picking up guys while I was there, so I forewent cascades of hair, and piled the black waves on top of my head instead. By the time my limo pulled up at the front steps, I had a lovely “swept up” hairdo with some steel lock picks and a tension wrench—all craftily hidden—holding it in place. Now those are some practical accessories.

As I glided up the main stairs toward the doors, I focused on the conversations of two couples several steps ahead of me.

“Yes—it looked all right, I heard, but it wasn’t O’Connor blessed,” a tall, middle-aged man said as he lifted his chin to show a bit of contempt.

His companion was a tiny woman whose neck I could probably snap just by looking at it. “Is that so? They must be checking all of them now, I suppose.”

“They seem to be. Sean’s not taking any chances...”

Mishka was a gifted witch, but not that gifted. She couldn’t fake O’Connor magic. This was not good.

I stood three feet from the door now, too close to turn around and leave without making a scene. I’d just have to go in there and let whatever was going to happen, happen. The worst they could do was detain me, and if I played dumb, I would probably just be released and sent on my merry way. Unless they find the lock picks, dumbass. Right, yeah—I could pretend to be an idiot, but no one is dumb enough to mistake tools of the thieving trade with hair accessories.

No matter how dumb they thought I was, I’d have to move onto Plan B when I eventually got out: break in and kill anything that moved.

At last it was my turn at the door. I smoothly reached into my bag and produced my invitation. My smile was sweet and, I hoped, innocent as one of the three tuxedo-clad—but without a doubt armed—guards at the door checked it over. He handed it to the small, middle-aged woman beside him. Dressed in a dark green dress that looked kind of mother-of-the-bride-ish, she had no reason to be standing there with the rest of the security staff unless she was a mystic or a seer or something, meant to confirm the seal’s authenticity. Had I known about her earlier, maybe I could’ve found a way to poison her ahead of time.

I waited to see her inner, mystical alarms go off. I waited for someone to make a discreet signal for a dozen security officers to surround me. I waited for one of them to give a kind “Don’t make a scene, and come with us” smile, and firmly grab my upper arm to lead me to another room for interrogation.

Even as the seer nodded her approval and I was told I could continue on into the house, I waited for someone to see I was a complete and utter fake. But it never happened.

Damn, that Mishka is good.

Another tuxedoed gentleman bowed, took my hand, and ushered me through the main foyer to a set of open doors on the far left. I swiftly surveyed my surroundings as I went. There was the main staircase which led to the northern wing, and an upper floor on the right where I’d find some bedrooms, an office, study, and library. The master bedroom was at the back of the house, just above the pool. Good. I still remembered everything. Hopefully all that information would be in my brain later when I needed to run on instinct. Fancy blueprints on my phone or something might’ve been handy, but it’s been my experience that killing someone for money often led to running for my life, and there’s hardly an opportune time to pull out a map in those instances.

I came to a stop just as we reached the doors. Beyond them was a large, high-ceilinged ballroom, where about a hundred and fifty guests stood talking in small groups. The usher left me there, and before me was a thin, aging man with a proud stance and a somewhat forced smile. The man of the house—the man with a contract on his head. Mr. Baseball Mitt Face himself.

Just don’t call him that, Zar. “Mr. O’Connor,” I said in my most velvety voice and with an easy smile. “What a lovely home you have.”

“Thank you, Ms...?”

“Helene Walker.” The name came as easily as my own. I probably could have been a kick-ass film star if studios didn’t require me to work daylight hours and I didn’t get typecast as a vampire.

“Of course,” he said, though I saw a moment of confusion cloud his face. “So nice to have someone from your family grace us this evening.”

“So very kind of you to invite us.” Just don’t realize that you didn’t, in fact, invite me, old man.

He nodded, then looked to the next group of guests behind me. Dismissed so casually. Ugh. Guess that was better than him hitting on me, though.

I continued on into the room. This was so stupid. I could just snap his neck right there and be done with it. The need for a covert assassination seemed unnecessary to me, but Mishka had explained it would look better if a warlock of O’Connor’s status was killed in his home, as discreetly as possible, so I tolerated the minor inconvenience of small talk.

I scanned the room, committing to memory all the exits, the exact positions of the guards, and the powder rooms. After going through the layout in my mind again, I glanced over at the large, sleek steel clock on the far wall. Not even nine yet. I’d planned to wait until the guests left before I killed the O’Connors, which meant it was going to be a very long night.

I attempted to converse with several witches and promptly remembered why I hated trying to converse with most witches. They were talking spells and such, so I sipped my bright pink cocktail and listened intently. Or tried to. Even though for three years I’d had Mishka as a roommate, everything they said seemed foreign to me. I feigned amusement at a joke about some crazy spell mix-up, where the user had confused the Latin root for a particular ingredient, and ended up with a recipe for white dove quesadillas. Before they could request such a story from me, I excused myself and looked for the hors d’oeuvres.

My second target, Nathan O’Connor, was AWOL, it seemed. Originally, I had suggested to Mish that I seduce the son at the party, thereby giving me free access to him and his father later. It seemed like an easy plan to me, but she insisted it wouldn’t work. Apparently she wasn’t aware of some of my more womanly skills, but perhaps she was right—I ought to keep it simple.

The sound of the mortals made me want to run around the room slashing all their throats. Literally. I even plotted out what route would let me take out the largest amount of people in the shortest amount of time. Their constant breathing and chatting and laughter...the noises swirled into one awful sound and drove into my brain like a drill. I gritted my teeth and tried to block the sounds out. A full half hour dragged by, and I started fantasizing about mass murder once again.

“Why, hello,” said a man behind me, and I turned to see the bright smile of someone I didn’t recognize. He had dirty blond hair kept short and stylishly messy, and a pair of thin, wire-framed glasses covered his brown eyes. Usually I went for smooth and gorgeous, but he pulled off the somewhat geeky, but unequivocally handsome vibe well. Young, charming, and—by the look of his designer suit—rich too. Smooth skin, slightly crooked grin, tall and broad-shouldered...if I listened I could hear the pump of his blood through his veins... My vampire heart went pitter-patter, shivers dancing along my spine.

Yummy.

No feeding—must assassinate. I had to keep reminding myself I wasn’t there for men or dinner.

“Hello to you.” I met his hand as he reached out in greeting. His fingers were warm, body radiating heat, and I could imagine curling up in bed with him far too easily.

“Well, this is a dull bunch,” a gesture to the crowd, “isn’t it? A party of witches and I don’t think they have a single spell among them that would liven things up. Have you tried the wine?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“You’re best not to—even that was subpar. There are, however, some cinnamon squares on the dessert table that I highly recommend.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“James Andrew Lauder,” he introduced himself. He looked at me with some sort of expectation, as if I should recognize the name. I wasn’t familiar with it, and I didn’t know if I should pretend to be.

I opted for cluelessness. “Should that mean something to me?” Faking knowledge would probably land me in a difficult situation at some point and I wanted the evening to run as smoothly as possible.

“No, I suppose not.” His face softened, relaxing. Maybe he was well-known to the fellow guests and was relieved that I wasn’t with preconceived ideas about him.

“I’m terribly sorry.” I tried to will some colour into my cheeks, faking a blush, but it didn’t work. Hope my tone is convincing—Christ, apologizing is difficult. “I’ve been traveling a lot and I haven’t been in these circles for a while.”

“I completely understand—it’s unimportant, anyhow, all the ‘Who belongs to what coven’ that goes on at these sorts of things. O’Connor’s annual Look at How Much Money I Have gatherings serve no other purpose but to bolster his conviction that he’s better than the rest of us. I’m sure none of that matters to a beauty like you though, Miss...?”

“Helene Walker.”

“Ah.” He smiled, nodded, and unfortunately didn’t look as confused as O’Connor had. “Would that be the Walker coven in Florida?”

Damn—where did that kid say they came from?

“South Africa,” I corrected him and my smile didn’t falter once. If he started asking too many questions, though, I feared I wouldn’t be able to answer them for long. Then I’d have to lead him away and kill him, and I hate having to stash a body on someone else’s turf. “I don’t spend much time there—I’m in Europe, mainly. I’m distantly related by marriage only.” So don’t ask to see any parlor tricks.

“I do hope not by yours,” he said with a grin.

Smooth. I liked that. And I didn’t think for a second that a wedding ring would stop him.

“Care to dance, Ms. Walker?”

I glimpsed the clock from the corner of my eye. I still had some time to kill. Why the hell not? “Certainly.”

Only a few other couples danced and all of them were near the string quartet, so that’s where we headed. I had a surprisingly good view of the rest of the room from my position. The four inches my high heels added to my height really helped with that.

I surveyed the partygoers over James’ shoulder. Across the room, the elder O’Connor was speaking with several people. Spread out around him, no more than ten feet away, were three sets of two guards. They followed him as he moved from guest to guest, shifting fluidly like water, and every few minutes each would confirm all was well by speaking into the small black communication device pinned to the sleeves of their jackets.

Jeez, it’s like they don’t trust O’Connor’s guests or something. Imagine that.

With the looks the rest of the guests gave our host, it wouldn’t have surprised me if the party turned into a Tarantino movie right then and there; Mish’s parents definitely weren’t the only ones who wanted him dead. If I’d cared about witchy politics in the least, I probably could’ve gotten something out of James. But no, I didn’t give a damn.

Across the room a plain black door was tucked into the wall; it opened and in walked Nathan O’Connor. The son. His hair was a bit shorter than it had been in the picture Mishka gave me, but I had no doubt it was the same man. The straight, hard-edged features could’ve made him ugly but somehow combined to create one pleasing face. Like magic. Though dressed in a black suit and black shirt, he had forgone the tie, and didn’t look pleased to be there: that lovely face was fused in a scowl. While James was cute, Nathan was drop-dead, head turning gorgeous. Scowly, but I could deal with that. Brooding looks bad on me—snarky and fun tends to bring out my eyes more—but I can take it in small doses in a guy.

Perhaps I ought to try the seduction act after all. In the name of a job well done, of course.

Nathan walked through the crowd without giving a second look to anyone and didn’t pause even when hailed by those who apparently knew him. He stopped near his father and spoke to one of the guards. If I focused enough, I would be able to drown out everyone else and hear what he was saying...

“Helene?” James said, and I realized he had been talking to me while I watched my two targets.

Stupid boy. I hate it when they talk without permission. “Yes?”

“I asked you where you just came from.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.” I tore my eyes from the O’Connors to look at him.

“You said you’ve been in Europe. Where was the last place you visited?”

“Oh...Spain.” With dismay, I noticed we were turning to the music and within moments my back was to Nathan and O’Connor Sr.

“Really? I haven’t been there in ages. How did you enjoy it?”

Goddamn it all, the last time I was in Spain was...oh, Christ...the nineteenth century. Why did I have to say Spain?

“It was interesting,” I replied casually. Just a little war happening, if my memory is accurate.

“You must have been there for the running of the bulls. Quite barbaric, is it not?”

“Indeed.” By the time we had turned around again, neither of the O’Connors were anywhere to be seen. Damn!

“Was there a big group of animal activists protesting in the nude as well?”

“Uh huh.” If both of them were gone—and a few of Sean’s bodyguards—I would have really liked to know what was going on.

“So do you want to get out of here?” James asked.

“I’m sorry—what?” I said, annoyed that I had lost sight of the two men I planned to kill.

“O’Connor has a lovely home here,” he said, raising a brow suggestively. “Perhaps we could take a tour? Just the two of us?”

Deep breath. Stop being irritated and look at this new opportunity. I took one look at his lopsided grin and smiled, genuinely. The other guests wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon, and seeing the mansion firsthand would really come in handy in a hurry. Plus, James? Totally hot. And if it got boring, I could have a snack.

More importantly, it would be easier to sneak around the house if I could pretend I was a ditzy chick looking for a room with a playboy.

“Why not?” I gestured toward the door. “Lead the way.”

Chapter Six

Decapitation is No Laughing Matter

We managed to avoid running into any security, and by the time we reached the second floor, I had young Mr. Lauder partially undressed. I was glad there were no cameras monitoring the hallways, else I might end up in the latest internet porno video. That isn’t something a vampire assassin who wishes to keep a low profile wants for herself.

“You are over eighteen, right?” he mumbled as I yanked his shirt loose from his pants.

Honey, you have no idea. “Like way over.” I kissed him hungrily and pushed his head back so I could follow his throat with my lips. My mouth hovered there over his pulse, the gentle thrum like hummingbird wings against my tongue. Heat suffused my cheeks and gums ached as the change started, little pinpricks giving the telltale sign my fangs were growing...

I forced the change back. Later...I’d have just a taste later...

I came back to his lips and my head swirled as his tongue swept past mine, tasting vaguely of cinnamon. His body was warm—so much so, that I imagined I felt cold in comparison, even though I had fed only days ago. I craved that warmth...knowing it, being a part of it.

He didn’t seem to notice any difference in my body temperature though. Or, if he did, he didn’t give a damn. His fingers ran up my arms, over my shoulders, to my neck, and through my hair...

The lock picks!

I grabbed his wrists and guided his hands back to my shoulders.

“Don’t touch the hair,” I advised him.

Okay, so I was getting a little distracted. I had considered seducing Nathan and I ended up with James. Well...all right, James was doing some seducing of his own. I guess it was a mutual seduction.

“There should be some rooms around here.” He started trying doorknobs as we stumbled down the hall.

“You’re sure we should be taking advantage of our host’s hospitality like this?” I tore off his jacket, which I think lessened the believability of my concern.

We fell against a door and it flew open under our weight as he turned the knob.

“He should have locked the doors,” he said with a grin, and kicked the door shut once we were in the room.

He took me in his arms, lifted me off the ground, and carried me blindly in the dark. We tumbled onto the bed—

And I froze.

“What’s—” he began, but I slammed my hand over his mouth, wincing as I hoped the force wasn’t enough to decapitate him. It would be really messy—I had done that once before. Well...twice.

He tried to speak again, but I hissed for him to be quiet.

My “Spidey Sense” was tingling. Sure, my senses were vampire-y, but “Spidey” just sounded better. Whatever the sense was called, something was definitely tingling, and it had little to do with the attractive man undressing me.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway. James moved my hand away and we slowly sat up to listen.

Another set of footfalls followed. Heavy, thumping. Male. A pair of low voices rumbled. If I listened closely—

“Why would she come when she knows how you feel about her?” one of the men demanded.

“I told you she would be welcome, yet she didn’t have the decency to show. That is your problem, not mine...”

A door slammed, and that was the end of the conversation.

Who “she” was had me curious. Could that have been the O’Connors? Who else would be wandering around the upper level of the house? Besides guests getting naked, of course.

The interruption was enough to remind me why I was there in the first place. I had to quickly rob and murder a couple of warlocks. No pretending otherwise. But here was James, all rumpled and adorable...

When faced with a choice between a really cute guy and money—and you’ve got three hundred years of perspective—you remember what’s truly important in life.

I hopped off James and started for the door. Attractive men always end up aging poorly anyway.

“You know, now that I think about it, maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” I said. “I really am sorry—”

“It’s quite all right,” he assured me as he followed. “I understand completely. We are his guests, after all.”

“Exactly,” I agreed, glad that he wouldn’t push further. If he didn’t take “Sorry, but no,” as an answer, I would have to kill him, and that would be a shame.

I eased open the door and held back, listening. No sound of anyone in the hallway, and as I stuck my head out to look, I didn’t see people either.

“All clear?” he asked, and I turned to see his state of dress had basically returned to what it was prior to our reaching the upstairs.

“Looks to be.” I slid through the doorway first; James followed. We crept down the corridor, the burgundy carpet runner along the floor muffling my heels. I tried to lag behind him so I could slip into another room and remain upstairs while the party ended, but to my dismay, James stayed at my side. Ugh. I hated clingy.

“You know, I think I’d like to stop in the powder room.” So go away. “There must be one around here somewhere.”

“Would you like me to help you find—”

“No, thank you. I’m sure I can manage. You go on back downstairs, and perhaps we can finish this up after the party.” I smiled as sweetly as I could and prayed he would just go away so I could start stealing.

“Yes, I’ll definitely look for you, darling.” He leaned over to kiss me once more.

Perspective, Zara, perspective... I turned my head, dodging his kiss so he only managed a peck, and then I turned in the opposite direction of the main staircase. One step, two step, three step... I glanced back. He was gone.

I took a few minutes to gather my thoughts. So where the hell was I? Probably the row of bedrooms and private family quarters.

So there should be an official office, study, and library around here somewhere. I doubted I would find O’Connor’s safe, but there would probably be several other items of value.

I skipped the office and went straight for the study. I kept the lights off as to avoid anyone spotting me from the outside, instead relying on my sharp, vampire night vision. It certainly came in handy sometimes. Or at least the times I couldn’t manage to sneak in a penlight in my cleavage.

Once I had the two nylon bags out and unfolded, I rifled through the shelves, taking the marble, platinum, gold, and jewel encrusted pieces that adorned the place. I didn’t do art collecting or any of that crap—had no talent for spotting those kinds of valuables—but I could usually tell a cheap knockoff from the real thing. Expensive shit was usually uglier than fuck, so I snatched the hideous pieces that would fit in my bags. With the room bare of anything of significant value that was small enough to carry, I pulled the picks and tension wrench from my hair and went to work on the desk drawers and locked cabinets.

I slung the first full pack onto my back by the thin—but sturdy—straps attached to it, and exited the room. Six rooms down the hall and... I paused at the sixth door at the back of the house and tried the knob.

Locked.

I got out my picks again, and just as I was sliding the tension wrench into place, voices sounded at the other end of the hallway.

Shit. I bolted toward the next door and slipped inside before whoever was coming could see me.

“What are you doing?”

The hard voice sent a fresh chill wiggling along my spine. I turned to see Sean O’Connor himself standing by his office desk, file folder poised in his hand. Behind him, his wall safe lay wide open. I grinned. Two birds, one really strong, fast, deadly stone. Sweet.

“Can you believe I got completely lost?” I giggled. “You should probably, like, hand maps out at the door or something.”

“You aren’t supposed to be up here.” His voice was smooth and cold; it might have scared another person into backing out of the room immediately. Not me, however.

“I know, it’s not very polite of me,” I admitted. “But, see, there’s this really big stack of bonds and cash and stuff in that safe behind you, and I would very much like to have it. There’s a Porsche I’ve been eyeing for the past few months, and that bit of extra cash there would definitely be a big help.”

“I don’t think so,” O’Connor replied with a glare.

“No? You’re sure?”

He reached over and slammed the safe door shut.

“Damn. I guess I’ll just have to crack it open after I’ve killed you.”

“Several guards are on their way up,” he warned.

My eyes lit up. “Really? Several? More money for me, I suppose.”

“Who are you?”

“Zara Lain. Expert thief and assassin extraordinaire, at your service. Well, I’m not really at your service. You see, I’ll be killing you now.”

“No, I don’t believe that you will.”

I rocked on my feet, muscles tensing. My strappy sandals were cute and all but I probably should’ve slipped them off in the other room; stilettos look hot but even awesome vampire chicks have trouble fighting in them.

I made note of the exits in my peripheral vision. Besides the one behind me, there was one other—a door to his left. I was turned around some, but it led to a bedroom if my blueprints were correct. And if that was his safe behind him, this was his office, and the bedroom would be his too.

He could’ve run for it. Most humans would and I prepped to dart for the door to intercept him.

Instead he muttered a few words of a spell.

The huge, wingback chair beside him lifted off the ground.

Telekinesis spells. Great.

Dark blue velvet and cherry wood flew over the desk, spinning once, and then shot toward me at an alarming speed.

With one punch, I smashed it in two; the pieces fell on either side of me. I flexed my fingers and blood curled around my knuckles, wounds already healing.

The next incantation hurled books, framed photos, and every other small item from around the room at me. He’d run out of stuff eventually, but I had to move fast. I dodged what I could, raced across the room toward him.

A heavy, four drawer filing cabinet met me head on, crashing into my chest and nicking my chin; it threw me back against the far wall. The lock picks, still in one hand, scattered across the floor, and the crack behind me suggested a few of the stolen valuables in my pack hadn’t survived.

Either that or it was one of my ribs, but I’d probably have felt that.

The steel cabinet came barreling toward me once more. I rolled across the floor, barely missing its path when it rammed into the wall and embedded itself into the door and part of the drywall.

O’Connor was pretty feisty for such an old guy, but there were only so many things he could throw at me. I leapt to my feet and dove for him.

He tossed me back again, this time with sheer force of magic. Goddamn fucking telekinesis spells—

Something tightened around my throat.

I reached for my neck, fingers clawing—realized it was my own hair strangling me. That really didn’t concern me at first, as I didn’t require oxygen, but after a few moments of it constricting, O’Connor’s intentions became clear. He meant to remove my lovely head completely.

And unlike a knife wound in the gut, that was one sure way of killing a vampire.

Chapter Seven

Surprises

Motherfucker.

Sean O’Connor strolled toward me.

“Vampire,” he said, the word dripping off of his lips like it was filth.

“I prefer ‘Mortality Challenged’ if you don’t mind,” I replied. The strands of hair tightened around my throat to the point it would have choked the breath from a human. My fingers curled, nails biting into my neck but I had to get it loose if I was going to distract him with witty repartee.

“You presumed to kill me?” He laughed and stopped just out of my kicking range. Prick.

I sucked in a breath so I could at least speak. “Put it in the present tense, and yeah, I do. Nothing personal. It’s just in my job description.” Goddamn it, I wished I’d gone with the seduction plan. Sex with O’Connor’s hot son would have been so much better than lying there being strangled by my own hair. I probably should have taken Mishka’s advice a few weeks earlier when she suggested cutting it to my shoulders.

Vanity, thy name is Zara. And Zara, you’re going to have your head squeezed off.

Something shiny caught my eye. A few feet from my side was one of my lock picks. If I could reach it...

He shook his head with mock-sadness, wrinkled brow pulling into a frown. “And such a pretty thing, too. A pity.”

“Hey, that’s...” I paused and tried to focus on my banter with the man trying to kill me rather than the fact that he was close to succeeding. “...that’s sexual harassment in the workplace. I am totally going to sue your ass.”

I stretched my arm as far as I could. The pick was almost in my grasp...

“Brute strength does little against magic, vampire.” He sounded quite pleased with himself. I definitely needed to do something about that.

At last, my fingers touched the steel. I snatched the tool and whipped it at O’Connor.

The tiny metal pick struck his calf. I put enough force behind it to drive it straight into his leg.

O’Connor yelped and stumbled back. My hair tumbled past my shoulders as his concentration broke.

I hopped to my feet. “Yeah, well, there’s a reason we’re at the top of the food chain, moron.”

He looked at me as I took his head in both my hands. Blue eyes got wide. Just as he stumbled though the first few words of an incantation that would without a doubt be harmful to me, I gave his head a twist. His neck snapped and I let Sean O’Connor crumple to the floor.

One down, one to go. Piece of cake...really.

Note to self: next time, don’t underestimate the warlock.

I rolled my right shoulder, then my left. Reached up to touch the dents in my neck from the rope of my hair he’d tried to decapitate me with. Jeez, that fucking hurt. I dropped my hands again, splayed my fingers—the right was still bloody with woodchips from the chair I’d smashed. Lovely. No way I’d sneak out the front door looking like this.

I stepped over the body and went up to the safe. A combination lock was all that stood between me and the valuables O’Connor kept in it.

Heavy footsteps thudded down the hall; my heartbeat quickened. It sounded like a bloody army was out there. Guess he wasn’t lying about the guards. Maybe I’d get lucky and they’d throw themselves on their swords for failing to protect their employer?

I pressed my ear up to the safe and turned the dial with care. With my acute hearing, I should be able to—

Outside the room, the footfalls grew louder. Then fists started pounded making it really hard to concentrate. They followed that up with calls for the recently deceased Mr. O’Connor.

I could do it. I could get the safe open in time, so long as the filing cabinet held the door—

Two bullets whizzed past my head as the guards started firing their guns wildly. Wood splintered as the men outside rammed something heavy into the door.

Goddamn it all to hell!

I gave up on the safe—temporarily, of course—and raced for the only other exit in the room. Just as I reached for the knob, the door flew open in front of me and I was confronted by a pair of the most startling blue eyes I’d ever seen. “Startling” because my little vampirey heart tripped up for a moment, the beat stopping as if to say, What the fuck is going on now?

Standing before me was Nathan O’Connor. Mishka’s goddess must have blessed me, because despite my brush with headlessness, it was turning out to be an okay night.

“You...” Dark brown brows furrowed; he gave me a once over, but not the checking-out-a-hot-girl type. No, it was a cursory glance, taking me in before he met my eyes again. Which is the kind of look I find vaguely insulting because it’s just common courtesy to pause on my awesome bits. “You’re—”

A crash behind me—the guards were breaking through the door at last. The younger O’Connor grabbed my arm and swung me into the room, then slammed closed the door that separated us from the office.

I broke out of the hold and he let me. His lips were moving, whispering, and his eyes got a dark quality to them—a murky sheen that spoke of magic warlocks sometimes got. Since his attention wasn’t focused on me, I stayed the hell out of the way and glanced around. Yep, bedroom. Bigger than my old apartment Mishka now lived in, with a four-poster bed, sitting area, heavy drapes that pooled artfully on the floor below the windows. Nice. I mean, not my taste, but I’d happily live in it a while before I felt compelled to redecorate.

I glanced back at the warlock himself. He finished whispering; though I didn’t see anything happen, the guards demanded entry and pounded away at the door but couldn’t get in.

“What did you do?” I asked.

Nathan blinked a few times, gave his head a slight shake as if waking from a dream. Jeez, Old O’Connor brought telekinesis to the table and didn’t break a sweat, yet here was the kid ready to pass out over what was probably nothing. Wimp.

“A barrier.” He gave the door a final look, as if afraid it might not hold, but there was no sign his spell was weakening. He turned to me. “So...you did it?”

Uh...what? I shifted on my feet, prepped for a fight—even though I figured it would be over real quick. “To what would you be referring?” This time I wouldn’t let my target know I was there to kill him—not right away. I’d just snap his neck when his back was turned. Wimp or not, I couldn’t go back on a promise I made to myself like five minutes earlier to not underestimate warlocks. I’d have to stick to that one for at least another week.

“My father.”

Wait—he knew I was there to kill his father? Okay, this was weird... I said nothing. Waiting. Bracing.

His voice darkened. “Did you do it or not?”

Ah, hell. I shrugged. “Kill him? After getting knocked around by the odd piece of furniture, yeah.” And back to the bracing—

But he didn’t attack me; he sighed. Relief or sadness, I couldn’t say. His gaze fell, shoulders dropped. Though he stood a couple of inches over me, he seemed smaller suddenly. Deflated. “Then it’s done.”

Oh god, drama. I so didn’t have patience for that. “Yep, I snapped him like a twig. Do you mind me asking how you knew that?”

He blinked and his eyes were on me again. Lips paused slightly apart and it was a moment before he spoke; when he did, his words were careful and deliberate-sounding, tone suggesting I should already know what he was talking about. “Mishka told me you were coming tonight. You are Zara, right?”

“Yeah...wait, you know Mish?”

“She didn’t tell you about me?”

Oh god, was I ever confused. Oh, the hell with it. “Um, well, yeah, if by tell me about you, you mean show me your picture and pay me to kill you.”

Those eyes that were so startling got very startled themselves. “What? She—”

“My turn. How do you know Mishka?”

“Mish is my wife.”

Oh god, I was even more confused. “What the fuck? Mish is married?”

“For the past month—”

The guards continued to bang on the door, this time with even more force. Wood groaned and I eyed the doorframe. Built solid but the hinges wouldn’t hold forever.

“They’re breaking the barrier,” he said, gaze also on the door. “They’ll be through soon.”

“This is just too much,” I muttered. Fuck, I’d totally missed it earlier—Mishka kept calling him “Nate”. Diminutive form usually equals familiarity, but I’d had so many damn dollar signs in my eyes that I hadn’t clued in. Shit. “Okay, I’ll kill you, kill them, collect my money from Mishka, then kill her for confusing the hell out of me.”

The door burst open then, wood cracking and splinters flying. Bodyguards filed into the room and surrounded me—a whole damn army of them. I did a quick count: eleven. Mish would pay big time when I was done the slaughter. Fuck her fifty grand cap—she sent me in without all the information I needed. She owed me.

One of them lunged. I caught him and tossed him out the window. There hardly seemed cause for subtleties anymore, and that was my first extra five grand in the bank.

Three of them grabbed Nate and ushered him from the room. Great, so now I had to chase him. I knew being locked in the room with the last person I had to kill was just too good to last. But that wasn’t a problem—I just had to take out the seven remaining guards and catch up.

Another one, two, three....oh, fuck, nine guards raced into the room and aimed their guns at me.

Well, bullets I could probably dodge, and even if I didn’t, they couldn’t exactly do any permanent damage—

The seven in the front pulled out steel rods, about two feet long, and with a pointed tip...perfect for impaling my heart, which would be a problem.

I brushed the hair from my face and eyed them each in turn. “I don’t suppose anyone’s up for a good ol’ fashioned seduction?”

Non-responsiveness and grim faces would probably count as a “no”.

“Okay...then would anyone like to engage in some witty banter which would slow you down and ultimately give me the advantage?”

Still no takers. Well, I supposed it was time for a traditional ass-whooping.

Two of the guards near the door shouted. My eyes darted their way; they were airborne suddenly and flew into the others, sending several of them sprawling into a heap.

I did a double take as I looked at the person in the doorway. His jacket and tie were gone, his sleeves rolled up, but damn, that was him.

“James Andrew Lauder?” I cocked a brow and tilted my head.

His jaw dropped when he saw me. “Well, just Jamie’s fine, actually...” True to the smooth guy I had made out with earlier, he regained his composure in an instant. “So what are you doing here, Helene?”

“Oh, you know, just about to kick some serious ass, even though I’m highly outnumbered. And it’s Zara Lain, by the way.”

He was about to respond when the security team finally leaped into action. Half of them went for him, and half advanced toward me.

James—or, rather, “Jamie”—tossed his glasses to the floor, and at a speed no mortal eye could detect, he closed the distance between himself and his group of guards in only a few steps.

Have I mentioned how utterly confused I was?

Chapter Eight

Competition

I didn’t have time to question Jamie further. The eight armed and pissed-off-looking men circling me took priority.

One guard charged with his stake raised. I grabbed the end and swung the man around, smashing him headfirst into the wall behind me. He released his grasp on the weapon as he fell into unconsciousness, and I thrust the rod into his back, piercing something vital and killing him. Just as another bodyguard came running at me, I yanked out the stake and slammed it into his chest.

He stared at me blankly, lips parted wordlessly, and reached for the weapon protruding from his heart. I twisted in a roundhouse kick and sent my foot into the rod, pushing it all the way through him and straight into the man behind him.

I glanced over to see Jamie punching the hell out of one of his guards. He grabbed the man’s neck and was about to snap it.

“No!” I shouted to him. “Don’t kill them!”

“Why the hell not?”

One of my guards swung his fist at me, and I ducked. “Just don’t!”

Jamie shrugged and settled for hitting the man again.

Someone else took a swing at me. I sidestepped the blow and somersaulted across the room to where Jamie was. I snatched the bloodied-nosed and near-unconscious man from his grasp, and twisted his head until I heard the telltale “snap.”

“Hey, you said—” Jamie began.

“I’ll be doing the killing.” I dove out of the way just as someone tried to punch me. The hit missed me, but slammed into Jamie’s chin.

“Thanks,” he muttered and kicked the guy.

“Watch out next time.”

Someone started firing a gun, and a bullet grazed my shoulder. Fire licked and sent spikes of pain through me; the blood started clotting immediately but that didn’t come with a numbing agent. I tore through the room, snatched the gun from the man who shot me, and sent a bullet into his skull. It turned out to be a lot messier than simply snapping necks or even stabbing, but, as I said, the time for subtleties was way over.

I turned and fired two more bullets into two other guards. Each man fell to the floor, dead.

Funny, there should have been a couple more...and as I scanned the bodies in the room, I knew there were definitely several men missing.

Jamie was only left with one more. He knocked him hard on the side of the head, then tossed him toward me. I broke his neck and he slumped to the ground.

I swung my gun up and aimed at Jamie just as he did the same.

We stood there for a few silent moments, each eyeing the barrel of the gun facing us. Bodies piled all around. Yep, knew this night would turn into a Tarantino movie.

Normally I’d happily assume I was fast enough to disarm my opponent, but he’d demonstrated way more speed than an average human. I suspected he was thinking the same thing about me.

“So you’re a vampire too, I suppose,” he said with a grin.

“Small world, isn’t it?”

“I thought you seemed a little cold.”

“Speaking of which, you were pretty warm. When was the last time you fed?”

“About fifteen minutes before I approached you at the party. Cute little hors d’oeuvres server.”

“I didn’t taste any blo—oh, the cinnamon.”

“Less suspicious than toothpaste.”

“Clever.”

“I thought so.”

Neither of us moved for thirty seconds more. Still watching me, Jamie lowered his gun slowly. I waited a beat longer, then did the same.

“Well, my dear, I’d love to discuss some more tricks of the undead trade, but I’ve got someone to kill.” He tucked the gun in his belt and stepped over some corpses to make it to the door.

“That wouldn’t be the elder O’Connor, would it?”

Jamie turned back to me. “Yes it would be—why?”

“I’ve already taken care of that.”

“Jesus Christ!” His expression sank. It was still pretty adorable, truth be told—especially with his hair all mussed up after the fight. “I’m in trouble. Maybe I can get something for the son.”

“Sorry—he’s mine.”

O’Connor’s antique, four-poster bed lay between Jamie and me. I grabbed the nearest post, put one foot on the end of the bed, and vaulted myself into the air. I swung around on the pole and slammed my heel square into Jamie’s chest.

He staggered back a few feet. “Wow, you’re good on that pole. So I guess we won’t be picking up where we left off earlier?” Jamie dropped into a fighting stance, as if he already knew the answer to that question.

“After I’ve taken out Nate, we can talk.”

He dodged my next few hits, then tried to throw some of his own.

“I really don’t like to hit girls,” he admitted.

I blocked both punches, and ducked out of the way of his next uppercut. “Doesn’t look like that’ll be a problem.”

“You know, that guy with the fake invitation I hired was supposed to keep out anyone else uninvited tonight.” Another attempted punch, and I caught his arm and swung him across the room.

“I guess I’ve got better resources,” I said with a shrug.

“I’ll say,” he replied as he hopped to his feet. “Care to introduce me?”

“I’m thinking no.”

He pulled out the gun and aimed it at me.

“Sorry, sweetie, but I really don’t have time for this.” He repeatedly fired at me.

I evaded the first three shots, but the fourth caught me in the abdomen, causing me to stumble back. It pierced my skin, burning my insides as it tore into me. Though the bullet couldn’t kill me, it remained lodged in my stomach. My steps slowed and I winced, fought not to show the pain but likely failed considerably.

“You put a hole in my fucking dress!” I said. “Why do people keep ruining my clothes?”

“I’ll make it up to you sometime,” he promised with a grin.

“Keep dreaming.” I gasped as I lost my fight to remain upright and doubled over. Shit, shit, FUCK. This sucks.

Jamie started for the door. Oh, no you don’t. I pushed the pain to the back of my mind, drew up my gun, and squeezed the trigger.

The remaining bullets slammed into Jamie’s back and legs. He dropped onto all fours, feet scrambling—and failing—to get him standing again. I tossed the empty gun aside; it thudded on the carpet near Jamie’s head.

“Christ,” he muttered.

Yeah, that knocked you down a few pegs, didn’t it, honey? I grabbed one of the metal stakes from the ground in one hand and seized him by the collar with the other.

His eyes flickered to the weapon. He was smooth, but not enough to disguise panic in his stare. “Aw, you’re not really going to—”

I lifted him off his feet and tossed him headfirst through one of the windows.

Glass shattered, a high-pitched tinkling. I leaned forward, glanced out. Midair, Jamie started to correct himself. Only two stories up, the simple fall wouldn’t keep him from following Nate, who I needed to kill now to get my money.

I didn’t wait for a clear shot; I launched the rod at him. It pierced his lower abdomen and slammed him into the ground, pinning him there, face up. Now that, combined with the bullets in his body, should keep him out of the way.

If not, I’d take his head off next time.

My heels crunched over broken glass and the nylon bag of probably-broken goodies on my back thumped against my spine. I wasn’t even going to look at my dress—no way was it in good shape and I just couldn’t face another ruined outfit. I winced as I walked, pressed my palm over the bullet wound in my gut. Shit, it stung.

I stopped in the hallway. Where would they have taken Nate? Mish didn’t give me any other info—just said he’d be at the party. Of course, she’d also left out the fact that she was married to the guy. If she’d given any other suggestions, I’d have trouble listening to them at this point.

So let’s pretend he’s still in the house... These guys were rich. They’d have secure rooms, right? The blueprints mentioned one in the basement and that seemed a good place to begin the hunt. I started down the hall, the main staircase as my destination.

Something rumbled in the corridor ahead of me and a prickle walked up my spine. The floor trembled beneath my feet, pictures on the walls rattled. Slow, heavy steps pounded toward me.

Not good. So not good.

Three eight-foot-tall figures appeared at the end of the hallway. Blood-red eyes, six-inch claws, cloven hooves, and faces generally only seen in nightmares and horror movies—a common depiction of a demon simply because they were probably the easiest ones to summon, and therefore most commonly seen by mortals. Ratorth-spawned demons.

Yeah, so maybe I’d find a different way downstairs.

Behind them stood the missing guards, guns drawn and pointed at me. So that’s where they went—to get reinforcements. Reinforcements of the demon variety. With an I.Q. not much higher than that of a vegetable, they were fairly easy to control, provided whoever summoned them could give them the right motivation...such as tearing limb from limb an intruder, like myself.

I knew this was too easy.

I turned, heels digging into the carpet, and bolted down the hall in the opposite direction of my new playmates. Behind me the demons snarled and stomped after me. Despite their wide, awkward frames, I knew damn well they’d catch up. It had happened once before. I didn’t talk about that story because it made me look bad.

At the end of the corridor, just outside O’Connor’s bedroom, waited a window with long, heavy curtains on either side. I grabbed one of the panels and dove through the glass.

It hurts way more than the movies make you think. I went shoulder first and the glass gave, turned my head to protect my lovely blue eyes, tightened my grip on the curtain.

Cool night air hit me, drying the sheen of sweat on my skin. Glass fell, dancing around me and glinting in the light from the house. As I sailed through the air, I flipped and twisted around so I was going feet first. The curtain rod snapped and the fabric caught on the window frame; it held but jerked my arms, pain shooting through my shoulders. I thrust my heels out, smashed one of the first floor windows, and swung into the lower room.

I landed in a crouch on the tiled floor. My body was on fire, from the bullet in my gut to the pulled muscles in my shoulders and the nicks from the glass. Super healing is all well and good but it still sucks to get hurt in the first place.

An indoor pool was before me, along with a few people from the party busy swimming. Or probably making out. They froze when they saw me, and I can’t say I blamed them. Cuts from the glass lined my arms, and blood soaked my stomach. At least I look good in red.

On the floor above me, the heavy tread of my pursuers continued. The demons gave a low, angry cry.

Right. Still had to get the fuck out of the house.

“I got kind of turned around,” I said to the bewildered swimmers. “I don’t suppose either of you can point me toward the garage.”

One woman stared at me for a moment, and then—hand shaking—gestured to her right.

“Thanks!” I wasted no time racing in the direction she indicated.

A side corridor outside of the pool area led to O’Connor’s expansive garage. There was a line of expensive cars, with one empty spot at the front. Something told me it was probably Nate’s and he and his bodyguards were long gone.

Damn.

Screams came from the main house. Great, so the goddamn demons were probably on a rampage looking for me. Time to make my escape. Hopefully they’d pause to eat some witchy houseguests.

A black motorcycle at the back of the garage caught my eye. Easier to hotwire than a car, and a lot harder to hit with a bullet. Perfect.

After a few minutes and a lot of patience, I had the wires stripped and crossed, and I got a spark. Next up, I just needed a garage remote, which I located hanging on the wall with the selection of car keys. Seconds later I burst outside and tore through the darkness, away from the estate.

About three miles down the road, I was certain no one followed me, so I slowed a bit to think. I knew should probably head home, get rid of the bullet lodged in my stomach, change, and then come up a plan. You know, smart stuff. Pretty and brilliant—that’s Zara Lain.

But I didn’t much care for the logical solution. Mishka had some serious s’plaining to do, and before I did anything else, I wanted to know what in the hell was going on.

Chapter Nine

Unwelcome

I brought the bike to a halt below the fire escape at Mishka’s apartment and emptied the bag of stolen items from O’Connor’s house into the saddle bags. I heard a few things crack, but I didn’t care anymore—anything breakable was already broken. I’d just salvage what I could and sell the pieces.

Two of Mishka’s windows shone with light. Bitch—I mean witch, of course—was awake. I would’ve gone up there regardless; nothing like being chased by a group of demons to put me in a bad mood. But awake meant I could skip the bewildered, “Why did you wake me up by beating my head against a wall, Zara?” questions and get straight to her answering me.

I leapt onto the second level of steps and snuck up the next two flights, metal stairs rattling under my feet. Mishka waited inside, sitting in the living room. After sending me to kill the guy who was apparently her husband, she was relaxing on the fucking couch—curled up, in fact, and wearing an oversized gray tracksuit, while watching the goddamn television.

I was far from pleased.

This time all her windows were shut. At least that was a problem I could easily solve. The healing cuts on my hand sliced open again, fresh blood falling over the dried, cracked stuff as I pulled my arm back and punched through the glass.

The window pane shattered and Mishka jumped up.

She took two steps back, voice raised as she eyed me with worry. “Good Goddess, what in Her name are you doing?”

“I thought I’d permanently solve your air conditioning problem.” I casually hopped over the frame. The broken glass crunched under my feet as I stalked toward her. I stopped three steps from where she stood.

“How did everything go?” she asked warily. “Are they dead?”

“Oh yeah, it was totally simple, but I decided to go with my own plan. I just slept with Nate, then killed him and later his father.”

Her lips twitched as I spoke, tightening as her eyes hardened, but she didn’t say a word.

“You know, the funniest thing happened, though,” I continued. “While we were in the throes of passion, he said, ‘Oh Zara, oh Zara...wow—Mishka never did that.’ Now who do you suppose he could have been talking about?”

Colour suffused her cheeks and her fingers clenched into fists as she glared at me. “They aren’t dead.”

“Oh, your daddy-in-law is. But it was so weird with Nate—he wasn’t surprised that I brutally murdered his father. In fact, he said he was expecting me.” I feigned laughter. “Wasn’t that just crazy of him?”

“Why the fucking hell didn’t you just kill him?”

“I don’t know—why the ‘fucking hell’ didn’t you just tell me he was your goddamn husband!”

“Because it’s none of your fucking business!”

My lips pursed, chin dipped as I lowered my voice to something dark and cold. “No, actually, it is my business. I’ve been shot repeatedly, chased by O’Connor’s Ratorth-spawned guards, beaten up a fellow vampire assassin after nearly banging him, had a filing cabinet thrown at me, and my new, thirteen thousand dollar dress is completely ruined.” Okay, so my dress was actually cheaper than that, but she didn’t need to know. “Now exactly what game are you playing, Mish?”

“Get out,” she whispered.

I closed the distance between us with another step. “Not until you start talking.”

“Get out!”

I grabbed her by the throat in response. Her eyes sparked, spitting green fire at me. I could tolerate a lot of things—I let shit roll off me all the time. I was old, had perspective. Didn’t let petty crap bug me for long.

But rage filled me fast. Every muscle in my body tingled, urging me to simply snap her neck. It would be easy. Quick and painless. Mish was my friend, and I didn’t have a lot of those. I had trusted her. But... But I looked at her now and had to wonder if I’d ever really known this girl. Married? A hit on her husband?

“Let me go and get out,” she growled.

Yeah, I’ll get right on that. I tightened my grip.

In a situation like that, I completely expected her to give first. But her lips moved in an incantation before I could react. My fingers burned as if touched by a flame; instinctively I released her neck. A little fire spell to keep me from strangling her...understandable, I suppose.

Her lips parted again; she screamed a word that was foreign to me. An unseen force swept out away from her in all directions, blowing up the couch skirt, rattling pictures on the walls, and striking me hard in the chest. The energy threw me backward and knocked me straight out the smashed window.

My hand darted out as I fell and I managed to grab one of the railings; my shoulder gave a painful jerk as I stopped midair.

Fuck.

I hung for a moment. Thinking. I could go back up there and demand she tell me the truth, but I wouldn’t be getting any further with her tonight. I’d probably just end up killing her which, while fun, wouldn’t get me answers. And I’d need answers ’cause I’d have to find her husband, since presumably she still wanted him dead.

So. Home, bullet surgery, sleep, and then tomorrow would be Take Two. With a few more answers, hopefully.

I descended to the pavement and hopped on my bike.

What isn’t she telling me? I thought as I rode down the darkened street. Well, duh, Zara—she isn’t telling you she has a husband. But the question was why did she want him dead?

Not that I blamed her. When I awoke after being turned and found out mine was responsible for my death, I wanted him dead. So badly, in fact, that I killed him and his family. It wasn’t as brutal as it could have been if I’d had a few years of practice though it was still sort of fun.

But Mishka had put me in some serious harm tonight. I had gone in to do a job without all the facts. She believed that there might have been some half-demon guards, but certainly not Ratorth-spawned ones! Those bastards could be pretty nasty if they got their hands on their victim.

Had she simply said, “Zar, this is my husband and I want you to kill him,” I probably would have pressed for more information, but ultimately I would have just gone in there and done it. Instead, I was caught off guard, and—

Someone screamed.

I braked, blocked out the sound of the engine, and listened. A woman shrieked. It definitely came from Mishka’s apartment.

Double fuck.

I turned the motorcycle around and sped toward the building.

Chapter Ten

The Witch’s Demise

Mishka screamed again, her voice carrying over the rattling of the fire escape steps as I ran. I’d caused enough terror in my unlife to know something was seriously wrong when someone cried out like that.

“Who are—no, get out of my—”A crash. A yelp.

Goddamn it, even with my speed I wished I could move faster...

Last set of stairs—finally.

A large, black booted foot hit me square in the chin, throwing me down a level. Cold metal bit my bare shoulders and upper back, and fresh pain tore through my gut where the bullet was lodged.

Christ, I was having a bad night.

I looked up to see who my new assailant was. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get a good look at him on account of the black ski mask covering his face.

So original.

“Okay.” I started to stand. “I’m really not in the mood for this but—”

The man leaped down the steps, grabbed me in one hand, and flung me over the railing. I landed hard on my back on the ground, barked my head on the cement and my vision blurred. Whoever threw me was stronger than the average human.

I heard two sets of feet touch down with a dull thud three feet away. My new enemy was joined by someone else—also dressed in black with his face covered—and I had a feeling there was going to be much more violence in the minutes to come.

Ugh. My gut ached. I drew myself up onto my elbows. “I don’t suppose we could just talk this over.” The heels of my shoes held up well as I stood; all the wobbling was strictly my own self weakening. I needed to feed. And rest. Maybe a spa day.

I arched my back in a stretch and it gave a loud crack. “There—did you hear that? I’m really not feeling up to kicking both your asses—”

I didn’t get to finish as both of them rushed at me and attacked in unison. I pivoted out of their way and sent a kick flying into the back of the nearest guy. He stumbled forward and crashed into his partner.

Had I been fighting The Three Stooges, it would have been over then. But no, I had to get stuck with trained, experienced fighters, who, by the looks of it, weren’t entirely human. It figures.

My agility was severely impaired by some of the wounds I had sustained so far. A punch I normally could have dodged hit me in the stomach, reminding me of the bullet lodged in my insides. Like I’d forgotten. As I doubled over, he slammed his elbow into my back and I hit the pavement.

Yep. I needed a spa day.

I looked up at him just as that black boot sailed toward me, about to deliver a kick to my ribs. I rolled out of the way and scrambled to my feet. Hands closed on me; the second guy grabbed me from behind. One arm crushed my throat, the other came across my chest, effectively pinning me to him.

His friend came at me, hand in his pocket. Probably a stake—I’d seen these collapsible metal dealies some hunters carried, and—

A stun gun?

“Uh, guys,” I said as he advanced on me. “It’s nice that you don’t want to kill me, but I’d really rather not be unconscious either.”

Just as the man with the stun gun reached me, I grabbed a hold of his partner’s arms and kicked off the ground. I positioned one foot behind Stun-Gun-Guy’s neck and pressed the other to his face. Pain, hot and burning, struck me as he shocked me with the gun; I brushed it aside and swiftly snapped his neck.

He crumpled into a heap. My feet touched the ground, and I yanked the man holding me over my shoulder and dropped him on the road.

Shivers—or more like twitches, I supposed—danced over my skin. I blinked hard, brushed the hair from my face. Spa week. In Bermuda. I’d buy a plane ticket as soon as I got home.

Gunfire sounded in Mishka’s apartment, popping like firecrackers. Something dark splattered over one of the windows.

Shit.

I raced to the fire escape and started climbing up it again.

The air crackled behind me. A sphere of fire—the size of a basketball—flew through the air, over my head, and into Mish’s apartment. An explosion followed, shaking the building. Mishka’s floor burst into flame, glass shattering and flying out to paint the pavement below in jagged-edged moonlight. The blast struck me too, blew me back from the building. I soared through the air, hit the wall of the apartment complex across the street, and then slumped to the pavement.

For a moment I sat there like a broken ragdoll, her stuffing all torn out and put back in wrong. My knees were streaked with blood. Arms caked with it too. My stomach wasn’t happy about that bullet still, nor was my back thrilled about how many times I’d hit a hard surface in the past five minutes. Nothing cracked—not yet—but even my extra strong bones could be broken if they took enough abuse, and healing hurt like hell.

As I stood, I spotted another masked man—this one with a regular gun—coming around from the front of the building, where the entrance was. So he must be the one who shot Mish...

I didn’t have time to think up a plan. The man who’s neck I had just finished snapping hopped to his feet, as if nothing had happened at all. The three of them started toward me.

When faced with three assailants who couldn’t die by conventional means and were capable of throwing fireballs, there is really only one option. Get the fuck away from them. Fast.

I sprinted for my motorcycle. Only a dozen steps from it, another fireball flew past me. Oh shi— I dove out of the way just as it hit the gas tank and the bike exploded. Warmth danced over my skin and fire crackled with yellow-orange light.

So I was without wheels too. Time to run like hell.

I scrambled, heels scraping the pavement and torn gown whipping around my legs, and fled around the building. The black, dank mouth of an alley opened up, and I darted into its waiting darkness. A barrage of bullets followed; I ducked behind a dumpster. I really couldn’t afford to get hit too many more times—not if I planned to get out of there, which I did. Even if they weren’t planning to kill me, I wasn’t overly zealous to find out exactly why they were after me.

I grabbed the metal dumpster, turned it to its widest side, and pushed it toward my assailants. Using those precious seconds of cover, I ran to the end of the alley onto the street and turned right.

No wheels of my own and I hadn’t a clue who the hell lived in the area anymore, who might help me out. Used to be a great vodou shop in someone’s home above the diner on Third, but—

An engine purred as a car came barreling down the street toward me. More unkillable foes? Maybe. I tensed, prepared to dart down another alley. Instead, the car slowed and pulled up beside me. The passenger window powered down, the interior light flashed on, and Nate O’Connor leaned over from the driver’s seat. “Get in.”

Damn, was I ever glad he forgot that I’d been sent to kill him earlier.

I jumped in the silver Jaguar and Nate hit the accelerator. He started to make a turn down the next block, which would lead to Mishka’s now-burning apartment building.

“Not that way!” I grabbed the steering wheel. The car squealed in protest of the sudden action and we nearly ran straight into a brick wall before Nate corrected our course.

“I’ve got to get Mish—”

“Mishka’s dead,” I said flatly.

His lips parted in a gasp and his face paled as he turned to look at me. “You’re seri—”

A huge ball of fire sailed past the car, crashing into the side of a building to the left. Bricks and burning debris rained down; Nate swerved to the right to miss it.

“Compartmentalize, lover boy—we’ve got shit to deal with.”

“What the hell—”

Oh please don’t let me be stuck with a pretty rich boy who can’t face creatures from beyond. “When a demon comes from the fiery depths of hell, he generally likes to bring a bit of that flamey goodness along with him.”

“Why aren’t they trying to blow up the car?”

“Because they want me alive.”

Gunshots ensued, bullets shattering the back window. We both ducked as several more followed.

“Guns seem a little unnecessary when they can throw fireballs,” Nate said.

“Well, it is the twenty-first century,” I said. “And variety adds a bit of spice to life. Why don’t you have bullet-proof glass?”

“This isn’t the Pope-Mobile.”

Touché. “Maybe you should invest in one after this.” I pushed my hair from my face and glanced around the back of the seat to see the guys trailing us in an SUV. “I don’t suppose you can throw a spell at them?”

“It’s rather difficult to concentrate while I’m driving.” His gaze flickered from me back to the road and he sank down in his seat, trying to keep an eye on the street while ducking the bullets that continued to whiz over our heads. He reached over and unlatched the glove compartment door to reveal a lovely Desert Eagle. Hadn’t played with one of those in a while.

“.357, nine rounds,” he said.

The gun was smooth and heavy in my hands; I looked past it but didn’t see any extra ammo. “Another magazine?”

“I don’t exactly get in a lot of gunfights, so no,” he said.

Stupid rich pretty boy. Totally useless. Okay then—nine rounds. I’d better make them count.

I checked the position of the vehicle behind us. A black SUV—gotta be fucking kidding me. Nothing good came from a black SUV; they should arrest anyone buying one ’cause I only ever ran into criminals, demons, and yuppies who drove them. Never someone you want to deal with. The driver kept the SUV in a straight line, probably figuring if we had a gun, we would have already used it. No need to swerve.

“When I start firing, keep the car steady.” I waited until Nate was about to turn a corner, and then swung my upper body out the open side window.

Just as the car moved around the building, I fired two bullets—one into our pursuer’s vehicle, then another at the man hanging out the passenger window shooting at us. The first one cracked the front window but didn’t shatter it. The second missed the gunner by a few inches.

A fiery orb crashed into another building ahead of us. Nate veered to the left; I lost my balance and pitched forward.

Before I could fall, he grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

“Shit,” I muttered, ducking back in the car.

“Sorry, the—”

“I know—just let me think.” I paused to gather my bearings, then resumed my position partially out the window.

Hair whipped around my shoulders, over my face, but I held still and aimed. Of the next three bullets I fired, two hit their mark. The first one barely grazed the gunner’s shoulder, which I counted as a miss. The next flattened one of the front tires, and the third went straight through the driver’s side of the windshield. The SUV swerved back and forth on the narrow road, screeching as the rim of the flat tire scraped on the cement.

“You’re a good shot,” Nate said.

“Well, I’ve had a few years to practice.”

He glanced in the rear-view mirror. “I think that stopped them.”

“And with four rounds to spare. Hey, I am pretty good.”

Silence reined, with just the purr of the engine playing in my ears. I popped the passenger window back up; my hair settled around my shoulders and I decided not to think about what kind of knots I was facing. No matter how much conditioner I applied ahead of time, a gunfight while hanging out a car window always led to major tangle-age.

Nate swung around the next block, driving toward Mishka’s building. Smoke puffed gray and thick in the air and orange light lit the sky. I opened my mouth to make an “I told you so” comment, then closed it again. He had to see for himself—I got that.

Sirens blared in the distance. Nate slowed the car and peered up at the remnants of the building. Anyone on Mish’s floor and above likely didn’t survive. She definitely wouldn’t have.

He drove again. Several blocks from Mishka’s apartment, when the dank smell of the harbor seeped into the car, Nate pulled the Jag off to the side by the docks. He left the engine running, headlights cutting through the night outside, and stared over the dash and out the windshield.

Please don’t cry. Then I might have to stake myself.

Nate shifted, pointedly not looking at me, hands squeezing the wheel. He lifted his head and I studied his profile, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed tightly. “You’re sure—”

“Even if she survived them shooting her, the apartment exploding would have killed her. You saw it.”

He didn’t say anything for the next long while. I didn’t see the big deal—she had, after all, tried to have him killed. But I didn’t point that out. He could brood while I did some thinking; I’d rather that over him turning into a weeping mess.

There was a strange sort of tightening in my chest while I looked at him. Betrayed...it gave me an uncomfortable pang, even when I wasn’t the victim of it.

Maybe I just ate something bad at the party, though.

Nate blinked a few times but didn’t cry. Thank god. “Anywhere in particular you want to go?” He gestured to my midsection. “Don’t you need to have that looked at?”

Yes. In another country where I can lie on a beach at night and drink a lot of cocktails. “Not right now. Do you know where the Thierings live?”

“Yeah.”

“Then head there.” Mishka had originally said Heaven wanted O’Connor taken out, so she might have some answers. Of course there was a good chance that once I showed up at her house, she and Jeffrey would have me staked on sight, but I was willing to take the risk.

The more I learned about what was going on, the better I could prepare to handle it.

Chapter Eleven

Attack

We reached the Thiering residence a half hour later. I don’t think anything we said in the meantime could have passed for a conversation. He obviously wasn’t ready to talk about Mishka and I wasn’t going to press for any answers yet, just in case he cried and made me uncomfortable. I mean, his stoic silence didn’t look like he was gonna cry, but I hadn’t ruled it out. Plus when I was getting information from someone, it tended to involve bone-breaking. I recognized it probably wasn’t the best time for an interrogation when my target was driving.

He slowed the Jag on the long road that led up to the high stone walls surrounding Heaven and Jeffrey’s place.

“If you give me a few minutes to hop over the fence, I can be in and out in no time,” I suggested.

“Just wait.” Nate pulled the car up to the security booth next to the sealed front gate. A guard dressed in dark blue with linebacker shoulders stepped out and crouched before the driver’s side window, taking up the whole space.

“It’s awfully late, sir—” he began.

“I’m Nathan O’Connor.” Nate’s voice went deep, formal, and chilling. This change in him caught my attention at once: I had no idea that he could command such respect in just three words. That was a helpful skill to have. “I need to speak with the Thierings. Now.”

The guard nodded and went back to his post to speak into the telephone there. A few seconds later, the gate swung open and he gestured for us to continue.

“My way would have been more stylish,” I muttered.

“Well, the next time we drive to the home of a coven that doesn’t like me very well, you can break in.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

He cut the engine once we were directly in front of the house. I got out of the car, ran up the front stone steps to stand in the spill of light at the top, and without waiting for him to catch up, I yanked open the front door.

A butler met me before I was one step inside, dressed in navy and with calm eyes that didn’t betray any concern about the intrusion. I swear, the help in these fucking places came from Stepford. “Can I help you—”

Nate brushed past me. “Jeffrey and Heaven—where are they?”

“In the study, I believe,” the butler replied. “If you follow—”

“I know the way,” I interrupted him, and Nate and I strode through the foyer.

The warlock kept up, but then I wasn’t moving vampirey fast—not with my gut screaming as I walked. We probably looked quite the picture to the staff: me with my torn and bloodstained dress, tangled hair, and various scratches and wounds; Nate in his black clothes from the party with nary a mark or speck of dust on them, not-quite-shoulder-length hair gleaming and swinging.

Stupid pretty boy and his...stupid prettiness. Next time he could get in the actual gunfight. See how he fared after that.

We both walked with purpose, so I assumed he knew the place fairly well. How he knew it well when his family and the Thierings had a blood feud was beyond me—I didn’t think Mish would’ve brought him over for tea.

The study was what you’d expect in a mansion big enough to have a study. Fireplace, furniture almost as old as I was, rows of bookcases. The crackling fire and several sconces lit the place, giving it a dignified glow. We found Jeffrey seated at a desk, while Heaven sat on one of her antique sofas. Mishka got most of her physical looks from Heaven—the blonde hair, green eyes, and delicate stature. Though in her late forties, Heaven looked at least ten years younger, and it was clear that had Mish survived past her mid-twenties, she would have aged well. The only qualities I found she had in common with her father were her quick temper and ability to hold a grudge. Speaking of which, Jeff looked less than thrilled to have me and Nate in his home.

“Vampire,” he said, glowering at me.

“Warlock,” I returned in a mock-ominous voice, and wiggled my fingers in the air for good measure.

“And now that we’ve established what races we’re from,” Heaven interrupted coolly, “why don’t you tell us what you’re doing here bleeding on my carpet, Miss Lain?”

“Well, I was in the neighborhood.” I casually ran my hand along the back of the couch as I walked around the room. “And I was just wondering if either of you have hired any hits through your daughter lately.”

“No, thanks to you we—” Jeffrey snapped as he rose from his chair and started toward me.

“Hush, dear.” Heaven cast a glare in his direction, which silenced her husband. She turned back to me, tucking stray strands of hair back in the French twist holding the rest. The gesture was very Mishka-ish, and I wondered if it gave Nate a little tightening in his gut as it did for me. “Neither of us have had any contact with her for almost two years now.”

“Really? You sure you didn’t maybe tell her to hire me to kill Nate’s father?”

The room went silent. Still. The fire popped, snapping as if offended by the silence, and spat sparks.

“No.” Heaven eyed Nate for a moment, then her gaze smoothly slid back to me. “We heard someone else was taking care of that, so there hardly seemed any point.”

“And yet the large sum of money in my bank account tells another story,” I said.

“She’s telling the truth,” Nate spoke up. “That was Mishka and me.”

Jeffrey let out a bitter bark of a laugh—the type that got my hackles up. Douchebag laughter. I kind of wanted to punch him. “Haven’t you grown up? Putting a contract out on your pops like that—I didn’t think you had the balls anymore, boy.”

“Don’t be so crude,” Heaven shot at him.

My gaze slid between each of them, weighing the situation. I’d have to brush up on my politics after all—this was more than blood feud mocking. Didn’t have the balls “anymore”? And what kind of bad blood was between the elder O’Connor and youngest son?

Heaven smoothed her dove gray pencil skirt, another habit that mirrored Mishka. “Nathan, would you care for a drink?”

“Actually, I have to make a few phone calls.” His blue gaze went to mine, a familiarity there I wasn’t expecting. “I’ll be out in the hall if you need me.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ll count the moments until you return.”

And he nearly rolled his eyes in reply—it was close—and gave a small shake of his head. Was probably this close to slapping me magically if he could get the words out without me snapping his neck. Nate disappeared into the hall.

I decided to lounge on the loveseat across from Heaven. “Hey, I’ll take a drink, Jeff.”

“Sorry, we’re not stocked to feed your kind here.”

“Sure you are—just roll up your sleeve, slit your wrist, and put some in a glass for me. Maybe add one of those cute little umbrellas while you’re at it.”

He blanched. I stifled laughter—couldn’t believe the jerk-off fell for that.

“Just kidding,” I said. “I’ll take a glass of sherry.”

“How is Mishka?” Heaven asked as Jeffrey went to the bar. Her eyes lit up at the mere mention of her daughter’s name, and I knew the information I had to impart to her should be explained delicately.

“Mishka’s dead.” Delicacy really isn’t my forte.

The glass in Jeffrey’s hand shattered as it hit the floor. Heaven went pure ashen, her bottom lip beginning to quiver.

Shit. Should’ve asked my questions before I dropped that on them. Now they’d probably cry or something. I was still smarting from the bullet in my gut and didn’t want to suffer an hour of awkward moping.

Heaven shook her head. “Goddess, no, she can’t be...”

“You bitch!” Jeffrey spat. “This is your fault!”

“Hardly,” I replied. “I got my ass handed to me while trying to save her.”

Heaven closed her eyes and bowed her head, burying her face in her hands as she started to silently sob.

Yep. Awkward crying. God help me, this was pure fucking torture. “Do you have, like, a therapist on call? Someone I can phone in to drug you or something long enough for me to get some answers? It’s been a long night—I don’t have a lot of patience for grief.”

More silence. Jeff was almost as pale as I was. Shit, I might be sitting there awhile.

When Heaven looked up at me, anger blazed in her emerald eyes. I tensed, swallowed dryly. Hoped she didn’t throw a fireball at me.

Her voice came out dark and deceptively steady. “When?”

“Oh, about forty-five minutes ago,” I said. “Three masked men, who seem to be the strongest half-demons I’ve come across, shot her and blew up her apartment.”

“They had explosives?”

“No, just the ability to summon rather large balls of fire at will. Sound like anyone you know?”

“Is there anything else you can tell me about them?” The pain in her voice was overshadowed by fury. Never would’ve pegged Heaven for the Momma-Bear type, but then she loved her daughter. And love made people angry.

“They drove a black SUV and there was the matter of one of them not dying when I broke his neck. Ringing any proverbial bells yet?”

“Is that all you know?”

Jeez, a bit of gratitude would be nice—it was still more than she knew thirty seconds ago. “For some reason they weren’t interested in killing me. One of them had a stun gun.”

“So it was your fault!” Jeffrey shouted. “They must have been after you—”

“Silence,” Heaven hissed, and her husband shrank back toward the bar.

Nice trick. If I had that kind of power over him, I probably would never let him out in public.

Heaven returned her attention to me. “You don’t know why they were there for her?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be here to find out what you know,” I answered.

The door opened, near silent on well-oiled hinges, and Nate walked in. “We need to go. Now.”

“S’cuse me, but I seem to recall this is my—” I began.

“Everyone—we’re all leaving now,” he interrupted. Worry stretched across his face, in the depths of his serious blue eyes and the straight line of his lips. Mushy, kissable lips I’d first thought upon seeing his photo. Now I realized they were broody lips, more for frowning. Nate took a deep breath, raked one hand back through his hair. The action didn’t really seem to relax him, but some of his former, authoritative self returned. “Someone has wiped out four of the eight main covens on this continent, and my father’s entire house was just blown up.”

Okay, so that was cause for an interruption.

Heaven and I started to rise.

The windows that lined the far side of the room exploded.

A hail of machinegun bullets tore into the room, ripping over the furniture and into the walls, and smashing all the lights. We were left in darkness, save for the moonlight shining through the broken window and the angry, cracking fire.

I dropped to the floor, grabbed Heaven’s arm, and dragged her down with me. Across the room, several shots hit Jeffrey square in the chest, and he fell down dead. Heaven screamed and another round of gunfire followed. I shoved my hand over her mouth.

“Shut the hell up,” I whispered. Sure, her husband and only child died in one night, but all sentimentalities for dead bodies ever did was get people killed.

I looked under the loveseat to see Nate ducked in the doorframe.

“You okay?” he mouthed.

I nodded. I motioned for him and Heaven to stay down while I slowly sat up and leaned around the side of the couch.

I barely got a look at the lawn beyond the window when we were fired upon again. I ducked back down. There were seven people outside—that I counted—and that was just the back of the house. Heaven and the dearly departed Jeffrey had the lousiest security team ever.

Machineguns. Great. If there were seven people, I guessed maybe three or four had the actual automatic weapons; they’d take turn firing, keeping us locked down and giving the others time to line up shots. I’d played with plenty of guns and as flashy as machineguns were in the movies, they’d be shit for actually trying to kill us in these circumstances. Well, save for killing Jeffrey though, apparently.

I heard multiple pairs of feet moving across the lawn. They were coming closer, and we didn’t have much time. The minute we jumped up to run, we’d get hit.

There was no way Heaven could make it around the loveseat and to the door without them seeing and shooting her. I supposed it was time for me to be all heroic, which really sucked because I had outgrown that phase like two centuries earlier.

“When I tell you to, go straight for the door,” I whispered to Heaven. “Go as fast as you can while staying as low as possible. Understand?”

She nodded.

“So help me, if you freeze, I’m going to leave you here to die.”

She knew enough about me not to doubt I meant it, so she nodded again.

I got a good hold on the loveseat. “Go!” I hissed. I hoisted the sofa in the air and tossed it behind us. Sure enough, the gunmen started firing.

Heaven crawled across the floor and reached the doorway without being hit. I motioned for them to go, and mouthed the words, “Front of the house.”

Nate gestured for me to come with them, but I waved him off. I was immortal, after all—the least I could do was try to slow down the gunmen, considering they couldn’t really do any irreversible damage to me. Unless they aimed for my neck.

I tried not to think about that possibility.

Broken glass cracked as heavy feet cautiously walked over it. They were in the room now—perhaps ten feet away from me. I glanced through the small crack under the couch, which was now the only furniture between me and the several people with lots of not-so-fun weapons. Three were clumped together, while the other four were spreading out around the room. Soon they’d be coming at me from all sides. Great.

I placed my hands under the couch and hurled it at the clump of people. As it was sailing toward my target, I turned and dove for the open door.

Machinegun fire followed me—like they fucking expected me to jump up and shoot back—along with pops from a couple other semi-automatics. Two bullets managed to clip my shoulder and back before I ducked behind the wall. That made three bullets embedded in my body in less than a couple of hours, and I was in some of the worst pain I had experienced in at least fifteen years. I must say, the assassination business isn’t for everyone.

I scampered down the hallway and turned down the next corridor before another torrent of bullets could hit me. In the foyer I found Nate, Heaven, and six of the Thiering security team. One guy was bleeding on the floor, an ugly hole in his upper right chest. Mid-thirties, his face was pale, sweating; eyes open and staring at the ceiling; quick, shallow breaths passing between his open lips.

I’d drained a lot of blood from people—clearly this guy was losing his, fast. Probably a goner by the time we got out of there.

Nate leaned over him, bloody fingers pressed over the wound. Hair, damp with sweat, hung down in ropes and swung as he moved around the dying man, feeling his back. “Bullet went through.” A glance at a tall, forty-something woman in a security uniform—probably the boss. “You move him quick, keep pressure on the wound, and get him help.”

“He’s bleeding out,” I spoke up.

Nate glared at me, eyes growing smoky and dark; magic hung in the air, sending prickles up my spine and gooseflesh over my bare arms, like a storm about to hit. “He’ll make it.” He looked at the tough older broad again and she took over for him. “He’ll make it. Keep pressure.” Nate ran the back of his hand over his brow, wiping hair from his face, and met my eyes again; the magic was gone, and he was his usual self. “This is all that’s left of the guards and there’re about fifteen well-armed people out front.”

“People?”

“That’s my guess so far.”

Well, bright side: at least they weren’t demons throwing fireballs. I looked over at Heaven; she crouched in a sort of upright fetal position, muttering inaudible words.

“What, is she praying or something?” I asked.

“Another type of barrier spell,” Nate replied. “More advanced than the one I used earlier—it doesn’t require a secondary object, like a wall or a door, to keep them at bay.”

“There’s a team of guys from the back on their way over here,” I said. “Will it hold them off?”

“Yes.” He sent a worried glance at Dying Dude and then at Heaven. “So long as she maintains her concentration, which, considering what she’s gone through, isn’t likely to be for long.”

Oh, hell. I should just leave the lot of them there to be slaughtered and go home. But then you won’t figure out why these guys are trying to kidnap you. Le sigh: fighting with the others would have to do.

“Okay, we’ve got to get to the cars.” I looked to the guards. “Is the garage near here?”

A kid who couldn’t have been older than eighteen pointed to the right. Did she get her damn guards straight out of high school or something? “Through there,” he said. “Mrs. Thiering has a safe house a few towns over. We can all go to—”

“No, you guys are going it alone,” I replied. “Two cars are harder to follow, and I’ll act as an old fashioned diversion.”

“You mean we,” Nate said.

“If I had meant ‘we,’ I would have said that,” I snapped. “You’re going with them.”

“You’re hurt—”

Oh, save me from a pretty boy with a bleeding heart. “I’m a goddamn vampire! A couple more bullets aren’t going to hurt me.”

His lips pursed and jaw worked like he ground his teeth. “There are fifteen men with guns out there. A couple bullets may not do much, but a few hundred will do more than just slow you down.”

Yeah, yeah... That little kid guard had a Calico M960, which I grabbed. “I’m going alone. Deal with it.”

Heaven looked up at us, tears in her eyes.

Ah, shit. “What the hell—keep chanting!”

“I can’t,” she cried. “I can’t...Mish...”

With the barrier spell broken, I heard the feet of the gunmen thumping on the floor. Damn humans and their damn incapacitating grief.

“Hey,” Little Kid Guard said, “take the limo—a bigger target. I’ll make sure it’s unlocked and the keys are in the ignition.”

I nodded and gestured for them to run. Two of them carted off the guy who’d been shot, with Nate supervising. As they raced into the right corridor, I jumped up and fired at the masked squad as they started toward the foyer. They ducked back, and once Heaven, Nate, and the others were out of sight, I followed. No extra magazine, so it wasn’t like I had the option to offer much more cover anyway.

When I reached the end of the hallway, I fired a few more rounds to force back the gunmen, then I slipped into the garage.

Near the front was a small, four-door car with everyone crammed in it. In front was the limo. Sure enough, the door was unlocked, and I hopped in and started the engine.

I checked the seat, the key ring, the dashboard. No garage opener. Well then, time to make my stylish exit. I smashed through the thin garage door, then swerved the car around the driveway and stopped. People were scattered across the lawn; my gaze checked the rearview mirror to see the car of the others in the garage behind me. Waiting.

And I’d oblige with a good old fashioned distraction.

I whipped up the Calico and fired, breaking the passenger window and spraying bullets at the gunmen on the lawn.

The car with the others sped past mine while I continued to shoot. I’d hoped to have enough ammo to cover Heaven’s car for a good distance, but the last shell ejected—magazine was empty. Fuck. I dropped the gun and flexed both hands on the steering wheel.

The sound of gunfire filled the car again, a short popping noise. I glanced in the rearview mirror to see Nate in the back with a Glock he probably swiped from one of the guards.

“What the hell—I told you to go!”

He didn’t look back at me, just took careful aim and fired at a target out on the lawn. “Deal with it.”

Oh, once we got out of there, he was so dead.

Down the driveway, Heaven’s car disappeared out the front gate. Nate fired the final bullets from his gun, then ducked as the enemy returned fire. The limo lurched to the side, rocking as they shot out one of our front tires, but Nate and I remained unharmed. The limo would be a bitch to steer, sure, but at least we weren’t dead.

“They’re all still looking very much alive,” he said. “What now?”

“Now you wish you were in the other car.” I swung the limo around. “Stay down.”

I drove straight for the crowd of gunmen. Some fired at first, and one bullet tore straight through my arm, but as soon as they saw my intention, they dove for cover. I slammed on the brakes when I reached them and twisted the wheel to the left as far as it would go. The limo squealed and spun in a circle, knocking back those that had tried to stand again, and running over a few. From there, I stomped on the accelerator and sped for the gate.

We reached the road in moments. A black SUV—of-fucking-course, because the bad guys were incapable of picking something less evil looking—raced down the street ahead of us, chasing down Heaven’s car.

“A seatbelt would be a good idea,” I warned Nate. He scrambled through the limo and crawled over the back of the seat so he was sitting in the front. “You were probably safer back there,” I told him as I pushed the car up to double the speed limit.

He reached over and grabbed my seatbelt, then fastened it over my waist.

“Aren’t you considerate,” I mumbled.

“I’d rather you didn’t go through the windshield.” He sat back down and did up his own belt. “You are the one driving.”

“Good point. Hold on.”

I stomped hard on the accelerator; within thirty seconds we were right behind the SUV. It wove back and forth across the road, blocking us from passing, but I kept going straight. My hands squeezed the wheel at two and ten o’clock as we jostled around, the flat tire making the vehicle a motherfucker to manoeuvre. Closer, closer, and I slammed into the back of the other vehicle, tossing Nate and I forward. My foot eased for a moment on the gas, then I sped up again, this time coming in at an angle. I knocked the SUV to the gravel shoulder for a moment, but it swung back onto the road.

Someone smashed open the back window of our assailant’s vehicle and started firing at us. Nate muttered something and I looked over to see blood dripping from his shoulder.

“You okay?” I asked.

“It just grazed the skin.”

Just a flesh wound—right. “You’d better duck down, lover boy. This one’s for the win.” I pushed down hard on the pedal and we flew down the road. Turning the limo far to the left, I waited until the SUV started to weave away from us, and then I swerved to the right. The collision rocked the limo and the force knocked the SUV off the road and straight into the ditch.

“That’s enough car chases for one night,” Nate said with a sigh as I slowed the limo to a bumpy crawl.

“How’s your shoulder?”

“Hurts like hell, but I’ll live.”

“Bullet went through?”

“It’s probably embedded in the seat back there. Just a scratch.”

I glanced over at him. Blood ran crimson from the wound, soaking his black shirt. He’d stashed the coat somewhere at some point and now he rolled up his dress shirt sleeves and peeled back the collar to check his shoulder. No signs of the bleeding stopping, either.

And goddamn it, his hair was still mostly perfect. I’d have to find out what conditioner he used.

“You’ll live,” I said, “but you might pass out.” I let my fangs elongate just enough to bite down on the inside of my mouth, then spat some blood onto my hand and pressed it to his wound.

“That won’t—” he began.

“Turn you? Of course not. You have to be emptied of most of your blood for that to happen, and you would need a lot more than a mouthful of mine. One of the pros of vampirism is a blood protein that accelerates the clotting process, among other things. That’ll stop the bleeding, as well as kill any infection that might have gotten in the wound.”

“That’s practical,” he said, though I caught him eyeing the injury warily. “One of the guards told me where the safe house is—”

“Good—I’ll have a talk with Heaven tomorrow then.”

“You don’t think we should go now—”

“I told you to go with them,” I reminded him. “I’m heading home for the night. Is there somewhere you want me to drop you?”

He was silent for a moment as he stared out the front window.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he finally said. “I want to know about Mishka.”

So do I.

Chapter Twelve

Home at Last

I dumped the limo pretty quick and Nate called a private cab company he knew. It dropped us about a mile from my apartment, and Nate and I walked the rest of the way. We easily could have taken the cab the rest of the way, but I didn’t want anyone else to know where I lived. The subway was nearby, though I nixed that idea since we were both on the shot and bloody side, someone probably would have phoned the police.

“Welcome to the Lain residence,” I said as we stepped into the apartment and I flipped the lights on. “I’d give you the grand tour, but, as you can see, it’s basically one really, really big room. The only separate spaces are the bathroom, which is to your left—and I’m showering first, by the way—and my room, around the corner to the right.”

A few steps in, I grabbed the wall to steady myself as I yanked off my shoes. I inspected my extremely expensive—and extremely ruined—satin, high-heeled sandals. Some of the straps were frayed, and they were bloody and caked in mud, but the heel itself had held up surprisingly well. I’d definitely have to check out that company again sometime.

I tossed the shoes into the garbage in the kitchen, then proceeded toward the full-length mirror just outside the bathroom. I unzipped the side of my dress, peeled the top down and folded it over my waist so I could check out my wounds. The hole in my stomach was showing the beginning signs of closing over—with the bullet still inside. That was just fucking super.

Nate shifted behind me and the presence of another person sent a sudden shiver down my back. “Are you all right?”

“I’ve been through worse. There was this one time, back in the seventeen-nineties, with an angry mob of New England Puritans, and...” I paused as I realized he probably wasn’t interested in any of my wacky, vampire adventures.

He raised a dark brown winged brow. “And?”

I sighed. “It’s not important.” Humans usually got all pale and vomity over my vampire glory stories anyway.

Silence. I stared in the mirror a few minutes longer, wishing I could just...just will the stupid bullet out. But it doesn’t work like that.

“So...you have a reflection.” Nate gestured at my reflection.

“So do you.”

“The myths—”

“Yeah, well, the myths are stupid. A lot of them actually come from vampires—stories they made up to see how much they could screw with the mortals. Like the garlic one. I don’t know whose idea that was, but he should be given a goddamn award.”

“Traditionally garlic was used in spells to guard against evil,” Nate said.

“Huh. Then I guess I’m not evil.” I grinned, amused by the thought.

“And crucifixes?”

“For that to harm us, there’d have to be some divine power over my existence, don’t you think?” I said. “The only thing that scares me about it is how many people see an ancient torture device as something to be worshipped.” I glared at the bullet wound in my gut; nope, it wasn’t moving. I turned to check my shoulder and back where two more bullets were lodged. Lovely.

Another person might have felt self-conscious standing there topless but for a black strapless bra in front of a complete stranger, but I’ve always found modesty overrated. Plus nearly getting killed a few times in one night helps to put silly things like partial nudity in perspective.

And also, I was rocking the lacy bra.

Nate didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the lack of covering on my upper torso, but then I figured he was just enjoying the view.

I snatched my first aid kit from the bathroom cabinet. It was time for another episode of Amateur Doctor Zara. I couldn’t wait for that show to be cancelled.

Nate pushed his sleeves up further. “Here,” he motioned for me to hand him the box of equipment, “let me.”

I held the box up to my ample chest. “I can take care of it.”

“You can’t do your back,” he pointed out. He held my gaze but I wasn’t giving up my first aid kit. A sigh, heavy and weary, and he ran his hands back through his still-pretty-perfect hair. His voice dropped lower, quieter. Pained and edged with darkness. “And I need...something—anything—right now to do.”

So he didn’t have to think about Mishka’s death. At least if he was patching me up, he wouldn’t get awkwardly grievy on me.

I handed him the case and hopped onto the kitchen table, lying directly under a hanging lamp. Water ran for a few minutes as he washed his hands, and then he went through the kit, selected a few tools, and set to work.

“Your heart beats and yet you don’t require oxygen.”

And now we enter the small talk portion of the surgery. Pity I had to be awake for this. “Don’t require it, unless I want to talk—still gotta move air over the vocal chords. They don’t teach you much in warlock school, do they?” The cold steel instrument dug into my stomach in search of the bullet and I winced.

“I forewent usual schooling for more...‘independent’ studies,” he said carefully. “The vampire lessons consisted of, ‘Call a Demon Hunter to deal with it, or—if you’re brave and stupid—attempt to impale it in the heart with something to slow it down, then cut off its head.’”

“Given that you are currently removing a bullet from my abdomen, I would venture a guess that you failed Vampire Killing: 101.”

A faint smile flickered across his lips. His head bowed and hair fell over his brow. “That wouldn’t be the only class. My memories of standard demon classification are also a bit hazy, but I don’t recall vampires being listed among any of the ranks.”

“It’s because we don’t count to the snobs who write your demonology textbooks.”

“Though I’ve heard your race often spoke of with contempt, given your considerable physical assets, I hardly see cause for it.”

“Are you hitting on me, Nate?”

He all but rolled his eyes. “Strength and speed.”

“Yeah and I’ve got great tits too.”

He ignored that comment and dug a little deeper. “You can hold your own against most demons that can enter this realm, and virtually all humans. I naturally assumed part of the contempt for your race came from envy.”

Oh, ouch, I hoped he found that fucking bullet soon. “That’s a nice thought, but I doubt it. The rest of the supernatural world is populated with highly skilled mortals. Even you—a warlock, the product of centuries of selective breeding—require a lot of practice to use your innate magical abilities. Half-demons don’t even survive unless their human parent passed on certain genetic attributes that mesh with the demon genes, and demon-possessed humans all must have certain biological prerequisites that let them use their otherworldly power.”

“And vampires?” He finally had the bullet, and it landed on the table with a soft clank. Thank god. I eased myself onto my stomach so he could work on my back. No pain bothered me now; nothing like some vampire endorphins kicking in to make bullet surgery a walk in the park. Of course, talking and keeping my mind off being poked and prodded with sharp instruments helped.

“Demonic parasite,” I responded. “The equivalent of a human virus, but with a certain level of intelligence. You won’t find it in your common classification books because it is inconsequential in its native demon world. And in the human one, anyone can become a vampire. Well, I mean, it’s hard and time consuming to make one and not all survive the change. But it’s the poor, inept man’s answer to the pursuit of demonic power. No skills required, no knowledge of anything necessary. Essentially, I’m a host. My mortal blood was drained by a vampire, and he gave me enough of his to infect with the parasite.”

“Did that kill you?” Another bullet hit the table. One left.

“Briefly. What happens is the demon works its way to your brain. Then you get put in a sort of stasis while it gestates, usually for a period of ten or eleven years. All the strength, speed, agility, and quick healing capabilities are to protect it. It goes through the host’s body, altering the genetic makeup, doing away with the parts that are useless to it—like, say, some human reproductive organs—and strengthening the ones that can help it, like bones and muscles. It kinda meshes together other stuff, like the liver and that, so I still filter and synthesize toxins. And I have a kick ass immune system.”

“And the feeding of blood is necessary?” The last bullet was finally out, and Nate moved to the sink to wash off his hands while I sat up. I hurt from top to bottom but I’d feel good in twenty-four hours or so.

“Yes, to keep the parasite—and me—alive and in this wonderful state of youth. And now, if you’re ever on Supernatural Jeopardy and a category about vampires pops up, you’ve got it made.” I picked up the three tiny bullets and turned them over in my hand. “That was pretty fast. You’ve had some experience doing last minute emergency surgery?”

“A bit.” The corners of his mouth turned up in a slight smile.

Huh. Interesting. “I thought you didn’t get in gunfights.”

“I don’t. Anymore.”

Curiouser and curiouser. He was still focused on washing his hands, too. Ignoring me. Guess I’d find something else to do if he didn’t want to play sharsies regarding his past.

I left the kitchen and started for the bathroom.

The water shut off sharply. “Zara.”

I halted.

“About Mishka—”

“Shower now,” I said. “Talk after.”

Swift steps touched down on the floor and a hand locked on my arm before I got too far. I tensed and glanced over my shoulder, clumps of bloody hair cutting across my face. Gave him a look of warning.

But Mr. Authority was back. He held my gaze fiercely, grip a vise on my arm. “I need to know about Mishka.”

I pursed my lips, gave his hand on my arm a pointed look, then lifted my eyes to his again. Cocked a brow. Said nothing. Tension simmered in the air, brushing my skin—an electrical storm about to hit.

Murky navy blue, like midnight shadows, played over his eyes again; for an instant I suspected there was more power in their depths than he’d led me to believe. Then he blinked and his grip slackened.

Good boy. I’d hate to have to kill him, though the look he was giving me suggested this showdown was delayed, not over.

“Shower now,” I repeated. “Talk after.”

I finished walking to the bathroom and closed the door before he could throw a fireball at me.

Chapter Thirteen

Mishka

I found the shower invigorating. With the bullets out of my body, my strength was returning, and the hot water soothed and relaxed all my muscles. By the time I turned off the water, dried my body, and brushed my hair straight, I could almost forget I’d been shot at, beaten, and had a variety of objects thrown at me.

Almost.

At least my hair was in better shape. Soaked in the shower for five minutes with expensive conditioner, the knots fell away easily and now it hung in wet ropes against my back. I wrapped myself up in my satin, sapphire blue kimono and wandered out into the main room.

Nate sat on my couch, his cell phone to his ear. Bloody shirt but otherwise looking well; he’d scrubbed down his arms and cleaned the blood splatter from his neck.

“Tomorrow at noon, then?” He glanced at me as I curled up on the other side of the sofa, his expression unreadable. “All right.” He hung up and cast the phone on my coffee table.

“Important meetings?”

He shook his head. His hair gleamed, like he’d run wet fingers through it too. “Just trying to figure out what the hell is going on.”

“Yeah, if you make any progress on that, let me in on it, okay?”

“Agreed.” A beat of silence passed and then slowly, reluctantly, Nate turned to face me. Blue eyes found mine, achingly beautiful and pained, and for a moment my heart gave a sick thump again. I knew that look in his gaze, understood it on a level I couldn’t name. Words paused at his lips. At last he spoke, though there hardly seemed a reason to for the same question was on both our minds.

“Tell me about Mishka,” he said softly.

Witch. Bitch. Got herself blown up. “You were the one married to her,” I reminded him. “You should probably start.”

“Tell me about when she hired you,” he said instead.

I launched into the details of our meeting earlier that week. I told him exactly what she told me—about his father, about the reason for the hit, and eventually about him. At times he seemed to listen without hearing me, his azure gaze drifting to the floor. As I got to the part where she offered me more money to kill him, his brows furrowed and he took in a breath as if he was about to speak, but still he said nothing.

When I finished my account of the events leading up to the party, I watched as he digested everything. Five minutes. That was all I was giving him. If he didn’t start talking, I’d resort to my favourite form of persuasion...starting with the bones in his fingers.

I hated being the only one sharing.

At last he spoke, and the words came out deceptively calm, only the edges jagged. Smooth broken glass, ready to cut if I stepped on it wrong. “A few things trouble me about what you’ve said,” he began.

Just a few? “Like the part where she hired me to kill you?”

“That goes without saying, but it isn’t what I was referring to. First of all, we planned this about three weeks ago—she was supposed to hire you then.”

Huh. “I figured that, because the kid she sent over with my fake ID said he had known about it for several days.”

Nate nodded. “I gave Mishka the invitation for you then.”

Ah, so that’s why I was able to get into the house without a problem, despite Jamie’s attempt to keep me out. That made sense. Why fake an invitation if Nate could get her a real one? Whatever the kid forged, Mishka probably trashed when he gave it to her to seal it with magic and just exchanged it with the real thing.

“My father gave me one for her, though he made it very clear he didn’t want her to come.” Nate leaned back on the couch, tipped his head to gaze up at the ceiling. I bit back a comment about him getting blood on the sofa fabric; I had some tact and recognized it wasn’t the time for that discussion. “He berated me for her not showing up tonight, but didn’t seem surprised.”

“Yeah, I think I overheard you guys arguing.”

He gazed at the ceiling, like he saw something there. Probably memories, playing in his head. “The second thing that bothers me about this relates to the money. You’re certain about what she said?”

“It’s money—trust me, I’m sure.” I went over the numbers for him again.

“I gave her twenty-five million for my father,” he explained. “Nearly everything left to me after my mother died. I offered more, but she said it wouldn’t be necess—”

“Twenty-five?” I repeated, my eyes wide. My fingers clenched into fists that cried out to hit something. “That bitch! She wanted to keep it for herself—”

“But there was no need.” The dark, hard edges to his voice went real sharp then, air around him thrumming with a mix of hurt and anger. “With my father dead, everything of his would go straight to me, and she knew that meant it was hers too. She had no reason to want to keep it...unless...”

“Unless?”

“She needed it to pay for something else.”

Pay for what else? Mishka had everything she needed. She had a trust fund of roughly thirty million that was kept safe so her gambling-addicted father couldn’t piss it away. Of that money, she had never touched a cent, not once to my knowledge. Of course, my knowledge of her wasn’t too complete, apparently.

“Why did you want your father dead?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he said softly. Darkly.

Alrighty then. Pay for the man to be killed? Fine. Tell me what the big fucking deal is? Apparently that was complicated and none of my business.

I racked my brain, struggled to come up with a motive beyond the obvious...and was still stuck with the obvious, so that’s what I tried first. “The money?”

Nate shook his head. Avoided my eyes. “I don’t need money.”

And it wasn’t power—wasn’t to take over his father’s position. He didn’t want to be at the gathering, didn’t even dress up for the event. Had that Johnny Cash vibe going on with all the black, like he was attending a funeral, not a party. And if he knew his father would be murdered, he would’ve made an effort to keep up appearances—he would’ve done whatever he normally did at his dad’s parties. Which turned out to be brood and mostly avoid the guests. So no, Nate had no interest in taking over for his father as the head of O’Connor’s coven.

What was I missing, then?

I could play lie detector—I knew tons of vampires who got a kick out of it. Listen close for the target’s heartbeat, become in tune with their body heat and try to guess when they’re lying or not. But a lot of humans were better liars than I was at detecting lies. Besides, Heaven owed me since I saved her life. She might share some gossip with me.

I let the subject of his father’s murder drop. “Why did Mish want you dead?”

A snort and the tightening of his lips. His eyes went dark as he sat up straighter and stopped staring at the ceiling. “I have no idea.”

“Maybe you had better tell me about this ‘marriage.’ Mishka never mentioned it to me.”

“I suppose it was part marriage, part alliance,” he said. “What she said about the family blood feud was true. The O’Connors and Thierings have hated one another for centuries. Covens are concerned with power and, more recently, money. Heaven Thiering is a relatively strong witch, but Jeffrey could do little that would pass as real magic. With his gambling draining their funds, you can see how weak they were becoming.

“Mishka, on the other hand, is...” He froze for a moment, then I blinked and it passed; he was composed again. “Mish was incredibly powerful. More so than I suspect a lot of people knew.”

“And your coven was looking weak as well,” I said, the pieces falling into place.

He nodded. “Though we have an unfathomable amount of money, nearly all of my immediate family is dead, and of the others, there isn’t anyone too powerful left that could hold on to our wealth. My brother, Sean, could have. His abilities were unsurpassed but he died in a car accident.”

“So two well-known covens get together, and you’re unstoppable,” I filled in.

“Right, but we didn’t tell our families, not right away...” His eyes clouded, voice went weary. He swallowed tightly and hair brushed his face as he tipped his head forward slightly. “I knew vaguely of her—I think I ran into her once or twice over the years—but we only met up five months ago. Last month we eloped. It wasn’t just about combining our covens, it was...I loved her. And I thought...”

This was getting way too emotional for me. “You don’t have to finish that one.” I chewed on all this for a moment, fidgeting in my seat. Ah hell, I’d try again—question rephrased this time. “Why did the two of you decide to assassinate your father?”

His lips parted then pinched together again, jaw worked like he was grinding his teeth. And he still stared straight ahead, not meeting my eyes, just leaving me with a view of his profile. “Just after we were married, I told my father. He wasn’t happy that it was to Mishka Thiering, but praised the idea to keep our bloodline going. Shortly after that, someone tried to kill Mish. We traced it back to my father.”

There was more going on than that, but I didn’t push for O’Connor family politics. “So he goes behind your back to take out the missus.”

“That’s what I thought, but if Mishka was hiring you to also kill me, then it’s possible she was behind that as well and was just using it as an excuse.”

Sneaky little bitch. “Married to the O’Connor’s heir would guarantee her your entire fortune then, right?”

“Yes.”

“But none of this explains why there were attacks on several other covens tonight, why they were trying to take me alive, who killed Mish, and why she didn’t just tell me all this to begin with.”

“I’m meeting with a few contacts tomorrow.” Nate rubbed at his eyes and yawned. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see what I can get from Heaven tomorrow night.” I stood and stretched, my muscles aching from everything I’d endured that night and then sitting for half an hour. Stretching caused my robe to ride up and air slithered under the satin, chilling my skin.

Nate didn’t look. Pretty decent of him if...strange.

“Onto other matters.” I stood up straight and my hair settled in silky, mussed threads around my shoulders. “If you’re staying here for any length of time, here are the rules: number one, don’t bother me while I sleep—I’m apt to eat you without a second thought.”

“Is that a vampire thing?”

“No, it’s a Zara thing. I don’t appreciate people interrupting my sleep. Number two, the curtains stay closed at all times.”

“Is that a vampire thing?”

“Yes,” I answered sharply. “Part of the problem with being inhabited by a parasitic demon that comes from a dimension without sunlight is that I now have a severe allergy to it myself. Seriously—they stay closed.”

“I heard you. Anything else?”

“The couch folds out and the linens are in the closet by the bathroom. Should you be able to find any food worth consuming in my rarely-used refrigerator or cupboards, you’re welcome to it. Mishka occasionally dropped by, and she liked to keep a few non-perishable items around. I suck at being a hostess, so basically you have to fend for yourself. I suppose that’s all.” I started for my room.

“Zara,” he called just as I reached the doorway.

“What?” I glanced back at him.

“Did she say anything else when you saw her tonight?”

Mishka again. Wife or not, he’d really have to get over the little bitch if he planned to accomplish anything. Moping over her death wasn’t going to help anyone.

“She was less than thrilled about you still being alive,” I said with a shrug.

His gaze dropped to the side. For just a second, something flashed over his face, and then it was gone. Smoothed away.

Maybe I shouldn’t be so snarky about it. He was actually taking it pretty well, all things considered. “But she did look a little pissed when I told her we had sex,” I offered, thinking that might brighten him up.

Maybe “brighten” was too strong of a word—his head shot up and he raised a smooth dark brown brow. “You what?”

“Originally I was going to seduce you and kill you afterward. Mishka didn’t want me to—she said it wouldn’t work. But she seemed bothered when I said that we did it.”

A half smile curved his lips. “Well, she was right; it wouldn’t have worked.”

My jaw dropped. “Why the hell not?”

He shrugged. “You’re not my type.”

Not his type? What the hell—I was gorgeous, and I had been that way for centuries. I was everybody’s type.

“Oh, why—’cause I’m a vampire?” I challenged, surprised at how easily his refuting my sex appeal enraged me.

“No. I just prefer blondes.”

“And look where that got you,” I said with a roll of my eyes.

Not his type...whatever.

Chapter Fourteen

Survivor

I awoke mid-afternoon. Generally I didn’t require so much sleep, but my body had taken quite the beating the night before. Replenished and itching to get out and do something, I couldn’t wait for nightfall. Alas, that wouldn’t be for a few more hours. Maybe something would be on TV.

I wandered from my room and into the main area of the apartment, the hardwood floors cool beneath my feet. Nate had left the curtains closed as I told him to, and the place was dark and silent, just layers of shadows. The couch was folded up as it had been the night before, and the only sign that someone had slept there was the neat pile of sheets and pillows at the end. I didn’t have a maid, so I appreciated the effort, but...the pretty rich boy got weirder and weirder. What multi-millionaire cleaned up after himself like that?

A large paper bag with the logo of an expensive men’s clothing store sat by the couch and a glance inside revealed dark clothing. So he’d been out and shopping during the day. He wouldn’t drop it off and run out again with people trying to kill us...

I paused. Listened. Took in everything I could sense in the darkness. Nate couldn’t have left; the sound of a calm, steady heartbeat echoed in the air.

And then I saw him. At the far end of the room, to my right, Nate sat on the hardwood floor. A shoji privacy screen helped to hide him from view. He sat cross-legged on the floor, facing the north. Light flickered faintly; I spotted a single votive candle in front of him.

Meditating? Maybe. His back was rigid, like his spine was made of steel, and he didn’t move. I crept forward, rounding the room to get a better view of his face.

The casual dark pants and long sleeved shirt he wore were new and I had proof in the bag behind me that he left at some point to get a change of clothes, but as he sat without making a sound—straight-backed and eyes closed—it seemed in some ways as though he had always been there.

I could probably sneak up on him. Freak the weird warlock out. I ghosted forward—

And struck an invisible barrier.

The force knocked me back half a dozen feet; I landed on the hardwood floor, barking my elbows and bruising my ass. Ouch.

Nate’s icy blue eyes flew open.

Should’ve stayed in bed. I pulled my legs gracefully under me and rose; my robe slipped back into place. “You want to explain why you’re putting up invisible walls?”

Nate snuffed out the candle with his fingers and rose as well. “It was the barrier spell.”

“I thought you required doors or something?”

“I figured it was time to start working on my skills,” he said dryly. He scooped up the candle and started for the couch. I followed, taking careful steps; I didn’t want to run into any more walls I couldn’t see.

Nate lifted a manila folder from the coffee table and handed it to me.

I flipped the folder open to find photos inside. “What’s this?”

“The first few are of my father’s house.”

I took a closer look. The building was beyond recognition—the mansion had been leveled to its foundation, and nothing but charred debris remained.

“The next is my apartment, which was hit sometime early this morning.”

I glanced at the next shot. Flames reached out from the inside of all the apartments, smoke billowed up into the sky, all while scores of people looked on from the sidewalk. It was an upscale area of the city—I knew it enough to recognize the area but couldn’t quite place what the building had looked like before its destruction.

“The last ones are of the homes of my direct relatives—aunts and uncles mainly. No one survived.”

I browsed the remaining photos of demolished homes I didn’t recognize. “You don’t seem too broken up.”

Nate shrugged. “We weren’t exactly close, and I’m not the sort of relative anyone invites to the yearly Solstice party.”

I licked my lips and gave him a little grin. “Bit of a black sheep, are you?”

“More like gray.”

“So you’re the surviving member of your coven?” I returned the folder to his hands.

He shook his head. “A few cousins are in hiding, as well as a couple of my mother’s relatives.”

“Where did you get the photos?”

“From a friend I asked to look into it for me last night. Although this should have made me an extremely wealthy person, all the family accounts are frozen, which I find...odd.”

I blinked. Waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. “Um, ‘odd’? Don’t you mean fucking bizarre?”

“It’s troubling, yes.” But his expression didn’t change.

“Is it just standard, or—”

“No, and I can’t dig too deep because I’d rather not alert the wrong people.”

“And all of them are frozen?”

“Well, I had a personal one under a different name that was untraceable to me. That account is fine.”

Weirdness, but whatever. It wasn’t like I’d need his money anyway; I had five million from Mishka, along with the rest of my considerable savings account. If it wasn’t troubling him, I couldn’t let it disturb me. “Did you find out anything else?”

His brows pulled into a frown, head tipped down. He did “concerned” really well—if he went broke, the guy could probably do a calendar of his broody expressions wearing few clothes, and chicks would buy a dozen each. I’d get two dozen. “Unfortunately, no. A number of covens were hit just as hard, and it seems anyone who knows me isn’t coming out to talk.”

Damn, this was getting complicated. Powerful covens had been destroyed overnight. That was unheard of, and it was the sort of thing that really freaked people out. Like Nate’s, any of my contacts would be keeping a low profile. Hell, the only person I could think of would be able to offer any leads was Mishka.

And since I was unfortunately stuck in the middle of it...time to start calling in favours. Literally.

I paced across the floor to the phone and pressed the third button on speed dial.

“J. & F. Financial Services,” said the perky voice on the other line.

“Tell Franco it’s Lain.”

The call immediately switched over to another line and a minute later a man picked up.

“Whaddya want, Zara?” Franco asked, his gruff voice so loud I had to hold the receiver away from my ear until he’d finished speaking.

“What do you think?”

“I’ve already paid ya what I can,” he said shortly. “You knew that when you did the job. Goodbye.”

I sighed; it was a long, exaggerated noise for effect. “Franco, you’re making me rather grumpy.”

Silence. Half a minute passed. “N-Now Zara, I—”

“Relax, I’m not asking for money.”

“Then what—”

“You can pay me the rest of what you owe me in weapons.”

Another pause, then his voice came out a growl. “When?” He knew better than to argue with me. Having an implicit threat of violence in my voice tended to keep the conversation in my favour.

“Today.”

“I can’t—”

“Today. I’m sending someone over to pick them up.” I gave him my order and, without waiting for his agreement, hung up. After scribbling down the address, I handed it to Nate.

“Go there around six, when the place closes,” I said. “Head around back. If Franco gives you any trouble, tell him the police will be receiving a package at midnight.”

“What did he do?” He glanced over the address, then tucked it in his pocket.

“Hired me to kill his business partner several months ago. Plus he’s becoming a pretty big weapons dealer in the supernatural world, but doesn’t want his family to know.”

He fought a smile at his lips, and raised a brow in question. “So you’re into blackmail too?”

“A girl’s gotta do what she can to make a living in this city.”

****

Nate had a contact he hadn’t been able to get a hold of, so we resolved to stop there first, and then meet up with Heaven later that night.

If it was weird for him to suddenly be working with the vampire who his wife had hired to murder him, he gave no indication of it. As for me, I couldn’t care less about the arrangement. He was simply another mortal—though a nice to look at one—and so long as he could be useful in the current situation, then I would ally myself with him. The same went for Heaven Thiering, whom normally I didn’t care for. I supposed that since her husband and daughter had both just been murdered, she would also be ready to do what she could to help.

As I stepped out of the shower that evening, the thought of why the half-demons had been trying to capture me bounced around in my mind. It was especially odd since they were the only ones I’d encountered the night before—the men at the Thierings’ residence seemed to be human.

People I fought with tried to kill me, almost without exception. Never had anyone tried to abduct me. There seemed little cause, as I wasn’t particularly powerful by the standards of the supernatural world. There was nothing about me personally that would give someone reason to take me alive. I had given plenty of people cause to want me dead but why had they simply tried to render me unconscious?

I tied the kimono sash around my waist, opened the bathroom door, and started for my bedroom. The rest of the apartment was swathed in black. A moonless, starless night had fallen, and since the lights were all off, I deduced Nate was still getting the weapons.

As I reached my room, a cool chill swept over me, icing my damp hair and drying the moisture from my bare skin. The bedroom window was wide open; the curtains were parted and swayed in the breeze.

That definitely wasn’t how I’d left it.

I looked to my bed. There was something—a square lump of some sort—lying atop the covers. I crept toward it, my gaze sweeping across the room as I went—

A hand came around from behind me and pressed against my mouth, yanking me back against my assailant before I could react.

Chapter Fifteen

Another Ally

I rammed my elbow into my attacker’s ribs and swung around to grab him by the throat. I shoved him into the wall behind us and firmly held him in place as I flipped on the light switch.

“Hello, darling,” Jamie said with a grin. He glanced down at my hand when I made no move to release him. Perhaps he thought that once I saw it was him, I would let him go.

He didn’t know me very well.

“Uh, do you mind putting me down?”

“Do you mind explaining what you’re doing in my apartment?”

“I could try, but I think you’re crushing my larynx.”

“And yet I don’t seem to care.”

He rolled his eyes. “You can’t still be sore about last night.”

“You shot me,” I reminded him.

“And you more than made up for it by putting four bullets in my back.”

“You ruined my dress,” I continued.

“But I brought you a present.” He gestured to the bed.

I glanced behind me to see a flat white box with a huge red bow on the top. Well...it was a known fact I could be bought quite easily. I let him go. “It had better be a good one.”

Jamie rubbed at his neck for a moment and watched me suspiciously. “Me too—I’m afraid to know what you’ll do to me if it’s not.”

“That’s a healthy fear to have,” I muttered as I went to the box. I slid the ribbon off the package and lifted the lid. Thin layers of tissue paper covered what I assumed was a dress; paper cracked and crinkled as I pushed it back. Within was a crimson gown remarkably similar to the one I had worn the night before. Correction—not similar...exact.

“Aw, you robbed a clothing store for me,” I said in a mock-sweet voice. “How nice of you.” I held up the dress for inspection, then checked the label. At least it wasn’t a knockoff.

“If you’re going to be ungrateful, I’ll take it back.”

“It won’t do you any good—only one place in town carries that designer, and they only give store credit.” I dropped the gown back in the box and turned to face him. Squared my shoulders, put my hands on my hips—it was my “I’m serious” stance. “I’m still mad at you.”

His dark eyes widened. “But I replaced—”

“As I seem to recall, you were more than eager to leave me in favour of finding O’Connor last night. That hurt.”

“Well, you had already taken out my target—”

“No, before that.”

A look of understanding crossed his eyes, and he suddenly grinned. “I seem to recall you doing the same.”

“Which was quite reasonable from my point of view, but certainly not from yours.”

That lopsided grin got bigger. “Is that so?”

“Yes, it is. I’m so much prettier than you. I mean, look at me.”

“I am,” he replied, leaning in and kissing me.

Perspective, Zara, I reminded myself. There was a time and place for such things...

Jamie ran his fingers through my hair, tilting my head back and dragging his lips down my throat. A shiver ran down my spine. With one arm firmly around my waist, he eased me down to the bed, pushing aside the box and dress with his other hand. I arched back; the duvet went cold and wet beneath my damp hair.

If you ask me, the need for perspective is overrated.

Outside my room, the elevator door creaked open just as Jamie slid one warm hand into the front of my kimono.

“Zara,” Nate called, his heavy footfalls thumping on the hardwood as he approached. He stuck his head in the doorway and I looked over at him.

He said nothing as his gaze went from me to Jamie, then back to me again.

“I see you’re someone’s type,” he finally said.

I rolled my eyes. “Please, I’m sure anything with two legs and breasts is his type.”

“Really, sweetheart,” Jamie said. “That was uncalled for—legs aren’t the prerequisite part.” He turned to Nate. “Hey kid, Mom and Dad are kind of busy right now.”

“When you’re finished, I believe we have some work to do,” Nate said pointedly, then returned to the living room.

Jamie chuckled. “You’re living with Junior?”

I sighed. “Temporary alliance.”

“Oh, the stories I could tell you about him,” he said. “But that would take too long, and I’ve got a few other things on my mind right now...”

“A few things?”

“Well...okay, just one.”

Ugh. Horny male vampires. “Nate’s right—I have things to do.”

“Nah, he can wait.” Jamie tipped his head down to kiss my shoulder. “I’m sure he can amuse himself for another hour or two.”

I was already getting bored, but an attempt at rising didn’t get me too far. “C’mon, there are more important things going on. Besides, I told you I’m still mad at you.”

“You don’t seem mad to me,” he said.

I abruptly kneed him hard between the legs and he cried out. I pushed him off me. He doubled over as he hit the floor, muttering to himself.

“And to think I was freaked out when I heard those Ratorth guys went after you.” He tried to stand. Failed.

Yeah, I’d kneed him hard. “I assume you have some other purpose in being here.” I rose from the bed and sashayed toward my closet. “I would be interested in hearing about it after I get dressed. For now, you can sit in the living room and keep ‘Junior’ company. And try not to eat him.”

****

I bound my hair up in a high ponytail and dressed in a pair of black low-rise jeans and charcoal-coloured tank top. Stealthy and stylish. I found Nate sitting on the couch and Jamie perched on the arm of a chair, testosterone snapping in the air like a rabid animal.

“Dearest, we were just talking about you,” Jamie said as I joined them. “I was trying to assure young Nathan here that when I started sleeping with you I didn’t realize you were his girlfriend, but he doesn’t seem to believe me.”

“No, I just don’t care.” Nate sent an annoyed glance my way.

“Jamie,” I said, equally as irritated. “First of all, don’t call me ‘dearest.’ Second, you aren’t, in fact, sleeping with me, and you won’t ever be unless you start shutting up. Third, I’m not his girlfriend—he’s married. Or at least he was until she was killed last night.”

“Your wife died?” Jamie said, looking over at Nate. “Is that why you’re in such a bad mood?”

“Your inability to shut up is actually contributing more to that,” Nate replied sharply.

Jamie shrugged. “Widowhood...I don’t see the big deal—all my wives are dead, and you don’t see me brooding about it.”

Had to agree with him there. “My sentiments exactly. However, that has little to do with why you’re here, so start explaining.”

Jamie’s formerly charming lopsided grin was starting to really annoy me, and now it was plastered across his face. “You both just told me to shut up. I guess I shouldn’t—”

“Tell me what you’re doing here, or I’ll throw you out another window.” Nothing that could be misconstrued as a joke entered my voice.

He gave us a petulant sigh. “Fine. Last night I was taken to a hospital because of my injuries,” he sent an unconvincing glare my way, “where they removed my bullets and the stake. After feeding on an adorable young nurse, I decided to return to my employers, and you’ll never guess what I found.”

“They were all dead,” I said, already bored with his story.

“You’re quick. Yes, they were dead, and their house burned to the ground, which is something I’ve been hearing about a lot lately. I thought the lovely Miss Lain might know what’s going on.”

“Well, I don’t,” I said. “Not yet.”

“Perhaps you will when I’m finished, then,” he said. “I was on my way home around three or four in the morning when a group of masked men and rather strong people attacked me. One of them had a stun gun.”

Nate and I exchanged glances. Why was someone murdering witches and trying to capture vampires?

“Anyway, I was actually concerned for you, Zara,” Jamie said, suddenly all serious. He ran a hand through his short blond hair and shook his head, brows furrowed in frustration. “In over a hundred years I’ve never heard of anything like this. Sure, there’s warring among the races, but never have multiple groups been hit en masse like this.”

“Do you have some contacts you can hit up for information?” I asked.

He thought for a moment, then nodded. “No one seems to be talking, but there are still a few places I can go.”

“Good—do that tonight and we’ll meet up tomorrow.”

Jamie agreed, stood, and started for the elevator.

“And don’t be coming through my window anymore,” I reminded him.

“Will you be okay?” he asked just as he stepped into the elevator. He gestured at Nate. “The kid there hardly looks up to the job of protector.”

Nate muttered a few words and a split second later the cage door flew shut—nearly catching Jamie’s foot—and the elevator rumbled as it descended.

“Considering I kicked your ass, I think it’s your own protection you should be worried about,” I called as Jamie disappeared. Shit. Vampire hearing or not, he probably didn’t hear me. I hated not getting my snarky remarks in.

“I don’t like him,” Nate said.

Surprise of the fucking century. “I don’t think he likes you either.” I popped open one of the boxes Nate had brought in with him, plucked the shoulder harness and belt off the top, and started loading up. A couple of guns  on either side—Desert Eagles were on my list, since I could handle them and I knew Nate was a fan—and I strapped another to my boot. I had an array of knives, too, which I stowed in various spots on my person. Magazines into various pockets. It weighed me down a bit, but I was pretty much good to go.

“Is all this necessary?” Nate asked as he followed suit.

I slipped on my black, knee-length coat. “I’m not going anywhere unprepared again”

He looked me up and down. Still not checking me out except to survey my weapons, probably. The bastard. “Nice jacket.”

“You won’t believe where I got it...”

Chapter Sixteen

The Missing Demonologist

Nate explained a bit about his contact on the way out of the city. Peter Fields had been a friend since boarding school days—I nearly rolled my eyes at talk of fucking “boarding school” and these damn rich kids—and the friendship continued during years of university overseas and afterwards. He specialized in demonology, and was viewed and respected as an expert in that particular area of paranormal studies. Though he wasn’t a warlock, various covens employed him for many reasons, including as tutor and researcher. Nate thought there was a chance Peter could determine who had been at Mishka’s apartment the night before, and from there we might be able to learn who sent them.

Fields lived in a hamlet about a dozen miles outside the city. He ran a small, regular bookshop as a front for his extensive demonological library, and lived in the apartment above it. The store sat on a corner lot, on its own; it had been an old house at some point before being turned into a shop. Unused fields sprawled into the night behind it. As I pulled my red Mini Cooper up to the front, I scanned the windows for lights, but found none.

I cut the engine and turned to Nate. “You said you tried calling?”

“Yes...” His voice trailed off as he turned in the seat to survey the road behind us. “You know, I could have sworn I saw a car tailing us.”

I’d seen the vehicle as well. A sports car—make and model I couldn’t determine—had shadowed us since we left the downtown core, but disappeared a few blocks ago.

“It might have been nothing,” I suggested as we got out. I didn’t mean it, but I was less concerned since both Nate and I were well-armed with some serious firepower this time around.

A “Sorry, We’re Closed” sign hung in the window. The front door was locked so I brought out my picks and in moments we were inside.

Nate flipped on a flashlight and led the way through the dark store, past a curtained doorway, and into the demonology area. Shelves of books lined the walls, and rows of even more shelves separated the room into smaller sections. Hardwood floors, polished and sturdy, creaked under foot. There’d be no sneaking up on this Fields guy—if he was home, he would’ve called the cops to report a burglary the moment anyone stepped inside.

I stepped to one bookshelf and perused the spines. “I had no idea people actually wrote so many books about demons.”

Nate grinned and for some reason the action irritated me, like he knew something I didn’t. “The demonology publishing industry is quite lucrative. Peter’s mother’s company is one of the top publishers of educational texts—they do limited print runs and collectors pay a lot for the books.”

Well, now I’d heard of everything. But then covens were wealthy and they were probably the type to drop serious bucks on Encyclopedia Demonica. Demon Hunters, too, might get a kick out of that sort of thing, and that thought gave my gut a twist. “So if he’s gone, what’s the point in us being here?”

“I can’t see him simply leaving.” Nate paused at the desk in the corner and flipped through the calendar. “He prides himself on his collection of books, and if they’re all still here, then he plans to come back soon.”

In the back corner of the room, a closed door waited. The stupid floor creaked some more as I stepped forward. A heavy deadbolt was over the doorknob—storeroom? Or something else? I got my picks in hand, went to work on the lock, and in moments the door swung open; behind it was a set of steep circular steps leading up.

“That would be Peter’s place,” Nate said.

Looked like a back stairwell—we’d probably passed another near the front of the old house. I glanced Nate’s way, a little smile curving my lips. “Let’s go see if he left us a clue then.”

The upper rooms consisted of a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and living area, all connected by a long hallway down the middle. Old house like this, all the rooms probably used to be bedrooms. We hit the...I guess it would be a den-slash-study first. Nate cast the flashlight over the space, revealing even more stacks of books scattered everywhere. I could see why we needed Peter for information: if we were to go through the books ourselves, there’s no telling how long it might take. What the fuck is wrong with bookworms—they never heard of a computer database or something? Christ.

“So if you went to school with this guy, don’t you know something about demons that could help?” I stared at the stacks of books, hope sinking fast and hard like a lead ball in my gut. I was not the bookish type and didn’t look forward to spending the night reading. “Surely you must have some idea as to what section of books we should look into, at the very least.”

Nate passed me, arm brushing my shoulder as he went. “Peter specialized in demons that inhabit the mortal realm. I didn’t.”

Interesting. “And what did you specialize in?”

He didn’t meet my eyes, instead crouching to cast the flashlight over the spines of a stack of books on the floor. “Not going to class. I told you I opted for a less traditional form of education, and that involved leaving in my third year of university. Peter did his full eight years of courses, but condensed them into five.”

That’s right—turn the conversation from you, Captain Obvious-Deflection. “Huh. Smarty-pants, I take it?”

Nate stood smoothly again and continued on. “Two points below genius. And those points probably still keep him up at night.” He stopped at the computer and ran the flashlight under the desk at the tower. “Now why would he leave this on?”

I walked over to take a look. Hitting the mouse caused light and colour to flood the screen. Nate pulled a chair up to the computer and started bringing up files.

The phone rang. I met Nate’s eyes as it continued to ring; he gave a slight nod. I was closer, so I lifted the receiver to my ear and listened.

Silence.

Another glance at Nate; he gave me a questioning look and I shrugged, then let out a heavy sigh.

“I’m kinda busy burglarizing someone’s house right now and don’t have all day,” I said. “Talk.”

Nate muttered something I couldn’t entirely make out, but it sounded like his rich boy education taught him a great number of expletives.

“Would you kindly put Nate on?” a man asked on the other line.

“Gladly.” I passed the phone over.

Nate listened for a moment, then leaned back in his chair and exhaled loudly. “It’s Peter.” He gestured to the web cam on the computer. “He’s watching us from another location.”

“Well, here’s hoping he hasn’t called the cops yet. Or his neighbors haven’t. Could you maybe hurry this up?”

They spoke for a few minutes and I wandered toward the back window, winding around stacks of books as I went. I parted the curtains, peered out into the dark—

Then stepped back swiftly, curtains fluttering into place again.

Two figures in black circled the house, guns drawn. Skulking the perimeter, wearing black ski masks... Shit.

“Our friends are here,” I quietly called to Nate. “Make it quick.”

“While I appreciate the need to speed things up,” Nate raised his voice loud enough that I knew he spoke to me and not Peter, “this isn’t The Zara Lain Show and you’re not calling all the shots.”

I rolled my eyes. “‘You’re not the boss of me?’ Really? What are you—five?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Says the bossy eight-year-old.”

Ugh, we so didn’t have time for this. I spun away from him again, my long ponytail of hair whipping my shoulder, and unholstered a gun. Either I’d shoot him or the people circling the house. Hadn’t decided yet.

“Yes, Lain,” he said in a lower voice. “You do? Interesting.”

“Tea and hugs later, girls—like maybe when we’re not about to be attacked.”

An irritated sigh. “Top shelf, green binding, and in the corner—got it. I have a disposable cell; I’ll call in a few days.” The chair creaked as Nate rose and returned the phone to its cradle, then he joined me at the window.

“He recommended a book for us?” I peered between the space in the curtains, acutely aware of Nate right there, warm, breathing, and smelling of faintly of wintery soap and a spicy aftershave over my shoulder.

“Mmm-hmm.”

I glanced back and up; he looked out the window instead of at me. “‘Mmm-hmm?’ Well, what’s it say? Does it have our demons in it?”

“It’s a book on vampires. Killing them with magic, specifically.”

I opened my mouth to snark about how we weren’t dealing with vampires, then caught his drift. Oh, I see what you did there. The prick. “Aww, you wouldn’t kill me, Nate.”

“It’s crossed my mind, if only for the blessed silence it would bring.”

“Nope.” I batted my eyelashes dramatically. “I’m just too pretty.”

His gaze shifted to look down at me, blue moonlight etching the strong lines of his face. Tension simmered in the air and a little chill walked my spine. One of his dark brown brows rose skeptically.

“Constantly disagreeing with me on this point would probably hurt my feelings if I had any.”

A slight shake of his head and he glanced back at our guests outside. “I take it we were being followed?”

I sighed and returned to business as well. “So it would seem.”

One of our guests disappeared from view, toward the front of the house; the second started trying the back lower windows. Shapes moved across the field in the distance—yet another approaching Peter’s house/shop.

I scanned the desk, spotted a heavy metal letter opener with a sharp point. That would do. My gun went back to the holster at my waist and I snatched up the letter opener instead. “I’m about to get bossy again.”

“I’ll grab the book on vampire killing then.”

“Position yourself so you can see the staircase we came up—I left the door open and I bet they’ll go there first. Shoot anything that comes through there...unless it’s me, obviously.” I unlatched the window and eased it open.

“And what are you going to do?”

“Take them out one by one,” I whispered. “Stylishly, of course.” I got a good grasp on the letter opener, aimed it at the third man in the field, and whipped the weapon straight at him.

It sailed through the air and pierced his forehead, plunging directly into his brain. He fell to the ground without making a sound.

I slipped off my jacket and handed it to Nate.

“Stealthy kills,” I responded to his unasked question. “Coat will get in the way.”

I pulled out the combat knife tucked in my belt—a beauty with a double sided blade—noiselessly hopped onto the windowsill, and crouched down to fit in the frame.

Shit, Nate was still standing there—I gave a quick, irritated gesture toward the door. He nodded, but sent one lingering glance in my direction. Probably just to drive home the you’re not the boss of me thing. Men are such babies.

My target wandered along the rear of the house. Closer and closer. He stopped at the window directly below the one where I crouched. As he leaned forward to peer through the glass, I dropped off the ledge.

I landed on his shoulders. A flash of movement under me—body tensing, hands rising to reach for me—and I put one hand over his mouth, then slammed my knife into his throat. Hot blood spurted past my fingers. I gave the blade a swift twist, opening the wound further and ensuring his death, then I wrenched the knife out and flipped off of him. He collapsed into a heap.

I cleaned the blood from the blade on the fallen man’s shirt—and wiped my fingers off too—tucked the knife back in the sheath at my belt, then looked around. No sign of others, so that meant there was probably just the guy at the front.

The one at my feet went down quickly, too. I eyed the body but nope, this weeble definitely wobbled and fell down. And wasn’t getting up again. So, humans. And given the black ops clothing deal they had going on, I’d take a shot in the dark and guess they weren’t carrying ID.

Right, so the other guy had to be on the other side of the house. Maybe we could catch and interrogate him. Rather than go around the building, I took a run and leapt onto the roof. The tiles were rough and chipped beneath my feet; the soles of my boots scraped, so I slowed to a crawl. Just as I was inching along the slope, a rumbling in the distance signaled approaching vehicles on the road. Two police cars sped down the sleepy street and pulled up in front of the shop. Great, so someone probably saw us break in. Stupid, nosy locals...

I hated when mortals got involved in supernatural situations. They almost always got themselves killed. Dead mortals didn’t really keep me up at night, but more importantly, most of us on the supernatural side tried to keep a low profile. Let’s face it: TV shows about humans learning the monsters of myth are real never end well for the monsters. Cops showing up while I was trying to kill some people would certainly risk exposure. Then Hunters would inevitably hear about it, and on top of everything else going on, I’d have them to deal with. Fuckity-fuck.

As the police were exiting their vehicles, gunfire sounded in the building below me. The cops ducked behind their cars, drew their guns, and started firing blindly into the second floor.

A shootout. Just what I need—fucking Wild West going down in a demonology bookstore.

I pivoted on one foot and raced back to the rear of the house, heart hammering, no longer caring how much damn noise I made. My fingers locked on the edge of the roof and I jumped, twisted midair, and swung into the open window I’d left from.

Bullets tore through the space, ripping through walls; bits of plaster flew, a fine dust spitting from holes and clogging the air. I rolled across the floor, glanced up, and scanned the room. Near the door the final man lay dead, bloodied from the numerous holes in his torso.

A loud, but slowing heartbeat caught my attention. I gave the room another once over. Where was Nate?

Movement just beyond a stack of books—feet.

Ah, shit. I dashed forward, still half crouched, crept around the books splattered with blood, and knelt at his side.

A low hiss left my lips. “Nate!”

He didn’t respond. Then my gaze travelled over him, down, and stopped where his hands gripped his stomach, blood seeping over his fingers.

Chapter Seventeen

Revelation of Power

Fuck.

“Nate?”

He didn’t acknowledge my voice but his heart continued beat softly and shallow breaths left his lips.

I reached forward to check the wound. As my fingers touched his, his eyes shot open and a sharp gasp left him.

“This fucking hurts,” he muttered.

“Aww, thought you got in lots of gunfights, rich boy?” If he got pissed off at me, he might stay conscious longer, which would be good. And I could do annoying really well.

“Never been this bad.”

“Gunshot wounds to the stomach tend to hurt like a motherfucker. Toughen up, little prince—remember I got shot a few times last night and you didn’t see me whine.”

“You’re a vampire.”

“Yep. Still hurts when I get shot.” He let me bat his hands out of the way and I slid his shirt up so I could see the bloody hole in his gut. Lighting was shit even with my vampy vision, so I popped out a penlight from my pocket and ran it over the wound. My gaze skimmed a handful of old silvery scars cut over his muscled torso, then I drew my focus back to the current injury. His back arched as I felt under him—nope, bullet didn’t go through. It was lodged in there somewhere. Shit. “On the bright side, you’ll probably take longer to die.”

“That’s your idea of good news?”

“Well, it means we’ve got time to get the bullet out.” The penlight clipped on the low neckline of my tank top, then I pulled out a small pocket knife. “And time to figure out how we’re getting you out of here. Now, I don’t have tweezers. I can heal you pretty quickly once the bullet is out, but I don’t want to close the wound with anything still in it or it’ll mean surgery to get it removed.”

“Do it.”

“Just hold on...and try not to think about the sharp object I’m about to drive into your stomach.”

“Great,” he mumbled and closed his eyes.

His lips pressed tight, suppressing a cry as I slid the knife in the wound. I was likely cutting something important, and as long as I got it and healed him before he bled out, he’d probably forgive me. I took my time, prying the bullet from its lodgings and forcing it toward the surface. When it was up a ways, I set the knife in my lap and reached right in with my fingers.

Sirens signaled more police arriving outside. I muttered a curse and continued my work.

The downstairs door crashed open and officers shouted as they stomped through the lower level; panic was a sudden seizing of my heart and chill along my back.

Oh hell. Hell. In moments, they’d be upstairs and they’d shoot me on sight. I could deal with the hospital no problem, but should any of my stalkers be around, it wouldn’t be hard to then catch and incapacitate me in such a weakened state. And they’d do a lot worse than human authorities.

I had to get out. Had to. Self-preservation was taking over and I’d lived for so many centuries ’cause I listened when everything in me told me to fucking run. I could just slip out the window and be gone without them even knowing...

Nate. He was shot and, yeah, a little worse off ’cause I’d probably cut something important. But he’d live. Probably. Why shouldn’t I just leave him? He was only a mortal; just some lowly warlock, and the reason I was in this mess in the first place.

Besides, the humans would take him to a hospital. Even criminals got medical attention and maybe I could break him out later?

The bullet slipped from my slippery fingers and I swore up a storm. I almost had it, I just needed more time.

Footsteps neared the stairway.

Just leave, Zara!

“Nate!”

He opened his cold blue eyes to look at me.

“Nate, they’re coming—”

Fingers locked on mine, deceptively strong for a possibly dying man, and his eyes closed once more. His lips moved soundlessly; if he was actually saying something, I couldn’t make it out even with my sharp hearing. Magic? What the hell could he do—the barrier spell? I glanced at the open door to the hallway; he was moments from slipping into unconsciousness, so how could he think to hold people at bay?

The cops stomped up the stairs.

Fuck fuck fuck. I couldn’t pry my fingers from his—not without breaking the guy’s hand, that is—so I twisted, grabbed my jacket from where he’d dropped it on the floor.

“Nate, you gotta let me g—”

Reflected moonlight flashed on the badge of the police officer who stepped in the room, gun trained on me. “Don’t move!”

Nate opened his eyes and uttered one final word.

The cop froze in mid-step.

Literally.

Downstairs there was nothing but silence. No footfalls on the stairs. No sirens outside. Worry twisted my gut and I glanced down at Nate again. “What the hell did you do?”

He released my hand at last and I wiggled my fingers to get the feeling back. “That should give you some time. I would suggest hurrying, nonetheless.”

Fuck. Hurry—right. I didn’t ask questions. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know why even the hands of the clock on the wall weren’t moving, or why the air around us had taken on a swirly, foggy haze. Hell, I couldn’t be certain if I’d believe any explanation he might offer. I just bit my tongue and finished dislodging the bullet.

When I was done, I tossed the bullet to the floor. The bleeding around the wound had been heavy, and Nate’s heartbeat slowed further. The knife was slick with his blood; I wiped it off on his pant leg—his blood, so why not, right?—and then sliced my palm open, wincing with the painful pinch of a blade scoring flesh. At least it would heal quickly. I pressed my palm to his wound and let my blood seep into his bloodstream.

“Am I better yet?” His voice was pitched low, pained, but still strong.

“As good as new and completely able to jump out a second story window.”

He groaned and rolled his eyes. “Ah, fuck. What the hell—get a good grip on anything you plan to take with you.”

“You know, I was actually kidding about you being able to go through the window—”

“Just do it.”

Oookay then... I slipped my jacket on and tucked my knife back in my pocket, then folded up the penlight and put it away too.

His arm snaked around my waist and he tugged me down against him; his chest moved steadily beneath my ear, heartbeat thrumming. “Close your eyes and hold on,” he said, voice muffled slightly. “And the sense of nausea will pass.”

“What do you—”

A weird sense of displacement overtook me—a heavy, ugly pressure that drove my eyes shut and gripped my head in a vise. The world swirled around me, like I spun in a field with my arms outstretched, around and around and around, about to fall and knowing it would hurt like hell when I landed. Aching started in my bones and wove through me, twisting, then needles danced across my skin—thousands of them, all over, the continuous pain driving a deranged cry up to lodge in my throat.

Queasiness was a lead weight in my gut when all the other sensations ended. Bile rose, my throat working to keep from gagging. What the fuck?

Warm spring wind brushed my cheeks. I blinked once. Twice. Three times.

How the fuck did we get on the lawn outside?

I sat up and glanced around. Nate’s arm was still tight and warm around my waist; he shifted beside me but I ignored him. An officer stood frozen in the shop doorway and though the lights were still on atop the police cars, they didn’t blink. Fog swirled around, a murky gray charged with energy that snapped at my skin.

“Okay, what the hell happened?” I tried to pull myself up; strength rushed from my muscles and I slumped back on the grass again.

“Less talk, more escaping. We have to get to the car.”

The car. Right. Two feet away and it felt like miles. Fuck, my gut ached. I fought my way onto my knees, then helped him stand as well. At least he wasn’t still bleeding. We stumbled across the sidewalk to my car, the happy red Mini Cooper waiting under a streetlamp. Though Nate said the nausea would pass, I wasn’t sure I believed him.

We reached the car; I was about to deposit him at the passenger side and leave when I noticed something written in white on the side. I knelt, ran my thumb over the symbol—it was waxy, some weird sigil.

“The hell?”

“Forethought on my part, so I’d have a guidepost back to the car.”

I had no idea what the fuck he was going on about—I was stuck on the part where he vandalized my goddamn car. Standing straight again, I gestured at the sigil. “You did that? You put graffiti on my fucking vehicle?”

The sirens started screaming; lights flashed. The cop in the doorway glanced across the lawn and spotted us, started shouting. Nate and I slipped into the vehicle, and we barely had the doors shut when I turned the engine on and started speeding down the road.

Once we were a few miles from Peter’s place—and the sickness in my gut had subsided—I turned to Nate.

“Now would you mind explaining? What happened back there?”

“Just some magic.”

“Some magic? It was like you froze time or something.”

“I didn’t freeze anything—I simply removed us from this dimension’s linear timeline.”

Simply? Whatever. I shook my head. “And how did we end up outside?”

“Teleportation,” he said, as if it was the most logical, acceptable answer he could give.

Damn it, my head was aching again. “You said no one in your family was strong with magic, but I’ve never seen anyone who can teleport.”

“No, I said there were few people in the family left with enough power to hold onto the coven,” he corrected me. “I said nothing about me.”

“When my goddamn head is done spinning, I’m going to have more than a few questions for you.”

“Fair enough. But first you should drive to Heaven’s.” His gaze was hazy, eyelids struggling to remain open.

“You look like you’re going to pass out.”

A gasp, like he was still in pain, and a little shudder worked through him. “I might. How long ’til we get there?”

“Forty-five minutes? I’m taking the long way and a few detours in case we’re followed. And it’ll be a long way back—you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m touched you care,” he muttered.

“Well, gee, you could speed up the process and just teleport us there.” I snapped back.

“I haven’t marked Heaven’s location.”

“The sigil on the car.”

He nodded. “I marked your car, your building’s garage, and a few other spots. I need a beacon, of sorts, or I can’t reach the location.” He folded his hand over his gut which, although healing, likely hurt like a motherfucker. It wasn’t just the bullet wound, though—he was hurting. Bad. I knew magic could take a lot out of someone, but not cause serious pain like that. He leaned back against the headrest; his eyes fell closed and breathing evened out.

So “teleporting” wiped him out. I bit my tongue, but when he woke up later, I’d make it clear he was paying to get my upholstery cleaned.

Fuck it. Heaven could wait—no pun intended. I wanted to get home, get cleaned up, and interrogate the warlock ’til he told me what the fuck was going on. A weird, creepy-crawly feeling ran along my skin, worry I couldn’t shake that got worse every time I thought about his casual freezing of time—or whatever—and teleportation.

I wasn’t sure why I was so bothered by what had happened. Sure, I physically felt pretty icky after the experience, but that wasn’t it. Perhaps it was because we had almost been killed a couple of times in the past twenty-four hours, and yet he hadn’t once given any indication that he was capable of magic that I had never seen—not once—in three hundred years.

Pretty rich boy kept getting more and more interesting.

Chapter Eighteen

Played

Home sweet home.

I left Nate in the car while I got out and checked the parking garage. Sure enough, I found another sigil on a support beam in the same waxy white. He must’ve scraped it on with...a white grease pencil or something? Maybe? The hell if I knew. It came off with the scratch of my thumbnail; I smudged a line right through it. Huh. Well, he’d probably redraw it.

“This doesn’t look like Heaven’s,” a muffled voice came from the car.

I strolled back, leaned on the car by the passenger side with my elbow on the roof. “Nope. We’ll go tomorrow. She’ll flip if she hears we got attacked and possibly led people back to her anyway. Plus there was no way I’d carry you into her place.”

The door eased open and Nate climbed out. “Please tell me you got the book. I think I need it.”

I smacked him. Not hard, but I hit his still healing gunshot wound.

He gave a grunt and glared at me; I took the lead and headed toward the elevator. At least he was probably too tapped out to throw a...

“Hey.” I spun to face him, walking backward with a skip to my step. “So the fireball thing—can witches really do that? I asked Mish once and she wouldn’t tell me.”

“I prefer lightning.”

My feet stopped so quickly I nearly tripped over them. “Seriously?”

He brushed past me. “No.”

Figures.

I hauled up the elevator door. “That’s the trouble with you guys.”

He followed me into the elevator and moments later we were rumbling up to my floor. “What is?”

“No sense of drama. At least I wear a cool coat and jump from buildings. Have scary fangs that pop out. Paint myself in the blood of my victims. People would actually go to see a movie based on me ’cause it’d be flashy and awesome. I impress people.”

Lips parted, brows pulled together in confusion, he turned to look at me like I’d sprouted another head. “I removed us from this dimension’s timeline and teleported us outside. How is that not impressive?”

“Right—and no one saw it. I didn’t even see it and I was fucking there. So who does a witch impress? More witches. The lot of you are too subtle. No wonder covens are so inbred—no one else wants anything to do with you.”

The elevator shuddered to a halt. Muscles screamed a little as I thrust up the heavy industrial door—I’d pulled something at some point that night. Or maybe I was still sore from the teleporting. If that was the case, though, I sure as hell wouldn’t tell him.

“Have you gone suicidal? Are you looking to be staked now, or attempting to irritate me to death?”

“Keeping you annoyed enough so that you don’t pass out before you get in the shower. I’d love to undress you, though would prefer you be awake at the time. I can play naughty nurse with the best of them, but caregiver to the helpless is so not my style.”

Nate stepped into my bathroom, flipped on the light, and threw over his shoulder, “Mission accomplished.”

The door closed behind him.

****

I stripped out of my bloody clothes and slipped into long black yoga pants and a red tank top. After tugging my ponytail out, I discovered the ends of my hair crusty with, you guessed it, more blood; with Nate in the bathroom, I had to rinse it in my kitchen sink.

Fucking roommates. It’d been years since I had Mishka camping out at my old shitty apartment. I’d purposely picked out a one bedroom, one bathroom studio apartment with the express intent to never, ever share it with anyone. And now I was stuck with Pretty Rich Boy who used my shower and didn’t even have the decency to occupy me in bed.

I could use something to eat, so I called a pizza delivery place still open. Wasn’t sure what Nate would eat—or if he’d eat—so I ordered him a few random pizzas. Plus I requested my favourite delivery guy. He thought I was some Goth pretend vampire and let me snack now and then for extra tips. My last job had me nearly incapacitated for several days and I found it incredibly handy to have someone completely unconnected with the supernatural world that I could call and take a bite of without him calling the cops. Granted, I preferred firemen, but would take a cute, twenty-something delivery guy in a pinch.

The shower was still running, so I cycled through the numbers on my phone. What I needed was a secretary—I’d called most of the immediate contacts I could think of, but I knew some were missing. People I’d normally have gone to Mish to track down for me.

I hit one number on the list that I vaguely recognized and paused to stare at the single initial T for a moment. T? I knew a lot of Ts...

The proverbial light bulb went off over my head and I hit dial.

“Zara Lain,” said the cocky voice on the other end.

God, he drove me nuts. “Toby. Where are you?”

“Montreal.”

“Tsk tsk, a little birdie told me you weren’t allowed in that territory anymore.”

A pause and then his voice rumbled with a slight growl. “Outside of Montreal.”

“Stalking your prey?”

“Something like that.”

I’d met a lot of great werewolves in my life. Good men with a unshakeable sense of wolfishness: loyal, strong, and kind. Toby wasn’t one of them: he was a typical man who sometimes got extra hairy. “So you hear about the attacks on the major covens?”

“Yeah. What’s up with that?”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re useless, aren’t you?”

“Does it have anything to do with vampires going missing?”

I sat up straighter. In the bathroom behind me, the water shut off but I was only vaguely aware of it. “Where’d you hear about it?”

“Where haven’t I? There’ve been rumblings for months now.”

Rumblings about vampires going missing for months and no one told me? Of course, Mish was the one who would normally share that kind of tidbit with me. And now I realized I’d put trust in the wrong person for far too long.

“Got hired by Annalise Jean’s makers who asked me to track her down,” Toby continued. “She hasn’t checked in for months. That’s why I’m visiting Quebec again.”

“Must be big pay for you to risk—”

He hung up. I sighed, turned my phone off, and cast it on the coffee table.

Annalise Jean was a ninety-year-old vamp I’d met a few times. Nice girl. Big on family—had a lot of close ties to various vampires in her bloodline. Missing for months was not like her. Plenty of us took downtime and disappeared for decades; Annalise, what little I knew of her, wasn’t the type to do that.

And Toby hated Montreal. A short while back he got his ass handed to him by a local werewolf or something and he didn’t dare venture in her territory anymore. If he was being hired to track Annalise, the job was paying extremely well.

“Good news?” Nate padded past the couch and toward the kitchen; he’d shed, well, all his clothes and had a single white towel wrapped around his waist.

Tease. “Meh. Vampires have been going missing for months, apparently. Mishka supposedly kept her ear to the ground for me and never mentioned it. That seem odd to you?”

“My wife tried to kill me—my meter for ‘odd’ is a little off kilter these days.”

“Touché. So if we get you shot every day, do you promise to walk around my house half-naked?”

He stopped at the counter and retrieved the first aid kit sitting there, waved the aluminum box at me. “Needed this.”

But my gaze was traveling his smooth body—the corded muscle moving under flesh, broad shoulders, compact abs, a smattering of dark brown hair across his chest and marching in a line like an arrow pointing down into the towel...

“My eyes are up here.”

“Yes and they’re likely giving me a rather disapproving look at the moment. I’ll stick with your abs.”

He popped open the box, retrieved some gauze, and affixed it over the healing hole in his gut. “Doesn’t the horny vampire shtick ever get old?”

“Horny’s such an ugly word. I prefer...” I lifted my eyes to meet his at last and tilted my head to the side. “Hungry.”

Nate rolled his eyes and shook his head; lips parted to say something probably snarky back at me when the elevator rumbled.

Mmm, dinner. “Pizza’s here.” I started to rise but he crossed the floor to the elevator just as the door lifted.

My cute delivery boy waited, face sinking into a disappointed expression when he realized it was a half-naked man in front of him.

Nate glanced over his shoulder at me. “Cash?”

“Already paid by credit.”

He took the pizzas and dropped the elevator door again before I could protest.

“But that was Sammy!” I looked longingly at the elevator as it began its descent.

“Sammy?” He deposited the pizzas on the coffee table and slumped down next to me. Still in the freakin’ towel. I swore he did it just to irritate me.

“Yes, Sammy. My dinner.”

Warmth and tasty pizza smells wafted up as he popped open the lid of the top box. It was the cheese one. “You were really going to stand there and eat the kid?”

“Just a bite.” I snatched a slice of pizza as well. Human food and drink wasn’t something I tended to crave, but I could eat it. My body broke it down in no time, synthesizing nutrients and burning calories. The taste, though? Absolutely wonderful. Hell, I’d sit and chew on the same piece of cheese for minutes just relishing the taste. I didn’t remember food tasting like that when I was human, but then we ate a lot of dull crap in Romania three hundred years ago.

Nate’s hair was combed back straight, away from his face and resting smooth and damp against the back of his neck. The overhead light caught a shimmery scar behind his ear, widening and then disappearing into his hairline.

“How’d you get that?”

He glanced at me and must’ve guessed what I looked at. “Fell. When I was a kid.”

“Twenty years later and you still have a scar to show for it? Must’ve been one hell of a fall.”

“It was down some stairs. You saw the family home prior to the explosion—long way to the bottom.”

Uh huh. I’d heard that one before. A little theory was forming in my head, threads from all sorts of directions weaving to give me a picture. Time to test it.

One medical centre in the area catered to wealthy families—no way would the O’Connors hit the regular emergency room. Lockwood Clinic, Family Practitioners. I knew a chick, Stacy, who worked there; she got me info on a target I had to kill last winter. Poor man had heart trouble and the person who paid for the hit wanted it to look natural.

It was late, but I dialled Stacy’s home phone number. She had a sick kid and was always in need of money; I paid her handsomely so she wouldn’t be upset about the call.

“Hello?” She was awake but weary on the other line. Probably up with the kid.

“Hey Stace. It’s Zara. I need a favour and I’ll pay you five grand.”

“I’ll go in early and get you whatever you need first thing in the morning. What are the specifics?”

I liked a team player. “Medical records. Ones from a lot of years ago, so they may not be in the computer system.” On the other side of the couch, Nate watched in silence; his gaze was heavy and pressing on me. I could’ve used a bit more finesse to finagle what I wanted to know, but I did better with being direct. “Patient’s name is Nathan Gregory O’Connor, son of—”

Nate shifted, hand darting out to reach for the phone. I scrambled back, vaulted over the arm of the couch, and danced backward as he rose and came at me.

“Sean Charles O’Connor the Fourth. I’m wondering about broken bones”—I dodged his hand reaching for my phone again—“and serious childhood injuries”—my steps were quick as I darted backward again—“you can call me in the morning—”

My back hit the rough plane of a brick wall. Fuck. Nate loomed over me, eyes blazing, lips twitching. Ready to snap. With his hair all combed back, the sharp, angry lines of his face stood out starkly.

It was sexy as hell. I’m warped, I know.

“Hang up,” he warned in a low voice.

Less than an inch separated us. His body heat seared me, brought fresh gooseflesh to my bare arms. I should probably have been grateful he hadn’t yet frozen time, popped out a stake, and impaled my heart, but then the towel wasn’t leaving much to the imagination and I guessed he wasn’t keeping any vampire killing paraphernalia in there.

I kept the phone exactly where it was. And grinned up at Nate. “May not need it after all, Stacy. I’ll still send you five grand, though.” When I’d hung up, I cocked a brow at him. “So?”

His chest rose and fell with angry breaths. Nate said nothing.

“Wanna know my theory?” I pitched my voice low, smile falling. “I think you got smacked around as a kid by Daddy Dearest. And I think you told your sweet wife about it and she knew all you needed was a little shove and you’d agree to have him killed. He beat you, probably your mom or maybe your older brother too. And you hated him. Didn’t matter how poor a job Mish did framing him for an attempted hit on her—you were more than willing to believe it.”

Still he said nothing, but for an instant, a boy looked back at me through a man’s eyes; a boy who was powerless and damaged. And it squeezed at my heart.

“She played you,” I said softly. “She played both of us.”

The air seemed to thicken, and if I was human, I’d probably find it hard to breathe. His muscles tensed and a shuddering breath left his lips. Oh, those lips. I tilted my head up, waiting. He was warm and he was angry and I had just the cure for the both of us.

A whoosh of cool air touched me as he backed off suddenly. Nate grabbed the bag of clothes from beside the couch and shut himself in the bathroom.

Great. Now I was hungry, bored, and once again kicked out of the only shower in the apartment.

Well played, Zara.

Chapter Nineteen

Paternity

The next night we headed out twenty minutes after dusk for the place where Heaven Thiering had been staying. Nate showed no further after effects from the magic use and I hadn’t killed him yet for irritating me, though I’d seriously been considering it.

Never, ever would I have another roommate again. Ever.

Heaven’s safe house was actually a hotel, three towns over. Or, rather, it was under the hotel. The place was owned by “one of Heaven’s people”—whether that meant employees or family members, I didn’t know—and they had been expecting us for two days, so we weren’t only escorted downstairs immediately, but were glared at pretty much the whole damn time.

The apartment under the hotel had steel-enforced walls and a big main door even I couldn’t kick down. Heaven sat inside on a couch that looked as if it’d been lifted from one of the hotel rooms upstairs. Gone was her typical designer suit and in its place was a pair of jeans and an oversized sweater that hung on her tiny frame, giving her a ragged appearance. She looked as though she hadn’t slept in days and the ashtray in front of her that held a mountain of cigarette butts suggested that estimation was near accurate. Still, a regal air clung to her that nothing could touch—not her blackened lungs or her tragic ensemble.

She looked up as we strolled into the room. “What happened?”

“Got in another gunfight yesterday. Nate nearly got killed. Didn’t think you’d want me to lead anyone here, so we waited ’til tonight.” I took the chair across from her while Nate said nothing and sat in the middle of the loveseat to the side. The air was dense, still smoky, and might have bothered me if I was human and had to breathe to live.

“Have you learned anything about who killed Mishka yet?” Heaven asked.

“No luck. Confused as ever. How are you doing?”

She shook her head, lit another cigarette, and inhaled the smoke deeply. “I’m losing my mind,” she said, breathing out the smoke as she spoke. “I can’t stand being in here all day, but everyone I know who isn’t dead is in hiding. Those I’ve been able to get a hold of don’t seem to know anything about all this. It just doesn’t add up.”

“And also on the list of things that don’t make sense, someone—probably the same someone attacking the covens—is trying to abduct vampires.”

“You weren’t the only one then?” Heaven asked.

“No, apparently I’m not that special after all. A friend”—I shuddered inwardly, as I used that term quite loosely with Jamie—“showed up last night and said someone tried to grab him the same night they went after me. Then I spoke to someone else who heard reliable rumblings that vamps have been missing for months.”

“Zara, I know we aren’t friends by any stretch of the word, but...” She took another long drag from her cigarette and paused to look for the right way to saying something she obviously didn’t want to. “But you saved my life the other night—”

“Yes, I did,” I interrupted before she got all dramatic. “And let me be abundantly clear as to why. I’m not here because I want to help the covens. I’m not here to avenge Mishka. I couldn’t care less about all your petty problems. But someone is after vampires, which, obviously, means me. And, while saving myself, if I should happen to assist the remaining members of any surviving covens, I fully expect some monetary show of gratitude.”

Heaven nodded, her expression showing understanding and even respect for my directness. “And you will be compensated by all of us—I guarantee it. But I want whoever did this to Mishka to pay...severely.”

“And now onto the subject of our dearly departed little witch, I think we should be looking at what she knew.”

Heaven frowned. “What makes you think she had anything to do with this? Wasn’t she killed because she was a witch as well?”

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” I said. “Everyone else was simply attacked head on—whoever it was stayed in Mishka’s apartment for a while. They were arguing when I showed up. I don’t know if they were looking for something or talking to her or what was going on, but the entire attack was different. Plus so far we’ve just encountered regular humans—both at your house and last night when they followed us to one of Nate’s contacts. The ones at Mishka’s place weren’t human.” I sent a sideways glance Nate’s way, though his expression remained neutral. “And then there’s the matter of her hiring a hit to go down the very night of this huge, international assault. Had I hung around O’Connor’s house any longer that night, I would’ve been blown up too.”

Doubt spelled out across Heaven’s furrowed brow. “So you really think Mishka’s the link?”

I told her exactly what Nate and I knew so far, which, granted, was little. I skimmed through their elopement, talking without pausing as to not give her an opportunity to interrupt and then finished up by telling her about the contract on Nate.

When I was done, she sat in silence for a few moments, taking everything in. She got to the end of one cigarette, put it out, then pulled out another.

“She didn’t need to kill any of the O’Connors for us to take her back,” Heaven said. “Nor did she need to marry anyone as wealthy as Nathan just to secure my affection. She was my only daughter—all she had to do was come home, and I’d accept her. Mishka knew that. It was her choice to leave and her choice when she wanted to return.”

“Jeffrey didn’t seem to have that outlook,” I said. “He seemed certain I was to blame. Actually, Mish had me under the impression you both felt that way.”

“She never told you why she left?”

I vividly remembered the kid camped out on my doorstep; her eager green eyes, voice pitched high with emotion as she ranted about her parents.

“Teenage rebellion. Everyone does it. I brutally slaughtered hundreds of people for the fun of it, Mishka left her comfortable life to crash on my living room floor. It’s all the same thing.”

Heaven glanced at Nate, and the apprehension in her eyes seemed to send out a shadow over the rest of the room.

“She didn’t tell you, her ‘husband?’” she asked.

For barely a second, Nate’s gaze passed my way, then returned to Heaven. Expression stony and guarded, he shook his head.

Heaven took in a deep breath, then expelled it loudly. “A few weeks before you first came to our home to steal, Zara, Mishka turned sixteen. It was then she started noticing certain...‘gifts’ emerging.”

Oh god, it was like a bad paranormal novel. “Gifts?”

“Magical abilities,” Heaven clarified. “Ones she wasn’t expecting and wasn’t prepared to handle. We used to be so close...” Her voice came close to breaking and I hoped she didn’t get into another crying fest, or else we might be waiting all night. “Naturally, she told me about it and I finally had to tell her why.”

Although I’d criticized Nate for witches not understanding drama the night before, it was clear they got the concept of melodrama. “And the reason was...?”

A full minute ticked by in silence, just the beating hearts of the witches sounding in my ears.

“Her bloodline,” Heaven finally said. “It was because of who her father was.”

“So Jeffrey had some kind of—”

“No,” Heaven said. “Not Jeffrey.”

My jaw dropped. Literally—it fell wide open. I gaped at her for a moment as she cast her eyes downward and fidgeted. Jesus Christ, of all the parent-bashing Mishka did, she had never once suggested anything like that. This was like a fucking soap opera! If she brought up coma babies or evil twins, I was grabbing some popcorn. “So who was her father?”

Heaven licked her lips, stared at the coffee table. Her face flashed crimson, embarrassment an almost palpable tension in the air around her. “Jeffrey was sterile. He knew it, though I don’t think he ever completely believed it. I wanted a child, so I resolved to use whatever means necessary.”

Right, so she banged the hot gardener. “You really don’t have to justify your affair to me. Just tell me who Mishka’s father was.”

“It wasn’t an affair—”

Oh my god, I was going to kill her in a minute. “Cut to the proverbial chase, Heaven. Who was he?”

“We don’t...” She chewed the words around for a moment. “...speak his name.”

“Why? Is it ‘Candyman’ or something?”

Her green gaze, so much like Mishka’s, snapped my way; power flared in her irises. “This isn’t a joke.”

“Well, it’s still pretty funny.”

“Take your pick of names then—” she whispered finally.

“Fine, then I’m calling him ‘Fred.’”

“But the demonologists know him simply as Lo.” She closed her eyes and bowed her head.

Nate took in a sharp breath. I waited for a few moments, looking from him to Heaven, but no one gave me any indication of what that meant. Heaven kept her head down, shoulders trembling like she might be crying.

“Lo?” I asked. “Anyone going to tell me what that means?”

Nate cleared his throat, still staring at Heaven. “It’s short for Lord of Oblivion.”

“Wouldn’t that technically be ‘Loo?’” They both ignored me, so I continued on anyway. “And isn’t that a pretty lame name?”

“It’s the closest translation into English,” Heaven said.

“Lo doesn’t exist,” Nate insisted, eyes still fixed on Heaven. I couldn’t completely place the emotion in his voice but it sounded like...fear. He’d had a lot of shit lately to be afraid of and usually brushed it off, so this had to be a big deal.

“And that non-existent person is...?”

“A myth,” Nate answered. “Said to be the only mortal son of one of the most powerful, highest ranking demons in the other realms.”

“Highest ranking...so you mean like the real life equivalent of Lucifer or something?”

“Lucifer was a story to keep people in line. True evil is something humans can’t even comprehend.”

I rolled my eyes. I’d done plenty of evil things—I knew evil. “So this Mr. Loo is his son?”

“Her son, but it’s only a myth.”

Heaven’s voice dropped to a whisper. “No, he’s not. You must have friends who know about these sorts of things, Nathan. Ask them.” At last she gazed up at us and tears streamed down her face.

“But Lo was supposedly born two millennia ago,” he said.

“He currently exists in another dimension,” she replied. “And has been there for most of those two thousand years.”

Nate stood abruptly and paced, hands clenching into fists and back stiff. “Then how is it possible he’s Mishka’s father? If he’s off in some other realm—”

“It’s possible if you know how to summon him,” she said quietly.

“And how could you know how to summon him? Records of his existence have been purged, destroyed. Grimoires with the rituals burned years ago—”

Heaven gave him a cold stare. “European magic isn’t the only magic, Nathan. Don’t be a snob. Others have summoned him before. It’s more than possible.”

“Maybe, if he actually existed, but he doesn’t.”

Great—Heaven was crying, Nate was pacing, and I was as confused as ever. “Since I lack the Ivy League witchy education, someone’s going to have to start explaining this to uneducated Miss Vampire over here. Why is it so impossible?”

Nate paused his wandering for a moment and I was sure the carpet he’d been wearing down rejoiced. “The particular demon that supposedly bore him would never actually be able to do it because mortal genes are too weak to meld with hers. That’s the problem with a lot of demons—even among their own kind, it’s difficult to procreate. Mortal genes are pretty easy to blend with, however, provided the demon isn’t all that powerful, but for Lo to exist... No. It’s just not possible.”

“There’s been how many gazillions of mortals over the years?” I said. “Seems to me that it’s at least a little possible that she found someone whose genetics were to her liking, though unlikely.” I couldn’t get out of my head a vision of a giant demon woman surrounded in fire singing Heart’s “All I Wanna Do Is Make Love to You.”

“Even if he did exist—which I’m not saying is true—but if he did, the odds that not only Heaven was capable of summoning him, but that her genetics and his melded to produce a perfectly healthy child that didn’t flat out die in the womb is just...” And back to pacing.

Heaven buried her face in her hands once more and sobbed, while I was still confused.

“So Mish was like second generation antichrist,” I said, breaking the silence.

No one responded.

“Okay, let’s say I buy that,” I said. “I mean, she was a bit of bitch, so it’s possible. But this is significant to our current situation how?”

“Perhaps it isn’t,” Heaven offered in a soft voice. “Maybe it means nothing...”

Nate stopped next to the couch. He ran a hand back through his dark hair and sent his cold blue eyes over to me. “But maybe it means everything.”

Chapter Twenty

No Biting Among Friends

I couldn’t get either of them to say anything else. Nate simply started for the door, and with Heaven in a near comatose state, I decided to follow him. During the entire drive back to my apartment, he remained mute. I posed a variety of questions, asked for further clarification on the demon-y aspects of what we had talked about, but he offered nothing.

It was possible he still had his boxers in a twist after the night before. Now he knew that not only was his dear wife Queen Lying Liar Lie-a-lot, but that she was part demon. It looked like neither one of us had really know Mishka Thiering at all.

Perhaps because I wasn’t a witch, I couldn’t fully understand the gravity of the situation. To me, the revelation of Mishka’s paternity seemed about as useless as everything else we had learned thus far. It didn’t explain why she married Nate, or subsequently wanted him dead. It didn’t explain who had attacked all the covens. And it certainly didn’t help with why someone would be abducting vampires.

It did explain why she was such a fucking bitch, though. Antichrist genes would probably do that to a girl.

Once in my apartment, Nate went to change the dressing on his gut. I figured it was probably healed over, but didn’t make mention of it. Sure enough, about two minutes later he called from the bathroom, “You’re sure you didn’t vamp me?”

“Quite certain.”

Nate padded back out to the living room, black button down shirt open at the top and untucked from his pants. He forsook a seat on the couch and took a spot on the floor; he’d done that all the night before after changing. Just sat there and meditated. It was irritating, so I’d retired to my room for the night and tried calling more contacts. Okay, I might’ve also played The Sims for three hours.

Since he was talking to me now, though, I opted to sit across from him on the carpet. “You don’t just need to be drained of blood—I would have to consume it, so the parasite in me could specially mutate itself to inhabit you. It’s a very fascinating process, or so I’m told.”

“You’ve never turned anyone?”

“Nope.” Sitting about a foot away from him, I leaned back on my hands. “Not once. Of course, I could make a helluvalot of money from it. Some people will pay serious cash for immortality, but then you’re stuck taking care of them once they’ve changed and stuff. New vamps tend to go pretty batshit crazy if someone’s not there to retrieve them and help them become well-adjusted, contributing members of society. Plus, you’re bound to run into them every few decades or so and I’ve yet to find someone I could tolerate being around on an eternal basis.”

Maybe he felt entitled to some probing questions after me bugging him last night—he wasn’t giving up yet. “Never even considered it? Not one of your friends? Not lovers?”

My hackles rose and I leveled him with the coldest gaze I had in my arsenal; the one that usually stopped a mortal in his tracks. “The only person I ever ‘loved’ was my husband.”

“And what happened to him?”

“I disemboweled him with my bare hands. What’s with the twenty questions?”

“Just curious, that’s all.” He shrugged. “Peter said he had heard of you.”

Peter? The demonology expert? “I should be pleased, but I don’t see how that’s possible. Vamps are the lowest of the low to you people, remember? There are far more interesting demons to study.”

A smile curved his lips—the type that made my undead heart thump a bit harder. “So you’re nothing special? You don’t secretly go out and help the helpless on a quest for redemption?”

“I did, once upon a time during my idealistic phase, but I grew out of it. And during my rebellious days, I viciously massacred people, and then I felt bad for it and tried to redeem myself.”

“But?”

“But when you’ve been alive as long as I have, you get bored. Right now I’m an assassin because, quite honestly, I don’t have anything better to do.”

He regarded me with a half-smile and steady gaze that made me start to squirm. “That sounds...depressing.”

“Welcome to my world. When you’ve done basically everything, you start to see how meaningless life—or unlife—really is. The trick is to lose yourself in whatever you do. In my case, for the past ten years I’ve been stealing. Now I’m an assassin. Generally it’s pretty easy work, but it’s fun. I fucking love the twenty-first century, though, because video games. That gives me something to do. If I’m really looking for a challenge, I take jobs tracking down and killing Hunters, or do something really nasty to have the top ones come after me.”

“You’ve taken on Venatores Daemonum?”

“Uh, yeah, and I’m insulted that you seem so surprised. Been outrunning—and killing—them for centuries. So you see, I really have done it all, even faced every vampire’s worst nightmare.”

“You’ve experienced everything but the annihilation of prominent covens and kidnapping of vampires,” Nate pointed out.

“True,” I agreed. “You’ve got me there. This is all pretty new. Oh, and my good friend of the past eight years turned out to be the daughter of the antichrist, and in turn the granddaughter of an even worse big bad demon. That was certainly different. Are you going to tell me any more about it?”

“There’s little to tell. I still have trouble believing Lo exists, but I highly doubt Heaven would lie about something like that. Though there are any number of people who might want the Lord of Oblivion’s only known child dead, it still doesn’t explain everything else.”

“Maybe we’re looking at it the wrong way,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, instead of questioning who has the motive, why not question who had the resources to pull all this off.” I wasn’t used to actually brainstorming with another person; perhaps I should hang up a whiteboard or something. And we could take notes.

Nate nodded his understanding. “That probably is the better question, but most of the people I know with that kind of money are all very much dead right now. Peter might know something, though.”

I tried to keep my tone casual. “You know, Mishka told me you weren’t very powerful.” That totally failed at “casual”.

He shrugged. Said nothing. Forced me to press harder.

“Was she aware you can stop time and teleport and Goddess knows what else?”

Whether he genuinely weighed the question or was stalling, I couldn’t say. At last he said, “I believe so.”

I waited, but he didn’t continue. Fuck, talk about pulling teeth. “The other night when you used the barrier spell to keep the guards out of your father’s room, you acted as though it wouldn’t hold.”

Again, he nodded his head slightly without offering anything else.

“I’m gonna keep bugging you until you explain.”

Another shrug, expression guarded. “There’s little to explain. I don’t use magic often and I’m out of practice, but recent events have called for it.”

“What else can you do?”

He looked up toward the ceiling. “You blacked out your skylights.”

It was true; there was a huge skylight that ran throughout the main room in my apartment, another in my bedroom, and a smaller one in the bathroom, but I had painted over all the glass with black shortly after I moved in. I failed to see what that had to do with what we were talking about, though.

“Don’t change the subject,” I said.

He ignored me and gestured upward. “Why did you get an apartment with skylights if you can’t be in sunlight?”

I bit back the urge to smack him. “Because I like having twenty-foot ceilings. Please tell me there’s a point to this.”

Blue eyes shifted back to mine, dark smoke swirling in their centers, drawing me in. “So you haven’t seen the sun in three hundred years?”

Electricity danced along my skin, nerves hyperaware. I’d never admit it, but the magic freaked me out—I wasn’t used to someone stronger than me, better than me. I could kick his ass, sure, but he could fucking stop time. And a strange little thrill went through me when I felt the shift in the air, saw the haze over his eyes, and sensed a magical storm about to hit.

I swallowed dryly and pushed a snarky tone back into my voice, hoping he couldn’t tell precisely what effect he had on me. “Duh. What’s your—”

My lips snapped shut as he muttered words I couldn’t make out. The lights in the room went out, leaving us in darkness.

Um...what the hell?

A weak glow appeared to the upper left of me, on the wall by the windows. I gazed up and watched as the light burned brighter and brighter.

Jesus, he’s going to burn me alive... “Um...Nate?”

First the rounded edge of a fiery orange sphere peeked around from behind some unseen obstacle, then gradually it grew. My body tensed, ready to run, waiting for the hot burn on my skin, the agony pouring through me.

It didn’t happen. The sun stretched across the apartment ceiling until it illuminated the entire room, bathing us both in light. My bare skin warmed in the sunlight, my hair and dark clothes burned.

It was beautiful. So many years and I hadn’t really thought about the sun, hadn’t wondered about what I was missing. When I lived, the sun made for long days in the garden, harsh on skin and bearer of headaches in the summer. But this...this was glorious.

I closed my eyes for a moment, drinking in the heat and savoring the feeling. When I opened them again, Nate was watching me. I didn’t know whether it was the faux sunlight radiating from his taut skin, or perhaps that he had created the sunlight itself, but I was suddenly very aware of him—his breathing, his heartbeat, and the hot blood coursing through him. And in the light, he was gorgeous.

Too soon the sun had passed to the other side of the apartment and it perished behind another nonexistent horizon. As the last beams faded, part of me seemed to darken with it.

Moments later, Nate switched a couple of the lamps back on with a few magical words.

Holy fuck. I let out a breath—a very human gesture, I realized, but one I felt compelled to engage in anyway. “Well.”

“Well?”

I gave him a grin. “Is that all you can do?”

“No, but I was hoping it would leave you speechless for a while.” He gave me a sexy half-grin—a real, genuine smile with no boohoo I’m a brooding widow shadows behind it. “I guess I was mistaken.”

“There’s a much easier way to get me to stop talking.” I shifted, pulled myself in to a crouch, pressed my palms to the floor, and crawled the short distance to him. Already the guards were back up—smile gone, back stiff, but I’d be damned if I’d give up without a seductive fight.

He didn’t respond, which, though infuriating, was also mildly arousing. No better way to drive someone insane than to show absolutely no interest.

I wanted him. Wanted him in a way that made my chest ache. Because he was betrayed and damaged under all the guards he put up, because he just created a freakin’ sun knowing I hadn’t seen it in centuries, because I wanted to spend the next year unwrapping all his layers to see exactly what kind of man awaited me on the inside.

The intensity of that want scared me; I nearly hightailed it out of there just to escape it. But I’d never failed at seduction before and maybe if I got him out of my system—maybe if I confronted all that want—it would lessen a bit and I’d feel less terrified.

I tried a casual smile. “C’mon...you’re pretty. I’m pretty. We could be pretty together.”

“My wife was murdered two nights ago—”

Oh god, more brooding. “Yeah, after trying to kill you. Time to move on. Or...” I moved my lips to his throat and tasting his skin in a kiss. “...I could just bite you.”

His pulse quickened beneath my lips. Fear or lust? Sometimes it’s hard to tell. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“I really don’t need your permission.”

“Well, you won’t be getting it, either.” Still, he didn’t move. Not to push me away, and not to take me in his arms either. Frozen solid, watching me. Weirdo.

I was close enough to taste his lips, his breath warm on my face; my gaze drifted up again to meet his eyes, voice went low and husky. “I’ve been around a long, long time, and I’ve invented positions you couldn’t dream of. I can take you right here hard and fast, sweet and slow, ride you to exhaustion until you’re empty but craving more, and then do it all again.”

His blood was rushing south—I could feel it, heat searing, burning in him. He leaned closer, eyes leveled at me, mouth nearly brushing mine. “And I could take you to the edge and keep you there for hours, quivering near madness, begging me to release you—and that’s even without bringing magic into it. But that will never happen. Ever.”

I swallowed. Hard. Tried not to let it sting. “’Cause I’m not blonde?”

“Because you’re self-absorbed, arrogant, childish, and I’m not interested.”

A flush infused my cheeks—real, genuine hurt, rejection feeling like a slap across my face. I swallowed dryly and fought to pick up my shattered pride.

But I could fake it. Pretend it didn’t bother me—that I didn’t take the whole thing too seriously. I pulled back to sit on my heels and pouted. “You’re no fun.”

“My apologies,” he said without smiling.

I rolled my eyes. “You can’t blame a girl for trying.” I stood and started for my room. “Whatever,” I called. “I’m going to bed. If you decide to stop being a killjoy, you’re welcome to join me.” I glanced back at him just as I stopped in my doorway, but he made no move to rise.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Home Invasion

Blood was thick and hot, seeping through the floorboards.

And I stood in the middle of it.

The stench of loosened bowels and stomach acid thickened the air. Ripped entrails spilled over the ground at my feet, the last of a dying man’s gasps filled my ears. For a glorious moment, rage had climaxed and I felt nothing but righteous glee. But the high didn’t last.

Now I was alone and terrified...

The sound of breaking glass startled me awake.

My eyelids flew open. Met a bright, harsh light that blinded. One of my hands shot out to shield my face—

Skin burned.

I shrieked before I could stop myself, pain—god, the pain—zigzagging through my body.

Oh fuck no, the skylights...

I rolled off the bed onto the floor, then rolled under the bed, forcing the pain of the broken glass on my blistering skin to the back of my mind. How the fuck was I going to get out?

“Zara!” Nate shouted from the other room. Crashing relief filled me and I nearly cried as a weight seemed to lift. I wasn’t alone. Not alone.

More glass shattered. I saw little from my vantage point under the bed, but heavy dark curtains hit the hardwood floor, followed by three pairs of feet in combat boots.

Shit.

Gunfire tore through the room. The three figures fell to the floor, sunlight glistening off the blood oozing from bullet-riddled chests and faces.

I saw Nate duck down in my bedroom doorway, gun in hand.

“Are you all right?”

Good to know he wasn’t going to leave me to die for hitting on him the night before. “Well, I’m seriously considering getting a basement apartment.” I glanced at my body. Foolishly, I had chosen to sleep in a tank top and thong. Comfortable? Yes. Practical for keeping out of the sun? A resounding “no.” “Now, how about some clothes?”

He grabbed the pair of jeans I had tossed atop the laundry hamper the night before and handed them to me.

I slipped on the pants, dragging the harsh material over the tender spots of burnt flesh—a sheet had covered most of my legs, so little sun reached them, but enough was burned that a yelp left my lips. There was possibly no worse pain than second degree burns. “Okay, and can we maybe get me out of here without toasting the rest of my flesh?”

When he seemed certain no one else would be leaping into the room, he cleared the distance to the window in a few long strides. He yanked the long, heavy curtain from the rod and threw part of it over the edge of the bed.

“That should shield you—”

Just as I was getting out from under the bed, something crashed outside of the bedroom. Feet thumped on the floor, how many I couldn’t say. Without waiting for me to completely stand, Nate wrapped the rest of the curtain around me tightly, lifted me up, and started carrying me from the room.

I hated that feeling of being unable to do anything. By all rights I should be the one kicking some home-invader-ass. But with the skylights smashed, and people breaking open all my windows, I was vulnerable. It still pissed me off, though. When the opportunity arose later to personally deal with whoever sent the bastards, I would certainly make my feelings known—known in that special, violent way I was so good at.

Nate fired a few more shots, then the elevator door groaned. Once inside, he put me down so he could shoot at a few more people, then there was a metal-on-metal screech as the door closed and I felt the sensation of movement.

“They just keep coming,” Nate said. “Waves of them.”

“Why the hell didn’t you just teleport us?”

A heavy sigh I heard even with the fucking curtain around me. “Someone disrupted the sigils in the garage. I need a marker.”

Oh, right. My bad. “So where to?”

“How about Heaven’s? No windows.”

“Sounds delightful.”

The elevator gave a shudder as it reached the bottom floor, and moments later I was being helped through the underground parking garage.

“Damn, my keys were upstairs,” I reminded him as we stopped at what was presumably my car.

He didn’t respond—instead I heard glass breaking.

Oh no. No. “Was that my car window?”

In answer, he picked me up and laid me on my back inside the vehicle.

“Nate!” I struggled to sit up and get situated while wrapped in yards of fabric still. “Goddamn it, what are you doing now?”

“I’m trying to hotwire your car,” he replied calmly. “Though it’s increasingly difficult with you yelling at me.”

More gunfire sounded. Shattered glass from the rear window hit me. I suppose that meant our pursuers found us. Great.

Finally he had the car running and it squealed out of the parking spot, thrusting me headfirst into the side door.

“Ow—watch it!” I tried again to sit; this time a hand shoved my head back down again.

“Stay down!” Nate ordered as more bullets tore up the rest of my car. Some close-range firing from him followed, and I was tossed around the backseat, eventually landing on the floor. I was stuck there, forced to wait as he swerved through the parking lot while shooting at our assailants. I’d had enough of the searing and blinding pain from my multiple burns bringing tears to my eyes. Not the most enjoyable way to wake up in the morning. Or afternoon. Truth be told, I hadn’t the slightest idea about what time it was, but knowing the hour wasn’t a top priority.

At last we seemed to hit a smooth stretch of road, and the gunfire ceased. I tried to manoeuvre back onto the seat, but only managed to entwine myself further in the curtain.

“Are we there yet?”

“I’m on the phone.” Nate sounded slightly irritated, though it was difficult to tell through the scream of wind rushing through the window-less car.

“That was Peter,” he shouted over the wind a while later. “He called just when the skylights broke—had to ring him back. He seems to know something, but he didn’t want to discuss it over the phone.”

“He can’t meet us today?”

“I thought we should give it a day for everything to cool down first. Peter will come through, though.”

“Great,” I muttered, more to myself than him. After much struggling, I finally pulled myself onto the backseat. “So are we there yet?”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Enemy of My Enemy

It took awhile, but at last one of my Are-we-there-yet’s was answered with an exasperated “Yes!” That should teach Nate to stuff me in the backseat while he had the pleasure of gun fighting and speeding.

Unfortunately, I had to tolerate being carried into the hotel and down the stairs to where Heaven turned out to be looking less than pleased to see us.

“What’s going on?” she asked as Nate was helping me disentangle myself from the curtain. She appeared even more drained than the previous night and I suspected she still hadn’t slept. The ashtray remained the same, though a second had appeared on the coffee table and had a fresh layer of cigarette butts.

“Turns out I need a place to crash while mine is being unexpectedly renovated.” I shuddered in the air-conditioned basement as cool air struck my blistered skin.

“Goddess—what happened to you?” Heaven’s eyes grew wide and...fuck, and disgusted, almost.

Although I couldn’t see all of me, I figured her looking so horrified was not a good sign. Dread twisted my gut, but I resisted the urge to look down. “Can you believe I went to the beach without my sunblock?”

“Several people broke into her apartment,” Nate said.

Heaven eyed the doorway behind us. “You didn’t lead them here, did you?”

“Thanks for the concern.” I patted her on the shoulder as I walked toward the bathroom. “Stealing your bathtub for a while.” I locked the door before Heaven could stop me.

I ran a bath, filling the huge, circular tub up to near the top with lukewarm water. I figured Heaven was out there arguing with Nate about us being there, but as she had pointed out the night before, I had, in fact, saved her life. She owed me.

I just hoped she didn’t start charging rent.

My jeans stripped off painfully. No scissors waited in the drawers or cupboards, so I had to actually pull them down instead of just quickly cutting. A glance in the mirror was perfectly terrifying: though only exposed to a few seconds of sunlight, whitish blisters and reddened skin dotted my face, neck, shoulders, and upper chest, as well as down my arms and anywhere else not shielded by a sheet. A few places on my legs were burned as well, and some of the blisters had popped while I hurriedly put my pants on. All the burns were second degree and stinging like a motherfucker.

Goddamn home invading fuckers, I’m going to—

Well, I was in too much pain to get creative with what I’d like to do them. But it would be bad. Real bad.

I pulled off the rest of my clothes with care and sank into the chilly, but soothing water. Submerging my head, I closed my eyes and relaxed. I had only accidentally run into sunlight a couple of times in the past few centuries; once because I didn’t realize it would actually hurt me, and the other times because I was trying—unsuccessfully—to get around during the day. It’s hard to completely avoid daylight, so I just got used to sleeping then. I suspected the myth about vampires sleeping in coffins came not just from us living in one while the demonic parasite gestated in our bodies, but because a casket provided complete protection from the sun. I never much cared for them, though, and ever since stupid Goth teenagers took up sleeping in them, most other self-respecting vampires gave the practice up as well.

Through the water, a muffled sound echoed. I sat up and waited; another knock at the door followed.

“Zara?” Heaven called. “Can I come in?”

“It’s locked and I’m not getting up.”

The lock popped open and Heaven stepped in.

“Magic spells?”

“No, they’re just those silly child-locks that you can open with a screwdriver.” She put a pile of fresh towels on the counter. “I brought you these. I’ll have someone throw your clothes in the laundry.”

I bit back a laugh that rose in me as she gathered my clothes the way a woman who has never picked up her own clothes—let alone someone else’s—would pick up dirty laundry. She lifted my thong, the edge held in a pinch between her index finger and thumb, then dropped it on the pile in her arms as if it might bite her.

She sighed, making no attempts to hide her distaste at doing such a menial chore. “In the meantime, come out when you’re ready and we’ll see about cleaning up those burns.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” she answered with a shrug and half smile. “Which means right now I have to see if Nathan’s arm has stopped bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” Nate called from the other room.

Couldn’t hold back a laugh anymore; a chuckle rose and left my lips. “You got shot again?”

“Yes and I blame you.”

“It just nicked the surface,” Heaven said. “Finish up and we’ll take care of you.” She slid the door shut and I immersed my head in the water again.

Take care of me...this forced dependency sucks.

But I wasn’t alone. Nightmares still played in my head; I pushed them away and focused on floating in the tub.

Twenty minutes later, the water was doing nothing to soothe my wounds and I grew restless, so I rose. The terrycloth of the towel rubbed on my sore skin as I wrapped it around me. Pity I couldn’t stroll around naked, but it would probably give uppity Heaven a heart attack.

The towel hugged my body from only my chest to mid-thigh, though, and I took care to keep it from touching any more of my blistered flesh. The injuries had already begun the healing process. That actually made the pain even more acute, as the rapid regeneration of skin was far from pleasant, and burns healed slower than regular cuts for some reason.

I ran a brush through my long, wet hair, twisted it into a bun, then surveyed my appearance in the mirror. My very wide, blue eyes glittered back. Hey, I was still pretty hot, even for a burn victim. Go Zara!

Heaven and Nate were seated in the living room. I forsook an armchair covered in scratchy material and pulled a flat-backed, armless wooden chair from the kitchen.

“How are you feeling?” Heaven asked as I sat down.

“If you really want to know, I can set you on fire,” I offered.

She should’ve been celebrating my intact sense of humor. Instead, she ignored me, and reached for a bowl that sat among stacks of bandages and gauze on the coffee table. With the dish in hand, Heaven approached me.

I breathed in the familiar scent of the viscous liquid in the bowl. “What’s that—honey?”

She dipped a cloth in the poultice and began applying it to my wounds. “Amongst other things.”

The mixture felt cool and soothing on my skin. Hooray for witch-y magic and the proper blend of herbs and spices.

“I’ll be better in no time.” I turned to Nate. “So, is there any particular reason you didn’t just stop time back there?”

The bowl of honey crashed to the floor, shattering and spilling sticky goo across the carpet. Heaven sat frozen in place, staring at Nate, hand still hanging midair where she’d been holding the bowl.

Okay, so something about Nate being able to stop time or whatever seemed to break what was left of Heaven’s shot nerves. Glancing at Nate, I found his eyes fixed on me.

“When we’re out of this dimension’s time stream,” he said calmly, as if he was explaining it to a child, “we aren’t able to affect anything that’s still in it, like opening the elevator door or getting in the car. And didn’t I tell you to keep that between us?”

“No, actually, you didn’t.”

“Oh. My mistake.”

“Is this a joke?” Heaven barely breathed the words.

“Nope.” I leaned back in the chair. “He can also teleport. Why—is that a big deal?”

Weakly, Heaven knelt to pick up the fallen bowl and took it to the kitchen. She walked slowly, deliberately, as if feeling the ground with each step to ensure it didn’t give out beneath her. She returned with another batch of poultice—which she placed on the table instead of holding it—and pulled another pack of cigarettes from her pocket.

Oh god, the chain-smoking witch is at it again.

“I think I know why she tried to kill you,” Heaven said after a few long drags. “She...Mish...” A pause drew the tension in the room taut. “When you two eloped, did she know that all the rumors about you were true?” She and Nate seemed caught in a staring match, information passing between them on a level I couldn’t grasp.

Once again, I was in the dark. “What rumors?”

Nate seemed to chew over his reply. “She knew everything.”

Heaven nodded. “And though you eloped, did you enter into a standard, coven sanctioned contract of marriage?”

“Yes.”

“What rumors?” I repeated. “And what’s so special about witch quickie marriages?”

“Our marriages are more than legal agreements,” Heaven finally acknowledged me. “They are truly a binding of souls. Upon death, there is a transfer of not only physical assets, but some ethereal ones as well.”

“Meaning...?”

“Magic.” Nate’s lips set in a straight line, and rage crept across his face. His eyes blazed blue, heart racing.

“But if she was already wicked powerful, why did she need Nate’s mojo?” I asked. “And why hire me to do the killing? She could have just stabbed him in bed one night.”

“It isn’t what you think, Nathan,” Heaven said. “Not exactly. Because she is the daughter of Lo, her complete power isn’t easily invoked. She knew certain things had to be done to unlock it, but she never had the desire to do it...which might have been my doing—I didn’t want her to—”

“Cut the cryptic crap,” I said. “What had to be done?”

Heaven bit at her bottom lip. Stared at Nate again. “A sacrifice. One of great power, of someone who felt deeply for her...” She glanced over at me. “...performed by a demon that came from her grandmother‘s dimension.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

You’re Out

“Christ, this just keeps getting better and better,” I said wryly.

Nate’s expression hadn’t changed at all. “You’re certain?” he asked Heaven. “You know for a fact she knew of the...‘offering?’”

Heaven nodded. “Your heart ceases its beat by a demon’s hand and your life is paid in debt to the forces that unlock hers. The vampire parasite that infected Zara originally came from the Oblivion dimension, so she counted as the demon Mishka required.”

Shit, maybe that was why the kid showed up at my door so many years ago. She knew vampires counted as the right type of demon. Became my friend and a sort of partner at work, encouraged me to pursue the assassination business, all the while know I could be used if she ever wanted to unlock her power.

That bitch.

“Sacrifice of love is a powerful thing,” Heaven continued. “It generates a lot of energy. Upon your death—had Mishka survived—the great power you commanded would be imbued with that of Lo, and—”

“I hate ritual sacrifices,” I interrupted her dramatic dialogue. “They are so cliché. That was certainly a clever way of doing it, though. I’ll give Mishka props for creativity.”

Nate sat there in silence, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, then folding his hands together and using them to prop his chin up. He stared straight ahead, saying nothing. Not even blinking.

We didn’t just have circumstantial evidence anymore: here was our confirmation. She’d set him up from the very beginning, probably the moment she met him. Hell, I wouldn’t put it past her to have orchestrated the first encounter.

“We still haven’t really answered the ‘why,’ though,” I said. “Okay, so she wanted Nate’s power to unlock her own. Great—but why now? It can’t be a mere fluke that it coincides with Operation: Coven Assault.”

Heaven butted out the cigarette and wiped at her tired eyes. “I don’t know. I haven’t had contact with her for years. My own daughter is—was—little more than a stranger to me. Maybe somehow she knew this was coming. That was her way to prepare.”

Wordlessly, Nate stood. His steps were heavy as he walked across the room without so much as a glance at Heaven or myself, then he disappeared into one of the other rooms. The door closed and the snap of a lock followed.

“He’s upset,” Heaven said softly.

“Gosh, ya think so? He’ll get over it, though.” At least he’d better. If he was such a powerful warlock, then we needed him to face whatever it was coming for us. “So what are the rumors?”

“Hmm?” Heaven said, tearing her gaze from the door where Nate went.

“The rumors. About Nate.”

“He was an ambitious kid.” Heaven picked up the bowl again and continued my honey therapy, wrapping my wounds in compresses as she spoke. A length of gauze and tape waited on the table as well, and I figured I’d probably look like a mummy by the time she finished. “Both he and his brother were. There were rumors that he was involved in some pretty heavy magic over in the UK during his early university days.”

“Heavy as in what?”

“As in opening dimensions and sending forth some horrid, uncontrollable demons.”

Oh. So I guess that was pretty heavy.

“Nathan was responsible for many deaths—fellow students, professors...some say the demons killed around fifty, others suggested it was more like three hundred. I suppose the truth lies somewhere in the middle.”

Shit, that was...kinda impressive. Even I hadn’t taken out that many people at once. Maybe I could coax him to try again next time we were attacked, which was inevitable. “So what happened?”

“Sean Sr. wasn’t pleased. Too much attention or something.”

Right. And with the history of Daddy-Dearest knocking the kid around, I bet that created some issues.

“I don’t know the details, but I heard Nathan dropped out of university and virtually disappeared, apparently with the intent to remedy the situation.”

“And?”

“The campus was overrun with a couple hundred zombies as a result. I appreciate that he wasn’t willing to give up but...” Heaven sighed. “I can’t believe Mishka married that boy.”

I can’t believe Mishka didn’t tell me. She had said Nate wasn’t very powerful...she had flat out lied, straight to my face. The guy could play with dimensions, summon hordes of demons, and raise the dead en masse. Had I been stuck in a fight with him, I could have seriously been hurt, regardless of the fact that he was out of practice. Christ, was I ever hating that girl more and more. I was honestly starting to wonder if one could hire an ethereal assassin to make her afterlife a complete hell.

****

We didn’t see Nate for the rest of the day. Heaven disappeared into the upper levels of the hotel for a break, accompanied by the four members of her security team that weren’t currently keeping watch on the perimeter. Before heading off to sleep in a spare bedrooms offered to me by one of those bodyguards, I tore off the bandages and washed my skin clean of the poultice. The blistered bits of flesh were already flaking off. Another three or four days and I’d probably be as good as new. Well, perhaps scarred, but decent enough.

Sleeping proved to be a chore. Not that I wasn’t tired—I was bloody exhausted—but my burns still ached. When I finally did rest, the hours were few and relaxation was minimal.

Heaven and her bodyguards were still gone when I awoke. The clock on the nightstand told me it was only six, but I was pretty sure that was all the sleeping I’d be doing, so I got up.

The lights in the small, windowless apartment were off, but for the one shining from the slightly ajar bathroom door. I stole through the main room, and paused outside the washroom to gaze in.

Nate leaned over the sink. His shirt was off and he had pried loose the bandages on his arm to reveal his newest bullet wound. After pulling the bindings away completely, he checked the injury in the mirror and shook his head. Compared to wound on his other arm and one in his gut—both of which my blood had healed—he was likely unimpressed with the unaided healing process thus far.

I reached for the door, about to walk in. But I paused.

Hunger gnawed at me, deep and demanding. I could blame the sight and smell of blood, or the fact that he’d intercepted my snack on Sammy the night before. But it wasn’t merely a desire to feed.

It was a desire to feed from him.

He splashed some water on his face, raked his hands back through that thick, dark hair of his, and a chill of craving rushed through me. He really was a gorgeous guy, but truth be told, there were a number of damn fine men in the world...so what was it about Nate?

Was it simply that he repeatedly rebuffed my advances? Was that really all that was bothering me? For someone who gave not a single suggestion that he had any regard for me whatsoever, he was still quick to help me when the need arose, as he had that morning. Perhaps it was my own professed reason for saving his life—taking allies in whatever form they came.

But there was more to it. I had been sent originally to kill a weak, pretty boy son of some rich guy. But then he became a willing ally and almost reckless in his attempts to help me. Just when I thought I knew him, throw in the ability to command extraordinary magic, a few rebel-without-a-cause stories, and that stubborn need to grab something and hold on—be it his memory of his dead wife, the guard shot and bleeding out he insisted on saving, or sticking with me even when we were being shot at—and an entirely new Nate emerged. An irritable and broodier Nate, but a new one nonetheless.

Of course, even as I mulled over the reasons why he was the cause of such desire, in the back of my head I knew the truth. Nate had been betrayed by a lover—his wife, no less. And that hurt. I felt it, squeezing my chest and twisting my gut, every time some new tale about Mishka’s treason was told. The look on his face as the pieces of the puzzle came into place reopened wounds in me I had thought were sealed and forgotten.

I pushed open the door and entered the room, my steps smooth and confident.

“Thinking of using vamp blood in all your healing spells now?” I nodded at his upper arm, which was bleeding again. “Nothing fixes an injury quite as well, does it?”

Nate looked up and met my eyes through the mirror, gaze chilly, intense, and nearly stopping me mid-step. He eyed the scarred flesh that spotted my cheeks and neck. “Yours are looking better.”

“My, my, that almost sounds complimentary.” I offered an easy smile and walked around him. I ran the tip of my finger along his back as I went, gathering a drop of blood on my way past his arm. His stare followed me via the mirror until I came to the other side of the sink, hopped up on the edge of the counter to face him, and pressed my finger to my lips.

I closed my eyes briefly, savoring the taste of the smidgen of blood, then looked at him again. “Very fine blood.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he said dryly.

“Please sir, can I have some more?” I affected my best British accent—which sucked—and offered him wide, puppy-dog eyes.

He didn’t reply, and in honesty, the question was more to bug him than it was to obtain a snack.

I groaned as he ran a cloth under some water and applied it to the wound. “You know, you’re wretchedly dull sometimes.”

“My father disowned me,” he said.

“Well, that was an obscure comment.”

“What Heaven was telling you?” He raised a dark brow and I realized what he was referring to—he’d been listening in. “I’m assuming that’s why you’re here to annoy me.”

“Good guess, but no, actually.” He didn’t take the bait when I offered a suggestive smile, and I let out a defeated sigh. “So was that before or after the zombies?”

“Suggested before, enforced after.” He rinsed the blood from the cloth, set it aside, and dug out more first aid supplies.

“Is that all he did?”

“Gave me a sound beating with every hardback book in the library.”

“Ah, I saw that trick. He also threw a chair at me, though. And a filing cabinet.”

“The objects get bigger if you don’t stay down.”

Poor kid. Once upon a time, when I helped the helpless, I got some child services records and went after people who beat their kids. It was great fun, but it wears out even a vampire when you realize you can’t save everyone and decapitation doesn’t, in fact, solve all the world’s problems. “So did you really kill like three hundred people?”

“Probably more like half that, but when I tried to reverse it, I ended up reanimating nearly everyone in the cemetery, which was over five hundred.”

I bit back a comment about zombie killing because I have some sympathy in me, but it really was my favourite past time. “So your pops disowned you over a bit of necromancy? How tragic, I’m sure. Since you obviously think he’s an asshole, why were you living with him again?”

“After Sean died in the winter, I was his only heir.”

And that mended things? Yeah, right. “Nothing like a little grief to bring father and son together?”

Nothing resembling grief entered his expression; Nate shook his head. “God, no. I hated my brother.”

“Sibling rivalry?”

“Yes...that he always won. He was stronger. Better.”

So he didn’t get hit as often. And probably didn’t defend his baby bro. Even I could read between the lines there.

Since he was actually being talkative, I changed the subject. “What was the dealio with that crappy barrier spell the other night?”

“I was out of practice. I’d committed to not using magic after the zombie problem was taken care of.”

“Feeling guilty?” I smiled for I found the concept amusing.

He offered a shrug. “I don’t know. It just didn’t seem like a good idea anymore.”

“Mishka knew all this?”

Light seemed to fade in his eyes at the mere mention of her name. He nodded and returned his gaze to the mirror.

“Look, we’ve both been betrayed.” I reached out and rested a hand on his muscled arm, his skin burning my icy fingers. Personally, even I wasn’t sure if the sudden wave of emotion over me was part of another seduction act or if some fraction of me actually felt it.

His jaw tensed. “Have we really.” A glance at me showed rage simmering in his eyes, their depths going dark and hazy. “Mishka was my wife. Not just some friend or employer or whatever—my wife. I hardly think you’re qualified to understand.”

Ah, so he thought I was referring to her. I honestly couldn’t give a damn what that kid did to me. Sure, I was pissed about her lying, but I knew I would get over that.

“I know that,” I said. “What I meant was—”

“What you meant was that you think your emotions are so much greater than the rest of ours simply because they’re yours.”

“Well, that goes without saying,” I agreed. “But—”

“Or is it that you think I’ll believe Mish merely lying to you is equal to her setting me up from day one and then trying to kill me? Why—because you’re arrogant enough to suppose that anyone would believe you since you’re so beautiful?”

“Ha—you admitted I’m beautiful!”

He didn’t look amused. “No, I implied you think you are.”

“Is this about my second degree burns?” I reached over and flipped off the light. “There—”

He threw the light switch back on. “Mishka didn’t just use my money to hire you to kill me, she married me with this sacrifice in mind. She was supposed to be different—she was supposed to be everything... She lied to me, every day, for the past five months. Now how can you possibly understand what that’s like?”

Words played on my lips but I couldn’t get them out. What was wrong with me? It would be so simple... Just tell him about Pavel, Zara, and he’ll be yours.

The story stuck there in my throat. There it was, the one thing I could say to show him I understood...but for whatever reason, I just couldn’t bring myself to utter those words.

“Exactly—you can’t.” He firmly took my hand and removed it from his arm, then strode out of the bathroom.

I closed the door behind him, started running a bath, and slipped off the towel I was still wearing.

So what was I at? Strike number fifty-seven? Or was it fifty-eight? Ah, something like that. Whatever the number, I was definitely out. Sure, I still longed to tell him about me. Not merely for the sake of talking about myself, but to simply share something with someone who could emphasize. Something that would make me more of a three dimensional being in his eyes. But I was already bored with pursing him. His refusals were still a turn on, but the chase itself was getting old.

Let him brood over his bitch of a dead wife. I was done with it.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Threesome

Nate was gone when I finished my bath. Heaven said he had gone out to get something, but had no idea what.

It was comforting to know she was on top of things.

My clothes were clean and dry, so I discarded the towel and slipped on my still-warm-from-the-dryer tank top and thong, but forewent my jeans since I was still hurting from the last time I put them on. There was a TV in one of the rooms, so I tried to pass the next couple of hours flipping through stations and found nothing good On Demand to order as far as movies went. Monday night primetime line-ups sucked, though, so I switched off the set and decided to bug Heaven.

“So, Heaven,” I said, strolling into the living room and slouching down onto a chair. “I was thinking...why don’t you just summon this Oblivion-dude again?”

She nearly spit the coffee she was drinking straight back in the cup. “Zara, what in Her name do you—”

“Well, if Mishka was his daughter, he’d be pissed, right? He’d want vengeance on whoever did it, and I imagine he’s got way better resources than we do.”

She stared at me in absolute horror. “Do you have any idea what you’re suggesting? Are you mad?”

I shrugged. I thought it made sense, but apparently summoning big, scary half-demon guys could only be done when she deemed it appropriate. Heaven wasn’t much of a team player.

“Would Nate know how to do it then?”

“How would I know?” she said wearily. Even the bazillion cups of coffee she’d had that day weren’t helping her to stay awake anymore.

“So what did it cost you?”

“What?”

“Mishka. What did having her cost you? I mean, the father was like the antichrist, and her grandma’s kind of the devil, so it was probably major, right?”

She ignored me.

I sighed. If I had to spend much more time there, I was apt to go stark raving mad.

Footsteps sounded from the staircase beyond the living room and a few moments later the door opened to reveal Nate.

“Aw,” I said with an overly-sweet smile. “Isn’t that nice—you didn’t get yourself killed while you ran off on your own.”

Without a word, he tossed me one of the two black duffle bags he carried. I yanked open the zipper and rifled through the clothes inside.

Oh. My. Goddess. “Are these for me?” I pulled out a bluish-gray knit top with an asymmetrical neckline. Then checked the label—holy fuck, it would’ve been expensive. “This is cute. Did you pick them out yourself?”

“No, I went to a friend’s store and told her to fill the bag with whatever,” he said. “Besides, I thought you might need them since all your things were burned.”

My head shot up and I met his eyes. “They burned down my apartment?”

He nodded.

“Those goddamn, stupid, fucking, cockbite bastards!” I tossed the top back in the bag and stomped my foot. I loved that place! I was about to rant some more when there were several shouts upstairs. Heaven froze and stared at the open door while I put the duffle bag down and stood.

“No—I’m with him!” a familiar voice said.

Nate shook his head with irritation. “Guess who I ran into.”

After several heavy footfalls of someone thumping down the steps, Jamie burst into the room. He paused in the doorway, and when his eyes fixed on me, he raced across the room and swept me into his arms before I could protest.

“Those looks like burns,” he murmured into my ear. “Are you all right?”

In answer, I kicked his shin. “Put me down, goddamn it!”

Though my feet touched down again, he still held me tightly. “Love, when I saw what they did to your apartment...” His voice trailed off as he lifted my face into his hands and kissed me deeply. Though I wanted to pretend the sudden interest was an annoyance, I couldn’t help but take delight in it.

At least someone liked me. I resisted an urge to glare at Nate.

Our lips parted, and Jamie pulled back to look at me. There was a mischievous glint in his dark eyes and I knew whatever worries he professed to have had gone. “Why don’t we go celebrate your miraculous safety privately?”

“Why don’t you go celebrate privately?” I disentangled myself from his embrace to turn to Nate. “Who said you’re allowed to pick up strays?”

“Ouch, darling, that hurts.” Jamie sat in the chair I had occupied and grabbed my hand, yanked me back so I was sitting on his lap. “So, this place is...boring. Why are we here?”

“Is everyone going to be living here now?” Heaven asked, exasperated. “Who is this?”

“Stray dog,” I said in a bored tone.

“I think you can do better than that.” Jamie looked Heaven’s way with his most charming smile. “My name is Jamie, ma’am. I’m Zara’s boyfriend.”

“No, you’re not,” I snapped.

“And you are?” he asked her, ignoring me.

“Heaven Thiering.” She eyed him suspiciously. “So, another vampire?”

“Indeed I am, Ms. Thiering. And you would presumably be the same lovely woman who heads the Thiering coven?”

She nodded. “I’ll go talk to someone about making up an extra room here for you three.” She went upstairs without another word.

“Why did you bring him here?” I asked Nate, ignoring the hurt look Jamie pretended to give me.

“He was lurking around the remains of your building.” Nate sat down on the couch across from us.

“I wasn’t lurking,” Jamie corrected him. “I was...hanging around.”

“Also known as lurking,” I said.

“You told me to come back,” Jamie reminded me. “Couldn’t make it last night, so I came today. When I did, I saw the place was still smoking, and I honestly thought you were done for, honey. Luckily I spotted Junior, and he told me you were very much alive and eager to see me.”

“I didn’t—” Nate began, but Jamie cut him off.

“And I insisted on joining him.” He stopped speaking for a moment and even his smile faded as he brushed some strands of my long black hair aside to study my face. He swept my tresses up to inspect my neck, then dropped them to trace the burns around my shoulder.

“They hurt you,” he said quietly.

“I suppose it’s my own fault for having skylights,” I said, somewhat embarrassed at the attention he was suddenly giving me.

“I’m glad you were there to save our lovely Zara,” Jamie said to Nate.

“Whoa—wait a second, nobody ‘saved’ me!”

“Right, because while you were trapped under the bed you had them right where you wanted them,” Nate said.

“Hey, maybe we should be glad I saved you the other night so you could ‘assist’ in my escape this morning,” I said.

“Okay, I’m very glad you saved the kid, Zara-Dear,” Jamie said, running a hand back through my hair.

“Would you please quit with the pet names.” My words were accompanied with a glare.

“They bother you, sweetheart?” he asked innocently.

Oh, for Christ’s sake. “Infuriate.”

“And sicken,” Nate added.

“Why don’t you just tell us what you found out yesterday?” I asked.

“That’s all I’m good for? Just information?”

“We’ll see what other talents you have later,” I promised with a grin. I hated to admit it, but I liked having him back. Nothing like someone who seemed to absolutely adore me to put me in a good mood.

“Well, it turns out there’s a hefty bounty on the kid,” he said, nodding at Nate. “There’s a helluva lot of money to be made for anyone able to produce the head—literally, the skull—of any prominent members of the main covens that might have escaped, and all apparently put out by the same person...but it turns out there are a few different people after Junior here.”

“And yet you haven’t sold us out yet,” Nate replied dryly. “Touching. All to impress Zara?”

“Hardly,” Jamie snorted. “I’m sure she’d find it much more impressive if I brought you all in and used the money to take her on a cruise around this lovely world of ours.”

I waved my hand in the air between them. “Hello—still here.”

“Anyway,” Jamie continued, but not without a quick glower in Nate’s direction. “I’d hand you over in an undead heartbeat, but it turns out the same person seeking the death of the rest of the witches if offering a sizable reward for any vampire caught alive.”

“But why alive?” I asked no one in particular. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

“I know—not all vampires are as attractive as us,” Jamie said with a grin.

Nate rolled his eyes. “Could the two of you maybe get over yourselves for just a minute?”

“Well, he’s right,” I said. “The number of ugly undead far outweighs the pretty kind.”

Heaven returned with a hotel staff member. “We’ll put them in that one,” she said, indicating one of the bedrooms. “I’ll just add a guard to the perimeter squad.”

The man nodded and went back upstairs.

“But there’s three—” Jamie began.

“I’m not sleeping with them—” Nate said at the same time.

I clasped my hands together gleefully. “Oooh, a threesome! Happy birthday Zara!”

****

So it turned out the idea was actually to put a cot in the room with the double bed.

That didn’t seem to relieve either of the boys, though. Nate repeatedly tried to get his cot moved to the living room, even suggesting sleeping on the couch instead, only to be rebuffed by Heaven. Jamie joined in the argument as well, but neither warlock nor vampire could convince her to rethink the sleeping arrangement. She didn’t want us there in the first place, so wasn’t about to give us any more space than necessary. The fight ended with her retiring to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her, Jamie and Nate glaring at one another, and me doubled over in laughter. From the dramatic way they were carrying on, one would think their having to sleep in the same room was the end of the world. I just thought it was funny.

Since we wanted to keep a low profile long enough to meet successfully with Peter Fields the next day, we decided to forgo any evening excursions outside the hotel property. Even within the hotel, we had to wait in the awkward air of the cramped downstairs apartment until around one in the morning to venture into the relatively empty upper building.

Nate was set to meet Peter sometime during the afternoon, so the three of us resolved to go to sleep just before sunrise and after much liquor consumption in the closed hotel bar. It took quite a bit for vampires to get drunk; Heaven was going to have a substantial tab to pay later.

I had to admit I was impressed with the clothes Nate’s friend picked out. There was even a cute dark red silk pajama set with short-shorts for bottoms and a fitted top. That was some quality sleepwear. I made a mental note to get the name of the store at some point.

“You had better not snore, kid,” Jamie said. He hopped into bed next to me and wrapped his arm around my waist. My side faced Nate’s cot—an arrangement I thought would be best, lest I awake to find Jamie snacking on our warlock.

“Why do you insist on calling me ‘kid?’” Nate stretched out on the cot and flipped off the light.

“I have over a century on you, boy. Why—do you have a problem with that name?”

Nate mumbled his response under his breath.

“Did you say something, Junior?” Jamie asked.

I raised my voice. “Will both of you just shut the hell up?”

Neither of them spoke again.

About twenty minutes later, Jamie shifted onto his elbow to glance over me at Nate, then sank back down.

“I think the kid’s asleep,” he murmured, and followed his words up with a kiss on my earlobe.

“What’s your point?” I whispered back.

In response, he turned me over and kissed me.

Jesus Christ. “I don’t think so.” I elbowed him and rolled to face the other way.

“C’mon—he’s out like a light,” Jamie said. “We’ll be really, really quiet—”

“I second her objection.” Nate’s loud voice startled us both. My vision had adjusted to the blackness and I saw him facing us with his eyes wide open.

“Just put the pillow over your head,” Jamie suggested, then sat up in bed. “In fact, I could hold it there for you, quite firmly, for a period of five minutes or so.”

Nate muttered something, and beside me I felt Jamie fall down limp on the bed. I twisted around to see him lying there unmoving.

“Jamie?” I touched his shoulder tentatively and shook him. Nothing. “Oh my god—did you kill him or something?”

“Unfortunately, no. He’s just asleep.”

“A spell?” I settled back down on the bed, then yanked the covers from Jamie and cast them over me. He was completely out—he’d never know that I was a blanket hog.

“The second part of one,” Nate said.

“When did you do the first part?”

“A few herbs in one of his drinks at the bar. Just in case he had a problem resting.”

“How considerate of you,” I said wryly.

“I don’t understand what you see in him.”

“Says the guy who married the devil’s granddaughter,” I replied.

Nate ignored that comment. “He’s obnoxious, thoughtless, vain...oh, wait, maybe you two fit perfectly together.”

My turn for ignoring comments. “He’s also fun. Have you ever heard of that? ‘Having fun?’ Amusement, playfulness, the opposite of brooding? Ring a bell?”

“I don’t know—does it also include fawning over you?”

Oh, never mind—this was fun. “Jealous?” I asked with a grin.

“Hardly.”

“Then what’s your problem with him?”

“Besides the fact that I’m certain he’d sell me out the first chance he got?”

“Hell, I’d sell you out if I thought I could do it without getting caught myself.”

“Thanks, that’s really good to know.”

“I don’t, in actuality, owe you anything, Nate,” I said. “Do you think we’re friends or something? Like maybe that means after all this is over we’ll meet sometime for coffee or exchange Christmas cards? Give yourself a few centuries, and you’ll see how superficial the entire concept is. Mishka was my friend, remember, and look what happened there.”

“She was also my wife, but I wouldn’t say no one should ever get married again because of my experience.”

“Nor would I—I just say don’t take it so seriously. Mortals wither and die. Even if Mishka had been an honest, loyal, thoughtful friend, that wouldn’t do me any good a century from now.”

“Long term thinking?”

“Exactly.”

“And how does Jamie figure into the long term?”

I was starting to see the wisdom in Jamie’s idea to smother him. “He doesn’t. He’s fun for now, and wicked hot. Are you purposely trying to sound like a jealous boyfriend?”

“I’m just trying to gleam a bit of wisdom from your considerable experience in such matters.”

I sighed and rolled over to face Jamie. “I tire of your sarcasm.” I closed my eyes to sleep.

Though I was certain we were both still awake, neither of us spoke for the rest of the night.

Chapter Twenty-Five

History Lessons

Heaven arranged for us to have a conference room in the upstairs of the hotel the next day. Honestly, I think she was just sick of having us around, especially with Nate and Jamie bickering like little old ladies.

There were windows along one wall, but blinds and big heavy curtains kept the sun out. Jamie sat in a huge armchair at the head of the conference table, while I was lounging on the tabletop itself when Nate walked in with Peter Fields. He was Nate’s age, though not as tall, and had short, unkempt black hair. His complexion was olive, his smile friendly, and his dark eyes lit up the moment they landed on me.

“Zara Lain?” Excitement tinged his voice, which was hella weird. There was a faint accent to his words, betraying his many years of living and studying in Britain. I liked Peter immediately, which is rare with me.

I nodded and glanced at Nate for an explanation, but he ignored me and took a seat at the table. He hadn’t spoken to me since the night before when we both pretended to sleep while we were actually conscious for hours.

“This is an honor,” Peter said when he reached me. I accepted the hand he extended, and he shook mine gently. His fingers lingered on mine for a moment as he looked me up and down. “I’m just speechless.”

“Um, why?” I asked, delighted that meeting me elicited such a reaction, but confused nonetheless.

“I specialized in vampire studies.”

Weirdness. “I had no idea the subject was so popular in university.”

“Oh, it’s not actually. It was strange for me to take. No one teaches about the individual vampires themselves, so I had to go straight to the source. I heard much about you and I cannot believe I’m finally meeting you.”

Though Nate accused me of having a huge ego, I didn’t, in fact, think I was legendary or something. Just another vampire, albeit a pretty one. “And who did you hear about me from?”

“An older vampire by the name of Dragomir, and his lover, Ilona.”

My lips quivered, threatening to drop the smile I forced on them. “Oh, are they still together?”

“Until Dragomir was killed by Venatores Daemonum about four years back.” Peter’s thick black brows furrowed slightly, as if something in my body language tipped him off as to how uncomfortable his mentioning them made me.

“I thought I heard a rumor to that effect,” I said.

“Who are they?” Jamie asked.

“Dragomir was my maker,” I told him. “Ilona was his wife.” I slid off the table and into a chair. This trip down memory lane wasn’t agreeing with me at all and I wanted to get the meeting over with. “Shall we get down to business?”

“I would very much like to hear more about Zara,” Jamie said with a grin.

“Well, if Zara doesn’t mind...” Peter took the seat next to mine.

“She probably doesn’t want to,” Nate said.

The three of them looked at me with unabashed expectation. Jamie wanted to know, Nate possibly did too, and Peter seemed more than willing to share, so why not allow it? It was the past. There was nothing there that could hurt me anymore. Plus I didn’t have to recount anything; that was up to Peter.

“Why not?” I said lightly, hoping my smile didn’t seem too fake. “But I’ll warn you, in reality I’m very dull.”

“Not at all,” Peter insisted. “This woman has one of the most fascinating tales of awakening I’ve come across. Her name was Ana and she was barely eighteen, married for less than a year into the Fidatov family before she was turned—and feel free to correct me if I am in any way mistaken in this, Zara.”

I smiled instead of commenting, and gestured for him to continue.

“Rumor has it her husband only married her out of a family obligation.”

“Was he blind?” Jamie quipped, probably thinking the compliment would be well received on my part.

It made me feel worse.

Peter didn’t miss a beat. “Not to my knowledge. Anyway, her husband sought someone to kill his lovely bride. He went through a few different people so the crime couldn’t be traced back to him. Dragomir learned of it and took the job. But, as you have now guessed, rather than kill her, he turned her.”

I pretended to look bored as he told the story of my life. Ana Fidatov...God, that seemed like a lifetime ago. I suppose in some ways it was more like several.

“Now generally it takes around ten or eleven years before a vampire awakens for the first time,” Peter continued. “And it’s just before that when her maker would find and retrieve her from where she was buried. A new vampire’s muscles are atrophied from spending so long in stasis. Usually the muscles rebuild just in time for a vampire’s awakening, but sometimes that doesn’t happen, and they can’t move or do anything right away.”

“Don’t forget the fact that we’re batshit crazy when we’re newbies too,” I added. “Starving with heightened senses, comatose for a decade...it fucks with the brain.”

“That too. But while none know why, Ana did not remain unconscious for the full time. Dragomir told me he estimated she awoke after only seven years or so—and is the only known vampire to have done so. Unable to move, speak, or feed, she must have spent several months lying completely awake in the sarcophagus.”

In the dark place, I corrected him in my head. A shudder made my arms twitch and I couldn’t suppress it. I focused my attention instead on the people in the room. Jamie leaned forward with his elbows on the table, wholly engrossed in the tale. Nate was quite the opposite, resting back in his chair with his arms crossed at his chest, and looking wholly engrossed in my reaction to the tale.

I decided to stare blankly at the faux wood finish of the table in front of me.

“Ana was eventually able to move and broke out of the family mausoleum. What she didn’t know was that the children her husband had with his new wife had been hearing noises coming from the building, and had been telling people the place was haunted. This is what, initially, tipped Dragomir off that something might be wrong. The children were out there the night Ana was at last able to move and they provided her with her first meal.”

I chuckled dryly. “Nothing quite as tasty as little Romanian children.”

No one seemed amused, so Peter resumed the narrative. “Dragomir and Ilona heard about it, so they found her and taught her about what she was.”

“Try locked me in a cellar,” I corrected him. “Can’t have a half-mad vampire running around eating children...but Dragomir probably left that little bit out of his story.”

“Yes,” Peter said, “he did. Could you perhaps continue from here?” Though he seemed to genuinely want me to take over telling the story, it would require me to reach back into my memory and retrieve the details I didn’t want to think about.

I blinked. Saw the dark place in my head, playing behind my closed eyes. The smell of corpses seemed to suddenly linger in the air, the sound of my voice echoing in the crypt ringing in my ears. “No, you’re doing okay,” I brushed off his request. “But contrary to what he told you, he didn’t let me out—I broke the door down while they were out feeding.”

“Well. Ana broke out and went to her husband’s home. And this part is bloody brilliant—in a rather grotesque fashion. She systematically took out the family servants and everyone else living there, until she was left with Pavel and his wife...”

“Ecaterina,” I filled in for him. I got a series of questioning looks from the three men so I elaborated. “He kept screaming it out as I made him watch while I tore off her arm and beat her to death with it. It’s the sort of thing you remember. Go on, Peter.”

“After Ecaterina died, Ana eviscerated her former husband. She disappeared that very night. Dragomir and Ilona believed her dead. From all of my sources, she didn’t reappear for another two decades in northern Europe with the first name ‘Zara,’ and eventually adopted the last name ‘Lain.’”

“See?” I said. “Totally dull.”

“Wow...” Jamie reached across the table to take my hand. “That must have been horrible, sweetie, to be stuck in your coffin like that.” Concern filled his eyes, but to me it looked like pity.

I nervously shook out of his grasp and offered a relaxed smile. “Well, at least I don’t need to pay a shrink to tell me why I’m claustrophobic. So, Peter, do you know anything about Jamie?”

Peter glanced over at the other vampire in the room. “No, I don’t think I’m familiar with him.”

Jamie actually looked hurt and his mouth dropped wide open. “What do you mean? How can you not have heard of me? I’m interesting!”

“How about we get back to why we’re here,” Nate suggested.

“No,” Jamie said stubbornly. “This guy has been studying vampires, and he doesn’t know who I am?”

“Do you have a last name? Have you always been known as ‘Jamie?’” Peter asked.

“Well, no,” he admitted. “I’m from France, originally—”

“That’s it.” A look of understanding crossed Peter’s face. “Louis. You changed your name back in the early eighties after popularity of those Anne Rice novels.”

“Nothing like people confusing you with a fictional character,” Jamie muttered. “You should hear about the troubles my teenage friend from Verona, Juliet, has had.”

“Yes, I recall now—you were a nobleman. Paid for your immortality, from what I heard.”

“Christ, you even make my story sound interesting,” I said with a laugh.

“Perhaps we can discuss this after we figure out who’s been killing the coven members?” Nate interrupted. There was a dark, agitated tone to his voice, and I began to worry about what possible spells he had prepared for a roomful of people who wouldn’t stay on topic.

A troubled look filled Peter’s gentle face as he scrutinized his friend’s expression. “You’re using magic again, aren’t you?”

“Certain events have called for it,” Nate replied sharply.

“How can you tell?” I asked.

“He gets irritable,” Peter explained. “Usually he’s a lot more...patient.”

“Does he always brood this much too?”

“We’re talking about who’s trying to kill us,” Nate snapped.

Peter sat up straight and tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “Quite right. I have heard it’s a secret government special task force.”

Silence followed his words. He said it so calmly, so matter-of-factly, that it took a few moments for it to register.

“So the North American governments have a secret, supernatural-eliminating team?” I said. “Wow. Didn’t think they had it in them. But I should have suspected something here in Canada—I knew the Liberals were up to something being in power for all those years.”

“No, let me rephrase that,” Peter said. “It’s a special tasks force owned by the secret government. Or, rather, a member of it.”

“Oh...because that makes so much more sense,” I said. “The Illuminati did it. Of course.”

“The Illuminati was made up to keep conspiracy theorists busy,” Peter said. “The actual secret government exists on this plane and a few others. As you probably guessed, they aren’t the most agreeable bunch. Some are half-demons, others are warlocks and witches, and there’s even the odd human who has managed to buy his way in.”

Alrighty then. There was a) a secret government, b) they had a special tasks force, and c) wanted to kidnap me. That made perfect sense.

If everyone was incredibly stoned.

“Why are they killing covens and kidnapping vampires, then?” I asked.

“They aren’t exactly doing it, per se. It turns out they have an opening in their little circle. A couple of mortals were in the running, and it looks like the one taking the lead has been causing this. He—or she—was given a few resources from the shadow government, then left to his own devices to fulfill his plan. It seems wiping out the most powerful covens was quite impressive.”

“But why take vampires alive?” Nate asked.

“That is a mystery to everyone I talked to,” Peter said. “As is the identity of the individual behind it.”

Back at square one, then. Wheels turned in my head as I laid out everything we knew already and tried to form some semblance of a pattern. “Do you know the names of some of the people vying for the position?”

“I’ve heard rumors about a couple.”

“How about Mishka Thiering?”

Peter nodded after a while. “Yes, I recall a few sources have suggested that. What was she—half-demon as well as witch?”

“Daughter of something or someone called ‘Lord of Oblivion.” I smacked my hand over my mouth and let my eyes grow wide. “Oops, I forgot Heaven said we aren’t supposed to say his name. Question: If I say it three times, does he appear behind me?”

“The rituals are a little bit more complicated than that.”

“Oh well, worth asking. So yeah, Mish was his daughter. I guess that technically makes her quarter-demon.”

“Ah. Yes, she would have been a significant threat to whoever is behind this.”

“Well, I suppose that’s why she was so eager to unlock her power,” I said to Nate. “And what she wanted the extra money for.”

He met my gaze, but didn’t answer. I suppose after all his bitchy wife’s betrayals, nothing surprised him anymore.

“So where do we go from here?” Jamie spoke up. “How are we supposed to stop this guy from kidnapping us and stuff?”

I glanced at Jamie, tilted my head to the side, and grinned. “Use you as bait?”

He gave me a mock-glare.

“The solution remains to be seen,” Peter said.

Despite the answers he had provided, we were still mostly screwed.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Details, Details...

I wasn’t interested in repeating everything Peter had said to Heaven, so I stayed behind as the guys went downstairs to confer with her. My excuse was that we had emptied the apartment’s mini-bar, so I was stocking up on the supplies in the conference room bar.

But Peter’s retelling of the events of my birth into vampirism left me jarred. Even after three hundred years, the thought of the dark place and the time directly after it made me shudder.

I saw Pavel and Ecaterina’s children in my mind, tasted their blood on my lips, and cringed at the memory. They were just kids. Little, tiny children...wasn’t their fault their father was a murderer and their mother had no problem hopping in another woman’s bed within weeks of her death. Still, some part of me enjoyed it. When I was babbling in madness later and Dragomir explained what had happened, who I’d killed... There was a moment of pure glee. Because I’d already taken away the first pieces of the family they’d built after my murder and realizing how my husband was probably hurting in that moment stoked the righteous rage burning in me.

I was a monster. I had no illusions about it.

The best moment was the look on my husband’s face as I stepped into the bedroom we once shared. His eyes widened in disbelief, then alarm, and finally in absolute terror. Grinning with my fangs showing, dress covered in blood—I really made an impression on a guy.

But my delight didn’t last long. The pleasure I took in dismembering and torturing my replacement was overshadowed by that painful, hungry void I’d awoken with. And when my final act as vengeful spouse was complete, and I stood over Pavel’s corpse watching the blood from his exposed entrails seep into the hardwood floor, I didn’t feel peaceful. I didn’t feel righteous.

I didn’t feel anything.

Alone.

I gave my head a shake, blinked hard, and kneeled behind the bar. Whiskey. In massive quantities, it could solve anything. I sorted through the bottles and snatched a few containing the hardest liquor. If we had to spend much more time in the basement with Heaven, we might as well be good and hammered.

I stood, liquor bottles cradled in my arms, and I nearly dropped them when the sight of Nate at the door startled me.

“Need some help?” He gestured to the vodka and scotch.

“Nah, I think I can rob the bar on my own.” I grinned. “I’ve had a few years of experience.” Of course, robbing liquors stores for real wasn’t nearly as fun as it sounded in theory, but I tried not to tell people those stories—it ruined the romance of the idea. I passed him, balanced the bottles in my arms, and reached for the door.

“Listen, Zara...”

Oh hell. I so didn’t want to do this. Fucking pity—I could put up with a lot of shit, but not that. “‘Blah blah, I shouldn’t have been so quick to judge, blah blah, that must have sucked, yadda yadda yadda,’” I said for him. “There—did that sum it up?”

A faint smile touched his lips and I forgot my irritation as my heart rate sped. “More or less.”

“Well, its water under the bridge, or over the bridge, or wherever that stupid saying claims it goes. The water is where it is supposed to be, so we can move on.”

He took the bottles from me and placed them on the table behind us. The air turned heavy with unspoken expectancy, and I knew it would be too much to expect I’d get to leave without a discussion. With a sigh, I hopped on the table’s edge and waited for him to get on with the apologies.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have been so quick to judge.” He raked both hands back through his hair, staring ahead and sighing with frustration. “I don’t understand what’s happening to me. Well, I do actually. When you’ve got this much magic running through your body—pleading to be commanded—it starts to build up. I don’t even realize how I’m acting.”

“Yeah, magic is a lot like sexual tension that way,” I said with a smirk.

“Seriously...” He held my gaze for a several seconds and I promptly forgot exactly what we’d been talking about. “I should have listened to you, when you said someone had betrayed you.”

“Well, there’s no way of knowing whether or not I would have actually told you anything,” I said. “Even if I’d been given an opportunity. So don’t beat yourself up over it too much. Maybe a little, but not a lot.”

“Everything he said was true, then?” Nate asked.

Oh god. I’d been dreading this part—the curiosity. The questions. He’d want details. He’d want to listen. Especially after shutting me down earlier, now it was a pity party with Zara at the center of attention and expected to entertain.

“Yup, totally factual.” I bit my tongue hard enough to wince, swallowing back the rest I didn’t want to reveal. He knows about Pavel. That’s all you wanted to tell him, so keep your goddamn mouth shut...you don’t need to milk it...

He didn’t move, expression didn’t change. “You’re certain?”

“It was three centuries ago,” I reminded him. “And I don’t have the best memory on a good day.”

He waited there in front of me expectantly for a moment. When he seemed satisfied I wasn’t going to say any more, he reached for the liquor.

“I was seventeen,” I blurted out. Stupid mouth, moving when it’s not supposed to.

“I’m sorry?” His hand froze in midair and he looked at me.

Damn you, Zara. “When I was turned.”

“That’s right, Peter said eighteen.” Nate pushed the bottles aside and sat next to me. Eyes on mine, his attention felt...weighty. Real and focused, centered on me.

For a moment, relief touched me, and I realized I was glad. Glad I was getting this out, glad I was talking about it. Peter would’ve listened, no doubt, but purely from an academic standpoint. The idea of Jamie knowing personal stuff about me was no good. But Nate...he just learned I ate small children, committed brutal acts of revenge, and he still wanted to listen. Had it confirmed I was the worst kind of murderer—a child killer—and he looked at me like I was the only person who existed in that moment.

I shifted under the intensity of his gaze and swallowed dryly. “Not for another ten days. It wasn’t like Dragomir had a birth certificate or anything back then, so he couldn’t be expected to know.”

“So technically you can’t even vote?” He offered a grin that was sad around the edges.

The thought of him feeling sorry for me made me squirm so I kept my tone light. “Yes, and that definitely would keep me up at night if I didn’t have a fake ID. What would the Green Party ever do without my support?”

We sat in silence. I stared at my knees, let my long legs dangle from the edge of the table. My chest tightened, worry building and building and I knew I wouldn’t get out of the conference room without spilling all my guts once and for all.

“The rest was accurate?” His tone was gentle and quiet. For some reason, it hurt.

“From what I recall.”

“No exaggerations? This dismemberment and disembowelment—”

“And the tasty Romanian children? All the god’s honest truth.”

“And no one knows why you awoke so early?”

“No, they don’t.” I licked my lips and swallowed again as a painful lump rose in my throat. Eyed the bottles. It would take nearly the whole bottle of scotch to get me buzzed, but I was three words away from cracking it open and injecting it directly into my veins. “But I do.”

Nate immediately looked over at me, and I glanced away, avoiding his gaze and letting my hair drape over my shoulder to obscure my face.

“You do?”

“Yeah. I’m assuming it probably had something to do with the amniotic fluid and stuff.” There. I’d said it.

“Amni...you mean—”

“I was with child,” I said, surprising myself with how calm I was. “A few months along, starting to show if you knew how to look. When the vampire parasite turned most of my insides to pulp, something about the child’s cells or my body’s hormones or something must have sped up the process. Nutrient rich, I guess. Like demon fertilizers.”

Silence. Then: “Did he know?” Voice steady and deceptively calm, something simmered below the surface. That hint of rage I heard sparked a strength in me I hadn’t been expecting.

“Yes, he did. And he pretended to be happy, every day, all the while he was planning to kill us.” I clenched my hands into fists, digging my nails deep into my palms. “God, I wish he was alive so I could kill him again. I’d do it right this time and make it last for days.”

“Did he tell you why?”

“Nope. Dragomir didn’t know either. Given how quickly he took up with Ecaterina, I’m guessing he just didn’t love me. Never did. Just didn’t want to do it himself, so he delegated.”

Back then, he’d had all of me. I thought the world of that man, twelve years my senior. He was so smart, so handsome. Married off at sixteen, he was everything to me when I hadn’t a clue there existed a whole universe outside of being his wife.

He didn’t just kill Ana’s body—he killed Ana. He took something I’d never, ever get back, no matter how many years I lived. And so Zara was born: a narcissistic killer who would look out for number one and never lose part of herself to a man again.

Rest in peace, Ana.

“So yeah.” I swallowed and blinked in case my eyes got any funny ideas about crying—I was stronger than that now. “I’m kinda like the original Beatrix Kiddo, on a roaring rampage of revenge, except with fewer katanas and more fangs. I would’ve rocked that yellow outfit, though.”

“I’m sorry.”

I shook my head. “I definitely wouldn’t have said all this yesterday. Besides, it would have seemed less sincere with me trying to jump your bones at the same time. But yeah. I understand what you’re going through. Except I was more violent about it.”

“At least Mishka only lied to me for a few months. And I should’ve known better. Everyone...” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Another brick in the wall, I guess. I shouldn’t have been surprised.”

I wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse. Mishka’s Judas act dug in a bit deeper into him, chipped away at the damaged person he already was. My husband destroyed a faithful, loving person who never dreamed such a thing could happen. Is it worse having your trust betrayed when you’re completely innocent, or after you’ve given your heart despite already being jaded?

I had no answer for that.

“Zara...” He shifted to face me and reluctantly I turned to look at him. Tense seconds passed with his eyes on mine. His hand went to my face, brushing back a few strands of hair and warming my flesh as his fingers ran over my cheek.

A tingling started beneath his hand and swept across my skin. It traveled along my face, fanning out in all directions, and leaving a trail of welcomed fever behind it. My lips parted in a gasp. The sensation moved down my body, out to my arms, and down my legs, covering all of me and lasting for a few minutes.

When the feeling had dissipated, his hand left my cheek and returned to his side; I shivered, gooseflesh covering my arms, and tried to form words.

“What...what was...” My gaze fell to my hand resting on the edge of the table. What the fuck? I blinked a few times. It didn’t go away.

The considerable marks left on my skin from the previous day’s overexposure to the sun were shrinking. Right in front of me. I reached up to feel my face, but the only scarred bits of raised skin I encountered faded beneath my touch.

“I sped up the healing process.” Nate’s shoulders slumped and he yawned, the magic having zapped some of his strength. A few seconds later he eased himself up to stand and picked up the bottles of alcohol. “It’s...sort of like a system boost—I just amplified what your body was already doing to mend itself, so it works a lot faster on you than it would a normal human. Might as well do something with all that magical build-up.” He walked to the door and held it open for me.

“Well, should you decide to release any other tensions that might be accumulating, you’ve certainly earned yourself my good favour.” This time I was only joking, though, and the exaggerated roll of his eyes told me he knew it too.

Good thing—my ego had taken enough bruising for a while.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Kids These Days!

The two guys were seated on the couch, with Peter scanning the pages of a large, hardcover book, and Jamie flipping through TV channels. They both looked up as Nate and I came downstairs and immediately took notice that I was no longer sunburn central.

“Zara, my dear.” Jamie moved over and motioned for me to sit between him and Peter. He turned me toward him once I was seated, then held me at arm’s length to study me for a few moments. Peter left his book on the coffee table and got up to come to Jamie’s side to take a better look at me as well.

I had a sudden rush of pleasure at being so warmly admired, and I didn’t stop myself from enjoying it.

“Love, this is the most miraculous healing I’ve ever seen,” Jamie said.

My eyes darted to Nate as he started for the kitchen. He shook his head, so I didn’t explain.

“I’m just a miraculous sort of person, I guess,” I said instead.

Peter’s gaze also went to Nate, but he too kept his mouth shut.

“So where’s Heaven?” I loathed shifting the subject from how gorgeous I was looking, but I had plenty of time to be vain later.

“The lovely Widow Thiering is in her room,” Jamie informed me. “Not liking what our new friend here had to say.”

“She had a problem with the whole evil secret government dealio that her daughter wanted into?” I asked.

“The poor thing blames herself,” Peter said.

“Why shouldn’t she?” Jamie shrugged. “It’s usually the parents’ fault.”

“Your sensitivity in such matters is an inspiration to us all,” Nate said coldly as he returned from putting the liquor away. Ah, back to the grumpy warlock routine. At least it kept the dialogue interesting.

“It’s true,” Jamie said. “Any psychologist will tell you that.”

“Any more irrelevant bits of wisdom you have to pass on?” Nate asked. “While we’re on the subject of psychology, that is.”

“Well, you seriously need to get laid, my friend.”

“Right, because that seems to be really helpful at keeping you from being a complete asshole.”

“Starting to sound a bit jealous there, kid,” Jamie said with a grin.

Nate took a few steps forward. “And what could I possibly be jealous of?”

Jamie hopped to his feet and closed the gap between them in a few paces. “Let’s see...” He raised his hand and counted off the reasons on his fingers. “I’ve got Zara, for one thing.”

“No you don’t—” I began.

“If that’s your only reason, I’ve got news for you,” Nate said, as if I hadn’t spoken. “I don’t want her.”

“Hey, be nice!” I shot in, but neither of the men seemed aware of me.

“I’m wealthy, good looking, and immortal,” Jamie continued. “And that’s gotta sting.”

“Nate’s actually hotter than you and he’s way rich,” I said, more to myself than them. When that much testosterone was in the air, everything—including logic, reason, and a pretty girl talking—was totally lost.

“You’re also a prick,” Nate said. “Which definitely negates the immortality. So far, we’re still even.”

I leaned back on the couch, propped my feet up on the coffee table, and sighed. “Would you guys mind taking off your shirts and dousing yourselves in olive oil if you’re going to do this? I’ll get some popcorn.”

Neither acknowledged me.

“Hmm, how about the fact that my girlfriend didn’t sell me out for a bit of demonic power,” Jamie said. “Now I wonder what that says about you as a—”

Nate took a swing at Jamie, and I had to agree that the guy had it coming. His fist connected with Jamie’s nose, spraying blood onto the couch and the wall behind him.

“Oh, Junior, you really don’t want to get into this with me.” Jamie sent the back of his hand flying against Nate’s jaw. The vampiric strength behind the simple swipe hurled Nate clear across the room, smashing him into the far wall. White motes of dust puffed out of the cracked drywall.

The warlock muttered a few words and Jamie flew back over the couch into the opposite wall. Nate tried to stand again, then fell forward, spitting out blood.

“This could go one for a while,” Peter said to me quietly as Jamie swore and vaulted over the sofa to stalk toward Nate. “And there’s a good chance they’ll end up killing each other.”

I sighed. The fight was entertaining, but Peter was right. Plus I didn’t anticipate anyone actually getting out the olive oil, so I’d get bored pretty quick.

“Boys, boys,” I chided, standing up and stepping in front of Jamie before he reached Nate. “That’s enough.”

“He started it,” Nate muttered.

Jamie smirked. “Aw, running out of charms?”

“What, are you guys five or something?” I asked. Both of them dropped their heads, just as a couple of children would. “Time for each of you to take a walk.”

“As long as you’re sure Junior can walk after that one,” Jamie said.

Nate was still having trouble standing up straight after nearly being put through the wall. “I saw a sunroom up there you might want to check out. See if you can find yourself a spot by the window.”

“Hey, children,” I interrupted before they could get started again. “Shut up or I’ll kick both your asses.”

“She looks like she could do it, too,” Peter piped up.

“Jamie, go.” I pointed to the stairs.

Jamie straightened his back and pretended not to look hurt that I had singled him out.

“Fine. I’ve got some phone calls to make anyway.” He left the basement, but not before giving Nate a sharp glare.

“Nate, go,” I said, turning to the other man.

“You want me to follow him upstairs? Gladly—”

“Go into the bathroom and make sure you don’t have any broken bones then.” I turned my back on him and flopped down on the couch next to Peter while Nate left the room.

“You certainly have your hands full here,” Peter said.

“Normally, I’d say that’s a good thing, but not in this context. Please tell me you’re close to figuring out who’s behind this, because I don’t think I can stand to babysit any longer.”

“Nate mentioned on the phone you believed you were attacked by half-demons the other night.” He pulled the heavy book he had been reading into his lap again and flipped it open. “But any half-demon capable of existing in our realm would normally die by regular human means.”

“So my snapping that guy’s neck should have done some irreversible damage,” I filled in.

“Exactly.”

Huh. Wasn’t expecting that. “Then what the hell is human-shaped, able to throw fireballs, but can’t die? It definitely sounds like some demon mojo was involved.”

“There was.” He pointed to the book, which was written in a language I didn’t understand. Of course, I’d grown up with a language other than English and couldn’t even remember that anymore, so it could’ve been Romanian for all I knew. There was a rough, inked picture on the left page, however—a picture of a human body rising from a grave with what looked like flames around it.

“Charming artwork. What does it mean?”

“What you and Nate saw were fresh, re-animated corpses with the souls of demons in them. Demons of lower intelligence, but demons nonetheless. If they’re the ones I’m thinking of, they are essentially like dogs—able to follow simple commands, and fiercely loyal to whatever master summoned them.”

“So we’re looking for someone who knows necromancy and can summon obedient demon-doggie souls? That sounds like a rather broad witch search, if you ask me.”

“It’s considerably less with so many possible candidates dead,” Peter said. “And it doesn’t mean whoever is behind this is a witch. He or she could simply be employing one.”

“But the other guys we encountered seemed human enough.”

“The young Ms. Thiering...or Mrs. O’Connor, or whatever you wish to call her—”

“I’ll go with ‘bitch,’” I said with a smirk.

“Mishka,” Peter said, “was a significant threat. She probably would have been able to handle a few mere humans, but she didn’t have a chance against demons.”

She would have if I’d killed Nate. It was definitely clear now why she ordered the hit. But if she knew what was going down, why the hell didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t she tell anyone? I happily would’ve killed her secret husband for her. No need for secrecy.

“Any suggestions as to how to kill them should I run into one again?” I asked.

“Aside from blowing up the host’s body, it’s next to impossible. Decapitation might slow it down. Now, a proper dispel of the magic used would send the demon part back to its dimension, but you’d still be left with a walking corpse.”

“I can take care of the dispelling,” Nate said as he came out of the bathroom. “Now that I know what I’m dealing with, I can have the appropriate spells prepared.”

“Then I’ll get something heavy and blunt and go ‘smashy smashy’ with the zombies,” I added. And the possibility of killing zombies had me giddy. “So we’ve got the fireball-throwing guys taken care of. Now what to do about finding who’s responsible...”

“I might be able to help with that,” Jamie called from the stairwell. Sneaky bastard—apparently he didn’t go for that walk after all. He came back into the room stuffing his cell phone in his pocket, and took a seat on the arm of the couch next to me. “It seems someone I know finally pulled through, because I actually have a lead. There’s a witch exiled from one of the South American covens who just might have the resources and magic to pull this off. And she’s been living not too far from here, in perhaps the only coven-owned mansion that didn’t explode the other night.”

“Sweet,” I said. “So I guess the three of us will—”

“Four,” Peter said. “I may not have super strength or magic, but I do know a thing or two about automatic weapons.”

“Okay, then,” I said with a grin. “The four—”

“Five.” Heaven’s voice startled us, and we all turned to see her standing in the doorway. There was something cold and fierce in her gaze, a glimmer there I’d seen in Mishka a few times. Though it hadn’t occurred to me the entire time we were talking, I realized she must have been listening to us.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” I asked. “If this witch is behind it, there’s a good chance we’re going to get our asses handed to us.”

“I need to do this for Mishka,” she whispered, rage burning in her voice.

“If that kid, with her heritage, couldn’t take out a few of this witch’s lackeys, I hardly see how you guys could.” Jamie gestured to Nate and Heaven. “Unless you’re planning to summon her pops again. That might be helpful.”

“I did that to give my daughter the best possible chance at surviving in this world,” Heaven shot at him. “And it still didn’t do any good. I don’t care what happens to me. I want vengeance.”

“I still think—” Jamie began.

“It’s probably best if you stop trying to do that,” Nate interrupted him.

“That’s enough, kids.” I sized Heaven up. She was small but that gave no indication of her magic, and regardless of how good a witch she was, the need for revenge too could lend a lot of strength to a person. I knew it firsthand. “You’re in?”

“Yes.”

“All right, five,” I agreed. “The five of us go in. Tonight.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

No Worries

On foot, we approached the home of our suspected culprit. It was an hour and a half after dusk, and we had left the van—and Heaven’s bodyguards—about half a mile from the gates of the house.

We stopped before the ten foot, cast-iron fence that surrounded the property. A thick, verdant hedge made up an inner secondary layer, obscuring our view of what was beyond. The gate itself was actually two doors, each huge, flat, and made of solid steel, giving no clear picture of the house or property beyond. Better security than the Thiering house, or even the O’Connor’s.

Gulp. “Anyone want to assure me we won’t be leaping into a pit of sharks?” I asked.

The worried expressions I encountered from the others told me they shared my thoughts.

“I’ll scout the place.” Jamie started for the eastern side of the fence to circle the property.

“I shall begin setting up.” Heaven carried her bag of magical goodies and tools to a spot down the road from the gates, beneath several large maple trees. She spread out items in a circle around her, lifting them with care and inspecting them before setting them down again. Ceremonial dagger, candles, herbs, an old Grimoire of incantations. Previously she’d handed me, Jamie, and Nate little white satchels of something or another—it would help direct her spells to us, she’d said. Heaven would be casting some supportive magic, like a cloaking spell, to help the rest of us get in without being detected.

“Perhaps you should see if she needs some help with anything,” Nate said to Peter.

Peter glanced back at the witch, then nodded his agreement. “If she gets in a meditative state, someone should probably be there to guard her.” He immediately looked to me and offered such a warm smile that I couldn’t help but grin back. “Take care while you’re in there, Zara.”

Like he could doubt me. “Of course. I’ll come back with awesome stories in case you ever need to write about vampires again.”

“I’ll write a whole book on you, I promise.” After another glance at me, he walked the short distance to where Heaven knelt. He stood at her side, one hand on the gun holstered at his hips.

“I suppose you’ve lived up to all the stories he’s heard,” Nate said. “And here I thought he might have been disillusioned after finally meeting you.”

“Yeah, fuck you too, Nate.”

Nate gave me a chuckle that warmed me to my toes. “He already seems to have grown attached to you.”

“You can hardly blame him. I am pretty great.”

Wind rustled the trees around us and the feathery wisps of hair framing my face. The rest of my locks were wound up in a bun. I looked better with it down, but serious danger called for serious hair. I even forwent big heels on my boots—the ones I wore had only two inches—so clearly I meant business.

My stomach tightened as I stared at the gates. I might’ve felt more confident about our big plan if we brought a fucking tank or something with magic-repellant metal plating. Heaven had spoken to some people and confirmed some chick named Carolina had been booted from the Sousa coven, which covered a whole lot of witches in Brazil. “Human sacrifice” came up in the conversation, though Heaven stressed they were just rumors. All arrows pointed her way, especially since she’d taken up nearby.

Nate shifted at my side. “I don’t like this. Something doesn’t feel right.”

“There’s no way of knowing what we’re dealing with, so that concern is probably well-founded. But I managed to take out your father—even though I almost got decapitated in the process—and he was pretty strong.” Wait, wasn’t I supposed to stop underestimating warlocks? “Of course, that probably seemed kind of unnecessary now. Sorry if it, like, bugs you or anything”

“It doesn’t matter.” The ice in his voice didn’t seem directed at me and I understood what he was likely feeling, intimately. “I know he did nothing to Mishka, but...”

“It was long overdue,” I filled in. “I get it. Anyway, the point is that he was strong and I took care of him. We find this witch, get what she knows, and if she’s behind it, then we kill her. No worries, okay?”

He absently nodded, but kept his gaze fixed on the gate.

“No brooding either.”

“I’m not brooding.”

I held up my hand and pinched an inch of air between my index finger and thumb. “A little bit. I’m not gonna want to hang out with you after this if you keep brooding.”

“Promise?”

“Oh, ha ha.” I crossed my arms at my chest and glared at the fence for a while.

“Thought you didn’t want to get coffee or exchange Christmas cards?” He caught my eye, expression neutral though his voice sounded a little too interested in my answer.

I got fidgety for some reason and I didn’t know why. “Yeah, well.”

“Great comeback.”

“Fuck you, lover boy.”

Jamie came jogging from the opposite side of the fence. I couldn’t decide if I was glad for the interruption or not.

“So what’s the assessment?” I asked.

“The fence is about a half mile around, like we figured,” Jamie told us. “I jumped up to see about thirty armed guards total stationed around the house. Provided we can get across the lawn and onto the roof without being seen, we just need to slip into one of the upper windows from there. How long can the merry widow keep us invisible?”

“The spell will probably only buy us thirty seconds or so,” Nate said. “One minute at the most. She’ll be fried, completely—useless while she recovers.”

Jamie frowned and shot a glance at our target. “I don’t doubt Zara and I could get over the fence and to the house in that time, but I’m not sure about you, Junior.”

Nate tensed beside me, air around him nearly crackling audibly. “I’m sure I’m more than capable—”

Great, not again. “He’s got a point,” I stepped in before they digressed into blows again. “You could do your time frame removal thingy, but that might wipe you out for the other stuff. So that’s off the table. We’ve got super vampire speed and we can clear a fifteen to twenty foot jump no problem. I don’t doubt that you’ve got some seriously offensive magic prepared, but we don’t have time to just go with normal human speed here.”

Maybe I should’ve attempted a kinder tone, because his eyes looked nearly black in the poor light, and his expression had gone stony and cold.

Jamie was shifting impatiently like a little kid and I kind of wanted to smack him. “Can’t you do whatever it is you’re planning to do out here? Or are you too scared to hang out here by yourself? Not that I blame you. The widow and the kid there don’t look like they’d been any good in a fight. I could always carry you, if you like.”

Oh, for Christ’s sake. I shot Jamie a glare. He innocently pretended not to understand.

After few seconds of silence, in which Nate spent his time scowling at Jamie, he finally nodded. “I can’t do the dispel while Heaven’s doing the cloaking. Or else there’s a chance that one will be dispelled as well. There were probably some measures taken to prevent someone like me from tampering with the protection spells that surround the house, so I may need time to get through them.”

“And you call yourself a warlock,” Jamie said with—I hoped—sarcasm. This time when I directed a warning look in his direction, he took notice. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“I think the two of you should be more concerned with how you’re going to take on this witch,” Nate said before I could reply.

“Simple—we’ll gag her.” I gave him a gentle nudge in the side with my elbow. “No worries, remember.”

“C’mon doll,” Jamie said as he started for the witch’s property. “We got us a witch to catch. Give us a nod when Heaven’s got our spell ready, kid.”

“Zara,” Nate said just as I was about to follow Jamie.

“You know we can’t keep standing around talking all night—”

His hand locked on my arm. My heart momentarily ceased its beat as I looked back and saw the fear he tried to mask in his eyes. He really was nervous...and I couldn’t keep at bay the chill that ran down my spine. Nate hadn’t, thus far, shown a whole lot of fear—and he’d been shot like three times.

“Now that looks an awful lot like worry.” I forced a smile. “I thought I told you not—”

“Just be careful,” he said.

Oh hell, I was the very picture of carefulness. Er, mostly. I attempted a laugh to diffuse the tension, and failed horribly. “I’m always careful. I think it’s that brain dead vamp over there you should—”

“I don’t care if he gets hurt.” He swallowed tightly, stared at me, and colour touched his cheeks.

Oh. Wow. I tried not to think about the implications of that—tried not to read too much into it. After all, I was probably his strongest ally in this, so of course he wouldn’t want to see me harmed...

Should we survive our little adventure tonight, this triangle is going to get a whole lot more interesting.

“Just...keep on guard.” He released my arm and turned to walk away.

Oh no—he wasn’t leaving that easy. “Hey!” This time I grabbed his arm and gave him a tug back to me. His mouth opened to say something; I leaned forward, pressed my lips to his cheek, then shifted to whisper next to his ear. “You and me are having a chat when this is over. It may involve dangling on the edge and begging for release.” I grinned as I let him go and backed away. “I’m always on guard, honey.”

A smile flickered on his lips, though it might’ve been the lighting.

Jamie waited for me next to the fence, and after Nate gave the signal, we both leaped over the wall.

I had only a second to take in the sight around me. The odd bush and small tree were scattered about the lawn. Sure enough, several guards dressed all in black and carrying automatic weapons were positioned around the front of the house. The home itself was three stories high, with a one and a half story garage to the far right. Jamie nodded toward the garage, as if reading my thoughts, and in moments we were racing across the grass.

We shot right past the guards, who would have had a difficult time spotting us even if we didn’t have the invisibility spell. Not twenty seconds after the spell was set in motion, we had jumped onto the garage and then on top of the main house.

Jamie gestured for the rear of the house and silently we crept across the slanted roof. Our spell had undoubtedly worn off by then, but we were high enough up that someone would have to be looking for us in order to catch a glimpse. Once we reached the back, I glanced down to see several more people stationed around the rear door. No one was looking as Jamie uncoiled the rope he had tied to his belt, attached it to the harness I was wearing, and then lowered me over the edge of the roof.

I was suspended there in the air with guards not twenty-five feet below, and with a large window on either side of me. The room inside was dark, leaving me unable to make out what was within. I hated having to go in without the slightest clue about what the house interior was or what to expect inside, but all we’d gotten on the place was the rough exterior layout via Google Earth.

As I pulled out the tools I would be using to get through the window pane, a light turned on in the room. I cursed under my breath, ducked out of the way, and carefully turned to press my back against the two feet of brick that divided the space between the windows.

The rope gave a little and my feet flew out to the windowsills on either side of me to steady myself. One of my heels scraped the brick and I froze, praying the people just below me didn’t hear.

Goddamn that Jamie, there’s no reason why he shouldn’t be able to hold on...

I glanced up to see Jamie peering down at me from his kneeling position on the roof. He looked confused, and gave a slight shrug to indicate he wondered why I was taking so long. Like he couldn’t see the lamplight in the windows.

I impatiently gestured to the windows, then motioned for him to stay still. God help me, I’d rip his damn head off if he fucking dropped me.

A careful glance around the corner into the room yielded no results; I couldn’t make out who was in there without sticking myself in plain view. So I waited, hanging in the air, and wishing that I had sent Jamie down instead. But, knowing him, he’d probably just continue working on cutting the hole in the window no matter who was looking. Idiot. Clearly I was the best available person for the job.

A little over an eternity passed before the lights went out again. In my head I counted two minutes before swinging around to face the window again.

My belt had all kinds of goodies attached; first I pulled out a handle that affixed to the glass pane. With one hand placed firmly on the grip, I pulled out a second small knife specifically for scoring glass and ran it in a wide arc.

Nate damn well better have any magical protections dispelled...or he’s getting decapitated too.

I slipped the knife back in my belt and cautiously popped the glass out. No alarms went off, but then I wasn’t sure what a breach of magical security would entail. Light flashing? Loud noise? Or would someone just show up and kill us?

The house beyond remained silent. I lowered the window pane to the floor inside, then shifted and stepped through the hole with care. Once I was safely inside, I untied the rope and gave it a tug. Jamie pulled it back up on the roof and a few moments later he swung himself inside.

He paused at the window to survey my work as I slipped off the harness and dropped it with the glass.

“Looks a little crooked,” he whispered.

I gave his arm a slap. “Maybe if you had simply stayed in place instead of shifting the rope around, it would look better.”

“I couldn’t help myself.” He grinned and reached over to run a hand along the V-cut neck of my black top, his fingers pausing at the bottom of the V. “I had a pretty great view.”

Jesus Christ. My fist struck before I could stop myself; I punched him again, this time significantly harder.

“You should probably rethink wearing tight, low-cut tops when we’re breaking into people’s homes,” he continued. “Not complaining, it’s just that I find it a little distracting.”

I rolled my eyes and started for the door.

“Keep those low-risers though.” He gave my rear a playful smack, so I elbowed him in the ribs.

“Quit grabbing me,” I hissed, swearing to myself that I’d kill him if we got caught simply because he was too busy trying to cop a feel when he should be watching for enemies. Next time I was so taking Nate.

The room we stood in had no discernible purpose that I could see. Sparse furnishings—two armchairs, a loveseat, some tables and lamps—and not much else. I paused, listened for heartbeats in the surrounding area. A few faint ones signified people on the floor but not immediately nearby.

I don’t like this. Something doesn’t feel right... I pushed Nate’s voice from my head and slid the door open an inch.

The corridor was dimly lit by silver sconces on burgundy painted walls. No voices, no footsteps...and whatever heartbeats I thought I heard earlier were gone now—absolutely no signs of anyone. I opened the door the rest of the way and we slipped into the hallway.

“Any suggestions as to where to look for this witch?” I whispered.

“Not a clue, dear,” he said. “I guess we should just start checking rooms and kill anyone who doesn’t look like our girl.”

“Brilliant.” Not like I have any bright ideas, though.

We went down the hall, checking for lights under the doors and pressing our ears to the wood to listen for sounds of life within. We came up with nothing.

Around the first corner we encountered another corridor, but this time there was a single open door and the glow of yellow light spilling across the floor into the hallway. Success? Perhaps. If it wasn’t occupied, though, I hoped we could lie in wait and someone would show up soon.

Dread and worry prickled on the back of my neck as we filed toward the door. Backs pressed against the wall, both of us had a hand hovering over the respective guns holstered at our belts. I motioned for Jamie to take the other side and cover me while I went in. He raced past the doorway in the blink of an eye, pulled out his gun, and nodded for me to continue.

Here’s hoping she doesn’t have a spell or two handy.

With my gun in hand, I crouched down and crept across the carpet. The room’s light came from a fireplace opposite the door; yellow-orange light suffused the room in a glow and shadows played on the walls. The big room could’ve been a study or something, but like the room we’d come in, this one seemed devoid of a purpose too. The single desk pushed beneath the window looked unused, and there were only a couple of bookshelves on one wall and a couch resting against another.

It was just...wrong. Every fiber in me screamed to get the fuck out of there and come up with a new plan because something was really, really off about the whole goddamn situation. Even “trap” scrawled across the wall would’ve been more subtle.

I rose and took two more steps in, swinging my gaze from side to side as I went. A mostly furnished, guarded house...that didn’t look lived in. What the hell?

Jamie’s voice broke through the silence behind me. “Zara!”

I spun around to see a black gloved fist smack his chin; bone cracked and he flew back into the hallway, out of my view. Five guys, dressed all in black with ski-masks like the ones we’d seen outside, rushed into the room. A few more tangled with Jamie in the corridor.

On my own then. Five wasn’t too bad.

The nearest one leaped at me, wasting no time getting right into the fight. Well, I did appreciate his directness. He lost points for clumsiness, though, as I whirled out of his way and caught the guy to my left in the face with my elbow. The first one lost his balance and stumbled, then charged at me again. Once more, I slipped out of his path.

“If it didn’t work the first time, what made you think you’d get me the second try?” I raised the gun and fired a bullet into his chest.

He fell to the carpet and didn’t reply. Can’t say I expected him to, though. If there were reanimated corpses with demon spirits on the property, Nate had hopefully already dispelled them out of existence.

Something hard and heavy struck my back; pain zigzagged through my muscles and bone cracked. The gun dropped from my grip as I sprawled on the floor.

What. The. Fuck? Shit, it felt like a bus hit me. Or maybe a truck.

Hair had tumbled out of the careful bun I’d locked it in; I glanced up through locks of thick black tresses. One of the guys held an antique divan in the air. Superhuman strength—put a check in the “Zara was wrong” column then, ’cause it looked like I was probably dealing with demon-doggie guys again. Why hadn’t Nate taken care of that?

Something could’ve happened. Shit, something definitely happened, and I’d left the three of them out there unprotected. Fuck.

I tried to reel to the side, but the end of the couch caught me again, this time in the stomach. I cried out and clutched my gut. Roll, roll, roll... I was twisting, moving, preparing for another whack with the divan; instead, something shot into my back. An electric charge zapped through my body—one of the guys carried a Taser. It was far more useful than a standard stun gun as this one left a couple of barbs in my skin and sent the charge via wires, keeping my attacker well out of my reach. The electricity burned through me, feeling leaving my body...but, lucky for me, it took more than a single Taser to take out a vampire. I fought my way onto my knees, reached for the Taser chords—

Someone else fired at me as well.

Motherfucker! My arms thrashed about, but I couldn’t get a grip on the wires. The one guy tossed the couch to the other side of the room and knelt next to me.

I tried to speak, tried to protest, or throw some witty comment about my predicament his way, but I couldn’t form a single word. My consciousness was already slipping from me when I saw him bring out a syringe loaded with a clear liquid.

He pumped the substance into my left arm. My head slump onto the carpet just as I passed out.

****

My body throbbed with pain as I awoke. Might have been the multiple Taser shots. Might have been whatever drug I had been given. Or it might have even been the couch I had been hit with multiple times. But I didn’t bloody well care why. I hurt and I was pretty pissed about it.

Fluorescent lights above me struck my vision as I opened my eyes. I swear, that crap is almost as bad as sunlight.

I lay in a room about eight feet square, flat on my back. Under me, a bed? No, it was far too firm for there to be a mattress. So I was resting on something, a few feet off the ground, and there was a lump nestled in the small of my back. Some wiggling revealed the bump was my hands and a bit of shifting told me my wrists were shackled together. Great. Fucking beautiful. My ankles were similarly bound.

Knock me out, tie me up, and leave me in a shockingly white room. Nice.

“Someone had better get me the fuck out of here!” My voice echoed through the small space and my ears rang. Pain thrummed in my head in time with the beat of my heart, a dull ache probably from the drugs they’d shot me with. Oh well—I’d keep yelling. “Get me outta here or I’m gonna be pretty goddamn pissed off!”

No answer.

“Hello! If you’re going to kidnap me, common decency dictates that you’d at least tell me why, you fucktards!”

I tried to sit up; a strap went across my chest and prevented me from doing anything more than bending my head forward. A good, quick jerk didn’t loosen it—might’ve been steel or something.

“You know, I’m pretty sure tying me down like this might present a problem if there’s a fire.” I was certain no one was listening, but talking kept me calm. Well, not really calm, but at least not panicking and screaming ’til I passed out. “Someone’s going to be putting in a call to the fire marshal about this, ’cause I think you’re in serious violation of a few laws here.”

Footsteps and low voices sounded across the room. The far wall wasn’t, in fact, an actual wall, but a Plexiglas sliding door of some sort. I couldn’t make out much beyond it, but the footfalls grew louder. I caught sight of a man’s arm as whoever was out there conferred with someone else. Ah, so I guess someone was listening.

“Hey asshole!” I hollered. “C’mon in—let’s chat!”

A moment later there was a beep, a click, and then the door slid open. I strained my neck to see who I was hearing slowly step across the tiled floor...and my lips parted, though words escaped me.

Nate’s piercing blue eyes stared back at me.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

M.I.A.

Nate...Nate...no, God and Goddess and whoever else—please, not Nate...

I wasn’t sure whether my insistence to the contrary did it, or whether my vision had just been blurry due to my blackout and the bright lighting...but I quickly realized it wasn’t Nate.

His hair was too short, for one thing. It was the same dark brown, but cut close to his skull. Where Nate had a couple of lines that creased around his eyes on the rare occasion he smiled, this man had about twice that, and another few grooves at the corners of his mouth. He had the same straight features as my warlock friend, and was perhaps in his mid-thirties. Maybe he’d’ve been handsome if I wasn’t positive the bastard was responsible for me being locked up.

“You look surprised about something.” Even his fucking voice sounded like Nate’s, deep and commanding.

I swallowed dryly and hoped to hell my face didn’t show how freaked out he left me. “Well, you kinda look like this guy I saw at a party once. But you are like way too old to be him. My bad.”

“Ah.” He grinned, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. It was one that twisted my stomach and tickled my throat with worry—it disturbed me, a vampire who had caused more innocent bloodshed than just about any human could imagine. Whatever dark thing I saw as his lips slowly curved upward, I was more than certain I wasn’t interested in ever seeing it again.

“You must be thinking of my brother, Nathan,” he continued.

If I hadn’t already deduced Nate’s older brother, Sean, was actually alive and kicking, that certainly sealed the deal for me.

“You know, I think I see a resemblance.” I squinted as I pretended to study his face. “Yeah, I see it now...of course, I didn’t notice that male pattern baldness emerging quite so strongly on him.” I nodded to Sean’s head where his hairline was running for cover. “It probably came on out of the blue when you were what, thirty-two? Thirty-three? I’d give it another decade at most. But they do have creams and stuff for that now, you know, unless you think you can rock the bald look. Between you and me, I don’t think your head’s the right shape for it.”

He seemed unfazed by my insults, though I suppose it was worth a try.

“Where’s Nate?” I asked.

“Dead,” Sean replied coldly. “Like the witch and that other one. It’s just you and me now.”

I didn’t blink. “You’d better not be hitting on me, ’cause coming from you, that would be gross.” A lump formed in my throat, eyes burned. Heart twisted. Nate could’ve fought him off...right?

Except Nate said Sean’s abilities were unsurpassed.

Oh god.

“I presume you would like to know why you’re here, Miss Lain?” Sean asked.

I leveled a predatory grin his way. “Nah, I was actually hoping you’d unchain me and we could discuss this in a way I’m more comfortable with.”

“You know, it’s tempting, if only so you could see how useless it would be to attack me.”

“Your father thought the same thing just before I snapped his neck.”

“My father was weak,” Sean replied with a shrug. “And I do believe it would be better to keep you at least partially immobilized. What do you say?” He turned to someone who waited outside the room.

“I think you’re probably right on that count,” said a familiar voice.

Never mind that I hadn’t fed in a week and it felt as though ice ran through my veins—my blood still boiled. As if reading my thoughts, Jamie walked in and leaned against the doorway.

“Sleep well, sweetheart?” he asked, that playful smirk of his causing my more violent desires to call out to be realized. He had been feeding Sean information all this time...what we knew, who was alive...everything he knew about us...

You, motherfucker, are gonna die painfully when I’m outta here. “I was out like a light.” I returned his smile but sent my coldest glare his way. “I kind of had to be after you beat me with a goddamn couch.”

“Aw, you figured out it was me.” He pretended to look defeated. “You’re just too clever, Zara. I’ve only been around you for what...four or five days now? You sure are a quick one. I really am quite hurt that just now you asked about Junior and not me, though.”

His face was going to look so pretty later splattered in blood. I just had to get out first. “So this was just about catching me?” I directed at Sean, unable to even look at Jamie any longer. “The other vampires thing was just a lie?”

“She is pretty full of herself, isn’t she?” Sean looked back at Jamie, who nodded.

“I told ya so.”

“No, Miss Lain, this isn’t about you,” Sean said. “And it is a vampire thing.” He raised his hand and then made a slight gesture. Three armed guards—carrying both semi-automatics and metal stakes—entered the room to stand behind him. “I had planned to just leave you here, but Jamie seems to think you’d like a look around the place.”

I would like a look around, but snark was my top priority. “Actually, it would be super if you just let me go.”

“I don’t think so. Now I’m going to remove the restraints keeping you pinned to the table. You can come for a little walk with us.”

“If you want me to walk, I suggest taking care of the manacles on my legs too,” I said as he unbuckled the straps.

“You can shuffle along—it’s all right, we’ll wait.”

“You’re such a gentleman.”

He unfastened the final strap, then moved several feet away so I could sit up on my own. From there I hopped off the table and moved into the huge corridor outside the room. Everyone stayed at least four feet from me at all times, which told me I still must be some sort of threat to them. A little pride swelled in me at that thought, quashed quickly by the fact I knew I was utterly fucked.

Both to my left and right there were at least another dozen rooms, making perhaps almost thirty in total on my side of the hallway, as well as another thirty on the other. The lights above were bright and white as they were in my cell, glaring down. In the huge area between the two halves were groupings of narrow tables topped with computers and monitors.

“Aw, did you make up a little experiment for the science fair?” I asked as they led me down the hall. “Bet you’ll get first place this year.”

Sean towered beside me, perhaps a few inches taller than his brother. “Not quite. One doesn’t need to experiment when one knows what one’s doing.”

As I glanced in the rooms, I recognized some of the faces that looked back. Vampires. All of them.

“So you think this is the way to get in with some Illuminati-wannabes? Abduct vampires?” I laughed. “That’s pretty lame, even for a half-rate warlock like you. If that’s all it takes to impress them, maybe I should try joining.”

“Impress...?” Now it was Sean’s turn to laugh, sinking a lead ball of worry in my gut. “Oh, them. Miss Lain, I’m already in. Decimating North America’s witch population did that. And these,” he gestured around him, “aren’t just vampires anymore. They’re recruits. Soldiers for my own elite army. Nearly invincible, strong, and ferocious.”

I could name a dozen demons much better than vampires. “With wills of their own.” I gave a huge yawn and ensured Sean saw me.

“Wills of their own,” he repeated with a smile. He seemed to be anticipating that response. “Your species is nothing but a slave to its desires.”

“So just because you got that idiot over there to join you by waving some money—and probably pussy—in his face, you think you’ve got a goddamn army?”

“Hey—” Jamie began to protest.

“He didn’t do it for the money,” Sean said. “I’m not paying him for this.”

“Nope,” Jamie said. “It’s a complete freebie on my part. He picked me up when I was returning to my employers after the little O’Connor shindig. I’m smart enough to go with the winning side, love.”

“You see, he realized he didn’t have any other choice,” Sean added.

“I realize that too,” I said. “Wanna unchain me?”

“You think me that gullible?” Sean asked.

“Just hoping,” I said with a shrug. “So this is your ‘army?’ Why exactly do you need one now that you’re part some evil secret society?”

“They’ll be handy in the Armageddon.”

“Oh, is that soon?”

“You have no idea,” Sean said with a smile.

I just laughed at him. “Right, because it’s going to be happening any day now...just like people have been saying for thousands of years. Honey, I’m a lot older than you—I’ve heard every prophecy, every Nostradamus wannabe, and I can assure you the end of the world is no more nigh these days than it’s ever been. And if the apocalypse happened tomorrow, do you think these guys are going to protect you?” I looked around at the other vampires and rolled my eyes. “Like I said: lame.”

“Tell me, Zara, do you know what happens when a vampire doesn’t feed?” As Sean stopped to face me, Jamie and the guards did as well.

“A couple of late night fast food places get robbed of their workers?” I guessed.

“Not quite.” His smile seemed to falter, and I suspected he was getting tired of my attitude. “Your body, being once human, has certain reactions to what it perceives as a possible famine. If a human has been starving, the next meal is immediately stored as fat. That is what—”

“God, will you please skip the ‘always eat breakfast’ speech and just get on with it already.”

“Now that you have a parasite in your brain that requires blood,” he continued, unbothered by my comment, “when you starve, the parasite starts to think there’s something wrong with its host. Like maybe the host isn’t fast enough. Isn’t strong enough. Food must be scarce. When that parasite isn’t getting enough blood...well...how about an example?”

He gestured to the room beside him, and cautiously I walked over.

Behind the Plexiglas, I saw what could only be described as a monster pacing the room.

Maybe it had been a person. Once. But now its spine was elongated and curved slightly, giving it a hunch. His skull was enlarged by a huge, protruding mass at the back of his head, which I assumed was the demonic parasite changing and growing. His wiry black hair was thin, and nonexistent around the bump. Veins, crying out to be filled with blood, bulged from his neck and along his arms. Immense muscles rippled across his arms and throughout his body. They’d given him baggy sweatpants to wander around in, but nothing else in terms of clothing.

“Charming,” I said dryly. “And this is supposed to explain what?”

“Have a good look at him, Miss Lain,” Sean urged me. So I did. I looked at the thing, studied it through the glass as it paced the room. Its nails were long and sharp. Nothing particularly striking there. He had a pair of fangs—at least three times the length of a normal vampire’s—that stuck out from his gums and caused little tears to form on his lip and chin. He looked over at me wildly, his dark eyes revealing only one thought: his hunger.

And then I knew him.

Icy dread chilled my skin, sent shivers over my arms. “Dragomir.”

“Right again, darling,” Jamie said, coming to lean against the Plexiglas. He crossed his arms at his chest and looked amused. “The very same one. Your maker. Only Petey was wrong, as you can see. He’s not dead. At least not in the traditional sense.”

“As one of the oldest known vampires, I caught him first, four years ago,” Sean said. “And it was because of the experiments with him that I knew my plan could be realized.”

Dragomir. Fucking Dragomir. Made into...this? Not possible, not possible... But I blinked and the figure before me didn’t change.

“So this is what happens when vampires don’t feed.” I forced a bored tone back into my voice. “Blah blah—this is incredibly dull, you know. So we get a case of the fuglies. Sure, I’m a big fan of the hotness that is me, but I’m certainly not going to do your bidding because of this.” Certainly not because you took the strongest vampire I’ve ever known and turned him into...into I don’t know what. My heart thumped erratically in my chest and I could do nothing to calm it, even though I knew Jamie might hear. I was terrified.

“Because you still have your free will, correct?” Sean said, sounding quite amused.

“And because this is such a lame idea,” I repeated. “There are only so many vampires in the world, and it takes a goddamn decade to make new ones. Why don’t you just summon demons like a normal evil person?”

“That is an excellent question,” Sean said. “Demons, you see, cause a disturbance in the walls between dimensions. When someone summons one forth, it’s as if there’s a huge beacon leading straight to the summoner. Hunters are becoming more and more sophisticated now, gaining better ways of tracking demons and the warlocks bringing them to this world, which poses great restrictions on how often one can use them.”

“My heart is breaking for you.”

“But vampires—”

“But big, scary, pissed off vamps don’t, and anyone can be made into one. I get it. It’s still stupid because as soon as you let one out of its cage, it’s going to get a human, feed, and the freaky-ass monster look will be over.”

“You should probably gag her,” Jamie told Sean. “Or else she’ll just keep interrupting you.”

“Not necessarily,” Sean continued as if Jamie hadn’t spoken. “During the past year, we’ve been fine tuning the experiment. The changing time varies from vampire to vampire, based loosely on age and the particular bloodline it originated from. The process can be reversible up to a certain point. Take Dragomir, for example. We’ve taken him to the brink, then fed him and brought him back again and again. As of only a week ago, this change was completely reversible. Now it’s not. Had he been only a century or so old, it might also be reversed. But not anymore. No matter how much he eats, this is what he will be until his death. It’s all very fascinating.”

“You were one of those stereotypical nerds in high school that everyone always make fun of, weren’t you?” I said, as if I hadn’t been listening. “Like The Trio on that TV show.”

“She’s still not impressed,” Jamie said.

“On to room nine, then,” Sean said. He motioned for me to take a look in the cell next to Dragomir’s.

Ilona, Dragomir’s only lover for at least half a millennia, was in number nine. Unlike her husband, she appeared just as I had seen her last, three centuries earlier. Her dark brown hair was swept back from her delicate face, her arms hugged her body as if she was cold, and she sat upon the only piece of furniture in the room: the single table that every cell had. They’d given her a pair of dark yoga pants as well, along with a tank top. She still looked frail—as she always had—but I knew that within those waif-like arms and slender body was enough power to snap a man in two. Ilona was as vicious a killer as any of us could be.

I stepped closer to the door, and Sean punched in something at the panel beside it, presumably switching off the one-way glass, for she suddenly looked up at me. She sprang from her seat and ran to the door, pressing her fingers to the pane.

“Ana?” Eyes searched mine, darting back and forth.

Part of me loathed them. They changed me, left me stuck in the mausoleum, locked me away after I murdered Pavel’s children...I deemed them the reason for so much of the hell in my unlife. If Dragomir just let me die when he killed me, maybe I would’ve had peace. I never would’ve known the man I loved paid to have me killed. Never would’ve lived three centuries still having nightmares of the dark place.

But my eyes burned with tears. Ilona was in so many ways my family, and the whole fucking situation was just wrong.

“So you have free will?” Sean stepped closer to me, but not so near that I could grab him in any way. “I suppose you know how much these two love each other. Jamie tells me he heard from Mr. Fields that they were together for a very long time.”

“Do you really have to preface whatever your point is with a five minute speech?” I snapped.

“Very well.” Sean stepped to the control panel once more. He pressed a button, and suddenly the wall between Dragomir and Ilona’s cells shot up into the ceiling, making their two prisons one.

“Dragomir,” Sean said into the intercom.

Dragomir looked around wildly, searching for the source of the voice.

“He still understands a bit of language,” Jamie whispered to me.

“Dragomir, you want to feed?”

The monstrosity that was once my maker flew to the door, pounding his fists so violently I swore even the floor shook.

“Kill her,” Sean commanded.

Ilona’s eyes got wide as Dragomir spotted her. She backed up as he stalked toward her.

“What the fuck did you do?” I shouted at Sean. “What did you do to him? He would never—”

“Why wouldn’t he attack her?” Sean returned. “Because he ‘chooses’ not to? Because he loves her? He hasn’t fed in months. He knows nothing but the hunger now.”

I watched in horror as Dragomir leaped at his beloved.

She tried. She tried so hard. Ilona shrieked, clawed, fought, tried to throw him off of her. But she was pale and starved, and in that state, he was too strong.

I slammed my shoulder into the door, shouting my frustration. “Get him off her!” I screamed, ramming my arm into the door again and again, no matter how it ached.

“You can give it a try,” Sean said, sliding a key into the lock beside the panel and turning it to the right. The door abruptly opened, sending me flying into the room, then it shut behind me.

There I was, hands and legs bound, and on the floor in front of a very pissed off looking vampire-monster.

Shit.

Chapter Thirty

Free Will

Dragomir was crouched over Ilona’s unmoving body. He looked up at me, blood dripping from his mouth and streaking down his chin.

He snarled.

Oh boy. I slowly pulled myself into a crouch, then eased to a stand. “Dragomir...”

He growled in response.

“It’s me, Ana.” I swore I heard laughter in the hallway outside the cell, and really, I couldn’t blame them. Dragomir had no idea who I was. If he did, he didn’t care.

“Okay, so you don’t know me,” I said. “I don’t give a fuck—get the hell away from her.”

He started to stand, then stopped. Keeping in a half-crouch, a low growl rumbled from his throat, seeming to thrum the air around us.

My body tensed in preparation for the attack. Though I was certain his speed had increased, I was quite a bit smaller in comparison, which just might mean I had agility on my side. Of course the shackles on my arms and legs impeded me more than a little.

I jumped up—keeping my body still but bending my legs so my knees came to my chest—and swung my bound wrists in an arc under me just before my feet returned to the ground. A very Jet Li move. I wasn’t sure if that would really help the situation, but I preferred my arms to be at my front rather than my back.

Dragomir must have perceived the movement as a threat, for he let out a deep bellow of anger and charged at me.

I dove out of the way; he anticipated me. With one swat, the back of his hand connected with my shoulder and flung me across the room. My legs tied, I could do little to correct myself midair. I landed on my side on the cold tile.

My legs were rubbery beneath me, head still pounded with the after effects of the sedative. He snatched me up by my shoulder and lifted me high off the ground. Long nails dug deep into my flesh, drawing blood.

I grabbed the arm that held me and swung my legs to hit him square in the chest as hard as I could.

Not only didn’t he release me, but he barely even staggered. And my muscles ached after the movement.

Not an encouraging development.

He swiped at me with his free hand, claws slashing across my cheek. Blood ran, snaking down my face, stinking of copper and salty on my lips.

His eyes widened, focused on the blood. He didn’t care if I was human or not: he just wanted to feed. My throat was as good as any.

I let my fangs grow, then I bit down on his hand, twisting and tearing through the flesh. I tasted no blood—his body had been emptied of it. Instead, the tissue was dry and flavourless, like ash in my mouth. A strong reminder of what I didn’t want to become.

Enraged, Dragomir threw me against the table and let out a roar. I landed hard, bruises blooming, ribs cracking. I rolled onto the floor, seized the table leg, and flung the whole thing against the wall with enough force to break it back into its original pieces. Screws and bolts scattered across the floor.

Dragomir bolted in my direction.

I threw the table leg.

The makeshift stake struck his heart; he slumped to the ground.

Well, at least I know a standard stake will slow them down. Maybe wood wouldn’t, but metal. Metal I could find, in case I had to fight more. He still lived, though. His head would have to be taken off to kill him, but the stake would keep him from rising.

I turned to Ilona, who hadn’t moved from the spot on the floor where her former lover had left her. Her throat was torn right open, the wound so deep that the stark white bone of her spine peeked through the gore.

A sad, human-like breath left me in a defeated sigh.

“Ana,” she whispered.

I knelt next to her. Cold blood seeped into the knees of my jeans.

“Miss Lain,” Sean said as the door slid open. “You did a very fine job dispatching of Dragomir, though you should know that of course I would not allow you, nor his missus, to be permanently harmed. You’re all far more useful to me alive.”

He was so fucking dead. I didn’t know when, didn’t know how, but I’d kill him.

I kept my attention on Ilona. Her dark eyes were glassy. Skin went pale as blood pooled on the floor around her. “I do not wish to become that,” she said softly, slipping into Romanian. I hadn’t heard my native tongue in years, didn’t think I could speak it, but caught the meaning of her words. “Ana...do not let me become one.”

Behind us, several men came into the room. They scooped up Dragomir and returned him to his cell. I paid them no notice as they looked over Ilona, then returned to Sean to make their findings known.

“Her neck is badly torn, sir, but she’ll live,” one of them said. “She has lost a good portion of her blood.”

“Well then, she’ll be ready for the change,” Sean replied.

“Ana, please,” Ilona whispered. Tears formed in her dark eyes, then pooled down the sides of her cheeks to hit the floor.

I understood. Understood what she asked me for. Understood her reasons for it. Sean was right; we didn’t have any other choice. We weren’t getting out and my allies were dead. The only people who would dare track down someone like Sean were Hunters, and they would kill us all in the process. Energy drained from me; my shoulders sank, head dropped. We weren’t going to win.

I nodded and she started to smile.

“Thank you, child.” Her eyes closed.

I placed my hands on either side of her skull. Felt silky hair and smooth skin beneath my fingers. With a sudden twist, I wrenched her head free from the last bits of muscle, flesh, and remaining bones that attached it to her body.

And Ilona was dead.

Dragomir gave out an anguished howl in the other room, as if somehow he felt her passing. Enough of his true self was left to allow him to mourn the death of his love, but, so help me, he’d be joining her if I ever got the chance to kill him.

“Come now, Zara,” Sean called. “We really ought to return you to your room.”

I stood, keeping Ilona’s head clutched in my hands. As I turned, I flung the skull at him and it struck him in the chest. Anger blazed in my eyes, daring any one of the other people there to come near me.

“Looks like Ilona is AWOL.” I didn’t fucking care if they saw the tears rushing down my cheeks. If they thought me weak. A joke. “I guess you’re down one recruit.”

Sean looked down at the bloody mess on his designer suit, then at the vampire’s head. He gave it a swift kick back into the room, straightened his collar, and gazed at me, uncaring. “We now have you to make up for it. Put her back in her cell.”

His guards—whose numbers had doubled to six—came in and surrounded me. They braced themselves for a fight, but two of them had Tasers, the others still had guns and stakes, and I was pretty sure that if I had a chance to break free, now wasn’t my moment. I went willingly from the room, crossed the expansive hallway, and returned to my cell.

Sean entered the room after me. “You ought to lie down.”

I walked to the table and leaned against the edge. “I kinda feel like standing.”

With a few muttered words from Sean, my back shot down onto the table. Struggle as I may, my body remained frozen under the spell, and I could only watch as the warlock strolled over and released the heavy shackles from my wrists and ankles. From there, he pinned each limb down with a set of thick metal cuffs attached to the table. He re-buckled the three straps across my chest, stomach, and lower legs. As the spell wore off, I yanked and twisted, but it was no use. My arms, legs, and torso were each strapped down too tightly for me to move any more than half an inch, and could do nothing as he brought out a pair of surgical scissors and sliced at my clothes.

Chilly air touched my skin and I squirmed. “You know, if you’re going to starve me, the least you could do is let me wander around my prison a bit.”

“The blood in your body will keep you in your normal state an extra couple of months,” Sean said. “I’m done with experiments—I need my army ready now. Since you’re of Dragomir’s bloodline, it shouldn’t take long.”

Jamie came in then, wheeling a machine with several long, skinny tubes running into it. He pulled off my boots and socks while Sean slid off the last of my clothes, then two men took the free ends of the pipes and drove them into the veins of my arms, legs, and even my throat.

Agony burned as Sean flipped the machine on and blood pumped from my body.

“May I have a moment with her?” Jamie asked.

“By all means.” Sean gestured dramatically my way, then went to stand at the door.

Jamie dragged a hand along my bare flesh, making my skin crawl, then leaned down so he was within inches of my face and grinned. His eyes sparkled as if he wasn’t, you know, just standing there watching me be drained of my blood.

“Probably hurts, right?” he asked.

“Not like you’re going to when I get out of here.”

“Aw, still retaining hope...that’s so cute.” He bent his head down further to whisper in my ear. “No one’s coming for you. They’re all dead, but they wouldn’t have cared anyway. You know what Junior said just before Sean killed him? He asked about Mishka. He cared more about salvaging his memory of the woman who tried to kill him than he did for you. While he was having his flesh torn from his body, believe me, you were the furthest thing from his mind.” He pulled back, taking delight in whatever pain he saw there. “It’s too bad about this. Had the circumstances been different, darling...well, you get it.”

“You are such a little—” I gasped mid-sentence as I felt the last bit of my blood being stolen from me.

“What was that, honey?” He leaned a bit closer, turning his ear to my face in a pretend attempt to hear me better.

I pulled a ball of spit into my mouth and spat it on the side of his face.

“That really was gross, Zara.” He wiped the spit off on the sleeve of his shirt.

“Weasel,” I finished my previous sentence.

“Whatever you call it, at least I’m still alive, my dear.” He tipped his face down to mine to plant a kiss on my lips.

I opened my mouth to return the kiss. How he missed the fact that my fangs were still elongated from my fight with Dragomir, I’d never know. I slammed my teeth down into his lower lip, biting straight through to the other side and tearing off a mouthful of flesh.

Jamie yelped. His closed fist slammed into my cheek and pain bloomed, spreading across the side of my head.

“You fucking bitch!” he growled.

“Whatever you call it, at least I’m not a wormy little prick, darling.”

He smacked me across the face again, but I was beyond pain at that point. “I’ll be seeing you, sweetheart.” He started for the door.

You’re damn right. I’d get out. I always got out—I wasn’t over three centuries old for nothing. I’d find a way to escape and I’d kill him.

Sean moved out of Jamie’s way at the door, but just as he did, two Tasers shot at him. The vampire fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

“Looks like we have an opening in one of our rooms, Jamie,” Sean said as he looked down at him. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy your new accommodations.”

The guards dragged Jamie away and I almost smiled. At least there was some justice for the wicked.

“I never much liked him anyway,” Sean said as he unhooked me from the machine that now had all my blood.

“Me either.”

He wheeled the pump back out into the hallway, then regarded me from the doorway.

“Do you think you could at least bring in a TV?” I asked. “If I’m going to be here a while, that is.”

“No, I’m sorry, I really ought to conserve electricity.”

“So are you just cheap, or are you an environmentally friendly evil-mastermind-wannabe?”

“Actually, I’m a sadist. I was thinking this might make you feel a bit more at home.” With that, the lights suddenly shut off, the door closed, and I could no longer see outside the room.

My cell was pitch black. I was confined. Couldn’t move. The cold from my lack of blood overwhelmed me and then I knew what Sean meant. I was there again...

Back in the dark place.

Chapter Thirty-One

Ghost

I struggled against my bindings. Cried out. Sobbed until my eyes could form no more tears. I shook the table in an attempt to tip it, my thinking being that they would at least have to come in and fix it...but I was weakening fast. Nothing could be done, darkness closed in, and I was royally fucked.

The hunger consumed me only hours after Sean left. All rational thought left my mind. I tasted blood, remembered the feel of it filling my mouth and running down my throat. I thought of how it felt in my stomach as it was pulled into my veins, warming me through and through. But the mere thought of it made me hunger more, and I started to shake from the cold.

I can only say that I went insane. Completely. Sometimes I thought I was back in my sarcophagus in the Fidatov crypt. Other times I swore I was back in Dragomir and Ilona’s cellar. I carried on entire conversations from my past, with people I hadn’t seen in centuries.

I often dreamed of murdering Pavel again, but this time Jamie’s face was in place of his. I think I enjoyed that part of my madness the most: murdering both my betrayers at the same time. I could replay the scene as I originally did it, or enter any number of variations. Sometimes I would string him up and let the blood slowing drip out of his body...or I’d make him watch me kill Ecaterina, but slower than before, taking my time in torturing her...or I would involve fire, singeing his skin one inch at a time...

Wild fantasies of escape filled my mind. Nate would come to my rescue. We would kill Sean and destroy wherever it was I was being held, and I would get to feed again. And then I could finally make wild, passionate love to Nate as he realized maybe blondes weren’t his type after all, but in fact he preferred sexy, raven-haired vampires. Or hell, even with Peter. He was pretty cute, and he adored me.

And I hated myself for even thinking it.

No one ever came for me—not ever.

Something cracked and broke me in at that very thought—at knowing the only person I could consistently depend on was myself, and I couldn’t help me. Not a single person existed who might look for me—no allies, no friends. And even my wildest hopes hurt to contemplate.

Pain soon interrupted my dreams. Pure agony coursed through my body, and I felt every moment of it whether I was asleep or awake. It was more than the hunger, more than the cold...something else was happening. Something I couldn’t survive.

No one’s coming. Ever.

If I couldn’t save myself, I was fucked. My entire life, I’d always saved myself. Got myself out of trouble. That’s why Zara existed instead of Ana—to rescue me. No damsel in distress complex here. But I was locked away in the dark and I wouldn’t be let out until I’d lost my mind completely.

I wished it had been me in place of Ilona. God, I just wanted to be dead.

****

Alone. All alone, always alone.

A loud, repetitive beep sounded outside my cell. Like an alarm of some sort.

I could’ve been dreaming. Consciousness had become irrelevant, as my hallucinations were as real as my dreams. I gave the sound little thought until my eyes opened.

And I could see things.

The room around me; my body stretched out on the table; a dim, orange-ish light shining through the door to my cell—the glass must have been switched back to two-way. Outside, I could distinguish little but a series of red lights flashing in time with the alarm.

Another rescue fantasy, probably. I hated those the most; my heart squeezed and I closed my eyes, willing a revenge one to come to me next.

Feet thumped on tile. I cracked my eyes open again; now a dark shape moved outside my door. My vision strained, tunneled, the world gray and spotty. Seconds later the door opened and someone dressed all in black stepped into the room.

God, it can’t be...

My throat was dry, aching, and my voice came out thin, hoarse. “Nate?”

He had a beard and exhaustion played across his features, but it looked like him. “Yeah, Zara, it’s me.” His voice reverberated through me, shaking me to my core.

Stupid Technicolor dreams. “No. You’re dead.”

Then I felt his hand on my face—his fingers so hot they seared my skin—and he looked deep into my eyes. “No, I’m pretty sure I’m not.”

Oh my god. My throat got lumpy—he came for me. I wasn’t alone. He fucking came back for me, didn’t leave me alone. Not alone.

Nate glanced behind him as there was shouting in the hallway. “But we aren’t safe yet. Wait a sec...” He worked swiftly on the straps, yanking them free from the buckles, one after the other, but then paused at the metal cuffs over my wrists. “Do you have any idea how these open?”

“They just...just snapped on—”

Pain shot through me and I arched, cried; my body spasmed, muscles tearing and squeezing. White flashed over my vision.

“Zara?” Nate’s voice sounded fainter than it had moments ago. Perhaps I really was just imagining it all...

“Zara.” Again. Closer.

The sound was a lifeline: I grabbed hold of it and let it tug me back to the world.

“Shh, just relax.” Fingers trailed my cheek, calming me with each stroke. My vision cleared and I saw him still standing over me, though his brows were knitted together in a frown this time. I gathered strength and flexed my fingers. Glanced down.

Holy shit, I was naked.

I looked up at him again. “Please tell me you brought clothes. Cute ones.”

Relief flickered across his face for a moment. “You can’t move while I’m taking care of the restraints. Can you hold on for a minute?”

I tried to nod, but wasn’t certain if I accomplished the task or not.

He removed a mini Ziploc bag of some sort of powder, sprinkled some on the restraints, stepped back, and then muttered a few words. Sparks flew at the cuffs on my arms and legs as something crackled its way through the metal. Following a single gesture from Nate, the restraints flew back against the table and suddenly it was mine...freedom. I had a bloody hard time trying to move, but I was free.

“What was...?”

“Something to dispel magic. The interior of the building is saturated in it—I can’t work without dispelling them layer by layer.” Gunfire sounded outside my cell. Nate snatched a look outside the door, then glanced back at me. “Can you stand?”

I nodded, weakly swinging my legs over to the floor and shifting to a sitting position. Fire tore at my insides, around my left ribcage. Shit, I hadn’t healed.

Nate grabbed his gun from his belt, stepped into the hall, and fired at whoever was out there. He motioned for me to follow.

No sign of my clothes—Sean had cut them off and not even scraps remained. I slid from the edge of the metal table beneath me; my body was already so cold that the tiles felt warm on my bare feet in comparison. I stumbled toward the door, an aching rushing through my legs. Usually strong muscles failed and my hands flew out to grasp the doorway as I tottered forward.

“Zara...” Nate caught me and threw my arm over his shoulder. “You could have just said you couldn’t stand.”

“Hey, I was standing fine...it’s...it’s walking that posed a problem.” I gave a wan smile. “Big difference. I’ll probably be okay in a few minutes.”

He held me close—his hand settled on my ribs and I screamed, felt my knees buckle.

“What—”

“My ribs,” I whispered.

He leaned me against the wall, felt the ribs under my left breast. “They’re broken. Have they been beating you—”

“It’s just not healing.”

A curse left his lips. “I’ll fix you when we get out of here.”

I nodded and slipped away from him to peer outside the room to see five more guards enter the hall via a set of double doors at the far end. “You don’t have clothes for me, do you?”

“Nope.” He ducked back into the cell as people fired at us. “I should probably do something about them. Then I’ll find you something to wear.”

“Yeah, that might be a good idea.”

After ensuring I was okay and wouldn’t be falling over again, Nate returned to the hallway, shooting down the armed men that were racing toward us. I gazed at my right hand that gripped the doorway.

Oh hell, I must look bad. My flesh was pure white and pulled tight against the tissues it covered. Every crease, every hollow between the muscles, bones, and joints—all of it amplified.

I was starving. Literally. And that meant I was probably somewhere in midst of the change that had taken over Dragomir. Images of the creature that had once been my maker flashed in my head, their graphic quality giving me an almost physical pain.

“Clothes.” Nate’s voice pulled me from my reverie. I blinked, and focused on pile of soft cotton he thrust in my hands. Black yoga pants and a tank top—what I’d seen some of the other vampires wearing.

What Ilona wore.

They could’ve been her clothes, washed and thrown back in a pile, ready for the next “recruit.” Bile rose in my throat, but I said nothing. The pants slid on easily once I braced myself against the wall, and had a drawstring I could pull tight to keep them from falling. I slipped the tank top on next.

“I’ve been naked this whole time and you didn’t try to cop a feel.” I shook my head. “I must be getting pretty fugly.”

“I saw you almost naked plenty of times and managed to restrain myself.”

“Yeah. Don’t remind me.”

With a wry smile, Nate wrapped me in the warmth and security of one of his arms—careful to avoid my ribs—and helped me out into the hallway. Scents tickled my nose; I breathed in soap, male pheromones. Blood, thumping through his veins—oh god, I was hungry.

I thrust the thoughts back. Blinked. Hard. Couldn’t worry about that now—had to get out.

Corpses of the guards lay scattered about the floor. He’d cut through a lot to get to me. My gaze settled on the ring of keys hanging from the lock on my cell door.

“Heaven’s got a car waiting—Zara!”

I snatched the keys and started down the hall, checking each room I passed.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not leaving them here.” I went from cell to cell, opening the doors of the rooms where the vampires still looked mostly human. Only a few were changed completely. Soon I had finished with my side of the hall, so I stumbled over to the next, still too shaky to move with much grace.

Nate stood back as the starving vampires raced past him, knocking the odd one in the face with the butt of his gun if he or she came near enough to attack him. I wasn’t worried. Somehow he was alive, and because of that I was quite confident he could take care of himself.

In the next cell I came to, Dragomir pounded his fists on the glass. I leapt back but my gaze stayed frozen on him. He looked even less like himself: now his arms and legs were each a few inches longer, and his face had contorted into something that could no longer be construed as remotely human. Hair was sparse, wiry. His top jaw jutted out more and in addition to the four inch fangs he sported, his other teeth were longer. Sharper. He couldn’t be let out and I was in no condition to fight him.

I moved on.

Dragomir let out a frustrated cry behind me, pounded again and again on the glass. I kept going.

Nate had found a second set of keys and had been unlocking cages at the other end of the hall. He was already over halfway done.

“Only let out the ones that still look pretty human,” I called.

“Yeah, I figured that part out.”

Smart boy. I stopped at my final cell, where a vampire crouched in the corner, naked and shaking. Despite appearing as emaciated as I probably was, and already having the long fingernails, bulge growing on his skull, and elongated spine, he still seemed human enough.

I slid the key in the lock.

His head shot up, he flew to the door. Cold settled in my veins.

Jamie pressed his hand to the glass, fingers splayed. “Zara! You gotta let me out of here!” His eyes grew wide and terrified. “Please!”

I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Couldn’t take my eyes from him. No one deserved what Dragomir had become: a being without reason, without a mind, without any thought but to kill. No one deserved it...

“That’s the last of them,” Nate called. “We have to go.”

“Please, love!” Jamie begged. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? You have to help me.”

I stared to him for another few seconds, my hand still holding the key. I had to make a decision...

And I did. I bent the key to the side, breaking it in the lock. Not only wasn’t I letting him out, but I’d make damn sure no one else did either.

I held up the broken key for him to see. Gave him my coldest, predatory smile. No one deserved to become what Dragomir did—least of all me, which is what Jamie had signed me up for when he betrayed me.

He slammed his palms on the door. “You bitch! Fucking whore—get me out of here! Zara! Zara!”

I backed away, dropped the keys to the floor, and gave him a little wave. Then I turned to Nate and we ran for the doors.

Jamie continued screaming my name, but I didn’t look back.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Becoming Monsterific

Having simply awoken in the place, I had no idea where Nate led me. But I stuck close by and followed without question.

Outside the section where I had been held, we ran into a short hallway with offices on either side. A handful of the freed vampires feasted on the odd human they found within. My body ached with hunger, mouth filled with saliva. I needed to feed...

But first: escape. I was not dying in that fucking prison.

Past the offices waited a huge stairwell. I glanced up, and up, and up. Three levels. Nate moved ahead of me. I stumbled. My legs behaved like they were made of rubber, dropping me on my knees.

“If you can’t walk—” he started.

I wouldn’t admit defeat. “I’m braless, buddy. You try running with these flopping unfettered.” My voice was weak and I didn’t think he believed me. Twice Nate slowed down to make sure I could keep up and twice I promised him I could.

We were nearly at the top when a group of guards came up behind us from the second level. Gunfire filled the stairwell, bullets whizzed past us—

And it faded. Pain ripped through me again, starting in my skull and shooting down through my back and limbs. Ugly, angry pain, that tore at me with claws and teeth. I was dimly aware of a loud cracking sound, but I couldn’t determine where it came from.

The agony ceased, falling back like the tide subsiding. Nate knelt next to me and swung my one arm over his shoulder. He was strong and solid, and it scared me how good I felt about him being there.

“I can walk,” I protested as he helped me rise.

“Don’t argue.” He flashed a grin that turned up the corners of his mouth but didn’t touch the rest of his face. “For once.”

Together we raced up the stairs, with me leaning on him far more than I wished I had to. At the top was a door and through it, another hallway. This one had windows and beyond the glass waited a parking lot with a cloudy night sky above.

All this time, I’d been underground. Shit, it really was like being dead and buried.

At the end of the hall was a set of double doors. Only steps away, another fit of spasms enveloped me. Pain knocked me out immediately; this time I came to outside the building. My arm was still over Nate’s shoulder, and he had scooped me up to carry me the distance to a four-door car several yards away. Inside the vehicle, Heaven Thiering sat behind the wheel and Peter Fields waited in the passenger side, firing a gun through Heaven’s open window.

Both were very much alive and very much completely frozen.

When I realized what Nate had done—removed us from this dimension’s time stream or whatever he called it—I took a few moments to look around. The building where I had been held was only a single story high, with no indication of the many levels beneath it, in the center of a large parking lot; beyond it, empty fields and no other buildings. Throughout the lot there were several black vans and SUVs currently being used for cover by the guards firing at the escaping vampires. Another two cars of people I didn’t recognize were parked near Heaven’s.

Nate dispelled the time magic just as he reached for the back door of the car.

Heaven nearly leaped from her seat as we “appeared” in front of her. “Damn it, Nathan! I do wish you’d warn... Goddess, is that Zara?”

“Oops, you grabbed the wrong vampire,” I said as Nate put me in the car. “Better put me back.” I’ve always got time for quips. Always.

Nate slid me over and climbed in the back next to me; the car shook as he slammed the door. “I don’t know what they did to her.”

“Who are those guys?” I gestured to the other cars.

“Members of the surviving covens.” Heaven slammed her foot on the gas and spun us around toward the highway, tires squealing on the pavement.

Not just a couple of renegade magic users had come for me—I got a full blown rescue party. Now that was impressive. And surprising.

“They’re following.” Peter looked out the back window. Nate and I turned to check, and were met with several bullets from the gunman in the black van on our trail. The window shattered and everyone ducked as another barrage followed.

“And now there are two more,” Peter said. “Funny, I don’t think they’re pursuing any of the other cars...”

“I guess they want Zara back.” Heaven caught my gaze in the rearview mirror and she winked. “Imagine that.”

“It’s not just me.” I looked at Nate. This was gonna be a fun conversation... “It’s Sean. He’s the one behind this.”

“My father? But you—”

“No, your brother. He’s still alive. He decimated all the covens to get in with the Illuminati or whatever, and now he’s building a vampire monster army for the upcoming Armageddon.”

Nate blinked. Twice. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

I repeated it again, verbatim. “I don’t know what this apocalypse crap is about and he’s probably insane, but he believes it. Believes he needs this ‘army’—believed it enough to do all this shit and fake his death last year.”

“All this time, Sean,” Peter said. “That explains why you can’t access the family accounts.”

“That explains a lot,” Nate added quietly.

“All right, now please explain what we are to do about the people shooting at the car?” Heaven asked, swerving back and forth across the road.

Peter reloaded his gun and Nate checked his remaining rounds.

“I want a gun,” I said.

“You’re certain you—” Peter began.

“Yes. Gimme.”

Peter rifled through something on the floor of the front seat, then passed me an Uzi Carbine. It was a thing of beauty—pure fucking beauty after being alone and scared and powerless for however long I’d been underground. On the count of three, we all swung out our respective side windows and fired at those following us.

Pain swept through me again, sudden and hot.

This time, I didn’t immediately pass out. The sound cut out around me; the gun dropped from my hands and hit the pavement; the road came closer and closer as I slumped over the car door. Couldn’t move, couldn’t stop myself from falling closer and closer to the pavement—

“Jesus,” Nate mumbled. Warms arms were around me; I lay across the backseat, looking up at the gray felt ceiling. My upper body rested against Nate. He inspected one of my hands, then returned it to my side. The white skin across my knuckles had torn from dragging on the pavement.

The wounds were bloodless.

I tried to speak, to move, to do anything, but my body wouldn’t respond. All I felt was the searing heat of Nate’s body beneath mine, and the slow, rhythmic pump of blood through his veins. God, I was so hungry...

Nate shifted, arms tightening. “Peter, do you know what’s going on with her? She looked like she was seizing back there, her skin is like ice, and now she’s not even bleeding... Her ribs are cracked, too. Not healing.”

“I think they drained her and kept her from feeding,” Peter replied.

“But why?” Heaven said.

“I’ve heard stories about a vampire in southern India that was forced to go without feeding for months,” Peter said. “Came across it in my research—more than weak rumors or myths. The demon in his brain grew out of control and took over his body, changing him into a pure killing machine and purging his mind of any reason or semblance of the original person. Over twenty Hunters were contracted to take him out, and at least sixteen or seventeen died in the process. I encountered no proof, however—I never spoke to witnesses or found someone with a firsthand account.”

It sucked having to listen to everyone refer to me like I wasn’t really there, but I didn’t have to worry about that for long as my body fell into spasms and I screamed.

****

The car had come to a halt when I awoke again later.

An ache in my head throbbed constantly now, starting at the back and shooting pain through the rest of me as it pulsated. My limbs were weak and trembling as I struggled to rise; it took two tries to hoist myself into a sitting position so I could look out the window.

We were off the highway, on a side road. Area looked rural—lots of fields and trees. Headlights illuminated another car. Nate, Heaven, and Peter stood beside it, talking. I strained to hear their conversation, closing my eyes and pushing back at the pain long enough to focus.

“We’ll meet with the others,” Heaven said. “Regroup, see who’s still alive, and share with them what Zara said and what you saw, Nathan. You’re sure you don’t—”

“It’s probably best to split up right now.” That was Nate.

“All right then, we’ll come by tomorrow and see how she’s doing.” Footsteps on the gravel; quick, light ones that must’ve been Heaven’s. A car door opened and closed.

“Nate,” Peter began quietly. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“I heard you the first time you said it.”

“No, I don’t think you did.” Peter’s voice pitched low and warning, sterner than I’d ever heard him before. “You’ve got to take her into the city and find her someone to feed from. Immediately. Even then, I can’t say for certain that she’ll be okay. The change seems to be growing at an exponential rate. It may be too late—”

“And if you’re right, and the parasite does grow out of control and takes over her soon, then we all risk exposure in the city. Sean will be looking for us and having an uncontrollable demon running around killing people isn’t what I consider keeping a low profile.”

“Nate—”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“But—”

“Just come by tomorrow. At least it will be daylight, so if I have any problems...well, you know what to do.”

Oh. Wow. I got it. They knew what I was becoming. They knew it probably couldn’t be stopped, save for killing me...

Which was exactly what Nate was going to do.

Chapter Thirty-Three

No One Here Gets Out Alive

Nate got into the driver’s seat and watched as the other car drove off.

He was going to kill me. Me. Would it be a stake to the heart, then decapitation? At least while staked, I wouldn’t feel anything else. It basically rendered a vamp unconscious. But what if he got creative with magic and fried me? That had to be a possibility too. One that would hurt.

I grabbed a hold of any worries and shoved them away, locked them up, and stopped thinking about it. One thing at a time. “Where are we?”

“North of Montreal,” Nate replied.

“Is that where they’re going?” I asked as if I hadn’t been eavesdropping earlier.

“Yes, to a hotel to meet with the other coven members.” He switched the car out of park and started in the opposite direction Heaven and Peter had gone.

I crawled between the two front seats so I was sitting in the passenger side. Just that movement left me exhausted and I slumped down, pressed a hand to my left side. No way am I gonna fight off a warlock. I eyed him warily; he was stronger than he looked, even without magic. Granted, when I was totally a monster, he’d never fight me off, but I wasn’t there. Yet.

His hair gently touched his shoulders now, about an inch longer than it had been when I saw him last. The beard was thick but not totally wild—kinda sexy.

“You weren’t sporting the Jim Morrison look last I saw. How long have I been gone?”

“Over four months.”

Damn. That was a long time. Not as long as the near decade I spent in my sarcophagus three centuries earlier, but... Fuck, it went by quick. Four months ago, I had been certain Nate might finally be falling for me.

Now he planned to murder me.

“They told me you were dead.”

He glanced my way, a smile touching his lips. “Disappointed?”

My heart hurt. I swallowed dryly and ignored the question. “How did you escape before? Jamie apparently told them we were coming.”

“When I tried to cast a dispel on whatever magical security measures had been taken, I found there were none. I figured it was a set-up, then a number of guards promptly surrounded us, and a helicopter landed on the property, probably to collect you. I did a bit of ‘time freezing’ and got Heaven, Peter, and myself to the car, but I couldn’t do anything to stop them from taking you.”

“You looked for me.”

Moonlight cut through the clouds, shining in the car and scoring lines of white over his profile. He kept his eyes locked on the road, expression neutral. “Of course.”

So they spent four months trying to find and rescue me, only to decide to kill me later. Nice. ’Course, they couldn’t have known what they’d find. Maybe they thought I was already dead. “Where are we going now?”

“A cabin that belonged to a relative of mine.”

Nate avoided my gaze for the rest of the trip and we said little. Perhaps he felt bad about planning to kill me. It couldn’t be that he wanted to merely keep his eyes on the road—not out in the country where there was nothing for miles. No houses, no other cars. We turned onto a bumpy dirt road that led into a dense forest, and I really got the point then...

No people. A completely isolated spot in the middle of nowhere. Should he be unable to kill me and I turned into a monster, I couldn’t avoid the sun. That would ensure Peter and Heaven could find me and kill me the next day.

It was a perfect plan and I couldn’t say I blamed him. I sat there next to my would-be assassin feeling quite calm about it. Or numb. I’d seen what Dragomir became. Ilona had been willing to die rather than become that and when it came down to it, frankly, I probably was too.

The dashboard digital clock read after midnight when Nate pulled the car up to the cabin. It wasn’t the big, richy type I’d been expecting; the walls were wood and weathered, porch sagged slightly. Not a family vacation home; a real, actual cabin in the woods. Pity I wasn’t going to die in style.

Nate got out, letting in a breath of fresh, summer air, and went to unlock the front door in silence. I remained in the car. Debating.

I could run. Faster than him, at least. We were far from towns but there had to be humans around somewhere. Maybe camping. Humans I could drain until my head stopped hurting and gut stopped twisting. Five to six hours until dawn—that was enough time to find someone.

Never mind that I could barely move without slipping into exhaustion and occasionally burst into seizures. I couldn’t give up so easily, right?

I understood what he planned to do. I agreed with it. But a sliver of me screamed and fought at the idea of giving up so easily. I was a few centuries younger than Ilona and, when the moment happened, I’d probably be a little less quick to accept my death.

I still contemplated my escape options when Nate returned to the car. Perhaps assuming I couldn’t walk, he opened the car door and lifted me into his arms to carry me the short distance to the cabin. Puddles and mud ran alongside the path to the house—suggesting it had rained hard a few hours earlier—and I was barefoot, so I didn’t protest. Instead, I leaned my aching head on his shoulder.

The front door led straight into the main room. A fireplace was on the far wall, with several fluffy floor pillows nearby, and a couch and a loveseat facing one another a couple feet from that. Nate flipped on the floor lamp nearby, bathing the small space in light; to the far left was a hallway leading into the kitchen at the back of the house and to the right were a series of open doors, showing two bedrooms and a bathroom.

It looked better on the inside than the outside. No thrift store furniture here, no hand-me-downs from when someone’s house was upgraded. The barebones of the cabin were old; the other additions looked and smelled new.

The air had a mugginess to it, damp with summer heat. Nate shivered with me in his arms; no blood flow had likely left me like a block of ice, and he’d been carting me around awhile. With a few muttered words from him, a fire flared up in the hearth. He set me down there, kicked off his boots, then disappeared into the kitchen.

I got as close to the flames as I could, but they did nothing to warm me. The fire just reminded me that I was cold, which reminded me of blood, and that made my stomach convulse with hunger.

Please let it be quick. Please. God, I didn’t think I could take the whole night waiting. Not this cold, this hungry. With one of the pillows beneath my head, I curled up next to the fire and just prayed it would all end soon.

Those prayers were met with a stab of pain through my back, which wound around my spine and throughout my muscles. I arched. Screamed. Flailed. This time when I heard a crack, I knew without a doubt it was my bones breaking to make room for the new ones I felt growing.

Nate was over me in seconds, hand on my forehead, brushing my hair away from my face. “You’re okay.”

I focused on his touch, let my mind narrow on that gentle contact warming my skin. Pain subsided, shifting to the background—ever present, but dull enough that my vision remained clear.

“Just hold on a bit longer.”

Right. Hold on to what? I sat up as Nate moved away. This just...just didn’t seem right. Didn’t seem real. I could kid myself and pretend I pictured my death being in a blaze of glory, fighting a Hunter or something, but the truth was that I had never actually considered dying. In so many ways I was already dead, and yet I also just assumed I would somehow always exist.

I said goodbye to Ana. Became Zara. Zara saved me, with her strength and her confidence and her self-preservation. Zara was invincible, but I couldn’t will away the parasite changing my body, ripping me apart to create a monster.

My vision narrowed on the hunting knife sitting on the coffee table. The blade glinted in the firelight, both ugly and beautiful. I didn’t remember seeing it when we entered the cabin and Nate set me on the floor. It was probably all he had to saw my head off with after he impaled my heart with the poker I noticed resting by the fireplace.

Oh god, I don’t want to die.

I drew my knees up, wrapped my arms around my legs, and curled my spine.

Nate sat a foot away and slipped off his black sweatshirt. I glanced up, watched him cast it aside, then he moved on to unbutton the first four buttons of the white shirt he wore beneath.

Worry stopped up my throat and soured the atmosphere around us. Something was off. He didn’t need to be partially undressed to kill me. “What are you doing?”

He pulled back the collar of his shirt, exposing the pale flesh of his throat, and pierced my gaze with his intense stare. “Feed.”

My eyes widened in understanding. He didn’t want to kill me...

But what he was asking me to do would kill him.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Dinner’s On Me

Oh no. No.

My gaze darted around the room in search of escape. “No way. No.”

Hunger gnawed at my gut, body screaming. I didn’t need to look at his neck to be reminded of the veins beneath his flesh, rushing with blood and warmth. His heartbeat thrummed erratically, pumping life through his body, and my gums ached as my fangs cried out to be released.

But I wouldn’t. Wouldn’t. Because I wasn’t a monster yet and I could control myself.

“You have to,” Nate said.

“No.” I started to rise.

His fingers locked on my wrist—my bloodless, bony wrist—and drew me back down. “Zara, you’ll die.”

“I won’t.” I wrenched from his grasp and scrambled backward until I pressed right up against the side of the couch. Heart hammering, fingers twitching, I made myself as small as I could, begging the hunger to go away—praying he’d get the fuck away from me now.

“Peter says—”

I met his eyes, leveled him with my coldest stare. “I know what Peter told you.”

He stared at me, breathing deeply, crouched. Poised, like a wild animal about to pounce, yet watched me as if I was the cornered beast. If we collided in this moment, there would be blood. “If what Peter said is true...you don’t have time. You feed or you become something else. And they’ll kill you.”

They’ll kill me. Not Nate. He dragged me all the way out into the woods not to murder me, but force me to feed—if I refused, if I became a monster, I’d kill him anyway, and the others would have to put me down.

Something broke in me. Shattered. My eyes burned, my heart hurt, because he wasn’t going to kill me. He just wanted to save me. Save me—why would he do that? Why would anyone do that? Like he said, I was self-absorbed, arrogant, and childish. What had I ever done that made me worth saving?

I eyed his neck, then looked away. Shook my head. God, I was so hungry...perhaps if I only had a little...

An image of myself slashing open his throat and consuming his very last drop of blood entered my mind unbidden, and as horrific as it was...god, it would be glorious.

And someone with those kinds of thoughts about a friend clearly wasn’t worth saving.

Tears streaked down my cheeks. “It’ll kill you. I can’t.”

“Then don’t take it all,” he said, as if I really had a choice in the matter when I was starving.

“You fucking moron—I won’t be able to stop and I’ll drain you!”

“Zar—”

“No—” Agony burned, shooting through me, spiraling and twisting over every muscle. Bones cracked, thundering in my ears. I arched back, grabbing the arm of the couch to steady myself.

Nate caught me around the waist. Pulled me close—too close. I shut my eyes and focused on the pain this time, on anything but his beating heart—

The coppery scent of blood filled the air.

My eyes opened to see a spot of blood on the hunting knife resting on the table, and a crimson well forming on the tip of Nate’s finger.

No no no no NONONO—not good. Fuck, not good. I twisted, fought him with weakening limbs, tried to tear from his hold, but in seconds he had pressed his finger to my lips. A growl sounded from my throat; the taste of blood intensified my hunger, which was likely his intent. My head whirled. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t remember why I’d been fighting him. Just a few drops of blood had sent me spinning into oblivion and all I knew was that I needed more.

He pulled his hand away. My face was inches from his throat. Gums pinched, fangs elongated to touch my bottom lip—longer than they’d been before, needle sharp at the bottom. And I couldn’t do it. Refused. I wasn’t some hopeless monster without free will—starving or not, I wouldn’t kill this man. I was better than that.

“I’ll kill you,” I mumbled around my stupid, useless fangs, shaking my head as if it could somehow strengthen my resolve.

His fingers smoothed my hair, breath touched my temple as he spoke. “I trust you.”

Then you’re an idiot. I concentrated on my fangs, forced them back. “You don’t understand—”

“You have to.”

Struggling again did me no good, strength drained. “No, you heard what Peter said! It probably doesn’t matter whether or not I feed—it’s probably too late!”

“We’re going to try—”

I punched. Hard. Hit him square in the chest; the force sent tremors up my arm and I lost my balance, fell back on my elbows. “No!”

He snatched the hunting knife from the table and held it to his throat. “Don’t think I won’t. Either you feed and try not to drain me, or I do this for you.”

“I can’t—”

Blade bit into flesh—not enough to draw blood, but denting skin. “A quick slash’ll do it.”

My gut knotted, eyes closed. “You’d be trading your life for mine. I’m not worth it.”

“Zara, look at me.” His warm voice drew my eyes open again. Determination waited for me, gaze quietly fierce. Stubborn. He got something in his head and that was that with Nate. He’d win or die trying. “You are to me. You refuse, either we’ll sit here ’til you go mad and kill me yourself, or I cut my throat. If you try feeding, I have a chance.”

“Nate—”

“I’m not letting you die.”

No, he wouldn’t. So I stopped reasoning with myself right then. Gave in to the pull that drew me forward. Pushed his hand away from his neck and he returned the blade to the table. Crawled onto his lap, planting a knee on either side of his hips, my eyes fixed on his throat.

His heart beat harder. Throat swallowed. But fear just gave him a candy coating I couldn’t wait to bite into.

My hands moved without thought; one pushed back the collar of his shirt, the other ran through his hair and procured a firm grip on the back of his skull. I breathed in—a very human gesture, but it filled me with the scent of his skin, of blood lingering in the air. My nose touched his throat, then my tongue darted out, taking in the taste of his flesh; he shuddered, heart thundered against his ribcage. But he didn’t back out.

I bit down.

The blood rushed into my mouth, past my lips. Teeth longer, sharper than before, I bit deeper, harder. More skin tore, veins broke. Welcome fire rushed through me, my body warming.

He didn’t pull away. Didn’t struggle. He stiffened as I bit, then his arms wrapped around me, holding on. Hand caught a fistful of my hair and clutched the back of my head. He went through the motions I was so familiar with: violently tensing when I bit deeper, his heart thumping wildly, his breathing growing more and more uneven as I sucked the life from his body. But he didn’t let go.

Nate lost his balance; I didn’t care. We fell back against the pillows.

Somewhere in my mind I was faintly conscious of his hand slipping from my back and slumping to the floor. His breathing slowed, but I just needed a little more. Just a little.

Pain shot through my scalp as his other hand fell, still tangled in my hair.

My eyes shot open. Oh, fuck...

I tore away from his throat. Blood leaked from the ugly gashes on his neck, soaking the pillow beneath him. I snatched the hunting knife and put a slice in my hand, then pressed it over the bite in his neck—

Too late. His eyes were closed, his chest didn’t rise and fall with the intake of breath, and I couldn’t hear his heart beating.

Oh god...I killed him.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Don’t Say “I Told You So”

Don’t be dead, don’t be dead...

“Nate!” I grabbed his wrist and felt for a pulse, my fingers trembling. Christ, he was pure ashen. This couldn’t be happening...don’t be dead, don’t be dead, please...

What the hell should I do? Phone an ambulance? Call Heaven and Peter for help? I didn’t even know if the cabin had a telephone. And even if I got a hold of someone, they couldn’t get there in time.

I dropped his wrist again. He was so fucking stupid. My hands clenched into fists and I wanted to hit him, hard—wanted to scream at him, to remind him I told him I wouldn’t be able to stop, that I would end up draining him...

His fingers smoothed my hair, breath touched my temple as he spoke. “I trust you.”

You stupid, stupid human. You idiot. I was the last fucking person he ever should have trusted. Ever. I was weak and selfish and I killed him.

My eyes fell to my own hand, which was once again smooth and glowing with health. No more cracking bones or seizures. No more cold. I was alive, saved from becoming what Dragomir was.

But alone.

I crumpled. Doubled over. My head hit his chest and I let out a sudden, wrenching sob. Emotion swelled in me and it terrified me because I’d never felt this before—this stupid, useless hurting and rage that I couldn’t take out on anyone. “Please don’t be dead.”

A hand touched the back of my head.

I leapt back with an unflattering yelp.

Nate’s eyes opened gradually and he blinked a few times as if just waking up.

Oh shit. SHIT. I stared at him, lips parted and trembling. “Fuck, are you a zombie?”

He started to sit up, then slumped back down again and sighed. “Feel like one, but nope.”

I blinked. He was still there, still awake. “You’re not dead?”

“No.” He fought his way up again until he sat propped up on one hand. “Neither are you.” He checked his neck with his free hand, flattening his palm over the wound, then withdrew it again and glanced at the blood. “It’s healing.”

“But I drained you—”

“No, you left enough for me to get by on, and a bit of magic-induced rapid blood cell production prior to this ensured that I would probably be okay.”

Magic-induced...what?

Shit, that guard of Heaven’s—the one bleeding out that he’d been trying to resuscitate. The one he insisted would make it. He never did bleed out ’cause of Nate. Holy fuck.

He sat up straighter, wincing. “I didn’t expect to pass out, though...Zara? What’s wrong?”

I stood and stumbled away from the fireplace.

I thought I’d killed him. Fucking killed him dead. And I should be joyous, yet I was crying even more now that I knew he was alive. I rubbed at my face but couldn’t stop the tears. And I couldn’t handle it. He shouldn’t have mattered to me. I should never have even hesitated—should never have considered letting myself die instead of him. What the fuck was wrong with me? The intense relief I felt when I saw him open his eyes was the scariest goddamn thing I’d ever felt—scarier than thinking I’d killed him.

I had to get out.

“Zar?” He circled the couch before I could reach the door. “What—?”

“Get away from me.” Get away, get away. I could...lock him in the bathroom or something. While I stole his car. Shit, where’d he put the keys?

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t care about draining a mere human, but he’d done something to me. Made me care, made me worry about him, made me into a fool sitting there sobbing when I thought he—some stupid mortal—was dead. He wasn’t just stupid: I was fucking stupid. An idiot. Zara didn’t cry over humans. Zara didn’t cry over men of any kind. Zara wasn’t...wasn’t so fucking weak.

I bolted in the opposite direction from Nate. If he wasn’t going to let me leave, I’d just lock myself in one of the rooms so I could give myself time to think. The rooms had windows. I could get out before he realized I’d slipped away. That’s how I survived, always: I ran. This would be no different. Brilliant plan.

Fingers clasped mine as he caught up with me in the doorway to one of the bedrooms. I twisted away; he snatched my arm, yanked me back. As I spun to face him, his mouth captured mine.

My brain swirled. Nate was kissing me. Nate didn’t like me and he was kissing me. Uncontrolled, ravenous—even when I’d unsuccessfully tried to seduce him before, I never imagined it would feel like this. Like he actually wanted me, like I was the only thing in the world to him in that moment. Heat snaked through my body; my lips parted against his, letting him in.

His breathing was ragged as he pulled back. Read my eyes. I waited for him to say something about it being a mistake, about how maybe the magic made him lose his mind. For the sting of rejection to hit.

But the words never came, so I just stared. Stared back as the seconds passed—five, ten, twenty—trying to think rationally but failing. Utterly.

Rationality, much like perspective and that pesky modesty-thing, is highly overrated in my books.

I reached for him then I was slammed against the wall, kissing him, arching against him. Hands molded over my thighs, lifting me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, locking my ankles at his back.

This is wrong. My mind piped up. He’d said shitty things to me. Made it abundantly clear, repeatedly, that I wasn’t his type. That he’d never want me. But he was hard and hot and digging into me and fuck what he said before. Actions louder than words and all that.

Hands snatched the hem of my tank top, dragged it up, and I shifted to help him. My fingers slipped through his hair, down his neck as his lips feasted on my throat. I came to his shirt; its buttons put up a struggle, so I yanked the whole garment off of him. I rolled my hips; he growled. Thoughts spun through my head, brain still processing everything. To me, only a day had passed; for him four months. His hands cupped my breasts, mouth drew in a nipple, and oh my god, it was like I’d been asleep a century and awoke in a whole new world.

He came back for me when I was lost. It didn’t make any sense—I didn’t know anyone who would do that for me. Didn’t understand why anyone would. From the moment I awoke in my own coffin, I had to rescue myself.

But something told me he’d never been rescued either. A kid who grew up in a place where no one protected him, he learned to take care of himself. For a fleeting, terrifying moment I thought of him bleeding on the floor of Peter’s home, bullet in his gut. I almost left him, almost abandoned him, and I would’ve been one more person in a long line of them who betrayed his trust.

I touched the back of his neck again, scooped up his silky hair, and leaned forward. My lips found the scar there, near his hairline, and I brushed a kiss against his flesh.

“You looked for me,” I whispered before I could stop myself, before I remembered I’d already said it once, dumbfounded, and he simply gave me, “Of course,” like I’d asked the stupidest question in the world.

He shifted to meet my eyes, noses touching, breath warm and moist on my lips. Fingers brushed black waves of hair from my face. “Every day.”

I swallowed back emotion as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear; my gaze darted between his eyes. “Why?”

A wicked little smile curved his lips. “I seem to recall something about being ridden to exhaustion?”

“Even though I’m self-absorbed, childish, and arrogant?”

“You are those things,” he agreed. “And have many other qualities as well.”

“I kept trying to tell you: I have layers.”

Warm fingers slid down my sides and one hand delved under the waistband of my pants. “There’s one layer you can do without at the moment.”

Yeah, who needed clothes anyway? “Your memory might be hazy, but—” I gasped, arched, as his hand slid down, pressed into my slick heat, exploring. Thumb hit just the right spot and—oh, wow.

“You were saying?” His breath brushed my throat, voice vibrating against my skin.

“Just thought I’d point out”—I swallowed, tried to regain some semblance of composure even as my hips undulated in a slow, steady rhythm, and my nails gripped his shoulders hard enough to draw blood—“I’m not quite begging yet. Really curious what bringing magic into it might entail, though...”

“Hmm.” It sounded like he was smiling. “Pick a spot.”

His hand was still doing very interesting things between my legs and it took a moment to process. “Where?”

“On you.”

Oh boy. Lots of possibilities there but, being a vamp, I went with the obvious one. “My throat.”

Eyes a dark, murky blue, like stormy clouds moving over an evening sky, he tilted his head, spoke words I couldn’t hear, and pressed a hot, open mouthed kiss to my throat, just over my pulse.

Pure rapture rushed through my body. It started over my throat where his tongue flicked and poured through the rest of me; electricity tickled my skin, pleasure surged through my veins. I barked my head on the wood panelling behind me as my back arched. Didn’t care. Waves rolled through me, building, building, gathering and ready to—

His lips left my throat and all at once it ceased. My head spun as I gazed back at him. Blinked hard. “What the...?”

“Sex magic. Non-traditional studies, remember? One semester I skipped out on Construction of Faith and Exploration of Demonology in the Late Byzantine Period and took up with the Cult of Aphrodite.”

Forget my firemen fetish. Had I known warlocks could do that, I would’ve been sleeping with one years ago.

“Begging yet?” he whispered and another kiss landed on my collar bone.

The babbling voice echoing in my ears was my own, delirious as I shuddered and twisted. He broke off again, leaving me panting and wanting. Fuck—I might have to kill him after all if he kept stopping.

I thrust my hand between us, popping the button of his jeans and sliding fingers into his boxers. I arched a brow and grinned as he let out a gasp. “I don’t beg.”

Moving almost as fast as me, Nate snatched my wrists and pinned both of my arms next to my head. Met my eyes. Daring.

My body quivered, nearly doing the begging for me. I gave him my sweetest smile. “I will, however, rip your fucking head off in a minute if you keep teasing.”

He hoisted me up, wrapped his arms around me, and deposited us both on the bed. The mattress sank beneath me, comforter soft and smelling of freshly washed laundry. His fingers skimmed my sides, folded around the waistband of my stolen yoga pants, and tugged them off. I opened my mouth to issue another warning, possibly involving decapitation, when he lifted my hips, threw my thighs over his shoulders, and—

Lights flashed over my eyes. I flailed, grabbed for anything, and heard the dull crack of the headboard when I yanked on it. My belly quivered, lips parted in a cry; bliss danced over my skin, twisted through my veins, lit every molecule on fire, and for a long, rapturous moment that could’ve been minutes or hours, I exploded and swore I might be flying.

I collapsed when the waves subsided, sated. Blinked until I could see straight at last. Nate trailed kisses back up my body, lips still skillful but tongue no longer doing that sex magic thing.

“We shoulda been doing that months ago,” I mumbled. “Skipped the secret government conspiracies and trying to save people—you, me, and a beach in Bermuda. At night, of course. My days would be spent out of the sun, in a spa.” My limbs were still tingly with after effects, but I managed to reach down and shove down his jeans and boxers. I’d promised to ride him to exhaustion and I fully intended to deliver on that.

I instinctively lifted my hips to meet his, yearning, craving him, yet he paused just outside of me. Stared down into my eyes.

I wanted to speak—to say anything—but no words came to my lips. He looked not just at me but into me, like he really, really saw me. Self-absorption, arrogance, childishness, and all. And didn’t flinch.

His brows furrowed with concern, and I decided that whatever was on his mind, it quite possibly wasn’t good.

When he spoke, his voice was low and unsteady. Eyes glistened. “I was worried about you.”

And as he continued to study my expression, I understood—not just what he had said but what he wasn’t saying. I struggled to come up with something to respond with, to tell him how terrified I had been when Jamie said he had been killed, or how ridiculously relieved I was to know he never stopped looking for me. But speech escaped me.

Without a word, he thrust inside me. His eyes widened and lips parted in a gasp as he did, and mine did the same as a bolt of rapture shot through me, something even more intense, more real, than anything the sex magic brought. Everything around me disappeared but for the feeling of him deep within me. Connected. Only a single thought passed through my mind before it gave way to the instincts of my flesh—a thought I knew he shared as well—and after it, we were both lost.

This is right.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Breakfast Is the Most Important Meal

My hand stretched out to Nate’s side of the bed as I awoke.

Empty. No wonderfully shaped male body where it had been the night before; the sheets were cold.

I sat up and looked around—still no sign of him. But black garbage bags were secured over the windows in the room, electrical tape sealing them in place and keeping the daylight out. Well, if he left to ensure I wouldn’t get nasty sunburn, I supposed I could forgive his absence. Maybe he’d gone to get tools to fix the headboard, but then I figured it was a lost cause; I broke it from the frame early on and at some point we managed to crack it straight down the middle.

The sound of running water was muffled behind the wall to my left. I climbed out of bed, sore in all the right places, and opened the second door in the room to find the bedroom connected to the bathroom. Steam from the shower billowed through the doorway, so I quickly stepped inside and closed the door behind me to preserve the warmth. The tiled floor was wet with condensation and slippery beneath my feet, but after spending months freezing, I welcomed the sauna-like heat of the room.

I slid open the shower door and stepped inside behind Nate, who was rinsing the shampoo from his hair. He was...just beautiful. Possibly prettier than me, and for once, I didn’t mind admitting so.

I saw no reason to announce my entrance with words. Instead, I lathered up my hands with soap and ran them down his back.

His head dipped forward so I could better access his shoulders, and I worked my fingertips deep into the muscles, smoothing out the knots I encountered. I urged him forward a bit, letting the water wash away the soap from his back, then I wrapped my arms around his chest and let my hands trail down to his stomach suggestively.

“Can I help you with something?” He shifted around in my embrace and grinned down at me.

I lifted my head to kiss him, but my mouth didn’t linger long on his. Instead, my lips traced the lines of his throat, coming to rest low on his neck, beneath a set of ugly scars I’d made the night before.

“Still hungry,” I whispered, and nipped at his throat playfully.

“Me too.” His hands went to my rear and he lifted me up onto him, pressing my back into the wet tile. I wrapped my legs around his waist, reveling in the feel of him inside me again, and I bit down on his neck until I tasted blood.

Ah, the practicalities of having a mortal lover.

****

Afterward, Nate left me the shower while he went to shave. Once sparkling clean—and smelling remarkably “winter fresh,” much like a bar of soap—I switched off the taps, wrung my long hair free of excess water, and exited the stall. A thick, terrycloth towel awaited me, and I wasted no time wrapping it around myself.

Nate leaned over the sink, dragging the razor over the last of his beard.

He was sexy both ways, but fucking a guy who looks like Jesus can kinda wig you out after a while. “Did you make a solemn vow to never shave again until you found me?”

“We’ve been on the run for months. Facial hair was the least of my worries.” He cleaned off the razor, then turned to me. “So? Better?”

“Oh yeah, spots of shaving cream drive all the girls wild.”

He rolled his eyes and turned back to the sink. He was running a cloth under the water as I started for the bedroom, where I planned to hunt down my clothes.

“Zara.”

“Uh huh?” I looked back at him as I leaned in the doorway.

He calmly ran the cloth over his cheek, not meeting my eyes as he spoke. “I’m in love with you, you know.”

Something in my chest seized. I stared at him for a moment before I responded. “Yeah, I know.”

“But if you marry me then hire a demon to kill me as a sacrifice to unleash your own demonic power, I won’t be too forgiving.” He glanced at me in the mirror to catch my reaction and gave the slightest of smiles as I stifled a laugh.

I pretended to consider his words for a moment. “I suppose that sounds reasonable.” I continued into the bedroom, then did a quick u-turn and returned to the bathroom doorway. Ah hell. Why not? “Nate, I’m in love with you too, you know.”

I read his response and can’t say I liked what I saw. He had just washed the last of the shaving cream from his cheek and the cloth dropped from his fingers, landing wetly in the sink. He rested his hands on the edge of the counter, cast his gaze down, and said nothing.

Fuck. So...was he kidding? About the whole thing? No one said that to me—not said it and meant it. So I probably fucked up my signals and he didn’t mean it either. “Now don’t be too disappointed,” I muttered.

“No, it’s not...” He shook his head. “I didn’t think...”

“Spit it out, lover boy.”

“I didn’t mean for you to reciprocate. Didn’t think you...”

Oh, for Christ’s sake. I walked over and hopped onto the counter beside the sink to face him. Poked him in the stomach, just above the scar from the bullet I’d cut out of him. “I know I always make a big point of saying how irrelevant relationships are in the grand scheme of things and that I only care about me, but you should realize by now that I’m basically all talk sometimes.”

He chuckled and glanced over at me. “I thought... Ah, fuck it—look, I’m sorry about Jamie.”

“Jamie?” I repeated in confusion. “What the hell does that rat bastard have to do with anything?”

“Despite my rather intense dislike of him, I’m not happy about what he did to you. I understand if the reason you—”

“Hey, I didn’t have sex with you multiple times—in fun and exciting positions—just because I was upset about him.” I tugged Nate over so he was directly in front of me, his hips resting between my knees, and I hooked my ankles over his calves. My fingers skimmed his abs, took in the smooth plane of flesh over muscle, and I longed to curl up in bed with him for the rest of the day and forget the rather serious threats on our lives. “I find solace in horribly killing whoever has wronged me, not in someone else’s bed. And Jamie and me were just way too much alike.”

“Listen to me.” He gathered my face in his hands. “You are nothing like him.”

I rolled my eyes. “A little bit.”

“You have layers, I remember—the point is, you’re not like him. You’re better than him.”

I felt a little like my world had gone off kilter right then. Like Nate looked at me and saw someone who didn’t exist—saw a better woman than I actually was. Okay, granted, I probably wouldn’t have sold everyone out had I been in Jamie’s position, but that still didn’t make me a good guy.

I gave him a shrug and tried not to think about it. “Whatever. Anyway, point is, you know given the choice—though I am loath to make choices in such matters—I would have picked you over Jamie, even before I knew what he did, right? I mean, presuming you would’ve shown even an ounce of interest in me—”

“I was grieving. And...dealing.”

“Oh, whatever—”

He leaned down to kiss me and I melted, leaning shamelessly into him, my hands wandering the length of his body. His arms gathered me up and carried me back to the bed and I went about stripping off our respective towels. We’d just collapsed on the mattress when someone knocked at the front door.

Ah, fuck. “Did you get me a present? Sammy the delivery boy flown into the province?”

Nate sighed. “That would be Peter and Heaven.” He reluctantly rose and slipped on his jeans. “There’s a bag of clothes for you in the closet. I would’ve brought them last night to the compound if I’d known.”

“Ooh, the stuff from Heaven’s?” His friend had picked out some cute outfits before, and while they would obviously be last season now, I still wanted to get some wear out of them. Even if I looked like one of those vamps from movies that had no fashion sense whatsoever.

“Nope. Her hotel was attacked. Stuff I picked up a while ago.” He disappeared into the living room. Probably to answer the stupid door.

“I’ve got an idea,” I called. “Lie down on the floor, pretend to be dead, and wait for them to come in and find your lifeless corpse.”

Nate chuckled and fabric rustled—he probably got his black sweatshirt. “You should probably get dressed.”

I moved to the closet and found a large paper bag on the floor, the top closed and folded over. Jeans, cute tops, a pair of boots and oh thank god, some panties and bras. The bras were in a couple of sizes around my range, like he’d been guessing; I tried one size I used to wear, but the cups were too big. Fuck. That’s always the way when you lose a bit of weight: it leaves your tits first. I’d have to do a lot of feeding to get my proper figure back.

I dressed in black skinny jeans—which were a tad looser than they would’ve been four months ago—a black tank top, and then I slipped Nate’s white shirt on. I’d just buttoned it up when he let Peter and Heaven in.

“Goddess! Nathan, your neck!” were the first words out of Heaven’s mouth.

I strolled toward the living room and leaned in the doorway. “Yeah, I got a little hungry.”

She was dressed as casually as I supposed one could expect her to: long white tunic in Indian cotton and a pair of navy capris. At least she had on tennis shoes instead of heels. She raised a perfectly plucked blonde brow at me. “You bit him twice?”

I shrugged. “I indulged in a second course.” Truthfully, I’d bit him more than that, but the other marks were in places she would not be seeing.

Peter smiled when he saw me. “You’re all right, I see.”

“Yep.”

“And you’re wearing Nathan’s shirt,” Heaven added.

“You sure are swift.”

“Did everyone make it out of there?” Nate asked. He sat on the loveseat and I flopped down next to him while Peter and Heaven took the couch.

“A few were caught by the odd bullet, and two died,” Heaven said. “There are also a number of half-crazed vampires running around feeding on anyone they come across.”

“That’s still better than the completely-crazed variety,” I said.

“Also, in one night the bounty on Nate’s head has doubled,” Peter said. “It’s all over the supernatural underworld: anyone who kills you and can produce a body is guaranteed forty million dollars.”

Silence enveloped the room. That was a hell of a lot of money.

“And that’s just one offer out of many,” Peter said. “The person we now know is your brother is still only offering ten, meaning either he’s certain someone else will take care of it for him and he isn’t concerned, or he’s planning to personally do it.”

“So even if we take out Sean, Nate’s still going to have people hunting him down for the rest of his life,” I filled in.

Peter nodded. “Take out the last O’Connor before he can produce any heirs, and there goes one of the oldest covens still in the northern hemisphere. That’s certain to up the status of a few of the smaller groups.”

Wow. That was...that was a lot of money. Someone like me could retire on that, if she both had any notion of giving up the job and killing Nate. Which I obviously didn’t. On both counts. For realsies.

I opened my mouth to speak when a high-pitched wail cut me off.

“What the hell is that?” I shouted, hands gripping my ears.

Nate and Heaven wasted no time rising and scurrying about the cabin, snatching up a series of crystals that were placed in the corners of the room. The alarm ceased and silence settled once more.

“They put up a barrier around the place a few days ago,” Peter said. “That means someone’s breached it.”

“And three guesses who that might be.” I hopped to my feet. “Okay, so what do we do?”

“You sit in here while Heaven and I reinforce the secondary barrier,” Nate said.

What. The Actual. Fuck. I glared at him. “Uh, no, I think I’ll be doing some ass-kicking.”

“It’s three in the afternoon,” Peter said. “You’ll fry outside.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Heaven stood with the front door wide open. Outside the sky was black as night and as an inhuman creature bellowed in the distance, we all knew what that meant.

Sean had blotted out the sun somehow and the remnants of his “army” were on their way to the cabin.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Final Confrontation

I followed Nate and Heaven to the door. “At least that puts me back in the game.”

“No, you’re staying here.” Nate paused in the doorway, barring my exit.

Oh, he was not pulling this macho crap on me. “Move, or I’ll do it for you. You don’t want to find out what I do to men who like to play alpha male.”

He took a breath and paused before continuing, freshly shaved jaw moving like he ground his teeth with frustration. “We’re going to try to reinforce the barrier out there, and then I’m going to see what I can do about dispelling the sudden lack of sun. If you’re out there, it’ll kill you when I succeed.”

“If you succeed. Didn’t your bother usually kick your ass?”

Nate said nothing, glaring at me.

Peter stepped between us. “Zara, exactly how changed are the vampires you and Nate left with Sean? Will you be able to fight off all of them?”

“If I have to.” Fuck them both if they thought I needed protection.

“I’m going to try to make sure you don’t have to,” Nate replied. “Let me do this. If I can’t bring back the sun, they’re all yours.”

I bit my lip. Glared some more. But he was right—he had to try. Not just for my safety, but for everyone’s. Feeling useless, I simply watched him and Heaven head outside to do whatever it was they could to keep a wicked powerful warlock and his vampire-monster lackeys from killing us all horribly. I wasn’t so sentimental that I considered hugging and kissing Nate goodbye, or making him promise to be careful. I respected him and his abilities too much to behave like that. But we exchanged a single glance before he disappeared into the woods and that said it all.

“We’ll need stakes,” I told Peter as I shut the front door. “Metal would be better able to get through the skin. Wood might do, but I’m not sure.”

And that was what we did for the next fifteen minutes—collected anything we could find that would act as an appropriate weapon. I snapped the legs off of chairs, stocked up on broom and mop handles, and anything else I encountered that could be useful. Peter grabbed the guns and ammo from his car and we set everything out in the living room. After that, we could do nothing but wait.

“Do you think they’ll be able to dispel whatever magic caused the sky to blacken out here?” I asked.

“It’s hard to say.” Peter frowned, brows pulled tight with worry. He kept his dark eyes fixed on the front door, pistol aimed. His finger remained on the trigger and I considered taking the weapon away from him in case he fired on the wrong person. But there was still no sign of our witch and warlock, so his concern was starting to seem well-founded.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Can they do it or not?”

“Sean...Sean was perhaps the only magic user Nate ever really feared,” he said. “Aside from his father, that is.” Peter glanced my way, perhaps gauging my reaction.

“Yeah, I figured out his pops was a controlling, abusive loon.”

“Picked on his youngest. Wanted him to be strong, supposedly.”

Yeah, ’cause that logic always worked. I said nothing.

“Nate’s brother was—is—strong. The family was devastated when he died. Sean Jr. was the one who took care of the zombie fiasco and berated Nate for years about his stupidity and inexperience for doing something like that.”

“But summoning those demons and then raising hundreds of people from the dead sounds pretty impressive to me.”

“Except Sean pointed out that a truly powerful warlock wouldn’t just be able to do that, but be able to control it. Nate dabbles. Always has. Learn a bit of this, a bit of that. Couldn’t be arsed to specialize, so results can be...unpredictable.”

My eyes glazed over and I rolled my shoulders. If sex magic was considered something he just “dabbled” in, it was time well spent.

“Despite the nine years age difference,” Peter continued, “Nate often came pretty close to matching Sean’s magic. Had he kept up with it for the past six years and focused, Nate probably would have surpassed Sean by now, however...”

“However, he quit after the zombies.” Not the most encouraging news. I knew little about magic, but I hoped that maybe having Heaven there would strengthen whatever Nate could do.

“Zara, Nate’s been a good friend of mine for a number of years now.”

“Hey mentioned.”

“And what I’m getting at is, I know him well, and he’s like a brother to me...and I suspect he loves you.”

I grinned and a touch of colour rushed to my cheeks. Never thought there’d be a day when I blushed. “Yeah, we kind of covered that last night and today—up until you and Heaven arrived.”

Peter chuckled. “I don’t need to hear the details. Nate was relentless in looking for you the past four months. He’s always been like that: for someone who dabbled in his studies, he’s always shown remarkable focus on certain things. Stubborn to a fault, perhaps. Heaven thought both Jamie and you were in on it, but he didn’t accept that. He wouldn’t give up until he’d discovered what happened and never even considered the possibility that you were dead. His every waking hour was spent searching, but he didn’t tell Heaven or I until about a month ago when he could no longer go anywhere without being recognized and hunted down by those hoping to collect the reward on him.”

This I already knew—Nate had told me as much—but having another person confirm it sent shivers down my arms. All that time, he cared. Even when he insisted he had no attraction to me whatsoever...he just genuinely needed time to adjust to what Mishka had done. I had a renewed desire to shout “I told you so!” but this was neither the time nor the place. And all it took was a little kidnapping to bring these feelings out in him. God help me, I even thought it was sweet. Cute. Shit, I should stake myself before I got any more twitterpated and embarrassed myself.

“My point is, he loves you,” Peter said. “Don’t hurt him.”

I waited, but he didn’t follow it up with a grin or a chuckle. My smiled dropped—damn, he was serious. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“I saw your eyes light up when I mentioned the forty million.” Peter raised a brow and looked at me pointedly, daring me to deny it.

I couldn’t. I was an awful, horrible person, and I wouldn’t lie about it—I did think, for just a second, about the possibilities.

“There are more important things than money, Zara. And you know all too well what it’s like to be betrayed by someone you love. Don’t put Nate through that again.”

My stomach twisted, irritation burning hotly against my sternum. “I’m not—”

I was interrupted by the door being ripped off its fucking hinges.

I pushed Peter flat to the ground as the door flew at us. It narrowly missed our heads, and smashed into the brick fireplace. Splinters of wood sprayed across the room.

We looked up to see Dragomir in the doorway, his eyes fixed on me. Behind him there was no sign of daylight.

Ohshit. “I’m gonna to take a shot in the dark and say the spell didn’t work.”

“It looks that way,” Peter agreed.

Dragomir snarled, showing his teeth. A tremor of fear worked through me at the sight.

“Peter, I’d like you to meet Dragomir again. I’m sure you’d love to document this encounter for a book, but I’m afraid I have to kill him now.”

“By all means, go to it.”

I snatched up a stake and threw it straight at my maker’s heart. Unfortunately, I missed my target, because Dragomir grabbed the weapon midair and flung it to the side.

“I think he’s faster than you,” Peter said.

Yeah, thanks for that. I sighed. “Close combat it is, then.”

Two more bulked up, monster-vamps appeared behind him. A tall, bony woman with stringy red hair that looked vaguely like my missing vamp friend Annalise Jean. The other was a shorter, stouter male vamp—or former vamp—I didn’t recognize, with short black hair and eyes tinged red. The three roared in unison and charged into the room.

Oh boy. “Do lots of shooting, and avoid getting in their way.” I jumped to my feet.

“I can do that.” Peter fired at the vampire to the left.

I had hoped that multiple bullets would impede the creatures.

They didn’t.

Armed with a stake in either hand, I rushed at them, ducking beneath the first swipe at me and dodging the next. I slashed upward with the sharpened end of a mop handle, catching poor Annalise in the neck. It tore through her flesh, and she staggered back.

I was about to follow up by driving my other stake through her heart when Dragomir grabbed me by the throat. He yanked me off the ground, squeezing my neck with a strength I hadn’t thought possible. The stake fell from my grip and my hands shot up to his wrist, shredding my nails through his skin. I kicked at him, legs swinging wildly in the air.

He tightened his grasp.

Maybe he’d remember me—I could... Fuck, even if that were true, I could do nothing but sputter unintelligibly.

Then his black eyes got huge. A throaty, animalistic growl left his throat and his grip slackened. My feet touched the ground as he slumped forward. The end of a rake stuck out from his back.

Nate stood in the doorway and tossed me an ax. “This might be helpful.”

I caught the weapon and didn’t think twice about swinging it down on Dragomir’s neck. Maybe I’d’ve felt remorse if something in there had some semblance of my maker. But he was gone, and with his head completely severed, now his body was dead for good too.

“Some help would be nice,” Peter called.

I swung around to see the male vamp I didn’t know advancing on Peter. My grip tightened on the fire ax; I somersaulted over the couch, and with one quick swipe of my weapon, the vampire’s head rolled to the floor.

“Well, at least when they haven’t fed, they don’t get blood on the floor,” I said. That’s me, always looking for a bright side.

Nate uttered a spell and Annalise flew back away from him, hurtling into a bookcase. The floor rumbled as she fell and books scattered around her. Magic held her in place as I approached.

She gazed up at me with eyes that didn’t see, didn’t recognize anything. No mind left. I sighed heavily, sadly, and raised the ax. I’d have to call Toby to spread the word about what happened to her.

Her head came off easily and rolled across the floor. My eyes closed and I pinched the bridge of my nose. It was such a waste. So stupid. My maker dead, Ilona dead, Annalise dead—all those other vampires, some of whom probably never hurt anyone. All dead. Or insane.

I sighed and cast the ax down.

“You’re sure it took twenty-something Hunters to take out just one?” Nate asked Peter.

“Could be exaggerated,” he admitted.

“Hunters are simply humans well-schooled as fighters,” I said. “Throw an actual vampire at them and—”

A horrific screamed pierced the air, sounding from outside the cabin. Nate, Peter and I exchanged looks, all thinking the same thing.

Heaven.

We raced for the door.

Nate reached it first. One foot stepped down on the threshold and something struck him, hard and forceful; it threw him back and he collided with Peter. The pair of them toppled onto the couch, rolled and struck the coffee table.

Atop them was Heaven’s bloody, lifeless body. Vacant green eyes stared back, blonde hair was mussed, and her white shirt was shredded and stained almost black with blood.

Jamie stepped into the room. He was still mid-change, as I had seen him the night before. Growing bulge thinning his hair, fangs extra long, nails sharp. He was taller, too—taller and with broader shoulders. Spine had a slight curve to it.

He turned to smile at me. “Hi sweetheart. Miss me?”

I pretended to think it over. “Should I answer that with a kick to your balls first, or go straight for staking you?”

“That’s too bad.” He sped toward me so fast that I barely had enough time to pivot out of his path. Still within reach, he took a swing at my face.

Claws tore through my cheek, pain blooming and blood splattering across my face, down my shirt. I stumbled, righted myself, and danced back before he could claw me again.

My gaze darted beyond Jamie. Peter checked Heaven’s vitals, then looked at Nate and shook his head.

“Yeah, she’s dead,” Jamie said, appearing to be aware of what transpired behind him. “For a race of beings that look down on vampires, they really are weak.”

Magic sparked in the air. An invisible force knocked Jamie forward; he landed with a thud on the floor, vibrating the hardwood under my feet. I glanced at Nate, but his gaze was set on the doorway. Colour drained from his face, lips trembling. I followed his stare to see Sean leaning against the doorframe. Arrogant prick looked smug as hell and I wanted nothing more than to smack that grin off his face.

“Watch it, Jamie,” he said coolly.

Jamie rolled his eyes.

Maybe I could play them. Jamie was a worm good at changing sides—I had to give it a try. “Aren’t you supposed to say, ‘Yes Master,’ or something?”

Jamie shot a glare my way, lips twisting in a cruel grin. “I’m surprised you haven’t tried the ‘Help us and we’ll defeat him together’ act yet.”

Well. There went that idea. Best for honesty. “You can help if you want, but I’m going to kill you either way.” I glanced past him again, tried to keep an eye on the events behind him, but Jamie leaped up and charged.

Fuck.

I ripped my gaze from the magical showdown between brothers to evade a series of high-speed punches from Jamie. Block. Duck. Duck. Block. Two caught me in the face, ripping at the flesh he’d already torn. Another hit my gut, hard enough I thought he put a hole right through me.

My steps wavered; I fought my way up again.

His foot slammed into my face.

Bone cracked under the force. I whipped back, struck a window, and broke through the glass. Stars played over my eyes; my back landed on the window frame and I started to topple—

Jamie grabbed my foot and hauled me back in before I could fall. He whirled me around, snatched both my wrists in one of his hands, then forced me down, down, ’til I was on the ground, flat on my stomach.

Struggling did me no good—the prick had me pinned.

“Oh, this is great, love. You gotta check this out.” His hand knotted in my hair and yanked my head up.

Peter stood trapped behind some sort of glowing green barrier across the room, looking on as Sean circled Nate.

Nate. He was on his stomach like me, sprawled there among a broken coffee table and near Heaven’s corpse. Blood snaked down from the corner of his mouth, from his nose. He spat more across the floor, pressed his palms down, and fought his way up again.

Another word from Sean flattened Nate once more; his chin hit the hardwood, head slumped to the side.

No, no, no—this wasn’t right. He couldn’t give up—he was better than that. I thrashed under Jamie. “Nate!”

Defeated blue eyes met mine. A lifetime of fear, of lack of self worth waited there, and my heart squeezed.

No, he couldn’t do this. He came back for me. He fucking saved me—no one did that. He said I was worth saving, worth literally risking his neck for. I couldn’t watch him die.

Get up. Get up—we’re not dead yet.

“I’m so glad we get to share this moment, dear.” Jamie tightened his grip on my hair; I bit back a yelp.

Nothing I could do. Nothing at all. Sean bent and selected one of the stakes Peter and I had prepared. Did it slow and careful, the bastard, testing the weight, eyeing the end. Then he spun it and aimed at Nate’s back.

Jamie’s hold on me tensed; I screamed, hair ripping from my scalp. He was probably just being a prick—

Then bone snapped.

He was changing, just like I had. Spasming. And it gave me the moment I needed.

I gathered my strength and bucked, pitching him forward. He sailed through the air and crashed into Sean. That must’ve broken the warlock’s concentration and whatever hold he held over Nate, for his brother scrambled up and dispelled the barrier around Peter.

I got my feet under me, gathered some traction, and bolted. Nate dropped to one knee, weakened, nose still bleeding. My fingers folded over his arm and helped him to rise again. “You’re okay?”

“Zara!” Peter called. Hands touched my shoulders and shoved me aside; I tumbled onto Nate. We looked up.

Peter stood over us, the stake Sean had been holding planted right through his heart. He slumped to the floor.

Oh god. Please, no.

Nate knelt over his friend, anguish twisting his face, lips parting in a wordless cry. Peter stared up, eyes glazed. Dead. Just like that, he was gone...and only to save me. And why? Why me? When had I been worth people shoving me aside to take a stake to the heart, offering me their throats, spending months searching for me? Tears burned in my eyes, but now wasn’t the time for mourning.

Sean and Jamie watched from the other side of the room. I stood slowly, head tilted down, long black hair hanging on either side of my face. My heart hammered, hands clenched into fists. I was bleeding, aching, and fucking pissed off—something snapped, some little guard in my brain that kept me from going totally batshit crazy on everyone breaking in two.

I’d had enough. I leapt in attack.

Magic struck me, threw me back—I hit the fireplace. Brick cracked, dust puffed up. I crumbled against the hearth as I fell. Grime itched my eyes; I brushed it back to see the brothers once again facing off.

Nate stood in the center of the room, cold blue eyes on his older brother. He stood frozen, tense. Ready.

Sean circled Nate. “Really Nathan, I’m surprised you lasted this long on your own. You put up more of a fight in high school. Have the vampire and her friends actually carried you this far?”

This wasn’t gonna be good. I scanned the area around me, spotted the fire poker three feet away. If I could just reach it without anyone noticing...

“I’m assuming you ran out of resources, or you wouldn’t be here yourself.” Nate’s deep voice stopped Sean’s pacing.

Sean sized his brother up, critical blue eyes moving over him. “You know the saying: if you want something done, do it—”

I grasped the poker, took careful aim, and hurled it across the room.

It whizzed past Sean’s upper arm. The warlock looked at me, brow cocked with skepticism. “That was a little disappointing.”

I gave him a cool smile and nodded to a spot behind him. “I’m not so sure about that.”

Sean glanced behind him to see the poker had hit Jamie directly in the heart, pinning him to the far wall.

I rose on creaky bones and sore muscles. A twist of my neck gave a loud crack. “Two to one. As a betting girl, I like those odds.”

Magic thickened in the air, that telltale feeling of electricity, and it centered around Nate. If he was going to throw a spell, I could just keep snarking and distract—

Sean must’ve anticipated it; a gesture from him sent Nate flying into the far wall.

Shit.

“I think you’ve effectively killed or helped to escape just about all of my vampires,” Sean said his attention returned to me.

I yawned. “Told you it was a lame idea. Shittiest army ever. Guess things won’t look pretty for you during your apocalypse.”

“If you think they were the only resource at my disposal, you’re sadly mistaken. And I have a few years to build my ranks up again.”

“Honey, if you were gonna walk out of this cabin alive—which you won’t—you’d live to be a shriveled old man still waiting, with your pathetic vampire army in cages, ready for a party that’s never gonna start. There’s no Armageddon.”

Sean smiled coolly. “‘And the sisters will rise, jaws will open, and hell will come to Earth.’”

“Is that from Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”

Magic gripped me, twisted around my body in oily tendrils; I shot upward. My head scraped the ceiling then I thudded hard against the fireplace, suspended midair. He looked to the floor and one of the stakes floated off the ground until it was level with my chest.

“Goodbye, Miss Lain.”

The stake flew toward my heart.

An instant later, Nate appeared behind his brother—flat out fucking appeared out of nowhere—and aimed a handgun at Sean’s head.

Nate fired.

Blood and brain matter flew. Sean crumpled. The magical grip on my body faded and I dropped to the hardwood just as the stake drove into the brick.

Motherfucker. I climbed to my feet again, brushed the dust off my jeans. Nate stared down at his brother’s corpse and fired a few more bullets into him for good measure.

Late afternoon sun returned to the sky outside the cabin, and though it significantly cut down on the number of places I could stand in the room without being burned, I was grateful to see it.

Nate faltered, weakening fast from his little time dimension trick on top of the magical beating he’d taken. I rushed over as quickly as I could with everything in me aching top to bottom, and caught his arm.

“Have I ever told you how much I love that time-freezing thing?”

“I’m just glad I never told him I could do that.” He tossed the gun to the floor. Stared at Sean for another twenty seconds, this his gaze drifted to Peter.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered as I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his shoulder.

He returned the embrace and ran a hand back through my hair, sagging against me heavily as I did him. “Are you all right?”

“I’ve been through worse. At least I didn’t get shot this time.”

“Yeah, I could get used to not having bullets hit my body all the time too.”

Except all over the supernatural underworld, people know Nate’s worth forty million dead. It wasn’t over—it would never be over. Plenty more wanted the final O’Connor heir dead.

Forty million...

I squeezed him tighter, forcing away my guilty thoughts.

“You should probably take care of Jamie,” Nate reminded me.

Right. And that was something I’d enjoy. I turned to the devil himself. Jamie was exactly where I left him: impaled to the wall. Releasing Nate, I walked over to Jamie. The ax waited on the floor; I scooped it up on my way by. When I wrenched the poker free from his chest, Jamie collapsed on his knees.

Still severely weakened, he looked up at me. A smile started...

’Til he saw the ax.

“Baby, c’mon,” he pleaded.

“I told you I don’t like pet names.” I raised the ax and slammed it down on his arm, just below the shoulder. The limb fell to the ground and Jamie screamed—the sound was glorious, almost musical. I sighed, contented, the raging fire in me quelled for a moment at the sight of his pain. He tumbled forward.

Nate came to stand beside me, peering down at Jamie as well. “And next comes the disemboweling?”

“No, I just felt like hacking off something. I’m too tired to get creative in a vengeful way today—he’s not worth the time and effort. I’ll settle for a bit of pain, then certain death.”

Jamie rolled onto his back and, despite the circumstances, he started to laugh. “I can’t believe you picked Junior over me, you stupid cunt.”

I swung the ax down on the wrist still attached to his body.

“Just ‘a bit’ of pain?” Nate asked.

I shrugged. “Okay, a bit more than that. More like ‘some’ pain.”

Jamie continued to laugh. “You’re both dead.”

“Tsk tsk.” I shook my head. “Says the vampire who’s losing limbs by the second.”

“You really plan to spend the next fifty years taking care of him? You’ll slip up and you’ll both be dead.” Jamie laughed harder and harder, tears spilling down his cheeks.

His mirth ceased as I brought the ax down on his neck, however.

I dropped the weapon and it thumped at my feet. Stared down at his head as it rolled to the side. His words still played in my head.

“The cars aren’t damaged, so we should be able to drive out of here at sunset.” Nate’s hand wrapped around my arm.

My eyes burned, itched with building tears. Fuck—I couldn’t do it. Just couldn’t. I loved him, right? Couldn’t do this to someone I loved, who actually loved me back. Someone who spent months searching for me, who didn’t leave me alone in the dark place. Someone who risked his life—gave his blood—to save me.

But Jamie was right. Ambitious assassins and bounty hunters everywhere would be looking for Nate. Forty million dollars was at stake and no matter if it took one year or ten, they wouldn’t stop looking. Forty million...

Nate was closer now. His arm closed over my shoulder, hand smoothed my hair from my face. “What’s wrong?”

I remained silent.

“It’s Jamie? You did feel—”

I shook my head vehemently, hot tears burning my cheeks as they fell.

Once again, when forced to choose between a hot guy and a hell of a lot of money, and you’ve got three centuries of perspective—not to mention bad relationship experience—the choice is surprisingly simple.

My fangs grew.

“I love you,” I whispered.

Epilogue

And the Moral of the Story Is...

I was a very wealthy woman after that. Very. Not only did an anonymous contractor give me forty million for Nate’s death, but I also decided to collect the modest bounty on Heaven. No one asked whether or not I actually killed her—they just wanted a digital photo of her corpse, which I provided. Add to that the reward from the surviving North American covens for taking out the person behind all their troubles, and at the end of the day—well, okay, it was more like the week—I had over fifty-five million dollars in the bank.

Like I said: very wealthy.

Sure, I didn’t need all that money. My payment for killing Sean was enough to keep me living comfortably for a while. So I gave generously to my favourite charities. VETA, or “Vampires for the Ethical Treatment of Animals” is a big one. There are more members out there then you’d think, and I’ve probably been the group’s greatest contributor in recent years. We vamps also have our own branch of Greenpeace. In thanks for my considerable donation, they have promised to send me a pretty calendar every year. And of course I attended the firefighter’s annual charity ball.

My other positive contribution to society? Well, a lot of vampires died in the fight at Sean’s complex. Of the ones that didn’t, still more were killed by Hunters later on. Many of them had new vampires they’d changed and left in their graves, intending to retrieve them when it was time. Now that their sires were gone, someone had to help before they went crazy and ate children like I did when I was changed, so I’ve done what I can to hunt down the orphans and help them. If I believed in karma, I think that would net me some major points.

Perhaps enough to offset the deficit from killing my lover.

Rescuing vampires isn’t much of a career, though, so I’m also one of the world’s top assassins. It’s not like I need the cash, but the prestige is nice and I need something to pass the time. Politicians, religious leaders, supernatural beings—you name them, pay a decent fee, and I’ll kill ’em.

Perhaps I didn’t need to kill Nate simply for some extra money. No, scratch that: I know I didn’t have to...

But Jamie, bless his little black heart, was right. I couldn’t spend the next fifty years running from people trying to kill my boyfriend. We were doomed—star-crossed lovers, like Romeo and Juliet. If Juliet had to murder Romeo at the end.

Anyway. It was a hopeless situation. And though I had assured Peter I wouldn’t betray his friend, I realized I didn’t exactly have a choice. He was going to die either way, so I don’t think anyone can really blame me.

I did spend the hours until dusk at the cabin sobbing over Nate’s body, though. That’s something I’ve never admitted to anyone and I even deny it to myself sometimes. I missed him already, and the moment he breathed his last breath, something of both Ana and Zara died with him—a void opened up, one I knew I would never fill, no matter how much money I had or how many lovers I took over the years. A void that was infinitely worse than the dark place or anything I’d ever experienced in my unlife. Everyone he’d ever trusted fucked him over and I leapt in line to do the same. That kind of guilt is hard to get over.

I go by his grave now and then. It’s on the family plot and his headstone lies between the one shared by his parents and the one above the empty coffin that was supposed to hold his brother. I think a distant cousin or something took care of the funeral arrangements.

I’ll be heading back there in a few years to dig him up. I’m not going to wait the full ten it’s supposed to take a human to turn, as experience tells me that date isn’t exactly set in stone.

He may hate me when he awakens. I can’t say for sure. I just know that even if he decides to leave me, his cruel and evil maker, for subjecting him to immortality as a demon with the curse of requiring human blood, at least he’ll have some amazing strength and stuff to keep his ass safe.

With the world thinking he’s dead—whether he leaves me or not—he’ll be okay. I’ll be able to sleep easy as long as I know that.

Author’s Note

While I was out for a walk with my dog late at night, mid-2004, Zara Lain first came out to speak to me.

Almost literally.

She strolled up, tapped on my shoulder, and started talking. As I walked, I felt her there. Saw the world as she did. Heard her chatter about her awesomeness. I had an image in my mind of a young woman, being stalked through the streets at night, only to leap onto a shop and become predator instead of prey.

I had other books to work on so I ignored her. Or, rather, tried to. After reading the book, I’m sure you can guess how impossible that was: what Zara wants, Zara gets. And late one night when her name popped in my head—Zara Lain—I knew there’d be no shutting her up. I had to start her story.

She’ll always be one of my favourite characters to write. When she shows up, the whole book goes smoothly for me because she just never stops talking, always eager to show me what’s going to happen. Though the next two books (Hunter and Lineage) in the series deal with different narrators, Zara makes appearances in both and is very much part of the story, setting up for her return to narrate in the fourth book, Exhumed. She also narrates various short stories and novellas in the ’verse, a list of which can be found at www.zaralain.com.

As a special bonus, you’ll find the short story Thrall next. Written from Nate’s point of view, it’s set during the time Zara was hidden underground in Bloodlines while he was looking for her, and it gives some hints with where things were going. After that, get a glimpse at the next novel in the series, Hunter.

My sincerest thanks for reading and I hope you join us for future installments.

Thrall

A Nate O’Connor Short Story

She wasn’t dead.

I paced the length of the room, steps heavy and deliberate. The murmurs from the hall beyond the closed door to my left were loud enough for me to hear; no way would they miss my stomping around.

Just a friendly reminder I was still there. Waiting.

Impatiently.

And an impatient warlock was a dangerous warlock; I’d rather my hosts keep that fact in mind.

The “waiting” room, for lack of a better term, redefined the words “dank basement.” Decorated in the seventies and not updated since, it boasted wood paneled walls, mustard coloured carpet, and a brass floor lamp with decades’ worth of dust. Swirls of brown water stains ran along the off-white ceiling tiles and the air had a noticeable damp, musty smell to it.

They didn’t just have an impatient warlock on their hands; they had an irritated one.

The door creaked open at last. I ceased my pacing and turned, dark hair brushing my shoulders. My fingers twitched, magic rushing through my veins and twisting around my limbs. Hot with a prickly edge, it begged to be used. I clenched my fists. Took one long, steadying breath. Then another.

It didn’t help.

Felix Laurent stepped into the room. He stood tall enough that he ducked slightly in the doorway. White teeth gleamed in his dark face, fangs extended as he gave an unfriendly smile.

It was all show, of course. A lot of vamps dropped their fangs when greeting my kind, as if reminding us they had their own ways of kicking ass, should we feel the need to attack. Felix would, of course, be dead before his body settled on the seventies shag carpet, should I decide against the direction our conversation might take—underestimating a magic user was usually their biggest mistake. For now, though, the vamp could have his little show if it made him feel better.

“O’Connor.” He tipped his head in greeting, mumbling my surname around his teeth.

“It’s a little hard to talk with those out,” I said coolly.

Felix shrugged his broad, hulking shoulders. I wasn’t short by any means—I stood well over six feet—but this vampire made me a midget in comparison. Felix retracted his teeth but kept up the feral grin.

Magic hadn’t abated; instead it sped, licking my skin and dancing along my fingertips. I swallowed and kept my focus. “Do you have information for me?”

The vamp walked with a quick grace he shouldn’t have been capable of with that linebacker build. “Sort of.”

Dread rolled as dryness down the back of my throat. Something was off. “Meaning?”

L'accent québécois thickened his words, but I made them out well enough. “Meaning the shortest way to find the people you’re looking for is for them to come to you.”

Motherfucking, double crossing vampires.

Felix sprang forward.

I anticipated. Extended my hand, muttered the last words of the spell I’d already prepared. Let it go.

Magic slammed hard, a tidal wave hitting. Even as it left me, it struck with a force that nearly knocked me from my feet—hard, violent, with the clarity of liquid crystal pouring through the room.

Felix froze.

Literally.

The atmosphere had gone milky and swirly, colour desaturated. I breathed deep, sucking in a breath of hazy air. A dull ache thrummed in my head, starting at the back of my neck and winding to my forehead. The weight of magic in the room pressed down on me, a steady pressure on my shoulders.

But I moved. Past the ugly brass lamp. Past Felix. I glanced at the vampire and thought of the stake holstered under my jacket. He’d double crossed me, sure, and the desire to drop him on the ground was tempting—

And then the crystalline world around me cracked.

Colour seeped back into the room, bleeding through fractures in the air. Panic seized me, heart rate going staccato, and then the headache intensified, like claws tearing behind my eyes. Foreign magic slithered into the room, destroying the last of mine and dropping me square into the world again.

Shit.

Felix blinked; I had precious seconds to move before he turned and found me, so I raced for the door. Too late, he swung around and caught my arm, mouth parted and fangs glistening in the poor light.

This close, with him moving and on top of his game, I probably wouldn’t get too far with the stake. Instead, I slipped out the gun holstered at my waist, lifted the barrel to his forehead, and fired.

His grip slackened; I wrenched away and backed up. His shoulders slumped, head lolled forward, body fought to remain upright. Unfocused eyes looked back at me, lips parted in a wordless cry. His fangs had retracted and he stumbled forward.

Not much of a threat now. But I remembered he wasn’t alone.

“Parietis.”

The barrier went up just as Felix staggered into it; he struck and went crashing back, landing on the floor and whacking his head on the baseboard.

A second party stopped in the doorway. She was short, petite, with a porcelain doll-like appearance. Big round eyes set in an alabaster face looked up at me from beneath a fringe of dark brown hair, and her head seemed almost too big for her body.

Her gaze trailed over the barrier, as if she saw it despite the invisibility. Studying. Weighing. Then a wicked smile flickered across her lips.

I swallowed dryly. Shifted from one foot to the other and moved to the balls of my feet, ready to dart away. At this point I couldn’t shoot her through the barrier; either I’d have to dispel it or she would.

I decided to let the little China doll do all the work.

Her dainty hand moved to the pocket of her dark cardigan and withdrew a red velvet sachet. A tug on the drawstring let the top fall open, and she scooped out a handful of shimmery powder.

This wouldn’t be good.

She held her hand an inch from her pink painted lips, palm toward the ceiling, and blew.

The powder scattered, striking the barrier with sparks. Powder slithered down, shattering the spell; a tinkling like breaking glass sounded in my head and pain bloomed as if I’d smacked into a wall. I staggered, energy draining from my limbs. Something wet dripped from my nose and I dragged the back of my hand across it to see blood.

Son of a—

She moved fast—faster than a vampire. I blinked and she was before me. Splayed fingers reached up and touched my chest; I flew back, wood paneling creaking behind me as I struck the wall hard.

Behind China Doll, Felix was lurching, hands fumbling around the bullet hole in his forehead. At least he was out of commission for the time being.

That didn’t make me feel much better.

The small woman stalked forward, head tilted to the side. “You are worth a lot of money.” She grinned again, tiny fangs peaking out.

Vampire and magic user? Didn’t run into a whole lot of those.

I took in a ragged breath. My nose still bled, trickling onto my upper lip. “You know they’re abducting vamps, right? Turn me in, they’ll take you too.”

“Not if we leave you secured for them to pick up, Mr. O’Connor.” Her voice was lilting, almost childlike, and she stepped forward with careful grace. “I need not be in the country when they wire the money to me.”

I swung the gun up and fired.

She anticipated and knocked my hand aside—but then I figured she would. The bullet went wide, striking the wall on the other side of the room. I twisted at the hip and sent a punch her way; she leaned back with ease, my hit missing her jaw by an inch.

She didn’t plan for me hooking my ankle around hers.

China Doll dropped, suddenly graceless, and landed on the shag carpet.

I sent two bullets into her chest and took three quick steps to the door. A hiss and she was moving, launching herself my way.

“Parietis.” I slammed the door behind me just as I reached the basement hallway. The girl screamed on the other side and the door rattled as—presumably—her fists struck, but with the extra barrier, I expected her to be stuck for a minute.

I wiped at my bleeding nose again and took a deep breath, heart rattling in my chest. My head throbbed and nausea rose, twisting in my gut and burning my esophagus. Even as magic swam through my veins in a comforting buzz, like a fresh shot of whisky...I knew burn out approached. Fast.

With heavy steps I started for the staircase. Stopped.

A pair of tall dark figures waited at the top, each carrying a pair of knives.

Burn out will have to wait, I suppose.

****

Peter sat in the den on the same couch where he’d been when I left several hours ago in the morning. The only difference was the blue mug on the mission end table next to him. When I left, he’d had a green one.

He glanced up from his tablet and gave me a once over. “Hello.”

I closed the front door and grumbled a greeting, then kicked off my boots and strode for the powder room nearby.

“Kind of like old times,” Peter called. “I’m studying and you’re covered in blood.”

I slapped my gun and holster on the counter, and stripped out of my jacket. “I’m not covered.” A glance up at my reflection, though, told another story—I was pretty saturated in it. At least most of it wasn’t my own. My metal stake was gone, buried in one of the very-human knife wielders who came at me. I yanked off my torn shirt next and dumped it in the trash, and then surveyed the knife wound. Just nicked my left side—wasn’t deep at all. Now, the cut on my scalp wasn’t pretty and bled like a motherfucker, but then head wounds were like that, even when shallow.

“You left a trail on the floor.”

A glance back outside the bathroom and, yep, there was a trail of dark red staining the granite tile.

“We’ll lose the deposit,” Peter said. “Like the last one.”

By which he meant I would lose the deposit as I was the one renting the house, as I rented the last one. And the one before that. And the one before that.

“So who tried to kill you this time?”

“The usual.” Fucking vampires. Of all the leads I’d tried, I was sure Felix would work out. The covens were pretty tight-lipped but Heaven had been keeping us updated on anything she learned from them—which tended to be nothing. Meanwhile I sought every demon, every human with connections, and every bottom feeder I could locate...and nearly all of them tried to kill me. Even if I didn’t announce who I was—even with a fucking full beard—they all still knew and all tried to turn me in. Even vampires would risk their own hide to cash in.

Heaven and Peter, of course, had no idea what I was actually doing with my days. My former mother-in-law wasn’t around much—we’d banded together to survive and find answers, yes, but she generally kept her own apartment—and Peter confined his time to research, which I had no desire to interrupt.

Not until I finally had a real lead.

I knew what they’d say—had to sit through the lectures again and again three months ago. The words to that song hadn’t changed a whole lot since then, and whether Heaven sang lead vocals or Peter did a half-assed cover, I didn’t want to listen to it. While their lectures didn’t involve violence, I’d learned long ago that the thing to do is keep your head down, your mouth shut, and do it your fucking way regardless.

I patched myself up, rinsed off all the blood I could find, but forewent the shower. The small suburban home had a Jacuzzi tub upstairs—not a big one, but serviceable—and I’d soak later. After the whisky.

The blood on the floors wiped up well enough, though anyone shining a black light over it later might believe they’d stumbled across a crime scene. I dumped the towel in the laundry room and stalked for the den. Peter’s eyes remained locked on his tablet; his right index finger tapped the screen, scrolling through whatever text he was studying. An array of liquor waited in the cabinet on the far wall. I tossed some Springbank single malt into a glass and took a seat across from Peter, sinking into the arm chair. Then took a sip.

Fuck me, it was heaven. Or as close as I’d be getting.

The scotch eased the ache in my muscles and cleared the dull pain in my head. A comfortable burn settled in my limbs, my gut, and my brain. Magic swirled with cool tendrils twisting around my arms, my bare chest and abs, repairing. Slower than vampire blood healed, but better than the old fashioned way.

Peter sat in silence, pointedly ignoring me. He never asked where I’d been. Probably didn’t want to know—we’d been friends a long time so he had the sense not to ask something he was better off not knowing.

This meant it was up to me to broach the subject. I had to—no one else I could ask.

“Ran into a vampire.”

His thick black brows lifted but he still didn’t look up. “Oh?”

“A vampire witch.”

That got his attention; he tipped the tablet down and glanced up. “You’re sure?”

“Saw the fangs and she dispelled a barrier I used. She was juiced up on something, too—thing weighed as much as a ten-year-old and one touch knocked me across the room. Literally touch, not just vampire strength.”

I must’ve engaged his attention sufficiently because he set the tablet down on the couch beside him and picked up his mug of tea instead.

“It’s unusual, right?”

Peter nodded. “Magic users aren’t normally turned, or if they are, they don’t survive the ensuing insanity when they wake for the first time. Something about the DNA of a witch is not cooperative with the vampiric parasite. I interviewed one for my thesis years ago and while he was functional, I wouldn’t say all the lights were on.”

That summed up China Doll. “She also didn’t dispel with normal means—bitch threw something and cracked the barrier. Some kind of powder.”

Again, Peter dipped his chin, as if nothing surprised him. “Useful for dispelling when there are layer of magics. She might’ve had something else nearby she didn’t want to disrupt.”

That made sense. She wouldn’t have been able to interrupt my disturbance of the dimension’s timeline—she probably had reactionary magic in there that kicked in when my spell went live.

The powder she used, though, could come in useful. “Can you find me someone who knows to mix up that dispel powder?” I was adding everything I could now to my personal arsenal and that might be helpful.

“Sure. Now, am I permitted to ask where you were?”

He was permitted. And I didn’t want to answer—not yet. I sipped my scotch instead.

Peter waited, studying me, blinking impassively.

I kept my hand locked on my drink and rose. “Going to shower.”

He didn’t ask again for details.

****

Heaven’s voice announced her presence downstairs, not loud but somehow worming its way to the upper floor all the same. Her words were always deliberate, tone simple and a tinge sardonic—especially after a few glasses of wine.

Goddess, she sounded like Mishka. Enough so that I paused mid-step, hand on the railing, standing at the top of the stairs.

She tried, repeatedly, to get me to talk about her daughter, my wife—especially in that first month. She wanted to know everything. As if I truly had a fucking clue about what Mishka was really like when everything had apparently been an act. And I didn’t even have the energy to tell Heaven lies. I couldn’t think about Mish, couldn’t grieve, couldn’t yet repair the damage her betrayal had done to me. Instead I found a new focus, a new obsession—a quest to drive my every waking moment and even my dreams. One that kept me going, gave me something to hold onto in the chaos around me.

With practice effort, I tucked away the painful burn against my sternum, shoved aside Mishka’s image in my mind’s eye, and drove away everything her memory conjured in me. Still, the sting remained the way flesh burns minutes after a slap.

I trudged down the stairs in a pair of dark yoga pants, the decent mood I’d been in post scotch and relaxing soak in the tub already long gone.

Heaven Thiering sat at the kitchen island on a barstool, sipping tea; Peter stood across from her. Both glanced at me when I walked in. I paused as they exchanged a look and then carefully turned to face me, expressions expectant. A hush fell over the room the way it does when you walk in on people who have just been talking about you.

My gaze darted back and forth between them.

Peter spoke first, his grin faux-friendly. “You’re just in time. We were hoping to...speak to you for a minute.”

I knew their looks now—it was a fucking intervention. I pursed my lips and kept mum; they probably had no idea what it was an intervention for anyway, so they could talk, and I could ignore and then go about my business again tomorrow.

“So speak.” I stalked past, the kitchen tile shockingly cold on my bare feet, and went for the fridge. We had eggs, cheese, and an array of vegetables in the crisper. Magic drained my body and I could use a big helping of protein.

And with my back to them while I cooked, they might shut the hell up sooner rather than later.

“You go out several times a week for most of the day and evening and tend to come back in need of medical attention,” Peter began.

I withdrew a large butcher knife from the block on the counter, kitchen light glinting on the blade, and began chopping red and green peppers; the thwack on the cutting board drowned out whatever Peter had said after that.

“—and frequently moving to avoid detection that we believe you bring to us,” he continued, “has been upsetting several of the other covens.”

I should care because the covens were so concerned about my well-being? Sure. They still had money and had no ties to the country left—they could leave. Go someplace safe where they didn’t have to fucking worry about me leading someone to their doorstep.

I cracked the eggs next and then coated the skillet with olive oil.

The other two were silent behind me. A glance in the chrome toaster oven to the side revealed them looking at one another.

Heaven turned my way again first. “To put it bluntly, we’re slightly concerned you’re going to get us killed.”

A handful of spices in the whisked eggs, and the omelet was ready to go. As the oil sizzled and popped, I tossed the mixture in and snatched a spatula.

Peter cleared his throat. “Can you tell us why you had a meeting with Felix Laurent today?”

I paused, spatula poised over the pan, as I stared into my browning, bubbling dinner. I hadn’t mentioned Felix’s name—not once. I didn’t keep information like that around either, not on scraps of paper, my cell phone, or the fucking calendar.

I turned slowly to face them, jaw set and brows pulled tight in a frown. Heat from the stovetop warmed my bare back; a drop of water from my damp hair slithered down my spine, icy cold and sending a fresh shiver through me.

“I have eyes and ears everywhere, Nathan.” Heaven tilted her head and sat up straighter. Her hands tightened around the light blue mug resting on the counter. “Vampires, at the moment, are extremely distrustful of our kind. Mr. Laurent, in particular, is not someone you ought to be dealing with at all. Whatever you’re attempting to accomplish, he will not help.”

“Figured that out. Thanks, though.” I turned back and flipped my omelet to cook the other side.

“Nate—” Peter began.

“If you’re both so worried,” I called over my shoulder, “you can move. I hear Peru is really nice this...well, any time of year.”

I swallowed dryly, fingers twitching. Magic thrummed in my veins again like the whisky, swimming contentedly. Non-witches would never understand, but magic had a sort of sentience of its own, and in that moment it was happy. Cheerily mending my wounds, which kept it occupied but not with a task it found draining. The more I used it, the more it built, like every spell poked another hole in the veil between the magic and me. Soon I’d be flooded, out of control, and I couldn’t find it in me to care.

But as much as I wanted the others to shut up about it and go away, a voice in my head swayed me from saying more—reminded me what I was doing in the first place. If I kept it up, I’d get myself killed. And that wouldn’t save her.

I turned off the stove and slid the large omelet onto a plate, not looking at them as I spoke. “I keep getting recognized.”

“There are bounties on your head,” Heaven said. “Very large ones. Several times the size of mine. What did you expect?”

I stared at the food, appetite gone, and leaned with both hands on the counter; corded muscle moved on my arms as I squeezed the counter’s edge and tension worked through me. I’d avoided mention of this for months. Months of lying, of hiding, because I didn’t want to have this conversation.

A deep breath. “I’m trying to find her.”

Silence.

I pushed off the counter and moved toward the drawer to retrieve a fork, walking through the thick, building tension in the room that pressed down on me.

“Nate...” Peter, conciliatory, as always. “You know that—”

I snatched a fork from the drawer and slammed it closed again. Flatware rattled. “We don’t know anything.”

“None of the missing vampires have shown up,” Peter continued, voice still calm as ever. “Reports go back almost a year and none have reappeared. Who would kidnap and keep them alive? And how could someone hold that many vampires?”

I swung around, damp hair whipping against my shoulders. “Then where the fuck are the bodies? Not a single body has shown up. You said they take longer to decompose—have any of your contacts reported strange bodies that don’t decompose showing up in any morgues? Isn’t that something someone would have noticed?” The happy magic in my veins was gone, shifting to a wicked buzz that flickered across my skin, calling me to hurt and destroy and take pleasure in damaging everything around me.

I drew in a shaky breath and focused on driving down the building rage.

“It’s a big world,” Peter said. “It wouldn’t be difficult to hide her body.”

Her body. Not the bodies—not all the others. No, hers. Just hers. Because I wasn’t looking for the others, didn’t care about the others. I wasn’t a hero, wasn’t selfless—I’d be safely in another country myself if I didn’t think she was still out there.

For a moment, air left my lungs like a vacuum sucked it all away and I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. A startling, cold pain washed over me and something in my chest hurt.

No. No. She wasn’t dead. Not by a long shot.

I leveled him with a chilly stare. “She’s alive. I will find her.”

Heaven rolled her eyes and clicked her nails against the counter. “She probably—”

“No.” We’d already had this conversation and I wasn’t interested in a repeat.

“This is Zara Lain we’re talking about, Nathan,” she continued, undeterred. “She drew us into a trap and sold us out.”

“Then how did we get away?”

“They didn’t anticipate—”

“Bullshit! She knew what I could do. She saw me mark the car in case we needed to teleport. Jamie set us up, not her.”

Irritation sparked in her eyes, once again reminding me of the sharp little look I’d detected in Mishka now and then. “You knew her a week. She first stole from me eight years ago and I’ve had many dealings with her since then. Zara Lain looks out for herself and that is all. Don’t be a fool.”

“Well, you know, I actually have quite a bit of experience playing the fool, thanks to your daughter. Not everyone is a treacherous bitch.”

Anger simmered in the air, pushing from Heaven in waves. I braced, ready to strike back.

Then a smirk crossed her cherub lips. “Your wife spent several years as Zara’s right hand. Where do you suppose she learned the fine art of double crossing?”

I swallowed back a lump in my throat. Said nothing. She wasn’t repeating anything I hadn’t already thought, hadn’t already feared—

But no. I wouldn’t accept it. Ever.

“She could’ve killed us a dozen times and she didn’t. She’s not stupid enough to turn us into the people trying to kill us when she knew damn well they’d grab her too. Self-preservation motivates her, like you said. She didn’t sell us out.”

Heaven sighed and shook her head, then slid off the stool. “And if she didn’t, she’s dead. You’ll kill the rest of us if you keep this up.”

“Then I hope you have a plot picked out.”

Peter visibly winced.

“Funny,” Heaven said without smiling, “I hadn’t realized the myth of vampire thralls was actually fact.” She strolled away and left the kitchen. Fifteen seconds later the front door opened and closed.

I scooped up my plate and fork, dropped them on the island where Heaven had been sitting, and tried to eat.

“Unlike Heaven,” Peter started with care, “I have nothing but fondness for Zara. But we have no new leads. No sign of the other vampires. The likelihood is...”

“I know they took her to Quebec.”

He glanced up at me, eyes wide. I looked down again and shoveled a forkful of food in my mouth; the eggs were lukewarm and tasteless, but I swallowed them down. Eventually my stomach would thank me.

“I traced the helicopter that stopped at the mansion before we got away—the one that probably grabbed her. It brought her here, somewhere. No one who remembers seeing it fly overhead could say where it landed.”

“You brought us here because—”

I nodded. “Last month when I knew for sure, I suggested Saint-Jérôme when we had to run again. I’d have better luck looking for leads in the right place.”

“Unless they moved her again.”

My eyes closed and throat tightened. “I can’t think like that.”

“Nate...” Peter’s voice softened and somehow managed to sound both gentle and reprimanding at the same time. “I know you. I know you get these things in your head, but...but why are you risking us to look for her?”

“She’d do the same for us.” It almost felt like a lie the moment the words left my lips...

And then I remembered. That look on her face when Peter merrily recalled her history with no idea about the truth behind it—blue eyes steady, perfect lips in an unmoving grin, trying too hard with the snarky commentary now and then. And I remembered the moments later when the truth came out—for an instant I saw a glimpse of the naive young bride, a few months pregnant, trusting and happy. The girl killed not by the assassin hired to take her life—who turned her into a vampire—but by the man she loved and husband she had nothing but faith in. That innocent girl was a ghost now, hovering in the background, but still there. Still real.

Yes, Zara Lain was a killer. She would sell people out to the highest bidder, she would take care of herself and leave the rest of us behind, and she would do it all with a smile on her face.

But there was a human under all that. A woman who looked at me with crushing relief when trapped under her bed in a room full of sunlight and she realized I’d get her out; a woman who managed to simultaneously be both cocky and insecure as three hundred years couldn’t erase the wounds her husband’s betrayal had caused; a woman who confessed to me the secret of her awakening early as a vampire not to gain anything but to share the burden with someone who might understand.

A woman who, for brief moments, looked back at me with a raw, shared pain that I’d brushed aside over and over because I didn’t want to face it. I didn’t want to trust the sympathy in her gaze, didn’t want to break down and feel.

We never leave behind the people we were. And somewhere out there Zara Lain had been kept a prisoner for over three months, believing we’d abandoned her—believing we’d betrayed our alliance with her and hung her out to dry. Like Mishka’s betrayal had been another brick in the wall for me, so would it be for Zara if we left her to rot.

And I couldn’t live with myself knowing that.

I had the irrational thought that maybe if I saved her—maybe—it would make...make something right. Tip the scales. It might ease the ache in my chest, temper the guilt that kept me up every night. Saving her might...fix me. Somehow.

For a fleeting moment, her arrogant smirk and bright blue eyes flashed in my mind, and my heart squeezed.

I looked at Peter again. “She’d do the same for us,” I repeated, and knew without a doubt it wasn’t a lie.

He watched me, dark eyes inscrutable. Then a soft smile touched his lips and he nodded. “She probably would. If the job paid well enough.”

I chuckled and it felt good—normal even. Like tension eased from my shoulders with the action and the room got lighter.

“I’ll talk to Heaven in the morning,” Peter said. “We can move freer than you can and follow up on leads without our contacts turning on us as often. We’ll help you find her.”

And he didn’t follow it up with, “if she’s still alive,” which I’d be eternally grateful for.

Zara wasn’t dead. And I’d find her.

About the Author

Award-winning author Skyla Dawn Cameron has been writing approximately forever.

Her early storytelling days were spent acting out strange horror/fairy tales with the help of her many dolls, and little has changed except that she now keeps those stories on paper. She signed her first book contract at age twenty-one for River, a unique werewolf tale, which was released to critical and reader praise alike and won her the 2007 EPPIE Award for Best Fantasy. She now has multiple series on the go to keep her busy, which is great for her attention deficit disorder.

Skyla is a fifth generation crazy cat lady who lives in southern Ontario, where she dabbles in art, is an avid gamer, and watches Buffy reruns. If she ever becomes a grownup, she wants to run her own pub, as well as become world dictator.

You can visit her on the web at www.skyladawncameron.com. When she’s not writing or being glared at by cats, she’s probably on Twitter. You should ping @skyladawn and tell her to get back to work.

Hunter

Demons of Oblivion Book Two

Predators beware.

Sometimes natural predators need to be kept in check, and for that, there's Ryann David. Orphaned as an infant and raised by an exiled branch of the church to become a warrior for God, she and her fellow members of Venatores Daemonum have trained all their lives with only one purpose: destroy all demons in the mortal realm.

But when Ryann and her team are sent to hunt down a vampire who has killed one of their own, a new world of danger, betrayal, and conspiracy greets her. Allied with an irreverent psychic detective and the very monsters she was raised to kill, Ryann will risk everything—her life, her faith, and her heart—in pursuit of the truth as the black and white existence she knew turns a murky shade of gray.

Catch a look at Hunter...

The stillness was thick and tense, and the back of my neck prickled with dread. The air had that tinge from the harbor, at first fresh, but something dank and industrial riding beneath. A single bulb burned above me, cutting a small semi-circle of light on the pavement ahead and making the darkness beyond seem that much blacker; the light edged the outline of a body far to my left.

Zack.

My shoes scraped on the pavement, biting pebbles as I pivoted and rushed toward him. I bent down and reached for his throat. He still had a pulse, thankfully, but a gentle shake of his shoulder didn’t return him to consciousness.

I hung there crouched over his body for a moment, blinking, trying to think, struggling to dig up some semblance of instinct that would tell me what to do. Zack and Luke were out. Becky couldn’t fight and she was looking for Jeremiah and Abel—and for all I knew, the vampire had taken Jeremiah out first.

I stood on legs that ached, muscle tears from the night before screaming anew, and looked around. The tall buildings nearby blocked out any streetlights and I couldn’t remember behind which of the dumpsters in the general area I’d stowed my weaponry. The darkness had me at a serious disadvantage: vampires could see well in the dark. Me, for all my training, still had the limitations of a mortal.

Hearing though? That I had. Steps padded across the cement in the distance, heels clacking hard. I hauled the stake from the holster under my pant leg and took off running down the alley.

Ave Maria, gratia plena...Dominus tecum.

Also, please let backup get here soon.

The last of the light glinted on the tip of the stake as I ran, piercing like a weapon of its own. The soles of my sneakers thumped on the ground, announcing my presence even better than shouting would have, and I could think of nothing that would’ve given me an advantage anyway. I potentially faced my death, but I had at least a couple friends on the way, and Jeremiah had experience killing vampires. Or at least I hope they’re on their way. The alternative was not a pretty thought.

Hair blew back from my face as I ran and my eyes adjusted to the darkness. A pair of figures ran toward the end of the alley that opened to the street; Lain with her long black braids and short skirt, and the tall leggy other one who had something slung over her shoulder—

Oh no. “Ellie!” He didn’t stir—she must’ve knocked him out. Why would they kidnap him, though?

The vampires halted and turned. My steps wavered but I pushed on, muscles burning, fingers tightening on my stake.

Three meters from them, I slowed to a stop. Rushing toward two vampires when one of them held a civilian seemed like a monumentally bad idea.

But you can’t let them take Ellie.

Dim streetlight from the mouth of the alley filtered through and Zara Lain’s skin stood out, stark and pale, the dark line of her painted lips curving into a smile as she strolled toward me. The tall blonde one began trekking away again, still with Ellie over her shoulder and my heart squeezed.

Lain stopped with her hands on her hips, the vague light behind her emphasizing the hourglass of her figure. “I guess we should get this done.” She sounded bored with the situation already.

“What do you want with Ellie?”

“Um, that’s none of your business. Don’t be so nosy.”

I shifted from foot to foot, watching the other vampire run with her hostage in my peripheral vision, and tried to drag some steel into my voice. “It is my business. Let him go, Lain.”

“Oh!” She sighed dreamily, clasping her hands to her chest. “It’s so nice when they know my name. I take it you would be Buffy?” She sent a glance over her shoulder at her friend. “I’ll be there in a sec, Nic—keep the car running.”

Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus.

I ran at her then, feet light, stake poised, eyes narrowed. I just needed minutes—two or three even—to stall her until the others arrived. If I survived long enough, Jeremiah could take over fighting her and I’d get the hosta—

Lain ducked my first strike, moving faster than I could blink. I had no choice but to follow through with the hit, fist swinging; she pivoted around and hit me in the back, striking between my shoulder blades with the force of a truck.

I fell hard, landing flat on my stomach, chin scraping on the pavement. Air left my lungs with a puff and I struggled to get in a breath as I fought my way up again.

Lain’s foot connected with my side, driving into my ribs. Before a cry could leave my lips, I was airborne; flying, rolling, flailing. I hit the brick wall of the nearest building and tumbled to the pavement. The stake left my grasp, spinning away from me, and I gasped, choked, tasting a flood of copper on my tongue.

My eyes squeezed shut, water leaking from their corners, and I curled as my hand pressed to my aching side; she’d hit my right ribs, and I yelped when I put pressure on them. Combined with the beating from the night before, I was far from the top of my game.

I didn’t want to get up. Didn’t want to fight. All I wanted was to curl up there until everything stopped hurting.

Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae.

It’s your job to get up and fight. Get UP.

I blinked my eyes open, drew in a breath, and forced my body to move—forced my arms under me though my elbow scraped on the cement, forced my legs to untangle themselves and my feet to gain purchase on the ground.

Lain sauntered toward me, the thick heels of her black boots clicking loudly. “You must be a newbie. I heard one of yours killed ol’ Dusty last night. Am I to believe it was you?”

I didn’t respond—I wasn’t about to engage her. What was it with these vampires wanting to talk during a fight?

Muscles screamed and my side throbbed but I made it onto my knees. I snatched up my stake, pulled myself up to stand, and prepared to attack again. I feinted left, then threw a strike right, swinging the stake her way—

She batted my arm back and her fingers coiled around my throat; with force that rattled me bone-deep, she thrust me against the brick wall.

Her eyes locked on mine, brows pulling down thoughtfully, and her voice was amused but detached when she spoke. “You’re in an awful rush to get the boy back.” Her grip tightened on my throat, long nails pricking my flesh. “Strange, considering you keep getting your ass kicked. What’s in it for you? Why are you here?”

My mouth was dry as it hung open, struggling to suck in air, and throat was parched when I spoke. “To kill you.”

“And what a fine job you’re doing—I’m sure you’ll get a promotion. Now, why were your people sent here after me?”

I drew all my energy into one hard point, balling it up and throwing it into my right arm; I drove the stake up, thrusting it toward her throat, but my movements were slow, clumsy. Lain snatched my hand from the air and squeezed until the stake left my grip and clattered to the ground.

She arched a shapely black brow. “I don’t like repeating myself.”

“You killed one of ours,” I muttered through clenched teeth.

“I kill a lot of people, so I’m not surprised.”

Voices and footsteps sounded at the other end of the alley, back near Alchemy Red, but pinned against the wall I was too sore to feel any sense of relief. One jerk of her hand and she could snap my throat, leaving me broken and crumpled on the pavement.

The vampire smiled at me. “Gotta go.” And she heaved me with both hands, tossing me down the length of the alley.

I hit the ground and blacked out.

Now Available...

Whiskey Sour (& Other Stories)

A Demons of Oblivion Short Story Collection

Whiskey Sour: One night without protection led to French-Canadian fae bartender Juliette Aubrey catching lycanthropy. Now half faerie, half werewolf, and entirely pissed off, Juliette has the chance for revenge when the last person she wants to see strolls into her bar needing help.

A Vampire Walked Into a Bar: Pat knows there are vampires in his city, and now he has visual proof. He's set up a meeting with someone who might be able to stop them...but there's a vampire or two who might have something to say about that.

Zombie Faeries: When a vampire entered her territory uninvited, faerwolf Juliette Aubrey decided to teach her a lesson. Unfortunately for her, that vampire is Zara Lain. And unfortunately for the both of them, they aren't the only big, bad creatures of the night in the cemetery when they meet.

Table of Contents

Title page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Epilogue

Author’s Note

Thrall

About the Author

Hunter

Catch a look at Hunter...