To Brad, my handsome nephew and Oklahoma’s
coolest state trooper. Thanks for the ride-along.
And the stories of some of your wild stops. And all
those “board meetings.” And most especially,
for the joy your beautiful family has given me and
Al over the years.

“W hat the—?”

That’s all Sergeant Brett Cooper had time for when the headlights of his cruiser speared into the figure who seemed to have dropped out of the December night sky. She froze, caught like a deer in the swath of light, and Brett yanked the cruiser’s wheel.

The black-and-white fishtailed wildly on the frost-rimmed dirt road. Brett had to employ every skill learned during his eleven years with the Oklahoma Highway Patrol to keep the squad car from skidding into one of the bur oaks crowding the narrow country road. Cursing, he pumped the brakes and brought the Crown Vic to a lurching halt.

His muscles had gone wire tight under the bulletproof vest he hadn’t had time to shed since coming off shift. Rolling his shoulders to unkink them, he aimed the cruiser’s powerful side spot at the woman now lurching toward the patrol car. She threw up an arm to block the vicious beam, but not before Brett registered the essentials to call in a report if necessary.

Female, Caucasian or possible Hispanic. No blood or visible signs of injury. Hair, dark red, long and wavy. Weight, approximately one-twenty. Age, twenty-two to twenty-four. Height, five-seven or -eight, although some of those inches due to her spike-heeled boots.

The knee-high boots were black, he noted with a cop’s precision, as were her thigh-hugging leggings and the turtleneck sweater she wore under a silvery fox-fur vest. Perfect get-up for a cat burglar, except for the expensive vest. And the fact that there wasn’t a house or a barn worth robbing within a thirty-mile radius.

“Hey!”

Her shout carried clearly on the frigid air. Weaving from side to side, she shielded her eyes with her bent elbow and stumbled toward the squad car.

“Thurn that thing awf.”

The erratic movements and slurred speech made Brett roll his eyes. Not a wise move, given that his lids felt as though they’d been scraped with industrial-grade sandpaper.

“Great!” he muttered in disgust as he grabbed his flat-brimmed Smokey the Bear hat from the passenger seat and settled it with the chin strap at the back of his head. “Just friggin’ great!”

Six days and nights on a statewide manhunt for the murdering bastard Brett had helped put behind bars five years ago. Another twenty-two hours pulling a double shift so his pal Dave could spend Christmas weekend with his family. To make matters worse, an Arctic blast had swept in early this afternoon, icing the roads and causing countless pileups. Now, less than two miles from his cabin and the sleep he craved, Brett had to run into a probable Drunk and Disorderly.

He kept an eye on the D&D as he exited his vehicle. He could have her on the ground in a heartbeat if necessary. She didn’t look tough or belligerent, though. Only stoned.

“Stop right there, ma’am.”

“Huh?”

“Put both hands up where I can see them, please.”

Her right arm pushed into the air. Her bent left arm went up, as well, but quickly dropped again.

“I can’t put my hanth up,” she whined, swaying back and forth like one of those dashboard bobble toys. “The light…ith too bright.”

Christ! The woman was so spaced-out she could hardly stand. Or sick. Her face was pale and white, almost translucent in the harsh glare of the spot.

“Turn away from the light,” Brett instructed, “but keep your hands where I can see them.”

The half turn almost proved too much for her. The needle-sharp heel of her boot caught in a rut and she rolled like a drunken sailor.

“Okay, ma’am,” Brett said when she’d regained her balance. “You want to tell me what you’re doing out here on a deserted dirt road at three a.m.?”

She glanced from side to side. Her face took on an expression of astonishment, as if she was noticing the bare trees and dark, empty road for the first time.

“I, um, must be loth.”

“Where’s your car?”

“Car?”

When she glanced around again, baffled, Brett swallowed an impatient sigh. He’d better run her, see if she’d reported a stolen vehicle. He’d also check to see if she had any priors or outstanding warrants. Both were a distinct possibility if this was a chronic condition.

“Do you have ID on you?”

Lips pursed in concentration, she patted the front of her fur vest.

“I don’t think so.”

Her hands went south, and Brett tracked their movement closely. His interest was purely professional, of course. He had to make sure she didn’t reach under the vest and pull out a concealed weapon. But he was only human. Watching her palms slither over slender hips and thighs did a number on his concentration.

“Nope,” she announced. “No ID.”

“What’s your name?”

“Delilah.” She thought hard for several seconds before breaking into a brilliant smile. “Wentworth. Delilah Wentworth.”

Whoa! Without the smile she was a class-A looker. With it, she damned near lit up the dark December sky.

“Where do you live, Ms. Wentworth?”

“I know that one!”

The force of her excitement made her sway so that Brett had to jump forward and catch her arm to keep her from toppling over.

“Denver.” She beamed up at him. “I live in Denver.”

He needed more than a name and a state to run her, but her face went blank when he asked for a social security number.

“Date of birth, then.”

“May thixth. Eighteen eighty-eight.”

“Right.”

He made the mental correction. A DOB of May 1988 would put her age at twenty. Younger than he’d estimated, and under the age for legal consumption.

“How much have you had to drink tonight?”

“I haven’t. Drunk, I mean.” She dropped her gaze to a spot just below Brett’s chin. “I need to, though,” she murmured. “I’m thoooo thirsty.”

“What did you take?”

“Huh?”

“Are you on drugs?” he asked patiently. “Or medication?”

“Yeth! The dentith shot me full of something.”

“Dentist?”

“I chipped a fang. On Christmath weekend!” Her auburn brows snapped together in a scowl. “You ever try to find a dentith during the holidath?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Ith not easy.” She stabbed a forefinger in the direction of her left cheek and glared at Brett, as if her dental problems were his fault. “I don’t know what he gave me, but the whole side of my face ith numb.”

That explained the slurred speech and dilated pupils, but not what she was doing out here, alone and on foot, miles from the nearest town.

Brett swallowed a grunt. Sleep would have to wait another three or four hours while he drove the woman back to the county jail.

Or…

He could take her to the nearest motel and let her sleep it off. It was Christmas weekend, after all. And he was so tired his bones ached. He looked her over once again and decided to give both her and himself a break. “I’m going to drive you into town and get you a motel room. But before I put you in the squad car, I have to do a cursory pat-down. You’re not under arrest,” he assured her when she blinked at him, wide-eyed. “I just need to make sure you don’t have a weapon on you.”

Not likely, given those hip- and thigh-hugging pants. But the furry vest might have an inner pocket and the knee-high boots could conceal a knife.

“Put your hands on the hood of the squad car, please.”

She wobbled the last few steps to the Crown Vic. When she leaned forward to plant her palms on the hood, her vest rode up to display a nice, trim rear.

Brett eyed it appreciatively but was careful to follow procedures for patting down a female. He used only the back of his hand on her upper torso. He had to slide his palms down her thighs and calves, however, to check inside the boots. He was pretty sure the search didn’t take longer than absolutely necessary.

“All right, Ms. Wentworth, let’s get you in the car.”

She pushed off the hood and tried to swing around, but her ridiculous boots tripped her up again.

Brett caught her. Again. This time, though, her knees gave out completely and he had to scoop her into his arms to keep her from collapsing in a disjointed heap.

Her head lolled back. He could see the thin, golden-brown rim of her irises surrounding huge pupils. Whatever the dentist had pumped into her was powerful stuff.

Brett couldn’t pull his eyes from hers. The pupils were so deep, almost mesmerizing in their intensity. He felt as though he was falling into their dark, compelling depths when her mouth curved in a slow smile.

“I’m thoo thirsty,” she said again in a throaty murmur that kicked up his pulse. “I had just begun to feed when I chipped my fang.”

She slicked her tongue to one corner of her lip. Brett’s mouth went bone-dry as he followed its progress.

“May I drink from you?”

His heart hammered against his Kevlar vest. The urge to crush his mouth down on hers exploded inside his belly. He fought it, but the effort made him dizzy.

“Yeah, sure. I’ve, uh, got some bottled water in the squad car.”

He hefted her higher in his arms and started around the hood. Before he’d taken two steps, she’d nuzzled her face against his neck. An instant later, something sharp sank into his throat.

Eleven years on the force had conditioned Brett to react to any situation with lightning reflexes. He knew he could take this woman to the ground, yank her arms behind her back and cuff her before she drew another breath. Yet he didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t so much as tighten a muscle.

The sensations spreading through him were like nothing he’d ever experienced before. They came in waves, each one stronger and faster than the next. His weariness evaporated, and pleasure rolled over his body.

The woman in his arms shifted, pressing closer, and pleasure became desire. Hot, heavy, urgent. Within seconds he was rock hard and aching below his Sam Browne belt. Then, just when the erotic sensations grew so intense they verged on pain, she drew her head back.

Her breath steamed on the cold night air. His came hard and fast. Panting, he gripped her tighter while the dark, swirling haze behind his eyes cleared a little. Just a little. Barely enough to see her lick a trickle of red from a two-inch-long incisor.

“You weren’t kidding.” He shook his head, fighting to clear the fog. “You really do have fangs.”

Her only answer was a smile so slow and incredibly sensual that Brett had to battle its erotic pull. Summoning every ounce of strength he possessed, he scowled down at the face turned up to his.

“Lady, you don’t need a regular dentist. You need an orthodontist. A good one.”

The sharp comment pierced Delilah’s sensual satisfaction. Sated from her feeding, she blinked at the man frowning down at her.

Uh-oh. She recognized the wariness in his blue eyes. And the edge to his voice. She should. She’d encountered both often enough in the past century. Sighing, she struggled to swim out of her medicinal soup, amplified now by the hot rush of pleasure this man had given her.

She hadn’t drunk deeply. Her blasted tooth was still too sore. She’d be a long time forgiving the idiot who’d eagerly offered his throat, then whipped his head around to see what was happening at precisely the wrong moment! Instead of sinking her teeth into soft, warm flesh, she’d clamped down on his jawbone and broken off the tip of her fang.

She didn’t understand why the tooth hadn’t healed itself. The rest of her recovered almost instantly from any injury. The only rationale she could come up with was that her retractable fangs had emerged after she’d been turned. They weren’t part of the body she’d inhabited as a human. Hence, they didn’t heal as quickly as her once-living and now-undead parts.

Whatever the reason, she’d had the devil’s own time getting the stupid fang fixed. The first dentist had tripped over his own feet trying to get away when she explained that her chipped incisor wouldn’t emerge unless she scented fresh blood. She’d left him passed out on the floor of his office.

The second dentist had shut down his office at noon so he and his staff could party. Not surprising, given that today was the start of the long Christmas weekend. Delilah had used her not inconsiderable powers of persuasion to convince him to reopen for business.

When she saw him weave toward her, however, she’d had serious doubts about trusting him with a drill, much less a syringe. But Dr. Littlejohn had stared into her eyes as she explained about blood scent, succumbed to the force of her will with a goofy grin and obligingly offered his neck.

A half hour later Delilah was out on the street and trying to make it from Denver to Houston in time for her clan’s annual conclave. Normally she made the trip in minutes. Seconds. The ability to bound through the night sky like Superman on steroids was one of the advantages of being undead. But whatever Littlejohn had shot into her had screwed up her sense of direction as well as her thought processes.

It was still fuzzing her thoughts. She didn’t have a clue where she was, but she retained just enough survival sense to know the sudden wariness in the trooper’s face spelled trouble for someone with her past and indefinite future.

“Look at me,” she murmured, putting everything she had into the sultry command. “Look into my eyes.”

His jaw set. Shoulders covered by his brown leather jacket jerked back. When his brow creased under the brim of his hat, Delilah knew she had to work fast to erase the suspicion in his eyes.

“You won’t remember thith. You’ll vaguely recall feeling happy but you won’t know why.”

A muscle jumped in the side of his jaw. His blue eyes drilled into her. She couldn’t see his hair under his hat, but the stubble on his cheeks and chin suggested it was probably the same dark gold as the bristles.

Delilah’s palm itched with the almost overwhelming impulse to stroke his prickly cheek. She could feel his blood warming her icy veins, feel the strength of the arms holding her. As she stared up at his rugged face, her belly clenched with a sudden and completely unexpected desire to lock her mouth on his.

The intensity of the urge, the voraciousness of it, surprised her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d encountered someone who stirred her sluggish veins like this. Ten years? Fifty? A hundred?

She wasn’t as sexually active as some in her clan, but she’d taken her share of lovers over the past century. Unfortunately they’d seemed to derive considerably more enjoyment from the experience than she had.

So why hadn’t she felt this insidious desire for any of them? Where did this greedy hunger spring from? Both were new and completely unsettling.

It had to be the drugs Littlejohn had injected into her bloodless veins. They’d thrown her entire system out of whack. Weakened her willpower. That much was evident when she yielded to the irresistible urge to raise a hand and stroke the prickly cheek so close to her own.

“You want to take me thomeplace dark, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Where we can be alone.”

“Yes.”

She felt a small stab of guilt at manipulating him like this. Normally she exuded this combination of sultry and seductive only when she needed to feed. Unlike many of her clan, she preferred willing donors.

But time was running out. She had to go to ground, find a safe place to sleep until she got this garbage out of her system. No way could she plunge into the teeming morass of power politics at the clan gathering with her face frozen and her senses dulled. The opposing factions were too powerful and too dangerous.

“Whath your name?”

He stared down at her, his brow creased, his will battling hers. He was tough, Delilah realized with a mix of surprise and annoyance. Tougher than any human she’d encountered in longer than she could remember.

“Tell me,” she commanded.

Still he resisted.

She should have fed longer. Drawn more of him into her. Bent his will to hers.

“Tell me,” she murmured, stroking his cheek again. “Who are you?”

“Brett Cooper. Sergeant. Oklahoma Highway Patrol.”

He dragged each word out reluctantly, trying to resist without knowing why. Delilah gave him a slow smile, her eyes holding his with mesmerizing power.

“Take me to that motel you mentioned, Sergeant Brett Cooper, Oklahoma Highway Patrol.”

He stared down at her so long that she thought she’d finally met someone who could resist her powers.

“I have a better idea,” he said at last. “My cabin’s only a few miles down this road.”

Delilah hid a smile of triumph while she considered the suggestion.

Her clan’s annual conclave always kicked off on the winter solstice. The ancient pagan holiday came late this year—the night of December 22nd, which bled into the 23rd—but fit perfectly with the Jewish observance of Hanukkah and the Christian celebration of Christmas. A festival for the undead of all persuasions, her clan leader liked to comment sardonically.

The climax of the opening ceremonies was to have been the merging of two rival clans after centuries of territorial skirmishing. The conclave would end with the selection of a new leader. Delilah, as de facto head of the western band, was duty bound to support her longtime clan chief, Sebastian. She had her doubts, though.

Don Sebastian Diego de la Hoya could be demanding at the best of times, brutal at the worst. He’d died almost five hundred years ago, disemboweled and staked to a barren plain in northern Mexico by the Aztec prince whose family he’d slaughtered. Sebastian undead had lost none of the ruthlessness that had driven him as a conquistador. Delilah would feel his wrath for missing the opening ceremonies, and the full weight of his fury if she didn’t support him in the final tally.

So why not give herself a Christmas present? she thought rebelliously, gazing up at the trooper’s strong, square chin. Why not spend what was left of this night in pleasure before she endured the inevitable pain?

“Your cabin sounds good,” she murmured provocatively. “Very good.”

B rett steered down the narrow dirt track leading to his cabin, trying to figure out what the hell had happened two miles back.

One minute he was patting down a possible D&D. The next, he was settling her in the passenger seat of his cruiser and chauffeuring her to his secluded getaway cabin.

Instinct and training had kicked in enough that he’d made sure the 12-gauge Remington shotgun and AR-15 assault rifle racked behind his seat were locked in place. He’d also unclipped his holstered SIG SAUER .45 from the right side of his belt and tucked it on the left side, between his seat and the car door, well out of his passenger’s reach. Yet here he was, so eager to get her to the seclusion of his cabin that he could think of nothing else.

He flicked a glance at her. The reflected glare of the cruiser’s headlights hitting the frost-rimmed dirt road showed her profile in precise detail. The tumble of auburn hair brushing her jaw. The short, straight nose. The full mouth that looked so red and ripe against her alabaster skin. She had a hand to her left cheek, cradling it in her palm.

“You okay?”

Her gaze swung toward him. Those incredible eyes melted into a smile. “The numbneth ith wearing off. A little.”

That’s right. Brett remembered now. She’d just had a close encounter with a dentist.

There was more. He knew there was more. There had to be, but for some crazy reason the sequence of events between the time he told her to put her hands on the hood of the cruiser and when he’d put the key into the ignition just wouldn’t gel.

He’d gone too long without sleep, he decided in disgust. Those six days and nights wading across ditches and plowing through Oklahoma scrub brush searching for Joe Madison had wrung him inside out.

Joe Madison. Aka Joey, Joseph and J. J. Madison. Aka the Christmas Killer.

Brett gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles showed white. Acid rolled in his stomach. He’d helped put the bastard away once. Five years ago, almost to the day. Less than forty-eight hours after Madison had ripped his world apart.

Cindy had been just one of his victims. A target of opportunity he’d followed out of a mall jammed with holiday shoppers. Madison had no idea she was engaged to a State Trooper. Or that the entire Oklahoma Highway Patrol would refuse to stand down until they found Cindy’s body behind an abandoned tool shed.

They’d captured her killer the next morning. Christmas morning. After a ticket taker at a toll booth had spotted Cindy’s cherry-red Mazda heading west on I-44. Brett had led the high-speed chase that ensued. Madison never knew how close he’d come to being rammed into a bridge abutment.

Now he’d escaped.

An army of Oklahoma law enforcement officers had tracked him for days. The trail led east, then south to Ardmore, where Madison had flagged down a vehicle and left the elderly driver lying in a pool of blood beside the road.

The man’s vehicle was found abandoned the next day in a south Texas town—the same day a college coed was reported missing. From there the trail went cold. The betting was the Christmas Killer had taken his latest victim across the Rio Grande into Mexico.

Brett hoped not. He wanted to be there when they cornered Joe Madison. The son of a bitch wouldn’t walk away again.

Before he cornered anyone or anything, though, Brett knew he had to get some sleep. His eyelids felt country fried and every bone in his body ached. He’d racked up so many overtime hours during the manhunt and this last double shift that his boss had insisted he stand down for three days. He couldn’t wait to peel off his uniform and hit the rack.

So why the devil did his whole body get tight every time he glanced at the woman beside him? He was still trying to figure out that one when the dirt road ended in a small clearing.

The woman—Delilah Wentworth, if that was really her name—leaned forward and peered at the structure just visible through a screen of oaks.

“Ith that, uh, your cabin?”

He had to grin at the doubt buried in the polite question. That was most folks’ initial reaction to the cabin he’d built himself, board by board.

“There’s more to it than you can see from here.”

Delilah caught the smile in his voice and glanced his way. The medication was wearing off. At last! She could feel her tongue again. She could also feel the impact of Officer Cutie’s lopsided grin.

It lifted one side of his mouth and crinkled the tanned skin at the corners of his eyes. He looked so human and so delicious. For the second time tonight, she felt desire curl in her belly.

“Hang loose a moment,” he told her. “I’ll come around and help you. The ground’s rough and icy.”

He cut the engine and car lights, but she could see him clearly. His bulk was due to the body armor her elbow had thumped against when he’d swept her into his arms. Even without the extra padding, though, he was big and tough. He had to be six-one or two, and his shoulders strained the seams of his brown leather jacket.

If Delilah didn’t know she could send him flying across the clearing with a flick of one wrist, she might have felt a little intimidated. As it was, she simply let herself enjoy the trooper’s overall effect while he reached down to help her out.

The moment their fingers connected, his brows snapped together. “Your hand feels like ice. You should have told me to turn up the heater.”

There it was again. The frown, followed by the questioning glance that said he was trying to connect dots that couldn’t be connected.

“I’m cold-blooded,” she said lightly, pulling her hand free from his.

She would have to watch herself with him. From past experience Delilah knew police officers had a difficult time with the idea of the living dead. Police officers and scientists. It was that whole evidence thing. They always wanted proof—physical, empirical, absolute, whatever. She generally avoided them whenever possible.

So where had her inexplicable attraction to this particular police officer sprung from? It could be those broad shoulders and baby-blue eyes. Or the medication so foreign to her system. Or the insidious desire to put off plunging into the seething politics and hostilities of the clan gathering for another few hours.

So for now, for the little that remained of the night, she wouldn’t think about Sebastian or the gathering in Houston. Tonight she would work the last of the medication out of her bloodless veins and regain her strength. Preferably in the arms of Officer Cutie.

“Leth go inside.”

Nodding, he extracted the weapons from the rack behind the front seat and locked them in the trunk. His sidearm he carried into the cabin.

 

He was right, Delilah saw when he ushered her inside. There was more to the isolated cabin than could be seen from the outside.

It was built on three levels. A narrow entryway led to a combination kitchen/dining/living room dominated by a natural stone fireplace. A step down led to an open sleeping area that contained an old-fashioned iron bedstead and a rickety nightstand stacked with paperbacks. What looked like a stamp-size bathroom was tucked into one corner of the bedroom.

But it was the wintry nightscape framed by the window behind the iron bedstead that drew a delighted gasp from Delilah.

“Ooooh! How beautiful!”

She saw now the cabin sat on a steep hill that sloped down to a small, irregularly shaped lake. The iced-over lake sparkled under the starry sky, with the moon painting a silver path across its frozen surface. Dark, silent woods crowded the shores. She caught a glimpse of lights on the far side of the lake, but they were too distant to intrude on the wintry stillness and solitude.

“How did you find thiz place?” she asked, enchanted.

Shrugging, he stashed his holstered handgun in a cabinet and fastened the lock. The lock wouldn’t keep her out if she wanted in, which she didn’t, but she saw no reason to mention that minor fact.

“I wanted to get as far away from civilization as I can on my days off,” he replied. “Especially this time of year.”

“You don’t like all the holiday hoopla?”

“Not particularly.”

“What about family?” she asked, curious. “Do you like to get away from them, too?”

“I don’t have any family. Hang loose a few moments while I call in. I need to let dispatch know I’m at home.” Removing the handheld radio clipped to his belt, he keyed the mike. “This is Cooper with a 10-5.”

Static buzzed through the air for a second or two before a female voice responded cheerfully, “Roger, Brett. Have a good one.”

“Back at you, Janie.” He clipped the radio to his belt again and turned for the door. “I’ll prime the generator and bring in some firewood to keep us warm until the heat kicks on. It’s cold as a grave in here.”

Ha! That showed what he knew.

He should try being buried alive. In a mass grave. With dozens of other victims of the cholera epidemic that had ravaged the country that horrible summer.

Delilah never got an exact count on the dead. She knew there were thousands. Tens of thousands. Only, she hadn’t died from the sickness. Instead, she’d sunk into a coma so deep her heart ceased a regular beat and her breathing became so shallow it appeared to stop altogether. Her parents and her fiancé hadn’t had much time to grieve. With the sickness so rampant, the graves detail carted off the dead for immediate burial to avoid spreading the disease.

Delilah didn’t even want to think about coming awake in that reeking pit. Or the suffocating stench of the bodies piled on top of her. Or the primal screams that had ripped from her very soul.

That’s where she’d died. Not in her papa’s quarters at the Presidio in San Francisco where she first took sick. Not at the post hospital where they’d transported her. Not with her mama weeping at her bedside and the lieutenant she was to marry looking so heartbroken. Oh, no! She had to die in a hole as hot and black as the far reaches of hell.

Then again, if she hadn’t been buried in that foul pit, Sebastian might not have found her. He’d been roaming that night and picked up the echoes of her fading screams. Mere moments after she’d breathed her last, he’d dug her out and awakened her. For that, Delilah owed him allegiance. Obedience. Submission. All of which she would give more willingly if he didn’t take such delight in causing pain.

Sighing, she wandered down to the cabin’s second level. She didn’t need a generator or electric lights to guide her. She could sense like a bat in the dark. Her other senses were similarly enhanced. She heard the trooper crunching over the frost-hardened ground outside well before he tromped through the door with an armload of wood.

“I’ll have a fire going in a minute.” He stooped in front of the stone fireplace and glanced over his shoulder. “Didn’t you say you were thirsty?”

“Mmm.”

Did the man have any idea how good he looked hunkered down on one knee, with his leather jacket pulled tight across his shoulders and his gray uniform pants molding his trim rear?

“There’s bottled water in the cupboard. I think there might even be a bottle of wine in there somewhere. I wouldn’t trust anything else, though, until I haul in some supplies. I haven’t been up here in a couple of months.”

“Why not?”

Shrugging, he set a match to the kindling. “Work, mostly. Thanksgiving, Christmas, winter roads…They’re a bitch.…Sorry. They’re tough on travelers. Our accident response calls always peak this time of year.”

Delilah was all too familiar with the grim aspects of mortality. She felt a tug of sympathy for the man. He had to deal with death on a regular basis, yet had no family to go home to. No spouse to erase the grim reality of his job, no kids to restore balance in his world.

Like her.

Flames were licking at the logs now. Officer Brett rose and dusted his hands on his trousers. The small roll of his shoulders suggested he was dusting off the grimmer aspects of his profession, as well.

“Thankfully, we have the occasional tornado or prison riot to break up the monotony. When we get real lucky, we rescue gorgeous babes in distress.”

When his grin flashed out again, all male and incredibly potent, Delilah felt her stomach lurch. The desire she’d experienced out on the road returned with a vengeance.

She felt its bite as the trooper shrugged out of his leather jacket and sent his hat flying toward a chair like a brown Frisbee. His hair was dark blond, as she’d suspected. And that wasn’t just body armor straining the buttons of his uniform shirt. Trooper Brett was built.

To her disappointment, his grin faded as he crossed to where she stood and the look she recognized all too well dropped over his face. The cop had returned. Searching. Questioning. Doubting.

“Something happened,” he said slowly. “Back there in the road, where I picked you up.”

How could he remember? Donors never remembered a feeding unless she willed it.

Then again, she hadn’t taken that much from him. Just enough to renew her strength and counter the drugs swimming through her veins.

Or so she rationalized as he towered over her. So close she could count the golden bristles on his chin. So near the electricity sparking between them made the coarse, shaggy fur of her vest stand out.

His glance dropped. Frowning, he drew a knuckle over the rough pelt. “What is this? Fox? Lynx?”

“Wolf.”

She didn’t tell him it had come from a Hunter who’d tried to tear her apart a few years ago. She had other things on her mind at the moment.

Like his lips, mere inches from hers. And his breath, so warm on her cheeks. She went up on tiptoe and looped her arms around his neck, driven by a need that surprised her all over again with its intensity.

His head bent. His mouth came down on hers. She could taste his hunger, smell the sweet, hot lust that rose to meet hers.

“Wait!”

When he wrapped his hands around her upper arms and pushed her away a few inches, Delilah growled in frustration. She came within a hair of throwing him across the room and onto the bed. She curbed the impulse just in time.

“Your pupils are still dilated.” He shook his head, self-disgust stamped across his face. “I’ve done a lot of things I regret, but I’ve never seduced a doped-up female.”

“The buzz is fading.” Her eyes held his, inviting, compelling. Her husky laugh rippled on the cold air of the cabin. “What you’re seeing is something entirely different.”

Still he resisted. Surprised at his stubborn strength, she laid her palms on the planes of his chest.

“Look into my eyes. Look deeply.”

She could tell the moment his will began to disintegrate. A flush rose in his whisker-stubbled cheeks. His voice roughened.

“We’ve got too many layers on,” he said, his fingers digging into her upper arms. “Let me shed a few of mine, then we’ll start on yours.”

She didn’t even try to hide her triumph this time. “Sounds good to me.”

He yanked at the buckle of his leather belt. The canisters and assorted weapons attached to it thunked as he draped them over the back of a chair.

Delilah’s hunger mounted with each second. Her hands eager, she helped him with the buttons of his brown uniform shirt. His Kevlar vest came off next. The white cotton T-shirt underneath molded a very impressive set of pecs. He worked out, she guessed. Regularly.

“Everything,” she ordered as he tugged his undershirt over his head. “Your shoes. Your pants. Your small clothes.”

His hands stilled. He glanced up, and the hot haze in his eyes cooled a few degrees.

“My what?”

Realizing her slip, she smothered a curse. She couldn’t believe she’d used that archaic term for underwear. She worked hard to keep current on contemporary slang and speech patterns. Most of her clan did. Nothing roused unwelcome curiosity like someone spouting ancient Persian or medieval French or, in her case, prim and proper Victorianisms.

The Seekers who searched out the night gathering spots helped in that regard. Fascinated by all things vampire, they were eager conversationalists and even more eager donors. Delilah conversed with them regularly and rarely tripped over her words anymore. Her only excuse this time was the hunger this man roused in her.

She wanted Brett Cooper now as she’d wanted few other partners. No other partner, she realized with a small shock.

He wanted her, as well. She could see it in the heat that leaped back into his eyes when she planed her palms over his chest. Hear it in the hiss of his breath. That’s all the encouragement she needed to stretch up on her toes and run her fingers over his lips.

When he nudged her hand away, and covered her mouth with his, her senses exploded. The logs in the stone fireplace suddenly flamed vivid and bright. The moon glowed incandescently outside the window. She could hear Brett’s heart slamming against his ribs, loud and fast.

She reveled in the feel of him against her. His arms locked around her. His skin hot to her touch. His erection rock hard and straining against her. She wedged her palm between their hips, slid it downward, gripped his rigid flesh. Before she could get in more than a stroke or two, she felt her belly convulse, low and tight.

Hellfire and damnation!

She didn’t know if it was the lingering effects of the medication or the feel of his hot, pulsing flesh against her palm that pushed her to the edge. Whatever the cause, she had only a second of warning. Maybe two. Barely enough time to throw back her head and ride the waves of pleasure that crashed through her.

She wanted to howl like the wolves who hunted her kind. Scream her delight and astonishment that it had happened so quickly. She managed to restrain herself, but couldn’t hold back her embarrassment when the incredibly intense pleasure subsided.

Mortified, she mumbled an apology. “I’m sorry. I’ve never, uh, finished so fast.”

“We’re not finished.” With a wicked glint in his eyes, he tugged her toward the bed. “Far from it.”

She would give more than she took this time, Delilah vowed. Much more.

“I’ve got something for your Christmas stocking,” she teased as he peeled off her fur vest and caught the hem of her black sweater.

“That right?”

“Pleasure like you’ve never experienced before.”

He was more interested in getting her naked than anything else at the moment. “Lift your foot.”

“Pleasure that only one of my kind can give,” she murmured provocatively while he removed her boots.

“Yeah?” he muttered, disposing of her leggings in one swift roll. “What kind is that?”

She stood before him in her bra and bikini briefs. That was one thing twenty-first-century women had all over their nineteenth-century counterparts. Delilah missed her family and the familiar surroundings of her time, but she did not miss bloomers and bustiers and corsets laced so tight she couldn’t draw a full breath. Not that she needed to draw a full breath anymore. Or any breath at all.

“What kind am I?”

Her skin gleamed pale in the moonlight streaming through the bedroom window. Her eyes smiled into his.

“I’m one of the undead. Some call us night stalkers. Or vampires.”

“Right. Okay. Whatever.”

He won’t remember any of this, she thought as he tumbled her to the bed and dragged down her lacy briefs. But she would. She’d take the memory of his hot skin, his broad shoulders, his flat belly away with her.

And the feel of him! The moist head of his erection thrusting against her hip. The knee wedging hers apart. The fists he buried in her hair to anchor her while his mouth ravaged hers.

His hunger fed her own. She locked her arms around him and took his crushing weight eagerly. Then he began to work his way down her body. He used his tongue and teeth, nipping, kissing, leaving a trail of stinging sensation. Her nipples were already tight and aching when he reached them. By the time he finished, Delilah was squirming with a pleasure so intense it knifed from her breasts to her belly.

Belatedly she remembered her determination to give instead of take.

“My turn.”

Rolling over, she straddled his hips. She was wet and ready and eager. So was he. One shift and he was inside her. One thrust and he filled her. Hard. Hot. Pulsing with an urgency that magnified her own.

She searched his eyes, saw only raw desire. Smiling, she bent her head and sank her fangs into his throat. They went in cleanly. No snag, no drag, no pain. The dentist had done his job well. She’d give him that.

Brett went stiff under her. She felt his muscles coil and his hips lift in an instinctive attempt to throw her off. Then he groaned, or she did. Delilah didn’t know. Didn’t care. All that mattered, all her soaring senses could absorb was the feel of him inside her and the hot, sweet rush of blood that fed her being.

 

She was slick with his sweat and limp with pleasure when they finally finished.

She curled against him, her back to his chest, her bottom cradled on his thighs. She didn’t feel as energized as she usually did after a feeding. Two cataclysmic orgasms and the dregs of the drugs swimming in her system probably accounted for that. But nothing could account for her monumental stupidity in falling asleep in Officer Cutie’s arms before she’d blocked his memory.

And before she’d secured herself against the dawn!

She realized her fatal error when she jerked awake an indeterminate time later and found the cabin filling with the gray haze of dawn. With a gulp of dismay, Delilah lunged for the side of the bed, or tried to.

That’s when she discovered her right wrist was handcuffed to the iron bedstead. She gaped at the cuffs in utter disbelief until a sudden burst of light whipped her head toward the window.

Her throat went bone-dry. Her skin got clammy. If she’d had any blood in her veins it would have congealed as a ray of dazzling sunshine sliced through the clouds and slanted across the tangled covers.

B rett tramped through the half inch of snow that had fallen just before dawn. If it lasted until tomorrow, they’d have one of Oklahoma’s rare white Christmases.

His mind wasn’t on the crystalline white, though, or the sunlight spearing through the hazy dawn. As he hauled an armload of wood from the rack at the side of the cabin, his thoughts swirled around the woman he’d picked up last night.

What kind of whack-job was she? Had he been hearing things or had she really spouted some craziness about being a night stalker? A vampire, for God’s sake! With a sore fang yet. Who’d managed to leave a hickey the size of New Jersey on his neck.

In the bright light of day, he couldn’t believe he’d swallowed her story about some dentist doping her up. Or that he’d brought her to his cabin instead of taking her in and requesting an Emergency Detention Order pending a mental health evaluation. The EDO would come now, and fast. Christmas Eve or not, the woman needed help. So did he, if last night was any indication.

Disgusted, Brett shook his head. His behavior was inexcusable. He had no idea how he would explain his actions to his supervisor when he brought the woman in. He couldn’t explain them to himself.

All he knew was that he’d ached for her almost from the first moment he’d pinned her in his cruiser’s headlights. Her dark eyes and full, red mouth were imprinted on his brain. Even with all that had happened, the memory of how she’d hooked her legs over his and writhed under…

“Hellfire and damnation!”

The curse cut through the cabin’s thick walls, so filled with fury and pain that Brett dropped the firewood and took off on a run. He slammed through the front door, sending it crashing back on its hinges, and felt his heart almost jump out of his chest.

He barely recognized the creature he’d left cuffed to the iron bedstead to prevent her from doing something crazy while he’d dressed and gone outside. She was crouched beside the bed, naked, her lips curled back, her arm almost pulled from its socket. Cursing, straining, panting, she fought the steel cutting into her wrist while she dragged the heavy bedstead away from the window, inch by screeching inch.

Her strength astounded Brett. That bed weighed a ton. He’d had to have one of his buddies help carry it in, and the thing was in four separate pieces then. That she could move it even a few inches blew him away.

“Calm down! Delilah, calm down! The cuff was just for your protection.”

And mine, he admitted as he rushed across the cabin. He was halfway to the sleeping area before he caught the stench of burning flesh.

He spotted the smoke a heartbeat later. Thin and gray, it curled from the gaping wound in Delilah’s forearm, a few inches from her elbow. Her skin was charred, the muscle below exposed and sizzling.

“Christ Almighty! What did you do?”

“Don’t bring Him into it,” she snarled, her eyes wild and feral. “Just get these cuffs off me!”

He yanked the key out of his pocket and attacked the lock. The moment the bracelet sprang open, she leaped to her feet and raced for the bathroom.

“I’ve got a first-aid kit in the car,” Brett shouted after her. “I’ll put some burn cream on your arm, then we’ll get you to a hospital.”

He was back within moments, hammering on the bathroom door. It swung open under his assault and flooded the small room light. Delilah was holding her arm under the cold water faucet. She whipped her head up at the intrusion and skewered him with a furious glare.

“Shut the door!”

Brett just stood there, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that the raw, gaping wound he’d witnessed just moments before was now only a patch of blistered flesh.

And even that was healing.

Right before his eyes.

“Shut the damned door!” she shrieked, jerking to one side to avoid the light coming in over his shoulder.

He swallowed, hard, and kicked the door closed. The bathroom plunged into gloom. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, Brett didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just watched in silence as the skin on her arm grew smoother and whiter.

When every sign of the burn had disappeared, she let the water splash over her raw wrist. Flesh eaten almost to the bone by the steel cuff healed itself, exactly as her other injury had. By the time she grabbed a towel to dry her arm, a cold lump had formed in the pit of Brett’s stomach.

“Who are you?”

“I told you! Delilah Wentworth.”

Her chin came up. Fire burned in her dark irises, making them appear almost red.

“Tell me, Officer. Is that your standard morning-after technique? Handcuffing women to your bed to keep them there?”

Ignoring the sarcasm, he dropped his gaze to her arm. “What are you?”

“I told you that, too,” she snapped. “I’m one of the undead.”

“Undead. Right.”

She tossed the towel aside and shed some of her belligerence. “Look, I don’t have time for lengthy explanations right now. I need to sleep during the day. In here, because this is the only room in the cabin without windows. So do me a favor and use the great outdoors as a bathroom until dusk, okay?”

“Hell, no, it’s not okay.”

“Please. I really, really need to sleep. The medication…all our activity last night…the fact that you almost fried me this morning…I’m tired, Brett. Exhausted. Totally wiped.”

He had to believe her. The fire had gone out of her eyes and her face now had a grayish cast.

“Please,” she muttered, dragging another towel from the rack and tossing it onto the floor. “Let me sleep. And close the door behind you!”

Brett reached behind him and fumbled for the latch. He’d figure this out, he thought as he backed out. He had to.

 

Delilah blinked awake, remembered her terror the last time she’d opened her eyes and came up so fast she banged her head on something hard and cold.

Cursing, she identified the object as the bathroom sink and sank down again. She was safe. Only a small sliver of light showed under the door. Artificial light, which meant it was night or at least dusk.

Okay. All right. She was safe. Somewhere in Oklahoma, she remembered. With Officer Brett. Who’d treated her to two incredible orgasms before tethering her to his bed.

She tried to work up a good mad over that, but the realization that the hard-eyed, suspicious cop had let her sleep through the day kept getting in the way. He must have believed her. Otherwise she would have woken up in a padded cell. Or dead—really dead—from exposure to the harsh winter sunlight. The burn on her arm must have forced him into a huge leap of faith. If so, she supposed the searing agony she’d endured was worth it. Barely!

Vowing to steer clear of his handcuffs in the future, she reached for the red plaid shirt hanging from a hook on the door. The warm flannel enveloped her from neck to midthigh. Breathing in the scent of the man who owned it, she rolled up the sleeves and emerged from her dim cocoon.

The first thing that hit her was a combination of scents. Burning logs. Tangy pine resin. New snow and gravy. Rich brown gravy swimming with beef and potatoes.

She tracked the last scent to the kitchen. An empty stew can sat on the kitchen counter, a covered saucepan on the stove’s back burner. She couldn’t digest regular food, but it could still tantalize her. Shrugging off a twinge of almost-forgotten appetite, she looked around for Brett.

She didn’t have to look far. He was sprawled in one of the oversize leather chairs by the fireplace, legs outstretched, ankles crossed. He’d traded his uniform for jeans. Snug, well-washed jeans, Delilah noted as she stepped up to the living area, teamed with a long-sleeved black T-shirt. She had ample opportunity to admire the way both items displayed his muscular torso before he broke the taut silence.

“How’s the arm?”

“Good. Fine.”

He nodded once. Just once. He was back in cop mode. Hardly surprising, considering how she’d practically gnawed off her arm to escape the sun this morning.

“Thanks for letting me crash in your bathroom.”

“Yeah, well, consider it an early Christmas present.”

Not that early. Unless she’d slept longer than she thought, this was Christmas Eve. The second of her clan’s five-night conclave. She’d missed the critical first night completely.

The reminder made her chest squeeze. If she took off now, right this moment, she might arrive in time to mitigate some measure of Sebastian’s wrath. Yet she knew she couldn’t leave without answering the questions in Brett’s eyes.

“You still can’t quite accept what I am, can you?”

“I’m working on it.” He dropped his feet to the floor and nodded to the chair opposite his. “Sit down. We need to talk this out.”

She owed him that much. Or was she rationalizing, trying to steal just a few more minutes with this man? Knowing it was a combination of both, she sank into the chair. The well-worn leather creaked under her as she smoothed the plaid flannel shirttails over her thighs.

“There’s not much to talk out. I lived. I died. I’m living again between worlds.”

“I need more than that.”

Of course he did. He was a cop.

“What do you want to know?”

“Start at the beginning. Who is…or was…Delilah Wentworth?”

“Ah, there’s a question.”

She rarely thought about her previous life anymore. Her parents had died long ago. Everyone she’d known then was gone. The woman—girl—she’d once been no longer existed in anyone’s memory but her own.

“Delilah Wentworth was a vain, silly miss who grew up on the various army posts her father was assigned to. Fort Sheridan. Fort Polk. West Point. Fort Anderson, in the Philippines. She spent most of her time primping in front of her mirror before waltzing the night away at balls and masques. Her primary—her only—goals in life were to marry a handsome young lieutenant, raise a large brood of children and live happily ever after. I got the ‘ever after’ part right, anyway.”

He didn’t appear to appreciate her attempt at humor.

“How did you die?”

“In the cholera epidemic that swept the country in the summer of ’08.”

“In 1908? A hundred years ago?”

“That’s right. I’d just turned twenty and had become engaged that very month. Much to my mama’s relief.” A rueful smile feathered her lips. “I had refused so many offers up to that point that she warned me repeatedly I’d die a spinster. As it turned out, she was right.”

“So how did it happen? This ‘ever after’ business?”

He didn’t need the details of the horrific moments she’d spent in a reeking mass grave.

“Sebastian, my clan leader, found me seconds after I took my last breath and shared his essence. I’ve been a member of his family ever since.”

The blue eyes holding hers went cold and hard. She understood why when he raised a hand and tapped the bruise on the side of his neck.

“Is that what you did with me? Shared your essence?”

“No!”

She jumped up, cursing her clumsiness in not making things clearer this morning. He must have been sitting here all day, wondering if he’d joined the legions of the undead!

“I drank from you. That’s all. I told you I was thirsty, remember? And you…”

“I thought you wanted water! Coffee! A beer! I didn’t think you were going to glom onto my throat and suck out a few pints of blood.”

He shoved out of his chair and got right in her face. The ice left his eyes, replaced by fury. Delilah stood her ground. He was big and he was tough, but he was just a human.

“It wasn’t a few pints,” she countered. “I didn’t take more than I needed or more than you could spare.”

“Yeah, well, how about asking next time!”

“I did ask. And you gave me permission.”

“Like hell I did!”

“Okay, I may have blocked that part of your memory. But you were doing your cop thing, getting all inquisitive and suspicious. Like now,” she added as his dark blond brows snapped together.

“You can do that? Block my memory?”

“Yes.”

“Then why do I remember touching you?”

Anger still burned in his eyes as he wrapped his hands around her upper arms and yanked her against him.

“Why do I remember the taste of you? Your moans when I used my teeth and tongue on you?”

“I, uh, was a little distracted that time.”

Too distracted to block the feel of him on her. In her. All over her. The memory of his sweat-slick muscles and powerful thrusts made her throat go tight.

“I got careless,” she admitted. “I’ve never done that before. With anyone. But I didn’t take more than I needed the first time. The second was to give you the same pleasure you’d given me.”

The doubt and distrust were still there. They stung more than Delilah wanted to admit.

“If it’s any consolation, you made up for those little love bites when you handcuffed me to the bed.”

“I thought you were a nut job. I figured I’d better restrain you until I worked an EDO. Emergency Detention Order,” he amplified. “I was going to take you in for a mental health evaluation.”

“Instead, you almost fried me.”

She flipped him a smile that showed she harbored no hard feelings. Not many, anyway.

The cheeky grin only added to the emotions that had churned inside Brett all day. Disbelief. Incredulity. Disgust that he’d let his driving hunger for this woman push him over the line. At her reminder of the morning’s events, though, remorse surged to the top of the list. He’d never intended to cause her pain.

“I’m sorry about that.”

He slid a hand down her arm, caught her wrist and raised it. The cuff of his shirt fell back to reveal pale, unblemished skin. If he’d needed proof, it was there, right in front of him.

And God knew, he did need proof. He’d just spent the longest nine hours of his life. Good thing darkness came so early this time of year or he’d still be sitting in that damned chair, trying to convince himself he hadn’t gone off the deep end.

He’d gotten up a dozen times, approached the bathroom door, then turned around. The viciousness of her burn, the miraculous way it had healed, kept playing and replaying in his mind. During one of those endless replays he’d placed a call to his unit and confirmed they’d received no missing-persons report for a woman matching Delilah’s description. Nor was there any record of her in the databases the Oklahoma Highway Patrol tapped into.

That’s when he’d powered up his laptop. The number of Web sites out there dedicated to vampires had astounded him. Some were informative, others downright scary.

He’d spent hours cruising the Net, and took a break only long enough to bring in more wood and the groceries he’d stashed in the trunk of the cruiser and almost forgotten. The more Brett read, the more he realized he was about to share his Christmas Eve dinner with a vampire.

Or become her Christmas Eve dinner.

“How often do you have to…you know…drink?”

Her glance dropped to a point just under his jaw. The look on her face was enough to make a vein jump in the side of Brett’s throat. He could feel it throbbing as he stared down into her dark eyes.

“Not often,” she murmured with a touch of regret.

His vein pulsed harder, faster. “Define often.”

“Every few weeks if I conserve my strength. Every few days if I engage in strenuous activity.” Her gaze lifted. “Like last night.”

“Right. Last night.” He cleared his throat. “Just out of curiosity, how much of that was me?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve got these powers. You can block memory. You can move beds it took two grown men to haul in, piece by piece. You heal vicious wounds with cold water. What else can you do, Delilah?”

She cocked her head. Her dark auburn hair spilled over one shoulder as a smile crept into her eyes. “Oh, I get it. You want to know if can I make an Oklahoma State Trooper overcome his training and scruples and treat a female detainee to two mind-blowing orgasms.”

“Yeah,” he drawled, “that’s pretty much what I want to know. Although I should point out you weren’t technically a detainee.”

“I’m happy to inform you, Officer, that you did that all on your own. I merely provided a little incentive.”

Brett wasn’t sure he believed her. He’d never experienced that kind of unrelenting hunger before. Not even with Cindy. He’d buried his heart with her five years ago. Until last night, he was sure he’d buried all desire for anything except the occasional one-night stand.

Maybe that was why Delilah roused such savage need in him. She’d tasted darkness. She’d survived death. She was the woman he’d lost.

Not in temperament. Or in looks. With her fiery hair, dark eyes and forceful personality, Delilah Wentworth couldn’t be more different from the shy brunette whose face Brett had to work hard to recall these days.

It was what she stirred in him. A yearning that crossed time. A hunger that knew no physical bounds. He’d wanted her out there, on that cold, deserted road. And again, here in the cabin.

And now.

All he had to do was look into her eyes and the need to hold her, to have her, came alive in his belly. He could feel their pull, see himself in the dark pupils. See, too, the regret swimming in their depths.

“I have to go,” she whispered. “I’m late for a meeting of my clan.”

He curled a knuckle and brushed it across her porcelain-smooth cheek. “Be a little later.”

“I can’t. There’ll be…repercussions.”

A tremor rippled over the surface of her skin, so slight he thought he’d imagined it.

“Thanks for taking me in, Officer.”

He couldn’t keep her here by force. Much as he wanted to. Yielding with a reluctance that went bone-deep, he dropped his hand.

“Anytime, Ms. Wentworth.”

“I’d better get dressed.”

 

Brett’s unwillingness to let her disappear from his life took a sharp spike when she emerged from the bathroom in her cat-burglar outfit. She strutted toward him on those wicked boots, the spike heels clicking on the floorboards. Her black leggings and turtleneck fit her like a second skin. Her hair was a tumble of wine-colored curls. She looked wild and untamed and exotic.

When she shrugged into her shaggy fur vest, Brett was seriously considering clamping the cuffs on her again. The urge was powerful, atavistic and not entirely sexual. He hadn’t missed that brief tremor when she’d mentioned repercussions. The thought she might be facing danger when she left him ripped a hole in his gut.

“Listen, Delilah. If you need a place to go to ground, a place no one in this clan of yours knows about, you can come here.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll leave a key outside. There’s a loose stone beside the stoop. I’ll show you.”

He walked to the door with her, trying to think of ways to convince her to stay. One more night. One more day. But all he could do was offer a warning.

“Be careful. There’s an escaped murderer on the loose. We think he’s gone south, into Mexico, but the bastard has left false trails before.”

With a wry smile, she opened the door and stepped into a frost-filled night. “I probably don’t have to worry, unless his weapon of choice is a flaming cross or a wooden stake.”

“He prefers a knife with a serrated edge. The common kitchen variety. The kind you can pick up in any corner store.”

Brett kept his response flat and even. Too flat and even, he realized when her smile edged into a frown.

But before she could voice the question he saw in her face, a high, thin wail cut through the night.

“M is-ter!”

The panic-filled cry reverberated through the woods on the north side of the cabin. Brett whirled toward the echoes, his eyes slitting as he searched the impenetrable darkness. Delilah spun a few degrees to the left and took off.

“This way,” she shouted.

“Wait!”

He pounded after her, his gut twisting and his mind filled with the smirking face of the killer they’d just been talking about.

“Dammit, Delilah, wait!”

She flew toward the woods. Literally flew. So fast that Brett caught only a flash of silvery fur before darkness swallowed her. He crashed into the tree line three or four seconds after she had. Every one of those agonizing seconds seared his soul.

Not again. It couldn’t happen again.

He didn’t think about his service revolver still locked in the cabinet, didn’t consider going back for a flashlight. His one, overriding priority was to get to Delilah.

Relief crashed through him when he spotted her. She was down on one knee a few yards ahead. A kid bundled up to his ears in a yellow ski jacket had her arm in a death grip and was yanking on it frantically.

“You gotta come! Now!”

“We will,” she assured him. “Just tell us…”

“What’s going on?”

The boy’s wild, frightened eyes cut to Brett. “My mom’s sick. You gotta help her.”

Nine or ten years old. Brown hair. Black high-tops caked with mud and dirt. Scrawny build. Bloody scratches on one cheek. The cop in Brett cataloged the details even as he got a handle on the situation.

“Okay, son. Okay. We’ll help you. Where is your mom?”

“There.” He stabbed a finger toward the faint glow of lights across the lake. “Over there.”

Hell! The north shore was only a little more than a hundred yards as the crow flew but completely inaccessible by vehicle from this side of the lake. Brett would have to drive two miles back down the dirt track that led to his cabin, then circle around for another five on a paved county road. Much quicker to shove through the thick woods along the shore, as the kid obviously had.

“We’ll go with you, son, but I need to know what emergency medical supplies to bring with me. Tell me what’s wrong with your mom?”

“She’s all white ’n sweaty ’n throwing up. ’N going to the bathroom. Lots. She said she thinks it was the soy milk she brought from home. That stuff is so gross, but she’s always drinking it.” His panic poured out on a rush of words. “Now she’s lying on the floor all doubled up ’n the cell phone won’t work so I can’t call 911 ’n my little sister’s crying ’n I don’t know what to do!”

Brett dropped a hand and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Sounds to me like your mom might have a touch of food poisoning. We’ll take care of her. Let me get my jacket and the first-aid kit.”

If it was food poisoning, there wasn’t anything in the kit that would help, but he grabbed it anyway. He also snatched up a flashlight and his handheld police radio in case he had to call for medical transport. The blue steel SIG SAUER went into the pocket of the camouflage hunting jacket he always kept at the cabin. With an escaped killer on the loose, he wasn’t taking any chances.

He was back outside within moments. “Let’s go.”

The boy whirled to crash back the way he’d come. Brett started to follow, but spun around when Delilah opted for another route.

“I’ll go across the lake and meet you at their cabin.”

“No! Wait! The ice is too thin!”

He should have saved his breath. With the same blinding speed she’d displayed earlier, she reached the shoreline in a single leap. A second bound took her almost to the middle of the lake.

A sharp crack of ice breaking rifled through the night and Brett’s heart stopped dead in his chest. Then she flew the rest of the way and disappeared into the shadows on the far shore.

“Jesus!”

Whirling again, he raced after the kid. The boy had plunged too far ahead to have witnessed Delilah’s acrobatic feat, thank God. He had enough to worry about without adding supernatural beings to the mix.

“What’s your name?” Brett asked when he pulled alongside, his flashlight cutting a wide swath in the darkness.

“Tommy. Tommy Hawkins.”

“I’m Brett, Tommy.”

They pounded through the scrub brush, ducking under brittle branches and dodging stumps.

“You probably didn’t see the cruiser parked on the other side of my cabin. I’m a police officer. An Oklahoma State Trooper.”

The boy threw him a look of unmistakable relief and hope. “You kin, like, call in a helicopter to fly mom to the hospital?”

“Sure can, if she needs one. So don’t worry, okay? Between us, we’ll take good care of her.”

His first-responder’s medical training had focused more on vehicular trauma, heart attacks and gunshot wounds than food poisoning. He’d read enough about it to know most forms weren’t lethal, however, and that the basic treatment was to repeatedly induce small amounts of fluids into the victim to keep him or her from dehydrating. More serious cases—particularly those caused by foods that had been treated with certain pesticides—could require stomach pumping and intensive care.

Praying that wasn’t the case here, he kept his stride matched to the boy’s.

 

When Delilah rapped on the door of the split-level cabin, a timorous young voice called out from inside.

“Tommy?”

The sister. The boy had talked about a little sister.

“No, it’s not Tommy. He’ll be here in a little bit, though. Can you let me in?”

“Noooo.”

It was a small, frightened cry.

“Mama says…Mama says we’re never s’posed to open the door to strangers.”

“That’s right. You shouldn’t. But Tommy told me your mama’s sick. I want to help her. I’m coming in now.”

The dead bolt might have been strong enough to keep out burglars and bears, but Delilah splintered it easily.

The moment she stepped inside, a barrage of scents assaulted her overly developed senses. The sharp tang of pine from a decorated Christmas tree mingled with the stink of burned cookies. Overpowering both were the odors of vomit and diarrhea coming from one of the bedrooms.

Delilah recoiled, driven back by the memory that sprang into her head. In vivid technicolor and surround-sound, she saw a hospital ward reeking with the same odors. Moaning patients on cots jammed in every corner. Bone-tired orderlies covering the faces of the dead with blankets before summoning the burial detail.

Gulping, she shoved the images out of her head and speared a glance at the youngster clutching a ragged doll’s blanket to her chest.

“Don’t be scared, sweetie.”

The girl popped a thumb in her mouth, her blue eyes wide above the ruffled collar of her pajamas. The candy-apple-red pj’s were the kind with footies and decorated all over with Santas and reindeer.

“Tommy and my friend Brett will be here in a few minutes,” Delilah told the her. “Just wait right here, okay, while I check on your mama.”

She followed the worst of the scents. Her nostrils flared wider with each step, but she made it to the bathroom tucked between the cabin’s two bedrooms without gagging.

A honey-haired woman in a pink fleece bathrobe sat slumped on the linoleum, one arm draped over the toilet seat. Beside her lay a crumpled towel and two empty cardboard toilet paper rolls. At Delilah’s entrance, she lifted her head and gasped out a desperate plea.

“Tommy?”

“He’s right behind me. He and Brett Cooper. Sergeant Brett Cooper,” she tacked on for reassurance. “He owns the cabin across the lake.”

The young mother was too relieved to question how Delilah had outdistanced her son and neighbor. Slumping, she rested her forehead on the toilet seat.

“I told Tommy not to go for you. But my darn cell phone doesn’t get a signal out here. We couldn’t call anyone and Tommy got scared.”

“Understandable. You don’t look too good.”

“I look worse than I feel. The cramps aren’t as bad as they were.”

Not bad, but certainly not good. That became evident when she stiffened and tried unsuccessfully to bite back a groan.

“Oh, no! Here we go again.”

Delilah grabbed a clean washcloth and shoved it under the cold water tap. When the worst of the spasm had passed, she knelt beside the young mother and bathed her face.

“Tommy said you thought you drank some bad milk.”

“It didn’t taste bad going down. I could tell it was off about five minutes after it hit my stomach, though.” She gave a wan smile. “I’ve been in the bathroom ever since.”

“Not the best way to spend Christmas Eve.”

“Tell me about it.”

The smile slipped, and tears brimmed in her eyes.

“This is the kids’ first Christmas since my husband and I split. I rented the cabin from a friend at work. I thought the change of scene would, you know, make it easier on them. Instead I go and scare them half to death.”

Sniffling, she dragged the back of a hand across her nose.

“My poor babies. Emma is sure Santa won’t find her up here and Tommy is all bent out of shape because there’s no TV to play Nintendo on. Now this!”

“Hey, you couldn’t help what happened.” Delilah scrounged around in the cabinets for a fresh roll of toilet paper. “And the best Christmas present you can give your kids is to kick this thing. What’s your name?”

“Sharon Hawkins. That’s Emma in the other room.”

“Hi, Sharon. I’m Delilah.” She shoved the roll at the weepy woman. “Here. Blow.”

That produced a watery chuckle. “You sound like me doing my mom thing. Do you have kids?”

“No.”

Nor would she, with her body suspended in perpetual half life. Her hair didn’t grow, her toenails never needed clipping and she hadn’t had a period in more than a hundred years.

“You’ve got time,” Sharon consoled before blowing into the wadded tissue.

More than she knew, Delilah thought ruefully. She wiped the woman’s face with the damp washrag again and vowed to get her to the hospital as soon as Brett and the boy arrived to take care of Emma.

 

“About time,” she muttered when Brett finally crowded into the bathroom.

“Yeah, well, some of us have to stick to terra firma. Tommy, why don’t you look after your sister while I talk to your mom.”

The boy left with obvious reluctance and Delilah scrambled out of the way so he could hunker down.

“Sharon, this is Brett. Brett, Sharon.”

Embarrassed, the young mother shoved back her sweat-dampened hair. “I’m sorry Tommy ran over to get you. I told him not to.”

“No problem.” His blue eyes raked her face. “How are you feeling?”

“Better now. Honestly. I got the worst of it out of my system. Several times.”

He laid a hand on her forehead. “No fever. Did you take any medications?”

He’d asked Delilah the same thing, she recalled. Was it only last night? It seemed so much longer.

Of course, that might have something to do with the fact she’d whoozed around in the night sky.

And tumbled down in front of his cruiser.

And ridden him like a wild woman.

And almost chewed off her arm to escape.

“I always carry a pharmacy with me for the kids,” Sharon said, jerking Delilah back to the present. “When the cramps started, I popped some Pepto-Bismol.”

“We need to make sure you didn’t dehydrate,” Brett advised. “Think you can keep some water down?”

She looked doubtful but nodded. “I’ll try.”

He rose to rinse out a pink-coated glass and fill it with tap water. When he crouched down again, Delilah chewed on her lower lip.

“Wouldn’t an IV be better?” She met his eyes. “I could get her to a hospital real fast.”

“I don’t need an IV,” Sharon objected. “I’m feeling better. Really.”

They had no difficulty translating the distraught mother’s quick protest. She didn’t want to leave her kids on Christmas Eve.

“Let’s see how this works,” Brett said calmly. “Just a few sips at a time,” he warned as he held the glass to her lips. “You don’t want to throw it back up.”

 

The water stayed down. Two glasses, drunk very slowly.

Between sips, Delilah helped Sharon change into a clean nightshirt and crawl into bed. As soon as she sank onto the pillows, she called for her children.

Emma rushed in with her blanket clutched like a life preserver against her chest. “Mommy?”

“I’m right here, baby.”

The girl started to scramble up on the bed, but Sharon stopped her with a wobbly smile.

“Better not, Em. Mommy’s tummy is still a little shaky.”

Tommy caught his sister’s arm and earned a protesting squeal when he yanked her back. He’d shed his bright yellow ski jacket but still wore a look of worry.

“You gonna be okay, Mom?”

“I am, thanks to you and these kind people.” She reached out to grip the boy’s hand. “Not much of a Christmas Eve for you and Em, is it?”

“We don’t care,” he said fiercely, “as long as you get better.”

“I will. I promise. I think I’ll rest a little bit, though. Why don’t you read ‘’Twas the Night before Christmas’ to Em. Or…”

She lifted a pleading gaze to the two adults.

“Maybe you could read to her, Brett, and Delilah could help Tommy pop another batch of cookies in the oven for Santa. The first batch burned while I was, uh, otherwise occupied.”

Delilah had never baked cookies in either of her lives. When she was alive, her mama had always employed kitchen help. After she died, there was no point.

“I’m better at reading,” she told Emma with a wink. “We’ll let the boys do the baking.”

Moments later she had curled up on the sofa with a large picture book and the little girl snuggled against her side. The book was well-worn and obviously a favorite. Its front cover opened easily to a page displaying a Victorian-era living room with a hump-backed sofa in deep crimson, fringed lampshades and what looked like a twenty-foot-tall Christmas tree. The scene was so eerily familiar that Delilah had to clear her throat twice before she could begin reading.

“’Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house…”

Behind her, Brett and Tommy thumped around in the kitchen. It soon came alive with the smell of cookie dough, nuts and cinnamon. As the tantalizing scents drifted across the room and Emma sucked contentedly on her thumb, Delilah paused in her reading.

For a moment, just a moment, she indulged in wishful thinking. This is what her life might have been like. A little girl nestled against her breast. A husband and son performing mundane chores together.

No! She wouldn’t go there. It never did any good.

Turning the page, she read on. “Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.”

Emma’s head drooped. Her thumb slipped out of her mouth. When she twitched like a sleepy puppy, Delilah eased her body horizontally onto the sofa and covered her with a throw before going into the bedroom to check on Sharon.

“Emma’s out like a light. Here, you need a little more water.”

“How’s the cookie making going?”

“Fine. Think you could handle some tea and dry toast?”

“Yes. And, Delilah?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome.”

After preparing the tea and toast, Delilah carried Emma into the other bedroom and tucked her into the lower bunk. Tommy was still worried about his mom and held out until well past midnight. He only climbed into the upper bunk when Sharon insisted he call it a night.

Once she was sure he’d fallen asleep, the young mother swung out of bed and pulled on her fleecy robe. When she emerged from the bedroom, Delilah and Brett were cleaning up the kitchen.

“Sharon! What are you doing?”

“The kids’ presents are in the car trunk. I have to finish wrapping them and put them under the tree.”

“Brett and I can do that.”

“You’ve done so much already, and I don’t want to ruin your Christmas Eve. You must have presents to wrap, too.”

“I don’t. How about you, Brett?”

She tossed the question off lightly, expecting an equally light response. He’d already told her he wasn’t into the whole Christmas scene. He’d also mentioned that he didn’t have any family.

“I haven’t wrapped a present in five years.”

Shrugging, he turned to snag his jacket from the chair, but not before Delilah caught a glimpse of bleak emptiness in his eyes. It was gone when he turned back.

“Toss me the keys, Sharon. I’ll get the stuff out of your car.”

T hey left a mountain of wrapped presents and a still-shaky but very grateful Sharon some hours later.

Brett insisted she keep his cell phone for the duration of her stay at the cabin, because his got service in this remote area and hers didn’t. She insisted they come back for Christmas dinner later that afternoon.

“Please. Let me thank you for all you’ve done for me and the kids.”

Brett slid a look in Delilah’s direction before shaking his head. “Thanks, but you’re not going to be up for company or cooking.”

“The turkey’s already in the fridge, defrosting, and I baked corn bread for dressing before I drank that damned soy milk. All I have to do is chop a little celery and onion, then pop everything in the oven.”

Delilah would have given all she possessed to sit down at a table with Brett and the Hawkinses in broad daylight. She’d never regretted her half life more.

“Sorry, Sharon, I need to leave early in the morning.”

Like, within the next hour. She had to get to Houston before dawn or she’d end up sleeping through another day on a bathroom floor.

Not that she’d mind. If it weren’t for Sebastian and his grab for power, she might seriously consider spending several more days curled up in Brett’s bathroom…and several more nights in his bed.

Sharon accepted her excuse with obvious disappointment. “Well, have a safe trip to wherever you’re going. And Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

The night had grown frigid, with the promise of more snow heavy on the air. Delilah didn’t feel the bite, but Brett had to hitch up his collar and hunch his shoulders inside his down-filled hunter’s jacket.

She walked with him, her keen vision picking out straggling branches and potential obstacles well ahead. She debated for some time whether to ask him about the lost look she’d glimpsed in his eyes. She’d shared the intimate details of her existence with him, but Brett didn’t exactly invite questions about his. The lights of the cabin loomed a short distance ahead when she decided to take the plunge.

“You said you hadn’t wrapped a Christmas present in five years. Am I getting too personal if I ask what happened to turn you off the holidays?”

He didn’t answer for so long she thought he intended to ignore the question. Then he took her elbow to guide her over a rough patch of ground. His breath steamed on the night air, brushing against her cheek like a warm caress, but his reply chilled her to the bone.

“You remember the escaped murderer I told you about earlier?”

“Yes.”

“We dubbed him the Christmas Killer because he liked to strike this time of year. He bragged that all those shoppers coming out of the malls in the dark made for easy prey. My fiancée was one of them.”

“Oh, no!”

“It was Christmas Eve. Five years ago. Cindy called to tell me she was going to hit the mall.”

The grip on her elbow tightened. Brett stared straight ahead, but she knew he wasn’t seeing the welcoming glow of the cabin lights.

“I told her to wait, that I’d go with her when I finished my shift. Then I got hung up working a four-car pileup. So she went alone.”

Delilah had existed for more than a century with what-ifs and if-onlys. She knew all too well how bitterly corrosive they could be. Aching for Brett, she accompanied him into the cabin. Once inside, he crossed to the stone fireplace and knelt to add logs to the smoldering embers.

“I’ve been with the highway patrol for eleven years. I’ve seen people die in a relatively minor fender bender, others walk away from a vehicle so mangled you couldn’t tell the front end from the rear.”

He draped an arm over his bent leg and stared into the flames licking at the fresh logs, searching for answers she knew he’d never find.

“I understand that life—and death—are pretty much a crapshoot,” he said slowly. “It’s one thing to accept that in the abstract, though. Another when it happens to someone you love.”

“Or to you.”

The low murmur jerked Brett out of his personal hell. Muttering a curse, he pushed to his feet.

“I’m sorry, Delilah. I didn’t mean to wallow around in remorse and regrets. It’s just…This time of year…”

He hated that it still got to him. Hated, too, that Cindy’s face faded a little more with each passing Christmas. He tried to hang on to her, fought like hell to keep her in his heart. But all he had left were fading memories.

“I know,” Delilah said softly, as if reading his mind. “It’s hard to let go of the past, isn’t it?”

She laid her palm against his cheek. Her skin was as cool and smooth as polished marble, her eyes dark wells of understanding.

“You’ll forget, Brett. With time. The hurt will go, too.”

The hurt maybe. The guilt and regret would stay with him the rest of his days. But this woman could block them. For a few hours, anyway.

Turning his lips into her palm, he murmured a quiet plea against the cool skin. “Stay with me, Delilah. Just for tonight. Help me forget.”

“Are you…” Her voice caught. “Are you sure you know what you’re asking for?”

“Very sure.” He brought his head around and smiled. “A Christmas kiss.”

She couldn’t leave him like this, haunted by the ghosts of Christmas past. Going up on tiptoe, she brushed her lips across his. Once. Twice.

 

They made love in front of the hearth, stretched out atop the sofa cushions Brett dragged down to make a nest.

The dancing flames warmed Delilah’s skin and brought out the fire in her hair. The curtain of shimmering red framed her face as she stroked her hands over his shoulders, his chest, his belly. When she followed each stroke with a kiss, her cool lips hollowed Brett’s stomach and heated his blood.

Her hands and mouth and slender, sinuous body pushed everything else to a distant corner of his mind. For that hour, that slice out of time, all he knew, all he wanted to know was Delilah.

She fit under him so perfectly. Her pelvis cradled his hips, her calves hooked around his and her body welcomed him with unrestrained eagerness. He filled her, driving deeper and harder with every thrust. She reciprocated by filling the empty spaces inside him.

But not as she had last night. Or this morning. The pleasure she gave him was every bit as intense. Yet he wasn’t consumed by the same mindless, animal hunger. With every move, every thrust of her hips against his, one thought hammered at his mind.

This was Delilah. Exotic, ethereal Delilah. She gave everything she had, along with a gift he hadn’t expected.

“You didn’t block it,” he said when they lay depleted side by side on the cushions. “I’m not going to forget this time, am I?”

“I sincerely hope not.” Rolling onto her side, she propped her chin in one hand. “I wanted you to remember tonight, Brett. I certainly will.”

“For a while.”

He wrapped a silky strand around one finger and tried to ease the inevitability of their parting with a joke.

“Another two, three hundred years and medical science will have made unbelievable strides. I won’t stand a chance when compared to those hot, twenty-third-century studs.”

“I won’t argue the advances in medicine, but I doubt it will produce anything to compare with you, Officer Cutie.”

“Stay with me, Delilah.”

The plea came from deep inside him. He didn’t understand how this woman had worked her way into his heart so swiftly and so completely, but she had.

“Tonight. Tomorrow. Next year. Forever.”

“I can’t,” she whispered.

“Because of this meeting of the clans? Why is it so damn important?”

“We’re…We’re in the middle of a monster power play. Sebastian, my clan leader, already controls most of northern Mexico and the southwestern U.S. But he wants more. More territory, more wealth, more power. I bring the support of the Colorado band. Sebastian needs me at this gathering to back his claim over those of his rival.”

“So you’re—What? Some kind of a super-delegate?”

Her mouth curved, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I wish it could all come down to a vote.”

Passages from some of the gorier Web sites Brett had called up earlier this afternoon leaped into his head. He couldn’t suppress sudden, bloodcurdling visions of rival vampires tearing out each other’s throats or dousing their enemies with flaming oil.

“So don’t go. Don’t put yourself in the middle of it.”

She rested her chin on his chest and sighed. “The problem isn’t just Sebastian. It’s us, Brett. My ‘forever’ isn’t the same as yours.”

“I’ll grow old and die, and you won’t. Is that what you’re saying?”

She nodded, digging the tip of her chin into his chest. “I had to watch that happen to everyone I loved. My parents. The lieutenant I was betrothed to. My friends. It tore me apart. Every time.”

Just as it would to watch him die.

As soon as the thought formed, Delilah knew she’d committed the unthinkable. She’d fallen more than a little in love with this man.

He wasn’t like the Seekers, so morbidly fascinated with her kind that they searched out night gathering spots and offered their throats like bleating sheep. Or the disbelievers, so terrified of anything and everything they couldn’t understand.

Brett was…himself. Suspicious, wary, slow to trust. Yet he’d accepted her for what she was. Wanted her, despite what she was. Delilah would have given whatever was left of her soul to do as he asked and stay with him for another day, another night. She would not, however, forfeit his soul. Sebastian would rip out his throat if he found her here, in this man’s arms.

“I have to go,” she whispered, dropping a soft kiss on his mouth.

Their second farewell of the night, she thought as she gathered her scattered clothing. The first had been reluctant on both sides, but this one was harder. So much harder.

She’d assured Brett he would forget. In time. But would she?

Trying not to dwell on what they might have had in a different life, Delilah tugged on her leggings and sweater. She was zipping up her boots when a cackle of static cut through the stillness in the cabin.

“Sergeant Cooper, this is Dispatch. Do you read?”

Brett crossed to the jacket he’d tossed over the back of a chair and fished his radio out of the pocket. “Ten-two, Dispatch. What’s up?”

“The major needs to talk to you.”

A male voice replaced the woman’s.

“We just got a call via the hotline. That 4532 we’ve been hunting is in your area.”

“The hell you say!”

A feral light leaped into Brett’s blue eyes. For a startled moment he reminded Delilah of the vicious hunters who preyed on her kind. She had no idea what a 4532 was, but from the look on his face, its days were numbered.

“The hotline caller owns Larry’s Gas-’n-Go,” his major related. “It’s a convenience store about…”

“Ten miles from here. I know it. I buy groceries and bait there.”

“This guy Larry told us a man stopped to ask directions to the lake. Said he recognized Madison from the news coverage of the escape.”

Madison! The name jerked Delilah’s head up. That was the escaped murderer Brett had warned her about. The one who’d killed his fiancée.

“When Madison asked for directions to the lake, Larry remembered you were the one who took him down five years ago. He figured the bastard is out for revenge.”

“I hope so.”

The low growl raised the hairs on the back of Delilah’s neck. And they said vampires were scary!

“What’s he driving?” Brett bit out.

“A late-model white Ford pickup, Texas plates, first two digits L-1. It was reported missing a few days ago. I’ve got two units headed your way and more responding. They’re thirty minutes to ETA, but your friend Larry bought us some time by giving Madison directions to the north end of the lake instead of south, to your cabin.”

Brett went still. “He sent Madison north?”

“He says there’s a vacant cabin at the north end. He figured Madison would think it was yours and…”

“The cabin’s not vacant, Chief! A woman and her two kids rented the place for the holidays.”

“Hell!”

“Her name’s Sharon Hawkins. She’s got my cell phone. Call her! Now! Tell her to bundle the kids in the car and…”

He stopped, gave a vicious curse and shook his head.

“No good. The cabin is accessed by a one-lane dirt road, just like mine. She might meet Madison coming in. Tell her to stay put.”

His gaze sliced toward Delilah.

“I’ll have someone there before you get off the line with her.”

“Who?”

“No time for explanations. Just call Ms. Hawkins. Tell her we’re heading over there.”

He cut the transmission and dug into the other pocket of his jacket. His eyes were flat and cold when he pulled out a blue steel pistol and turned to Delilah.

“You ever fire a semiautomatic?”

“No, but I don’t need a gun.”

“This guy’s vicious.”

“He can’t hurt me.” She made for the door in swift, long strides. “Not unless he burns the cabin down around my ears or happens to have a sharpened stake handy. But I can hurt him. Bad.”

And she would, she vowed as Brett popped the truck of his patrol car and pulled out his assault rifle.

“I’ll go across the lake,” she told him. “I’d carry you with me, but I haven’t fed tonight and I don’t have the strength.”

“Go.” He jerked his chin toward the woods. “There’s a shortcut. It’ll take me to the county road Madison has to go down to get to the north shore. I’ll try to cut him off before he gets to the cabin.”

If he hadn’t already.

Driven by a mounting sense of urgency, Delilah nodded.

“I’ll take care of Sharon and the kids. You…” She grabbed the front of his jacket and hauled him close for a swift kiss “…take care of yourself.”

As she leaped toward the frozen ice, instincts older than time surged through her veins. She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she’d yielded to their primal pull. Each time, every time, it was kill or be killed.

Tonight, her instincts screamed, was one of those times. If Madison showed his face anywhere in the vicinity, if he tried to harm anyone, he would die.

 

It wasn’t the Christmas Killer who attacked her just as she reached the far shore, however, but her seething, vengeful clan leader.

Uploaded by Coral

H e came out of the night with an animal roar and a blast of frigid air that sent Delilah flying backward.

She crashed down on the ice, hitting so hard that it shattered like thin glass. Black, icy water knifed into her eyes, her mouth, her lungs. Gasping, she scissor kicked toward the jagged hole in the surface. Another powerful kick propelled her out of the frigid water and onto the shore.

“Damn you to all the fires of hell, Sebastian!”

He stalked toward her, his boots trampling the snow. He was short but heavily muscled. His upper lip and chin bristled with the short, pointed beard of a conquistador, and his eyes blazed with fury.

“Hell is exactly where you’ll spend the next century, you ungrateful bitch. A very painful, very private hell of my making.”

Shaking with a fury that matched his, Delilah shoved wet hair out of her eyes. “I’ll take whatever punishment you prescribe.…”

“Yes,” he snarled, “you will.”

“But not now!”

“You dare to dictate to me? Me!”

His eyes burned a fiery red. Whipping out an arm, he lashed her across the face. The blow would have separated a lesser mortal’s head from his shoulders.

In Delilah’s weakened state, it did damage enough. Her head snapped back. She staggered and almost fell into the lake again. Starbursts of pain burst behind her eyeballs. She blinked away the blinding agony to find Sebastian stalking toward her again.

“Do you forget who pulled you from that reeking pit?” he raged. “Do you forget who turned you?”

“No! How could I?”

“You owe me your allegiance. Your obedience.”

She cast a desperate look over his shoulder at the cabin nestled amid a stand of bare, leafless trees.

“You’ll get both, Sebastian. I promise. Just let me…”

The sharp crack of rifle fire cut her off. She froze, dread flooding her veins, as a second shot followed the first. Then another, and another, in such rapid succession she knew that was Brett’s assault.

The shots still reverberated in the icy air when a thunderous boom split the night. A second later, a fireball leaped above the distant tree line.

 

As Delilah flew back across the ice, she knew her strength was failing. Fast!

Any other time, she would have leaped alongside Sebastian and arrived at the scene of the explosion the same time he did. Instead she bounded up several seconds later.

She found him surveying the flaming wreckage of a white pickup with an avid gleam in his eye. Nostrils flaring, he sorted through the suffocating stink of burning gasoline and rubber to pick up the scent of blood.

“Two fresh kills. Both still warm,” he added with visceral satisfaction. “We’ll feed well tonight.”

“No!”

The scream ripped from Delilah’s throat as she searched around the leaping flames with frantic eyes.

She spotted Madison first. He lay sprawled in the scrub brush a dozen yards away. His lips were pulled back in the rictus of death. Blood pumped sluggishly from bullet holes in his head and chest.

Fear hammered at her with steel fists. She whirled in a full circle, searching the woods, the road, the heavy underbrush. When she saw the figure slumped against a tree just off the road, his assault rifle resting across his thighs, relief burst inside her with the same blinding intensity as the pain she’d endured just moments ago.

“Brett!”

She dropped to her knees beside him. The explosion had singed his brows and blackened his face. It had probably thrown him through the air, too, and slammed him into the trees. She didn’t see any visible wounds, but he could be concussed or have internal injuries.

“Brett, can you hear me?”

Teeth clenched, he lifted his eyes to hers and ground out a hoarse question. “Did I…get…him?”

She glanced over her shoulder, saw Sebastian feeding on Madison’s bullet-riddled body.

“You got him.”

“Didn’t…shoot to kill. Tell them…I took the front tire…out first. He skidded off…the road. Jumped out. Started shooting. Tell them…I had to…return fire.”

“You tell them!” she said fiercely, her eyes frantic as they searched him from neck to knees. “Where are you hurt? Brett, where are you hurt?”

Grunting, he shoved the assault rifle aside. Only then did she see the pool of blood at the jointure of his hip and thigh. The ground beneath him was dark and wet with it.

If she hadn’t been so weak, if the burning oil and rubber hadn’t overwhelmed her senses, she would have scented his blood right away.

“Bullet…hit the…femoral…artery,” he got out through gritted teeth.

Too high on his hip for a tourniquet, she saw with a fresh swell of panic, and too deep to stop the pulsing jets of red. All she could do was whip off her vest and wad the fur against his wound.

He grunted again when she applied pressure. His shoulders slumped lower.

“Hold on, Brett! Please, hold on! Your boss said help was on the way. They’ll be here any second.”

His eyelids fluttered down. Hot blood seeped through the fur and drenched her hands.

“Brett! Look at me!”

The effort it took for him to open his eyes again ripped her into small pieces. One glance at his dilated pupils told her she couldn’t save him. He was in shock and not even her powers could counter the loss of blood.

“Stay with…me,” he whispered. “Tonight. Tomorrow. For…ever.”

The last word was so faint Delilah wasn’t sure she’d heard it right. Did it mean what she thought it did? Did he really want to live in darkness? With her?

“Do you want me to turn you? Make you one of us?”

She got her answer when he groped for her hand and drew back his lips. The agonized ghost of a grin stabbed her through the heart.

“You’re…in my blood, Delilah. For…ever.”

“Brett, are you sure? Brett?”

He didn’t respond. Couldn’t. She heard his heart flapping like a wounded bird inside his chest. The beat was erratic. Wild. Slow. Wild again.

Then it stopped completely.

She curled back her lip. Fangs bared, she swooped down.

Just as quickly, she jerked back. She didn’t have enough strength to awaken him. If she drank from him now, the beast within her would take. Just take. Not give.

“Sebastian!”

He raised his head. Fresh blood dripped from his fangs. His eyes glowed with savage gratification.

“Sebastian, I need you!”

He arched a dark brow. A sardonic smile curved his lips. “Do you?”

“I haven’t fed in several days. I can’t turn him. You’ll have to do it.”

“Have to?”

He was playing with her. Batting her between his paws like a cat with a frantic mouse. All the while Brett’s blood seeped into the frozen earth.

“Just do it! Please! I’ll go back to the conclave with you. I’ll support you. I’ll tear out your rival’s throat, if you want me to. Just turn him.”

He sauntered over and stroked a hand over his pointed beard. “Why should I do as you request? What is this man to you? A friend? A lover?”

“More than a lover.”

Delilah knew she was handing him absolute power over her. Knew, too, he’d exploit it in every way he could. She’d deal with that later.

“He’s one I could share the darkness with, Sebastian. The only one I want to share the darkness with.”

The smile he gave her held equal parts of evil and triumph. “You’ll owe me for this, you know?”

“I know.”

“Very well. Move away from him.”

H eat seared Brett’s entire body.

He felt it engulfing him, pouring through him. Like molten lava, it burned everything in its path. His spine arched. His tendons corded into tight knots. Still the fire devoured him, searing his soul.

At its worst, he thought he heard someone calling to him.

Delilah!

He couldn’t see her but he could hear her. Blinded by the swirls of blazing red, he reached for her.

 

Slowly, so slowly, the heat cooled. Degree by infinitesimal degree, the flames retreated.

Hours passed, maybe days. Brett was wrapped in a dim coolness when his mind reengaged. Fighting through the haze, he searched for an explanation of the conflagration that had almost consumed him.

The truck. The explosion. He remembered bullets thudding into the white pickup. Hitting the gas tank. Not his bullets. He had better aim than that.

He’d shot out the rear tire. He was sure of it. The blowout had sent the vehicle skidding off the road. Brought Madison leaping out of the cab.

Madison.

A snarl ripped from Brett’s throat. His lids flew open. He jerked upright, his eyes wide and searching for the vicious murderer.

Instead he saw Delilah hovering over him, her face illuminated by the faint glow of a lamp and a smile trembling on her lips.

“It’s about time you woke up.”

“You…? You okay?” he rasped, still gripped by the memory of Madison’s murderous gunfire.

“I’m fine.”

“Sharon and the kids?”

“They are okay, too.”

He slumped in relief and glanced around to get his bearings. He was in a bedroom. An unfamiliar bedroom. Stretched out in a four-poster bed with a sheet as smooth and cool as silk draped across his hips.

“Where am I?”

“Houston.”

“How the hell…?”

He broke off, slammed with another burst of memories. He’d taken a hit. A bullet to the groin. He could remember the shock, the pain. Remember, too, Delilah pleading with him to hang on.

Shit! He’d bled out. Right there in the road. Brett knew it, but still had to ask.

“I died, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” she said softly.

Thinking it was one thing. Hearing it confirmed was another. His mind reeling, he wrestled with the idea of his death and apparent rebirth.

Delilah watched him, saying nothing. She’d been there herself, a hundred years ago. She knew exactly what emotions were tearing through him right now.

Finally Brett lifted a hand and rubbed his neck. If she’d bitten in and sucked out whatever life had been left, he couldn’t feel it.

“Did you…? What do you call it?”

“Awakening. We call it an awakening. Or turning. I wanted to, but I didn’t have the strength. Sebastian did it for me.”

“Sebastian, huh? I’ll have to meet this guy.”

“You will. Probably not tonight, though. He’s just consolidated his leadership of the western clans and is still at the enclave, laying out his new ground rules. This is his house, by the way. We brought you here to give your body time to turn.”

Her eyes searched his, desperate for reassurance.

“It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I was sure that’s what you were trying to tell me.” Relief added a giddy note to her voice. “I couldn’t turn you…correction, I wouldn’t turn you against your will. But I wanted to. You have no idea how much.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Brett closed his fingers over her hand. To his surprise, energy flowed down his arm, infusing him with badly needed strength.

“In those last seconds, when I sat there with my back to that tree, I knew I was dying. And all I could think of was you. Your mouth. Your eyes. Your loopy smile when you were still punchy from your visit to the dentist. I wanted all of that, Delilah. All of you. Forever.”

She sniffed, then gave a hiccuping laugh. “It’s a good thing I can’t cry. You’d have me bawling right now.”

“I’d rather have you naked.”

The energy flowing through him was incredible. He’d never felt so powerful. Or so hungry for a woman.

This woman.

“I don’t know what you call this craving I have for you,” he said, “but I’m here to tell you it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”

Laughter poured out of her, as bright and delighted as her luminous eyes. “It’s love, you idiot. At least I hope it is.”

“Vampire love?”

“Love, period.”

“Yeah, well, let’s try it out.”

He intended to tumble her down beside him. He couldn’t believe it when his tug spun her across the sheets and almost dumped her onto floor on the opposite side of the mattress. She caught herself just in time and came up grinning.

“Easy there, cowboy.”

“Jesus H. Chri…”

The sudden punch to his stomach muscles left him wide-eyed and gasping.

“That’s one of the things we don’t do,” Delilah informed him ruefully. “It’s an old taboo. One that goes back to the times Christians were fed to the beasts. Our kind got a bad rap over that.”

“Wh…” He slicked his tongue over his lips and waited for his gut to unkink. “What else don’t we do?”

“You’ll learn, in time.”

Brett drank in the sight of her, her hair falling over one shoulder, her smile bright enough to light the room.

“Please tell me having vampire sex isn’t on the list,” he begged.

“Definitely, certainly, assuredly not! As I’ll demonstrate when you think you’re strong enough for vampire sex.”

Brett had to grin. “If every male felt the way I do now, Viagra would go off the market tomorrow.”

With a joyous leap, Delilah bounded off the bed and tore at her clothing. She’d lived, breathed and oozed terror through her pores during Brett’s protracted awakening. He’d lost so much blood and Sebastian had toyed with her for so friggin’ long that she’d begun to believe the transformation wouldn’t work! But he was awake now, his skin as cold as hers and the desire in his eyes every bit as hot.

Still she tried to curb her hunger when she joined him in the bed Sebastian normally reserved for kings, queens and other heads of state. After giving him the power he craved, Delilah supposed she now qualified as royalty.

Brett didn’t buy her attempt at restraint, though. With a low growl, he rolled her over and positioned himself between her thighs. His hungry gaze roamed from her face to her breasts and back again.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

“I’d say we’re well-matched.”

She planed her hands over his powerful shoulders, his chest, his lean hips. Her palms slid to his buttocks. She felt the taut muscle flex, felt his sex probe her sensitive flesh. She opened for him, joyfully, and shuddered in ecstasy when he thrust into her.

“Very well matched,” she gasped.

 

Reality came with the sound of a door thudding shut downstairs.

While they were here, shut away from the frenzy of the conclave, Delilah had been able to keep thoughts of what would come next at bay. But Sebastian would have informed the clan about the latest awakening and his plans to induct the new recruit into their midst.

With the sound of his footsteps heavy on the stairs, Delilah knew it was time to warn the inductee.

“There’s a ceremony, Brett. A ritual pledging of allegiance.” Easing out of his arms, she pushed upright and tucked the sheet around her breasts. “It can be brutal.”

“Now she tells me.”

His lazy reply suggested he wasn’t worried. She swallowed, remembering her own induction and tried to prepare him.

“Sebastian was a Spanish conquistador. He marched through the Yucatán with Cortés and helped destroy the Aztec empire. He…he knows a number of ways to inflict pain.”

“That right?”

“That’s right.”

“Yeah, well…” His grin came out, cocky and confident. “I’m guessing your boy Sebastian never came up against an Oklahoma State Trooper.”

The footsteps grew louder. Delilah’s stomach twisted into knots. She wasn’t afraid for herself. She was prepared to take whatever her clan leader threw at her. But Brett…

He refused to share her worry. Throwing off the sheet, he rolled to his feet and held out a hand.

“We’re in this together, Delilah. No one, not even a throwback to heavy-handed Spanish conquerors, can change that now.”

She put her hand in his. Their palms joined, cool to the touch, yet fired by the unshakable bond blazing between them.

“You’re right,” she got out on a shaky laugh. “Sebastian’s never come up against an Oklahoma State Trooper. Neither have I, for that matter. Until you.”

“So stop worrying and kiss me. Then we’ll take on this ferocious clan leader of ours.”

“Together,” she echoed, falling into his arms.

“Forever,” he promised, covering her mouth with his.