THE BLOODLINE WAR

BY

Tracy Tappan

Copyright © 2015, 2023 Tracy Tappan

Kindle Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Cover by Steven Novak

Edited by Faith Freewoman and Jessica Slade

The lyrics of the song “White Rabbit” by Jefferson Airplane are reprinted by gracious permission of Hal Leonard Corporation.

White Rabbit

Words and Music by Grace Slick

Copyright © 1966 IRVING MUSIC, INC.

Copyright renewed

All Rights Reserved Used by Permission

Reprinted by Permission of Hal Leonard Corporation

Book One in The Community Series

THE BLOODLINE WAR

Winner of the Independent Book Awards Bronze Medal, THE BLOODLINE WAR is the first sensational novel in the “wildly successful” (Readers’ Favorite) Community Series…

With over a thousand 4- and 5-star reviews on Goodreads!

“Jacken can hold his own against the best of the Black Dagger Brotherhood!”

~ Brenda, Goodreads reviewer

The night just keeps getting more bizarre…

The murder is oddly bloodless. Called in to consult on the crime scene, Dr. Toni Parthen has no time to puzzle out that peculiarity. A black-clad man who seems more brutal creature than human being stalks out of the night and kidnaps her.

Imprisoned in a mysterious underground town, Toni is thrust into a realm beyond her understanding. These strange townspeople want her to do the unthinkable—breed with one of the men. No, thank you.

She incites a mutiny among the other abductees. But it’s no easy task to outwit the tight-lipped head of security, especially since Big, Dark, and Murderous is as emotionally scarred as she is…and she’s falling for the pain in the butt.

The leader of an elite squad of vampire warriors, Jacken Brun has an unholy side that boils just below the surface. He’s barely able to keep his sacred vow and push away the smart, sexy doctor he’s so inexplicably drawn to. Something about her is eerily different…

When it turns out her bloodlines hold the key to unimaginable power, two factions of malicious demons go to war over her, and Jacken will have to dig deep into his heart to find more than his skills as a warrior to save her…

Also by Tracy Tappan

The Choose A Hero Romance™ reading experience

JUSTICE

Keith Knight’s Story

Brayden Street’s Story

Pete Robbins’s Story

Wings of Gold Series

Military Romantic Suspense

BEYOND THE CALL OF DUTY

ALLIED OPERATIONS

MAN DOWN

The Community Series

Paranormal Romance

PREY (free novella)

THE BLOODLINE WAR

THE PUREST OF THE BREED

BLOOD-BONDED BY FORCE

MOON-RIDERS

HALF-MOON RISING

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank two of the best editors on the planet, Jessa Slade from Red Circle Ink and Faith Freewoman from Demon for Details, for their invaluable help on the manuscript. I couldn’t have asked for two more grammar smart, plot savvy, and honest women. An additional hug goes to Faith for the useful advice she offered on any topic I threw at her (of which there were many), and for our lively Sunday cyber chats.

To Bruce McAllister, writing coach, father figure, and friend, your advice has always been spot-on and genius; I thank the cosmos for whatever serendipity allowed me to run into you that day on the cliffs of Cinque Terre, Italy.

To Juliette Sobanet, gal pal and author friend, I have no doubt that I’d still be far from the starting line in publishing if not for your generous guidance. It is no exaggeration to say that you changed my life, and for that, I’ll be forever grateful.

And to David and Kelly, who’ve allowed me to embrace the joy of writing simply by being the two greatest kids ever.

Dedication

To my husband, Jeff, the love of my life

and real-life romantic hero.

Not a day has gone by that you haven’t

given me my dreams

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

About the Book

Also by Tracy Tappan

Acknowledgments

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-One

Chapter Sixty-Two

Chapter Sixty-Three

Chapter Sixty-Four

Chapter Sixty-Five

Chapter Sixty-Six

Please Review

About Lună Zână

About The Purest of the Breed

Sneak Peek of The Purest of the Breed

About the Author

Chapter One

January

Rancho Bernardo, San Diego

7:23 p.m.

The house loomed out of the darkness like a hulking beast, its windows black eyes, the front door left gaping wide in a permanent scream. Yellow Crime-Scene-Do-Not-Cross tape was strung around the perimeter, announcing to the world that bad stuff had happened here, just in case anybody had missed the stink of burnt flesh.

An eerie silence hung over everything. Only the occasional crackling dispatcher call from one of the police cruisers parked out front broke the stillness.

Stopping at the end of the front walkway, Dr. Toni Parthen stared at the house, a shiver crawling up her spine. Maybe no one would notice if she turned around and left. Creepy was really not her thing.

The uniformed officer posted at the front door gave her a funny look, so she sighed and dutifully trudged forward. Cutting through the red and blue police lights flashing rhythmically across the brick walkway, she paused in front of—she checked his nametag—Officer Powell and lifted the ID badge hanging around her neck. “I’m your blood expert out of Scripps Memorial. Dr. Toni Parthen.”

She was a real doctor of hematology, not a mere intern, but still a lowly Fellow. Which meant that when the San Diego Police Department needed a blood specialist to analyze a gory scene, she was the one who got yanked away in the middle of watching How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days.

The officer glanced at her badge, then down at the medical bag she was carrying, and then inevitably—she nearly sighed again—his eyes landed on her chest. Her breasts were bundled up in a winter coat against the cold January weather, but they were of a size and shape that defied concealment.

She cleared her throat, quashing the urge to quip, Eyes up here, pal.

To his credit, the officer blushed a little. “Uh…yeah, go on in. They’re waiting for you upstairs.”

She entered the house. She made her way through a dimly lit foyer and a deserted, well-kept living room. The stink of burnt flesh was stronger in here, like a cannibal barbecue gone terribly wrong, and her esophagus tightened. Forensics sucked—she should talk to someone about avoiding this rotation in her studies.

She started up the flight of stairs—and came to an abrupt halt. “Crap, not you.”

The night just got worse.

Detective John Waterson was waiting for her at the top of the stair, a badge on his belt and a gun in a shoulder holster.

Waterson’s lips twitched. “I’m going to stand here and pretend I’m not insulted by that.”

Toni rolled her eyes. “Your cases stink, Detective.”

Waterson and his partner, Pablo Ramirez, were on the Occult Crimes Unit, and their crime scenes always ran high on creepiness. Too high.

Waterson smiled fully now, the curve of his mouth masculine and sexy, his amazing blue-green eyes warming with amusement.

Trumpets went off in her head. And here was the real reason she didn’t like working with this man—John Waterson was hot.

Dressed in cowboy boots, blue jeans, and a dark brown long-sleeved shirt folded up at the cuffs to reveal strong forearms, he had the tall, athletically lean build of a swimmer. He had…yes, a very nice mouth, despite the fact that an unlit cigarette was dangling from his lips.

He was probably in his early 30’s, both handsome and intelligent, like so many men…so she couldn’t figure out why she was drawn to him in a way she’d never been drawn to any other man. Because, in point of fact, John was a man, and she’d given up on interacting with their gender—other than professionally—a long time ago.

Waterson pointed over his shoulder. “You know, the crime scene is in there, right?”

She gave him a peeved look, but tramped up the stairs anyway—she was here on business.

A low rumble of voices was coming from somewhere, a softly crying voice.

“Okay,” she said. “What am I in for?”

Waterson’s eyes danced. “Feeling a bit squeamish again, are we?”

Heat rose into her cheeks. She wasn’t squeamish about most things—she was a doctor, for Pete’s sake—but when she was a kid, her older brother used to drag her to slasher movies.

That had left a mark.

Blood in a clinical lab? Fine.

Blood at a crime scene? Yuck.

“Last case we worked on, Detective, some cult freaks had stripped all of the skin from the corpse’s body.” She tightened her hand around her medical bag.

Waterson must’ve sensed she was ready to bolt, because he lifted a palm. “It’s nothing like that this time, I swear.” He fished a pack of matches out of his breast pocket. “A couple of punks climbed in through the bedroom window of the fifteen-year-old girl who lives here and tried to grab her.” Waterson opened the pack and tugged out a match. “Her father heard her screams, rampaged in with a shotgun, and filled one of the perps with a load of buckshot.”

“Lovely.”

Waterson struck the match and held the flame to the tip of his cigarette. “Don’t worry. The scene is surprisingly unbloody. That’s why you’re here.”

She plucked the cigarette out of his mouth and mashed it into the potted plant next to her. “You do know that you’re the only person left in California who smokes?” She brushed past him and entered a room that was a girl’s—one who hadn’t gone the way of the Goth: lacy lampshades, white eyelet bedspread, posters of Taylor Swift, Taylor Lautner, and, ah, second place to Matthew McConaughey, Brad Pitt.

Against the backdrop of all this innocence, the black-clad body sprawled out under the window was a grotesque stain.

Two other men were in the room—Waterson’s partner, Pablo Ramirez, a Padres baseball cap perched backwards on his head, and a skinny kid. Okay, an adult, but one who looked fresh out of science camp for a day of dress-up in his daddy’s navy blue suit.

Waterson introduced him. “This is Silas Thornton, CSI.”

She nodded to the CI, then moved over to the corpse, stopping at its feet to—

What the hell?

The guy had been filled with a load of buckshot all right—and then some. His chest was covered with half a dozen bullet-sized craters, a few more peppering his thighs, but…there wasn’t a single drop of blood on him.

Or anywhere, for that matter.

Odder still, the front of the guy’s black shirt was completely eaten away, and the fabric of his pants was nearly in the same condition. Holes also dotted the carpet beneath him, as if something acidic had dripped off the body and onto it.

This wasn’t just an unbloody scene. It was impossibly bloodless.

She frowned at Waterson. “The body was drained?” For what sick purpose, she didn’t want to know. Cult freaks were such psychos.

“Evidence suggests it wasn’t.”

She waited, then arched her brows at him in a what now? expression.

Waterson gestured at the corpse. “You want to take a look?”

“At what? You are aware that I deal in actual, physical blood, right? The kind of stuff that can be viewed under a microscope and put in a centrifuge?”

Waterson looked like he might want to smile again. “Just give it your best guess, Doc.”

Plunking her medical bag on the floor, she crouched down.

The dead guy was young, maybe nineteen or twenty, his features smooth and adolescent despite a stern chin and cruel-looking lips. He had a tattoo on his face, black flames crawling up his left jaw like rotten ivy.

Biting back an ugh, she opened her medical bag and snapped on a pair of latex gloves, then dug out a scalpel. She grabbed the body’s wrist.

“Watch out,” Waterson warned.

She glanced up.

Waterson nodded at the corpse’s hand. “The ring on the perp’s finger will give you one helluva shock if you touch it.”

She stared at the detective. Who in the world booby-trapped a ring? She turned the corpse’s wrist over to get a better view of it.

A strange red crystal sparkled in the center, shimmering and rippling like it was filled with some sort of boiling liquid—or as if it lived and breathed.

More creepy.

Steering clear of the ring, she cut into the corpse’s wrist. The vein was empty. There wasn’t even a trace of blood.

She sat back on her heels. “This body was drained.”

“Thornton,” Waterson said, nodding at the CI, “didn’t find any puncture marks that would’ve allowed for drainage.”

“What else would leave a vein totally stripped? Some chemical? You won’t know that until you get the body on a table and have an ME do a thorough autopsy plus a full chem panel.”

“That’s exactly what I said.”

She looked at Silas. “Did you?” She shifted back over to Waterson.

Waterson met her gaze without expression.

A flush of heat rolled up the back of her neck.

Again with his shit?

This was just like the time Detective Waterson had called her to the scene of an out of control beach bonfire. One of the teen partiers had ended up getting burned beyond recognition…so burned that there was no blood left in the body. When she arrived, Waterson had said oops and asked her out for a drink.

Ripping her gloves off, she threw them and her scalpel into her medical bag and snapped it closed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have been more help.” She got stiffly to her feet. “Good luck with the case.” She spun on her heel and headed through the door, her strides clipped.

Halfway down the stairs, Waterson caught up with her. “Toni, wait—” He took her by the elbow.

She twisted out of his hold, her pulse kicking up a notch. “Don’t touch me, John.”

Waterson stepped back, both hands raised, palms out.

Chapter Two

“Tonight’s call was bogus,” Toni accused him, her voice sharp with rising anger. “This case couldn’t be analyzed onsite and you knew that.”

“All right, you got me.” He dropped his hands. “I called you here somewhat unnecessarily. But how else am I going to get to see you? You won’t go out with me.”

“So stop asking!” she flared.

Exhaling a long breath, John glanced away. He took a moment, then shook his head and looked at her again. “I can’t,” he said softly.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, drawing a breath to calm herself. “Look, John, I… Please try to understand that this has nothing to do with you. I’ve just had a long string of bad dates, lately.”

A really long string, starting all the way back in high school with Brad Flannigan, the mega-popular jock star who’d asked her to Homecoming Dance when the head cheerleader got sick. That night, Toni gave him the gift of her virginity…only to have Brad broadcast that fact all over school by first period bell come Monday.

Since then it’d been one after another of men who would start out dating her for her bra size and then get scared off by her IQ size. Or who’d date her for her face, expecting her to be as “perfect” on the inside as they thought she was on the outside, then discover that she most definitely was not.

She was so damned sick of disappointing everyone.

The miserable dating run thankfully came to an end last year when Robert what’s-his-name, an anesthesiologist at her hospital, loudly announced in front of a movie theatre full of people that she had about as much feeling as a “Dr. House with tits.”

And after all the faking in bed she’d done for him, too.

Waterson’s voice lowered. “I’m not like the rest of the men you’ve dated, okay? I can guarantee it. I work on the Occult Crimes Unit, and I wouldn’t do that if I liked normal. So, you know, you can be weird, and it’s fine.”

A spasm of laughter unhinged inside her chest. What a relief.

John definitely seemed like an all-around nice guy. But if she did something stupid like go out on a date with him, she might do something even stupider like crack open the door to her heart, and then she’d end up facing down the vast and consuming loneliness which always got worse whenever she was—paradoxically enough—with a man.

Thank God the meat wagon boys arrived just then.

She and John stepped apart to allow the two men hauling a stretcher to pass.

“I appreciate the offer,” she said. “But I’m afraid the answer’s still no.”

She hurried the rest of the way down the stairs and out of the house, crossing the street at a near run. She fumbled in her purse for her keys, making a noise in her throat, then unlocked her car door with a sharp twist of her wrist. Jerking hard on the handle, she threw her purse and medical bag onto the—

“One date,” a voice said behind her.

She froze.

“That’s all I’m asking for,” he told her quietly. “Then I’ll leave you alone forever, I swear.”

She held her breath.

“Is that so unreasonable?”

She closed her eyes, the logical part of her mind saying, No, it’s not unreasonable. What was one night out of her life in the larger scheme of things?

Except that it was painful as hell to keep discovering, over and over, that she had some uncanny knack for repelling men.

John moved closer. A masculine hand appeared on top of her car door, another one bracing itself on the roof. The heat of a male body stole up close behind her.

She inhaled a slow breath, recognizing the smell of him—the metallic hint of handcuffs and handgun, tobacco, of course, and a trace of Drakkar Noir cologne. Electricity snaked through her limbs, a surprising jolt of yearning landing in her belly.

“I’m thinking The Fish Market would be a great place to have dinner.” His breath caressed the back of her neck, sending a shudder down her spine. “Toni, c’mon.” His hand dropped to the curve of her waist, and he turned her to face him. “Please don’t make us keep dancing around this thing that’s been between us for months.”

He dipped his head, and her heart skipped a beat when a lock of hair fell across his brow. He hovered above her, waiting for her to do her usual and reject him, but… His tempting lips were so close to hers, his body so warm and so masculine that her nucleus accumbens—the pleasure center of her brain—took control.

She lifted her chin and offered her lips to him.

No more hesitating now. John settled his mouth on hers.

She exhaled a small sigh through her nose. His lips were soft and warm and moist, and he tasted surprisingly good, just the slightest suggestion of tobacco covered up by a flavor that was all man. The kiss was light, no more than gentle and reassuring…

Until she linked her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts against his chest.

A rough groan rushed out of him, and he instantly deepened the kiss, angling his head to the side and opening his mouth. His arms pulled her so close she could feel his heart thundering against her breasts. Her own heart surged into a faster beat. God, he felt wonderful. Everything a man should be, strong and solid—all the things that could make a woman want.

With a breathy moan of her own, she slipped her tongue inside his mouth and felt his shoulders stiffen. He met her tongue hungrily with the wet heat of his own, and while they dueled, her stomach did a funny gyration. She waited for that little something more. And then there it was—a slow-burn down low.

She stopped the kiss with a gasp, nudging him back a step before her nucleus accumbens could throw all caution to the wind, and to hell with the show she and John would give Officer Powell Bug-Eyes over by the front door.

John stood staring at her through the shadows, his eyes glittery and hot in the silver moonlight.

“Well, that was convincing,” she breathed out. Turning toward her purse on the driver’s seat of her car, she pulled out a business card. She couldn’t believe she was about to give this man her number. She’d just be setting herself up for heartbreak all over again. But dammit, she was also a woman who hadn’t had a man’s hands on her in over a year.

And that kiss had been a doozy.

“This is my work number but it connects to a message system that texts my personal cell phone.” She held out the card to him.

He moved to take it, looking slightly stunned, but she quickly angled the card out of his reach.

“Which Fish Market?” she asked. “Del Mar or Harbor Island?”

He blinked once, then his lips spread into a slow smile. “Harbor Island, of course, with that view of the Coronado Bay, the Beach Boys playing in the background—hopefully—and us cracking crab legs.” The glitter in his eyes deepened. “I happen to think you’d look dynamite in a large plastic bib.”

“Right.” She snorted. “If that’s the only thing I was wearing.”

“Ho!” John clutched his chest and stumbled backwards as if he’d been shot.

She laughed. Oops. Wrong imagery, there. She handed him the card.

He tucked it into his breast pocket next to his cigarettes, his eyes remaining steady on hers, his mouth still too dangerously inviting.

She hopped into her car and buckled up.

He closed the door for her.

She unrolled the window. “I just ask that you don’t smoke around me, okay?”

“Fair enough.” He leaned through the window and snatched a quick kiss. “Get home safe, Doc.”

She met his eyes with a warm smile. “I will, thanks.”

He slapped the roof of her car.

She drove away. In her rearview mirror, she saw him head over to a blue Chevy and jump in next to Pablo. She caught her own reflection. She was grinning like an idiot.

She dimmed her smile. “I am an idiot.” An all too familiar squirm of panic coiled through her belly.

Her cell beeped the arrival of a text message.

She tugged her iPhone out of her purse and glanced at the screen.

Does it make me desperate or excited that I’m already messaging you?  Just want to say I’m really looking forward to our dinner. J.

She smiled. That was—

A horn blared.

She jerked her eyes up. Oh, shit!

The headlights of another car were coming right at her.

With a gasp, she yanked her steering wheel to the right, her cell phone jettisoning from her hand. Her car shrieked into a sideways skid, tires smoking, and—

Wham! The two cars collided.

Her body lurched violently. The exploding airbag punched her back in the seat, her head snapping against the headrest. A searing pain tore through her temples.

Glass tinkled, steam hissed.

She opened her mouth to cry out…

But there was only blackness.

Chapter Three

The same night

Scripps Memorial Hospital

La Jolla, San Diego

3:52 a.m.

It started out like a normal enough mission. Then again…all missions do, don’t they?

Jacken Brun stood braced for action next to his other two operatives, all three of them riding up the Scripps Memorial Hospital elevator in focused silence. Their fourth operative, Cleeve, had already been dropped off at Admin. There, as per their usual MO, the young computer dweeb would hack into the hospital’s system and enter transfer orders for their target female, giving this abduction a nice, official stamp of approval.

On Jacken’s right was Vinz Mihnea, decked out in a Brooks Brothers suit and lab coat for the role of doctor he was playing. With his thick, black sideburns, he looked like an Elvis wannabe—minus the rhinestone-covered jumpsuit.

On Jacken’s left was Thomal Costache in the role of male nurse. Or an orderly. Or whatever. Didn’t matter, as long as he got close enough to their target to knock her out. His scrubs were a size too big to camouflage his muscles and tone down the image of him being the soldier that he really was… although any woman who saw him would probably still go nuts. With his flattop blond hair and a face that most females found fertility-inspiring, Thomal’s presence on this op pretty much guaranteed a whole lot of babbling, “Of course, sir. Anything you want, sir.”

Jacken had no way of knowing that in less than fifteen minutes one of these men would have a knife planted in him. And not just any knife.

A Bătaie Blade.

Yeah, that’s what the real goatfuck turned out to be—rivals for their target showing p at the hospital.

Not in a million years had Jacken thought he would have to throw down with competition, especially of the Bătaie-Blade-wielding kind. His men had never faced opposition before, not in their six previous, immaculately executed abductions.

For a short second, Jacken worried his team had gooned something up. It’d been two long years since the data-filtering spyware his people had embedded in various laboratory computers around San Diego spotted a woman’s blood with the coveted Peak 8 in it. Maybe they were out of practice.

But no.

They hadn’t screwed up. Just got caught flat-footed.

Vinz shifted. “Has anybody got a—”

Ding.

Fifth floor.

Game on.

Vinz shut his mouth and broke right, making his way to the doctor’s lounge. There, he’d wait for the go-ahead from Jacken once the transfer orders were in.

Thomal went left toward his destination: Room 506, temporary living quarters of their target.

One Dr. Antoinetta Parthen.

Jacken headed straight, hunting down the nearest waiting room. He passed two before he found one that was deserted—sunny Californians seemed to get all jumpy around the distinct Rambo vibe he gave off.

He bought a Styrofoam cup of coffee from the vending machine and thunked down on an uncomfortable couch, the old springs squealing in protest of his weight. Setting the laptop Cleeve had given him on the coffee table, he flipped it open and hit the boot-up key.

The thing whirred.

He sipped the shitty coffee and watched the screen blink to life. Only time anyone would ever find his butt in front of a computer was when he was running an op.

Both Vinz and Thomal could hear and speak to each other, via earpieces plus fountain pens in their breast pockets that were really mini cameras with microphones—Thomal also carried a syringe filled with 250 mgs of Ketamine. But Jacken was the only one with the big picture.

The laptop finally came fully awake, lighting up to show the video inputs from each operative’s fountain-pen camera. Two quadrants were on top—one for Vinz, one for Cleeve—and a half-screen was on the bottom for Thomal.

The image in Cleeve’s quadrant jiggled and shifted as the kid angled his fake fountain pen toward his face. He tossed Jacken a pleased-as-punch smile, his voice crackling into Jacken’s ear, “Transfer orders are in, cha-ching! Who d’ya love, huh?”

Jacken grunted. That had been damned fast. “I owe you a beer at Garwald’s Pub, runt,” he said, the mic on his laptop picking up his voice. “Now shut up and get out of there. Vinz—show time.”

“Aw, man, I just grabbed a jelly donut.” The image in Vinz’s quadrant changed to a long hallway. At the end was a nurse’s station.

Jacken continued to sip his coffee, marking Vinz’s progress. Thomal’s, too.

The lower screen showed that Thomal-the-male-nurse was just arriving at Antoinetta’s room.

Passing the door, Thomal strolled down the hall about ten more feet and stopped next to a gurney.

Jacken narrowed his eyes at Thomal’s half-screen. What the hell was the man doing?

“Good morning,” Vinz said to a busty nurse with the name Barbara Hollowitz printed on her photo ID tag. “I’m Dr. Bernard—here to transfer Antoinetta Parthen to Sharp Rehabilitation Hospital.”

“At four in the morning?” The nurse sounded both surprised and suspicious.

A smile entered Vinz’s voice. “I’m trying to avoid morning rush hour traffic.”

Nurse Hollowitz flapped her hand at a stack of files. “Well, I just arrived on shift, and the nurse on duty before me didn’t mention any of this in her patient brief.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. But if you’ll check your system—” Vinz’s hand reached out, indicating the nurse’s computer—“I’m sure you’ll see that everything is in order.”

Nurse Hollowitz humphed, clearly still not liking this—maybe Jacken should’ve assigned “dreamboat” Thomal to the role of doctor.

“Dr. Parthen will be asleep,” the nurse insisted, sharpish.

Vinz smoothly picked up a medical chart. “We actually prefer to transfer patients while they—”

“Um, no she’s not,” Thomal interrupted in a low tone. “The subject is awake.”

Jacken frowned. “At four in the morning?”

Vinz cleared his throat pointedly. “I see by the patient’s chart that Dr. Parthen is being awakened periodically according to proper procedure for a concussion. Excellent.”

“Ahhhh.” Thomal elongated the sound in understanding. “Well, that explains it.”

Jacken cursed. This was a complication he didn’t need. Normally, they jacked up a target with Ketamine to keep her asleep. No telling what could happen during a confrontation to put her lights out.

Thomal asked, “You want me to go in there and charm her?”

Jacken grunted. “It’s why I put up with your annoying personality, Costache.”

Thomal half-stifled a laugh. “Well, no prob on this one. I caught a whiff of the lovely Miss Parthen on the way past and, damn, she smells hot.”

A guy pushing a mop and bucket meandered by in the hallway.

Jacken glanced sharply at him. “Just get moving before I call in Arc to replace your ass.”

Arc Costache was Thomal’s older brother, taller and longer-haired but with the same blond “dreamboat” attractiveness. He was in the downstairs parking garage, hanging out with the other backup team members…probably chewing gum and playing hacky sack, not a worry in his head about this mission.

“Aw, man, where’s the love?” Thomal strode into Room 506, switching to a cheery, “Good morning, Dr. Parthen.” He moved over to Antoinetta’s bedside, giving Jacken his first glimpse of their target—the soft lines of an elegant profile, shimmering strawberry-blond hair spread out across the pillow.

The muscles in his stomach tightened. Even with her image pixelized by the computer screen—not to mention she probably wasn’t at her best in a hospital—she was still a knockout.

Then things got moving.

Jacken shifted his gaze back and forth between screens as he kept track of his two main players, the babble of multiple voices filling his earpiece.

“…we head down to Room 506 now?” Vinz asked Nurse Hollowitz.

“…change in doctor’s orders,” Thomal was saying to Antoinetta, still sounding chipper. “Time to get some solid sleep now.” Thomal’s hands reached for Antoinetta’s IV.

“Wait!” Antoinetta barked. “What are you doing?”

“If you’d sign here, Dr. Bernard.” Nurse Hollowitz thrust a clipboard at Vinz. “Then we can go to…”

“I have a concussion,” Antoinetta snapped at Thomal, as if he should know. “I’m not supposed to sleep deeply.”

“Not my call to make, ma’am.” Her image moved up and down, like Thomal just shrugged. “It’s your doctor’s decision, and he said—”

“I highly doubt Dr. Korhonen wants me to sleep deeply on the day I’m to be discharged.” Antoinetta’s eyes narrowed. “May I please see your badge?”

“Of course.” Thomal’s picture shifted closer, his hand appearing in the screen, holding out the ID badge Cleeve had created for this op. The fake wouldn’t hold up to close scrutiny—not to someone who worked at Scripps—so Thomal used his closer proximity to pounce. His hands suddenly plunged the syringe of Special K into Antoinetta’s IV tube.

“My God!” Antoinetta blasted. “What did you give me?” She moved to yank the IV needle out of her arm.

Thomal grabbed her wrist.

Her free hand flew past the screen—in the next second a face-slap cracked in Jacken’s earpiece.

Shit. “Vinz,” Jacken said. “You need to throttle back. The target isn’t asleep yet.” Not that Vinz wasn’t hearing all this.

Vinz’s voice suddenly mellowed into warm honey. “You know, Barbara, that’s a very beautiful necklace you’re wearing. Do you mind if I take a closer look at it?”

Jacken stayed focused on the half-screen.

“Let go of me!” Antoinetta reached for her needle again, and her image bobbled as Thomal struggled with her.

“Oh, ho, my fun meter is pegged now,” Thomal panted.

Jacken gritted his teeth. “Is this what you call charming the target?”

“…a lovely stone, Barbara. Is it an opal…?”

“Aha!” Thomal straightened, revealing a limp Antoinetta. “Target is sacked out, my brothers.”

Jacken plunked his coffee cup down. “You hear that, Vinz?”

Apparently, yes—Vinz’s video image started down the hall again. “Well, I should probably see to my patient.”

Both Vinz and the nurse entered Room 506.

“Like I said,” Vinz told the nurse, “morning traffic can be—oomph!”

The picture in Vinz’s quadrant fell to the floor and blanked to fuzzy snow.

A second later, the nurse screamed once, then went abruptly silent.

Jacken stiffened on the couch. What the—?! “Costache! What’s going on?”

No response, only the sounds of scuffling exploding through Jacken’s earpiece. The image in Thomal’s quadrant started to judder wildly.

Fuck. Jacken jumped over the laptop and coffee table in one leap and bolted from the waiting room, running down the hall with absolute silence in his heavy boots. Pressing his back flat against the wall just outside Room 506, his breathing tight, he quick-checked around the jamb.

He snarled a low curse. In that momentary glance, he’d seen Vinz’s body sprawled out on the floor in a stain of spreading blood, a knife sticking out of his upper chest, and the busty nurse flopped over the top of him with her ass in the air.

Jaw clenched, Jacken reached under the back of his T-shirt and eased a long knife from his waistband sheathe.

Chapter Four

Two strange men were in Antoinetta Parthen’s room—Jacken had seen them too. Both were large, and both wore the type of metal-accessorized aggressive black leather usually saved for BDSM parties. One had a shaved head with black flame tattoos curling up from his temples to the top of his skull. The other guy had spiked black hair and the same tattoo, his climbing the right side of his neck.

This asshole, Spike Boy, was clutching Thomal by the throat.

Alarm bells went off in Jacken’s head. Thomal was one of the fastest of his kind—no man ever got a firm grip on him unless he allowed it in training.

Whatever power these two strangers were wielding, it was outside the norm.

Stepping through the doorway, Jacken threw his knife with a wrist-snap, aiming for a point on Spike Boy as far away from a collision with Thomal as possible. The blade thwacked into the meaty part of Spike’s shoulder.

Screaming, Spike Boy stumbled backwards into a medical cart, clattering the metal drawers, sending scissors, gauze, and forceps tumbling.

Thomal, blue-faced, crashed to the floor, then Spike Boy dropped.

Jacken turned on the other one—Skull—just as that peckerhead let fly his own knife. Jacken hit the deck and rolled. The knife swooshed past his head and thunked into the floor. A moment later it exploded, geysering up ragged pieces of linoleum.

Holy shit. Only one type of knife exploded.

A Bătaie Blade.

Who the hell were these assholes?

Powering to his feet, Jacken plowed a hard right cross over Antoinetta’s bed into Skull’s face, landing the punch dead center. He felt the bones in Skull’s nose splinter beneath his fist, and Skull yowled.

Stumbling back, Skull hit the wall and bounced off, coming forward again. He grabbed Jacken by the shirtfront and hauled him off the floor with impossible strength, tossing all 230 pounds of him over Antoinetta’s bed and into the far wall.

Jacken’s shoulder rammed a hole into the drywall, plaster blasting apart. Shouting, he landed unsteadily on his feet and struck out through the dense white cloud surrounding him. He missed. Growling, his upper gums throbbing ruthlessly in reaction to the violence, he—

And then his problems multiplied.

Spike Boy was staggering to his feet, Jacken’s knife still sticking out of his shoulder, white liquid oozing from the wound.

White…?

Sneering, Spike Boy rounded on Jacken with an arm cocked back.

Jacken tried to light-foot out of range, but Spike Boy’s meaty fist still made punishing contact with his gut. Air whooshed out of him.

Christ, these guys were strong.

“Backup deploy!” Jacken yelled, hoping like hell Thomal’s fountain pen would pick up the order—his own mic was inconveniently attached to his laptop back in the waiting room.

“Bugger it!” Skull shouted, then aimed at Spike Boy, “Let’s get outta here! More blokes’ll be comin’ soon.” Skull whirled on Antoinetta and hauled her off the bed.

Snarling, Jacken rushed Skull, but Spike Boy’s next punch diverted him from grabbing Antoinetta back.

Ducking the blow, Jacken straightened with a brutal uppercut.

Spike Boy’s head snapped back, his eyeballs whirled, and the fucker made a second trip down to the linoleum in an unconscious heap.

Surging forward again, Jacken snatched Antoinetta out of Skull’s arms, pulling so forcefully he fell backwards onto the mattress with her.

Skull jumped on top of him, knocking Antoinetta off.

They began to grapple, Antoinetta’s body getting wedged against the bedrail, and two things pinged Jacken’s senses in rapid succession.

The first was a big holy-shitter. Skull’s eyes were as black as his own. Not just very dark brown, but as black as if the pupils had eaten the irises.

And only one breed of man possessed black eyes.

Second, Skull stank. Like corroded metal or transmission fluid or something that was definitely not blood, maybe even—

Skull got past Jacken’s defenses and punched him hard in the face, a ring on the dickhead’s finger tearing a line of flesh along Jacken’s cheek in a streak of pain. His head spun.

He was sick of this shit.

Grunting and cursing, his arms and legs tangling with Skull’s, Jacken—

“Well, heck, looks like I’m missing all the fun.”

Jacken and Skull stopped fighting at once and snapped their eyes to the door in unison.

Relief jackhammered Jacken’s heart.

Nyko.

His older brother was standing in the doorway and looking totally bad-assed huge with his tall, broad, muscular body filling the entire frame. Eyes as cold and dark as black glaciers peered out from a tumble of shaggy black hair. A savage array of black interlocking teeth tattoos ran the length of his arms and ringed his neck.

Nobody would guess that on the inside Nyko was pure marshmallow. Because on the outside he was one hundred percent psycho killer.

Thank crap for that. “’Bout damned time,” Jacken growled.

Eyebrows lifting, Nyko started into the room.

He’d made it only one step inside when out of nowhere Skull had a pair of medical scissors sticking out of his neck…

…And Thomal was standing next to the bed, smiling.

Jacken hadn’t even seen him move.

“Sorry, guys,” Thomal drawled nastily. “But I owed these bitches a spanking.”

A disgusting gurgling sound came out of Skull, then a white foamy substance like shaving cream oozed from his neck wound. Some of it blopped onto Jacken and began to eat through his shirt.

“Jesus!” Jacken heaved Skull off, dumping the asshole onto the floor, and tore his shirt off, hurling it aside. “What the hell?”

Nyko’s expression was troubled. He raked his focus over Thomal, who looked like warmed-over shit, both of his eyes red from blown capillaries and dark bruises already forming around his throat. Then he crouched down next to Vinz and gently rolled the nurse off.

Her removal exposed a unique sunflower burst of blood on the wall.

A startled curse flew from Thomal’s mouth.

Nyko’s lips thinned. He carefully extracted the blade from Vinz’s upper chest, one hand staunching the wound while the other held up the unique knife, showing them the hilt.

It was carved with intertwining black flames—not like the interwoven black teeth they were used to seeing on the knives their pain-in-the-ass Om Rău neighbors wielded, but still with the boiling red crystal that marked it for what it was.

“A Bătaie Blade,” Nyko said.

“I’ve see it,” Jacken returned grimly.

Thomal scowled. “What are these jagoffs doing with an Om Rău blade?”

“Maybe because they are Om Rău,” Jacken spat.

“How?” Thomal countered. “The only Om Rău in existence live next door to us.”

“Toss me that gauze, would you?’ Nyko gestured at a roll on the floor.

Jacken picked it up and chucked the roll to his brother. “These slimeballs have black eyes, Bătaie Blades, tribal tattoos, and are strong as fuck. What else do you think they are?”

“They also bleed acid.” Nyko started to bandage Vinz’s wound.

Yeah, Jacken couldn’t explain that. “So they’re a different faction of Om Rău.”

“One that just so happens to be after our women,” Nyko pointed out.

Thomal made a guttural noise in his chest, his protective hackles going up.

Women like Antoinetta carried a unique gene that was key to the survival of their race. These females were rare and precious, and Jacken and his men of the Warrior Class protected and guarded any they found with everything they had.

Nyko sat back on his heels. “We should go. Vinz needs to see Dr. Jess right away.”

Not to mention that they had sunrise rising up their asses. “You got a SITREP for me?” Jacken grabbed the bag of Antoinetta’s personal crap.

“All clear.” Nyko pushed to his feet, tossing Vinz over his shoulder as if the warrior weighed no more than a CPR dummy. “No more bad guys are en route. Couple of nurses heard the noise coming from this room, but Arc is pulling a flirt ’n divert.”

“Affirmative.” Jacken reached for Antoinetta. “Let’s—” He jerked back. Whoa.

Thomal stepped up beside him. “Told you she smells really good.”

Really good? That was a massively enormous understatement. He hadn’t been able to tell before, what with so much of Vinz’s blood masking her scent, but when he’d drawn close to her just now…Jesus.

Thomal glanced at Jacken’s bare chest. “You sure you want to be the one carrying her?”

Jacken stepped further back from the bed. “You take her.” The feel of this woman’s fragrant body pressed close to his, with only her thin hospital gown as a barrier between them, would probably make it right to the top of the Bad Idea Column.

“Roger that.”

But as soon as Thomal scooped up Antoinetta and settled her snugly against his chest, the oddest thing happened—Jacken had the sudden, savage, and totally irrational urge to tear out Thomal’s perfect blond entrails.

Chapter Five

The same morning

Rancho Santa Fe, San Diego

6:31 a.m.

“Murk and Ren bodged the mission.”

Raymond stopped writing in his ledger and snapped his eyes up, squinting through the glare of his desk lamp at his daughter. She was standing just inside his study, a clipboard propped on her hip, her blond hair hiked into an arching ponytail.

She was dressed like a blooming tart, as was her habit, wearing four-inch pointies on her feet and a miniskirt not much wider than a sash. Her blouse showed as much cleavage as it did midriff—on her belly the family’s heraldic black flame tattoo was visible snaking from a jeweled navel piercing down to the waistband of her skirt, at which point it disappeared into parts unknown. Well, not entirely unknown from what he understood of Pandra’s escapades when she went out pubbing with the girls.

“Did you say bodge?” he asked, even though he’d heard her perfectly well.

Pandra didn’t respond, undoubtedly figuring that he’d heard her perfectly well.

Smart girl.

Far more intelligent that the rest of his brood, who seemed to think that their immortality rings gave them carte blanche to rampage around like drunken bulls.

He lounged back in his chair. “What, pray tell, occurred?”

“I don’t know all the crack,” Pandra answered. “But the gist is that our lads got into a punch-up with some other blokes, who ended up nicking Toni from—”

“What?!” Raymond slammed to his feet, knocking the metal arm of his desk lamp into a crazy swing. “Other men have taken Toni?” A wave of power burst off his body and thumped into Pandra.

She staggered backwards a couple of paces, her black eyes flaring wide.

The most important part of his plan was the attainment of Toni Parthen, and after that, her brother, Alex.

Murk and Ren knew that.

“Those blithering fools,” Raymond gritted, then he forced himself to take in a breath and compose himself. Locking his power into a low simmer, he inquired coolly, “Where are Murk and Ren now?” Those two needed to give him a full report on this catastrophe, posthaste. “In jail, I presume?” He felt a muscle in his jaw flicker.

“No.” Pandra edged forward to her former position. “They escaped before the police arrived.”

He sniffed. Small solace at best. “And Toni? Did they see where she was taken?”

Pandra shifted her weight—her feet must be near wrecked in those ridiculous shoes. “Murk said he and Ren were able to get outside the building in enough time to follow the getaway van, but…after chasing it for a good half hour, they eventually lost it.”

“Brilliant.” Raymond strode to his cherrywood sideboard and poured himself a cup of Earl Grey from the tea service his butler, Jorgé, had left out this morning.

He stared down at the steaming drink.

The devil take those lads. Raymond had been preparing for this next step for twenty-six years, by George. He and his partner, Boian—the last two pure Fey males on earth—had kept their Om Rău female churning out children during that entire quarter of a century. Sometimes Yavell gave birth once a year, but usually they kept it to one baby every two years to prevent her womb from completely clapping out.

They now had eighteen children between them, and more planned for the future. But this year was the year Raymond had planned to set his scheme in motion. Murk and Ren, born eleven months apart, had come of age at twenty-six—Murk was Raymond’s son, Ren, Boian’s. The lads could now procreate.

If women of the right bloodlines could be acquired to give Raymond grandchildren.

It was actually the progeny of the eighteen who were essential to his plans, as these offspring would possess enchantment skills. With that kind of power at his disposable, Raymond would be able to take back land, money, governmental positions, influence—everything the Fey folk had lost when Regulars came along and managed to snuff out most of them.

Yes, with his own small army of magical relations, he would finally regain supremacy.

More easily said than done, what with the way the lads kept botching their assigned abductions. First, Teer and Dace had failed to obtain that fifteen-year-old girl in Rancho Bernardo, and now Murk and Ren made a dog’s dinner out of nabbing Toni.

How difficult was it to nick a woman who was laid out in hospital, for crying out loud?

“I’m surrounded by incompetence,” Raymond murmured. He would be a toothless codger by the time he saw his first grandchild born. He looked up. “So if Murk and Ren aren’t in jail, where are they?”

Pandra spun the immortality ring on her finger with her thumb, the undulating red stone reflecting light like blood flecked with diamonds.

Raymond downed half his tea. “Off on a bender because they were too frightened to face me? Why am I not surprised?”

“There’s more,” Pandra said.

The porcelain teacup bit into Raymond’s palm.

Pandra cleared her throat. “I checked with Mr. Perkins and Mr. Rathburn before coming to speak with you.”

Those were the two private detectives Raymond paid to keep Toni under constant surveillance—in fact, it was Rathburn who’d informed Raymond of the poor girl’s unfortunate car accident. After receiving that news, Raymond decided straight away it was the perfect opportunity to take Toni without much fuss.

How laughable that turned out to be.

Pandra glanced down at her clipboard. “Perkins told me there were seven men total at the hospital, although only four got into a row with Murk and Ren. One of theirs was carried out unconscious, clearly injured. But two of the men”—she glanced up—“and here’s the important part…two had black eyes and tribal tattoos.” She lowered her clipboard. “The tats sounded like the same design as Mum’s.”

Raymond snorted. Rubbish. “Black eyes and tribal tattoos would make the two men Om Rău. And Yavell is the last of that breed.”

The rest of the Om Rău race, it was rumored, had killed each other off years ago. Hardly surprising, that. They were such ghastly creatures.

Pandra shrugged. “I can’t know for sure. Only Mum would.”

“True. She might, mightn’t she?” Raymond tightened his lips, his stomach souring at the thought of a chat with Yavell. He preferred only to have contact with that woman when it was his turn to impregnate her—and that was about as much of a lark as doing the business with a leaf shredder.

And probably gave him about as many injuries.

Nothing else for it. He had to find out who’d nabbed Toni. He finished his tea and set down the cup. “When the lads get home,” he told his daughter as he headed for the door, “send them to me without delay.”

Pandra blank-faced the request.

She must know that the poor chaps were in for one of Raymond’s more inventive castigations.

Chapter Six

The same day

The underground community of Ţărână

6:35 p.m.

Kimberly Stănescu jammed her thumb down on the remote control button, flipping channels quickly and aggressively, her jaw set. She wasn’t watching anything, just waiting for her husband to finally get his butt home.

Through her living room window, she saw that the sunlight—or rather, the huge stadium lights mounted on the cave ceiling that passed for sunlight in this underground community—had already faded to dusk.

It had to be sunrise up top by now. What was taking so—

At last!

Her husband’s Timberland hiking boots were making their way up the walkway outside. The front door swung open and Sedge came into the house, tossing his duffel bag negligently into a corner of the living room.

“Hey,” he said.

She didn’t futz around with subtlety—she slammed the remote down on the coffee table and jerked to her feet. “You did it again!”

Sedge moved swiftly through the living room archway into the kitchen. “Please don’t start, Kimberly. Today’s mission sucked.” Opening the refrigerator, he pulled out a Heineken. “Vinz got stabbed, you know.”

“Yes, I do know.” She braced her hands on her hips and faced off with Sedge across the kitchen island.

It had actually been a moment of sheer terror when she opened her front door to find Roth Mihnea, the leader of the community, standing on her doorstep with a grim expression. She’d thought he’d come to tell her that Sedge was dead.

“If you’re waiting for me to feel sorry for Vinz, then you’re going to stand there till you petrify.” Which wasn’t entirely true, but she was making a point here. “Because here’s the thing, Sedge—Vinz wouldn’t have been injured if you warriors weren’t out there kidnapping another woman!”

Sedge twisted the Heineken cap, and it sissed open.

“Dammit, I can’t believe you took another one! Have you heard nothing I’ve had to say about this?”

“I’ve heard,” Sedge said. “It’s impossible not to.”

“Oh. Then I suppose it was just ridiculously naïve of me to think any of you would actually listen to me…or learn your lesson from forcing Gwyn down here and then losing her.” Gwyn Billaud was the woman kidnapped right after Kimberly.

Sedge’s face flushed a bright red. “Would you stop? This is the same argument we’ve had for two years, and it gets us nowhere. There isn’t anywhere to go. I’m in an impossible situation, Kimberly. I have a job that requires me to follow orders, so I follow them. But that means I end up doing something you hate. That I hate.” He tipped the beer to his mouth and chugged half of it down.

“If you hate it, then stand up to Roth.”

Sedge plunked his beer bottle on the kitchen island. “You know I can’t do that.”

She fisted her hands. You could if you weren’t such a robot, so damned indoctrinated into the community’s culture of sole leadership. Heaven forefend anyone should question King-flippin’-Roth and his barbaric repopulation program.

“I just…” Sedge exhaled. “I don’t understand why you always get so hot-headed about this.”

“You’re kidding?”

He flushed again. “I know that kidnapping women is wrong, yes. But you know that Ţărână is where you Dragons belong. All the women we take end up happy with the men they hook up with.” He paused. “Including you.”

Self-disgust fisted in her gut. That was the worst part—she’d colluded with her own entrapment by falling in love with this big galoot.

Sedge wasn’t even her type. She didn’t like large men—not since her ex-boyfriend, Tim—and Sedge was huge, nearly six-feet-four and as wide as the side of two barns. His long mane of blond hair, spread out thickly across his shoulders, only served to enhance the sheer breadth of him.

But also, behind all that muscle, he was sweet and doting, and he had a pair of puppy-dog brown eyes that spoke of a good soul.

Those qualities in themselves had been difficult to resist, but men of his breed also fiercely protected their women, and the allure of the safety and security Sedge could provide just proved to be the final nail in her coffin.

How she hated herself for that weakness.

Because even if she could get Roth to stop kidnapping women, she wasn’t going anywhere…not unless she was okay with killing her husband.

She braced her hands on the kitchen island and leaned toward him. “Do you know what I did before you people stole my life? I worked for the Peace Corps for two years before I went to law school. After I graduated, I was in-house counsel for an environmental group, saving trees and ocean and air, and right before you kidnapped me, I’d just won a case where I helped to uphold the First Amendment rights of the United States Constitution. I used to save the world, Sedge.”

A raw thread of pain entered his voice. “I know you’re miserable not being able to do your lawyer job. I wish I could send you topside daily to work—you have no idea how much—but security issues make that impossible. Too many comings and goings risk exposure, and Roth is super paranoid about—”

“You don’t need to go on,” she cut in. “This is another argument we’ve had for two years that gets us nowhere.”

Sedge exhaled. “There’s got to be something meaningful you can do down here,” he insisted. “Maybe you could write an article for one of those lawyer magazines.”

Oh, goody. That wouldn’t help anyone. “Nice suggestion, but—” She straightened. I used to save the world… “You know what? You’re right. It’s far past time I make myself feel useful again. I may not be able to save the whole world, but I sure as hell can save my small corner of it.”

Acquisition Number Seven, welcome to my crusade!

Sedge pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this,” he muttered.

Kimberly spun around and aimed for the stairs. She damn well was going to help the new woman escape. She didn’t know how, since she’d never managed to get past security herself, but she’d heard the new acquisition was a doctor—a woman with a brain. If the two of them put their heads together, they could probably come up with a workable scheme.

Kimberly hurried up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time.

Sedge raced after her. “Kimberly! Whatever you’re planning on doing, please, don’t. You’ve got to stop stirring the pot.”

“Somebody’s got to.”

“But…you’re going about it all crazy.”

She didn’t say anything.

“I mean, Jesus, you tried to get equal rights for the Stânga Town kids.”

“You bet I did.” She halted at the top of the stairs and swung around. “The community’s system of hierarchy is prejudicial and dated.”

Sedge stopped one stair below her, putting him at eye level with her. “You complained that there wasn’t a health inspector for the two places in town there are to eat out.”

“Three,” she shot back. Besides Garwald’s Pub and the diner, snacks and drinks were available at the movie theatre. She crossed her arms. “And Roth hired one, didn’t he?”

“For the love of God, you lobbied for a longer lunch recess for the school kids.”

“So?”

“They’re preschoolers.” He threw his arms out. “The stuff you do doesn’t make any sense. It’s completely off the wall.”

She strode stiffly into their bedroom doorway. “I’m sorry that you think the actions of one woman trying to help others are off the wall. But I suppose you’d better get set.” She set her hand on the doorknob. “Because you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

She slammed the door.

Chapter Seven

The same day

7:00 p.m.

Toni peeled open one eyelid, swept the room with a glance, then closed her eye again.

Great.

She was hallucinating.

Not overly surprising. She’d known something bad might happen the moment that strange male nurse had come into her hospital room. Strange, not as in strange-looking. No, actually he’d been gorgeous. Stylish flattop blond hair, cheekbones that could cut steel, and a double scoop of sculpted butt that even hospital scrubs couldn’t disguise.

But strange in that he hadn’t known what the hell he was doing.

Change in doctor’s orders, he’d said. Time to get some solid sleep now.

Ludicrous.

Toni knew her doctor, and Steven Korhonen wouldn’t have altered her treatment plan without first telling her.

She’d just been tee’ing up for a good harangue at Incompetent Nurse…Nurse Goodbody or…Ratched or whoever he was, when the idiot sedated her. And now whatever medication he’d given her had screwed up her poor concussed brain. Because when she checked out her surroundings just now, she found herself not in her Scripps hospital room but in some extravagant bedroom decorated in Louis XVI furniture.

And that upped the weird factor even more, because if she was ever going to hallucinate she imagined it’d be in Country French.

Not that she knew what it was like to trip out—she’d never taken illicit drugs. She wasn’t a straighty or anything. She’d just never had the time for free-lovin’ experimentation. The bio undergrad program at UCSD had been brutal and med school at UCLA even more grueling, so she had to be very focused and determined to get where she wanted to go.

It’d worked—she graduated at the top of her class from both universities.

Her mother responded to these achievements by dubbing her a blond-haired, blue-eyed, D-cup’ped, over-achiever. Basically, straight-laced in mother parlance…although Toni didn’t do more than secretly roll her eyes over it. Comments from her mother came few and far between these days. Toni didn’t want to risk putting any more distance between them than already existed.

Odd thing about the situation—Shannon Parthen had been a fantastic parent when Toni and her older brother, Alex, were growing up. Toni’s Mom and Dad got divorced when Toni was six, and after that—no doubt because of that—Shannon threw herself passionately into the job of motherhood.

But as soon as Toni went away to college, it was like, bam! No need for further involvement. Her daughter was launched into the world now.

A grown woman.

Raised.

From there on it seemed like distance followed Toni wherever she went. Women, men, dogs, cats—it didn’t matter what the living creature was, she never got close to any of them.

Only her brother.

So it was poor Alex who got an earful of her woes whenever she had them. In fact, she’d been looking forward to unloading on him about her stupid move of giving John Waterson her phone number…but now she was here. Wherever here was.

She opened her eyes. Yep.

Same Louis XVI head trip going on.

Moving slowly, she swung her legs over the side of the mattress and sat up. A wave of dizziness hit her, but it passed quickly, leaving behind a dull ache behind her eyes. She waited another few seconds, but the swanky bedroom refused to change back into the hospital room at Scripps.

Crap, this is real.

To double-confirm, she slid a foot over to the bedside table and poked it with her toe.

Solid wood.

Folded on top of a footstool beside the nightstand were the clothes she’d worn into the hospital the night of her car accident. She reached down and riffled through her belongings. No purse. No cell phone.

She looked again at the bedside table and inventoried its contents. There was one lamp, one clock—the type with two bells on the top and a little metal arm to bang back and forth between them—and a fancy, Contessa-style phone. No numbers were on the phone.

She picked up the receiver to see what would happen.

There was a soft hum, then a woman’s voice came on the line. “Operator.”

Operator?

Had Toni somehow landed in a hotel? “Um…hello, yes…uh…” How did one go about asking Where am I? without sounding like a complete nincompoop? “Could you dial an outside line for me, please?” Her brother was probably the best bet. “It’s a 619 area code.”

“Ah, Dr. Parthen, so glad you’re awake,” the operator said, ignoring her request. “I’ll send the doctor in to see you right away.”

The…? Wait? “I’m sorry, who?”

The line went dead.

Toni eased the receiver back into its cradle. Doctor? Was she in a—

Oh, no!

She shot to her feet, her heart thundering. Whatever drug Nurse Fine Ass gave her had put her into a coma, and now she was in some high-class treatment facility for…for… Dear God, how long had she been here?!

Her head spun, and she gripped her forehead, forcing herself to take slow, even breaths. All right, calm down. Think logically. If this was a treatment facility, she would probably be hooked up to an IV. And if she’d been unconscious for a long period of time, her muscles wouldn’t be in good working order. And they were, weren’t they?

She took a few experimental steps. Yes.

Okay, then.

There was probably a simple explanation.

Looking around again, she spotted a set of long, gold velvet curtains across the room. The San Diego skyline would be just outside that window—or some other landmark that would clear up this where am I? mystery—and then she could quit her worrying.

She crossed to the curtains, parted them, and—

Bong.

She could almost hear her own jaw drop.

A sliding glass door led onto a wrought iron balcony…and that’s where all semblance of normalcy ended.

About twenty feet beyond the balcony was a fence of prison bars surrounding the entirety of whatever building she was in. Each steel post was about as big as a man’s wrist, with no more than two to three feet of space between them. The roving eyes of multiple security cameras kept the entire enclosure under constant surveillance.

As ease of escape-ability went, this place ranked about a Houdini.

Beyond the prison bars was—

Her mind reeled.

Rock above, rock below…

She was inside a cave! And a cave that’d been converted to a small town. Stretching out from her building was a long road lined with quaint shops—a coffee shop, a clothing store, a movie theater. People bustled about, doing everyday business.

This was unbelievable.

She dropped her head into her hand and massaged her brow. Just how concussed was her brain, anyway?

Male voices approached her door.

Her heart speeding again, she whirled around.

The raucous voices grew louder, someone laughing about a guy named Cleeve, then passed her doorway and faded.

I’ll send the doctor in to see you right away…

She dove for the nightstand stool and hauled on her clothes—bra and panties, a pair of navy slacks, a turquoise cotton blouse, and Italian leather flats. She’d be damned if she was meeting some stranger—regardless of his or her status as a doctor—in a show-your-crack-to-the-world hospital gown.

This place was giving her a major case of the creeps.

She finished dressing and darted her gaze around for a hair brush or comb. Nothing. There wasn’t time to go hunting for one, either.

The lock clicked and the door swung open.

She didn’t know who she’d expected to come striding inside, but somehow it wasn’t this tall, lean, elegant gentlemen. He was a little too “cleanliness is next to Godliness” in his hygiene standards—under his white lab coat, his Armani suit had been pressed to within an inch of its life. But otherwise he seemed normal enough.

He had black hair, unique turquoise eyes, and an indeterminate age. Although wisdom and maturity resided in his gaze, suggesting substantial life experience, his face bore hardly any wrinkles.

“You’re on your feet,” the man observed with delight. “Splendid.” He crossed to her, holding out his hand. “I’m Dr. Jess.”

She didn’t shake. “Where am I?” So much for pleasantries.

Dr. Jess took back his hand. “Ah, yes, I imagine you have many questions. If you’ll come with me, the head of the department will explain everything.” He moved back to the bedroom door and stood beside it.

She stayed where she was.

The doctor offered her a close-lipped smile.

It was probably meant to reassure her, but it didn’t. A guy who had a big, toothy grin—that was a man who could be trusted.

She asked, “Head of what department?”

“I’m sorry, I know this must be unsettling, but the head prefers to give these explanations himself.” Dr. Jess politely waited for her to precede him, that enigmatic smile still on his face.

She exhaled sharply. Unsettling was putting it mildly. She crossed her bedroom, because what choice did she have? She had to meet with this “head” if she wanted to find out what was going on.

She exited the swanky room into an even swankier, balconied hallway, thickly carpeted in burgundy Berber.

Dr. Jess moved past her and led the way down a wide staircase.

Wow. Whatever this place was, it was clearly backed by a great deal of money. Palatial, it was lavishly decorated, with large oil paintings on the walls—mostly landscapes—life-sized Greek and Roman statues, and gold-fitted, shiny wood banisters. At the bottom of the stairs was a grand entrance hall, the floor tiled in checkered mauve and white marble. Potbellied brass vases stood sentinel next to soaring white marble pillars. A sparkling gold-and-crystal chandelier lorded over the entire room.

Dr. Jess led her down another flight of smaller stairs that fed into a long hallway lined with doors. Passing one of these doors, she heard male voices bantering and cursing and the thud of fist meeting flesh.

She raised her eyebrows at Dr. Jess.

He smiled pleasantly at her. Still no teeth.

They finally stopped at a set of double doors.

Dr. Jess pressed an intercom button. “Dr. Parthen and I are here, sir.”

“Excellent,” came the affable reply. “Come in.” A buzzer sounded and the double doors snicked open.

Dr. Jess again politely stood back for her to enter first.

She stepped into a room that was a combination library and office. Tall mahogany bookshelves lined three of the walls, the fourth was plain and backdropped a desk. An arrangement of plush, dark leather chairs of the kind one might find at an Oxford men’s club surrounded a coffee table of polished oak.

All of this received no more than about one second of her attention. As magnificent as the décor was, she couldn’t stop herself from riveting on the two black-haired men across the room.

One was just rising from behind the desk, unfolding himself to a height of well over six feet. He was dressed in understated wealth, pleated gray silk slacks and a V-necked cashmere sweater in cobalt—a respectable look that should’ve offered reassurance. Except that there was something about this man. Something that…whispered danger.

He definitely demanded notice, but once again she gave him no more than one second of her attention. Because the man at the side of the desk demanded it more.

Standing statue-still with his hands locked behind his back in a stance that pushed his enormous shoulders forward and made them look even more enormous, the second man was, without doubt, the most frightening person she’d ever seen outside of the movies.

No whispering here.

This man’s danger came at a person like a wrecking ball.

He was wearing clothes directly out of a Gangstas Я Us catalog—steel-toed biker boots with thick silver buckles at the ankles, black leather pants that hugged a pair of powerfully built thighs, and a black lycra T-shirt that similarly clung to his torso in a way that displayed every delineated muscle the man owned. Of which there were a lot.

The scary dude look was made complete by the dark sunglasses hiding his eyes, and a jaw so hard she’d bet she could take a crowbar to it and never crack a smile out of him. Maybe someone had already tried that maneuver—there was a line of scabbed flesh streaking the man’s cheek.

“Dr. Parthen, welcome,” the man behind the desk said in that same affable tone she’d heard over the intercom. “My name is Roth Mihnea. I’m the leader of this community. Please, come and sit down. We have much to discuss.”

Community?

She frowned. Had she…oh, crap, had she been committed to a mental hospital by mistake? She’d probably completely wigged out on Nurse Fine Ass’s drug and…

But then, these men didn’t exactly look like psychiatrist dweebs, did they?

Roth Mihnea indicated one of the antique black Renaissance chairs set before his desk and smiled. No big, toothy grin here, either.

She rounded on Dr. Jess. “What does he mean by a community? What’s going on here?”

The doctor’s expression turned sheepish as he shut the double doors.

The lock reengaged with an echoing snick.

Adrenalin surged through her body, tripping her heart into a runaway beat. A bead of sweat slid down between her breasts.

She was usually pretty quick on the uptake, but it was only now reaching her concussed brain that maybe she’d been knocked unconscious for reasons other than incompetence.

Chapter Eight

“Am I being held against my will?” Probably a real stupid question, all things considered.

“I should think not,” Roth said.

A cryptic answer, if you really analyzed it.

“We’re hoping you’ll help us willingly, once you hear of our plight. I admit,” Roth added with a contrite smile, “that our unorthodox method of securing a meeting with you is hardly conducive to putting you in a helpful frame of—”

“You drugged me and kidnapped me. That’s more than unorthodox, Mr. Mihnea. It’s illegal.”

“True.” Roth’s smile remained in place. “But this is a top-secret community and extreme measures were necessary to maintain our security. I apologize for that.”

Top secret? As in…? What? Was this a factory for nuclear weapons…? Chemical warfare…? A research facility for cloning…? Stem cells?

Again, she didn’t think so. Whatever else these two men might be, they definitely weren’t think-tank dweebs, either.

She rapidly ran through a list of other possibilities, and her mind landed on the most probable—at least based on the presence of Hard Face over there, who looked every inch a “goon” bodyguard, and the Drug Lord security system.

These guys were Mafia.

Oh, shit.

Roth broke her long silence. “I understand how disconcerting and, frankly, off-putting this whole situation is. I only ask that you listen to what we have to say, Dr. Parthen. If you don’t agree to our offer, then you’re free to go.”

Did she have a choice? She was pretty much subject to the whim of these men.

An icy prickle raised the fine hairs on her nape. She concentrated on loosening her grip on the armrests. It wouldn’t be helpful to get into a panic about this. A member of the “family” was probably a hemophiliac or maybe had a Myeloproliferative disorder, and she’d been brought in to offer a second opinion to Dr. Jess’s diagnosis. Whatever the case, the sooner she cooperated and treated the patient, the sooner she could get out of here.

“All right,” she said, moving over to the Renaissance chair Roth had indicated earlier. She sat.

Dr. Jess took the Renaissance chair next to hers.

“Thank you.” Roth sat, too, a hint of relief showing on his face. “Let me start by explaining our need for such grave secrecy.” He folded his hands on top of a desk blotter, his long, tapered fingers braiding together. “This community is home to a very special race of people, Dr. Parthen. All of us who live here have a genetic…variance, if you will, that the outside world doesn’t understand or accept. Our unique heritage has put us in the crosshairs of prejudice. If we don’t hide, we would be killed by ignorant fanatics.”

She just stared at him. What turnip cart had this man fallen off of? No group of people could be persecuted to the point of forced seclusion, not in this day and age. The ACLU would have a fit.

Roth went on. “The genetic variance—which you might find interesting—gives us unusual bone marrow. Ours makes predominately white blood cells and very little red. This condition has its advantages—we have heightened powers of healing and a longer lifespan. But it has also left us with our curse: a blood-need. We have to get our red blood from another source, you see.”

Toni shifted in her seat and barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. There was no bone marrow disorder that functioned like that.

“Unfortunately,” Roth continued, “as will often happen with people who are different and misunderstood, we’ve been thought of as diseased and dangerous, rather than simply…unusual. Our kind used to prevail in Romania, but our enemies spread lies about us over a hundred years ago—1877, to be exact—which led to a wave of mass hysteria and killings.”

Toni frowned. Romania…? Not Italian Mafia?

“We were hunted savagely and without mercy, until nearly all of our kind was wiped out. To survive, we had to flee our homeland and go into hiding.” Roth’s knuckles whitened briefly. “By the time we finally made it here to San Diego, safely hidden away in this secret underground community, our numbers had dwindled severely. We tried to rebuild our population, but reproducing within such a small gene pool eventually took its toll. Our bloodlines weakened to the point that we could no longer produce viable offspring.”

His voice quieted. “That was thirty years ago. After more than ten years of these stillbirths, I finally forbade procreation within the race. We tried reproducing with the general population, but once again that brought us nothing but stillborn children. It seemed we were truly lost.” Roth’s eyelids swept down, as if concealing a private pain.

Toni slid a quick look over to Hard Face. During Roth’s recitation, his jaw had grown even harder. “Um, I’m sorry, Mr. Mihnea, but I’m a bit confused. Do your people suffer from a genetic problem or a blood disorder? Because as terrible as I feel for your predicament, genetics isn’t my forté.”

“Ah, but Dr. Jess here knows a great deal about our genetics.” Roth indicated the man seated next to her with a sweep of his hand. “Six years ago, Dr. Jess stumbled upon a rare element in the makeup of some of your race that would mix well with our DNA. People with this unique gene can give us living children. Peak 8, Jess calls the element, named for where it appears on a blood graph.”

Toni gave Roth a level stare. “I don’t know what kind of blood graph you’re talking about. I’ve never heard of anything called Peak 8.”

“Of course you haven’t. You wouldn’t know the element from your methods. Dr. Jess’s analyses are unique.”

She cut a quick glance at the mysterious Jess. Just what sort of doctor was he, anyway?

“Peak 8,” Roth kept on, “is a representative marker from a very ancient lineage. In an earlier age, both of our cultures interbred with a now-extinct race called Dragon. Not because they’re actual dragons,” he hastened to add, “but because the people of this species have an extravagantly winged creature on their backs.”

“A dragon?” she confirmed in a wry tone.

“Exactly. Made of brilliantly colored scales.”

Right. As far as weird went, they’d pretty much left the playing field. She almost didn’t want to ask but, “Is there a point to all this?”

“Indeed.” Roth sat back in his chair and drew in a deep breath. “You have this special ancestry I’ve just described, Dr. Parthen.”

“I—” What was this guy talking about? “I what?”

“You carry the Dragon bloodlines we so desperately need bred into our population.”

“I most certainly do not, Mr. Mihnea.”

“I’m afraid you do, doctor.”

This man hadn’t fallen off a turnip cart—he was completely delusional. “I’m a hematologist, for Pete’s sake. I think I’d know if I have a blood anomaly.”

“You just haven’t been able to see it with the type of tests you use. With the right analyses, you could.” Roth scooted his chair back and opened his desk drawer, taking out a manila folder and placing it on the blotter. “This is a blood graph Dr. Jess drafted about you based on the CBC Scripps ran while you were in the hospital.” Roth pulled a sheet of paper out of the folder and set it on the edge of the desk facing her. “It clearly shows Peak 8 as a part of your genetic makeup. See?”

She was getting really sick of The Munster Family Story Hour. “What I see is something that you could’ve generated using an Etch A Sketch. Not only that, but my CBC isn’t exactly an item of public record.”

Roth waved that aside. “Dr. Jess would be happy to show you how he performs his tests. I have no doubt that you’ll find his methods adhere to all of the most stringent scientific standards.” Roth tugged out another sheet from the folder. It was an 8x10 photograph. “You also have the mark.” He spun the photo and set it next to the graph. “Although you had it lasered off several years ago.”

She looked down at the picture of her bare back, and gasped. It was from her confidential medical records!

“It’s a dragon’s foot.” Roth pointed to the left side of her spine, where a brown, irregular blotch marred her skin. “You can see the claws if you look closely. There are no scales, like with our race, but—”

“It’s a birthmark,” she cut him off coldly. This conversation had moved from ridiculous to downright irritating.

Roth retracted his finger and slowly arched his brows. “Precisely.”

“Oh, for the love of God.” She pressed two fingers to the middle of her forehead. She might as well stick her head in a car door and slam it a couple of dozen times rather than try to make this man see reason. “Okay. Fine. For the sake of argument, let’s say I can suspend disbelief and common sense long enough to accept the idea that I have some fantastical ancient ‘dragon’ blood anomaly. What’s the damned punchline?”

“As I said from the beginning, we need your help. Since you’re the only type of woman the men of our race can have children with, we—”

“Children? You mean…” Her breath hissed out of her in sudden understanding. “Holy shit! You want to…you want to have a baby with me!?”

“Well, not me in particular.” Roth started to smile, then stopped. “I’ve selected three mate choices for you to choose from.”

“Him?!” She pointed at Hard Face. Horror ballooned in her throat and choked off her airway. Good God, what would it be like to have that brute push between her thighs?

“Uh, no, not Jacken, either. The men I’ve selected are from our Warrior Class. All strong, capable men.”

She watched Jacken’s jaw set into a stony line—although that was about as redundant as saying granite was rock-like.

Her heart pounded so hard, she began to feel sick. Another horror dawned. “And if I refuse,” she said hoarsely, “I’m not free to go, am I?”

Roth’s eyes dipped down. “This community is full of fine, upstanding men. I’m sure you’ll find someone to your liking. You’ll adjust and eventually be happy, I assure you. The others have.”

She sucked in a breath. “You’ve done this to other women?”

Roth tried out a smile again. “There are five other Dragon females. Women who’ve found men to love here. Who have comfortable homes, fulfilling careers, and a caring community to raise their children in—everything we’re offering you.”

She shook her head, as if the mere act of moving her head from side to side could deliver her from this nightmare. Somebody needed to put Haldol, Thorazine, Navane, or any of the choicer antipsychotics into the water supply around here.

This Roth was a bona fide lunatic.

“You’ll meet the other women soon,” Roth added. “They’ll be of tremendous help to you during your adjustment. They know exactly what you’re going through right now.”

This couldn’t be happening. “My God, who are you people?”

“Our race is called Vârcolac.” Roth got to his feet and crossed to the bookshelf closest to the Oxford chairs. He picked up a crystal decanter sat and poured out a measure of Scotch, then strode back and offered it to her.

She gripped the armrests of her chair and remained very still, swallowing with a hard click of her throat. The amber liquor sparkled through the cut glass.

“People of your race call our kind vampires.” Roth’s eyes turned to gray smoke, his smile making a valiant attempt at sympathy even as he showed her a set of pointed canines. “But we are Vârcolac.”

Chapter Nine

Jacken kept his eyes locked on Antoinetta Parthen through his sunglasses, counting off the seconds. Any minute she’d flip her lid—pretty much par for the course once a new acquisition heard the V-word. If she kept to the usual script, a shit-ton of screaming and hysteria would come out of her at first, after that begging, then the worst part.

She’d start to cry.

Only Hannah, the very first Dragon woman they’d brought into Ţărână, didn’t have a total meltdown. But then Hannah was a librarian with a master’s degree in fables and myths, and she’d been instantly captivated by them. It didn’t hurt that she also went instantly gaga over nice guy Vârcolac Willen Crişan, one of the town electricians.

In the six years since Roth set the repopulation program in motion, Hannah and Willen had already had three kids, with another one on the way. Everyone loved Hannah, although she tricked them into thinking all their acquisitions would run as smoothly as hers.

They hadn’t.

Ellen and Beth came next, numbers two and three, one right after the other. Both got real pissy over being ripped from their lives and forced into the program. Considering they had a solid point there, it was amazing they adjusted as quickly as they did.

The fashion designer, Beth, opened her own clothing store, The TradeMark, and became the town expert on all matters of style and shit. She’d hooked up with Arc Costache, and they now had two kids.

Ellen, a dentist, became fascinated by a new species of dentistry. She somehow cracked the surface of brooding Pedrr and landed him, also getting herself with a couple of squirts.

Then came number four, Magnolia, aka Maggie, a pampered former Southern belle and horticulturist—a totally useless profession in a cave. And a year later number five was brought in, Kimberly, a workaholic, ladder-climbing, and also useless—at least to this community—lawyer.

Both had been real trouble cases when it came to adjusting.

Luken, an indisputable saint of patience, finally calmed down high-strung Maggie long enough for her to give him a chance. They now had a daughter.

Which left Kimberly.

Who knew Sedge would end up winning her. But one day the badassed Mixed-blood warrior jacked her up against a hidden wall outside of Garwald’s Pub and balled her brains out. Presto! Problem solved. No kids out of those two, yet.

The community had been way ready for another easy case like Hannah when number six had come along—sweet-as-chocolate pediatric nurse, Gwyn. She immediately took to the eight Mixed-blood children with all her heart.

Which ended up being her downfall.

One day, Gwyn darted after a kid on the loose—Hannah and Willen’s eldest daughter, Kristara, who was only a toddler at the time—and Gwyn ended up in Stânga Town, the community’s slum. Gwyn got too close to the Outer Edge and was nabbed by one of the Om Rău, Ţărână’s nasty demonic neighbors.

Jacken had fired Şarvan, the warrior in charge of protecting Gwyn that day, and tossed the fuckup in jail for a week.

But that couldn’t bring Gwyn back.

Nothing could.

Not when it was impossible to chase after the Om Rău into the Hell Tunnels that led to their enemy’s neighborhood—a Vârcolac couldn’t withstand the extreme heat.

Jacken’s stomach wrenched at the memory. Losing Gwyn had been his worst day as a warrior.

Not counting those six other days when he had to kidnap an innocent woman and ruin her life.

It felt like he lost another part of the man who only wanted to protect women, not mess them up, each time he was forced to lead an abduction op.

Seemed to him that there had to be a better way to bring Dragons into their community. Point in fact, they’d asked Regular Human women to take part in the community’s first reproduction experiment.

But Roth maintained that Dragons were too rare and valuable to risk even one refusing to join them.

And since Roth had the final word on these things, that was that.

Now here they were with recent acquisition, Antoinetta Parthen, doctor of hematology and all-around hot chick.

All Dragons were blond and incredibly beautiful—a fortunate side-effect of their Dragon bloodlines. But Antoinetta was exceptional. Her hair flowed just past her shoulders and was gold streaked with fire, her eyes were brilliant blue, and her body was a heart attack, the kind of leggy and busty combo that required a nearby drool cup to handle. But it was her scent that was the real ball-clencher.

She was an unmated female, yeah, and all unmateds gave off a strong scent, kind of like a primitive pheromone which to an unmated Vârcolac male smelled like she’d spritzed herself down with Eau de Screw Me. Human females were more strongly scented than Vârcolac females, and the Dragons were downright mind-blowing.

But Antoinetta was…there was just something about her…an added sweetness, maybe.

Whatever it was, it was like freebasing adrenaline and lust in one big fucking eight ball, and it had him working as hard to keep his pants on as his fangs jacked back.

Squeezing his eyes shut behind his sunglasses, he pictured Antoinetta with her head thrown back, the soft curve of her throat presented to him, inviting him to take his fill. Or the length of her thigh…yeah…go down on her, then tap right into her femoral.

Jacken clenched his teeth, grinding them together until the bones in his head sounded like rocks tumbling down a cliff. He would never taste this woman, not in any way, ever, so he needed to shut down his fantasies and pay the fuck attention.

Not that there was anything going on.

Antoinetta was still frozen in her chair.

He knotted his hands behind his back, and looked from Roth, who was seated behind his desk again, to Dr. Jess to Antoinetta. The wait was killing him.

Dammit, lady, do something already.

And then she did.

Chapter Ten

Well, fuck. Points to the lady for catching Jacken completely off guard—he hadn’t expected her to erupt out of her chair, snatch a letter opener off Roth’s desk, and point the nasty end at Roth himself.

The expression on her face switched from shocked horror to hostility as fast as if someone clicked the button on a slide show. “You’ll excuse me if I must decline your offer, Mr. Mihnea. But having turkey basters filled with “vampire” sperm stuck inside me isn’t my idea of a good time.”

Roth looked pole-axed. “I assure you, Doctor, that’s not at all what—”

“Don’t. Move,” she commanded between locked teeth.

Roth stopped rising and sat back down, placidly placing both hands palms down on top of his desk. “We have no intention of hurting you.”

She aimed fierce blue eyes at Jacken. “You don’t move, either.”

More points to her—she’d obviously sensed that he was about to jump her ass.

“I know how to use a knife,” she warned him, switching her grip on the letter opener with a flip of her wrist, now holding it in perfect throwing position. “And I’m telling you, if you take one step toward me, I’m going to plant this thing in your chest.”

What a crock of shit. Just because she could wield a scalpel didn’t mean she could go Medieval with any blade she happened to pick up.

“P-please,” Dr. Jess stammered, his face white. “I think everyone needs to—”

“And that would kill you, right? I mean, you being a ‘vampire’ and all, and this being the proverbial stake in the heart.” She laughed, hysteria edging the sound.

Looked like he was going to get that meltdown he’d been waiting for.

“Or are you a zombie?” She backed up a step, keeping everyone in her sight line. “Maybe The Creature from the Black Lagoon, or—no, wait!—The Terminator. Yes! You look that part, don’t you?”

Roth shot Jacken a droll look. “Well, this is new.”

“Put the letter opener down,” Jacken ordered her, pitching his voice to lethal softness. “Now. If I have to take it from you, I can guarantee you won’t like my methods.” He came out of his parade-rest stance, swinging his arms forward, his legs spring-coiling in readiness.

“Holy crap!” Antoinetta’s eyes widened on his forearm tattoos. “You’re one of those cult freaks!”

Jacken scowled. I’m a…what?

Antoinetta leapt at Jess, seizing the doctor by his hair and cranking his head back. She set the tip of the letter opener at the doctor’s throat and dug it in.

Jess squeaked in alarm.

Roth roared to his feet as if he’d been goosed in the ass by an ice pick. “No!” he shouted. “Please, Dr. Parthen, I beg you to take care.” He held out a staying hand. “Blood is sacred to us, and if you draw Dr. Jess’s that…that would be an act of claiming him.”

“Then I suggest you unlock that door and let me out of here.” She gouged the tip of the opener in deeper, not giving Roth’s warning—in her humanness—the weight it deserved. “Right now.”

Roth gestured emphatically at Jacken. “For heaven’s sake, stop her before she does something irrevocable.”

Finally. Action.

Jacken stepped forward—

It might not be said he could move as fast as a Dragon warrior, but he could definitely get his ass in gear when he needed to. Fast enough, at least, to stupefy the hell out of Antoinetta.

Her eyes rounded when he was suddenly standing right in front of her, his fingers wrapped around her weapon hand.

He strained the letter opener clear of Jess.

The doctor scrambled out of the way, smoothing a hand down the front of his tie.

Jacken locked gazes with Antoinetta.

Her blue eyes blazed, the heat in their depths sending blood pounding against his temples and into his ears. He applied steady pressure to her hand, but she wouldn’t give up the letter opener. Stupid woman. He pushed her arm down, then angled it up behind her back. Too late he realized his own stupidity.

The move brought her jerking forward into him, her full breasts squashing against his chest. An electrical charge shot through him, a burning bolt of it landing in his groin.

Antoinetta’s cheeks flushed a brilliant red, the plump softness of her breasts rising and falling unsteadily against his body.

His balls tightened.

Her powerful scent tunneled into the ventricles of his brain, and a noise came out of him, a deep, guttural something. It rolled up from his gut and rumbled from his chest, sending a warning vibration through his fangs.

Antoinetta clearly found the animal quality of it convincing.

Her arm went slack.

He tugged the letter opener from her grasp, stepped back, and jammed the improvised weapon into his belt. Without missing a beat, he grabbed her by the shoulders, propelled her over to her chair, and ass-planted her back into it.

Air spilled out of her in a heavy rush, her cheeks leaching of color, her eyes going stark with fear.

He’d guess it was finally sinking into her brain pretty damned firmly that she was completely at their mercy.

The part of him that didn’t like to mess up women…? Now it was an all-over body-throb.

Easing back into his own chair, Roth gave her a look of genuine regret. “I apologize for the necessity of that, Doctor. We truly don’t want to hurt you.”

Swallowing visibly, she cast an apprehensive glance over her shoulder at Jacken.

Roth issued him a back-off nod.

Jacken moved out from behind Antoinetta’s chair and took up his usual position next to Roth’s desk.

“I understand your fear.” Roth’s smile was full of sympathy. “I really do, what with all the grisly lore and legend that has traditionally surrounded vampires. So please, let me unequivocally assure you that Vârcolac are not monsters. We’re not undead creatures who sleep in coffins and transform people with our bites. We can see our reflections in mirrors. We aren’t driven off by garlic or crucifixes, although a sharp object like a letter opener,” he added dryly, “being driven into our hearts will kill us.”

Roth waved a hand. “Those are hyped-up lies invented by our enemies years ago. We’re quite human, doctor, just a different…species of human, if you will. Look at us and you’ll agree that there are many similarities between our races.” He gestured broadly. “We laugh, we cry, we—”

“Suck blood?” The question was asked in no more than a whisper.

Jacken nearly rolled his eyes. Guaranteed she was imagining some pasty-faced fiend swooping down on her and plunging stalactite-looking fangs into her neck.

Dracula 101 crap all the way.

“That…” Roth cleared his throat. “Yes. That’s something we do. We call it ‘feeding,’ but we don’t do it for any sinister purpose, rather because of a limitation to our physiology—the blood-need I mentioned earlier. It’s a weakness, certainly, as is our inability to withstand sunlight—we’re severely allergic to vitamin D. But we also have many strengths. We’re physically stronger than Regular Humans. We can move faster, and our senses are more highly attuned in many areas.” Roth gestured largely. “Can you imagine the benefits we could’ve brought to the human race if we hadn’t been ostracized? What kind of soldiers we would’ve made, or detectives or researchers or—”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Mihnea,” Antoinetta interrupted. “But I don’t believe in any of this. I’m a scientist, and none of what you’re saying fits in with what I know of how the world works.”

“Ah, yes. People of science need concrete proof.” Roth stood up and strode around to the front of his desk. “I remember the same thing happened with Ellen, our dentist.” He settled his hip on the edge of his desk, gesturing at the blood graph and photo next to him. “Something more tangible than these, I imagine?”

“No. I—really. I’d just like for us to agree to accept our differences and go our separate ways.”

“Oh, but I think you’ll find the evidence I have to offer very compelling.” Roth glanced at Jacken. “Where are Dr. Parthen’s mate-choices at present?”

Jacken checked his watch. “In the gym training.”

“Excellent. They’re right down the hall. Jess, my good man, would you mind bringing Dev, Thomal, and Kasson here?” Roth smiled down at Antoinetta, fatherly and charming. “I believe now would be a good time for Dr. Parthen to meet her future husband.”

Chapter Eleven

Somewhere along the way Toni’s brain had come unplugged. There wasn’t much going on inside her mind except a lot of white noise, backed by a repetitive holy-crap chant that seemed to be caught in an endless loop. No grand plans about how to get herself out of this disaster were popping into her head, that was for damned sure.

Calm rationality had pretty much gone bye-bye the moment she saw the tattoos on that Jacken creature’s forearms. His ink was almost exactly the same as the tattoo on that corpse’s jaw the night of the crime scene…although Jacken’s tats were more like black interlocking lines, rather than flames. No, not lines—long, swooping teeth of the kind one might find on a saber-toothed tiger.

She was in real trouble here.

She flexed and released her fingers around the chair’s armrests.

All right. Get your act together. Panicking could only lead to more acts of stupidity, like threatening three men in top-notch condition—one who looked to be set on permanent wanna-kick-your-ass mode—with little more than a letter opener.

Not the best idea ever.

But in her own defense this was the first time a group of individuals had drugged her, kidnapped her, told her they wanted to use her as a brood mare because she was a “dragon,” and then claimed to be “vampires.”

Uh huh.

Here’s what was really happening—she’d woken up on the TV show Fear Factor, and any minute Joe Rogan was going to jump out and jeer, “Ha, ha, you fell for it, you boob.”

Because, see, the last she’d checked, there was, you know, no such thing as vampires.

She fidgeted in her chair.

Door number two, Bob.

This wasn’t a reality TV hoax, but instead she was being held hostage by a bunch of schizoid delusional freaks who’d formed a cult—ahem, “community”—for all their schizoid delusional followers.

Her throat shut off around more holy-crapping.

A cult.

What she wouldn’t give to go back to these guys being Mafia.

Tension coiled across her shoulders. The possibilities of what these sickos planned to do to her, especially of a sexually deviant nature, were endless.

You’re the only type of woman the men of our race can have children with…

Wasn’t it just her luck that she’d been kidnapped not by your average, run-of-the mill vampire cult, but a vampire sex cult?

Male voices approached from down the outer corridor.

“Ah.” Roth rose smoothly to his feet. “Here they come now.”

Toni came stiffly out of her own chair. The last thing she’d wanted from her challenge of Roth’s claims of vampirism was a meet-and-greet with the “vampires” she was expected to do the nasty with. Whatever concrete proof Roth planned to show her with them, she didn’t want to see.

Roth pushed a button on his desk.

The double doors buzzed open.

Dr. Jess reentered with three men trailing him, two blonds and a black-haired guy.

Toni schooled her face into an indifferent expression, only her years training in the art of hiding bad news from her face enabled her to deadpan her reaction to them.

Because, Jesus, they were all ridiculously gorgeous.

To a man, they had physiques to die for, their powerful builds enhanced by their dark workout gear. Each wore a snug black Lycra T-shirt and black shorts of the same material, the trim fit of these shorts emphasizing each man’s…er, potency in a manner that gave the impression of straining seams and near-popping front laces.

Heat crept into Toni’s cheeks. She forced her eyes away. How long had it been since she’d been with a man that she would be staring goggle-eyed at the packages of men who were all running one sandwich shy of a picnic.

“Gentlemen,” Roth greeted them. “Dr. Parthen and I have been discussing some of the distinctive traits of our breed, but, as one might expect, she’s having some difficulty accepting the authenticity of everything without some proof. Ergo, I thought this might be a good opportunity for her to meet all of you and familiarize herself with your unique qualities.”

“Familiarize?” The lighter-haired of the two blonds, who had enough innate sex appeal to melt iron—despite some fading bruises on his throat and a pair of bloodshot eyes—cocked a single brow. “You mean, like…she wants to give us a medical examination?”

“Works for me.” The one with black hair, matching goatee, and a small Bad Boy gold hoop earring dangling from his left earlobe, glanced around the room. “Where do you want us to undress?”

Toni’s face burned hotter. “I don’t think, um…”

“No, no.” Roth lifted a palm. “We aren’t going to do anything like that.”

“Cut the shit, Nichita,” Jacken snapped.

“Yes, sir.” Bad Boy ducked his head, first sneaking in a wink at her.

“You see, Dr. Parthen,” Roth explained. “There are different breeds of Vârcolac within the species, and each one has an extraordinary ability.” He laid a hand on Bad Boy’s shoulder. “Devid Nichita here—”

“It’s Dev,” Bad Boy cut in to correct. “Excuse me, but I hate Devid.”

She could relate to that sentiment. She’d always thought her mother had been suffering from a severe case of postpartum dementia to have named her daughter, Antoinetta, and her son, Alexander. But Shannon always said something compelled her to give her children majestic-sounding names, and to this day she was grumpy that her kids went by nicknames.

“Dev’s a Pure-bred Vârcolac,” Roth continued, “like me and Dr. Jess. You can always tell a Pure-bred by their black hair and their ability to grow facial hair. A Pure-bred can also see in the dark and light up his eyes. You’ll be impressed by that, surely.”

Dev bobbed his eyebrows at her and grinned broadly, displaying a mean set of canines.

She took a step back. She couldn’t believe someone would purposely file down his teeth. It had to hurt like hell. But then again, none of these men was altogether there in the sanity department.

“This is Thomal Costache and Kasson Korzha,” Roth introduced the other two.

Kasson, whose blond hair leaned more toward light brown, had a boyish-looking cowlick in the front of his hair…and what appeared to be a serious case of the fidgets.

“They’re what we call Mixed-bloods,” Roth said, “meaning they have both Dragon and Vârcolac bloodlines. Dragons always have blond hair of varying shades—the lighter the color, the more Dragon they have in them—and they can move with blurring speed. They also have a full dragon tattoo on their backs. However, their creatures—unlike the washed-out mark that Dragon humans such as you have—are made of colorful scales. I thought we’d start by showing you one.”

“Ho, really?” Thomal’s face brightened while Bad Boy Dev turned his eyes to the ceiling and muttered a curse.

“Kasson.” Roth gestured Cowlick forward. “Please take off your shirt and come—”

“No way!” Kasson jerked backwards.

Roth frowned.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t want to get close to her.” Kasson closed his eyes and moaned. “She smells.”

Toni tucked in her chin. I what?

“She…?’ Roth looked nonplussed. “I don’t understand. Are you saying she’s more pungent than the other Dragons?”

“Ooooh definitely,” Bad Boy Dev said.

Flushing, Toni self-consciously squeezed her arms against her ribcage, closing off her armpits. Steeped in hospital stink for a day and two nights, she probably did smell like an unpleasant combination of rubbing alcohol, latex, and orange Jell-O. But there hadn’t exactly been time for a shower.

Roth turned to Dr. Jess. “Are you picking up on it?”

“No.”

“You two are mated,” Jacken said tightly. “Trust me. For the rest of us it’s pure torture.”

Dr. Jess crossed his arms, a forefinger pressed against his lips. “What does she smell like?”

Dev snorted. “Nothing that can be described politely.” He glanced at Thomal. “Was it this strong at the hospital?”

“Vinz’s blood was all over the place,” Thomal said. “So it was more difficult to—”

“Oh, my God!” Toni burst out. Hospital! “You’re Nurse Fine Ass!” She glared at Thomal. “You drugged me, you jerk!”

“Hey, whoa!” Thomal threw up his hands. “I was just doing my job, okay? Don’t get mad.”

“Nah, get as mad as you want, Doc, and feel free to have this ‘jerk’ bounced off your list of mate-choices.” Dev slung an arm around Thomal’s shoulders. “You have other options, you know.”

Thomal shoved Dev off him. “She doesn’t want to get rid of me, Nichita. Weren’t you listening?” Thomal settled a pair of stunning blue eyes on her. “She just said I have a fine ass.”

She blanked her face.

“Enough, gentlemen,” Roth intervened. “Let’s move on to the demonstrations. Dr. Parthen, if you would be so kind as to take a seat.”

Demonstrations… Oh, this day was getting better and better.

Chapter Twelve

Two days later

University City, San Diego

9:03 a.m.

The computer clicked then whirred its way into the boot-up process, making noises that were as familiar to Alex Parthen as his own heartbeat—and oddly comforting. He propped his feet up on his desk and took a sip of coffee from his UC Berkley mug.

He smiled, thinking back to his college days. He’d been such a rage-against-the-machine hippie then, shuffling around Berkley’s liberal campus in flip-flops, cut-off shorts, and a tie-dyed tank top with a peace symbol like a bull’s eye smack in the middle of it.

He and his computer buddies used to get into one hacker war after another, always competing to see who could best topple the government’s “tower of power.”

Alex chuckled. Kind of ironic to think about those anti-government days now, seeing as the main contract for his at-home business was the DoD.

He’d long since retired his tie-dye clothes in favor of khaki Dockers and plaid button-downs, while his thirtieth birthday had heralded in a need for eyeglasses. But, hey, at least he wasn’t strangling from a necktie every day.

The computer finally settled into a low, friendly hum, and he swung his feet off the desk. Grabbing the mouse, he opened his Gmail account and scanned for news from his sister. Cool! An email from Toni.

He clicked on her message. Ate dinner at Wasabi’s last night. Good sushi, but overpriced. Off to another lecture. Sorry to be in such a rush these days. Love you.

Alex frowned. What was up with her mundane chitchat lately? The day before yesterday she’d talked about the temperature of her hotel pool, today it was her restaurant choice…and sushi? Toni didn’t even like sushi.

The doorbell rang.

Ah, great, the FedEx courier. Setting down his coffee mug, Alex hopped up and grabbed the disc he was sending off for beta testing. Heading out of his office, he slid the disc into a preaddressed FedEx envelope and cut across the brightly lit jungle that passed for his living room.

He loved plants: ferns, palms, Pothos…

He opened the front door and—

Hey, not a FedEx guy.

The man on Alex’s porch looked normal enough, wearing Levi’s, cowboy boots, and a collared maroon shirt under a navy windbreaker. He looked to be Alex’s height—an even six feet—but that’s where their similarities ended. Alex’s hair was blondish-reddish, while this dude’s was brown. Alex’s eyes were blue, while this guy’s were kind of blue—turquoise, maybe. And this dude wasn’t wearing glasses.

Alex had never met him.

“Hello, may I help you?” Alex set his computer disc aside on an empty plant stand, whose occupant was currently draining in the kitchen sink.

“I hope so,” the guy responded with a pleasant smile. “Are you Alexander Parthen?”

Depends on who’s asking… Which was tempting to say, but Alex wasn’t getting a religious missionary or an insurance salesman vibe off the guy, so he just replied, “Yes.”

The dude reached into the side pocket of his windbreaker and pulled out a wallet. “I’m Detective John Waterson, SDPD.” He flipped it open.

Not a wallet—a badge.

“Wow, shit, really? Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure, actually.”

Funky answer.

“I’m here about your sister,” the detective added.

Alex blinked. What? Toni?

“Have you had any contact with her since early Wednesday morning?”

“I… Wait, is she okay?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out.” Waterson tucked his badge away. “Your sister and I worked together on a case Monday night. A blood specialist was needed to consult on a murder scene I was investigating.”

A murder scene? Alex snorted. “Toni must’ve drawn the short straw on that one.”

“I’m sorry?”

“She hates those.”

A smile flickered across the detective’s mouth. “That’s true. At any rate, she gave me her phone number afterward. We were supposed to…keep in touch.” The detective patted his breast pocket, as if searching for something. “I had no idea she’d gotten into a car accident after our consultation, so you can imagine my surprise when later that night—well, really the early hours of Tuesday morning—my partner and I got called in to investigate a disturbance at Scripps Memorial Hospital that occurred in your sister’s hospital room.”

Alex startled. “What? Are you sure?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Waterson shoved a hand into his jeans pocket and drew out a rubber band. “Toni wasn’t anywhere to be found at Scripps, and none of the nurses working while she was there could remember if the disturbance happened before or after Toni was transferred to Sharp Rehabilitation Hospital. So I—”

Alex frowned. Huh?

“—my butt over to Sharp to check on her there. And guess what?” Waterson circled the rubber band around his two index fingers. Snappity-snappity. “Sharp has no record of her whatsoever. By now my detective alarms are clanging like crazy—Toni’s not answering my texts.” Snappity-snappity. Over and over. “So I looked up her relatives and found her mother and you, both in San Diego. Now here I am on your doorstep, Mr. Parthen, hoping you can clear this up.”

“Holy cow, man. What a screwup of the highest order. You can mellow out about Toni, though, okay? She’s at a hematology seminar in St. Louis. She emailed me just today.”

Some of the tension eased from Waterson’s body, his shoulders relaxing. “What a relief.” He thrust the rubber band back into his pocket. “Hey, do you mind if I come inside for a minute and warm up?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Alex allowed Waterson to walk past him, smiling apologetically. “California’s sun can be deceiving.” He closed the door. “You want some coffee? It’s hot.”

“That’d be great, thanks.” Waterson followed Alex into the kitchen. “I’m going to need Toni’s contact information, by the way. I have to question her about what she might’ve witnessed in or near her hospital room at the time of the disturbance, and she’s not answering her cell, like I said.” Waterson leaned back against the kitchen sink. “But mostly, hell, I want to hear her voice and make sure she’s okay.”

After this conversation, Alex wanted the same. “Sure, man, as soon as I get her number, I’ll hand it over.” Alex selected his Yes, I practice safe text mug out of the cupboard and crossed to the coffee pot. He filled the mug and handed the steaming cup to Waterson. “Cream and sugar?”

“Black’s fine.” Waterson cupped the mug in his hands. “You don’t know her hotel info?”

“No.”

“No?” A flicker of surprise crossed Waterson’s face. “Have you asked her for the information?”

“Of course. Several times. She just keeps forgetting to tell me.”

Waterson sipped his coffee. “This is really good.” He was silent for a moment, just drinking. “Is it unusual for your sister not to give you any contact information?”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Alex stuck his hands in his pockets. “It is, actually.”

Waterson peered down into his mug for a long moment, then looked up. “My detective alarms are clanging again.”

“Aw, c’mon, man. Don’t say that.” Alex’s stomach felt funny all of a sudden. “Maybe she’s really busy at the seminar, you know, and that’s distracting her.”

“Maybe.” Waterson set his coffee cup on the kitchen counter. “Can I take a look at her emails?”

“Shit.” Alex exhaled. “All right. This way.” He turned and left the kitchen, aiming down a short hallway into his home office. Heading over to his desk, he wiggled his computer mouse to make the little fishy screen savers swim away. Toni’s last email was still up on the screen. “You should be able to see the entire email thread between us for the past couple of days. It’s not much.”

“Okay.” Waterson gestured to the desk chair. “May I?”

At Alex’s nod, the detective sat, first pulling the rubber band out of jeans pocket again. As he read, he circled it around his index fingers with that snappity-snappity noise. Over and over. Snappity-snappity.

Alex finally grimaced. “I know you’re a cop and all, but, dude, if you don’t stop doing that, I’m going to have to hit you.”

The rubber band stilled. “Sorry. I’m trying to cut down on smoking and sometimes I have to do something with my hands or go nuts.” He swiveled toward Alex. “These emails aren’t personal at all, general newsy stuff for the most part. Is that normal?”

He shrugged. “We usually keep the personal stuff out of cyberspace and save it for dinner.” He and his sister maintained a standing Friday night date.

Waterson nodded, accepting that. “She’s definitely not answering your questions, though—where she’s staying in St. Louis and when her seminar ends. Whether she’s doing that because she’s distracted or for some other reason is the big question.”

“What other reason could there be?” Alex’s stomach felt really funny now.

“I don’t know.”

An honest response, at least.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Waterson stroked a thumb along his jawline. “When was the last time you actually saw your sister?”

“Um, let’s see…Monday night, right after her car accident. My mom and I both went to see her in the hospital. I was supposed to pick her up when she was discharged the next day, but I got a text from her telling me that she was heading to St. Louis for a hematology seminar, and she’d be taking an Uber to the airport.”

“So soon after an accident?” Waterson gave him a dubious look.

“Hey, you know…” Alex spread his hands. “Toni’s a hard charger.”

“You didn’t talk to her on the phone beforehand about the seminar?” Waterson asked. “You knew nothing about it until she texted you last-minute?”

“That’s right.” This conversation was really beginning to suck.

Waterson went silent. He stared at the computer screen for what seemed like a small eternity, stroking his jaw again. “Is there any way to determine if these emails are actually coming from St. Louis?”

“Sure, I can do that.” Alex took over his desk chair. “Toni will be using the hotel’s Wi-Fi.” He clicked on details at the top of Toni’s email, and a full message header popped up. He scanned down until he found the received from line, then ran the IP code and checked the location. “It’s the Crowne Plaza Hotel in St. Louis.”

Waterson’s expression cleared. “Good. Now I can get in touch with—”

“Not so fast,” Alex cut in. “This might be a proxy server.”

“A what?”

“A forged IP address.

Waterson gave Alex more blank.

“In other words, even though the email looks like it came from the Crowne Plaza, it could’ve originated from someplace else. See?” Alex pointed to a row of numbers on the screen. “The time stamps are off—they don’t match.”

Waterson bent over and squinted at the monitor. “I still don’t understand.”

“There’s a significant time delay between when Toni’s message was sent from the Crowne Plaza and when it arrived here at my computer, meaning that it bounced through several servers before coming out as the hotel.”

Waterson straightened. “Why would it do that?”

Alex’s throat squeezed down to a narrow cable. “Because somebody programmed it to.”

Waterson held Alex’s gaze. “To hide the email’s true starting point?”

Alex swallowed. “That’s the usual reason, yes.”

Waterson’s brow furrowed. “Can you determine the actual place of origin?”

“Probably not.” Alex’s stomach was now one big ball of knots. “The sender most likely used an anonymizer to create their proxy server, and those are almost impossible to trace.” Maybe he’d just get it over with and throw up already.

“Damn,” Waterson breathed.

“Tell me, uh…” Alex had to clear his throat twice before he could continue. “What does all this mean, Detective? Is Toni in trouble?”

“I wish I knew,” Waterson answered, still being honest. “I don’t like this, though.”

Alex didn’t, either. “Do you think any of this has to do with that murder you two investigated? Because it seems like all this convoluted crap began right after Toni consulted with you.”

“That occurred to me, too, but I’ve pored over every detail in my head, and I can’t come up with any connection.” Waterson’s lips curved into what was probably meant to be a reassuring smile, but it fell pretty short. “This is probably one of those stupid situations that will turn out to be nothing. It’s like you said—Toni’s busy with work and hasn’t realized how much time has passed since she—”

“Yo, John!” A voice hollered from the front of the house.

“Here!” Waterson shouted back. “Excuse me,” he added to Alex. “That’s my partner, Pablo.”

Waterson headed out of the office.

Alex followed, slowing in the hallway at the sound of the other cop’s voice.

“—got word from Matthews. He’s at the Medical Examiner’s office.”

“Finally,” Waterson came back. “The ME got a report on our acid corpse yet?”

“No, amigo, that’s the thing.” There was an odd note in Pablo’s voice.

Alex stopped walking.

“The corpse is gone,” Pablo said.

“What do you mean gone?”

“Gone, like in, poof!” Pablo snapped his fingers by the sound of it. “As if it just got up and walked out of the morgue.”

Chapter Thirteen

Five days later

The underground community of Ţărână

4:12 p.m.

Kimberly sat on one side of the mansion’s long dining room table, the four other Dragon women—Maggie, Ellen, Hannah, and Beth—lined up beside her.

Their guest of honor was on the opposite side, her hands folded on top of the table and her expression closed.

On the table itself was an artistically arranged presentation of afternoon tea—ladyfingers on crystal plates, petit fours and daintily iced cookies on a tiered stand, and lemonade in a hand-cut crystal pitcher. A gaudy silver tea service accompanied by delicately flowered china cups and small plates completed the look.

All of it was laid out to celebrate the Fab Five’s first meeting with new acquisition, Dr. Antoinetta Parthen.

Kimberly had been tempted to greet her with a Rah! Rah! Way to stick it to Roth, sistah.

Toni, as she preferred to be called, had refused to date her mate-choices for the whole week she’d been here.

Roth countered by not allowing Toni out of the mansion until she did.

Toni was unmoved by his threat.

Roth finally arranged this tea, no doubt hoping the Dragons would help to end the standoff.

To which Kimberly thought Ha!

“Would you like a cookie?” Maggie Gigârtu, wearing an actual bow in her short, curly blond hair, pushed forward a fluted tray. “Homemade Oatmeal Butterscotch,” she coaxed in her southern drawl, peeling the tinfoil back in a tempting way.

Kimberly rolled her eyes.

To Maggie’s way of thinking, all problems could be solved with a pinch of Southern hospitality.

“I brought you some books too,” Hannah piped in.

A pair of golden blond pigtails trailed down the front of Hannah’s chest to her swollen breasts, her big belly close to popping with her fourth pregnancy. She sat straight in her chair, holding herself with the erect, royal composure that came with being Ţărână’s premiere breeder.

Hannah Crişan was pretty much treated like the Town Princess on any given day.

“I run the library,” Hannah added. “So if you’d like a specific book, just let me know.”

Toni gave Hannah a flat stare.

The four Dragons exchanged glances.

Ellen Ungureanu took a swing. “I’m the town dentist.” Today, like every day, Ellen’s shoulder-length light brown hair was in serious need of doing battle with a comb. “So, uh, I’d love to share my observations with you about Vârcolac dentistry, if, you know…” Ellen’s voice lost steam. “…if you’re interested.”

More silence.

Beth released a long sigh. “She thinks we’re a bunch of brainwashed bimbos.” With her beauty queen looks, Beth could be classified as the prettiest among them, although that didn’t always work in her favor. People underestimated her all the time.

“Yep.” Ellen nodded. “Like we’re suffering from Stockholm Syndrome.”

“Then tell me,” Toni finally spoke, her tone cool. “What should I think of all of you?”

Hannah’s spine straightened even more. “How about you try seeing us as open-minded? Every one of us began our time here in Ţărână the same way you are—taken from our lives and forced into a strange place with unfamiliar people, feeling scared, angry, and frustrated.” She smoothed a hand over her swollen abdomen. “But we ended up giving this place a chance, and if you’re willing to let us tell you about this community’s incredible benefits, then maybe you’ll decide it’s worth a try, too.”

Gimme a break. Kimberly blew a raspberry.

Hannah shot her a quelling glance. “If you’re going to be negative, Kimberly, then you can—”

“Negative?” Kimberly sat forward. “Well, golly, Funshine Bear, I’d say the situation is already pretty flippin’ negative. This woman”—she gestured at Toni—“has been kidnapped. If the five of us sit here and encourage her to give this place a try that would be tantamount to condoning Roth’s criminal actions. Bad enough that we aided and abetted the perpetuation of his crime by giving this place a try.” Kimberly picked up the teapot and glugged tea into her cup. “I ask you, ladies—how long are we going to put up with this?”

Hannah scowled. “Put up with what?”

“The kidnappings.” Jesus Christ, keep up, Mizz Queen of the Lollypops.

Toni stared intently at Kimberly.

Maggie slapped the tinfoil back on her cookie tray. “No one is too keen on that part, of course.”

Ellen tugged at a loose thread on her sleeve. “I admit that complaints about the way Roth does business rise into my mind. But then my husband kisses me in his special way that lets me know how much I mean to him—to the entire race—or I go to book group and have a blast with friends, true friends—which none of us ever had topside. We’re Dragons”—she looked at Toni—“which means we’ve all suffered a history rejection—including you, Dr. Parthen.”

A tic twitched beneath Toni’s right eye.

“Or,” Ellen went on, “my kids do something so utterly adorable that I can’t help thinking how lucky I am. And then, no, I don’t end up saying anything about the kidnappings. I’m sorry if that’s not politically correct, but I can’t help being happy.”

Hannah nodded in emphatic agreement. “If you give this place a chance, Toni, you might surprise yourself and fall in love, too.”

Ellen ran a hand through her messy hair. “Here in Ţărână we’re offered a life of belonging, and that’s really… It can be very seductive.” She gestured down the line of women. “Do you think Kimberly The Righteous would be bonded to a Vârcolac if it wasn’t so powerful?”

Kimberly stiffened. Shit. She fisted a hand around her teacup. What do I say now? In the matter of Us v. Them, Ellen had just turned Kimberly into a Them.

“Anyway…” Maggie waved a hand. “There’s nothing we can do about it.”

Kimberly jumped right back in. “We can damn well come up with something. Because Roth will continue abducting women until he experiences consequences for his actions.”

Hannah made a chuffing noise. “I don’t think—”

“Do you have any ideas?” Toni plowed over Hannah.

Kimberly peered at Toni from beneath her lashes as she slowly scooped up a spoon full of sugar and dumped it in her tea. So Toni’s hutzpah went beyond her showdown with Roth, did it? Oh, that brought a twinkle to Kimberly’s eyes. Yes, it did.

Welcome to the light side of the Force, my padawan.

Kimberly set down the sugar spoon. “My idea is that we all agree to cut off our husbands from feedings until Roth promises to cease and desist all kidnappings.” She smiled with all her teeth. “We can call it a Hunger Strike.”

Hannah’s face went up in flames. “How dare you,” she seethed. “Feeding is the most intimate act that occurs within the Vârcolac union. Our husbands depend on our blood for their very lives. We can’t use that in a power play.”

“Besides,” Ellen put in. “You’re thinking too much like a lawyer, Kimbo. Topside, you could’ve written an ironclad contract preventing Roth from reneging on the no-kidnapping deal once the danger of the Hunger Strike passed. Down here, he can do whatever he wants.”

For a frozen moment, Toni didn’t say anything. Then, aghast, she asked, “There aren’t any laws here?”

“None that Roth himself hasn’t made up,” Kimberly said in a scoffing tone. “Vârcolac culture operates as a monarchy, and Roth Mihnea is the Supreme Emperor High King. No one goes against him. For two years of marriage, I’ve urged my husband to stand up to Roth about the kidnappings—something he knows is wrong. But Sedge won’t. He isn’t weak. He’s just mind-controlled by Roth’s position.”

Hannah’s mouth pinched. “You’re making Roth sound like a monster.” She looked at Toni. “He’s not. He cares very much about our well-being, and he hates how unhappy we are when we first arrive. He’s not purposely trying to cause unpleasantness. It’s just life or death for him. He’s saving his race.”

Kimberly drawled, “So, it’s the ol’ the-ends-justify-the-means argument, is that it?”

Hannah glared at her.

Kimberly glared back. In her old life as a lawyer, she used to consume fusty librarians like her in a single yummy bite. “I haven’t seen the light of day in three fucking years. But, God, no, Roth’s not a monster.”

“Have a baby, for crying out loud!” Hannah snapped.

“What?” Toni exclaimed. “That is a woman’s ticket out of here?”

“You’ve got it,” Kimberly retorted. “Have a baby, and Supreme King Roth will let you go topside for Christmas and birthdays.

“That’s it?” Toni was clearly appalled. “You’re not allowed to move in and out of this place freely?”

“Look, Toni,” Hannah said with a clear effort to stay calm. “I know all of this seems extreme, but I ask you to please consider it within the context of the Vârcolac’s history. Their race has faced nothing by large-scale slaughter for most of their existence. They are a hunted people, and need protecting. Roth’s stringent security rules are necessary for the survival of his people.”

So they were back to survival of the species.

No one said anything.

Ice in the lemonade pitcher settled with a soft chink.

Toni finally spoke. “Frankly, the survival of the Vârcolac isn’t my problem.”

Hannah looked stunned.

“I appreciate that you’re all happy now,” Toni went on. “That’s fine. No judgment. But I want to get out of here. So maybe if we figure out a way to escape together, then I can go back to my life, and you five can put yourselves in a better position to negotiate with Roth. Because it sounds like you don’t have any power down here. The only way to get anyone to listen to you is up there.”

Kimberly fought not to smile.

Maggie harrumphed. “If we could’ve escaped, don’t you think we would have, back when we were unhappy?”

“Security is pretty daunting,” Kimberly agreed, “as we’ve mentioned.”

“Tell me about it,” Toni said.

“Movement in and out of Ţărână is via the elevator in the garage on the mansion’s basement floor. A key card operates it, and only warriors and Travelers have those.”

“What’s a Traveler?”

“Regular Humans who are in charge of transporting supplies into the community. These are the women Roth brought in nearly twenty years ago for his first, failed repopulation program.”

Toni thought about that for a moment. “Do you think we could stow away on one of the Traveler’s vehicles?”

“Highly unlikely,” Kimberly admitted. It was a good thought, but—“There are security cameras everywhere. Although the key cards also turn on and off the cameras, so, really, the way to escape would be to get our hands on one. Problem is, none of us are friends with the Travelers—they tend to socialize in their own circle—and only Beth and I are married to warriors. No way in hell can I lift a key card of Sedge—my husband’s onto me. And Beth…” Kimberly looked over at the fashion designer. “She might be able to finagle a card off her husband. Arc goes sloppy-faced stupid anytime he gets within two feet of her breasts.”

Beth flushed a bright red.

“Question is…” Kimberly turned her attention to Beth. “Will she?”

“I… But I-I…” Beth spluttered into silence.

Kimberly made a sound in her throat. “Never mind. Beth won’t do it. That leaves you, Toni.”

“Me?”

“You live on the same floor of the mansion as the single warriors. So if you time it right, you might be able to sneak into one of their rooms and nab one.”

Maggie said, “Ugh. What’s the point of all this escape talk, anyway? Even if we could make it topside, what then? Where would we go? What would we do?” She huffed. “As long as we’re married to Vârcolac, Roth has all the leverage.”

“That’s not true,” Kimberly shot back.

“It is true,” Maggie insisted. “None of us wants to hurt our husbands, and Roth knows that. As soon as any of our men plunges too deeply into his blood-need, we’ll come running back home. All Roth has to do is wait us out.”

“Let him wait,” Kimberly flashed. “I’m more than happy to play a game of chicken with that ass.”

Maggie crossed her arms. “Kimberly Stănescu, if this is some personal vendetta you have against Roth, then I don’t want anything to do—”

“This is about the difference between right and wrong!” Kimberly surged to her feet. “As happy as all of you are in this community, can you honestly sit there and tell me that you support the abduction of women? Because if you’re hunky-dory with that, then I guess this fucking tea is over.”

Another silence descended over the room, the very air seeming to shudder with it.

Again, Toni was the one to break it. “Okay. I’ll do my best to get a key card.”

Chapter Fourteen

Beth Costache couldn’t sleep.

Curled on her side under one of her grandmother’s crocheted afghans, her hair still damp from a shower, she stared at the mechanical clock on her nightstand.

Shh-flip. Another number flapped over to the next.

She blinked slowly, her eyes gritty from her recent crying jag. God, why did she always have to be such a baby about confrontations? The whole time Kimberly and Toni were stirring up mutiny at the tea party, Beth’s throat had felt clogged. She wasn’t able to do much more than sit in place and look like the dumb blonde everyone probably thought she was.

She might as well have been back in high school.

Unlike most of the other Dragon women, Beth had tons of friends growing up…not till later discovering just how shallow those relationships were. Deemed The Best Looking and Most Popular, kids associated with her only to be considered the same. Did these so-called friends ever listen to her? No. Every time she opened her mouth to speak, they stared at her like her head had turned into a cabbage. To this day, she didn’t know if she’d said stupid things or not.

So she learned it was better to be a pretty ornament than risk it.

The door eased open and Arc slipped into their bedroom, pausing to look at her.

She lay perfectly still, pretending to sleep.

Her husband had been on guard duty tonight, and she saw—from the corner of one slitted eye—that he was still in his all-black warrior gear. He hadn’t stopped off at the locker room to change, so why was he running late?

Probably because the warriors always went on high alert whenever there was a new acquisition in town. Until a woman was marked through mating to a Vârcolac, she was in danger of being stolen by their awful Om Rău neighbors.

Arc padded softly into the master bathroom and shut the door.

The shower turned on. Tucking her hands beneath her cheek, Beth pictured Arc undressing, his clothes falling away to reveal the broad shoulders, solidly sculpted chest, and ripped abs of a natural born soldier. He had a fantastic body, hands down the best of any man she’d ever been with. Which was really saying something, because, modesty aside, she’d never lacked for some seriously handsome boyfriends in her dating years.

The shower turned off.

She stared at the clock and listened to Arc moving about—his wet footsteps on the tile, the sink faucet turning on then off.

Shh-flip. Another number.

Two warriors out on the street exchanged quiet greetings as they changed the watch.

The bathroom door opened, releasing a cloud of steam, and Arc stole silently over to his side of the bed. He fiddled with his alarm clock, then climbed under the covers.

She still didn’t move.

Shh-flip.

Her husband edged over and slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her close against his hips. The hard length of his erection prodded her rump.

“Arc.” She jabbed an elbow into his abdomen. “Quit it!”

Laughing softly, he nuzzled her neck. “You are awake. I knew it.”

“But not in the mood.”

“Hmm, no? Well, let’s see about getting you in the mood.” Setting a hand on her hip, he rolled her onto her back. Moonlight—well, really specialized stadium lighting—seeped through a crack in the curtains, cutting across the strong contours of his bare chest and turning his blond hair silvery white. His body heat wrapped around her like a cocoon of intimacy and his scent washed over her. Freshly showered male. Was there anything sexier?

He smiled the smile that always turned her belly to sugar.

God, why did he have to be so handsome?

But then my husband kisses me in his special way that lets me know how much I mean to him…

Maybe they were a bunch of brainwashed bimbos.

Arc trailed a hand under her nightie, skimming over her belly toward her—

She slapped his hand away and lurched to a sitting position, clutching the afghan to her breasts to hide nipples that had gone hard with laughable speed. “Honest to Pete, Arc, stop it, would you? I’ve had a rotten day.”

“Tell me about it, baby.” His fingers danced over her knee. “Did your clothing order arrive messed up or something?”

She scooted away, giving him her best glare. Not a very good one, since glaring wasn’t a specialty of hers. “The five of us Dragons met with Toni today, and it was awful.”

Arc levered himself up on an elbow. “It’s always tough at first, you know that. But things eventually smooth out.”

“Things are different this time.”

He widened his smile, not taking her seriously at all.

“It’s…it’s… The Dragons have had enough, Arc.”

Her husband inched back toward her. He was trying to be discreet about it, but she could tell what the stinker was up to.

“I’m warning you.”

His eyes glimmered in the shadows. “Sassiness. Now I’m really turned on.” He wrapped a brawny forearm around her waist and hauled her back over to him.

She shoved away again.

He exhaled a rough breath. “What’s the complaint here, exactly, Beth? You have two wonderful children, a rewarding career, a community that adores and supports you, no financial concerns, and a husband who’s totally crazy in love with you.”

“I’d think the answer to that is obvious,” she retorted. “This community takes women against their will.”

Another exhale. “It’s complicated.”

She clenched her fingers in her afghan.

For two years of marriage, I’ve urged my husband to stand up to Roth about the kidnappings—something he knows is wrong…

Beth had been married to Arc for five years, and she’d never brought this up before. And now she knew why. She’d been afraid of him dismissing her….just like he was doing.

She asked tartly, “So does that mean I shouldn’t worry my pretty little head about it?”

“What?”

“You can’t ignore this, I’m telling you. There was a big hullabaloo at Toni’s tea about the way Roth does things around here, and…and…” She didn’t want to betray the Dragons’ confidence, but maybe if she got Arc to understand their position he would help. “The Dragons want to… It’s time to… You need to listen to us.” She lifted a hand for emphasis.

The afghan sagged away from one of her breasts, and Arc’s gaze latched onto the sight like it was a beacon. “Um…yes…” He crept forward again, and this time kissed her shoulder. “Listen…”

She fumbled with the afghan.

His hand came to rest on her belly.

Her flesh jumped, but she tried to ignore it. “There’s going to be trouble.”

“Right, right.” With the hand on her stomach, he urged her down onto the mattress.

“The Dragons are going to take a stand and—”

Her husband tugged on her panties.

“Arc!” she gasped. She wriggled against his efforts to undress her, but he just laughed low in his throat and before she knew it, she was naked.

With a ragged groan, he rolled on top of her and settled between her thighs.

“Stop it, Arc, you pain in the butt!” She slapped her palms against his shoulders to push him off.

“I’ll talk to Roth,” he panted. “First thing in the morning, okay?” His shaft throbbed against her thigh.

She froze, a kernel of hope sparking to life in her chest. “Really? You’ll talk to Roth?”

“Yeah, baby, really.” His mouth took hers, his kiss open and devouring, his tongue sliding inside her mouth like sweet fire.

Never trust what a man says when he’s focused on putting his schlong into your cookie, dear.

The warning Beth’s mom had repetitively issued her, with those one-of-a-kind genitalia descriptors, clanged through her ears…then flew straight out of her head at the feel of Arc’s powerful body on top of her.

Chapter Fifteen

A thrill skipped through Beth’s body, sending embers of feeling lighting off along every inch of her skin. She twined her tongue with Arc’s, sifting her fingers into the back of his silky hair to hold him in place. He was such a great kisser, never a deep-thrusting, gagging-tongue type.

His fingertips trailed up the side of her ribcage, all the while his mouth teasing and tasting. His hand cupped her breast, and she squirmed eagerly beneath him as his thumb grazed her nipple, caressing the rosy bud into an even harder point.

She bowed off the mattress, moisture surging into her core.

Arc tore his mouth from hers with a harsh breath, his nostrils flaring.

There was no hiding the scent of lust from a Vârcolac.

She spread her legs wider and bent her knees, making room for her husband’s large body, inviting him inside.

“So good, baby.” He grabbed his length in his fist and positioned himself at her entrance, then pushed inside her body, a smooth easy penetration, always so careful of her. A growl wrenched from his lips.

She gripped his shoulders as he began to move inside her. Tension steadily built in her womb…tightening…growing. He never skimped on penetration, each forward thrust of his hips burying his shaft deep inside her. Exquisite ripples of ecstasy tumbled through her body.

“Arc.” She gasped his name in helpless pleasure.

He increased his tempo, and bent his head to her neck, latching his lips onto her skin, nibbling and sucking. The sharp tip of an elongated fang grazed her.

She pressed her head back into the pillow, stretching her throat out to him. But his lips continued only to suckle her, his breath puffing in quick, hot bursts against her skin. He wouldn’t feed on her tonight.

No matter. She preferred a fiinţă-backed orgasm, but didn’t need it. She flexed her legs around Arc’s pumping flanks and dug her fingers into the valley that bisected his back, the scales of his dragon tattoo cool beneath her touch. Heat spiraled to the boiling point, her privates aching with the need for release. Her lips trembled apart. Only…a few more…strokes, and—

OH!

She cried out as her sex squeezed and squeezed and squeezed. A shout rose in her throat that would’ve woken the kids if she hadn’t caught it back. Oh! God!

A guttural noise erupted from Arc’s chest as the tight, rhythmic pulsing of her sheath sent him racing toward his own release. The muscles in his body stiffened …

And then he was clutching her to him with impossible strength. His sex throbbed inside her, and he hugged her even closer.

This part of his orgasm had been so strange to her the first few times they’d made love, this fierce, almost desperate embrace he gave her. The men she’d had sex with before always reared off her in the final throes of their ecstasy, body braced on straight arms, head craned back as they made all of their oh-this-feels-so-great noises. But not Arc. In the last intense moments of his climax, he held her to him as if he was afraid she might disappear back into a dream if he didn’t keep a firm grip on her. And it was…the most romantic thing ever.

A deep animal noise rumbled out of him that no human could’ve ever made, and then his climax spent itself. He slackened on top of her, gasping for breath, his heart hammering against her breasts.

She kept her arms wrapped loosely around him while they both calmed their breathing and let their heart rates settle. His member throbbed with the occasional aftershock inside her. She heard a soft, slick sound, like running your tongue over your teeth, that meant his fangs were retracting into his upper jaw. Contentment enveloped her.

Her husband nuzzled her throat, rose up and kissed her lightly on the nose, then withdrew himself and covered her naked body with the afghan.

She sighed to herself. Sweet, caring, and gorgeous. How was she supposed to resist him?

Never mind. Beth won’t do it…

“God,” she murmured. “I really am a sap.”

“Hmm, baby?” Arc’s voice sounded drowsy.

She pushed up on an elbow and looked down on him.

He was flopped on his back, his arms flung above his head. His nostrils were twitching. “Hey, are you…?” He trailed off.

“Am I what?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Arc mumbled, his jaw already loosening with sleep.

“All right.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “I love you.”

With his eyes closed, he smiled lazily. “Love you, too, beautiful wife.”

She smiled back, although he couldn’t see her, and swung her legs over the side of the mattress. She climbed out of bed and headed into the bathroom, towing the afghan with her.

She took a quick shower to clean up the wetness between her legs, then brushed her teeth again for good measure, and finally plopped down on the toilet. Out of habit, she grabbed an ovulation stick from the nearby cup. It was probably a waste of an O-stick—not that there weren’t millions in the community. She wasn’t due to ovulate for another—

What the heck? She squinted down at the stick. There were three hash marks on it. Not one or two as a warning of impending fertility.

“Oh, no,” she breathed, glancing at the bathroom door. No wonder Arc’s nostrils had been twitching. He’d been sensing the approach of her fertile time.

Crud, what was she going to do now? After the rough day she’d had, she wasn’t in the mood to go through the Vârcolac procreation process.

A Vârcolac male turned into an instinct-driven machine the moment he scented his mate in her fertile time, glazing into a semi-conscious state. He would have sex with his mate—sex, sex, sex—and not stop until he got her pregnant.

The two times Beth had gone through it to get pregnant with Lysha and then Brynt had completely worn out her privates. The process wasn’t exactly easy on her neck, either. Arc had to keep sampling her blood for the telltale taste of whatever it was that triggered his brain to signal Mission Accomplished.

And only then would she be released from his attentions as her husband collapsed into a three-day hibernation state.

As procreation methods went, it was pretty foolproof. But Mother Nature had sacrificed all the romance and specialness that went into creating a life together for the sake of reproductive efficiency.

She supposed she was just going to have to make a run for it, and get her butt into lockdown.

A funny thing to call the female-only secured rooms in Roth’s mansion, considering that the suites were outfitted with every imaginable luxury—barring herself in one for the two or three days of her fertile time was like a mini-vacation from life’s responsibilities.

But, anyway, one of the Dragon women—probably Kimberly—had coined the term and it’d stuck.

Tiptoeing over to the bathroom door, Beth lifted her robe off the hook and shrugged it on, then stepped into her slippers.

Placing her hand on the doorknob, she drew in a fortifying breath and prayed for speed. Quickly twisting the knob, she jerked open the door, and dashed into—

Her husband jackknifed out of a sound sleep and growled at her.

She yelped. Lord, this was going to be close! She ran like the dickens, her slippers flapping.

It wasn’t even close.

Her athletic god of a husband came at her like a nuclear-powered freight train, tackling her to the floor just outside their bedroom door.

“Arc,” she squeaked, finding herself squashed beneath her husband’s unrelenting body.

He towered to his feet and stood over her, his legs braced wide and his hands curled into loose fists at his sides. An enormous erection jutted out from his body. His nostrils were flaring rhythmically with the inhalations of her fertility scent, and his eyes were rapidly glazing over.

Yikes, Elvis has pretty much left the building. She had about two seconds, maybe less, to issue him a firm no-command and get away before he was lost completely to the primal state of a Vârcolac male in full procreation mode.

With a feral grunt, Arc bent over and grabbed her ankle. Turning, he dragged her back into the bedroom.

Her robe bunched around her waist, her hair trailing out behind her. She opened her mouth to stop him and then…

Didn’t.

Chapter Sixteen

The next day

9:47 a.m.

Toni stood at her balcony, one shoulder resting against the sliding glass doorframe, and gazed out at the town of Ţărână, home to 429 “followers”: 229 males and 200 females—married, single, young, and old.

She was so damned sick of the view.

Same-old, same-old every day for the past week.

Such an oh-so-cheery scene down there, the whole setup made to look like Main Street in Anytown, USA.

But, it wasn’t, was it?

No. That down there was the freaking Batcave or Count Chocula’s ’hood or…or if a person was inclined to believe Dr. Jess’s explanations, then she was looking at one of the many undiscovered spurs of tunnels naturally created by movement of tectonic plates in the San Andreas fault.

The first night she was here, she’d received the full lowdown from Dr. Jess while he puttered about in her room, preparing her a tidy cocktail of medications: ibuprofen for a headache the size of Jupiter—big surprise—plus vitamin D to offset the lack of sunlight down here, plus a sleeping pill to help her adjust to Ţărână’s automated light-dark cycle, which ran opposite to the real one topside.

According to Dr. Jess, oxygen flowed into the community through a honeycomb of wormholes formed by the same plate shifting that’d created the tunnels themselves. The town’s closer position to the earth’s core maintained a constant temperature of 68 degrees Fahrenheit—they were a shocking one-half mile deep. Water, television, and outside internet were stolen from topside, the latter doled out only to the most trusted residents…otherwise Ţărână-only cell phones were provided. Electricity was self-generated, as was income—the rocky earth was mined for diamonds and other precious minerals. Food and sundry supplies were transported in by the Travelers mentioned at the tea party.

All in all, the place was quite the well-oiled machine of efficiency and production—a system well worth admiring had it not been a haven for a bunch of wackos who could stand with a bit of screw-tightening.

Although Toni had to give credit where credit was due—even during her psych rotation in med school she’d never encountered a more complexly constructed fantasy world than this one. Or a group of people so deeply committed to adhering to said fantasy world.

Case in point—her first day here when each Vârcolac breed had demonstrated his extraordinary ability. The special effects they used to uphold their illusion of vampirism were impressive, some of the best she’d seen…and she knew every trick in the book.

Her brother, Alex, had gone through a phase in high school of making his own slasher movies.

So she knew that Dev Nichita could’ve put drops of something called Fluorescein into his eyes to make them glow…although, yes, a black light was generally required for activation. But there were also Scleral contact lenses.

Thomal Costache could’ve used any number of unique glues to affix the scales of his dragon tattoo to his back to make them look so real. He could’ve even gone so far as to have them surgically stitched on. Extreme, yes, but working with Detective Waterson on the Occult Crimes Unit had taught her just how far cult freaks were willing to go in their freakishness.

And when Kasson ran so fast that he disappeared before her eyes… Well, um… She’d blamed her concussed brain and the lingering effects of Ketamine on that one.

Truthfully, the scientist in her might’ve been fascinated by these people if they hadn’t been so completely screwing up her life.

The latest outrage occurred just this morning, when several boxes of her personal effects arrived in her bedroom, all of it collected from her topside home. These freaks had broken into her house and packed up all her stuff! Stuff, as in clothes, photos, jewelry, books, bathroom products…

The idea was that she’d feel more at home with her own crap.

Yes, thank you so much, she felt so much cozier now. On top of that was the scarier idea that these people planned to keep her here for quite some time.

Have a baby, for crying out loud!

That’s a woman’s ticket out of here…?

Toni squeezed her eyes closed.

In addition to everything else, some goober named Cleeve was answering emails in her name. From what she could gather, he’d informed her hospital that she was away on emergency personal leave, and fed her mother and brother some crock about her being at a hematology seminar.

So no one even knew she was missing.

No one was searching for her.

The Cavalry wasn’t going to charge to her rescue any minute.

She was completely on her own when it came to escaping this place.

We need to get our hands on a key card…

Not so easy.

On an earlier reconnaissance, Toni discovered that all the warriors kept their rooms locked.

What happened to small-town trust?

But, anyway, that meant she had to wait until one of the warriors was actually in his room to search it. Not optimal. But since she had no idea how to pick a lock, she didn’t see any other way.

She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. The first group of warriors should be returning from morning training any minute. She’d been tracking their schedule, and they worked out in small groups at various times of the—

Ah, here they were now.

“…have to drain the main vein, man, then we’ll grab the football and head out to the…”

“…should’ve seen the dump I just took. Day-um! It came out looking like a small, greased-down squirrel, I kid you…”

“Dude, you’re a moron. The length of a woman’s legs doesn’t determine the size of her…”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you have to check with your wife before you can scratch your balls, too?”

Pushing away from the balcony, Toni crossed her bedroom and listened at the door, waiting for the male voices to fade.

When the last bedroom door closed, she whispered, “Idiots,” then cracked open her own door. All clear? She poked her head out. Yes. She slipped into the hallway and took a deep breath, forcing herself to remain calm. If anybody asked, she was out for a stroll.

She crept to the bedroom across the hall, her heartbeat racing despite her efforts to keep cool. She pressed her ear against the painting of the Colosseum—on this floor of the mansion, all the doors were decorated with murals of famous European cities to distinguish one room from another. This one was Rome. Hers, to go along with her French décor, was Paris, with a soaring Eiffel Tower taking up most of the door.

She waited to hear a shower running.

Raging rock music cranked to a near eardrum-bursting volume, and she leapt back, nearly crying out. Jesus!

She hurried down the hall, checking out Oslo then London. No luck—no sounds of a shower.

At Dublin she hit pay dirt.

She inhaled. Okay, here goes. She opened Dublin’s door and darted inside, making sure to—

Whoa. Whose room was this, anyway? The décor was extraordinarily tasteful, done in warm and inviting earth tones, hunter green, mauve, and chocolate brown predominating—the bedspread was a patchwork combination of all three. A CD of The Cowboy Junkies was spinning on a state-of-the-art sound system, filling the room with soft, bluesy music. Even more astonishing, a floor to ceiling wine rack stood against the far wall, large enough to house more than a hundred bottles. It was nearly full. In front of the wine was a small table laden with all the paraphernalia an expert sommelier would need.

Whoever lived here had taste and class, and she couldn’t imagine which warrior that could be.

Not that she had time to figure it out.

Stealing over to the dresser, she rummaged through the drawers. Only clothes, dammit, and a…Penthouse magazine.

So much for taste and class.

Ugging under her breath, she thrust the magazine back underneath a stack of shirts and moved over to a chest, lifting the lid to check for—

The shower shut off.

Shit! She sprinted across the room, grabbing the doorknob and quickly and quietly yanking on it to—

A hand shot out, landing on the wood above her head and slamming the door shut again.

Ho. My God. It’d taken the occupant of this bedroom exactly one millisecond to open the bathroom door, spot her, then arrive at her back.

“Looking for something?” a dark, smoky voice drawled near her ear.

Her breath rammed into her throat, log-jamming right next to her heart. Of all the warriors whose room this could’ve possibly been, why did it have to be Devid who caught her?

Chapter Seventeen

Hold on. This classy room was Dev’s?

Toni spun around and—

Wrong move.

Dev was stark naked, dripping wet, and his hand was still anchored to the door beside her head, putting him very close. The awesome breadth of his shoulders blocked most of her view of the room.

Her pulse spiked.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Curiosity finally got the better of you, did it? Out of your room at last…” His silver eyes brightened with a teasing light. “Maybe you’d like to give me that medical examination now?”

Was the room shrinking?

She cleared her throat and pointed a remarkably steady finger at the bathroom behind him. “There’s a towel right in there, Mr. Nichita. Perhaps you’d like to make use of it.”

“I’m sure I don’t have anything you haven’t seen before, right, Doctor?”

Riiiiiight. She’d challenge any female physician in the Western Hemisphere to pull off viewing this man’s body with solely a clinical eye. Not that she was looking at it.

“Or maybe not.” He took a step back and held out his arms, presenting himself to her in all his naked glory.

She latched her eyes directly onto the area between his legs, using all of her willpower not to let her eyes sproing out at him like a Bug-Out Bob doll. Because that was quite a sight. Clinically speaking, it pretty much shot directly past racehorse dimensions and right into elephant-penis status.

“See anything new?”

“Nope.” She tore her eyes away. “You’re right. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.” She made what she hoped was an offhand gesture.

He lowered his arms. “Maybe a set of fangs, then?” The air seemed to sweeten and thicken. “That’d be new, I bet.”

“No, it wouldn’t be.” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, secretly clutching herself. “I’ve seen plenty of those teeth which you people call ‘fangs.’”

All the cult fanatics in this town had their canines filed down to sharp points. Ouch.

Dev’s deep laugh reverberated through the room and shivered up her spine. “Ah, but you haven’t seen them elongated, honey, that’s the thing. But never fear—Dev is here.” The gleam in his eyes sharpened as he took a step toward her.

She jerked backwards, dropping her arms and pressing her spine against the door. Maybe if she pressed her back to the door firmly enough she’d be able to rearrange her molecules and slip right through.

“I have to touch you to show you, sweetheart. Fangs only lengthen when the Vârcolac himself is…stimulated.”

Toni’s lungs grew tight, the air suddenly burning inside them. How chicken would she look if she turned around and pasted her face to the back of the door again?

“By the smell of blood,” he went on as if she’d asked, “aggression, or sexual arousal.” He arched one brow into a devilish slant.

“That’s a rather convenient set of parameters for you, isn’t it, Mr. Nichita?” And no wonder her mate-choices hadn’t shown her elongated fangs on demonstration day.

“You could always go ask Jacken for a demo. He and his brothers are the only ones who can control their fangs voluntarily.” Dev’s eyes danced. “You want to go see if he’s up for it?”

“Thanks, but no.”

“I guess that leaves me then.” His smile was a knee-melter.

A swallow worked its way slowly down her throat.

“All I need to do is tuck my face right in here—” Dev pressed his thumb lightly to the artery in her neck, his fingers curling around her nape. “And I’ll be able to smell your blood just fine.”

Her pulse reacted crazily to his touch, the wild drumbeat of it pounding from her vein into the pad of his thumb.

His pupils dilated, a feral darkness seeping into his gaze.

A palpable sensation of warmth and seduction oozed over her, stirring heat to life in her blood. She pressed her palms flat against the door. Dear God, what…what…? She suddenly had the alarming desire to throw back her head and present her throat to this man. And if he wanted to fondle her breasts that would be okay with her, too.

Dev shifted closer, his nostrils quivering. “You smell so damn good, Toni.” His voice was thick velvet over her skin. He caressed his thumb along the length of her artery.

Her eyelids sagged to half-mast. Hmm, really, do I? Maybe we can have some babies together or—

She startled. Jolting straight, she blinked past the dizziness in her head and shook away the weird, spellbinding fog. “Whatever you’re doing, Devid, stop it.” Grabbing his wrist, she yanked his hand from her throat and dug her thumb into the sensitive area between his thumb and forefinger—a handy trick she’d learned from a YMCA Self Defense Training Course.

Dev’s eyebrows leapt up in surprise. “Ow.”

She shoved him.

He went stumbling backwards, and she bolted from the room.

Not putting it past a man like Dev to chase after her without benefit of clothing, she didn’t even try to make it back to her own bedroom. She dashed directly into Berlin next door.

Shutting the door with a soft but firm click, she gulped in deep breaths as she listened for sounds of—

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

She whirled around.

Her heart lurched. Talk about jumping from the frying pan into the fire…

Jacken.

Chapter Eighteen

Big, Dark, and Murderous was standing near a black entertainment center across the room, dressed in the all-black, tight-fitting workout gear the warriors wore for training. His hands were on his hips and a sharp line joined his eyebrows together.

On the right side of the room was a wet bar, also black. The bedspread was black with a dark gray geometric design on it. The carpet was charcoal.

Yeesh. At least the room fit the man this time.

“Well?” Jacken pressed in a peeved tone. “I asked you a question.”

“Oh. I’m…uh…” I’m trying to steal a key card so I can escape this lunatic asylum. She covertly scanned the room for inspiration on another excuse. The truth probably wouldn’t go over too well with Mr. Surly here. She zeroed in on a stack of DVD’s in his entertainment center. “I was just wondering if I could borrow a movie.”

“You ever hear of knocking first?”

“I…” She ended her comment there. She didn’t have a good reason for why she hadn’t.

“Get out.”

Toni bristled. “You don’t have to be such an ass about it.”

“Yeah,” he ground out, “I do. Because having your smell in my room is about as much fun as a fork in the eye.”

She plunked her hands on her hips. “Up yours, Jacken, you freaking misogynist.”

His eyes slitted.

He had the darkest eyes she’d ever seen, so deep a brown they looked almost black… Maybe they were black. “That’s a woman-hater.” She pished. “What’s your problem, anyway? Your mommy didn’t breastfeed you? None of the girls in second grade gave you a Valentine’s Day card?”

Jacken’s jaw hardened toward splintering. “You don’t know a thing about me, lady.”

“Oh, I know you, Mr. Brun.” She walked toward him. “I’ve been watching you from my balcony this past week. Yes, that’s right, spying on you,” she needled. “And I’ve seen how you are with women. Every morning you stand in front of Aunt Ælsi’s Coffee Shop and hand out muffins or pastries to the warriors going on duty. But when Beth strolls by to go to work, you don’t give her a single thing.”

“She’s someone else’s wife,” Jacken shot at her.

“You barely even say hello to her!” Toni lobbed back. “And what about the school teacher? If Claresta happens to stroll by with her students, you only give her a curt nod. But you sure as hell have the decency to squat down and talk to the kids, even going so far as to ruffle their hair, and—miracle of miracles—crack the tiniest smile.”

Thunder descended on his brow.

“So what’s it about women?” She flung out her hands. “You scared of us or something? Are you threatened by the multiple female orgasm because you think it—”

“Enough,” he growled, grabbing her elbow.

“Get your paws off me!” She wrenched her arm out of his grasp, pulling away so violently that she knocked into his entertainment center, sending his stack of DVDs tumbling off the shelf.

“I’m not one of your warrior meatheads that you can boss around or—” Catching a glimpse of the titles of the DVDs at her feet, she froze.

The Hunchback of Notre Dame, It Happened One Night, Singing in the Rain…

She was stunned.

Hard-faced, foul-mouthed Jacken liked old movies?

Humphrey Bogart flicks appeared to be his favorite. The Maltese Falcon, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, the incomparable Casablanca….

Her jaw slack, she bent to pick up one of her favorites. “The African Queen,” she said softly, nostalgia tugging her lips into a smile. “I love Katharine Hepburn. She’s so—”

Jacken snatched the movie out of her hand.

“For Pete’s sake! You’re the most foul-tempered person I’ve ever met.”

He flung The African Queen back on its shelf. “I’m going to take a shower now. So unless you have some demented need to watch, we’re back to you getting the fuck out.”

She narrowed her eyes and didn’t move.

His eyes narrowed back in challenge, and he yanked his lycra workout shirt off over his head.

She blinked, surprise chasing away her anger.

More of the same black, interlocking saber-toothed tattoos covered his impossibly broad chest, the design starting above his nipples and climbing up the brutal slabs of his pecs to his collarbone.

Her stomach fluttered at the sight of all his powerful muscles. Dear Lord, he was magnificent, his physique so clearly articulated with grooves and crevices he could’ve been held up in anatomy class as an example of the perfect male specimen.

These are the quadriceps, class, this, the tibialis anterior, and this part right here between his legs is his…

Heat crept into Toni’s cheeks, her lips parting as all that was feminine in her helplessly reacted to him. What was it about this man? How was it that she was more aware of all the wonderful differences between men and women while standing here with Jacken than she had been with Dev, even when he was naked as a jaybird?

Jacken reached for the laces at the front of his stretchy shorts, but when she still didn’t move to leave, he lost his bravado.

“Shit,” he muttered and pinched the bridge of his nose, putting his forearm tattoos in her line of sight.

A strange uneasiness curled through her belly. Something wasn’t right about all his tattoos. The skin underneath the marks was dented in places, pockmarked in others.

Damaged.

“Your tattoos…”

Jacken’s head snapped up.

“What’s the story with them?”

He stared at her, an immense energy radiating off him, like the force of a tornado barely held in check, along with something…strangely raw.

Her stomach cramped with another wave of disquiet. “Someone hurt you, didn’t they?”

His expression closed, his guard coming up. His upper lip quivered toward a sneer—all nonverbal cues to back off.

Made sense. They’d just been fighting. She’d called him names. He was equally rude.

They didn’t know each other.

So she shouldn’t expect him to open up to her.

Still. It hurt.

Right now she needed something from him. She didn’t know what.

All she knew was that she’d been drugged and kidnapped, stripped of her former life for the disturbing purpose of becoming a breeding vessel for “vampires,” and now her topside house had been invaded and a bunch of lies were being fed to her family.

She needed a moment.

A second.

A mere blip of something from this man to help her feel not so alone.

“Could you…just…” She inhaled a deep breath. “Could you please talk to me?”

Some kind of emotion flickered across his face. She couldn’t tell what it was. Then it was gone.

He said nothing.

Chapter Nineteen

Tears pricked the corners of Toni’s eyes, but she bit them back. It was an absurd reaction. “I guess I earned the silent treatment. Sorry for being such a ballbreaker, but my life sucks right now.”

The tendons on the sides of Jacken’s throat grew taut.

The pounding rock music down the hall switched to another song, still pounding.

“Your mate-choices,” Jacken said roughly. “Talk to them.”

“I don’t want to talk to them.” Her voice sounded small, even to her own ears. “I want my brother.” Her lips started to tremble. She dragged the back of her wrist across her mouth.

Jacken glanced aside, the line of his jaw steely.

The room suddenly felt stifling.

Anger and shouting were better than this, but she didn’t have the energy to get them back to that.

Jacken looked at her again. “My father put these tattoos on me,” he told her in a flat tone. “He hammered ink-soaked tacks into my skin. Tack after tack after tack, and I wasn’t allowed to make a single sound.”

“Your father…?” The words sunk in, and horror invaded her chest. “Dear God, why?”

“To mark me as his son.” Jacken looked down at the black workout shirt in his hand, seeming surprised that he still held it. “To turn me into a man.”

“That’s…” Bile lurched up her throat as a picture rushed into her mind…of Jacken as a young boy—scared, lost, vulnerable, just trying to survive. She wasn’t sure how to reconcile that image with the picture of the stony-faced man in front of her.

He jutted his jaw at her. “I don’t need your pity.”

She shook her head. “That’s not where I was going.” But guilt stabbed at her. He hadn’t wanted to share this part of himself—he’d done it to help her through her sadness. She’d pushed him, and now he clearly felt exposed.

She shifted her focus over, staring across the room. “Fathers,” she murmured. “They are…” The entertainment center shimmied before her gaze as memories unfolded across her mind. “My own father packed a single small duffel bag on the day he left. I remember that very clearly because even though I was only six years old, it still struck me as very weird that he’d take so little. I think it also gave me hope that he wouldn’t really leave. But no.”

She pressed her eyes closed as the bitter image sleeted over her. “He stopped in the doorway, leaned down to kiss me on the forehead, and said, ‘Goodbye, Antoinetta.’ That’s it. No, ‘Hey, see you this weekend for an ice cream, kid’ or even ‘I love you.’ Just, ‘Goodbye, Antoinetta.’” She paused as she came to the part that always hollowed her out. “I never saw him again.”

Jacken’s eerie black eyes were strangely intense, pinned on her in a way that made her think an earthquake could rock the room and he wouldn’t move.

“What father never sees his kids again just because he divorces their mother?” she asked, almost expecting Jacken to answer. “Other divorced fathers saw their children, right? Weekends and every other Christmas, half of summer vacation. So it must’ve been me—I’d done something to drive him away.” She gave Jacken an earnest look. “Can you see that?”

The corners of his eyes pinched.

“So I, uh…” She pulled her focus away again. “I went out into my back yard one day and gathered a bag of small rocks and pebbles, then I spread them under the sheets of my bed. I figured that if I punished myself for whatever I did, my father would somehow know how sorry I was and come back.”

She exhaled down both nostrils. “God, I must’ve slept on those rocks for a good week before my mother discovered them and went bonkers. Well, she stayed calm on the outside, but she sent me to a child psychologist all the same. I don’t remember much about those sessions, except there were a lot of puppets.” A humorless laugh jerked out of her chest. “I think I was supposed to come to the conclusion that my father’s departure wasn’t my fault.” I wonder if I ever figured that out.

Jacken stood absolutely still, not a single muscle moving, bones set in place. Only the rhythmic flexing of one hand around his workout shirt revealed that he wasn’t made of stone.

Except for his heart.

She gazed down at the pile of DVDs. The Big Sleep, The Caine Mutiny, To Have and Have Not…

Why had she regurgitated the most agonizing experience of her childhood to this man? He had about as much ability to respond to her pain as a 2x4.

“Well…I’ll leave you to your shower now.” She practically sprinted for the door.

“Date your mate-choices.”

She stopped with her hand on the knob.

Jacken’s voice went gritty as a rusted out 10-speed. “They’ll…I think one of them could make you very happy, a kind of happy you’ll never find topside, and…you deserve to be happy.”

Tears stung her nose. “You don’t know what I deserve.” Hauling open the door, she hurried out, dashing across the hall.

Once she was inside her room, she crossed to her bed and crumpled down on the mattress, hugging her middle. She looked around with bleary eyes. This wasn’t her room. She didn’t belong here. She’d spent a week straight in this rotten bedroom and had never felt as alone as she did now.

Scared, lost, vulnerable, just trying to survive…

With a groan, she propped her brow on the heels of her hands.

Damn that man.

Please, God, don’t let me find a spark of connection with Jacken, of all people.

Run!

Run down the hall…run out of this building…run back home…

Throw yourself into Alex’s arms and weep.

Her brother would understand how she felt…

Scared, lost, vulnerable, just trying to survive.

Gulping a breath, she scooted over to the French Contessa phone on her nightstand and picked up the receiver.

There was the usual soft hum. “Operator.”

“Hello, this is Dr. Toni Parthen. May I speak to Mr. Roth Mihnea?”

She gripped the receiver in a tight fist, a single tear tracing a path to her jaw. She’d date her mate-choices, all right.

Dev, Thomal, Kasson…they were all warriors.

They all had key cards.

And somehow she’d pry one off them—she didn’t care what it took—and get the hell out of this place.

Chapter Twenty

The next day

University City, San Diego

7:25 a.m.

Alex absently strummed his guitar, the instrument feeling like an old friend in his hands.

The guitar was a handmade mahogany/spruce Sorbera acoustic—a Christmas gift from Toni. He’d just about killed her for going so over budget that year, but she’d wanted to encourage his music, seeing real talent in what to him had been another rebellion.

His rocker phase.

Although these days his “rock” band consisted of four computer geek friends, and they mostly played classic hits, like stuff from The Who, The Rolling Stones, Pink Floyd, The Eagles… Now Alex started to pick out the first few chords of Hotel California.

He was seated on the edge of the couch in his office, the light of a morning sun filtering in through the east facing window, coloring the room a mellow gold. On his desk computer, the mouse cursor blinked where he’d left it stalled out on Toni’s latest email.

Or the email from whoever was pretending to be her.

He was absolutely sure now that whoever was sending those emails wasn’t his sister.

The emails sounded almost like her—would probably sound completely like her to anyone who didn’t know her as well as he did.

But he and Toni were close, always had been, even as kids. The past few months, especially—heck, years—with neither of them dating much or going out with nonexistent friends, they’d come to rely on each other for sanity checks. For companionship.

No way would Toni let nine days go by and not call him or give him any contact information.

A couple of days was pushing it.

Nine? Impossible.

He and Detective Waterson were working the Fake Toni theory together, but the detective wasn’t having any luck running down information. Neither was Alex, for that matter. Just as he’d predicted, that forged IP address was proving impossible to trace.

He’d been attacking the problem with his best stuff, too. The moment Waterson and his partner drove off seven days ago, Alex reinstalled his no-no hacker programs: sniffer, crack, malicious logic, cryptographic checksum, DNS and IP spoofing, daemons.

Since then, he’d been sending emails to Fake Toni with various Trojans attached to try and probe out system information. But whoever was working on Toni’s end had access control sealed tighter than a frog’s butt. Whenever Alex managed to find a signal and track it for a few steps, the footprints would cross a stream, so to speak, and vanish. He knew they were there—he just couldn’t see them.

He was so sick of feeling helpless.

Bowing his head, he switched from the Eagles on his guitar to Eric Clapton, gently plucking out Tears in Heaven, a song he played when he was depressed. A sudden rush of tears startled him, and he stopped playing to press his eyelids.

“C’mon, sister mine,” he whispered, “where are you?”

He looked at his closet for about the tenth time this morning. What was hidden there could…

No, don’t even go there, man. Using the “piggy-backer” was a bad idea.

On a good day, the program was a brilliant device, allowing him to glom onto any signal and ride inside undetected—hence the name.

The bad days were the downside.

Alex had invented the software back in his Berkeley days, when he hadn’t had the time or the talent to rid the thing of all its bugs, so on a bad day the piggy-backer had a nasty habit of flipping out and obliterating everything within the very system it’d breached.

Which meant that if he used the program to hunt down Fake Toni, he could end up shutting the only open portal he had into information about her.

So he’d spent this entire past week avoiding it…while time rapidly ticked by, his sister still missing. Possibly in serious danger.

Maybe dead.

“Ah, damn,” he breathed, anguish burning into his temples like a soldering iron. Screw it.

Standing, he set the Sorbera on its guitar stand with care, then crossed to his office closet. Hunkering down on his hands and knees, he shoved aside junk, clearing a path to the small chest in the back—he purposely kept it out of easy reach.

There.

He hefted the chest out with a grunt, flipped open the lid, and…fell back on his ass.

Holy crap. The Book.

He’d forgotten all about it.

He hadn’t opened the danged thing in years because…well, whenever he did, it was kind of a bizarre-o trip-out for him—for several nights afterward, his dreams would get mega weird.

It was an amazing book, though. The cover itself was striking, sandy-colored and grainy in texture, the center decorated with a dark blue crescent moon and star that shimmered almost electrically. On the pages inside there were detailed drawings of dragons, fairies, forests, labyrinths, and…a people so magnificently stunning he couldn’t quite figure out who they were.

Or what they were.

Because he had the sense that such extraordinary beauty didn’t come without a mystical element attached to it.

The lettering of whatever story The Book told was also fantastical, like a mixture of ancient hieroglyphs, Runic markings, and something J.R.R. Tolkien might’ve invented.

He’d originally thought The Book was a fairytale written in some extinct language, but when he took it to the language department at UCSD for analysis, the linguist told him it was utter gibberish, nothing at all readable.

Except…the thing was…he could read it.

Sometimes.

Or more like “see” pictures in the lettering. He didn’t know how. And whatever the story was, it was no fairytale. More like a history of sorts, unfolding before him…or prophesies maybe. Or even a commentary on his own life, which was the really freaky part.

He had an odd connection to The Book—even now the thing lured him to open it—but he set it aside. He didn’t need the distraction right now.

Rooting deeper in the chest, he found the piggy-backer. He contemplated the disc. Maybe he should try fixing it first…

Except that beta testing generally took a long time, and time was exactly what he didn’t have right now.

That precious commodity was running out.

All right, then. Pulling the piggy-backer out of its sleeve, he moved over to his desk and slid the disc into his computer tower. He took in a deep breath.

Time to set a trap.

Chapter Twenty-One

The same day

The underground community of Ţărână

7:32 p.m.

Beth hauled open the gymnasium door and planted herself inside, schooling her face as best she could into an upset expression.

The grunts of men exerting themselves flowed over her at about the same moment as the humidity and aroma of a bunch of sweaty bodies training.

She scanned over the men, looking for her husband.

Gábor was working out on the punching bag, the bull skull tattoo on his bicep repeatedly rippling. Nyko was lifting weights, bench pressing what looked to be the poundage of a Hyundai. Thomal, her brother-in-law, was sparring with Sedge in the boxing ring. And…

Ah! There was the culprit.

Across the room, Arc was wrestling with Dev on a large square of mats, the two men going at it easily since her husband had just woken from his post-reproduction hibernation earlier today.

Gábor noticed her first. “Yo, Arc,” he called out, backing off from the bag. “Looks like trouble in paradise, bro.”

Trouble? Hah, good. She was pulling off upset.

Arc peered up from his pretzeled position. “Beth?” He untangled himself from Dev and sprang to his feet. “Hey, honey, what’s up?” He grabbed a small towel and walked toward her, wiping the sweat off his face.

“What’s up is that I wanted to meet with Toni for lunch tomorrow, but I was denied.” Beth crossed her arms and stood with her spine straight. “Apparently, I have to get my husband’s approval before I’m allowed to be alone with her.”

“Ah, yeah, no worries, baby.” Now Arc scrubbed the towel over his sweaty blond hair. “You can go. I’ll let Roth know everything’s cool.”

Grrr. She wouldn’t be surprised if smoke was actually leaking out of her nostrils. “Thank you ever so much for your permission.”

Standing a few feet behind Arc, Dev winced.

Arc flipped the towel over his shoulder. “C’mon, don’t get all bunched up. It’s just that Roth knows there’s some discontent among the wives right now, so he wants all requests to see Toni to go through the husbands.”

“Don’t get bunched up?!” she repeated hotly. “You’re controlling my actions. How would you like it if someone did that to you?”

“It’s not like that. You—”

“It’s exactly like that. Maybe you’d see it if you ever bothered to listen to me.”

“What are you talking about? I listen.”

“Ha! What about the other night? I tried to warn you about trouble brewing among the Dragons—I asked for your help—but you didn’t pay attention. You just started kissing me, and…and…Sex, sex, sex!” She threw her hands into the air. “That’s all you ever think about or want to do.”

A moment of awkward silence passed, then Thomal sniggered.

Red-faced, Arc glared at his brother. “Shut the fuck up, would you, Thomal? Maybe nearly thirty years of not getting laid after reaching physical maturity took a big toll, all right?”

“At least you’re getting laid now,” Thomal spat back.

Arc turned to her again. “Can we talk about this later, please?”

“You mean alone in our bedroom?” She tsked. “I’m not falling for that again.”

Arc passed a hand over his face. “Beth, I’m sorry, okay. You’re…such an incredibly beautiful woman, and I…can’t help myself sometimes.”

She rubbed her lips together, beginning to waver.

Arc would only talk about how beautiful she was in front of his warrior buddies, but she knew that what he was really saying was how much he loved her.

She exhaled. “I’m glad you’re attracted to me, Arc, of course. But you’re my husband. I’m supposed to be able to depend on you.”

“You can.”

He sounded so earnest, so genuine that she was tempted to stop arguing and go home. It’d be the easiest thing in the world to allow her husband to tell her “everything’s fine,” then just pretend it was and let the other Dragon women bear the brunt of taking a stand.

Never mind. Beth won’t do it…

Because pigs would fly before The Best Looking and Most Popular Girl would risk saying something stupid. A tight feeling caught in her throat. God, she was so sick of how pathetic that made her feel. “If I can depend on you, then how come you didn’t help me?”

His brows drew down. “I’ve never refused to help you.”

“Baloney, Arc! You said you would talk to Roth after I asked you to, but then you didn’t.”

“That’s different, Beth. I can’t go against the leader of our community.”

“So you were lying to me when you told me you’d talk to him, is that it? You only said that to get me to have sex with you?”

Arc flushed a mottled shade of red. “Jesus, what the hell do you want me to do anyway? Walk up Roth and say, ‘excuse me, sir, but the Dragons don’t agree with the method you’re using to try and save our entire race from extinction.”

“It’d be a start.”

“Would you please be reasonable?”

“As soon as you stop being unreasonable and speak out against something you know is wrong.”

Sedge bowed his head and shook it.

Arc snapped the towel over his shoulder. “What you’re asking me to do would be like me asking you to tell the President of the United States how to run his shop.”

“Well, at least in topside America we have a say, a vote, about matters that affect our lives, and…and we have certain freedoms. The President of the United States sure as heck can’t tell me who to have lunch with. Or when I can or can’t use the Internet. Here in Ţărână, Roth has too much power, and the Dragons are fed up.”

“Beth,” Arc sighed. “This is a clash of cultures you’re experiencing. That’s all.”

That’s all… After everything she’d just said to her husband, he was dismissing her with a that’s all.

“No one is trying to hurt or control you Dragons,” Arc insisted. “Human society is a democracy, but that’s not how we do things. Vârcolac society operates as a monarchy, and Roth is our King. It’s as simple as that—there’s no hidden agenda here. No one’s out to get you.”

A ball of tears lodged in her throat. “Thank you so much for gaslighting me. I really appreciate it.”

Her husband peered up at the ceiling for help. “Look, I’ve gotta get back to work.”

Her next breath strained out of her. “Maybe you’re right…maybe this is about culture….but not how you think. One of the things we Dragons really like about Vârcolac culture is that the males are very protective of the people they care about. It’s… That was why we gave you a chance. We love how it makes us feel. But now…” She seamed her lips. “We don’t feel protected at all. None of us feel safe here anymore. You men…you’ve failed us.”

The air suddenly grew thick with tension.

Her eyelashes quivered, and she fought to keep her stomach where it belonged. She’d never said anything to purposely insult someone before, so she wasn’t prepared for all the flat, hard stares and the stony silence.

Only Nyko moved, dropping his gaze and grimacing.

“We Dragons need a voice,” she went on, her insides fluttering. “And if you men can’t stand up to Ţărână’s leadership and help us with that. If…if…” She made herself push the words out. “If you’re too damn weak to do that for us, then we’ll do it ourselves.”

A muscle jumped in Arc’s jaw. He opened his mouth, but she was done arguing.

“I’m going to take the kids to Ellen’s house tonight, so you’ll need to figure out your own dinner.” She whirled around and stormed down the hall, her heart beating as fast at her feet.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The next day

11:46 a.m.

Toni opened her bedroom door and popped her eyebrows up. There were half a dozen warriors standing on her doorstep, all of them dressed from neck to boots in black and strapped with countless knives in leather holsters that crisscrossed their chests bandolier-style.

They looked like a communal nightmare.

She actually recognized most from passing them in the mansion’s hallway…although she didn’t know their names. She would have known their names if she’d adhered to Roth’s guideline to eat “family” meals with the residents of the mansion in the lavish dining room downstairs.

But—as with most of Roth’s requests—she refused.

In their never-ending war of tit-for-tat, Roth generally countered her obstinacy with a move of equal stubbornness. In this case, luckily, he hadn’t tried to starve her into compliance, but instead let her take meals in her room…although admittedly eating by herself all the time was a lonely business.

“What’s going on?” she asked the King of Nightmares himself, who was planted in front of the rest of the men, wearing a headset, like the others, and, unlike the others, dark sunglasses.

His jaw was set in its typical default mode—steely and immobile.

“You dated one of your mate-choices last night,” Jacken said.

“Thank you, yes, I’m aware,” she said, adding drolly, “I was there.”

She’d shared a “romantic dinner” with Dev in a cozy corner of the mansion’s Garden Parlor. Roth’s chef cooked the meal and Dev brought a bottle of wine from his collection—an outstanding Tuscan red. To her surprise, she enjoyed some parts of the evening. Dev’s lively anecdotes and unexpected level of intelligence proved entertaining. His ability to make her feel naked with the merest glance did not.

At the end of the date, when he’d leaned in to her, she shied away from a goodnight kiss. The close proximity might’ve allowed her to snatch a key card off him—not that she knew anything about pickpocketing—but she’d seen Dev completely naked. She just couldn’t bring herself to kiss him.

She propped one shoulder against the doorjamb. “What does my date have to do with why you’re here?” She crossed her arms. “Or have you finally managed to unclench your sphincter enough to lend me The African Queen.”

Two warriors behind Jacken exchanged quick glances.

Jacken’s eyebrows disappeared behind his shades, a sure sign he was—here was a shocker—scowling. Guess he didn’t like being reminded of his last bare-all run-in with her.

’Course she’d bared herself too, making it no hardship not to have seen him for the past two days.

“Dr. Jess wants to meet with you.” Jacken spoke as if that stern jaw of his barely allowed him to produce sound.

“So?” She gave a bored one-shouldered shrug. She’d spent enough time drinking tea in various rooms of the mansion to have turned her urine to Earl Grey by now.

“He thought you might want to see the hospital, but—”

What? She straightened with a snap. She was being allowed outside this stupid mansion?

“—you’d rather stay in there and flick the bean”—Jacken sneered—“or whatever it is you do, be my guest.”

A man with bushy, 70s-style sideburns rubbed a hand over his mouth, like maybe he was hiding a smile.

She felt her jaw begin to tighten, but then rallied and fluttered her eyelashes at Jacken. “And you need five other men to help escort me? Sheesh, ’fraidy cat. A woman brandishes a letter opener one time…”

It was one thing to view the small town of Ţărână from the distance of her balcony, another thing altogether to stroll among the buildings, a part of it all.

The place was…just…indescribable.

The TradeMark Clothing Store seemed like the happiest place on earth with its colorfully clothed, winking manikins in the plate-glass window, and Garwald’s Pub looked like it’d been plucked right off the screen of a John Wayne movie, the raw wooden exterior somehow appearing weatherbeaten in a town with no weather. The roof of Aunt Ælsi’s Coffee Shop clearly had once been a large scoop of vanilla ice cream that melted down from the peaked top then frozen along the trim.

Toni spied the first older folks she’d yet to see in the coffee shop. Several clusters of gray-haired men and women were sipping cappuccinos and lattes at small tables and laughing. One group of women was engaged in a lively game of canasta. A lady wearing a frilly apron with her grayish-blond hair swirled into an extravagant French knot strode back and forth from the counter to the tables, clearly the owner and Grande Dame of the place.

“That’s Ælsi Korzha,” the warrior with the bushy sideburns told her. “Kasson’s mom.” Then he added with a chuckle, “Your future mother-in-law if you play your cards right.”

She didn’t join in with the laughter. She was too busy trying not to fall further down the rabbit hole into this surreal Alice in Wonderland experience.

How could everything and everyone look so damned normal? These people thought they were “vampires,” for Pete’s sake. Shouldn’t they look like Trekkie conventioneers or squint-eyed after-hours clubbers? Shouldn’t the town be some sort of cross between Transylvania and the movie Blade Runner?

Not Pleasantville.

One pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small…

The town was full of activity at midday, people bustling about with their chores and on errands. No one moved with any real sense of urgency, though. There was always time to pause and chat, call out a greeting and wave.

Toni, of course, received plenty of stares.

But then, how was a woman supposed to pass unnoticed when she was towing an entourage of Xbox 360 characters with her?

Go ask Alice when she’s ten feet tall…

They strolled past a grocery store with a banner of happy faces strung in the window, an aluminum-sided diner with pink awnings, and a clapboard schoolhouse, this building looking like it’d been plucked right off the screen of a Little House on the Prairie episode.

Just…uber weird. Toni didn’t know how she’d ever describe this place to the police and capture its true essence: yes, officer, try to imagine a bunch of Dracula wannabes living in Stars Hollow.

The hospital came into view on the right, and wow. It was a beautiful four-story building, glass-fronted on the upper stories, with a pristine white façade and arched portico on the bottom floor. Pretty damned impressive for a cave. For anywhere, actually.

They kept going, passing into a tunnel. A few feet in, the road forked. The left fork fed into another tunnel, leading someplace so dark that she couldn’t see the end.

Toward an exit, maybe?

They took the right fork and popped out into a gigantic cavern. It was…okay, whoa. Somehow they’d switched to the set of the 1950’s Leave it to Beaver sitcom. Brightly painted houses, each with a cheery white picket fence and a lawn of AstroTurf, lined a road shaped into a cul-de-sac. It was, holy crap, a residential neighborhood.

And any minute the Mad Hatter was going to jump out and invite her to tea.

No, just a young boy riding by on a Big Wheel. Dear God, she was going to weep from the sheer insanity of it all.

And if you’ve just had some kind of mushroom and your mind is moving slow…

At the far end of the cul-de-sac, there was an outlet leading to where the main road continued, but Jacken turned their group around and brought them back to the hospital.

Inside, he escorted her to a lab.

The other five warriors took up positions at various points in the building, while he manned the door.

She stood just inside, gawking. At first glance, the lab was furnished like so many others she’d spent too many hours in over the course of her career—incubator, centrifuges, microscopes, autoclave… But when she took a second look, her concept of normal was once again destroyed. How could there exist a piece of lab equipment she’d never seen before? But here, yes, there were several newfangled models of apparatus.

Jacken pressed a “speak” button on his headset. “Vinz, let Doc know we’re here.”

A few seconds later, Dr. Jess strode briskly into the room, his eyes bright, his lab coat even brighter. Yeesh, how many times had the man bleached the thing?

Another lab-coated man accompanied him.

“Dr. Parthen!” Dr. Jess held out his hand and smiled broadly, showing her a big, toothy grin now that the jig was up on his fangs. “What a delight to have you here.”

Toni was slow to shake his hand. She hadn’t expected such a warm greeting, considering that the last time she saw the doctor she’d threatened him with a letter opener.

Dr. Jess gestured at the man beside him. “This is my lab assistant, Mekhel.”

Toni shook his hand too.

“I’m excited to give you a tour of the facility and show you some of my methods and machines,” Dr. Jess enthused, then went on to outline his plans for their time together.

She only half-listened to him, her attention craning toward a conversation that’d started up between Jacken and a cute brunette.

“…missed your appointment yesterday,” the brunette was saying. “Can you come see me now?”

“I’m working,” Jacken told her in a clipped tone.

Ever the consummate gentleman.

The brunette vented a sigh. “I moved around several others to fit you in today because I knew you’d be overdue. Look, you’re wearing your sunglasses.”

No response.

“C’mon, Jacken. You know that I can’t take more than a couple of men a day.”

Toni blinked. Whaaaat?

“You really shouldn’t be messing with my schedule like this.”

“… brand new MRI machine,” Jess was gushing, “upstairs in the ….”

“Chrissake,” Jacken grumbled. “All right, hold your water.” He pressed the “speak” button on his headset. “Vinz, you copy? Yeah, I need to step away for about five minutes. Take up position at the lab door for me.”

Toni felt the brand of Jacken’s eyes land on her for a moment, then he spun on his heel and stalked off with the brunette. Next, Mekhel left, off to gather supplies, and then Dr. Jess was handing her a white lab coat of her own.

“Shall we begin?” the doctor asked pleasantly. “I want to show you how the Sigmund-phase works.”

“Sure.” She shrugged on the coat, and followed Jess over to a work station. Sigmund-phase…? In spite of herself, she was curious about it. “Who was that woman?” Okay, maybe she was more curious about that. “Um…the woman who Jacken went off with?”

And what was she planning on doing with him? I can’t take more than a couple of men a day…

“Ah, yes. That was Syrian Popovici. She’s a community blood donor.” Dr. Jess pulled over a small red machine that had four tubes on the top and a valve on the side. “Jacken needs to feed.”

She arched a brow. Soooooo, Jacken was going off to engage in a little bite-the-neck with that cute brunette was he? Toni almost snorted. Right. That was a euphemism for sex if she’d ever heard one.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Toni didn’t know what the men and women did when they played vampire, but things had to get hot and heavy pretty quickly. Bodies would inevitably press close with all that neck nibbling, breasts rubbing against a thickly muscled chest, legs entangling, and—

Her stomach clenched suddenly as an image of Jacken making love to that woman hurled into her mind, his powerful body moving rhythmically over her, buttocks flexing taut at each rise and fall of his hips, the muscles in his back and shoulders undulating with every…

The tightness in her belly sharpened with a strange feeling—a feeling that she might’ve thought was jealousy had such an emotion been possible with a man like Jacken.

“The blood donors are a valued group of individuals in Ţărână,” Dr. Jess continued to explain. “Seeing as our genetic predicament has left us with too many singles who need to feed but can’t form a bond, our donors provide that service.” He tugged an antiseptic wipe out of its box. “Blood donors have been bonded before, you see, which makes their blood resistant to further bonding—all donors are widows and widowers.”

“What do you mean by bond?”

“That’s what we call the mated union.” Dr. Jess started cleaning the red machine with the alcohol wipe, even though the thing already looked immaculate. “When an unmated Vârcolac feeds on and then has carnal knowledge of a mate of equal unmated status, actual biological changes occur within the two that physically bond them. From that moment onward, they become solely dependent on the blood of their mate for survival. The female will also be rendered infertile to any other male but her husband.”

Dr. Jess tossed the first wipe, pulled out a second, and kept cleaning. “This blood-bond is permanent, Dr. Parthen. It’s important for you to understand that. Choose your mate wisely, as there can be no going back once you do.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she returned in a droll tone. Aw, shucks, and here she’d had her heart set on hooking up with two. Tugging out a wet wipe she used it to sterilize her hands—a move which Dr. Jess seemed to appreciate. “And the same goes for sex?” She glanced at the door where Jacken had disappeared through. “The unmated Vârcolac can only have intercourse with a donor?”

“Stars, no.” Dr. Jess pushed a pipe cleaner into the machine’s valve and swished it around. “Donors and their clients never make love.”

Yeah, right. Toni snorted.

“It’s true.” Jess tossed the pipe cleaner into a trashcan and grabbed another, going to work on the valve again. “In fact, they can’t. Vampires aren’t physically capable of performing sexually until they’re bonded.”

“So they have to—” She stilled in the process of snapping on a pair of latex gloves. “Wait. So not only is Jacken not having sex with Syrian right now, he’s never had sex?”

“Correct.”

But that would mean… “Are you saying that all the single men and women in this town are virgins?”

Dr. Jess chuckled. “It’s not a disease, doctor.”

“No, of course not. It’s just…” I don’t believe it. “For one, the men in this town are too…” Hot. Sexy. Built like brick shithouses, especially Jacken. “Handsome and masculine.”

Jess angled a look at her. “Can’t a man be both? Sexually appealing and a virgin?”

She shrugged. Frankly? Not to her mind, no. She couldn’t imagine some woman not getting her mitts on a guy who was as attractive as the ones around here.

Jess tossed the pipe cleaner. “The concept of male virginity is only strange to humans. For us, it’s quite ordinary. It’s the norm.”

The norm. Right. She almost laughed. She could imagine how that Classified Ad had run.

Have you seen “Interview with a Vampire” more than ten times? Would you like to escape the harsh realities of life without drinking the Kool Aid? Well, then, join our club! (those who’ve already experienced hot monkey love need not apply).

Toni pressed the heels of her palms to her closed eyelids. Oh, God. There went the nice day out of the mansion she’d been looking forward to. All of Dr. Jess’s crazy talk had just reminded her that he would never be a colleague.

When logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead, and the White Knight is talking backwards and the Red Queen’s ‘off with her head’…

Mekhel re-entered the lab with a rack of blood-filled test tubes. “I have the samples,” he announced with a smile.

“Excellent.” Jess clasped his hands together. “I realize, Dr. Parthen, that you don’t believe anything I’ve just told you, so I’m hoping that our time together in the lab today will help convince you.” Jess gestured at his assistant. “Mekhel has brought us some blood samples to test—everyone in the community has his or her blood specs kept in the computer, so that I may conduct experiments.”

“Mmm, yes,” she murmured, making all of the correct I’m-listening noises while out of the tail of her vision she watched Jacken return to the door.

He exchanged a few words with Vinz, then took the man’s post.

Dr. Jess removed his lab coat. “But I want to start by showing you how to create a Vârcolac blood graph with fresh blood. We’ll use the Sigmund-phase for that.” Jess neatly cuffed up his left sleeve. “When you draw my blood, I want you to keep the sample in your possession at all times.” He handed her a syringe and an alcohol swab. “That way you can be certain I don’t add anything to it or make a switch of some sort.”

“Right.” She slipped the plastic cap off the hypodermic needle and pretended to listen to Dr. Jess’s further explanations.

What she was actually doing was checking out Jacken’s body, letting her gaze wander over the corded muscles in his neck, the mounds of twin biceps bulging out from his short-sleeved T-shirt, and the way his crisscrossed knife-holster emphasized the breadth of his back. She lifted her gaze to his profile, and took in a deep breath. He really had an incredibly chiseled face when a woman allowed herself to see past how disagreeable his expression was most of the time.

Cult fanatic or not, he was a damned hot bastard.

As if feeling her stare, Jacken swiveled his head in her direction. His sunglasses no longer hugged his stony face, and she almost startled when his eyes met hers. So impossibly dark… They locked gazes in a game of stare-down—long enough for crickets to chirp and tumbleweeds to roll by.

She pulled her eyes away at last, her lashes lowered, heat flushing her cheeks.

She’d never understood the male obsession with virginity. How it was that the moment a guy found out a girl was a virgin, the first thing he wanted to do was take it.

She turned to Dr. Jess with the syringe and tried to keep her hands from trembling.

Now she did.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Jacken entered Garwald’s Pub with his brother, Nyko, close on his heels, the two of them threading between tables toward a booth in the back. Jacken bumped recklessly into a couple of empty chairs, earning a few glances, but otherwise everyone kept to their own drinks and conversations.

Thirty-seven years ago, when the three Brun Brothers had first arrived in Ţărână, that wouldn’t have been the case. Back then, one of Jacken’s dark moods would’ve sent a lot of people slipping rapidly out the back door. But everyone had long since learned that, although Jacken was far from a chummy person, he did know how to control the…baser sides of his unique bloodlines. Same with Nyko.

Shon was a different matter.

Speaking of his younger brother… “Where’s Shon?” Jacken asked as he sat.

Nyko claimed the opposite side of the booth. “At The Shank Tooth.”

“Are you fucking shitting me?”

Nyko shrugged. “It’s where he goes when he feels bad.”

Yeah, Shon was probably beating himself up over what had happened with Toni today. He’d caught an up-close-and-personal whiff of Toni and gone apeshit, and that reaction prompted Roth to insist that all the Bruns take a night off from guarding the exceptionally fragrant women. Roth was trying to do them a solid with the break—for men who’d taken the vow the Bruns had it was especially torturous being around Toni.

But Jacken would’ve preferred just to do his damned job.

Nyko grabbed a handful of peanuts out of the bowl and started cracking them open. “Would you rather have Shon here when he’s in one of his moods?”

“What I want is for Shon to act like a member of the Warrior Class,” Jacken snapped back. “He shouldn’t be hanging out in Stânga Town at The Shank Tooth. He patrols that town, for Chrissake.”

“Hi, guys.” Luvera Nichita stopped at their table with a smile, pulling a notepad out of the front pocket of her apron and a pencil from the rumpled clump of black hair on top of her head. “What can I get you tonight?”

Nyko smiled back at her. “Couple of longnecks oughta do it.”

“Well, heck, I don’t need to write that down.” Luvera tucked her notebook back in her apron. “I shoulda figured, anyway.”

The Bruns generally only drank beer. Hard alcohol—and just about any other chemical stimulant or intoxicant—was never a good idea for men of their unique bloodlines.

“Be back in a jiff’.” Luvera went off.

Nyko watched her go, a smile still tugging at his mouth. “Luvera’s real sweet, you know. She’d make a guy a great mate.”

“You saying you want the job?”

Nyko whipped his gaze back over to Jacken. “No, of course not. I mean, uh…if it were possible, I certainly wouldn’t kick her out of my, um…” His cheeks reddened as he stumbled about on unfamiliar ground.

The Bruns rarely talked about women…or sex, children, family, a home, the future. What would be the point?

“I’m just saying it’d be nice if we could get some human Dragon males down here. The women of our breed deserve a chance at a family, too.” Tipping his head back, Nyko trickled shelled peanuts into his mouth from his fist, the tattoos on his neck rippling.

Jacken didn’t say anything. No male with Peak 8 had popped in their system, and even if one did, the idea of kidnapping a man didn’t thrill him. Most men came with too much ego, and that would only add to the difficulty factor of keeping control of one in Ţărână.

Luvera plunked down two longneck Budweisers on their table. “Here ya go, boys.”

“Hey, that was fast.” Nyko smiled at her again.

“You’re my favorite customer, Nyko Brun.” Luvera winked at him, then bustled off.

Blushing, Nyko picked up the bottle and took a swig of—

He choked halfway through the sip.

Jacken felt it, too, and he went rigid in his seat.

His back was to the door, but Toni’s entrance hit the bar like a sonic boom, rolling through the crowd like a punch to each man’s gut. Some men jerked upright like Jacken had, while others slid low in their seats, their eyes rolling up into their skulls.

Nyko set down his beer with exaggerated care. “When will that woman be able to wear the mud?”

“Doc Jess tested her today to see if she’s allergic.” Please have her pass that test.

A smear behind each ear of the sulfuric mud that bubbled up in the cave would cut Toni’s scent in half. Although true relief would only come once she was mated—then her scent diminished, thank Christ, for anyone but her husband.

Until then, the smell of an unmated Dragon woman running around was equal to one long communal, never-ending ball massage…minus the happy ending, of course.

Insanity.

Jacken took a hard pull on his beer, contemplating chewing his way through the rest of it. Loud voices by the pool table caught his attention, and he glanced over.

Toni was on a date with Thomal tonight, and he was introducing her to a group of other couples. She was smiling and shaking hands with everyone.

Jacken’s stomach cranked over. Her smile was strictly polite, but it didn’t matter. It was still the kind of smile that made a man want to conquer worlds, if only to see that smile aimed at him in gratitude and awe.

Either that or fuck her silly.

“They make a nice couple,” Nyko mused. “She’d do well to choose Thomal, I think.”

“Yeah.” Jacken tore at his Bud label. “They’re the picture of perfect blond-ness together.”

Nyko’s eyes inched back over to him.

Jacken only gave his brother a view of the top of his head.

“I’m gonna go.” Nyko started to scoot out from the booth.

“What?” Jacken snapped his head up. “C’mon, Nyko, don’t be a pussy.” Big talk from a man who’d bitten his tongue clamping his teeth to keep from moaning a second ago.

“Sorry, but I can’t handle it.” Nyko stood and pushed his beer over to the salt and pepper shakers. “Come with me. We’ll get Shon and watch a movie back at my place.”

“The fuck if I want to go into Stânga Town on my night off.” It was probably transparent as hell that he really wanted to stay here and watch out for Toni without “officially” guarding her.

Nyko blank-faced it, though, which was awfully nice of him. “All right. See you later.” He tossed off a salute and left.

Jacken leaned back in his booth and steadily drank, glancing all around the bar, anywhere and everywhere except at her.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Vârcolac lived upwards of two, three hundred years, and in the length of that life-span, their race saw a lot of fads and slang come and go. They became experts at adjusting…except some didn’t.

Like Kasson’s dad.

Bartolomei Korzha still spoke like someone living in the Prohibition Era, calling women “dames” and “dolls” and men “old boy” and “old sport.” The button man clipped that cat in the pump might be something Bartolomei would say, just like Bugsy Malone.

Garwald, owner and operator of Garwald’s Pub, had been obsessed with the 1980s movie Urban Cowboy when he decorated this bar, so the place ran real heavy on Western-themed shit—sawdust and peanut shells on the floor, dimly lit green-shaded lamps suspended over dark red vinyl booths, Coors, Budweiser, and Lone Star neon signs blinking from the unfinished wooden walls, hanging next to hubcaps and license plates. A pool table was in the back with a huge elk head on the wall over it.

The place looked like somewhere good ol’ boys from Texas might hang out, not a bunch of vampires.

Garwald used to stock the juke box exclusively with Country-Western music, until they all complained, and then he widened the selection. Right now the juke was pumping out a Doobie Brothers’ classic, “China Grove.”

A dart board was a new addition—located on the right side of the oval bar near the dance floor—and Jacken stared at it now. He managed the incredible feat of keeping his eyes glued to it for a full ten-count before he shifted his gaze over to Toni.

He gripped his Bud in a tight fist and took another long pull. Jesus, she looked fantastic tonight.

Not that he didn’t doubt somebody could tie Dr. Toni Parthen to the back of a Jeep and drag her through horseshit for two days straight, and he’d still want her with a kind of hunger that bordered on crippling.

But tonight…she looked like a fantasy. The jeans she wore shaped her ass perfectly and rode provocatively low on the sweet curve of her hips. Low enough that a peek of her slim waist showed beneath a short-sleeved red sweater that was just snug enough across her tits to make his eyes want to bulge out of their sockets.

It only upped his torture that he’d fed on Syrian a few short hours ago, putting his strength at its highest and his senses at their most finely honed. Every little detail about Toni was magnified a hundredfold—the little freckles on her arms, the way her long, dark-blond eyelashes curled at the tips, the shimmer of certain strands of her hair, some made of gold dust, others like living flames.

She was wearing it up in a youthful ponytail tonight, exposing the vulnerable sweep of her neck and the downy little hairs there. Even from this distance, he could pick out each one as if he was standing right over her, his head bowed to her neck, nuzzling that peachy fuzz in the last breathless moments before driving his fangs in.

Saliva filled his mouth and—dammit all to hell. He wrapped his hands around his knees and squeezed them under the table.

Across the room, Toni laughed. Not a strictly polite expression this time, but a full and genuine sound that dropped to huskiness at the end in a way that sent the already twitching mass of barely contained males into a near orgasmic seizure.

She was clearly finding humor in her inability to master the game of pool, even though Thomal was doing his level best to teach her the finer points of it…and using every opportunity to touch her in the process.

Little prick.

Ellen and Pedrr were a part of the group, as were Maggie and Luken, and the two couples couldn’t seem to keep their hands off each other either. Every little piece of byplay was a reason to laugh into each other’s eyes, to pass some secret message of love and adoration.

Jacken braced his elbows on the table and bowed his head, jamming his thumbs against the bridge of his nose. The hell if he was going to watch one more minute of a scene that held about as much relevance to his life as knitting.

You want some balloons for this pity party, Jacken?

Fuck, but he hated it when he got all whiny. Yeah, okay, so he’d been handed a shit deal in the genetics department. No kids for him. Ever. So what? No wife, no love, no nothing. Whatever.

The only thing he should be feeling right now was gratitude. He was here in Ţărână with friends, his brothers, and his warrior buddies when by all rights he should still be rotting away among the Om Rău in Oţărât—because escape from that town had been impossible.

Without knowledge of a direct route through the lengthy labyrinth of passageways stretching from Oţărât to Ţărână, any creature who didn’t possess Om Rău blood would spend too much time trying to find his way—inside tunnels that plunged so deep toward the earth’s core they were hot as Hell—and end up cooking.

But Jacken’s mom did the impossible. She stole a map of the Hell Tunnels from Lorke, then smuggled Jacken and his brothers out…a sacrifice that’d ultimately led to her death.

A shudder crawled up the back of Jacken’s neck. He still had nightmares about the heat they endured during their escape, along with life itself in Oţărât—the sparse food and water, the caved-in buildings, the stench of unwashed bodies and running sewage, the violence that had ruled any given day.

He lost count of how many times he’d been beaten into unconsciousness over something as stupid as a chicken drumstick, or how many times he had to pound someone until his fists were raw and broken just to survive. Or how many women he had to watch get raped—he’d tried to save a few, but it was a losing battle. There were too many victims.

And then there was the unmatched terror of his father’s abuse…

Jacken wrenched his eyelids tighter. In all of his fifty-six years, he’d never told a soul about his father’s little tattoo parties. Even he and his brothers didn’t talk about it.

But he’d told her.

A bolt must’ve come loose in his brain for him to have done that, although his share-fest might’ve been worth it if Toni got disgusted by who he was and ran for the door. Instead she’d done this…thing where she told him a sad story of her own to make him feel better about confessing his.

To mess him up even further, she looked all helpless and miserable during the telling of her story, probably just like when she was six-years-old and her bastard of a father bailed on her. Seeing her like that had carved out a weird soft spot in the center of his chest that—

“Do you have a headache?”

He slammed upright at the sound of her voice, knocking his beer bottle into a wobble across the table.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Fumbling his Bud upright, Jacken glared at Toni from beneath his brows, watching her slide gracefully into the booth across from him into Nyko’s spot, somehow avoiding the usual vinyl farting and butt scooting that went along with such a maneuver.

He curled his upper lip at her, high enough that he knew he was showing her the tip of a fang.

She just set her cocktail glass on the table—a martini, by the looks of it, straight up, with olives. Probably the drink of choice among all Big Shot doctors when they went to their Big Shot fundraisers or wherever the hell they went.

“Do you have a death wish?” he growled.

“I know.” She dug through her purse. “Either I’m a glutton for punishment or the doctor in me can’t stand to see anyone in pain. Ah!” She pulled out a small box and extracted a couple of capsules. “Ibuprofen.” She set them in front of him. “400 mgs ought to be enough to take the edge off.”

He thinned his lids. She was being nice to him?

She rolled her eyes, shoving the pill box back into her purse. “They’re not poison, for Pete’s sake. Just because you have AMI doesn’t mean I can’t help you.”

Great. More of her big-ass terms. “AMI?”

She gave her lashes an innocent flutter. “Anger Management Issues.”

He narrowed his lids down further. This woman lent new definition to the B-word. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?”

“Thomal’s in the bathroom, then on a drink run.”

“Go away anyway.”

She plucked a peanut out of the dish and crunched it open. “I suck at pool.”

“Well, my brothers will be back any minute.” Petulant as a two-year-old, he jerked the peanut dish out of her reach.

Her eyes flashed up, and she tsked at him, the noise expressing something along the lines of stupid, stupid. A challenging glint entered her eyes, then she…

Aw, shit.

She leaned across the table and yanked the peanut dish back, her ponytail swishing forward across her cheek, sending her scent swishing at him. You’re not going to beat me, was the obvious message, but he couldn’t give an unholy fuck. He was too busy trying not to bulldoze across the table, latch his fangs onto her neck, and ram another part of himself deep inside her.

Jesus, her fragrance had him engulfed in something between excruciating pain and mind-numbing ecstasy. His gums swelled around his fangs as a thousand pinpricks of sensation tingled along his skin and detonated a firecracker in his belly. He turned his head aside to gulp in a quick breath. It didn’t help much.

She rooted through the dish for another peanut. “So why do you like old movies?”

“You’re a real whack job, you know that?”

Her brows leapt high for a second, then a laugh spilled out of her, the sound and the smile that came with it hitting his solar plexus with a whomp.

He shifted in the booth, his muscles tense and screaming for some kind of action. Back in the vague recesses of his mind he registered that women generally didn’t smile at him. Most were good at reading his Stay Back, Dangerous Animal sign.

Her lips twisted. “I suppose it wouldn’t surprise you to hear I’ve been called worse?”

“Hag?” He drawled the suggestion. “Nagging shrew?”

Her eyes danced.

He closed his hand into a fist around his Budweiser bottle, his heart banging in his chest. Either it was the lighting or his extra-honed senses, but her eyes seemed impossibly blue tonight.

“Feel better now?” she asked in a dry tone.

He smiled savagely. “Much.”

“Wow, look at that. The man has teeth. And a good-looking set, too.”

Fire blazed into his cheeks, his stomach doing a weird back flip. He snapped the smile off his face.

She stirred her drink with the toothpick speared through her olives. “I mean, don’t go crazy on me or anything. I still think you’re a—”

“Thomal’s back.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “He’s getting our drinks.” She focused on the peanut dish again. “So why do you like old movies?” she repeated.

“I don’t know,” he retorted mulishly. Evidently, he was still doing the two-year-old thing.

She went on searching for an acceptable peanut. “Yes, you do.”

He scowled at the top of her head. “Other people eat those nuts, you know.”

She popped a denuded nut into her mouth and smiled at him, close-lipped. “I’ll have you know, I once sat on my brother for five minutes to get him to let me play with his red fire truck.”

The challenging light came back into her eyes, and he caved, to his utter shock, like a total lightweight. “I just like that everything was simpler back then, all right?” He gave his shoulders a tight shrug. “I like the happy endings.” They were the only ones he’d ever get.

“Ah.” She braced an elbow on the table and propped her chin on her hand, her gaze turning hazy. “Yes, I like that part, too.”

Her poignant expression burrowed into his newly formed soft spot, and—this is fucking ridiculous.

He searched the bar for a warrior. He needed someone to beat the soft out of him, quick.

But Thomal was the only warrior in the bar right now, and Jacken couldn’t even count on him to march over and heatedly accuse Jacken of trying to poach Toni.

Thomal knew Jacken would never break his vow.

“I’ve probably seen all of Katharine Hepburn’s films three times.” Toni straightened and sipped her drink. “Of course, that was before I began a steady diet of Matthew McConaughey movies.”

Jacken lifted his lip. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

He snorted.

“What? McConaughey’s gorgeous.”

“The guy’s pretty. He might as well be a girl.”

“I can’t believe you just said that. Have you taken a look around here, lately.” She made a sweeping gesture. “The men in this town give new meaning to the concept of beautiful. There’s not one person here, in fact, man or woman, who isn’t some level of good-looking, at least not that I’ve seen.” She clinked her toothpick against the rim of her glass. “It’s kind of spooky, actually.”

“Actually,” he returned. “It’s genetics, or natural selection, if your doctor brain prefers that.” He watched her lean forward to pluck an olive off the toothpick with her front teeth, and the muscles in his thighs clenched. “Vârcolac are attractive because they have to be in order to survive. We’re a breed of human who has to take in blood for sustenance, so Mother Nature gave our species the kind of looks that would make it easy to seduce a host into surrendering a vein.”

She stopped chewing and swallowed. “But I thought that Vârcolac mostly feed off blood donors. And a donor doesn’t need seducing.”

Knock me over with a fucking feather. She knew something about their breed now. “Yeah, but that’s not our natural state. Vârcolac are meant to bond with a mate, and hooking up with a life partner takes game.”

“I suppose that’s true.” She sat back, looked at him, and her lips began to twitch. “And how’s surly and obnoxious working out for you, Mr. Brun? Because as game goes, I’m thinking that’s not the best way to get a woman.”

He took another hard swig of beer, an irrational anger gusting over him. The sparkle in her eyes and the teasing tone of her voice were bad enough, like some kind of damned flirtation, but her comment was also a complete face-shove into his reality—he could never have her. Or any woman.

“What I am, doctor, is a genetic mutation—not entirely Vârcolac, not quite human, but a creature in every sense of the word.” He leaned toward her, jutting his jaw. “I’m a beast who hovers all of about two inches away from the edge of pure evil and the last thing you should be sitting your pretty little heinie across from.”

He eased back, exhaling through flat lips. “You know, for someone who’s probably real smart about most things, you have your head particularly far up your ass about staying away from me. See my eyes, lady? They’re pure black. Don’t you think that ought to tell you something?”

She bit another olive off her toothpick and chewed…chewed and chewed and stared at him with such casual indifference that he wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until her head tumbled off her neck.

What did it take to get rid of this woman?

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“I Can’t Make You Love Me” by Bonnie Raitt spewed from the juke, and Jacken came within an inch of hurling his beer bottle into the center of the blinking box.

“Are you trying to scare me?” Toni finally asked. “Because if you are, you’re going to have to come up with something better than that.” She lifted a shoulder. “So you’re a freak. So what? You’re the one who has his head up his ass if you think you’ve got the market cornered on that.” She polished off her drink, then tossed the toothpick into her empty martini glass with a sharp tink. “I feel like just as much of a freak as you do, pal, so you can take your holier-than-thou attitude and stuff it.” She came abruptly to her feet. “But, hey, you want me to keep my heinie away from you? No problem. Consider me gone.”

“Hey, what’s up?” Nyko stopped at their table, his expression as nonchalant as if it was no biggie to find Jacken chitchatting with a woman.

Toni snatched her purse off the table. “Your brother’s a psychotic piece of bird crap, that’s what.”

“Oh, well…” Bobbing his head, Nyko dipped his hands into his pockets.

Toni waved at Thomal and headed toward him. The blond warrior waited for her at the bar with a drink in each hand, a martini in one, a draft beer in the other.

Nyko stood in place for a second, then scooted into the booth and took a quiet sip of his beer.

Jacken just sat there, his whole body humming as if any minute it would shatter into a thousand pieces. “What’re you doing back here anyway?”

“I came to get you. I hauled Shon home with the promise that we’d watch a movie with him. He said any flick but one of yours.” Nyko smoothed his thumb through the perspiration drops on his beer bottle. “You okay?”

“Sure. Why not.” Lungs tight, Jacken stared a hole straight through the top of the table. He was so screwed up. Now that he’d finally managed to get rid of Toni, he only wanted her to come back.

A round of boisterous laughter rang out from over by the pool table, and he pressed his eyes closed. Don’t look.

But he did.

The humming inside him instantly shut off, replaced by a prickly tension that made him feel like his whole body was wrapped in barbed wire. Over by the pool table, Toni was holding Thomal by the hand and pulling him toward the back door, her beautiful eyes sparkling at him now. Jacken clenched his jaw so hard, the muscles in his face throbbed. Whatever low words Toni was saying to Thomal nearly had the man stomping a boot mark on his tongue.

The two lovebirds disappeared out the back door, and Jacken slugged back the rest of his beer. It was by the narrowest margin of control that he didn’t throw back his head and howl until the roof caved in. Because he knew what would happen next…

It wouldn’t take long for a horny little shit like Thomal to crowd Toni back against Garwald’s outside wall and start kissing a path up her throat, tasting the softness of her flesh, giving in to the sweet insanity of her scent….letting his fangs unsheathe.

From there, it’d only take a few whispered words to convince Toni to moan, yes. Next would come the satisfying puncture of a vein, then the succulent flavor of her blood washing over his tongue and down his throat. The intoxicating liquid would enter his body like living and breathing warmth, charging up every atom with strength and energy, turning him into a man—a complete one, at last.

No, not him.

Thomal.

Thomal was the one who would push inside her body and feel her wet heat close around him. Thomal would get to savor the uneven, aroused cadence of her breathing in his ears and the sting of her fingernails at his back.

Thomal would have the honor of filling her womb with his seed, then marveling at her growing large with his child. He’d get to rest his palm on her belly when they lazed together on the couch after dinner watching The African Queen. Or not watching it, as they once again found themselves unable to keep their hands off each other.

But most of all, Thomal’s status as Toni’s bonded mate would give him the right to ask her for the name of her father so that he could hunt down the bastard and go Postal on his ass.

Pitching back in his booth, Jacken exhaled a raw curse. He looked across the expanse of table at Nyko. “Fuck it,” he said quietly. “I’m not okay.”

“Yeah, I know,” Nyko said simply.

“What…?” The word got stuck halfway up his gullet and he had to start again. “What am I going to do?”

“Don’t worry about it, Jacken. Things’ll get better once she’s mated. Her scent won’t be all over the place, making you crazy.”

Yeah… But no. It was way more than her scent making him crazy. She had him tied up in knots, smart-mouthed, pain-in-the-ass her, and seeing her hook up with another guy would do a whole lot of making it worse.

He propped his elbows on the table and grabbed his temples between his hands. He really needed to stop this train wreck before he fell completely in love with—

His thoughts jerked to a halt. The two Ibuprofen Toni had given him were still on the table in front of him, and his heart wrenched so hard that his eyes actually burned. Shit. “I need to get the hell out of here.”

Nyko nodded. “Shon’s waiting for us. He votes for Batman Returns, by the way. It’s one of the older Batman movies, yeah, but Shon has a thing for Michelle Pfeiffer in a leather cat suit.”

They both shifted over in their booth seats.

Thomal staggered up to their table, clutching his belly down low, his face red and sweaty. “Toni just kneed me in the balls and ran off.”

“What—?” Jacken leapt up. “Dammit, Costache.”

“Hey, she really distracted me, okay?”

Jacken held up a hand to stop any more of that shit from coming out of Thomal’s mouth. “Just tell me where she went.”

“I don’t know. I was on the damn ground.”

Fuck. Jacken started for the door at a rapid clip, Nyko following.

“And she stole my wallet,” Thomal called after them, stumbling as he tried to keep up.

Jacken frowned. Why would she do that?

Storming out of Garwald’s, he yanked his cell phone out of his back pocket and dialed Cleeve. When the kid picked up, he told the computer whiz to send out an all-warrior call. “Toni’s missing and I need every man looking for her.”

He jammed his phone back in his pocket and upped his pace, his stomach balling into a hard fist.

You did this, you piece of shit.

If Toni somehow made it to The Outer Edge and became another lost Dragon, like Gwyn Billaud, he’d never forgive himself for driving her away.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Toni darted in and out of the buildings along Main Street, keeping close to the shadows and away from people. Breathing heavily, she crouched down on the far side of the hospital and waited until the coast was clear, then shot into the tunnel that led to the residential neighborhood.

But this time when the road forked, she went left.

Dark, dank, slime climbing the walls, water drip-dripping steadily down slick rock—this was what a vampire cave should look like. Had she actually wanted Ţărână to look freakier in order to fit better into her definition of what a vampire town should be? Well…

Be careful what you wish for.

Because this place ranked about a million on the creep-o-meter.

Jogging deeper into the passageway, unease tightened her chest. It felt like the walls were shrinking around her.

She breathed an audible sigh when the tunnel finally ended, feeding into a wide-open cavern, just like at the end of the right fork. But this part of town…

Her relief evaporated, the skin on her nape crawling.

This part of town was like The Projects times a Third World Country times…she didn’t know what—a scene out of Nightmare on Elm Street, Friday the Thirteenth, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre or any of the choicer slasher films her brother used to drag her to see.

Low, misshapen buildings were jammed cheek-to-jowl next to one another in the center of a U-shaped cutout of rock. Some were boarded up and many were dark. A few showed signs of life in the form of light spluttering around the edges of shutters, doorways or tattered curtains, some curtains shifting as if someone had just parted them to peek out.

Watching her.

A shiver skittered down her spine.

The surreal wail of a guitar cried out, and she moved back an involuntary step. How bad did she want to turn around and run back to Garwald’s Pub?

Bad.

She forced herself forward a few steps, which brought her alongside a pit of burping mud on her right. It added a fitting sulfuric odor to the out-and-out human stink already pervading the atmosphere.

Sounds of shouting, muffled by distance, skipped down the tunnel. Shit… Thomal had raised the hue and cry about her escape.

She took off to the right, heading toward another tunnel opening—an entrance caged off by about a twenty-foot stretch of steel bars, same as the ones surrounding Roth’s mansion.

A way out, maybe…?

She careened around one of the rundown buildings, aiming for the—dammit!

She skidded to a halt and quickly ducked back against the wall.

There was a crowd of men by the bars, about five on this side, the same number on the other side where the entrance was. All wore torn and dark clothing, piercings, chains and steel accent pieces, and lots of tattoos.

In the middle of the mess on Ţărână’s side was a handsome blond warrior—recognizable as such by his uniform blacks and the bandolier of knives he wore.

Toni didn’t know him from the mansion. So he must be married.

“Break it up,” he ordered the hoodlums. “I’ve had enough of this shit. If you assholes keep flashing your blades, somebody’s going to get hurt.”

Both sides of men lit off over that, complaining and jeering in what sounded remarkably like playground nana-nana-boo-boo speak. Not at all what one would expect from a group of men who looked like they’d gathered for a Hell’s Angels mixer.

“Nilan,” the blond warrior barked at a man on his side, “get your friends back in The Shank Tooth. Tollar,” he snapped at a redhead on the other side, “line up nuts-to-butts and march right back to—” He broke off, reaching for a cell phone on a belt holder.

He read whatever was on the screen, then muttered, “Damn.” He tucked his cell away and pressed the “speak” button on his headset. “Dev, it’s Arc. You see that all-warrior call that just came in?”

“Affirmative,” Dev’s voice crackled back. “I’m in the north part of Stânga Town. You want me to look for Toni here?”

Toni grimaced.

“No,” Arc said. “First come to The Outer Edge and give me some backup. I’ve got some hairballs with their panties in a bunch I’m trying to disperse.”

“Roger that,” Dev responded. “I’m on my way.”

Crap. Toni darted into the rundown building she was hiding against and shut the door quietly behind her. She stood in place, suddenly blinking against the kind of atmospheric gloom typical of a bar.

A red neon sign on the wall flickered the name of the joint, The Shank Tooth, while the rest of the lighting was done à la the inside of a meat locker—several bare, 10-watt bulbs dangled from the ceiling over an L-shaped long bar. These didn’t succeed at pushing back the shadows by much.

Yeesh. The creep-o-meter has just been pegged.

Granted, she didn’t tend to frequent bars that catered to the underbelly of human society. So maybe it was standard to find small groups of people dressed in Alice Cooper garb huddled around tables like edgy nonconformists, mouthing their drinks and murmuring incoherently while a gender-neutral musician made artistic love to a guitar on stage.

Right.

To someone used to this scene, it was probably perfectly normal—if a bit felonious—and wasn’t at all like the type of bar where Freddy Krueger might hang out with Leatherface, Michael Myers, and Jason…in keeping with the whole slasher symbolism.

Although she probably shouldn’t have thought that.

She closed her eyes.

Now how bad did she want to rush back to Garwald’s?

Giving herself a mental shake, she opened her eyes and stole over to the end of the bar. She set Thomal’s wallet on top and riffled through it. What did a community key card look—

“Hey! You! OUT!”

She snapped her head up. “Excuse me?”

A grubby bartender was stomping in her direction, one rigid finger pointed at the door behind her. “I said get out! We don’t serve Dragons here.” His nostrils pinched. “Ugh! ’Specially not newbie unmateds.”

“All right, take it easy—I’m not here for a drink. I just need to use your phone.”

“There’re no phones in Ţărână, dummy.”

She forced a smile. Count to three and stay calm. “A computer, then.” She knew the community had those, since Cleeve Goober was sending false emails to her mom and brother.

The bartender slammed his palms down on the bar. “You got a load of kak in your ears, missy?! I said get the hell out!”

Heads were starting to turn her way, nostrils quivering.

Toni’s nerves stretched thin.

The bartender’s scowl deepened. “Chief of security is going to have my ass he thinks I let a newbie unmated be this close to The Outer Edge for so long.”

Someone exhaled sharply near the stage. The guitar hit an off-key note.

“Look—” she tried again.

“Get!” The bartender shooed her as if she was a cat.

The door whammed open.

“Aw, farks!” The bartender glared at her. “Now look what you’ve gone and done.”

Bootsteps pounded toward her. Toni didn’t need to look to know who was behind her. As discreetly has she could, she closed Thomal’s wallet and slid it toward her purse.

Jacken’s hand came down on top of the wallet, and he tugged it from her grip. “I’ve got her,” he said, presumably talking into his headset.

The guitar twanged into silence.

Now Jacken spoke to her. “Let’s go, Toni.”

Toni stared fixedly at the row of draft handles. Interesting how there was a decent selection of beers in such a pigsty. “No. I’m having a drink.” She added coolly to the bartender, “A gin and tonic, please.” Then she aimed her head at Jacken. “He’s paying.”

Jacken expelled an impatient breath.

She bristled. “Oh, you poor man. Is your kidnap victim being difficult?”

Jacken rumbled a noise. “It’s not safe here.”

“I don’t care.” She narrowed her eyes at the bartender. “Are you going to get me a gin and tonic?”

The bartender piffed and ambled to the other end of the room.

She pressed balled fists to the top of the bar. “I won’t forget this,” she shouted after him.

Jacken told her, “I’ll toss you over my shoulder to get you back to safety, if I have—”

She whirled on him. “Don’t you dare,” she seethed, much to the fascination of their audience. “You touched me in Roth’s office the day you took the letter opener from me, and that was your one freebie. There won’t be another.” Her eyes felt like they were on fire. “And, no, I don’t know what little ol’ me can do to a man of your size and strength, but trust me, Jacken, I can be very inventive when the situation warrants it.”

Jacken set his hands on his belt and ran his gaze over her, like he was assessing what to do next and coming to the conclusion that none of his options were ideal. “If you want a drink, I’ll buy you one at Garwald’s. We can sit and talk if you—”

“Oh, that’s rich. You want to talk? Do you expect me to soul-share with you again just so you can push me away like you did two days ago? Ten minutes ago!”

Jacken’s face reddened.

She jabbed a forefinger into his muscular chest. “You told me to get my heinie away from you. Well, I did. So now leave me the hell alone.” She braced both hands on his chest and shoved.

This produced no movement from him whatsoever.

She let out a shout. “I’m so sick of you Masters of the Universe men!”

She snatched an empty beer bottle off the bar and swung it at Jacken’s jaw.

He moved out of the way with a casual tilt of his head.

She felt her cheeks heat. Her blow had been laughably easy for him to dodge. Tears leapt into her eyes. She hurled the bottle at him, then ran for the door.

He chased after her.

Bursting outside, she whomped the door closed in Jacken’s face. She heard a bang and yelling inside the bar.

She kept running, careening into the group of Hells Angels hoodlums. They were still shouting in front of the cordoned off cave opening, the handsome blond—and now Dev—among them.

Her arrival on the scene brought all noise to an abrupt halt.

This side, that side—every man froze.

Several beats of silence passed, then the space-time continuum pressed “play,” and a redheaded man—the one Arc had called Tollar—hollered, “Unmated!”

This prompted all the big-bad-mo-fos on the other side to do the strangest thing—they turned and scurried like bunnies into the tunnel.

“Shit,” Dev cursed.

Jacken came crashing out of The Shank Tooth.

Dev shouted at him, “We’ve got tattle-tailers, Jacken.”

Jacken’s expression turned thunderous. “Get Toni back to the mansion,” he ordered Dev. “Now—Lorke or Josnic will be out any second.”

Before Toni could voice her opinion on the matter, Dev grabbed her by the knees and tossed her over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold, her ponytail slapping his butt.

“Hey!” she yelped. “Put me down!”

Dev ignored her, of course, and vaulted into a run.

The earth started to pass before her vision. Her breathing sped up. Frustration, anger, and powerlessness collided, churned, rose up and pushed more tears to her eyes.

She was done with having her wishes ignored.

Reaching between Dev’s scissoring legs, she grabbed his testicles through his pants and squeezed them.

“Ho!”

She squeezed harder, and he collapsed to his knees.

She tumbled off his shoulder and rolled onto her butt, her ponytail flopping over her nose. Scrambling to her feet, she shoved her hair out of her face and stared at Dev.

Still kneeling on the cave floor, he stared back with a look of abject shock.

Behind him, all hell was breaking loose near the blocked off entrance. The ruffians on Ţărână’s side were shouting and bumping into each other in the kind of mindless panic that generally went with being charged at by a wild bull.

What was—?

A stream of vile curses seethed between Jacken’s bared teeth.

Then she saw him, or…or…

It.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Toni stood rooted to the spot as a giant’s form took shape out of the shadows of the barred tunnel, the black-haired man having to duck to accommodate a height of well over seven feet.

No, not a man. A monstrosity. A grotesquerie. A creature with a face that resembled stone, or Stone Age, like something Paleolithic, with its huge, hinged jaws and wide, barbaric forehead, his right temple marked with a saber-toothed tattoo, some of the black “teeth” stabbing into his eye socket.

He was dressed like the head subjugator in a Medieval torture chamber. Black leather pants hugged the enormity of his thighs, with half a dozen knives ringing his belt, and a shirt of transparent black mesh displayed the muscles of his torso. Steel-toed boots encased feet that were impossibly large.

Had Toni’s brain been capable of rational thought, she might’ve considered the man’s body to be a medical miracle…more like boulders stacked together into human form rather than flesh and bones.

But she couldn’t think. She couldn’t even move. She could only stand there, her chin sagged down to her chest, watching the giant draw two knives and, with what seemed like no more than a casual flick of his wrists, send the blades whizzing at Jacken and…

Me?

Jacken dove out of the path of the weapon, hitting the ground and rolling, while Dev surged to his feet and pushed her out of the way. In the next second—thunch! The blade drove into Dev’s upper back.

He yelled and staggered.

She gaped in horror, catching a glimpse of the hilt—intertwining black saber-teeth with an undulating red crystal on it.

Then part of Dev’s shoulder exploded into her face. Sch-lop! Warm blood sprayed across her cheeks and the front of her sweater.

Dev dropped like a scarecrow that’d lost its stuffing.

Screaming, she fell down onto her knees beside him, jamming both hands over his wound to staunch the flow of blood.

“R-run,” Dev croaked at her.

Blood was oozing steadily through her fingers. “We have to get you to the hospital!”

“You’re in…danger.” Dev wheezed. “Lorke can get past the key code box.”

What? She whipped her eyes up.

The giant had just arrived at the blockade of steel bars, and, without missing a beat, he reached through, wrapped a massive hand around the code box protecting the door, and ripped it off its bolts.

Sparks flew from the gnarled metal wreckage, showering over the giant man. His pupils glowed a bright, unnatural red.

A siren wailed.

The earth sloped beneath Toni like a carnival tilt-a-whirl ride.

In defiance of every law of physics and science she’d ever learned, all the rules of nature she believed in with every fiber of her being, that giant of a man was enduring what had to be a fatal electrical charge.

Kicking open the gate, the giant Lorke stalked into Ţărână’s side with long, ground-eating strides, his body looking bigger and taller with each step he took.

Straight ahead Jacken was on his feet again, rushing to her rescue, yelling at her to “Run, dammit!”

But Nilan and his saggy-panted friends, who obviously agreed that, yes, running was the best course of action, did just that. And as the panicked mob scattered, they bowled Jacken down and heaped on top of him.

Lorke latched his black eyes onto her with ruthless satisfaction.

With hair-raising malevolence.

She tried to run at that point, she really did. Her neurons were firing all the necessary fight-or-flight messages, with flight taking huge precedence. But she couldn’t even get to her feet. Dizzied by Lorke’s looming presence and the scorching heat of his body, she just swayed on her knees.

Lorke hooked a large paw into the front of her bloody sweater and hauled her to her feet for her. He balled his other hand into a huge iron mallet and, not giving her a chance to either fight him or come willingly, he delivered her a tremendous uppercut. The power of the blow snapped her chin up so hard it felt like her head came ripping partially off her neck.

Her sweater tore out of his hold, and she went hurling backward, catching air for what seemed like a small eternity before crashing onto her shoulder blades. She flipped a backward somersault and sprawled facedown on the cave floor, agony blasting through her jawbones and ricocheting around in her skull.

She choked out a sob.

A strange buzzing noise began to shut down her ears and her eyeballs rolled into the back of her head.

A gray nothingness crowded over her vision, but a savage burning in her scalp jolted her back from unconsciousness—Lorke was dragging her across the cave floor by her ponytail.

Panting, crying, she reached above her head and struggled to get his hand out of her hair.

Black dots swam across her vision, making it seem like she was hallucinating when she saw more warriors stampede onto the scene.

Lorke drew and released knife after knife with his free hand, sending her rescuers diving for cover. He towed her through the still-smoking gate.

The need to vomit broke over her flesh in a cold sweat. The caged-off tunnel didn’t lead to a way out—or anywhere good—she was sure of that now. It would take her to Tollar and his gang of hoodlums…and to a terrible fate.

Whirr, then clunch-clunch. Two knife handles were sticking out of Lorke’s back. With a roar, he spun toward his attacker.

Jacken!

He was racing for her with what looked like everything he had, his legs pumping like pistons, his boots tearing up the ground.

Releasing her, Lorke ran forward and body-slammed him.

Half-blinded by sweat and tears, she watched from a fetal position on the ground as the two men went at each other with unmatched brutality, fists pounding into flesh in one bone-crushing punch after another, the relentless hammering of their blows echoing off the cave walls like thunder.

She’d never seen such violence in her life. Soon both men’s chests were heaving and their faces were awash with sweat and blood. Jacken’s left eye was already showing signs of swelling, and Lorke’s nose was smashed out of alignment.

The battle might’ve gone on forever, but the backup warriors were able to leave cover now, and they charged the fight.

Lorke seized Jacken by the throat, hiked him off the ground, and flung him at the oncoming men.

Jacken collided with his overgrown brother, Nyko, and the two men landed hard on the ground and rolled—right across Thomal’s path.

With a shout, Thomal leapt over the brothers, barely clearing them.

Jacken was back on his feet in an instant, blasting through the gate…

But the giant was gone.

“Lorke!” Jacken bellowed into the echoing tunnel. Boots planted wide, his lungs working furiously, he stood at the mouth of the chamber and glared into it. “You asshole!”

Toni tried to push up onto straight arms, but her elbows gave out and she slumped back down. Her scalp was on fire, and her journey across the cave floor via her ponytail had left one side of her body scraped with some pretty serious road rash. But those pains were nothing compared to what was going on with her jaw. The underside of it felt like someone had swung a hammer into it.

“Oh, Jesus, Toni.” Thomal hunkered down in front of her and took her by the shoulders, helping her to sit. “You’re covered in blood.”

“I-It’s not my blood,” she stammered. “D-Dev, it’s… Is he…?”

“Arc’s with him now,” Thomal said. “He’ll be all right.”

She nodded her head, the movement stabbing pain into the backs of her eyeballs. Tears poured steadily down her cheeks and fell off her chin. She couldn’t seem to stop crying. Maybe this was what hysteria felt like. Controlled hysteria, but a falling-apart-and-to-pieces unraveling all the same. She turned and looked for Jacken.

He was still standing by the tunnel, his bloody face a rigid, unreadable mask, his dark eyes devoid of emotion. “Jacken…” Her lips trembled and then her whole body shook. “Don’t—” She reached out a hand to him. Suddenly it felt like he was the only person who could keep all the monsters of the world under the bed where they belonged. Don’t leave me.

He stood wooden and unmoving.

You know, for someone who’s probably real smart about most things, you seem to have your head particularly far up your ass about staying away from me.

She let her hand fall.

Nyko placed a palm on Thomal’s shoulder. “Let’s get Toni to Dr. Jess, Thomal.”

A final tear slipped from her eye. She tilted sideways, and the last thing her conscious mind registered was that it was Thomal who caught her when she fainted dead away.

Chapter Thirty

Jacken stood outside of Toni’s door and juggled the thermos he was carrying from one hand to the other. Just how many sandwiches short of a picnic was he anyway? Not long ago at Garwald’s he’d all but planted his size thirteens in Toni’s ass to get her away from him, and now here he was standing outside her bedroom.

Fucking genius.

He should go. He took a step backward, then hesitated, staring at the Eiffel Tower on her door. Thing was, he might be a lot of damned things—a hard, difficult man, a real prick sometimes—but he was never undependable.

Ask any of his warriors and they’d say he was the most reliable son of a bitch out there, a man anyone would want watching his six because he was always there. And, no, maybe he didn’t know thing one about how to be there for a woman, but that didn’t mean he should’ve just stood frozen like an idiot when Toni had needed him after her run-in with Lorke.

Yeah, she’d needed him, not Thomal.

What, exactly, she needed was still a bit of a mystery to a man with his limited understanding of females, but if he hadn’t let himself get so caught up in fear, maybe he could’ve figured it out. Yeah, him, a guy who faced the possibility of death in battle as easily as he picked out his breakfast cereal. A guy who’d been beaten, stabbed, and tortured more times than he cared to count had been scared out of his ever-loving mind when he saw Toni on the ground in Stânga Town, banged up and covered in blood.

Dr. Jess took eons to treat her, while Jacken paced his room, conjuring every picture imaginable of her in Oţărât. Most of the images focused on her being passed around as a party favor from Om Rău to Om Rău.

Those waking nightmares hadn’t ended well. He smashed his lamp, then his clock, before heading off to mix up a batch of his special juice for her—do something, like he hadn’t done before.

So why are standing here now, shit-head? Get your ass in there.

He stopped his thermos-fidgeting and rapped his knuckles softly on Toni’s door.

She didn’t answer.

Knowing his luck, she’d off’ed herself because he was such an unmitigated bastard.

He knocked again, louder. Still nothing.

Muttering under his breath, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. The place was empty…no Toni hanging from a light fixture, at least.

He walked deeper into the room, looking around, and some of his tension eased. The place felt like Toni now. Her delicious scent saturated everything, of course, but more than that she’d made the room her own with some paperbacks on a corner bookshelf along with a few framed photos. She’d also changed out the bedspread to some kind of fluffy, purple thing that would’ve required a testicular -ectomy for him to get beneath…unless he was joining a naked Toni underneath it…

He gripped the thermos in a hard fist and turned his attention back to the photos. Most were of an older blond woman—Toni’s mother to judge by the similarities—and of a guy about Toni’s age, strawberry-blond like her, but with glasses. A brother?

Jacken shifted his boots restlessly, feeling oddly like an intruder. But also he had the sudden weird urge to know everything about her.

I’ll have you know, I once sat on my brother for five minutes to get him to let me play with his red fire truck…

Stuff like that, you know. It was really cool to find out about.

He swiveled his head abruptly at the sound of retching coming from the open door of the bathroom. Aw, hell.

He strode into the bathroom and stopped a few feet inside the doorway, his gut twisting.

Toni was drooped against a gargantuan bathtub, her eyes watery from whatever she’d just been heaving into the nearby toilet.

His heart took a nosedive into his soft spot at full speed. Fuck him for failing to protect her better. Even with Dr. Jess getting an icepack on her jaw as quickly as possible, the underside of her chin was marbled black and swollen.

“Go away,” she told him, though not unkindly. “Don’t you know that women don’t like anyone to see them barf?”

“Here.” He stepped forward and offered her the thermos. “Drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”

She didn’t take it. Just looked at him with haunted eyes. “How’s Dev?”

“Recovering. More worried about you.” A sentiment he could totally relate to. “You look like a horrorshow, by the way.”

“Thank you.” She wiped a small towel across her mouth. “Why don’t you?”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t as bad as I looked,” he lied. His Vârcolac healing powers had just faded his bruises down to a bit of yellowing already. He lowered himself onto his haunches and pressed the thermos into her hand.

“What is it?”

“A mixture of juices to replace your electrolytes—a special recipe of mine.”

She snorted. “Big, Dark, and Murderous has a special recipe?”

“Yeah, well…I might have a bit of personal experience with puking over the things Lorke can do to a person.”

Her gaze dropped. “Oh.”

“How are you feeling?”

She sniffed. “Like a horrorshow.”

Jacken propped an elbow on one knee and shoved his fingers through his hair. Damn you, Roth, you dick-brain. You should’ve never taken me off Toni’s protection team. Jacken wouldn’t have lost her, no matter whose balls she pounded. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault. In fact, um…I need to thank you.” The design on the thermos was checkered red-and-black, and she traced one of the squares with a fingertip. “For saving me. If you hadn’t fought off that man, he would’ve… Actually, I don’t want to think about what would’ve happened to me.”

That’s okay, Jacken was doing plenty enough thinking about that for the both of them.

She looked up. “Although I’d also like to point out that I never would’ve been in danger from Lorke if you hadn’t kidnapped me in the first place.”

“Noted.”

She played with the thermos lid for a moment. “What…happened out there tonight, Jacken? I’ve never seen a knife do what it did. It just…exploded. And that giant Lorke walked through a spray of electricity as if it was no worse than a stroll through a field of daisies.” She met his gaze. “What’s going on?”

He sat back on his heels. “Are you sure you want to know? I mean, Christ, you’re still not convinced you’re living among Vârcolac.”

“I think I need to know.”

He massaged the back of his neck. “All right, then. Here it is.”

Chapter Thirty-One

“Lorke,” Jacken began, “the man who attacked you is one of the leaders of a neighboring town called Oţărât, home to another species of human. Like Vârcolac, their people are incredibly strong and fast, but their Peak 12, their aggression gene, is mutated, escalating their hostility and violent behavior off the charts. They lack impulse control and morals. They’re nearly impossible to kill, and they can create enchanted knives called Bătaie Blades, which you saw in action on Dev. All of that makes them very dangerous beings. We call them Om Rău.” He paused. Here comes the fun part… “Regular Human lore and legend would probably refer to them as demons.”

Toni blinked once, then dropped her face into her hand. “Oh, God. Of course. Yes. Demons and vampires all living in unhappy discord together half a mile below the earth’s surface. Why not?”

He glanced aside. Pretty much the response he’d expected.

“Okay…” She opened the thermos and gulped some juice. “Okay, so why did Lorke want to kill me? It didn’t seem like he was just acting out of demonic impulsivity.”

“Your death is the last thing Lorke would’ve wanted. He was trying to knock you senseless so that he could kidnap you easily into Oţărât.”

“Why?”

“He wants you for the same reason we do—for your Dragon bloodlines. Lorke and his kind can have children with Regular Humans, but those offspring come out weaker and with fewer Om Rău traits.”

She thought about that for a second. “So I’m in danger here?”

“Not if you don’t escape your protection team,” he told her pointedly.

She just frowned. “Has Lorke managed to steal any of the other Dragon women you’ve brought down here?”

Heat surged into Jacken’s face.

“Holy crap.” She struggled to her feet, swaying when she gained an upright position.

Standing too, he reached out a hand to steady her.

She shoved it away. “Why the hell didn’t you warn me?”

“Roth doesn’t like to scare the new acquisitions any more than they already are.”

Another topic of contention between the two men.

“Well, that’s just great.” Toni plunked the thermos down on the edge of the tub. “You people are unbelievable. Not only do you take women against our will, but then you dump us right in the middle of some…some kind of bloodline war between you and these Om Rău.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” How many times could a man say that and still have it not be enough? Jacken bowed his head and closed his eyes. There was nothing else he could say. It was true that what they did was really fucked.

Oh, you poor man. Is your kidnap victim being difficult?

I want my brother.

Could you…just… Could you please talk to me?

His heart squeezed. He couldn’t say sorry enough…which meant that he had nothing left to say. And it hit him then—he was done. With all of it.

He lifted his head. “The only thing I can tell you is that the kidnappings are about to end—at least my part in them.”

Toni went still.

Jacken would no doubt get his ass fired as head of the Warrior Class for gross insubordination—Roth might even banish Jacken back to Oţărât—but it was a risk Jacken would have to take. Because telling Toni about his tattoos two days ago had unlocked a crapload of buried memories inside him—all the bad shit he’d had to watch women go through in Oţărât, and how he’d never been able to help them.

He couldn’t be involved in a woman’s suffering anymore—it just took him too far away from the man he’d always planned to be.

Toni lurched toward him and grabbed his forearm. “You’re going to let me go?”

“No, I can’t do that.” Her hand on his forearm was soft and warm, and he paused for a moment to enjoy it. “Sending you to the surface would put you in more danger.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There’s a new faction of Om Rău—a Topside Om Rău—who are hunting you. They were at Scripps Hospital the same night we were, trying to kidnap you, too.”

“What?” She let go of his arm. “They… Are you saying I can’t ever go back?”

“To visit maybe—and only under full guard—but not to live.”

Her face went stark with disbelief.

The expression twisted his innards into knots. “I wish I had a different answer for you. But if you go back to the surface to live, the Topside Om Rău would eventually find you and take you. Your bloodlines are just too valuable. And I can guarantee that, as much as you think you hate it here in Ţărână, life with the Om Rău would be a living nightmare. Trust my experience on this.”

“Good God,” she breathed, her lips bloodless. “This isn’t happening.” Tears pooled in her eyes.

A frisson of panic shot up his spine. “Toni…please, don’t cry. Vârcolac males can’t handle…we don’t do so well with that.” Despite his warning, a tear trembled along her lashes, then slid down her cheek. He watched its descent in outright horror. What in hell was he supposed to do with a crying woman? “Just give this place a chance. Okay? I know you can’t feel it, yet, but Ţărână is where you belong. I can keep you safe here. Nothing bad would’ve happened to you tonight if you hadn’t escaped your protection team.”

“No,” she cried, burying her face in her hands. “No.” Her shoulders shook and her breath came in small hiccups.

He stared down at the small crown of her head, his arms dangling loosely at his sides. Clearly he did not know his ass from a hole in the ground when it came to comforting women. He finally lifted his hand, held it in a hover over her head, then plunked it on top of her hair.

She froze.

He froze. Now, uh, what? Her crying had quieted a bit. That was good. He began to pet her head. A swallow built in his throat. Her hair was even softer than it looked, and her head seemed almost breakable beneath the large size of his palm.

He became aware of her body heat, warm and feminine, and how it laced with her scent in a way that was entirely too intimate for his well-being and sanity. A sinew quivered in his jaw as emotions he couldn’t name muscled his chest to the floor and pinned it there.

She stopped crying completely.

Holy shit, had he done that? He had. I am King of the World.

In an impulsive move, he took her head between his palms and gently urged her forward.

She didn’t resist, just stepped closer to him.

Shutting his eyes, he pressed his nose to the top of her hair and breathed in deeply. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

Her scent swirled through the lobes and crevices of his brain, locking inside there with a feeling of absolute rightness. He shuddered.

Angling her head up, Toni caught his gaze. Her eyes were a deep, dark blue. She lifted her hands, slowly, as if she wasn’t sure what he might do, then placed both palms on his chest.

His heart thundered. Two small hands resting on his chest, that’s it, and he wanted to die.

He fought and strained, trying his damnedest to slam shut the old cage doors, to raise all the necessary walls to protect himself from the heart-stomping this woman was surely on her way to giving him.

But he couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t feel nothing for her.

All he could do was gnarl up his guts by walking away.

Taking gentle hold of her wrists, he lifted her hands off his chest and urged her back a step. “Drink that.” He gestured at the thermos, then turned hard on his heel and walked out.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The next night

La Jolla Cove, San Diego

8:37 p.m.

Raymond strode at a brisk pace along Coast Boulevard, tapping his walking stick at regular intervals on the asphalt paving the deserted street. The night was brassy, the chill wind carrying a heavy mist of sea spray from the nearby Pacific Ocean. Only a slip of a moon showed in the sky.

Murk and Ren walked beside him.

All three of them were heading toward a tucked-away spot in La Jolla Cove where one of the Underground Om Rău entrances was located.

Yes, fancy that, more of those demonic creatures did exist.

Eleven days ago, Raymond’s visit to Yavell’s quarters to chat about Pandra’s revelation that other Om Rău took Toni had proved fruitful. The old broad ended up confiding that a faction of her kind still lived underground—it was from here she’d escaped the year before joining Raymond and Boian’s household.

Thence armed with the knowledge of where the Underground Om Rău’s secret entrance was, Raymond had posted Teer by it to keep watch. But after so many days of waiting, Raymond began to wonder if the old broad had failed to get her facts straight…

Then twenty minutes ago, Teer texted that the elevator was on the move.

Finally. He would soon be getting some answers.

Angling off Coast Boulevard onto a dirt pathway, Raymond spotted Teer. He was hovering over a seismograph machine, kneeling on the weedy earth in front of the short tunnel that led to a set of hidden elevator doors.

The lad looked knackered, his hair unkempt, his jaw bewhiskered—well, he’d been manning the entrance for the past eleven days. Off to the right was a one-man tent, a Coleman stove, and an ice chest.

Teer glanced over his shoulder at them. “What took you so bleedin’ long?” he snapped.

Raymond had been about to get a leg over with a lush sort from his polo club when he received Teer’s message. But no matter.

Teer gestured at the seismograph. “They’re almost here.” Indeed, the needle arm that read subterranean vibrations was jerking madly.

“We’re here now, son. Calm yourself.” Raymond planted his walking stick in the dirt and leaned on it with both hands.

Without speaking, they all waited.

Teer wearily scratched the black flame tattoo on his left jaw with the backs of his fingers.

Finally, the sound of a metallic clank indicated the arrival of the elevator. Next came a shish of doors sliding open.

Teer hopped to his feet and scuttled back to stand next to Raymond, Murk, and Ren.

In a trice, two men ducked through the rocky tunnel opening, both tall, muscled, wretchedly soiled, and wearing ill-fitting dark clothing. One had fiery red hair and several safety pins stuck through his earlobes and nostrils. The other had black hair and black teeth tattoos surrounding his enormous biceps—the same type of tattoos that marked Yavell’s lower back.

The same type of tattoos that the man who’d kidnapped Toni wore, evidently.

These two men also had black eyes, so…they were definitely Om Rău.

Well, bully for Yavell. The old girl got it right.

The two men jerked to a halt when they saw Raymond and his lads.

The one with red hair tracked his gaze over the lads’ tribal tattoos—on Teer’s jaw, Murk’s pate, and Ren’s neck. The markings were not long teeth like what these two muckers wore, rather flames, but still inked in the supernatural black of the Om Rău.

Red Hair slitted his eyes. “Where the fuck did you come from?”

Raymond assumed the young man meant where did you come from just now? But since Raymond’s lads were a class of Om Rău unrecognizable to these Om Rău—who no doubt believed that every member of their race lived underground—Red Hair might be asking, where did you come from in life?

“And how the fuck do you know about this portal?” Red Hair demanded, flashing a steel tongue stud in the process.

“A little Om Rău birdie told us.” Raymond smiled, sorely tempted to pull out his handkerchief and press it over his nose. The two smelled atrocious.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah?” Red Hair sneered. “Then fuck off.”

“Such language, lad, my.” Raymond tushed. “Rest assured, I’m in no mood to linger in your company. But I cannot depart until you and I have conducted business.”

Red Hair drew a battered flask out of the inner pocket of his leather jacket. “Don’t see how I could have any business with the likes of you, old timer.”

Raymond overlapped his hands on top of his walking stick. “Nearly a fortnight ago some of you blokes nicked a Dragon female from Scripps Memorial Hospital. Strawberry-blond hair, blue eyes, height about five-five. But you took her erroneously, my dear lad. She’s ours.” Raymond let another smile curve his lips. “And we want her back.”

“’Fraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, pops.” Red Hair took a large swig from his flask. “I guess maybe your old timer brain has gone to mush.”

Ren growled. “This is a waste of time. Show these tosspots who’s in charge, for fuck sakes, or we’re not goin’ to get anywhere.”

Raymond sighed. He hated theatrics, but Ren was probably correct. Lifting his right hand off his walking stick, Raymond aimed his palm at the two Om Rău and blasted a shock of energy at them.

Both men went flying backwards.

Shouting, they hit the rocky cliff face, rebounded off at a stumble, then jerked forward and convulsed. Eerie red lights pulsed in their eyes for several seconds, until both of them, grunting and huffing, managed to get control of their Rău sides.

“You motherfucking cum-chugger,” Red Hair snarled.

Well…partial control. “If you value your continued good health,” Raymond warned, “you’ll quit playing silly buggers and address my concerns.”

Red Hair swiped some slobber off his mouth with the back of his wrist. “We don’t have her, you sack-a-shit. It’s the Vârcolac who took her. Okay? I just seen her.”

“Vampires?” Raymond drawled. “Do you think I’m soft in the head? Vârcolac don’t exist anymore.”

The black-haired Om Rău held out a shaky hand for the flask.

Red Hair smacked it into his comrade’s palm. “They do exist, I’m telling you, and they live underground, same as us, but in their own part. They’re just real good at keeping themselves hidden from people up here and—” Red Hair scowled at his black-haired friend.

Black had tilted his head back and was in the process of downing the entire contents of the flask.

“Hey!” Red Hair snatched the flask back.

Black sputtered against the spill of booze on his face, then tried to take the flask again.

A shoving-slapping-hitting match ensued, which ended with Red giving Black a hard purler to the face, and the poor sod, still unsteady on his feet, crashing to the dirt, with his arms and legs akimbo.

Red Hair stared down at his friend dispassionately.

“You were saying?’ Raymond prompted.

Red Hair glanced up. “What?”

“About the Vârcolac?”

Now Ren butted in. “This asshole’s dishin’ a load of shite. The man Murk and I fought at the hospital had black eyes and the same teeth tattoos on his forearms as this knob.” Ren stabbed a finger down at Black, then glared at Red Hair. “That makes him an Om Rău, bollock-brain, not a Vârcolac.”

“The cocksucker you saw at the hospital is Vârcolac, jizzbeard.” Red Hair jammed the flask back in his pocket. “Just a Half-Rău.”

Raymond exhaled a long breath—his patience was wearing thin. “Vârcolac and Om Rău can’t interbreed.”

“Well, I guess you’ve been misinformed, pops, ’cause I ain’t lying.”

Raymond compressed his lips. If that were true, then he didn’t have the foggiest notion what sort of creature he would be dealing with. His own progeny were Half-Rău, yes, but a mixture of Fey and Om Rău. He knew what to expect from that combination. God only knew what would come from pairing an Om Rău with a vampire. “Will this Half-Rău negotiate with me for the Dragon?”

Red Hair rearranged his testicles. “The Half-Rău ain’t the one in charge. Some dandy Vârcolac is—a real twit—and secondly, no way. Those Vârcolac don’t give up their pussy for nuttin, ’specially not a fuckable twinkie as the one we’re talking. They protect their women good, too. Seven Dragons those bloodsuckers have gotten ahold of, and we’ve only been able to steal one.”

Seven? Raymond gripped his walking stick in a taut fist. He was not amused. To think that he’d let seven women of unparalleled worth slip through his fingers while waiting for the two eldest boys to come of age. Blast him for not paying sufficient attention to the possibility of competitors.

His full attention was engaged now, however. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the Vârcolac’s portals are, would you, Mr…?”

Red Hair snorted. “There ain’t no mister about it. I’m Tollar. This here’s Ejohn” He nudged his supine friend with the toe of his boot, and the black-haired man stirred. “I don’t know where the Vârcolac’s topside entrances are, but there’s a way into their side from our town, if you wanted to try and snatch the twinkie yourselves.” He smirked. “’Course using our tunnels will cost you.”

“Of course it will. And what, exactly, would your price be?”

“Not for me to decide that, pops. I hafta check with my bosses.”

Ejohn staggered to his feet.

“Very well,” Raymond said. “How may I get in touch with you again?”

“Well, that’s the tough part, now, isn’t it? Not like we have cell reception down there.”

Raymond swept back one side of his camel-haired topcoat and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. He extracted a business card and held it out to Tollar. “Here’s my phone number. When you’re next on the surface, call me with your offer.” He tucked his wallet away. “And I daresay, Tollar, time is of the essence.”

Tollar squinted. “Wha’?”

“I’m in a rush to get my Dragon female.”

“I bet you are.” Tollar chortled. “She’s got some real nice titties. But remember—you pay whether you manage to swipe your twinkie or not. You don’t, and it’s Lorke and Josnic who’ll be coming after you, and that bionic hand of yours will just make them giggle.”

Raymond hooded his lids. “I’m a man of my word, lad. No need to tender threats.”

Shrugging, Tollar rubbed his nose. “One more thing. Don’t bring no guns. Bullets bounce off the walls down there and end up pegging the wrong guy in the uglies.” He grabbed Ejohn by the coat lapel and dragged him off, calling back over his shoulder to Murk, Ren, and Teer. “I hope you ass-pounders like the heat.” His annoying cackle floated back through the shadows.

“Uncouth creatures.” Raymond watched the two Underground Om Rău disappear into the night, then cast a look at Murk. “You’ve been particularly quiet, son.”

Murk’s mouth set. “I don’t trust the blighters.”

“Hmm, yes.” Raymond fingered the lion’s head on his walking stick. “Best I send you three down with some of my choicer enchantments to aid your endeavors.” Enchantments…that gave him a splendid idea.

He looked at Ren. “And I have precisely the concoction to turn Toni agreeable. You’ll be able to take her with no problems whatsoever. Just make certain you are the first man she looks at after you’ve administered it.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

The same day

The underground community of Ţărână

10:11 a.m.

Kimberly had to hand it to Hannah Banana—good ol’ Pollyanna had stocked the library with a decent amount of law books. Nice thing to do, considering that only Kimberly would ever use them. She was scanning the spines now, in fact, looking for inspiration on a topic to research.

Maybe you could write an article for one of those lawyer magazines…

She still didn’t feel anything more than meh over the idea, but she needed to do something to knock herself out of her current funk.

Toni had failed to get her hands on a key card. She’d tried twice to steal one—once by sneaking into Dev’s room, the other time by pinching Thomal’s wallet—and had bombed out on both counts.

Not looking good for the home team.

Kimberly kept scanning the books, and after another minute blew out her cheeks. All the topic matters on the spines—child custody, small claims, writing a will—were so far away from her life now.

Maybe she should write about Unlawful Detention—the violation of a person’s Fourth Amendment rights.

Except that she didn’t know how to write the article without mentioning that Supreme Emperor High King Roth Mihnea was a Super Asshole Vampire.

She spotted a volume on torts, and for the heck of it, she pulled out the book to—

“Yeow!” She jumped out of her shoes and gasped. A face was in the open space where the book had just been.

“I have to talk you,” Beth whispered.

Kimberly pressed a hand to her pounding heart. “For the love of God, did you have to tell me that like we’re in an Agatha Christie movie? You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry.”

Kimberly flapped her hand. “Just come around to my side.”

“Okay.” Beth’s face disappeared.

Kimberly replaced the volume and jammed her feet back into her slip-on shoes.

Beth appeared at the end of the book stacks, checking over both shoulders as she hurried toward Kimberly.

Kimberly watched Beth with upraised brows. Jeez, what was going on? “Are you being followed or something?”

“Am I?” Beth’s eyes spread wide. “I hope not.”

Kimberly shifted her jaw sideways. “I have no idea how to compute that answer.” Who would be tailing Beth and why?

“For the love of Pete,” Beth said tartly. “Just listen, okay?”

“Okay.” Wow, the fashion designer was leading with her spine this morning. “What’s this about?”

“It’s about what we talked about at the tea party,” Beth said quietly.

“Which part?”

“Oh, my God.” Beth rolled her eyes, then hissed, “The part about escaping topside to get Roth to finally listen to us.”

“Ah. You mean the part you didn’t want to help us with.”

Beth’s lips folded inward and tightened. “Well, I want to help now. Thanks to my husband’s utter lack of help on the matter.”

“You told Arc? Dammit, Beth.” Kimberly slapped a hand on some book spines. “Now your husband knows we’re planning a rebellion.” Shit. “What did he say?”

“He didn’t say anything. You don’t need to worry, Kimberly. He ignored me.” Beth’s lips trembled.

Kimberly cooled her annoyance. “I’m sorry. I know how that feels.”

“Yes, well…I’ve had it.” Beth plunked her hands on her hips and firmed her lips. “It’s time to shake things up around here.”

Kimberly half-smiled. Thank you, Beth’s normally devoted husband for sinking to such deep levels of asshole’ness. Kimberly now had another solid ally. “Agreed. I’m just running a little short on the how part.”

“That’s why I came to you.” Beth crept closer. “I received an email from Alex Parthen, a man claiming to be Toni’s brother. He’s a computer genius, and he thinks he can help us hack our way out of here. You want to come read the message?”

Are you kidding me?! Kimberly took off so fast that she left her shoes behind again.

Beth scooped up Kimberly’s slip-ons and ran after her.

Kimberly made it to Beth’s house in under two minutes, and that was even with Beth’s hand clawed around Kimberly’s sleeve, stopping her from an all-out, attention-grabbing sprint down Main Street. Kimberly had to settle for the fastest fast-walk she’d ever done.

“Arc is on duty and the kids are at preschool,” Beth said as they entered her house. “So we have plenty of privacy. Over here…” She led Kimberly to a desk situated in a cubby off the living room.

Kimberly sat in front of the computer, and Beth moved the mouse, bringing up Alex Parthen’s email.

“I didn’t want to go to Toni,” Beth said, “until we were sure this is actually her brother.”

Kimberly started to read. Alex wrote that a person sending him emails in Toni’s name was using the same small, private IP address as Beth’s. Kimberly snorted. In Toni’s name… Looked like Cleeve had failed to keep up his ruse as the inestimable Doctor Parthen.

Too bad Kimberly’s parents weren’t as smart as this Alex. Cleeve had managed to keep her family bamboozled for three years by claiming she’d gone back into the Peace Corps, working in Comoros, Africa, a country that wasn’t even as big as Rhode Island.

So, gee, I can’t email too often, guys, being in the middle of nowhere and all, but I’m doing such amazing work for these poor unfortunates…

Alex Parthen was wondering if Beth had any news of his sister, and if it turned out that Toni was in trouble, he was offering to help in any way he could. Kimberly swiveled the desk chair toward Beth. “Odds are that this Alex can help us circumvent the key code boxes—I mean, hell, the man breached Cleeve’s security.”

“Except that’s one of the reasons I’m suspicious this email might not really be from Toni’s brother. Doesn’t Cleeve kept the community on a constantly changing network of cables that’s impossible to hack?”

Kimberly hid her surprise. Beth knew that? Hmm, maybe Kimberly was one of the people who underestimated the beauty queen. “Who else would send a message like this?”

“Maybe someone inside the community, like, you know, Roth is trying to test how serious we Dragons are about raising Cain. He’ll want to see how I respond.”

“That’s a thought.” Kimberly leaned the desk chair back on its sturdy springs. “But that would require Roth to take our ability to cause trouble seriously. Do you think he does?”

“I really don’t know.”

“There’s one way to find out.” Smiling slowly, Kimberly gestured at the open email. “Ask Alex Parthen for help.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

The next day

9:07 a.m.

Toni barely made it out of Aunt Ælsi’s Coffee Shop with her hand still attached to her wrist. Everyone in the morning coffee crowd had been so determined to grab it, pat it sympathetically, and ask how she was doing, all the while tut-tutting over her jaw bruise, dark like an angry plum and swollen.

It might’ve been a wiser choice to stay in bed another day—she was still suffering from dizzy spells and required hefty doses of Vicodin to manage her pain. But she hadn’t wanted to put off seeing Dev.

To-go cup in hand, she left the coffee shop with her warrior escort in tow and headed up Main Street toward the hospital.

Jacken was conspicuously absent from her protection team today.

She should be glad for it. Thrilled, even. Between him manhandling her during the letter-opener incident, his stinginess with The African Queen, and his overall rude behavior at Garwald’s, she should welcome his absence.

But the truth was, she’d been disappointed when he wasn’t among the men who showed on her doorstep this morning.

God, she nearly groaned. If she was developing feelings for that man, she might as well hike to the highest point in the cave and leap off. It made no sense for her to fall for a man like Jacken.

Dark and smoldering Dev? Yes.

Thomal? With that amazing ass? No need to say more.

Detective John Waterson? With his sexy smiles and even sexier kisses, he was absolutely a sensible candidate.

An ill-tempered, black-eyed, tank of a man, who, oh, incidentally, claimed to be a beast who hovers all of about two inches away from the edge of pure evil…? She must’ve suffered permanent brain damage from her concussion.

Or maybe it made too much sense to fall for Jacken, and that scared the crap out of her. There was no denying she wanted to jump his bones and abscond with his virginity. But there was also no sidestepping the emotional connection she kept forging with him every time they had a run-in. It was almost like he’d been born to know her—what it felt like to be a freak, or how shitty it was to be raised by a reject for the Father of the Year award. Or not raised, as in her case.

If only he hadn’t smiled at her at Garwald’s—that’s what set off this whole lovesick thing. It wasn’t even a friendly smile, but he’d just looked so…different with the expression.

As the hard angles of his face softened and small lines appeared at the corners of his eyes, the years peeled away to reveal the young man he’d once been. Or maybe the man he would’ve been had he not been raised in such horrific circumstances.

Or maybe the man he could be with the right woman.

Yes, excellent. That was exactly what she needed to be thinking right now.

Oh, for Pete’s sake. A woman didn’t get together with a man in order to save him. A woman fell for a guy who got her on a soul-deep level…a guy who called her things like “whack job” and “nagging shrew” because he knew she wasn’t perfect and was totally fine with it. A woman flipped over a man she trusted to do something really sweet like show up in her room with a thermos of juice after he’d blown it the first time…a guy who made her feel safe, even when he looked a little lost himself.

A girl fell in love with a man whose mere presence did a whole lot of saving her.

Fall in love… She pressed a hand to her forehead and now she did moan. She was in real trouble here.

“Are you all right, Toni?” The warrior with the bushy sideburns, Vinz, briefly touched her arm.

“Oh, yes, um, I was just thinking…” About how good it’d felt to have Jacken stroke her hair. His touch was inexpert and unsure, a bit clumsy. In a word, perfect.

“Are you having flashbacks about what happened with Lorke?” Vinz’s brow knitted. “Don’t worry about that, okay? The men and I aren’t going to let anything bad happen to you. Just stick with us.”

Yes, well…that had been the main stipulation for her being allowed outside of the mansion again—no more escaping her protection team, definitely no more going into Stânga Town.

“Thank you, Vinz.” She smiled faintly. “I know.”

They continued on to the hospital.

Once inside, Vinz led her to Dev’s room, while the other warriors manned posts around the building.

Toni stopped dead in Dev’s doorway, shock bringing her up short.

The patient looked the picture of health.

Dev was sitting up in bed and chatting with his sister, Luvera—the sweet-natured waitress from Garwald’s—his dark flannel pajama top doing wonders to emphasize his robust frame and healthy complexion.

No cannula was in his nose to augment his oxygen. No IV line was in his arm.

How…bizarre.

Toni had received a close-up view of the severity of Dev’s wound, and he shouldn’t be looking this good after a knife exploded in his shoulder only the day before yesterday.

The uppercut she took to her jaw, as bad as the punch had been, was way less debilitating than Dev’s injury, yet he looked a hundred times better than she did.

“Toni!” Dev exclaimed, seeing her in the doorway. “Come on in. Have you met my sister, Luvera?”

Luvera turned to smile at her. Her eyes were the same dazzling silver as Dev’s, and her hair was a similar rich black. She was dressed in a dowdy way, in a loose sweatshirt and a long, shapeless skirt, but even with the concealment of baggy clothing, it was possible to tell that she had a nice figure. And her face was stunning.

Sheesh, spend enough time in Ţărână and a normally pretty woman would start feeling like the Thing that crawled out from under a bridge.

Toni walked forward. “Yes, we’ve met. Hi, Luvera.” She stopped at the side of Dev’s bed and smiled at the patient. “She’s been campaigning for you.”

“Has she?” Dev flashed his sister an affectionate look. “That’s cool. Did she mention I can—whoa. You smell different.”

“Ah, yes, I’m wearing some kind of gross mud now.” She hadn’t been thrilled about having to smear the nasty stuff behind her ears—it was both sticky and tingly—but that had been Stipulation Two for going outside the mansion.

“And here—” She held up the to-go cup of coffee she’d gotten at Aunt Ælsi’s. “I brought you this. A Mocha Frappuccino.”

“Oh, hey, thanks.” Dev’s expression turned wry as he accepted the to-go cup. “I look like a Mocha Frappuccino guy, do I?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I just wanted to give you something to thank you for saving my can.”

Dev chuckled. “Well, it’s such a nice can…” He took a sip. His eyebrows shot up. “This is straight black coffee.”

She smiled warmly.

He chuckled again, the sound resonant and smoky. “Here’s an idea, Doc. Why don’t you check out my wound and give me the thumbs up for discharge.” He set his coffee cup on the tray attached to his bed. “Then you and I can get out of here and do something fun.”

She laughed. She wasn’t sure which was funnier—the idea that he was well enough to leave the hospital today or that she would check him out. “Still vying for a medical examination from me, are you, Mr. Nichita? Well, you’ve already had one. The day before yesterday in Stânga Town.”

Dev frowned over that, then understanding lit his face. “You’re talking about that nut-grab you pulled on me?” He threw back his head and whooped, his gold hoop earring catching the light. “Hell, I’d hardly call that a…” He paused. “Wait a second. I might be okay with that.”

They laughed as a group just as Dr. Jess bustled into the room.

“Sakes alive.” The doctor’s eyes brightened. “How wonderful to see everyone in such high spirits. Ah! Dr. Parthen, you’re up and about. How are you feeling?”

“Better, thank you.”

“Excellent,” Dr. Jess said cheerfully. “Please, stay and observe, then. I’m going to check Devid’s injury. This will give you the opportunity to see a vampire’s healing abilities at their finest.”

Toni blinked. A vampire’s…?

“The Nichitas have some of the purest bloodlines in the community. Their powers of restoration are truly extraordinary.” Dr. Jess wheeled over a cart full of medical supplies.

Luvera picked up her purse from the visitor’s chair. “I’m going to take off now.”

“Okay,” Dev said. “See ya later.”

Dr. Jess tugged on a pair of latex gloves.

Toni stood glued to the floor.

Dev’s silver eyes latched onto her as he unbuttoned his flannel shirt and shrugged it off, baring the sculpted muscles of his smooth chest.

Toni watched it all trance-like. Something…big was about to happen. She felt it in the unsteady beat of her heart.

Dr. Jess gingerly worked the tape off the white square of bandage on Dev’s shoulder. “Come closer, Dr. Parthen.”

“Yes, come closer,” Dev all but purred.

Stiff-kneed, Toni propelled herself forward, walking around the bed, every nerve in her body prickling.

Dr. Jess removed the white square of bandage and set the dirty gauze on the cart.

Toni sucked in a painful breath.

“Remarkable, isn’t it?” Dr. Jess beamed. “Most Vârcolac would need to wear their stitches for three to four days, but Dev’s can be removed already.”

Toni abruptly felt as if her feet were no longer in solid contact with the floor. Dev’s flesh was completely closed beneath the stitches. The wound was still red, yes, and somewhat swollen, but for the most part it looked like a laceration that’d been healing for two weeks, not two days.

Toni’s heart slipped somewhere down into the environs of her feet, and she swallowed so hard her throat made a noise. This had to be a trick, some kind of super-fancy, complicated FX. She’d seen Dev’s wound, and it was a biological impossibility for an injury of that magnitude to have mended so quickly.

She rounded on Dr. Jess, glaring. “I don’t know what the hell you think you’re trying to pull, but it’s not going to work.”

Dr. Jess double-blinked.

Snatching up a pair of latex gloves, she wrenched them on and bent close to Dev, exploring his shoulder with gentle fingers.

“Jesus Christ,” Dev hissed.

A disquieting unease pressed the oxygen from her lungs. Dev’s skin was repaired. Genuinely. Actually. No fake, no special effect.

She straightened.

And what about the supernatural glow in Dev’s eyes on demonstration day?

Kasson’s impossible speed?

The dragon tattoo on Thomal’s back made of living scales?

What about Lorke surviving a fatal electrocution?

And the palpable animal something that seemed to radiate off every person in this town?

She had forced herself to ignore it all. To explain everything away as having been caused by a concussed brain and the stress of captivity. But here before her sat irrefutable scientific evidence. The human body’s healing process could not be sped up, which meant that…

Bells rang in her head. The world dimmed, and the room careened onto its side.

“Toni!”

She had no idea how she came to be slumped against Jess, the doctor holding her off the ground by her armpits, Dev leaning halfway off the side of his bed with a concerned look on his face.

Dear God. She must’ve fainted for a short second.

Scrambling out of Dr. Jess’s hold, she pushed wildly away from him and stumbled to the foot of Dev’s bed. Her chest heaved.

She met Dev’s eyes, liquid mercury in a bottle. Incredible. Vampiric.

Dev smiled, showing his…his… “Yep, you got it now, don’t you? Finally, Toni. Gotta be some kind of record.”

It was all real…all of it…

“No.” She snapped off her latex gloves and threw them on the floor. “No!”

She turned and fled.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Jacken scrawled the details of his recent run-in with Lorke across the page, keeping it short. Three sentences max.

Not exactly a sit-at-your-desk kind of guy, he hated it when Roth made him write out these idiotic reports instead of just debriefing in person. But Roth liked these clashes to go on file.

Jacken supposed it could be worse. He could be illiterate, not even be able to write out these action accounts. But thanks to his mom, he was decently educated. No school existed in Oţărât and hardly any learning materials, but Urzella had still managed to teach Jacken and his brothers to read and write.

Sitting back in his chair, he stared at the wall as he ran through the sequence of events leading to Toni’s trip to The Outer Edge. He should’ve done this write-up yesterday when everything was fresher, but instead he’d spent the day in the gym, working himself to exhaustion.

Working Toni out of his head, or trying to get—

A knocked sounded.

He hoisted himself up from his chair and stalked across his bedroom, yanking open the door.

Toni and Vinz.

Jacken dropped his brows into a scowl. “What happened?” he bit out.

Had Lorke attacked again? Usually, that dickhead needed some recovery time after taking on the voltage he had, not to mention several knife wounds, but Jacken wouldn’t be surprised if Toni’s strong scent had motivated Lorke toward more inhuman feats of dick-headedness. Besides, she looked really upset.

“She’s having some kind of freakout.” Vinz’s tone was calm, although a subtle something in his expression suggested he’d rather be fighting a horde of Om Rău than dealing with a woman in a mood. “She took off like a bat out of hell from the hospital, and I gave chase. She claims she wasn’t trying to escape, and I believe her.” He shrugged. “Such a move would’ve been too stupid for a woman like her.”

“What set her off?”

“Beats the shit out of me.”

“I’m standing right here,” Toni remarked churlishly. “You can ask your stupid questions directly of me.”

Vinz shot Jacken a look. “She, um, insisted on talking to you.”

Me?

“Yes.” Toni took a step closer. “Right now.”

“Okay, then…” Vinz backed up. “You’ve got her, right?”

No—shit, no—he didn’t have her. He’d spent all of yesterday in the gym making numerous threats against himself not to get stuck alone with Toni again, especially not in a bedroom. But Vinz was already heading off and—fuck a duck—Toni was pushing past him into his room.

Cursing, he shut the door, turned around, and stood with his arms crossed.

Toni faced off with him from the middle of his room, feet braced, hands planted on her hips, her eyes fiery with the kind of stubborn determination that never worked out well for him.

His stomach did a slow rollover. Last time she’d worn that expression, he ended up spilling his guts about why he liked old movies. Yeah, this had bad written all over it.

“I need to see your fangs,” she informed him.

Oh, ho. An unpleasant laugh cracked out of him. Bad did not even begin to cover just how not good that idea was.

“I’m serious, Jacken.”

“Good for you. The answer’s no. Hell no, in fact.”

“Why?”

Why? He fought back another laugh. Anyone who understood Vârcolac culture would recognize that question as Level One Bonehead. Showing his fangs to a woman he was worked up over would be only one step down from taking his pants off in front of her. “I can’t.”

“Dev says that you and your brothers can control your fangs voluntarily,” she countered.

Fucking Nichita. Why was that douche talking about him anyway? “Then I won’t.” He angled toward his door and opened it again. “This isn’t up for debate, Toni. Time for you to go.”

She didn’t move.

“Now.”

She paused a moment more, then briskly crossed his room, heading for the door.

Thank you, powers that be. She wasn’t going to put up a fight. He almost sighed in relief over the unexpected gift, although he was also oddly disappointed. A part of him was beginning to like how hard she pushed him. It kind of felt like he needed it to somehow…to draw him out…to make him feel like less of a drone who only worked, ate, slept, tossed back the occasional beer, and that was it.

But then she pulled a what-the-fuck? on him, grabbing the door out of his hand and banging it closed.

She stood before him, hands back on her hips, eyes glinting. “Here’s the thing. I think I believe all this stuff about vampires and demons now, but I need more evidence. I want more. Okay? All right?”

He stared down into Toni’s eyes, feeling their probing effect deep in his belly. How dangerous was this? He did want to unsheathe his fangs in front of this woman, wanted it more than life. To relish the throbbing hunger he’d feel, the raw pulse of desire.

“Are you listening to me?” Toni said. “I need your help.”

“Look—” He edged around her and crossed to his wet bar, putting some much-needed space between them. “It’s a bad idea, Toni, I’m telling you.”

“Why?”

Great. Another why?

“You don’t need the usual stimulations to elongate your fangs,” she pointed out.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t feel anything.” Especially with you.

“You’re making too much of this,” she said, trying out a calmer tone on him now. “I can be very clinical about it.”

When he didn’t budge, she abandoned calm and spat out, “Fine. I’ll go ask one of your brothers to show me.” Spinning around, she grabbed the doorknob.

He didn’t know what happened. One second he was watching her open his door, the next he was at the door, slamming it shut to keep her from leaving his room to go find one of his fucking brothers to elongate for her.

She slowly turned back around.

He gazed at her with burning eyes, his breath rushing in and out of his nostrils like steam hissing from an overheated boiler. A raw possessiveness he’d never felt before ate a hole straight through the bottom of his stomach.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, her tone returning to calm. She peeled his hand off the door and led him toward his desk. “I’ll be the total doctor at all times.” She positioned him in front of his desk chair and placed her palms on his shoulders, urging him down into the seat, then she stepped between the vee created by his splayed thighs.

A low, guttural growl broke from his throat.

“It’s okay,” she repeated, and bent over him, her blouse gaping open to gift him with the most spectacular view of full, soft cleavage that existed on earth, making everything most-fucking-definitely not okay. The armrests of his chair were shaped like a cello’s neck and he curled his fingers around the fancy swirls, gripping them hard. He wasn’t going to make it through this.

“Tilt your head back,” she directed, ducking her own head at the same time to peer into his mouth. “I’m going to touch you now.” She edged his upper lip back with her thumb.

The gentleness of her touch rocked him down to the seat of his pants. He slid his eyes away from her. A rivulet of sweat glided down between his shoulder blades.

She straightened a bit, checking eyes with him, her fingertips resting at his lip. “They’re hollow.”

He had to swallow twice before he could speak. “They’re supposed to be hollow. For fiinţă.”

“Fiinţă?”

“It’s the elixir that comes out of a Vârcolac’s fangs when he feeds.”

“Oh. What does it do?”

A lot of things, actually. It had a repairing and clotting function, so that when he pulled out his fangs, the punctured vein would close instantly. It also mixed with the blood of the host to create a more useable blood for him to ingest. But mostly fiinţă was Mother Nature’s way of making sure a host never balked at being fed on—the pleasure quotient was off the charts.

But Jacken didn’t have the power for that much speech. He just said, “It gives pleasure.”

“That’s interesting.”

So glad you’re finding this educational, doctor.

Her breasts moved up and down beneath her blouse. “Can you elongate them now?”

A sensation crept up the back of his throat. He wasn’t sure what it was: eagerness, fear, anticipation, alarm…lust? Definitely that, for blood. For her. “I think…I’m back to thinking this is a bad idea.” He latched his gaze onto the long, elegant vein in her neck, counting each pulse beat there.

“Do you want to smell me,” she asked softly, “to make it easier?”

No. His heart thumped. Yes.

Chapter Thirty-Six

When Jacken didn’t answer, Toni acted on her own and lifted her wrist to his nose.

The perfume of her blood clobbered him, the mud she wore behind her ears failing to save him from her—not with her scent this close. His eyes rolled into the back of his skull, his heart trying to break past the cage of his ribs.

Turning his head toward her, he nuzzled the soft skin of her inner wrist, pulling her scent deeply into his lungs then exhaling it past his lips. He’d bet even a man who was good at describing things wouldn’t be able to capture how amazing Toni smelled. It would be like trying to describe how necessary and right and essential smelled.

He began to shake with the feverish urge to feed on her. And then there they were….his fangs. There was nothing he could do to hold them back. They slid out of his gums slick as ivory, pulsing to the steady drumbeat of his heart.

No…hers.

“Oh, my God,” Toni gasped. She leaned in closer, somebody help him, and gently parted his lips. Exploring one of his fangs with her thumb and forefinger, she tested how deeply rooted it was, how sharp.

She tried to be clinical, he’d give her credit for that, but there was no getting around the effect of her touch on him. Her hand was electricity itself, the crackling heat of it passing from her into him, racing the length of his limbs and then landing in his crotch. Thunder roared in his ears as blood rushed toward his cock.

He braced himself, but… His whole body jerked against the agonizing back-surge when that river of desire hit the dam built into every unmated Vârcolac’s plumbing.

Fuck. Never had anything felt so awful—and so good—in his life.

Toni straightened and stared down on him.

He stared back, breathing as rapidly as if he’d just been fighting for his life with an Om Rău. His body burned with a dangerous combination of lusts—blood hunger and the primitive desire to pound savagely between her legs. He flexed his fingers around the armrests to keep from grabbing for her.

One bite, one, and then he could be inside her.

“Your fangs are real.” She looked at him like, yes, Santa Claus did exist, but he and his elves really made snuff films in their workshop instead of toys.

She spun on her heel and marched for his wet bar, plunking her elbows on the countertop and burying her face in her hands.

He stared at her profile for several long seconds. “What…now?” Chrissake, was that his voice? It sounded like he’d dredged it up from a dungeon.

She came up for air with an abrupt motion and walked around to the other side of his bar. “I need a drink.” She crouched down and rummaged noisily through the cupboards. “Dammit, don’t you have any booze?”

“There’s beer in the mini fridge.” He shifted carefully in his chair, very aware of the blood still loitering in the vicinity of his cock.

“That’s it?”

“I don’t drink hard alcohol.”

She thrust rigidly to her feet. “Life as I know it went sayonara, Jacken. I need something a little stronger than beer.”

Yeah, okay, from here on out he’d keep an emergency bottle of J&B stashed away because this totally sucked. She—

He went still. Something just happened to her face.

If he’d had any hair on his body, every follicle would’ve been standing on end right now. She was eyeing him with distinct speculation in her gaze, her focus aimed right at his… Hold on. Was she checking out his lips?

“You know what,” she said. “If I’m heading down the booby hatch, anyway, I might as well go all the way.” She stomped toward him.

He gave in to a spurt of alarm and leapt up, sending his chair crashing over behind him. He scrambled to get away from her, his feet tangling momentarily in the rungs, and backpedaled at a near run.

She matched him step for step, pursuing him right into a corner of the room.

He pressed his spine into the wall, even going up on his toes to get as far away from her as possible.

“Do you mind telling me,” he croaked out, “what’s going on?”

“Bite me.” Not as in, screw you, but in the good way.

His mouth went slack.

“You just told me that being bitten gives pleasure…or that fiinţă stuff does.”

A hugely doofus move on his part, telling her that.

Her tongue slipped out and touched her lips. “I want to know what it feels like.”

Sweat rolled into his eyelashes and he blinked at it, struggling to make some kind of coherent sound come off his vocal chords. A denial would be good at this point.

A spot on her jaw quivered. “Do you realize how long it’s been since I’ve experienced any sort of pleasure?” Her tone sounded accusing, like he should be in the penalty box for that. “I haven’t had a boyfriend for a year, and I faked with him.”

Did he want to know that? No. Maybe a little. The suck-o part, at least.

“Jacken—”

“Stop,” he barked. “Just stop. Vârcolac don’t have flings, Toni. I can’t…give you pleasure without bonding to you. Permanently.” Never had a single word sounded so fatal.

“Okay.” Her cheeks flushed the moment after she spoke. It looked like she wanted to glance over her shoulder to see who’d actually said that.

Meanwhile his vocal chords gummed up again.

“We could—”

“Have you gone insane?!” he blasted, finding his voice on a hard exhale.

She offered up a laugh that cracked at the end. “I think we’ve already determined that.”

“Even if I wanted to take advantage of your temporary idiocy, I couldn’t.” He worked his jaw once. “I’ve taken a vow of celibacy.”

“You’ve taken a…? Why?” She stared at him with a whole lot of you dolt showing in her expression.

He clenched his teeth briefly. He was really fucking sick of her whys. “Because it was the only way I could stay in Ţărână, that’s why. Half-Rău bloodlines like mine don’t mix well with Vârcolac DNA—or with Dragons’. Peak 12 skyrockets in both situations. So we three Brun Brothers were allowed to live in Ţărână if we promised never to let our tainted lineage into the community. We took the damn vow, of course.”

“But…” Her blond brows closed in on each other. “Can’t you agree not to have children?”

“Mistakes happen, even with Vârcolac males, who can scent their mate’s fertile time. And vasectomies screw up our testosterone, for some weird-ass reason that even Dr. Jess has never figured out. So, that’s it.” He chopped his hand down. “No women.”

She hesitated still.

He could tell that she was trying to be brave about it, but…her bottom lip wobbled. Now he wanted a bottle of J&B. Not to drink, but to crack over his head and escape this totally fucked situation.

He glanced aside, his voice dropping into his chest. “You once accused me of hating women. I don’t. Not by a long shot. But because I can never have one, it’s…very hard being around them.” He looked at her again. “I’ve given my word to Roth about this, Toni. I won’t go back on it. Can you understand that?”

A small contraction of pain crossed her features. “I suppose.” She turned toward the door, but then turned right back around, something dawning in her eyes. “You just said you were allowed to live in Ţărână… Where did you come from originally?”

His heart stopped, dread squeezing his chest.

“It was Oţărât,” she realized. “You also called yourself a Half-Rău.”

He looked down at the toes of his boots, the back of his neck heating.

She edged closer. “I remember that Lorke has the same teeth tattoos as you do.” She touched Jacken’s right temple, and he lifted his head. She shifted her fingertips over to the corner of his eye. “But here.”

His throat jerked.

She dropped her hand, but never took her eyes off him. “The man who pounded ink-soaked tacks into you… That was Lorke, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” He cleared the embarrassing crack from his voice. “You get the prize for guessing it right. Lorke’s my father.”

“I…” Her head barely moved in a small nod. “Yes, I can understand why you wouldn’t want to go back to Oţărât. I’m sorry.” She grabbed the doorknob. “I won’t bother you again.”

She walked out and gently closed the door, leaving him with nothing to do but stare at the spot where she’d just been, his soul screaming the loss of her with a sudden debilitating defeat.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The next day

12:03 p.m.

A beautiful white sand beach spread out before Toni for about two hundred feet or so, ending at a large body of water that was probably the size of an Olympic swimming pool but with a winding border made out of cave rock—although where water met sand there was no border, just a flat lip that allowed the water to lap against the shore.

The backside of the pool ended at more cave rock, a massive cliff rising all the way to the ceiling, replete with ledges that held more pools of various sizes. One pool was fed by a mini waterfall, another one had a slide. One ledge had a gushing fountain. Another one had several mini geysers spurting periodically—much to the delight of two squealing four-year-old girls. Moss and algae covered many of the rocks, while palm trees, ferns, and an array of colorful jungle flowers sprouted from all over the cliff face.

The lush greenery—all fake, of course—created the vibe of a tropical paradise that could’ve been photo-shopped right off a travel agency poster for the perfect Rio de Janeiro vacation, including the gorgeous, half-naked people frolicking about. Although the display of dragon tattoos among the blonds also gave the scene a nouveau, art-house feel.

Toni squished her toes in the soft sand and took it all in through narrow eyes.

A tropical jungle and water cliffs in the middle of a cave half a mile beneath the earth’s surface? Come on. How much more was she expected to take, really?

“Pretty cool, huh?” Kasson popped up at her side.

Shirtless, he was wearing board shorts and flip flops, the outfit turning him into a California surfer dude—the cowlick at the front of his light brown hair was the topper. Even his skin tone was surprisingly honey-colored, the result of being a Dragon rather than a Pure-bred, from what she understood.

Toni was on a lunch date at the Water Cliffs with him—he’d just finished spreading out a picnic blanket.

“Maggie designed this place,” Kasson told her. “You know, she’s the one from Alabama.”

“Yes, I know Maggie.”

“She’s, like, an expert at gardening or something. Anyway, her husband, Luken, built it for her…for the community.” Kasson crouched down and flipped open their picnic basket, pulling out a bottle of sparkling white wine.

Hmm. Unless Toni had another wine expert on her hands—like Dev—she’d bet Kasson hadn’t packed their lunch.

“Another one of the awesome things about living here is that when you put your skills to use, everyone really appreciates it.” Kasson stood again, bottle in one hand, wine opener in the other. “Hey, look—” He used the neck of the bottle to point across the beach. “There are the Costaches.”

Toni looked where Kasson indicated.

The family of four was clustered around a large beach blanket, which was set a few feet back from the main pool. Beth was talking to a four-year-old girl, who was jumping up and down and pointing at the two other girls by the geysers, while Arc, wearing green Hawaiian print trunks that perfectly matched the dragon on his back, was coaxing their two-year-old son toward the shallow end of the main pool.

Toni still couldn’t get used to how incredible that dragon tattoo was. Made of shimmering green and red scales—the red ones on the belly, claws, and mouth, the green on the rest of the body and wings—the living tattoo adorned the entire span of the back. The head arched over the left scapula, the wings extended out over the right, and the tail curved down to the lower back, with the feet extending out to the left of the spine. The dragon was fierce, with its claws and teeth bared, but also elegant, the creature giving the impression of graceful flight.

“Do you see Beth’s bathing suit?” Kasson’s voice was suddenly right next to Toni’s ear.

She cut him a swift glance and made a noncommittal sound. She knew where this was going. Kasson had been so disappointed when Toni arrived for their outing at the Water Cliffs in nothing more exciting than a utilitarian one-piece Speedo and a sarong.

Beth, on the other hand, was in a gold lamé bikini that was sparkly and revealing…like something Rihanna might’ve worn to the Grammy’s. The suit itself was sexy, but the body wearing it was what really made it hot.

“She might have another one of those in her shop,” Kasson murmured.

“I wouldn’t look as good in it as she does.”

“Ho,” Kasson enthused, dropping his gaze to her boobs. “Yeah, you would.”

Toni poked a finger under Kasson’s chin to lift his attention back to her face. “I’ve got the mud on now, Kasson. You’re supposed to be able to behave yourself.”

His smile was boyishly charming, although the heated glitter in his gaze cancelled any illusion of youth. “That doesn’t change the fact that I’m young and horny.”

She exhaled a small laugh. “Direct and to the point. Commendable.”

“Ah, well, then I should also tell you that I’m ten years younger than Dev. I have way more staying power than he does.” Kasson waggled his eyebrows at her. “That’s a good quality to have in a mate, right?”

It was an effort to bring up a smile. The last thing she wanted to think about was a potential mate. Her heart was still tangled up over one man in particular who could never fill that role.

She discreetly scanned the vicinity for him…

Jacken was posted on the side of the Water Cliffs nearest the geysers, wearing his black warrior gear and armed with the typical array of knives. He was standing at parade rest, his hands locked behind his back and his legs set in a wide stance. His head was on a constant swivel as he vigilantly scanned the area. He looked like a boulder falling on him would merely bounce off. Up close, she knew that all of those hard muscles gave off more warmth than a cozy quilt.

A rush of heat swamped her belly, followed by a stab of pain. Not in a million years would she have thought she’d end up wanting one of the men here, especially not Hard Face. Had she learned nothing from her long run of bad date choices?

“You want some camembert cheese with your wine?” Kasson asked, hunkered by the basket again.

Camembert? Toni was doubling down on her bet that someone else had packed their picnic.

“There’s also some—”

Pop! Pop! Pop!

Toni startled. “What was—”

“Get down!” Kasson leapt up and tackled her to the ground, pancaking on top of her.

She omphed, nearly catching a face full of sand.

People started screaming.

Toni went cold to the bone. “What’s happening?” She tried to crane her neck up to see.

“I gotta get you to the mansion!” Kasson hopped off, hauled her to her feet, and pulled her at a run toward the water park’s front gate.

Stumbling, she gaped at the sight of a rifle-wielding young man on one of the Water Cliff’s upper ledges. Shirtless, he was sweating profusely, and…something about him rang a note of familiarity. On his shiny chest was a sprayed pattern of dotted scars, and he had a creepy black flame tattoo running up the side of his jaw.

Toni’s heart hammered. She swallowed hard. Holy crap, that was the guy from the murder scene she’d consulted on with John Waterson two weeks ago.

The dead guy!

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop… The shooter raked the crowd with a hailstorm of bullets.

Bodies jerked and fell.

Shouts rose to shrieks as Ţărână’s angelic family outing at the Water Cliffs turned into a panicked mob scene.

Pop! Kasson plowed face-first into the sand.

Toni dropped down next to him. His pulse was strong and there wasn’t any blood. Weird. Then she saw why. Kasson hadn’t been shot with a bullet, but a pellet.

A knockout drug? Or poison?

She turned him over. His eyes were closed, but—

The shrieks escalated again, and Toni glanced up.

Two more men had materialized next to the maniac shooter, one with spiky black hair, the other a shaved head. Like the kid, these two were bare-chested and sweaty, carrying rifles, and inked with black flame tattoos—spikey-hair was marked on his neck, the other guy on his bare skull.

Spike’s eyes latched onto her, and a second later he began a high-speed descent down the cliff face.

Toni’s adrenal glands went nuts, accelerating her breathing and raising her blood pressure. It didn’t take all the brains in her head to figure out that Spike was coming for her.

Run!

Don’t freeze up like you did with Lorke.

She lurched to her feet and raced through the front gate, picking up speed the moment she left the sand behind.

She barreled onto Main Street, running faster than she ever had in her life. Her lungs were soon on fire, the muscles in her legs screaming, but the sound of pursuit kept her feet moving even when she couldn’t feel them anymore.

She caught sight of the mansion. Jesus, please, only a few more—

Something bit into the back of her leg.

Gasping, she went down hard, skidding onto her belly and scraping her knees, her sarong flying up in back. She strained around to look at her leg. A dart was sticking out of her hamstring.

Not a pellet this time, but a dart. It resembled a syringe, with the needle part stuck in her leg muscle and the barrel filled with a white, glowing liquid.

What kind of substance glowed?

Nothing that she wanted inside her, that was for damned sure.

She reached back to pull it out… But then something weird happened.

Bright lights sparkled before her eyes and shards of electricity spiked under her skin. She slumped back onto her face and groaned. Her brain went clunk, like a car popping out of gear, control slipping from her…awareness fading into the distance…

A man’s calloused hand landed on her shoulder.

And then she was being rolled over…

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Jacken flew across the water park at a dead run, zigging and juking through the panicked crowd of people. He hurdled another of a growing pile of bodies in the sands of the Water Cliffs, and forced his mind into a necessary blankness. If all these people were dead, he sure as shit couldn’t think about it right now.

“Nyko!” Jacken yelled into the mic of his headset. “Do you copy?”

Only an ominous static answered back. His brother was one of the warriors on guard duty today, but he hadn’t squawked a single heads-up warning about this oncoming goat rodeo.

And maybe the reason for that was really bad.

And Jacken definitely couldn’t think about that right now.

He angled hard onto Main Street, and his stomach seized.

Skull and Spike Boy were in hot pursuit of Toni.

Yeah, Skull and Spike Boy. Jacken recognized the two pricks from Scripps Hospital… Except that Thomal stabbed Skull and killed him.

Bizarre.

Jacken poured on the speed and launched himself at the closest man—Skull—taking down the asshole in a flying tackle. They hit and rolled, and Jacken ended up on the bottom, Skull on top of his back with a forearm cranked around his throat.

“You and me’s havin’ arms again, eh? Brilliant!” Skull grabbed his own wrist with his hand to add leverage to the headlock, pulling back hard.

Jacken felt the veins in his temples bulge. He strained to get air into his lungs. Through rapidly narrowing vision, he saw Spike Boy level a rifle at Toni.

Horror flipped a circuit in Jacken’s brain, switching everything to slow-mo, the action before his eyes fragmenting into dozens of individual movie frames…

Spike Boy firing…

A small projectile appearing at the back of Toni’s leg…

Toni skidding out on the rocky ground…

Spike Boy grabbing her…

No! A crackle darted through Jacken’s ears. Red washed over his vision.

“Hey!” Thomal yelled, roaring out from between The Trademark and Aunt Ælsi’s. “Remember me, crotch stain!”

Spike Boy froze in the act of turning Toni over, his black eyes latching onto Thomal.

“I killed your asshole buddy,” Thomal snarled. “Now I’m gonna kill you.”

Spike Boy’s eyes flashed red, and then he was on his feet and charging Thomal.

Good man, Thomal.

Jacken broke past Skull’s hold and did a quick reversal. Now he was on top, rearing above Skull with an arm cranked back. A jab or a right cross? No time for either. He head-butted Skull in the nose. Crunch.

Nose break number two.

Skull’s eyeballs rolled around inside his head like loose marbles, and the man went to sleep to the thunderous sounds of Spike Boy and Thomal engaged in combat.

Jacken leapt off Skull and raced over to Toni. He slid down onto his knees next to her. Please, don’t be dead. He rolled her over.

Her eyes were slitted and glazed.

Alive. But something was haywire.

Her pupils wiggled strangely, then her eyes snapped clear and stared fixedly at him.

“Hang in there, Toni.” He moved to scoop her up, but when he bent over her, she missiled herself against his chest and clamped her legs around his waist, her arms linking his neck.

He choked on his next breath He couldn’t have been more shocked than if she’d just asked him to paint a daisy on her ass.

But puzzling out this latest freakazoid would have to wait. Pushing upright, he—

Toni stuck her tongue in his ear.

He fell back down onto one knee. “Holy motherfucker!” What the hell had been in that dart?

Skull staggered to his feet, blinking groggily. He looked at Jacken holding Toni, then at Spike Boy. “Ren!” he shouted. “You ballsed it up, you wanker!”

Jacken rose to a standing position again and took off for the mansion, his arms locked around Toni.

Within ten steps, Thomal was running at his side.

Jacken didn’t know how fast he ran. It was probably pretty damned fast, but the feel of Toni’s soft breasts jammed against his chest, without a breath of space between them, occupied the majority of his functioning brain power.

Heaving to a stop at the mansion’s security gate, his lungs working, Jacken gnashed his teeth while he waited for Thomal to find his key card. A sexual purring came out of Toni, curling every little hair in Jacken’s ear canals. “Hurry up!”

The first key-card swipe failed.

Toni licked his neck.

The sensation of her tongue swiping over his carotid tightened his groin, and a bolt of alarm raced down his spine. “Costache!”

Swipe. Click!

Jacken blasted into the mansion, Thomal right behind him, and by the time he was careening into the Main Parlor, he was in a dead panic.

“Whoa.” Dev raised his hands to stop Jacken from mowing over him. “Slow down, guys. I got a SITREP for you. We’re doing okay. The townsfolk are stuffed into rooms all over the mansion, upset, but mostly—”

Toni bit Jacken’s earlobe, and his panic shot into outer space. If she drew blood, she would blood-claim him, and then he’d be screwed to the hilt.

“Nyko’s checked in through the main phone lines,” Dev went on, completely clueless of Jacken’s efforts to pry Toni off. “We’re assholes and elbows with men down, but none are dead, only knocked—”

Something garbled came out of Jacken’s mouth.

“Apparently, those guns were shooting pellets, not bullets. Our men chased those Topside Om Rău shitheads back into—”

“Get her off me!” Jacken bellowed.

Dev stopped talking, his mouth hanging open mid-sentence.

“Toni’s been drugged with some kind of love potion, and she’s trying to—” have sex with me. Jacken couldn’t get the last four words out.

Toni was now grinding her hips against him—vigorous pelvic thrusts that made the polyethylene-like bathing suit she wore feel like nothing at all.

Dev shifted into high gear at that. Surging forward, he grabbed Toni under the armpits and pulled, but he only managed to get the top half of her semi-levered loose—her fingers were fisted into the front of Jacken’s shirt and her legs were locked around his waist like she was trying to keep her seat on a runaway horse.

Thomal joined the party then, working at peeling Toni’s fingers out of Jacken’s shirt.

Jacken staggered back and forth under the force of the Thomal-Toni-Dev tug-o-war, until finally his shirt ripped, splitting all the way down the middle.

Toni’s weird, glazed eyes glinted at the sight of his bare chest, and she uttered a small sound of pleasure. She dropped her legs and let go of him—but only long enough to whirl on Dev and punch him in the face.

“Ow!” Blood squirted from Dev’s nostrils, and he released her to press his hands over his nose.

Mission accomplished—Toni was free to come at Jacken again.

He reeled away from the carnivorous look in her eyes as fast as fuck. “Go get Dr. Jess!” he ordered. He was in deep shit and heading deeper. “Have him bring a tranquilizer or—

Toni slammed into his chest, latching onto him again.

Air left his lungs in a rush, the impact from her attack driving him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the edge of one of Roth’s flimsy parlor chairs. His ass came down hard on the seat and—crack!—the chair split in half, dumping him and Toni on the carpet with a bone-jarring thump.

Toni didn’t waste time. She climbed up his body, grabbed his shoulders, and covered his lips with hers.

He pushed her off.

No. He didn’t push her off.

He was supposed to, but the overpowering feel of her hot, eager lips devouring his mouth froze him in place. A guttural sound boiled up in his chest. He’d never been kissed on the mouth before, and his first time being like this was the equivalent of trying to light a cigarette for the first time with a blowtorch instead of a match.

It consumed him entirely with heat.

A corner of his mind registered Thomal barreling from the room and Dev wrapping his hands around Toni’s waist and pulling again.

“Dammit, Jacken,” Dev ground out, failing to dislodge Toni. “What do you want me to do? I can’t get her off unless I hurt her.”

Like he could answer?

Toni’s tongue was in his mouth, slipping deep inside to swirl and explore, to taste him in a way he’d never been tasted before…in a way he’d never thought possible. Lust hit him like a thunderbolt right between the thighs, the honey-sweet caress of her warm, moist tongue against his own sending a tidal wave of blood rushing hectically toward his crotch. He went tense all over. This one’s going to be a bitch…

The blood hit the stop-dam in his cock with excruciating impact.

He muffled a shout against Toni’s lips, then finally managed to wrench his mouth free. “She’s killing me, Nichita!”

“Shitfuckpiss.” Dev yanked on her—hard.

But the grip of Toni’s legs on Jacken’s waist was relentless, and instead of being set free, Jacken was hauled upright in a clinch pose with her. He balanced on his knees for half a second—Nichita still pulling—and before he could stop it, he tipped all the way over, landing on top of Toni and—just great—face-planting right between her full breasts.

He wanted to yell—in both frustration and ecstasy—as Toni dug her fingers into his hair to hold his face in place while she pumped her hips up against his.

“Good heavens!”

Yeah, this was the scene Dr. Jess dashed into—Thomal, too. And that, along with Dev’s bloody nose…

Well, hell. Jess naturally assumed it was Jacken who’d blown the fuse.

A sharp pain in Jacken’s arm brought him rocketing upright onto his knees, Toni finally sprawling off him. A syringe was dangling from his bicep. “Not me. Her!”

Dr. Jess blinked owlishly.

Jacken ripped the syringe out of his arm. “Get another shot before—” His whole body convulsed. A burning sensation careened through his veins, and oxygen howled in his lungs like a high wind. No—no, no, no.

Shit!

The tranquilizer was making him go Rău.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Jacken slammed his molars together. Fight it…fight the change. He concentrated hard on the texture of the carpet, the scent of rug shampoo, the sound of—

The parlor splintered into a dozen puzzle pieces. He grabbed his head, moaning low in his throat. The crackling filled his ears first, then the red haze unfurled over his vision. He shook his head, but couldn’t clear it. His skull felt huge and too heavy. His muscles loaded up with iron, growing powerful.

He heard a breathy whimper through the static in his ears.

A female.

He dropped his hands.

There she was.

The female…hair tumbled around her…lips, red and swollen…legs parted. He flared his nostrils wide and drew in a deep breath. A spicy perfume wafted from the area between her thighs, and his body jerked again, his senses suddenly swimming with the scent of her desire.

The female was aroused.

For him.

Instinct reared up and clubbed him.

Bite her.

Mate her.

The next sound he heard was a crack—the last of his restraint breaking. With a deep growl, he grabbed her knees and dragged her against his splayed thighs.

“Jacken!”

The female squeezed his hips with her thighs and moaned. Her skirt was bunched around her waist, and he stared down at her crotch. Wet.

His chest thrummed. The fragrance of her was a sweet essence in the air. His fangs pierced down into his mouth, pulsating, heavy with a load of fiinţă.

Bite her.

Mate her.

He flung his head back and howled his possession.

My woman.

A glass hurricane on the coffee table shattered. A bulb in a standing lamp burst.

A male in a white coat gasped. “Sweet heavens, what have I done?”

The other males in the room started shouting at each other, their frenzied voices intermittently making it through the crackle in his ears.

“Go __ Nyko! Hurry before __ __ __!”

Eyes on the female, he breathed roughly through his open mouth, a bead of saliva dripping off a fang.

Her head was lolled back, her lids half-closed.

He threw himself on top of her soft body, crushing her beneath him, and moved to strike—

But a strong arm locked around his neck in a chokehold, keeping him from his female’s vein.

The weight of the male pressed his spine. “Jacken, you ___ to get the ___ off!”

He snarled again—a feral, killing vibration in his chest. A primal warning.

My woman.

Reaching behind him, he grabbed the male by the scruff of the shirt and wrenched him off, tossing the body across the room.

The male crashed through the center of a low wood table, splinters flying in all directions.

Fangs throbbing brutally now, he rammed himself fiercely between the female’s legs and lunged for her throat again.

A hand tangled in the back of his hair and once more he was stopped.

Another male now held him, a larger one. “Jacken! ___ me, Nyko!”

He snarled and snapped.

The male by the low table swayed to his feet. “He can’t ___ you.”

“Dang it.” The large male hauled him up and twisted his arms behind his back.

The female scrambled to her feet, breathing unsteadily, staring at him with glazed, greedy eyes. She wanted.

He wanted.

There was nothing but the violent rule of need.

He strained to get at her.

The large male strengthened his hold. “Get her ___ of here!”

The blond male grabbed the female and tossed her over his shoulder.

My woman! His eyes burned with an unholy fire. Another shattering howl erupted from him as he shoved backward, throwing all his weight into propelling the large male into the wall behind them.

Wham!

Several paintings rattled.

A wall lamp snapped out.

A breath was forcefully exhaled, and the arms around him slackened.

He thrashed past the large male’s hold and charged for his woman.

The blond male ran faster. “Holy ___! Nyko, he’s ___ kill me!”

The large male shouted back. “Put ___ down ___ linen chute!”

The blond male heaved the female down a hatch.

His vision hemorrhaged a deeper shade of red. The taste of murder wetted his tongue. He plowed viciously through the table debris after the blond male.

“Fuuuck!” The blond male dove out the door, and a different male appeared in the blond’s place—the one in the white coat.

He hurried forward, a sharp instrument in his hand. “Nyko, you ___ hold ___ for me.”

The large male reached out a hand…

He growled and sidestepped. No! The only thing that could keep him from getting his woman back would be an oncoming train.

But that’s exactly what he got.

A palm landed on his shoulder and spun him around, then a fist going the speed and power of a locomotive plowed into the middle of his face.

A hailstorm of stars burst apart before his vision, drifting, drifting…

Then everything shriveled to black.

Chapter Forty

The same night

7:35 p.m.

Toni stared sightlessly at her bedroom ceiling, the blue glow from her muted television set flickering across the antique brass light fixture above her. Sixteen light bulbs on it. She’d been counting them over and over for the past five hours.

She shifted slightly on her lavender duvet, her butt aching from so many hours spent lying in bed. The musical whoo-whoo of wind drafting through one of the cave’s wormholes floated through her room, defining the quiet rather than disturbing it.

At last. Peace.

Not inner peace, no. She wasn’t sure that would ever come. Rather her room was finally empty of the revolving door of visitors who’d been dropping by to try and shake her out of her fugue.

Dr. Jess had come, then her mate-choices, then Valerica and Daciana, co-owners of the grocery store, Shaston, a nurse from the hospital, Aunt Ælsi and Garwald.

Then Jacken.

He didn’t try to talk to her like the rest. He merely peered down at her for a quiet moment, then set something on her nightstand and left.

She turned her head to see what it was.

The African Queen DVD.

She’d spent the next few hours crying, her heart breaking over and over, her mind reeling with a mélange of images from her “unfortunate episode”—Roth’s phrasing, not hers—with Jacken. First and foremost was a vision of her standing before Roth in his library-office after recovering from the drugged dart.

Jacken was posted at his usual position to the side of Roth’s desk, looking like reconstituted hell. His eyes were blackened, a white strip of bandage covered the bridge of his nose—clearly it’d been broken—and bruises circled his wrists, suggesting that at some point he’d been shackled.

What a hoot that must’ve been for the man.

“What occurred between you and Mr. Brun wasn’t real,” Roth tried to reassure her. “I hope you and he can derive some measure of comfort from knowing that.” Roth swept it all away with a single gesture. “You were both under the influence of alternative forces during your unfortunate episode.”

She felt a tic pulse in her cheek even as she watched Jacken’s jaw harden to the near shattering point.

As usual, Roth was dead wrong.

She might not have been in control of her actions during her sex attack on Jacken, but the rest of her faculties had remained fully intact. She knew the man she was touching and kissing was Jacken. She’d been vividly aware of everything she felt for him, and not only was it very real, but it was the hit-the-wall head-banger of all lust. Way more than the little tingles down below or the slow surge of wetness she’d felt with other men.

All the other men who she could have while the one she really wanted hovered out of reach.

In total despair, she’d taken to her bed right after that meeting and hadn’t moved from it in the past five hours.

She supposed that lying on her mattress virtually catatonic wasn’t the healthiest response to depression, but it was all she could muster.

A soft knock sounded.

She hefted a large sigh. So much for peace and quiet. The visitors were back.

The door edged open, and Beth poked her head around the jamb. “Hey, it’s us. Can we come in?”

“Um, yeah.” It was long past time for Toni to put some effort into not being such a vegetable anyway. She slowly hoisted herself to a sitting position, moving her unused muscles with care.

The five Dragon women entered, Beth followed by Maggie, Ellen, Hannah, and Kimberly, who was carrying a brown grocery sack.

The women arrayed themselves around Toni’s room.

No one spoke.

Toni couldn’t blame them for their awkward silence. She hadn’t exactly been open to forming friendships with these women, not when right from the start she defined them as psycho weirdoes for falling for vampires. And now guess what?

She was one of them.

Beth finally walked over to the TV and clicked it off. “How are you feeling?”

“Like an idiot.” Toni twisted her lips. “Looks like I’ve joined the Stockholm Syndrome Club.” She looked at Hannah. “I guess you were right.”

If you give this place a chance, Toni, you might surprise yourself and fall in love, too…

Oh, God.

I’m in love with a vampire.

It sounded like the worst B movie title. But there it was—the truth. If she hadn’t been certain about it before, she was now. Unfortunate episodes like the one she’d shared with Jacken had a way of solidifying such matters for a woman.

To give Hannah credit, she didn’t gloat. Her mouth leaned sideways in an expression of sympathy. “Yes, well…I guess we should’ve warned you that Jacken was off the table.”

“How could we have known?” Maggie spread her hands. “I mean…it’s Jacken.” She cast a quick glance at Toni and flashed a sheepish smile. “Bless his heart.”

Toni didn’t take offense. “Trust me, I don’t understand it either.”

Beth’s forehead crinkled. “How can we help?”

Kimberly said, “We can get her out of here, that’s what.”

“Kimberly!” Hannah admonished. “Don’t be so insensitive!”

“Hey,” Kimberly shot back. “Two week ago, Toni said she wanted to get back to her life. There’s no reason to think she’s changed her mind about escaping.”

Escaping… Toni’s pulse jumped in her throat. How long had she dreamed of getting out of here? And now here it was, my big chance, but so weighted with oppressive sadness because it meant that she would be leaving Jacken forever.

“Maybe,” Hannah tried, “there’s another man in the community who might appeal to her.”

“Really, Hannah?” Kimberly cocked her head. “Back in the day, if someone had suggested that you give up Willen for another Vârcolac, would you have?”

Hannah blushed.

“Kimberly’s right,” Toni said. “I want to go—there’s nothing here for me to stay for. But does it matter? I was never able to steal a key card.”

“That’s okay.” Kimberly stepped forward with her grocery sack. “We can still get out of here, thanks to your brother.”

“What…Alex?”

“Yup.” Kimberly’s eyes brightened. “We received a package from him that’ll get us out of here.”

Oh, my God, so Alex had been searching for Toni this whole time.

“Your genius brother hacked into the community’s email system and contacted Beth. She—well, both of us—wrote back and asked for help with the key code boxes. Alex sent a device to Beth’s PO Box topside.” Kimberly held up the grocery sack. “He says it’ll unlock the key code boxes.”

“I can’t believe it,” Toni breathed.

Kimberly smiled. “Cool on your bro, huh?” She set the sack next to Toni. “So the plan is to sneak down to the garage using this thingamajig—” From the sack, she produced a small metal box with a couple of electrical wires dangling from it. “Then grab one of the community’s cars and head up on the elevator.”

Toni lifted her brows. “It can’t be that easy.”

“Why can’t it be?” Kimberly put Alex’s device back in the bag.

“Doesn’t the community monitor the comings and goings of the elevator?”

“Monitor whom? The warriors? The Travelers?” Kimberly shook her head. “The people who use the elevator are allowed to. For Roth to worry about us using it would require him to stop underestimating us.” Kimberly gave Toni an arch look. “Do you think he’s done that?”

Toni couldn’t begin to guess Roth’s mindset. It wasn’t like they chatted over coffee every morning. But she supposed it was worth a try. Because what was the alternative? Stay here and risk more instances of throwing herself at Jacken, like the “show me your fangs” incident in his bedroom? She’d come embarrassingly close to begging, and she doubted her ego could stand much more of his rejection.

“What about our husbands?” Maggie demanded.

Kimberly looked at her.

“We talked about this at the tea,” Maggie reminded. “We don’t want our men to suffer. What if one of them has to feed? You know how stress can raise a Vârcolac’s blood-need.”

“I’ll stay.”

They all turned to look at Beth.

“If I stay behind,” she went on, “I can act as a liaison. I’ll keep an eye on our husbands, and if any of them start to look bad, I’ll text Hannah.” Beth glanced at Kimberly. “I can also pass on to Roth where you want to meet to negotiate terms.”

Ellen dragged her fingers through her messy hair. “I can live with that.”

Kimberly made a face at Beth. “Are you sure you want to stay, Beth? You’re going to catch a lot of heat.”

Beth’s throat moved. “I’m sure. Showing everyone around here that I’m not just a pretty face is something I need to do.”

Chapter Forty-One

The same night

9:37 p.m.

Beth sat with her spine locked straight, her fingers entwined tightly in her lap. The black antique chair set before Roth’s desk must be for esthetic purposes only—the seat cushion didn’t feel any thicker than a piece of felt.

She twisted her hands into a stiffer knot, fighting hard to keep her composure in the face of so much intense emotion. She’d never had to deal with this kind of anger before—people just didn’t get mad at pretty girls, especially not men.

She quick-glanced at the Dragons’ husbands—Pedrr, Willen, Luken, and Sedge—standing in a line along the bookshelves in Roth’s office. No one was happy.

Although truth be told, Pedrr, Ellen’s mate, didn’t give Beth much reaction to judge his mood by—he was as stoic as ever—but there was something about his blank expression that was giving her the heebies.

Hannah’s husband, Willen, wasn’t holding back a bit—he looked very pissed…and that surprised the heck out of her. Willen was normally shy and gentle. But a protective male Vârcolac never liked to be far from a mate, especially when she was carrying his child, and Hannah was nearing the end of her pregnancy.

Brainiac architect Luken, Maggie’s husband, generally approached everything in life with logical precision, and today’s crisis appeared to be no exception.

Sedge looked like he was in a state of resigned acceptance, as if he knew something like this was going to happen eventually.

Arc was standing behind Beth’s chair with his muscular arms crossed and his booted feet spread in a distinctly aggressive posture. As perturbed as Arc was with her for colluding with the Dragons on their escape, he wasn’t going to let anyone just roll over his bonded mate.

She hoped that included Jacken.

He was the scariest one of them all, standing to one side of Roth’s desk and giving the impression of a man who would like very much to eat Beth’s head.

Roth drummed his fingers on his desktop. His retinas were hard and shiny like polished metal. “Where are they?”

“I-I don’t know.” Beth answered, squeezing the words past the thickness in her throat.

The Dragons had been discovered missing way too soon. The women should’ve had a full two hours to make their getaway—Hannah, Ellen, Kimberly, Maggie, and Beth had told their husbands that they were going to watch a movie with Toni in her room to try and cheer her up.

But then stupid Llawell—the community’s mechanic and body works guy—had gone down to the garage to check on everything and found the Dodge cargo van missing.

He reported this to Roth.

Security was sent to Toni’s room to investigate, found only Beth sitting there, and, well…

Now here she was.

“Of course you know where they are,” Roth accused in a chilly tone.

“I-I…” Stop stuttering! “No,” she pronounced succinctly. “I told them not to tell me. They’ll only contact me with information about where to meet topside for a negotiation.”

Roth’s fingers stopped drumming. “When?”

“Again, I don’t know.”

The skin across Roth’s cheekbones tautened. “How did they break passed the key code boxes?”

Beth froze. She hadn’t expected that question. Should she tell the truth? She didn’t see how the facts would hurt her friends, but—

“Answer me!” Roth growled.

Beth jumped in her chair, her pulse rate speeding. She glanced to the side at her husband and managed to regain some of her calm. She wasn’t sure if relying on Arc’s strength took away from her own, but she couldn’t help it.

Roth snapped his chair upright, his brows low. “A most heinous breach of our security has been committed, Mrs. Costache. It is paramount that we assess the damage you’ve inflicted on the poor innocents of this community.”

Beth opened her mouth, but, to her shame, only a small squeak came out. Somewhere in her mind, she knew that Roth was deliberately trying to make her feel guilty—and, yes, dear God, it was working. She’d never forgive herself if anyone in the community got hurt. “Nothing bad is going to happen. We didn’t tell about the entrances. How could we? We didn’t even know where they were to—”

“Tell whom?” Roth’s words dripped ice.

Beth’s mouth worked. Her heart tumbled in her chest.

“Beth,” Arc urged quietly. “Who did you tell about us? This is important. You know the Vârcolac’s history of discovery.”

The words got stuck for another moment. “Toni’s brother,” she croaked.

Roth’s eyes narrowed. “How in the world was Dr. Parthen able to contact him?”

“She didn’t. Her brother is some sort of computer genius, and he hacked into our system and sent me an email, asking about Toni. So me and Kimb…” Beth cleared her throat. “I told him about the key code boxes, and then he sent a small machine to my topside PO Box that could read the code. But that’s all I told him. Okay? So everyone’s safe.”

“Everyone’s safe?” Jacken pounded over to her, sneering. “Are you deranged?” He leaned right into her face. “Toni’s in huge fucking danger up there.”

Beth’s heart lurched into an erratic rhythm.

Arc stepped forward.

Jacken bolted his eyes up. “Yes, please, Costache, take a swing. I so want you to do that right now.”

Beth used the distraction to scramble out of her chair and back away from the men. “Toni’s not…Toni’s fine.”

Jacken pinned her with his black eyes. “There’s a new gang of Om Rău in competition with us—Topside Om Rău—and they have a bead on Toni. They tried to kidnap her the same night we did.”

“Wha-wha…” What?! “I-I—we didn’t know that.”

“Exactly my fucking point,” Jacken ground out. “You five went off halfcocked with this stupid stunt.”

Stupid… Beth inhaled several deep breaths. “I’m sure Toni knew the risks she was taking by leaving here, and she willingly took them. I stand by my actions.”

“Do you?” Jacken’s upper lip curled. “So the thought of Toni staked out on a bed and being repeatedly gang raped by a bunch of Topside Om Rău is fine with you?”

The blood leached from Beth’s face, leaving her cheeks numb. “Toni’s with her brother. I’m sure he can—”

“Ah, that’s okay, then. Because an untrained computer nerd will be able to keep her so safe from a superhumanly strong demon race.” Rage darkened Jacken’s complexion, and he snapped out, “Get your head out of your ass, Beth.”

Heat shot into her cheeks. Her lips started to quiver, but she firmed them and lifted her chin. “Well, I can’t see how Alex could do a much worse job protecting her than you’ve been doing, lately, Jacken.”

Jacken canted back as if he’d been struck.

Arc hissed. “Beth.”

“Don’t Beth me. I’m not going to take the blame for something that’s not my fault.” She pointed an unsteady finger at Roth. “You’re to blame for putting innocent women in a repopulation program.” Now she pointed at Sedge. “And you warriors are to blame for actively participating in the kidnappings when you knew they were wrong. And you,” she dared, facing Jacken again. “You’re the most to blame. Toni wanted to be with you, but you weren’t man enough to tell Roth to shove his vow of celibacy in the toilet. And that’s why she left.”

A dark noise rumbled out of Jacken.

“‘There’s nothing here for me to stay for.’ That’s what Toni said. Because—”

“Be quiet, Beth!” Arc warned.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Keep my mouth shut and don’t complain, just continue doing all the work around here—we Dragons have to adapt to your ways, to learn your culture. We’re forced to give up everything, and you don’t give up a danged thing.” She shook her head, her hair seething around her. “The Dragons tried to warn you about their unhappiness, but you stuffed cotton in your ears.” She threw her arms wide. “Well, are you listening now?!”

“Enough!” Roth bellowed, standing with a burst of energy, his brow thunderous. “For your unutterable breach of our most sacred rules of our security, I hereby strip you of all your clearances.”

Her hand flew to her throat. What?

“You will no longer be permitted to use the Internet or receive mail from your topside PO Box.”

Beth stared openmouthed.

Are you sure you want to stay, Beth? You’re going to catch a lot of heat…

But she had no idea it was going to be this bad! Oh, Lord, she was going to throw up.

Roth grated through a fixed jaw, “Nor will you be able to—”

“No!” Beth staggered backward.

Arc quickly took her arm. “Shush, baby, it’s okay.” He hugged her close. “Everything’s going to be fine,” he said softly into her ear. “I’m not going to let you lose anything.”

She buried her face in her husband’s chest, tears gushing down her cheeks.

“Beth’s pregnant,” she heard Arc say to Roth. “So she really needs to have contact with her mother right now, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let that be taken away from her.” Arc tightened his embrace. “It’s bad enough that she only gets to see her family on birthdays and Christmas. She hates that, but she puts up with it because she loves me and this community. We’re lucky to have her, and she deserves better than punishments. Especially when everything she said is true—this is our fault. Mine, in particular.”

Beth stopped crying.

“I didn’t listen to her, and that pushed her to this.” Arc stroked a hand down her hair. “She tried to warn me that the Dragons didn’t feel safe or happy, but I brushed her concerns aside. We all did.” Arc’s voice hardened. “So I’m telling you, if anyone tries to make a prisoner out of my wife, I’ll tear this cave down with my own fists to get her the fuck out.”

Beth bit into her bottom lip. She couldn’t believe Arc was saying all this. She’d never heard anyone stand up to Roth before.

Arc’s chest expanded beneath her cheek. “With all due respect, sir, repopulating our species isn’t just about giving birth to live babies. It’s about creating happy families to raise those kids in, and every day it seems like we’re getting further away from that. I didn’t get it before. I wasn’t listening, but I’m sure listening now.” Keeping an arm around her shoulders, Arc led her toward the double doors. “I suggest everyone in this room start doing the same.”

Chapter Forty-Two

The same day

Mission Beach, San Diego

10:04 a.m.

As hideouts went, the four-bedroom bungalow in Mission Beach that Alex rented for their group of five Dragon women, six children, and one sister he’d exuberantly rescued was very comfortable and stylish.

Even so, Toni came to a halt in the doorjamb and cried in Alex’s arms.

She was never going to see Jacken again.

Escaping Ţărână had made that official.

The other Dragon women would go back, but Toni wouldn’t. Worse, she would have to leave California, hide herself away from the Topside Om Rău who hunted her…although the huge emptiness consuming her would probably dog her footsteps for the rest of her days.

Alex, being Alex, just held her and let her cry, even though he probably had a million questions to ask her.

After she wept herself dry, she took a long, hot shower while Hannah, Ellen, and Maggie bustled about getting their children settled into bed—it was actually nighttime for them—then Toni curled up in a chair next to a window with a view of the ocean, a mug of hot cocoa cupped in her palms, and told her brother the whole amazing story: her kidnapping from Scripps Hospital, the town of Ţărână, the circumstance of her being a Dragon—Alex, too, based on the brown birthmark on the right side of his upper back, which Toni now knew was the arc of a dragon wing—plus the procreation program, mate-choices, blood graphs, tattoos, glowing eyes, fiinţă, Om Rău.

And the vampires, of course.

Alex took it all in without a word, just absorbing.

By the end of it, Toni was utterly spent. Had she really only been gone for thirteen days? It felt like months.

A lifetime.

She supposed it had been—everything was different now.

Toni set her empty mug on a small round lamp table and rubbed a weary hand over her face. The sun was high now, yellow shafts of sunlight slanting through the clouds and piercing the surface of the ocean. Reaching up, she snapped the lamp off. “So do you think I’m crazy?”

Ellen, Hannah, Kimberly, and Maggie had drifted back into the living room area during Toni’s storytelling, and they now stood still, raptly eyeing Alex.

“No, actually…” Alex laughed. “Truth is, nothing has ever made more sense to me.”

“I have to say,” Maggie remarked, “he doesn’t seem particularly tore up.”

“Nope.” Alex jumped to his feet. “In fact, check this out.” He crossed to his duffel bag and rummaged through it. “Something told me to pack this. Now I’m glad I did.” He pulled out a book and set it on the lamp table.

Toni peered down at it, and, “Wow.” She’d never seen anything like it. A blue crescent moon and star shimmered—actually shimmered—on a tan, grainy cover.

“Open it,” Alex prompted.

The four Dragons gathered around Toni to watch.

Toni opened the book and, “Wow,” again. A replica of the dragon tattoo was right on the front page. She turned the page, and there was Roth’s mansion, although looking more like a castle. The next pages revealed people—drawings and drawings of gorgeous people, all of whom looked vaguely familiar.

Alex pointed to the open page. “That’s them, isn’t it? The vampires?”

“Yes, although not exactly.” They were probably the ancestors of those currently living in the community. “And they’re called Vârcolac.” She exhaled a short blast of air. Had she just taught her brother the correct terminology for a vampire? “How did you get your hands on this?”

Alex sat back down. “When I was fifteen, I pried up a floorboard in my bedroom to hide my reefer stash from Mom. The Book was just sitting there, like, shazaam, it’d been patiently waiting for me to find it.”

Toni pressed a hand over her eyes and groaned. She probably wasn’t allowed to think that was weird, considering all that’d been going on lately. “This is all so…” She lowered her hand. “Are you sure I’m not insane? Deep down, I’ve been hoping I was.”

Alex chuckled.

“So this is all true?”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “Looks like it.”

She blew out her cheeks. Yes, she’d already known that, hadn’t she?

“Don’t feel bad.” Maggie found one of her tote bags and tugged out a small tin box. “It took me till my first bite to truly believe.” She walked over to Alex, prying the lid off the tin, and held out the box to him. “Cookie?”

Alex adjusted the set of his glasses as he peered into the box. “What kind?”

“Macadamia chocolate chip.”

“Oh, definitely.” Alex took one.

“I knew right away.” Hannah crossed from Toni to the main room’s couch and eased her bulk down onto the seat. She looked drawn and pale. It was clearly taking a toll for her to be away from the community—and the husband—she so adored. “All of the Vârcolac exude a kind of animal essence, don’t you think?”

“Yep.” Ellen sat next to Hannah, smoothing her hands over her wrinkled skirt. “That’s what got me, too.”

Toni glanced down at the book again. “Do you know what language this is?” She ran her fingers over the strange lettering on the page.

“Utter gibberish from what I’ve been told. But—” Alex lifted a single shoulder. “I can decipher some of it. Before today and your story, though, it never made much sense to me. I mean, when I read that you and I are Dragon Royalty, I didn’t know what a Dragon was…in the sense that The Book wasn’t referring to a regular dragon, you know, a creature with scales but—”

“Wait,” Kimberly butted in. “Hold on. Did you just say royalty?”

“Yeah.” Alex smiled widely. “Get this. According to The Book, Toni and I are both descended from a royal line of the ancient Dragons.” He brushed cookie crumbs off his hands, then reached out to flip to a different page. “See?”

Maggie and Kimberly moved to hover over Toni again.

Toni studied the page, and…well, that’s freaky. “These people kind of look like us, Alex.”

“I know. It’s bizarre.” Alex pointed to one of the pages of gobbledygook language. “From what I’ve been able to gather, there were two main lines of Dragon sovereignty that ended up in this book of vamp-uh-Vârcolac history because one line went off to breed with the Vârcolac. Apparently, even many years ago the Vârcolac began to have genetic problems, and the Dragons’ bloodlines stabilized their population. Anyway, the other Royal line bred with humans, which ended up creating people like you and me.” Alex aimed his chin at Toni. “I guess we’re very rare.”

Kimberly sucked in a sudden breath. “Oh, my God! That’s it! You’re the key to fixing things with Roth, Toni.”

Toni frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Like I told you the day of the tea, Vârcolac government operates as a monarchy. It’s why I haven’t been able to bring democracy into the community—the culture only allows those of royal lineage to hold positions of authority. And now we have you!” Kimberly clapped her hands together. “With your royal bloodlines you could assume a leadership role next to Roth and represent Dragon human interests.” Kimberly swung toward the other women. “In fact, that needs to be the position we take with Roth in our negotiation—we’ll tell him that if he wants us to come back, he has to accept Toni as his co-leader.”

Wait what? “Hold on a second,” Toni said. “I hate to be a killjoy, but it was never the plan for me to go back with all of you. Remember?”

Kimberly’s face fell. “But…we need you now. Once you get in power, you can stop the kidnappings.”

Maggie hugged her cookie tin to her chest and chewed on her bottom lip.

Toni didn’t know how to comment on that without sounding like she was putting her personal need to stay away from Jacken above the needs of these women.

“If it’ll help any,” Alex said. “I’ll go back with you.”

Toni turned to gape at her brother. “Now who’s the insane one?”

Alex edged a finger under his glasses and rubbed his eye. “I think you’d agree that, outside of you and Mom, my life is pretty empty. Yours, too, from what I can tell. I don’t want to go back to it. How’s that insane?”

She pressed the heels of her palms against her brow. Why was everyone so determined to mess with her head?

“Think about it, Toni,” Alex went on. “Our whole lives both of us have been the square pegs in the round holes. We’ve never fit in. Me, with my strung-out rebellions, and you…do you have any close friends at all, even one?”

She dropped her hands and lowered her head, the familiar pain of that relentless loneliness throbbing in her chest.

Hannah said softly, “That’s because you’re not part of the topside world. You belong in ours.”

Alex nodded. “I think that’s been the problem all along—we just never knew it.”

“For the love of God,” Toni bit out. “Do you have any idea what you’d be giving up, Alex? Regular access to the sun, your plants, a successful career, your band and—”

“All that’s meaningless if I’m alone. Heck, I’d live in zero gravity on the moon if it meant sharing my life with someone I loved. And I’m never going to find that special someone up here.” Alex reached out and set his hand on The Book. “I’m sure of that now. What do you want, sis, huh? To be just another widget-hematologist up here, or to make a real difference down there? To have a chance at falling in love down there, or to continue having one meaningless affair after another up here? Or no man at all, which is pretty much what—”

“I did fall in love,” she snapped. “That’s the freaking problem.” She thrust to her feet and paced away from the lamp table, heat building in her face. “You want to go live in Ţărână? Fine. Go. The women will gladly have you. But I can’t survive spending every day of my life living next to a man I want with every fiber of my soul but can never have.”

“Never?” Alex shook his head. “No way. You’ve got a stubborn streak in you a mile wide. When you want something, you fight for it—I’ve seen it.”

“I can’t fight this,” she came back, emotion roiling in her throat. “Jacken’s a half-demon, and the community won’t allow his DNA into their population. I can’t change his genetic makeup, Alex. Do you understand?” Tears welled into her eyes. “This isn’t just a matter of me sitting on him until he agrees to go out with me. I’m facing down immutable laws of science and nature.”

Alex set his forearms on his knees, clasping his fingers in front of him. He gave her a long look. “If you truly want this dude, then go get him, Toni. Find a way.”

Chapter Forty-Three

The same day

1:11 p.m.

Toni tried, she really did. She thought about the Jacken-problem from every angle, but the only thing she ended up doing was deepening the ache in her heart.

She couldn’t change Jacken’s DNA, and he wouldn’t forsake his vow of celibacy. And, really, was it even right for her to put him in that position?

You get the prize for guessing it right. Lorke’s my father…

I can understand why you wouldn’t want to go back to Oţărât…

What kind of woman would it make her if she asked Jacken to risk his well-being just for the sake of her love life?

Especially when she didn’t even know how he truly felt about her.

He was drawn to her, she knew that much, and by more than her scent. They’d shared some pretty intense moments. But also, all those moments had ended with him backing off, so she didn’t know for sure if he loved her too. Had he backed off out of pure necessity because of his vow of celibacy, or because he genuinely didn’t want her in his life, being a nagging shrew?

With these questions hanging over her, she walked along the beach for hours, watching the waves froth against the sandy shore. Dusk moved in, and the setting sun turned the ocean into a lake of molten gold. How she’d missed sunsets. But then…there were things about Ţărână she would miss, like the clean, earthy smell of the air, the low, singing sough of wind through certain wormholes, the shiny black lava rock that decorated some of the cave walls, and…other things.

It’s a mixture of juices to replace your electrolytes—a special recipe of mine.

Tears blurred her vision, the ache in her chest becoming a burning agony. She pressed her palm over her heart.

I can’t give you pleasure without bonding to you. Permanently.

What do you mean by bond, doctor?

I realize, Dr. Parthen, that you don’t believe anything I’ve just told you, so I’m hoping that our time together in the lab today will help convince you.

Maybe her problem was that she was letting her emotions and her pain cloud her thinking. She glanced down at her hand resting on her chest. Any hope she had of figuring out her situation with Jacken lay with her using her logical mind.

Ah, yes. People of science need concrete proof…

Right. If there was a solution out there, she’d unearth it with her medical knowhow.

I’m a hematologist, for Pete’s sake. I think I’d know if I have a blood anomaly.

I’m afraid you haven’t been able to see it with the type of tests you use. With the right analyses, you could. Here’s the blood graph Dr. Jess drafted…

Whirling around, Toni hurried along the beach back to the bungalow and burst inside. “Alex!” she called out.

Her brother was typing on his laptop at the four-seater table. He looked up. “Jeez, what happened to you? You’ve been gone for hours.”

“I have a question. Now that you’ve successfully tapped into Beth’s computer, do you think you could access other computers in Ţărână?”

“Probably. What did you have in mind?”

Everyone in the community has his or her blood specs kept in the computer, so that I may conduct experiments…

“I need you to hack into the community hospital’s files.”

*     *     *

The next day

The underground community of Ţărână

6:57 a.m.

The succulent scent of bacon wafted in the air, along with the aroma of fresh baked muffins. Blueberry. Usually Jacken’s favorite. This morning, it was like sawdust in his mouth. He crumbled it in his fist and dropped the crumbs on his plate.

Activity in the mansion’s dining room hummed around him, the soft clink-clank of dishes and silverware, the low murmur of the other warriors—minus the marrieds, Sedge and Arc—discussing topics Jacken couldn’t give a shit about.

He slugged back a mouthful of coffee, scalding his tongue and not giving a shit.

There wasn’t much he cared two fucks about anymore.

Over the last twenty-four hours he’d done what was necessary to keep the machinery of his body working—he ate, drank, slept, and put one foot in front of the other. But his actions were robotic. He was back to being a drone.

Everything was nothing.

Sounds were flat, food was tasteless, the world was drab.

Because it was a world without Toni.

Jacken glowered at the scrambled eggs congealing on his plate. Damned woman had been gone for one day, and he was already a total wreck.

Without her, the hours wrenched by…the minutes…the seconds…the nanoseconds…while he steadily slipped back behind his walls.

The only place where he was safe from pain.

He didn’t need Dr. Phil to tell him this was a throwback defense from his Oţărât days, when his survival had depended on him walking through life on autopilot, not giving a shit about anything as he numbly waited for the next fist to fall…the next insult to hit its mark…the next disappointment to crash down on top of him. He’d learned to stop trying to find moments of happiness.

Or bothering with things like hope.

Until Fade would draw him out.

If anyone could relate to what it was like to be born from one of Oţărât’s biggest assholes, it was Fade.

Jacken’s father, Lorke, was a mega-huge asshole, no doubt about it. As one of the last two pure-bred Om Rău males in the world—the second being, Josnic, the other leader of Oţărât—Lorke redefined concepts like merciless and ruthless. But somewhere in Lorke and Josnic’s fucked-up Om Rău brains they also recognized the value of their women, especially the Dragons. Women needed to stay healthy in order to breed. So for the most part, they focused their violence on the men….not that rape was off the table. It wasn’t like those two were saints. But they generally tried not to be too brutal about it.

Not Bollven.

He was the cruelest, nastiest son of a bitch in Oţărât when it came to the females, getting off on being especially vicious with his rapes…and Fade was his daughter. Her upbringing was about as abusive as Jacken’s, and somewhere in the middle of all the torment, they connected over their shared misery and became friends.

It was probably no exaggeration to say that if not for Fade and his mother, Jacken would’ve disappeared so far behind his walls there would’ve been no coming back.

And then Toni had entered his life. Funny, smart, beautiful, so damned infuriating—she was the only woman who’d ever made him want to do stupid shit like just talk.

A woman he had been forced to push away.

Stellar job with that, Brun. Now Toni was gone for good.

What was she doing now…?

Was she hurt? Had the Topside Om Rău gotten their hooks into her?

Not a soothing thought.

So last night Jacken took Nyko, Dev, and Thomal with him topside on a search for her, but they hadn’t found any evidence of her whereabouts. No sign of life at Alexander Parthen’s house or at Toni’s home or at her work.

Nothing, nowhere.

Fucking hell. From here on out, he was putting tracking devices on all community vehicles.

Cleeve hadn’t been able to pin her down, either. The last known location the computer whiz was able to find of either Toni or her brother was yesterday at an ATM near Alex Parthen’s place of residence—a substantial withdrawal had been made.

Great. Now Toni was operating off untraceable cash.

No activity on credit cards…no cell phone calls…not a single thing Cleeve could track.

Toni, Alex, and the four runaway Dragon women had become a bunch of ghosts.

Jesus H. Christ, if there was a man on this earth stupider than he was, he’d like someone to stand up and name the prick. How could he have thought for even one second that life was going to be easier without Toni around? That somehow his existence would be less agonizing if he was spared having to watch her hook up with another man someday. That the minutes of his days might pass more smoothly without the smell of her constantly in his head, even though her scent was as calming as it was aggravating. That she—

He was jerked out of his bellyaching by the rapid-fire staccato of footsteps.

The strides were heading down the outer corridor toward the dining room—which meant that soon someone would be yapping a bullshit problem into his ear.

Jacken was the interim man-in-charge.

Not exactly known for his people skills, he sucked at the job and liked it even less, but there wasn’t a whole lot he could do about it. For the last twenty-four hours, Roth hadn’t left his penthouse suite in the mansion, locking himself away with his wife, who never left—Jacken couldn’t remember the name of the phobia that prevented her from leaving.

Turned out the Dragons’ husbands were the ones in a rush to see Jacken—Pedrr and Willen logjammed in the doorway before uncorking themselves and stumbling into the dining room. Luken strolled in after those two. Sedge and Arc entered last, also jacked with tension but in the way a fighting man shows it—in the eyes.

Pedrr, Willen, and Luken started talking over each other.

“—received an email—”

“—a meeting has been set for—”

“Finally! Dear heavens, one more hour and—”

“—leave immediately.”

Jacken took a sip of his coffee and didn’t say anything, sticking with his whole not-giving-a-shit attitude toward this uproar.

What was there for him to care about anyway? So he’d get to see Toni again, so what? She wasn’t coming back to Ţărână. Like in, never-fucking-ever. He’d done too good of a job of pushing her away.

‘There’s nothing here for me to stay for.’ That’s what Toni said…

See? She—

“Cut the noise!” Arc barked at the husbands. Stepping away from the group, Arc held out a piece of paper to Jacken. “This was emailed to Beth. Toni is the one calling for a meet, Jacken, and she specifically requested that you be there.”

He narrowed his eyes on Costache. She’s asking for me? Well, fuck…maybe there was a solid reason for that.

Hope peeped its nose out.

He felt himself starting to give half-a-shit.

“Where?” he demanded.

Chapter Forty-Four

The same night

Scripps Memorial Hospital

La Jolla, San Diego

7:43 p.m.

Toni’s cell phone brrrringed, and she pulled it out of her purse. Putting it to her ear, she said, “Yes?”

“They’re here,” Kimberly told her. “Just walking through the main hospital door now.”

“Okay.” Toni gripped her phone. “Who came?”

“Pedrr, Willen, Luken, and Sedge—so all the Dragons’ husbands, except for Arc. Then there’s Roth, Dr. Jess, and Jacken.”

Jacken. Toni exhaled a slow breath. “Got it, thanks. You coming?”

“Yep,” Kimberly said. “I’m going to grab a cup of Joe first, then I’ll head up.”

“Sounds good.” Toni cut the connection and set her phone on the long, oval table.

They were in a conference room in the hematology wing of Scripps Memorial Hospital. Alex was perched on the edge of the table next to Toni. Hannah, Maggie, and Ellen were seated at the far end, their combined six Dragon children safely ensconced in the hospital’s daycare.

Earlier this evening, Toni had worked out a deal with the head of Scripps—she would leave her position on the hospital’s regular staff, but stay on the roster as an adjunct physician to keep her hospital privileges. That way she could—

The thunder of approaching footsteps startled her. They’re here already… Jesus, the Vârcolac must’ve taken an express elevator.

“You all set?” Alex asked her.

To see Jacken?

A flutter of excitement stirred in her belly. After the longest day of her life? Yes.

And also no.

Because if she wasn’t going to get a happily-ever-after out of him, a part of her preferred not to know. Just live the fantasy for a while longer.

“Toni?”

She took a deep breath. Right. Stay focused. This wasn’t the time to get caught up in a love-daze. A lot of tricky negotiating lay ahead.

She gave Alex a quick nod and stepped out of the conference room into the hall, her nerves jumping.

Jacken was on point, stalking down the hallway slightly ahead of the rest of the Vârcolac.

Her stomach flipped a full somersault. He looked ridiculously hot, from his thickly corded legs in black jeans to the leather jacket that hugged the V-shape of his muscular body, the snug fit of his clothing highlighting his masculinity and power.

At the sight of her, the group of Vârcolac came to a sudden halt.

Would everyone mind delaying this evening’s meeting long enough for her to run her hands all over the chiseled bulges of Jacken’s muscles? She almost blurted out a laugh. Who would’ve guessed Tall, Dark, and Homicidal was what buttered her bread, but evidently it was.

The rest of the men were wearing normal, non-gangster attire, slacks and button-downs. Roth and Dr. Jess were in tailored suits.

Now she was glad she’d taken extra care with her own appearance. Her hair was clipped into an elegant ponytail, which lay shimmering over one shoulder, and she’d dressed in a newly purchased black pencil skirt, black sling-back pumps, and a wraparound blue silk blouse which, while totally decent in all respects, had even made her own eyes go a little zowie when she saw her breasts in the mirror.

But she wanted to look nice for this.

And she must—Jacken looked like he wished he had a lead pipe to gnaw through.

She strode forward, fighting the urge to launch herself at him, throw her arms around his thick neck, and whisper into his ear, got any Hershey’s syrup and whipped cream handy? Or something equally subtle and coy.

“Gentlemen,” she greeted, stopping in front of the seven men. This close, she saw that Jacken looked worn and drawn, still totally do-able, but definitely a man who’d been through the wringer. Had these past twenty-four hours been as awful for him as they had been for her? Probably rude to hope so. “Thank you for coming.”

Roth smiled benignly. “You didn’t leave us much—”

“Do you have any idea how fucking worried we’ve been about all of you?” Jacken snarled.

She drew in her chin, taken aback by the heat of his response. Then she piffed a breath. Well, it was nice to know some things never changed, and Jacken’s inability to be diplomatic about anything that displeased him was clearly one of life’s constants.

She turned back to Roth. “There didn’t seem to be any other way for the Dragons to get your attention, Mr. Mihnea.”

“You have it now.”

“Excellent.” Toni indicated the door into the conference room. “Shall we talk?”

The seven men stepped inside, and once again they halted abruptly, this time at the sight of Alex. Sedge and Jacken—the two warriors of the group—laser-locked on him more intently than the others.

“We have a visitor,” Roth noted in a bland tone.

“This is my brother, Alex,” Toni introduced.

Roth gave Alex a flat look. “The computer genius who hacked into our system?”

Alex stuffed his hands in his pockets. “That would be me, yeah.”

Roth’s expression chilled. “We didn’t care for that.”

Alex shrugged. “You kidnapped my sister.”

There was a frigid silence.

Toni intervened. “Before this introduction heads any more downhill than it already is, you should know that Alex is one of us.” She turned her brother around and lifted the back of his T-shirt, showing everyone his dragon mark. “I’ve told him all about Ţărână, and he wants to join the community.” She straightened out her brother. “If you’ll have him.”

Roth gave Alex a long, considering look.

Alex smiled.

Roth’s expression finally eased. “A Dragon male in Ţărână? The women will be ecstatic.”

“Of course all that depends on if we can come to terms this evening.” Toni gestured at the table, indicating that everyone should sit.

Luken, Pedrr, and Willen made for their wives at the far side of the table, but Toni pulled out a chair at her end. “Gentlemen. I’m sorry, but there will be no consorting during negotiations.”

Maggie grumped.

Hannah looked on the verge of tears.

The husbands reluctantly sat where Toni indicated—all except Sedge.

He stood with his hands on his hips. “Where’s Kimberly?”

*     *     *

Ten minutes earlier…

Standing just inside a vending machine cubby, Kimberly was at a perfect vantage point to spy on the front door of Scripps Memorial Hospital.

Behind her, two machines held an array of sweet and salty snacks, while another dispensed coffee of various types, and a fourth was strictly for bottled water. This latter one rattled as if it was on the verge of—

The front doors swished open, letting in a blast of brisk night air, and—she caught her breath—her husband.

She watched Sedge step through the door, and her heart did a funny pirouette in her chest. He was moving in that fluid way of his, his shoulders so broad that he would’ve had to angle his body sideways if the entrance had been a single door.

Silly to miss him so much—they’d only been apart a day.

But even though she’d made use of her time topside to visit her parents yesterday—hey, Mom and Dad, I’m home from the Peace Corps!—it was Sedge who’d come to mean home to her.

Kimberly yanked her cell phone out of her back pocket and dialed Toni. There was a click, then a “Yes?”

“They’re here,” Kimberly told her. “Just walking through the main hospital door now.”

“Okay. Who came?”

“Pedrr, Willen, Luken, and Sedge—so all the Dragons’ husbands, except for Arc.” He would’ve stayed home in Ţărână with Beth. “Then there’s Roth, Dr. Jess, and Jacken.”

Toni’s voice uplifted a notch. “Got it, thanks. You coming?”

“Yep.” Kimberly glanced over her shoulder at the coffee machine. “I’m going to grab a cup of Joe first, then I’ll head up.” The reverse day-night cycle between Ţărână and topside was killing her.

“Sounds good.”

The cell clicked again.

Kimberly tucked her phone away in her back pocket, then went in search of money in her front pocket. She found a dollar’s worth of change and plunked the quarters into the coffee machine. A cup dropped down, and she absently watched a line of steamy brown liquid squirt into the cup.

She moved to grab the drink with—

Someone jostled her from behind. “Oh, Gawd, the ambulance is just pulling in with him now!”

Kimberly’s fingers bumped the cup and knocked it over. Hot coffee spilled down the front of the vending machine, hit the floor, and splattered her pants legs. Kimberly jumped back. “Dammit!” She spun around. “What the heck?”

A couple of young women were huddled together in the vending machine cubby.

“Hey,” Kimberly tried to gain their attention, but they were both riveted on the main hospital doors.

The redhead tittered, “How lucky that they brought him to this hospital.”

“He’s soooo amazing,” the brunette cooed in agreement. “In a sec we’re going to get to see him close up. Ohmigod, ohmigod, I can’t wait!”

Kimberly rolled her eyes. What a couple of dingbats. She rooted in her purse for more change. “Who are they bringing in?” she asked. It was probably Justin Bieber. The dummy must’ve hurt himself getting another tattoo.

The redhead glanced at her. “Only the Seattle Seahawks’ best running back ever.”

Kimberly stilled, a cold lump dropping into the pit of her stomach. The Seattle Seahawks…

“Tim Armbruster,” the brunette gushed.

Kimberly’s lips parted. Her purse slipped out of her hands and flumphed to the floor. A sick feeling flushed over her like a rash, prickly and hot.

“Weren’t you watching the game tonight?” the redhead babbled on. “Tim Armbruster hurt his knee during a—”

“OMG!” the brunette squealed. “There he is!”

The hospital’s sliding glass doors swished open again and a gurney was pushed inside holding a tall, muscular man.

Kimberly’s stomach crashed to the linoleum. Yes, there he was. Same dark brown hair and steely eyes, same square jaw, same athletically perfect body.

Every muscle in Kimberly’s body locked up. She tried to move—to run, to get away—but only managed to shake violently. Her vision swam as she was thrust back to her years at Washington State…to the emotional beat downs she’d endured…the terror…the pain…

The self-loathing.

Will you shut up, if I wanted the opinion of a blonde ditz, I’d ask for it.

And you call yourself a PoliSci major…? Christ, that was the stupidest fucking opinion ever.

Do you think it’d be too much to ask for you to actually move the next time we screw. Or is it impossible for you to do anything right?

You’re such a little whore. You wanna go bone that guy, is that why you’re staring at him?

Hot bile washed over Kimberly’s tongue.

And then there was the worst memory of all…cramps…blood…warmth on her thighs…

Despair.

She couldn’t breathe! She clawed at the skin on her throat. Help!

The gurney wheeled passed the vending machine cubby.

The two young women let out a squeeee! in unison.

Tim Armbruster turned his head to look.

Kimberly slammed back against the wall to hide, bruising her ribs, her vision whiting out in panic. She worked her mouth but still couldn’t suck in any air. The vending machines whirled before her eyes. A thin squeak escaped her lips.

The redhead turned around and frowned at her. “Whoa, lady. Are you all right?”

Kimberly couldn’t answer. Tears spilled down her face. Her limbs gave out, and she collapsed onto her butt, hitting the floor so hard she clacked her teeth together.

“Holy shit!” The redhead rushed toward Kimberly, calling over her shoulder to the brunette. “Get a doctor!”

The brunette dashed off.

The redhead crouched down. “Help’s on the way. Okay, lady? You’re gonna be fine.”

No, she wouldn’t be fine, not without…without… “Sedge,” she rasped out.

The redhead’s face scrunched. “Doctor who?”

Sedge wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. Never, ever, ever… Kimberly clutched her fingers around wads of her blouse. “I need Sedge.”

Chapter Forty-Five

“Your wife got held up on an errand,” Toni told Sedge—although Kimberly should’ve been back by now. “We can start without her.” Toni took a seat at the conference table on the side closest to the door.

Alex grabbed the chair next to Toni’s.

Roth, Jacken, and Dr. Jess sat across from Toni and Alex, while the Dragons and their husbands remained at opposite heads of the table.

Toni folded her hands on the top of the table and stared Roth down. They weren’t in his library-office with her trapped and helpless this time, and he needed to know that for once he wasn’t the person in charge.

She was.

Roth leaned back in his chair, planting his elbows on the armrests and steepling his fingers together. “You’re being a bit dramatic, aren’t you, Dr. Parthen?”

She lazily lifted her brows at him, adopting an expression of mild curiosity, almost boredom. An interesting opening sally. Was Roth trying to make her feel churlish? Childish? Did he want to rattle her so she’d doubt herself? Thank you, but no. “You made the dramatic gesture necessary, Mr. Mihnea. You didn’t listen to the women of your community down in Ţărână. The hope is that we’ll have better luck with you up here.”

Roth tapped his fingers together lightly. “Just because someone doesn’t concede to another’s wishes, doesn’t mean he hasn’t heard them.”

“Ah. So you ignored the Dragons?”

Roth offered her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course not—I didn’t say that. There are just larger issues at stake.”

Toni restated Roth’s ready rationale. “The survival of your people.”

“Yes.”

“Nothing excuses taking women against their will, Mr. Mihnea.” Toni sat back and gripped her armrests. “Our position on this matter is nonnegotiable—if you continue kidnapping women, the Dragons won’t return to Ţărână.”

Roth’s eyebrows peaked in surprise. He glanced down the table at the Dragons. “You plan to abandon your husbands and children?”

Hannah’s eyes rimmed red with building tears.

Ellen glanced down.

Maggie’s lips puckered, as if she was on the brink of an all-out, toddler-style temper tantrum.

Toni rushed in before the women could waver. “The Dragons have no intention of leaving their kids. The children will live topside with their mothers.”

Willen sucked in a breath. “By darkest night.”

“Maggie, my dear…” Luken began.

“The husbands,” Toni barged back in, “will be invited topside once a week during nighttime hours to feed. The Dragon women love their husbands very much and don’t want any harm to come to them.” She leveled a look at Roth. “It’s a shame they’ve all been caught in the middle of this, isn’t it?”

Roth dropped his hands. “That’s not my doing.”

Toni laughed in a burst of air.

“You’re the one giving ultimatums,” Roth pointed out.

“Because you—”

Jacken growled deep in his throat.

Toni stopped talking, and everyone looked at him.

Jacken gave Roth a potent stare. “Just give her what she wants.”

Roth stilled.

Jacken’s jaw set into an inflexible ridge. “I’m not kidnapping women anymore, and I won’t lead my men on any of those jobs either.”

Sedge blinked.

Toni stared at Jacken, astounded.

Jacken exhaled a harsh breath. “It’s over, Roth.”

*     *     *

The conference room went pin-drop quiet, everyone no doubt listening to Jacken’s heart doing the 100-yard dash. Was Roth going to dropkick Jacken’s ass back to Oţărât now?

Oh-fucking-well. Jacken wasn’t going to get uptight about it. Yes, the Dragons eventually ended up happy in Ţărână, but that didn’t matter. He was fed to the teeth with that justification. Being kidnapped messed them up in the first place, and he couldn’t play a part in that anymore.

No matter the consequences, he’d made the right choice.

Roth sat stiffly for the longest ten-count on record, then he exhaled a heavy breath. “I can’t continue on like this,” he said, everything about him seeming to sag. “I can’t bear everyone’s displeasure any longer—I’m just too tired.”

Normally, it was impossible to tell the age difference between Jacken and Roth. Until a Vârcolac became an elder, he or she looked about the same at twenty-one as at one hundred and twenty-one.

But now Roth showed his age.

It was in his eyes, the look of a man who’d spent more than a hundred years watching the people of his race die…the look of a man who had an entire species’ existence on his shoulders.

The look of a man who was, yeah, way too damned tired.

Roth met Toni’s eyes. “I agree to your demands. No more kidnappings. And if that means our breed must die out, well…” He trailed off.

Jacken heard the husbands shift in their seats. A weighted pause pushed air out of the room.

Roth heaved a sigh. “In some ways this is a relief. You may not believe this, but we Vârcolac have always prided ourselves on being the good guys. I’ve hated that our desperate straits led us away from that for a time.” He peered down at his hands.

Toni’s expression gentled. “I’d love to see you have the chance to show that, Roth—to be the proud, wonderful breed that you no doubt are. And none of us wants the Vârcolac race to die off. We’ll figure something out.”

Roth looked up. “Do you really think you can?”

“My brother and I have been discussing a plan to get Dragon women down to Ţărână voluntarily.”

Roth sat, quietly stunned.

Ellen entered the conversation now. “But there’s more that needs to happen first.”

The room turned their attention toward her.

Ellen pressed her palms to the tabletop. “Ţărână is a town of mixed cultures now, Roth, and if you want to have a successful and harmonious community, then the leadership has to reflect both sides. We humans need representation—we need a democratic system. We won’t live in a monarchy anymore. So we’ve elected Toni to be your co-leader.”

Roth didn’t respond. He just sat as if made of stone.

Hannah jumped in. “We’re aware that Vârcolac tradition only allows people of royal lineage to hold positions of authority. And that’s why we chose Toni—we don’t want to dishonor Vârcolac culture.” Hannah smiled. “Toni’s a Royal. Her brother, Alex, too.”

Jacken snapped his brows together. What?

Ellen said, “Alex has a book that explains it.”

Toni turned toward her brother. “Would you show them?”

Alex reached for a chair that held a duffel bag and wheeled it over. Fishing out a leather-bound book, he stood and leaned over the table, setting it in front of Roth.

Dr. Jess gasped. “It’s the Străvechi Caiet!”

Jacken glanced over to see. On the cover were a crescent and a star, both supernaturally bright. Jacken had never seen the book before.

Alex sat back down. “Hey, so you recognize it?”

“Stars above, yes.” Dr. Jess scooted the book over and opened the first page, then turned another and another, all the while marveling. “This is our history, both past and future…although the Străvechi Caiet has been lost to us for a century.”

Alex’s brows rose. “Future?”

“Indeed.” Dr. Jess was still turning pages. “But only a Soothsayer can read—” The doctor whipped his gaze up. “You can read it, can’t you? That’s how you know that you and Toni are Royals.”

Alex shrugged. “Yeah, some of it. I should be able to read more, I sense that, but…I don’t know. Something’s always kind of in the way.”

“By holiest night.” Dr. Jess eyes went wide. “You’re a Soothsayer.”

Jesus, Alex Parthen might as well have just crapped a brand-new, gold-plated Sigmund-phase, or some other piece of lab equipment, by the way Dr. Jess was looking at him now.

“A…? Really?” Alex perked up, glancing at Toni. “That sounds cool, doesn’t it?”

“I prefer Know-It-All,” Toni returned in a droll tone.

“Ha! Would you listen to that!? She’s just getting me back for all the times I called her stubborn.”

“However did you get hold of this?” Jess asked.

Alex’s eyes lit. “Kind of magically, I guess.”

Dr. Jess puffed a small breath. “I wouldn’t doubt it.” He looked at Roth. “Do you realize what this means? Alex and Toni have enchantment skills—they’re more than Royal. They’re Royal Fey. Alex is a Soothsayer and Dr. Parthen is…something.” Jess waved a hand. “Although clearly the majority of their power is being repressed under centuries of disuse. We must figure out how to release it. Good heavens, why didn’t we see this before? They both have red in their hair and…Dr. Parthen has always smelled different, hasn’t she?!”

Jacken darted his eyes over to Toni. Holy fuck.

Roth observed Alex from beneath his brows. “If you don’t mind a question, Mr. Parthen, what would be the name of the line you’re descended from?”

“Ah, a test.” Alex smiled broadly. “Nah, that’s cool. Human Dragon royalty descends from King Σoseph of the Flacără line. The Royal Vârcolac come from Σoseph’s cousin, Ællen, of the Seară.”

Jacken exhaled. I’ll be damned.

“Well.” Roth looked a little amazed now, too.

Alex couldn’t have known that unless he’d studied Vârcolac/Dragon history in the community school.

With a warm smile, Roth turned toward Toni. “A co-leader, is it?”

Maggie piped in, “We won’t return to Ţărână without her to represent us.”

Roth chuckled. “No need to take a stand on this particular issue. I very much relish the thought of a partnership with Dr. Parthen. I’ve been in sole charge of Ţărână for far too long.”

So Toni would be returning to Ţărână, after all.

Jacken looked down at the table, then squeezed his eyes shut. Christ, it felt like someone had just installed new hardware in his brain—and mis-wired it. One second he was so glad Toni was coming home, his blood practically skipped through his veins…and smelling her again was…hell. Having her scent back inside his head felt so profoundly right, it made him realize just how much he needed her to feel whole.

The other side of him wanted to kick her to the curb without delay. Because he knew that if she returned to the community, then someday he’d have to watch her pick a mate.

Yeah, and why not barbecue his own heart for dinner while he was at it.

Roth stood and held out his hand. “Welcome aboard, Dr. Parthen.”

Toni remained seated. “I’m sorry, but I can’t celebrate my new position yet. There’s one more thing we need to work out.”

Jacken scowled. What now?

Roth slowly sat back down. “Which is?”

Toni turned a penetrating blue stare on Jacken.

The back of his nape prickled. Oh, crap…

“I want Jacken.”

Chapter Forty-Six

Searing heat slapped Jacken in the cheeks as a raging mass of unpleasant emotions churned through him: anger that Toni would bring up something so painful—it’s impossible for me to be with a woman, REMEMBER?—awkwardness that everyone was now gawking at him, no one bothering to hide how amazed they were that a woman of Toni’s caliber could want him. Yeah, shut your traps and join the club, people. And then there was some kind of bizarre-o childish gee whiz, hurray, she wants me feeling that tempted him to bang his head on the conference table and not stop until he’d reached triple digits.

Instead he bared his teeth and pushed his next words through the grinding barrier. “What the fuck’s your problem?”

“Well, let’s see…” She leaned back. “I want to be your mate, and you keep refusing me like a stubborn ass. I’d say that’s a problem.”

Heat blazed into the tips of his ears. Did she just call him a stubborn ass? “You know I can’t be with you.”

“Bound by a vow of celibacy, no vasectomy possible, blah, blah, blah. Yes, I remember all the reasons you said you can’t.”

He glared. “Your blasé understanding of my circumstances is touching.”

“I’m far from being blasé,” she shot back. “I’m telling you that none of it matters. I just need to know if you love me. That’s it. The rest we can work out.”

Heat hit his face full-force. He’d never been the type of man to melt beneath a table in embarrassment and he wasn’t going to start now. Tempting, but fuck no. “I’m not talking about this with you here.” Or ever.

“You’re going to have to,” she countered. “I can’t go back to Ţărână until I know.”

“Yeah? After how much the Dragons just said they need you, you’d—”

“Jesus,” she blared. “You’re not this idiotic, are you? I don’t want to live down there without you, Jacken, so I need to know if you love me.”

Pack sand. Stick it up your ass. And, yes, I love you so much I can already taste you was the psychotic babble that lit off inside his head. Nice to know his sanity was still on a break.

She smiled sweetly. “Do you need me to rephrase the question?”

Blood pounded in his temples. “We just found out you’re a Royal. Hell if I’m going to let you waste those bloodlines on me.”

Roth wholeheartedly agreed with that sentiment to judge by the way his eyes were about to pop out of their sockets.

“They’re my bloodlines,” Toni countered. “Shouldn’t I get a say in the matter?”

“You don’t have anything to say.”

“Don’t I?”

“Not that would change my mind.” His throat swelled around his next words. “I can’t have children—we’ve been over that—and you’re going to make a great mother someday. I won’t steal that from you.”

“We could figure out something eventually to—”

He cut her off with a growl, his temper flaring to the breaking point. “Did your recent concussion knock your IQ score down to dumbshit status?”

Toni slowly closed her mouth.

“Because I can’t think of any other reason you’d be pushing this.”

“All right,” she said, her voice steady with what he highly suspected was a false calm. “Tell me you don’t love me, and I’ll leave this alone.”

He sat there, painfully mute, unable to lie. “It doesn’t mean anything if I do.”

“It means everything!” Tears collected along her lashes.

He surged to his feet. “Don’t you do that.” He pointed at her. “Don’t you dare cry.”

Alex, her brother, blinked rapidly at both of them.

“C’mon, man,” Sedge said from the side of his mouth. “Just tell her already.”

A tear broke free of Toni’s lashes and rolled down her cheek.

Fuck. “Okay. All right! Yes! I love you. You satisfied now, you insane battle-axe?!” He spun toward the window, giving her his back. Shit, shit, shit. But what was he supposed to do? She was crying, for the love of crap.

He heard her release a soft breath. “Okay. That’s all I needed to know. Because I love you, too, and—”

“Oh, shut the hell up, would you?” Your love gets me nowhere. Pain stabbed through his chest, hollowing out the space between his ribs.

“I most certainly will not shut up.”

He rounded on her. “Toni, I swear—”

“It’s you who should shut up, Mr. Brun, and listen to what I have to say.” On the floor by her chair was a black leather briefcase. She grabbed it now and put it on the table in front of her. She looked at him. “Please, sit.”

He didn’t want to. Except that—he had to admit—he was really damned curious about what was going on inside that cracked skull of hers. Yanking out his chair, he slammed his ass down on the seat.

Toni paused to give him a droll look, then she tugged a manila folder out of her briefcase. “You can’t procreate because the demon part of your Half-Rău DNA would represent itself too strongly in any children you have. Is that correct?”

Jacken just stared at her, his arms crossed over his chest. She knew it was correct.

After too many beats of silence, Dr. Jess answered. “That is correct.”

Toni inclined her head at Jess. “Thank you. And although I trust your work, Dr. Jess, the scientist in me wanted to do my own research. So I asked my brother to hack into the community’s hospital computer, and then I ran some experiments with the blood specs on file.”

She pulled a couple of sheets of paper out of the manila folder and laid them on the conference table. “Here are two procreation simulations I conducted. One is of Dev and Beth, and the other is of Jacken and Beth.” She pointed to a couple of hills on the first graph. “Strength and health show good numbers with Dev and Beth’s offspring. But—” She switched her finger to the second graph. “Those numbers are even higher with Jacken and Beth’s simulated child. I’m assuming that’s because of Jacken’s Rău. The problem is, of course, immediately apparent—Peak 12 is at excessive levels.” She glanced at Dr. Jess. “Do the results of my research match your original work?”

“Yes,” Dr. Jess confirmed. “And this is exactly why we determined the Bruns shouldn’t have children.”

Jacken looked at the ceiling, hardening his jaw and tightening his crossed arms. This trip down memory lane was so much fun.

Toni nodded. “Next, I experimented with my own sample. I wanted to see if there was anything different about my blood because I’m a Royal.”

Jacken snapped his focus back down.

Toni’s eyes were glittering. “Look here at my pairing with Dev.” She extracted another graph and set it on the table. “The numbers for strength and health increase markedly. Do you see?”

Roth and Jess leaned forward, Dr. Jess making a sound of interest in his throat.

Toni smiled. “My blood is different.”

Jacken’s breathing started to speed.

Toni pulled out a fourth graph but held it to her chest. “And that got me wondering how my unique DNA would mix with Half-Rău bloodlines, so I ran a simulation between me and Jacken.” She captured and held his gaze as she revealed the fourth graph.

His heart staggered out of rhythm.

She pointed triumphantly to a rise on the graph. “The numbers for strength and health are through the roof. The highest, yet! And here—Peak 12 is at normal Vârcolac levels.”

“Well, my goodness,” Dr. Jess exclaimed.

Jacken didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just sat there as if somebody had poured epoxy onto his brain, all the gears and mechanisms inside his skull glued into immobility. He should understand what was going on, he sensed that, but everything was stuck at a shocked standstill.

Toni beamed. “Whatever is in my Royal bloodlines completely counteracts the negative effects of Jacken’s Om Rău.” She shifted her happy gaze over to him. “You and I can have children, Jacken. In fact, I think we’d make one heckuva kid, don’t you?”

Jacken felt like he was going ten rounds with a telephone pole. This…can’t be happening. “No,” he denied hoarsely. “It’s not possible.”

Toni hesitated a couple of seconds, then glanced at Jess. “Dr. Jess, could you please confirm the veracity of my work?”

“Dr. Parthen has done everything correctly.”

Clammy goose bumps broke out over Jacken’s flesh.

Just run and hide when you see your father coming. His mother tenderly swept the hair off his forehead. Tomorrow will be a better day, Jacken, you’ll see.

But it never was. So stupid to hope…

“No.” He jumped up and backed away from the table. “It’s not true.” He spun toward the window again and gripped the frame in rigid fists. He didn’t believe any of it…not the impossible dream that Toni was telling the truth…not the burning desire for a family and children…not the bone-deep hunger that’d been eating him alive ever since he met this infuriating woman.

He glowered at the night sky. It looked like a sheet of black velvet had been stabbed a million times with the point of a dagger, letting in pinpricks of light from behind.

Sedge tried to come to his rescue. “Uh…don’t misunderstand Jacken, Toni, okay? He’s not rejecting you. You just…kind of knocked his legs out from under him with all this. His whole life he’s had to accept that he’ll never have a wife and kids, and you erased that in about ten seconds flat.”

Knocked my legs out? That was the understatement of the century. There wasn’t a single solid-feeling bone left in his body.

“Thank you, Sedge,” Toni said in a gentle voice.

Jacken heard her scrape to her feet. Her footsteps approached him. He squeezed his fists. The window frame splintered beneath his grip with a soft crunch.

Toni slipped a hand around one of his forearms. “Are you going to make me sit on you until you agree to bond with me? Because I’ll do it. You know I will.”

She would, wouldn’t she? He was so in love with this crackpot. He wanted her for his mate more than he wanted to breathe. No more back-and-forth about it. He flat-out wanted her. “You’re a beautiful and smart doctor, a damn Royal, and I’m…a Half-Rău hardass.”

“Oh, Jacken,” she sighed. “Do you have any idea how many pieces I’m in on the inside? You’re the only man who’s ever made me feel like I can be myself.” She pressed her forehead against his arm, her voice lowering to a whisper. “I’m every bit the whack job you think I am.”

A low groan spilled out of him—almost a laugh. He turned his head to look at her. Their eyes caught, and he saw the truth of her words right there in the depths of her gaze. She loved him. She wanted him.

He swallowed. “Holy shit.”

She laughed breathlessly. “I agree.”

He turned toward her. “Why didn’t you say anything about your Royal bloodlines before?” Save me a lot of misery.

“I had to know if you loved me first. There might be other Royal Dragon women out in the world. I don’t know. But as it stands now, I’m the one woman who can be your wife, who can give you a home and children. I didn’t want you to want me only for that.”

Jesus. “Haven’t you been paying any attention these last two weeks?” He pulled her into a hug, crushing her against his body.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him back just as tightly.

Everyone in the room broke into applause.

“Ah, hell.” He tucked his face into her throat and inhaled deeply, allowing himself, at last, the supreme luxury of smelling her as his own. God, yeah, the instinct to bond with her roared to life, her scent saturating him with such a sense of peace, it was as if he was finding a long lost piece of his soul. “Don’t you know,” he breathed against her flesh, “that you make me more than I ever thought I could be?”

She softened against him.

The clapping stopped abruptly.

Jacken lifted his head, then frowned. The door to the conference room was opening.

At first he thought it was Kimberly who was pushing the door open while simultaneously knocking—the woman entering had the same short blond hairstyle as Sedge’s wife.

But, no, it was some woman in nurse’s scrubs.

“Yes, Penny?” Toni said, stepping out of Jacken’s embrace.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Parthen, I know you asked not to be disturbed.” The nurse bent her lips apologetically. “But the head nurse called the police, and they’re—”

“What?” Toni crossed to the door. “The police? Why?”

“The hospital was under strict orders to report it if you showed up,” Penny said.

The door swung all the way open, and there, standing in the hallway, were two men with guns and badges.

Toni gaped at the guy with brown hair wearing cowboy boots. “John?”

Chapter Forty-Seven

John? Jacken sneered. What the hell? Toni knew this cop? He hooked his fist out in a brutal uppercut, whamming his punch into the brown-haired cop’s chin to shut that gawping-way-the-fuck-open mouth of his…

All right, no. He didn’t actually do it. But he saw the act in his head so clearly, so perfectly, it was as if he did. He also wouldn’t mind pulling a Three Stooges on the peckerhead and double-fingering the man’s bulging eyeballs back in their sockets. Toni might as well be naked, the way the cop was eyeballing her.

Jacken should probably cut the guy some slack, considering Toni looked totally hot. But slack-cutting had never been one of his strengths, and he certainly wasn’t in the mood for it now. No, the longer that cop stared at Toni with such blatant lust in his eyes, the more Jacken was all about introducing him to getting his ass kicked Rău-style.

“Thank God.” The cop’s shoulders dropped as he exhaled. “You really are here.”

Toni gathered herself, blanking the shock from her expression. “Of course I am, Detective Waterson. I work here.”

The cop’s expression morphed into something between incredulity and irritation. “You’ve been a missing person for two weeks now, Toni, and I’ve been busting my hump trying to find you—and you certainly haven’t been at Scripps.” He took a step forward, drawing up right in front of her and staring her dead in the eyes. “Where have you been?”

A growl built in Jacken’s chest, and a single crackle popped dangerously in his ears. He forced himself to concentrate on the glow of the light over the conference table, the smell of disinfectant, the sound of Sedge shifting his feet subtly into a stance of readiness.

The growl exited his lips as a hard breath.

That had Waterson quickly sidestepping Toni to see who was behind her. His eyes traveled in swift assessment over their group, lingering on Sedge and Jacken.

Looked like the cop didn’t care much for their large size and obvious strength.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Toni tried. But—

The cop wasn’t listening. He was already moving deeper inside.

Waterson’s partner followed him in. This other detective had dark brown eyes, hair, and skin. Of Latino heritage, probably. Maybe Hispanic.

Waterson’s eyebrows shot straight up when he spotted Toni’s brother.

Alex waved. “Hey, John.”

Waterson’s eyes narrowed. His jaw shifted. “Everyone’s casualness is really starting to annoy me.”

“Um, uh…it’s just that everything’s cool, as it turns out.” Alex’s smile was strained.

“Is it?” Waterson asked acidly. “Thanks for the phone call letting me know.”

“Oh. Well…I couldn’t because, um…”

Jesus. Obviously, Mr. Computer hadn’t prepped for ways to avoid saying things like “vampires” and “secret, underground community.” Jacken muttered a curse under his breath. He’d be amazed if he managed to get through this convo without hitting someone.

Toni cast him a chill-out look.

“Please, Detectives,” Dr. Jess interjected, a charming smile aimed at the two cops. “If I may be permitted to clarify matters? I think Alex and Toni Parthen are coming across as a bit awkward because they’re not sure how much they’re allowed to say. You see, these past two weeks Dr. Parthen has been undergoing a rigorous interview process for a position with our research institute. We have a highly classified operation, however, so during the time Dr. Parthen was with us, she wasn’t allowed contact with anyone outside of our facility, including her family. We recently determined she has passed her security clearances, and we came here this evening to officially offer her the position.”

“I see.” Waterson responded in the kind of bland tone used by someone whose bullshit meter was pinging. “And the name of this institute?”

Dr. Jess’s expression transmitted all sorts of fake regret. “I’m sorry, but national security doesn’t permit me to divulge that information.”

Waterson was less than impressed. “That’s convenient for you, isn’t it? A bit problematic for me, though.” He looked at Toni. “And you couldn’t have told your family you were going to be out of touch before you left for this…interview?”

“Of course. And I did. Or I thought I had.” Toni’s lips folded. “I guess my concussion made me a bit fuzzy.”

“I have to confess to feeling a bit fuzzy myself.” Waterson reached into his breast pocket, snorting softly when Sedge and Jacken stiffened. The detective pulled out a small notebook and opened it. He glanced down, reading, then looked at Toni. “According to my notes, you wrote numerous emails to your brother stating that you were at a hematology seminar in St. Louis.” He flipped the notebook closed with a short swing of his wrist. “Why would you have said that if you were really at some super hush-hush job interview?”

“I…” Toni paused, faltering, then regrouped. “I didn’t say that.”

“The emails came from your account.”

She spread her hands. “I don’t know what to tell you, John. Maybe my account was hacked.”

A loaded silence followed.

Toni was doing okay, keeping her cool…but then her throat moved with a visible swallow.

“All right, everyone,” Waterson ordered. “On your feet.”

The Dragons and their husbands darted their eyes around, clearly wondering if they should do what the cop said.

Finally, Roth pushed to his feet.

So the rest did too.

Waterson slid his notebook back into his breast pocket. “Here’s what we’re going to do. All of you are going to turn around and place your hands against the wall, making sure to act all nice and cooperative while my partner babysits you. Nobody better move, even sneeze”—the cop pinned a pointed look on Jacken and Sedge—“while I take Dr. Parthen into the hall for a private chat.”

Jacken knew exactly what Waterson was thinking—that Toni was really in trouble, but she and her brother were being forced to play along like everything was fine, or else.

The assumption was reasonable. Unfortunately, Jacken wasn’t feeling especially top-heavy with reasonableness right now. In fact, Hell could freeze an ice palace up his ass before he’d allow this horny bastard to be alone with Toni.

“No.” Jacken clipped the single word.

Waterson smiled coldly. “Now how did I know you’d be the one to put up a fuss about that, champ?”

Waterson’s partner slid a hand inside his coat and wrapped it around the butt of his pistol.

Waterson jerked his chin at Jacken’s black clothes. “And your position with this research institute would be…?”

“I’m with security.”

“Ah. Well, then, you’ll certainly understand my need to see your ID, won’t you?”

Jacken felt a sneer start to pull at his upper lip. If you don’t mind me feeding it up your ass through a tube.

Tension crackled in the air between them.

“You have very unusual eyes.” Waterson’s bland tone was back.

“My mother was French,” Jacken responded, just as mildly.

“That explains it. The ID?”

Jacken reached for his wallet, moving slowly for the sake of Waterson’s trigger-happy partner. He pulled out one of Cleeve’s manufactured business cards and held it out. “This is the contact information for the governmental agency we work for. We answer to them, cop, not to you. So any more questions you have can go through that number.”

Waterson looked down at the business card and—

His hand shot out.

The cop grabbed Jacken by the wrist, yanking his arm forward while at the same time shoving the long sleeve of his leather jacket up to his elbow, exposing the teeth tattoos that the detective had obviously spotted showing at the cuff. “Some unique tats you’ve got here, sport.”

Jacken ground his teeth. “I used to be in a gang. Now get your fucking hands off me.”

Toni’s lids sank closed. Not exactly the chill-out response she’d been hoping for.

Jacken knotted his other hand into a fist, but didn’t pound Waterson’s head down the chute of his neck like he wanted. The barrel of a gun was suddenly in the side of his vision, pointing directly at his face.

Waterson’s partner had drawn his service revolver.

“Oh, God,” Toni groaned.

“Nah, chief,” Waterson said. “I think I’m going to choose option number two and bring you down to the station for questioning.” He pulled a two-way radio off his belt. “Men with tats like yours are wanted in connection with the attempted kidnapping of a teenage girl, as well as various other crimes around the city.” He pushed the speak button on his radio. “This is Detective Waterson. Requesting backup at—” Words stopped coming out of his mouth.

His partner was disarmed and lying unconscious on the floor.

No one had even seen Sedge move.

“Oh, man,” Alex Parthen breathed. “That was so cool.”

Jacken yanked his wrist from Waterson’s grip.

“Restate your position, Detective,” a voice crackled from the radio. “Your last transmission was—”

Jacken snatched the two-way out of Waterson’s hand and then, pop! One quick hard squeeze sent springs, buttons, and internal hardware flying in all directions.

A hammer would’ve normally been needed to achieve the same results, but the detective didn’t so much as blink an eyelash. Damned impressive. Jacken almost hated to mess the guy up.

Almost.

Lightning quick, Jacken grabbed Waterson by the throat and hauled him off the floor.

Toni gasped. “Don’t hurt him!”

Feet dangling, Waterson strained bugged-out eyes in Toni’s direction. “I’m sorry,” he rasped.

“John…no,” Toni said. “It’s okay. It’s not what you think. I’m—”

But the cop had already turned his attention back to Jacken.

Jacken had to hand it to Waterson—he was a cool cucumber. Even with a roadway of veins sticking out along his forehead, the detective managed to look more peeved than scared.

“I’m going to…kill you…for hurting her.”

Jacken snorted. “That’s some piss-poor investigative work, Detective. Last thing anyone’s going to do is hurt her.”

“Let him go,” Toni pleaded. “Please.”

Jacken cut her a look. “You want me to tuck him night-night into bed and give him a lollipop, too?” What was Toni thinking? This man wanted to take them all to jail.

Waterson’s teeth showed in a grimace of pain. “This isn’t…over between us.”

“It is for me, Hoss.” Jacken lowered Waterson into striking range, then smashed a fist into the side of his head. The cop went limp in his hand, and Jacken dropped him to the floor.

Toni stared down at the two knocked-out cops for a couple of seconds, then swung her focus back to Jacken. “Are you crazy? You just made an enemy out of the SDPD?”

“I couldn’t give a—” Jacken spun around when the conference room door crashed open, but it was only Kimberly rushing inside.

“Sedge!” she called out. “Where’s Sedge?”

“I’m here.” Sedge leapt forward. “Berly, what’s the—”

She flew into his arms. “Take me home! Please! I want to go back to Ţărână right now.”

Sedge’s mouth dropped open. The man probably couldn’t have been more surprised than if his wife had asked him to order up a colonoscopy for her since we’re at the hospital anyway.

“Let’s all get out of here.” Jacken chopped a hand at his people, and the husbands gathered their wives.

Chapter Forty-Eight

The same day

The underground community of Ţărână

11:53 a.m.

Kimberly slumped on her living room couch, sniffling wetly as she peered through the archway that led into the kitchen.

Sedge was rustling around in the junk drawer, pawing through pens, Post-it notes, rubberbands, scissors, Scotch tape, and whatever.

“The house is a w-wreck,” she told him through chattering teeth. She wasn’t crying anymore, but had a serious case of the shakes. “How did it get so bad in one day?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” Sedge pulled a small white box out of the drawer—their first-aid kit. “I’m not so great at picking up after myself in the first place, and the day you were gone everything sort of went to hell.” He walked into the living room. “Or I did.” He sat down next to her and flipped open the first-aid kit. He riffled through it, then cleared his throat. “Are you going to tell me how you got those scratches on your neck?”

No. She stared down at her hands in her lap and didn’t meet his eyes.

“’Cause, yeah…” He found a tube of antibiotic ointment. “You came barreling into that conference room looking really upset, and… Well, you were really upset.”

“It was just a stupid accident.”

His eyes flashed up. “C’mon, Kimberly. Don’t treat me like I’m stupid. You begged to come back to Ţărână.” He unscrewed the tube’s lid. “You can’t leave me hanging about what caused you to act so…so unlike you.”

All right, here it is—I saw my ex-boyfriend and turned into a pile of sniveling weakness. Humiliation seared her cheeks. She could clearly see Sedge’s expression when she confessed the finer details of her relationship with Tim to him, and, yeah—pass on that. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She pointed a finger at his nose. “And don’t use your puppy-dog look on me.”

He fiddled with the antibiotic tube. “If the roles were reversed you’d want me to tell you what had happened, wouldn’t you?”

Oh, dirty pool. “Just leave it alone.”

A hurt look flickered through his eyes. But he shut up and squeezed some ointment onto his index finger. “This has some pain relief in it too.” He crooked his other finger under her chin and tilted her head up, then gingerly smoothed the ointment on the scratches she’d gouged into her own throat.

“That okay?” he asked.

Nothing was okay. But she nodded.

He put the cap back on the tube. “Did you see your parents while you were topside?”

“Yes.”

He put the tube back in the kit in a slow, deliberate way. “Were they mean to you? I know they can be sometimes.”

She pressed two fingers to the center of her forehead and massaged in a circular pattern. He wasn’t going to let this go. He was going to keep asking questions until she couldn’t breathe again.

“Maybe…um, did you run into somebody you used to know?” His voice was so tender and caring that she couldn’t tell him to mind his own damned business again.

Where were you my whole life, Sedge? She choked on a soundless sob. Why couldn’t I have found you sooner and avoided all other men?

“Did you run into some bitch from school?” he kept at her. “Or…maybe some guy you used to date?”

Kimberly’s upper lip beaded with sweat. It felt like a python was wrapping around her throat, slowly cutting off her airway. It was happening again…

“Maybe you and he had a bad breakup and—”

She wrenched to her feet and ran into the kitchen, gulping for air.

“Oh, shit.” Sedge trailed after her. “It was a guy who upset you, wasn’t it?”

“I told you I don’t want to talk about it, and I mean it!”

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“I don’t need your help.” She skirted around the kitchen island and hauled open the glassware cupboard. “I’m fine.”

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

She grabbed a water glass and headed for the sink.

Sedge tracked her every movement. “This is about more than just a bad breakup, isn’t it? I can see it on your face.”

Will you shut up, if I wanted the opinion of a blonde ditz, I’d ask for it.

Her fingers convulsed. The glass fell to the floor and shattered. “Fuck!”

“Kimberly—” Sedge started around the island toward her, his eyes dark with concern.

She dashed to the other side. “I need you to stop talking, okay? Just Be. Quiet.” She aimed for the stairs—she was going to bed and wouldn’t get up for a week!

Sedge leapt by her and spun into her path, blocking her way. “I’m not going to let you run away from this,” he told her. “Come back to the living room and talk this out with me.” Sedge reached for her arm…

If you ever say anything like that again, I’ll beat you until you bleed from every fucking pore.

Her mouth gaped open. Lack of oxygen narrowed her vision, and suddenly, she could only see a wide, looming chest coming at her. Large, flexed biceps. A wave of intense body-heat hit her, tripping panic buttons in her brain. “Don’t!” she screamed and threw her forearms up in front of her face, cowering beneath the protection of her arms. “God,” she whimpered. “Please, don’t.”

The threatening chest went stock still.

Her scream echoed away into a charged silence, leaving nothing but the sound of her heavy breathing.

“Berly,” a voice said almost too softly to hear. “It’s me.”

She peered past her arms, blinking at the tears stinging her eyes.

Very, very slowly, Sedge lifted both hands, open-palmed, to show her that he had no intention of trying to touch her again. “You know I would never hurt you, right?”

His eyes went all puppy-dog on her, and she started to weep. “I know.” She dropped her arms. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I can see how scared you are.” A muscle jumped in Sedge’s jaw. He lowered his arms now too. “Tell me what your ex did to you.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, honey.”

She gave her head a violent shake.

“I’m your husband. This is something I need to know.”

“Don’t make me tell you about this. You…” She scrubbed at her tears. “You won’t love me anymore.” There it was! Out loud! “You’ll think I was weak for letting it happen.” She was weak!

“No way,” Sedge came back instantly. “Not happening.”

She just stood there, her throat burning with acid.

Emotion simmered off him. He took a careful step toward her. “Tell me.”

Her chest clutched painfully, memories smashing through her mind like falling boulders.

“I promise I won’t judge—”

“Stop it!” she screamed. “Stop talking to me! Don’t…don’t even look at me!” She smashed her eyes shut and turned aside. “I don’t want you to, do you hear me!”

“Okay.” She heard him back off. “Okay.”

Tears seeped out from under her lashes. Her lungs compressed and her heart was beating so fast it felt like it might tear out of her chest.

After a long moment, she heard Sedge pull out a kitchen chair.

She opened her eyes to see what he was doing.

“I’m going to sit at this table and not move, all right?” He sat. “And I’m going to stare at this the whole time you talk.” He transferred the salt shaker from the middle of the table to a spot right in front of him. “I won’t look at you, like you said.” He settled his hands on either side of the shaker and gazed steadily at it.

Several weighted seconds stalked past. “So will you tell me what happened?” he asked quietly.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Kimberly swiped at her eyes with the heels of her palms and drew in a fractured breath. Her stomach was in a macramé of knots and the hot taste of vomit sat at the back of her tongue, but somehow she had to do this. Because Sedge was right—he was her husband, and he needed to know what had happened to her. It affected their marriage.

“I saw my ex-boyfriend come into Scripps Hospital while we were there,” she admitted in a scratchy voice.

“All right.” Sedge paused. “And he…he hurt you at one point?”

“It didn’t start out like that,” she returned defensively. “He was very charming and charismatic when I met him, and I…he swept me off my feet with his good looks and stardom.” God, she’d been so young and stupid back in her college days.

Sedge nodded, encouraging her.

“The bad stuff began as only these…little things. Like he’d take my dessert away from me in a restaurant and laughingly say he was saving my poor hips from becoming battleships. Or he’d make me change clothes before we went out, promising that I’d be thanking him later for saving me from that near disaster.”

Pressure built in her chest—that familiar, hateful worthlessness. “And then one night we were at some frat party and I made a remark, a joke, I guess…I don’t even remember what I said. Everyone laughed, and… He got it into his head that they were laughing at him.” Her throat clenched and narrowed, trying to shut off her next words. “When we got back to his apartment, he slapped me across the face, hard enough to knock me to the floor.”

Sedge stiffened in his chair, his lids lowering…but not before she caught the fire of rage in his eyes.

Her hands shook. She flexed them into fists, then stretched her fingers open. “He told me if I ever said anything like that again, he’d beat me until I bled from every fucking pore. I…God, I was stunned. I’d never been hit before in my life. I didn’t know what to do. I thought about breaking up with him, of course, but the next morning, he was so apologetic. He brought me flowers and a diamond tennis bracelet and swore he’d never do it again.” Her voice faded to a whisper. “I believed him.”

She swallowed, trying to bring moisture into her mouth. “He did hit me again. And again. B-but he was always so regretful afterwards and so nice to me for a while that I…I was so confused. Somehow I ended up staying with him, and then…” The muscles of her neck went rigid. “His apologies stopped altogether and the real nightmare began. His joking comments turned into outright insults and his slaps became punches.”

Sedge’s fingertips dug into the top of the table.

“Over the two years we were together, he told me I was fat, stupid, lazy, and accused me of being a whore any time another man looked at me, even though I never provoked it. He bloodied my nose countless times, blackened my eyes, knocked out one of my molars, cracked my ribs, broke my wrist, crushed two of my toes under the heel of his boot, and bruised my body in too many places to count.”

Sedge’s head was bowed low, his chin tucked tightly to his chest, his lungs jerking beneath his flesh.

“By this time, I was desperate to get away from him,” she choked out. “I swear it. But I was also terrified. He’d threatened to kill me if I ever left him, and I knew he would. I didn’t think I could manage out in the world alone either.” The pressure built in her chest again, this time with shame. “I felt so dumb and useless and oafish by that point. I couldn’t do anything without him. And…and then…” She buried her face in her hands. She couldn’t say this part! The memory was still a jagged piece of glass in her heart. “Oh, Sedge,” she cried softly.

He was out of his chair and coming for her in an instant.

But she lifted her head and held out a trembling hand to hold him off, the terrible words falling one after the other from her mouth. “One night he came home to our apartment drunk and attacked me in bed. He was rough and impatient, but…I couldn’t say no to him. I wasn’t able to insert my diaphragm in time, and I ended up…getting pregnant.”

Sedge stood riveted to the floor, his face a tight, grim mask.

“I was so scared to tell him, but then he was…okay with it. Surprised at first, yes, and I thought maybe…maybe…” A hysterical noise bubbled out of her. “But no, stupid me. A couple of nights later, he came home drunk again, raging that the baby wasn’t his, screaming that no way with a whore like me could the baby be his. He—” Her lungs strained, ached. “He took me by the throat, rammed me against the wall, and punched me, over and over.” Her mouth opened and closed. “Right in the stomach.”

“Oh, Jesus.” Sedge’s brow creased with deep lines of pain.

“You can’t blame my ex, though. It wasn’t his fault.” Anguish ballooned in her chest—the remembered pain, the feel of warm blood gushing down her thighs as the child inside her died. “It was my fault that I lost the baby.”

“No,” Sedge croaked. “Don’t say that.”

“I should’ve left him,” she lashed out, a wildness stirring behind her breastbone.

“Kimberly, no—” Sedge stepped forward, reaching for her again.

She pushed his hands away. “If I hadn’t been too weak to leave him, then…then my baby would be…”

Alive.

The balloon burst—all the pain, the guilt, the despair, the self-hatred. Everything spilled out, and she threw her head back and screamed, long and loud and throbbing.

Sedge stumbled forward and grabbed her in a fierce embrace, his arms trembling as they wrapped around her.

She kept yelling. “No! No! No!” She pounded her fists against her husband’s chest, her throat searing raw with her screams, then tangled her fingers into the front of his shirt, pulling and jerking at the material. “No, no, no—!” She drove herself into a coughing fit.

When she began to gasp and wheeze, Sedge hurried her over to the kitchen sink, his boots clattering through the broken glass.

She bent over and threw up in the sink, then sagged boneless on the edge of the counter, her eyes sore, her larynx like sandpaper.

“Don’t you dare”—Sedge’s voice vibrated around the word—“blame yourself for anything that bastard did to you. Do you hear me?” He set a warm hand on her back. “That prick systematically destroyed you. He started out with those little jabs at your self-esteem, right? Small shit you would’ve felt ridiculous calling him on, but that picked away at your confidence all the same. And once he had your defenses down, the fucker terrorized you with violence, knowing he’d made you helpless to fight back.” Taking her gently by the shoulders, Sedge urged her upright, then pulled her into another hug, pressing his cheek to the side of her head. “He broke you, honey. How can you even remotely think you could’ve left him after that?”

She closed her eyes and wilted against her husband, just trying to let Sedge’s words wash over her like a balm. He wasn’t judging her.

He smoothed a palm over her short hair, the gesture comforting, even though his hand was still shaking. “You’re not weak. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for anybody. I’ve seen that with my own eyes. Look at all the people around here you’ve fought for. Like rallying the Dragons to take a stand—and don’t tell me you weren’t the genius behind that.” His comforting caress continued down her back. “You knew Roth would be pissed about it, but you did it anyway, to right a wrong.” His voice lowered. “And it was the same with your baby, I bet. It was one thing for your asshole ex-boyfriend to beat the crap out of you, but let him harm your child…” He trailed off.

She teared up again. “Yes,” she whispered. “As soon as I could get out of bed after the miscarriage, I called a shelter. After that, I ran away to the Peace Corps to hide from him.”

Sedge inhaled-exhaled. “I’ve always sensed that you have some huge, invisible weight on your shoulders. Or in your heart. I’ve just never known what it was.” He leaned back a little and looked into her eyes. “This thing still haunts you, Berly. I mean, you’re not satisfied unless you’re saving the entire world, and…it’s not right. It’s noble, yes, but you’re so…frantic about it. Do you think, you know, maybe you’re running around saving everybody else to make up for not saving your kid—even though that wasn’t your fault?”

She peered up at him through tear-soaked lashes. She had no idea.

He brushed a tendril of hair from her cheek. “Our whole marriage, you’ve never been truly happy, and…I mean, yes, stealing you from the life you loved played a huge role in that, but I don’t see how all this guilt you bear isn’t part of it too.”

She exhaled a weighty sigh. “Honestly, there’s a ring of truth in everything you said. I’m just not sure what to do with all that information.”

He nodded. “I’m sure you need time to let it all settle. Whenever you’re ready to work it through, I’m here for you.”

“I know.” She touched a finger to his chin. “You’re a great husband.”

He smiled. “Well, there’s more where that came from. I going to take you upstairs now and set you up in a hot bath, light a bunch of those smelly candles you like, make you a cup of hot tea—show you how a woman is supposed to be treated by her man.”

“Sounds wonderful.” She lifted up on her toes and kissed him softly on the mouth. “And thank you for listening. It helped.”

Some of the shadows left his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” She managed a faint smile.

“Good.” He swept her into his arms and headed up the stairs. “By the way, since you missed the big face-off in the conference room, I wanted to tell you that everyone’s listening to you Dragons now. No more kidnappings and Toni’s going to be co-leader of Ţărână. You won, Kimberly.”

“What?” Her lungs emptied. “I did?”

“Yep.”

She threw her arms around Sedge’s neck and snuggled her face against his throat, laughing raggedly. “Wahoo.”

Chapter Fifty

The same night

8:04 p.m.

Toni strolled into her bedroom, stretching her arms above her head and kicking off her slingback pumps. What a day. She hadn’t stopped moving since returning to Ţărână.

She’d first busied herself with making sure the Dragons and their children got settled back into the community okay, keeping an eye out for any signs of hard feelings between the wives and their husbands. Luckily, there weren’t any.

Once she was assured that everyone was comfortable and happy, she headed off to set up her new office, picking a large corner space on the first floor of the hospital. She decorated her office in a bold but simplistic style, with large, blonde wood furniture pieces and unpretentious watercolors.

At lunchtime, she met Jacken at the diner, where they were more relaxed with each other than ever. Over a chop salad, she really got off on his version of gazing lovingly into her eyes—which basically meant he didn’t scowl at her. She couldn’t stop smiling.

Following lunch, she met with Roth in her new role as co-leader. As a first step toward creating a more democratic system, she told him that she wanted to assemble a twelve-person council to help oversee major decisions. Roth agreed, and the two of them hashed out who to appoint. The council’s first order of business would be to enact a law stating that no one could be kept in Ţărână against his or her will.

To that end, she also broached the subject of loosening security. Namely, she proposed—with Kimberly in mind—that anyone who wanted to work topside while living here would be allowed to do so. Roth squirmed over that one. Even though he was loathe to speak out against Toni’s suggestions—still feeling cowed by everyone’s displeasure in him—danger had hounded his race for too many years for him to let go completely.

She honored his reservations and agreed to a compromise—regular comings and goings in and out of Ţărână would not be allowed, but anyone who wanted to work a job topside could. He or she would just have to spend the workweek up in San Diego.

The dinner hour arrived, but since Jacken was busy training, Toni grabbed a bite with Beth. They’d both just read, The Goldfinch, a bestselling novel by Donna Tartt, and had a lively discussion about it. The foundation of a friendship was forged.

What a day, for sure.

Plopping down on her bed, Toni massaged her sore feet. She was worn to the bone, but also glowing. She’d done good work today. And what lay ahead this evening also offset her exhaustion—with excitement. She and Jacken were going to bond tonight.

And that meant sex.

She’d texted Jacken to meet her in her room after he was done training, which should be about—

A knock sounded on her door. Ah! Speak of the devil… Although, er, she probably shouldn’t carelessly fling that saying around when it came to her husband-to-be.

She crossed to her door and opened it.

“Hey,” Jacken said.

“Hello.” She stepped aside. “Come on in.”

Jacken entered, carrying a plastic grocery sack. “I brought some wine.” He plucked out a bottle of red. “I got it from Dev. It’s…something-pop.”

She closed the door and took the bottle, glancing down at the label. Châteauneuf-du-Pape. “This is a nice brand, thanks.” Wonder what Dev would say if he knew I plan to use it to seduce another man out of his clothes? She smiled.

“I also brought a movie.” Jacken pulled out a DVD.

She shifted her smile into a smirk. “Really? A movie?”

“Yeah. The Philadelphia Story, since I know you like Katharine Hep—” He broke off when he noticed her expression. His eyes roamed down her body to her feet. Her shoeless feet.

Her naked toes.

He flushed.

“Holy shit, you’re blushing! I didn’t even know you knew how.”

“I don’t know how,” he retorted. “I’m not blushing.”

She chuckled.

“I just didn’t think…” He glanced at her bare feet again. “You want to bond tonight?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” She twinkled at him. “Didn’t I win you as my prize for returning to Ţărână.”

He snorted, then sobered. “You’ve only known me for two weeks, Toni. You can’t be ready to say forever?”

Okay. All right! Yes! I love you. You satisfied now, you insane battle-axe?!

She smiled. “Oh, I’m sure.” She took the grocery sack and the DVD out of Jacken’s hands, then moved to her bed and set those plus the bottle of wine on the nightstand.

When she turned back around, Jacken was standing with his back pressed flat against her bedroom door. A vein was pulsing noticeably in his temple.

She bit back another smile. Here was a sight even more surprising than his blush—her half-demon, badass, soon-to-be mate looked like he had a serious case of the nerves.

She picked up the bottle of red again, slowly, carefully. No sudden movements around the virgin, ladies and gentlemen, we don’t want to scare him off. “Maybe I should open the wine.”

“I don’t…” He cleared a scratch from his voice. “I don’t want any, no. Uh…I mean, no, thank you. I’m good.”

Politeness? Oh, this was worse than she’d thought. “Are you sure?” A small smile escaped. “You look like you could use it.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I mean…” She pointed at the DVD. “You obviously didn’t come here tonight expecting to have sex.”

She was pretty sure she saw some red creep back into his cheeks. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just a bit…boggled.”

“Boggled?” She broadened her smile, setting down the wine bottle. “That doesn’t sound like a word you’d use.”

“Fucking boggled, then.”

She rolled her eyes, but also laughed. “Our children are going to be such potty mouths, Jacken, I swear to God.”

The shell-shocked expression returned to his face. “Children,” he repeated hoarsely. “Jesus, Toni, I can’t believe…this can’t really be happening.” He drove both hands back through his hair, then stood with his fingers gripping the base of his neck, his elbows spread wide, his focus on the ceiling. The stance served to display the magnificent bulk of his body to perfection, his biceps curled up thick, the massive range of his shoulders and lats tapering down to a flat, board-like belly and narrow hips. His solidly muscled legs were planted apart in his typical posture of confidence and power.

Her nipples tingled. “You’ve got such a great body. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to see you naked.”

He straightened abruptly, his arms falling back to his sides. “Yeah, well…I might have a clue about that on my own end.” His jaw worked back and forth. “Don’t let lust make this decision for you. If you want more time before we bond—”

“I don’t.” She hiked up both brows. “Do you?”

His gaze drifted to her throat. His eyes heated. “No.”

Out in the hallway, several warriors clattered by—coming in from a night at Garwald’s Pub if their slurred speech was anything to go by.

“This just doesn’t feel real,” Jacken added.

She strode up to him with a heavy-lidded look. “Well, then, why don’t we start bringing everything into reality?” She tugged the shirt from his waistband.

He jerked sideways, shuffling away from her.

She slanted a single brow. “You don’t want to get naked?”

He didn’t respond. A nerve pulsed high in his cheek.

“Because, um, if you don’t get naked, sex will be a tad more difficult to do.”

He uttered a deep noise.

She stepped back. “All right, let’s take a short station break. Do you know what’s supposed to happen between us—penis-in-vagina and all that?”

“Jesus,” he hissed. “Yes, of course. We all took sex ed in school. It’s just… It’s hard to get used to the idea that I’m allowed to do this, okay?” He held up both hands, showing them to her. “I’ve never been allowed to touch you. At all.”

She looked at his hands. He had the broad, callused hands of a fighter, and she wanted them on her, touching her body everywhere. “How about I undress first?”

He stilled. His tongue slicked over his lips. “Okay.”

Chapter Fifty-One

Tugging on the wrap-sash of her blouse, Toni untied it, smiling into Jacken’s eyes as she shrugged out of the garment and tossed it aside.

Jacken’s focus immediately latched onto the rounded mounds of her cleavage. The rims of his nostrils flexed and released through several rapid breaths.

A good sign that they were heading in the right direction.

She reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, throwing it in the direction of her blouse, then stood before Jacken bare-breasted, letting him enjoy her best feature. A wash of air over her body crinkled her nipples.

His eyes darkened, and a simmering tension rolled off him.

Catching back a smile, she shoved her pencil skirt down her hips, letting it drop to her ankles, then slipped out of her panties. She kicked both garments aside.

Jacken’s blazing eyes pinned on her triangle of curls. “Blond,” he said on a resonant growl. “I thought the hair down there was supposed to be darker than what’s on your head.”

Her laugh was a little uneven. Understandable, considering she was the only one completely naked in the room and her private area was being all but devoured by a pair of black eyes. “Well, I don’t dye the hair on my head, so my down-there hair matches.”

“It’s pretty,” he said.

“Oh, that’s, um…” Now she was the one blushing.

The look on his face grew fierce, and he slowly curled his hands into fists at his sides. I’ve never been allowed to touch you…

“I’m just going to continue doing my thing, all right?” She grabbed his shirttails. “Keep reminding yourself that I’m yours.” She tugged his shirt up his body, making him lift his arms. She caught a glimpse of the twin dark patches of hair in his armpits.

In his armpits and on his head seemed to be the only places on his body he had hair. And…her eyes strayed to the front of his pants. There?

She forced her eyes back up. “If I move too fast, let me know.” She smoothed her palms over his tattooed chest, feeling his muscles leap beneath his flesh. His skin was warm and surprisingly soft over the hard contours of his muscles. Satin over steel… She swept her thumbs along the ridges of muscle underlying his pecs. The raw virility of him sent heat spiraling through her, desire pooling hot and liquid between her thighs.

Jacken slammed back against the door with a crack of wood, his nostrils flaring wide.

She gave him a sultry look. “That’s me. I’m so wet for you.” She wrapped a palm around the nape of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

The moment their mouths touched, all good intentions of starting slow flew out the window. She slanted her lips hard over his, plunging her tongue deeply into his mouth, delving and exploring.

He kissed her back, tongue for tongue, and she shivered.

This kiss was so much better than the one they’d shared on that drugged-out day in the mansion’s main parlor. Everything was so vivid now. Jacken’s tongue was sweet velvet against hers, and the taste of him was like having living fire inside her mouth, with all the burn and none of the pain.

“Touch me too.,” she moaned against his lips. Taking one of his hands, she placed it on her breast, then arched into him. Her nipple peaked against his palm, and she moaned again, the area between her thighs growing hotter, wetter.

Jacken tore his lips from hers, hissing a breath between his teeth.

“Let your hunger for me guide you,” she told him, breathless with need. “Don’t think of anything else.”

“It’s not that,” he said, a muscle spasming in his cheek. “Things are getting painful.” He edged back from her. “I can’t do anything more until I claim you.” He paused. “Are you still a go for that?”

“Of course.”

“Thank God.” He stepped close again, his bare chest coming within a scant inch of touching her nipples, and tunneled his fingers into her hair. He tilted her head to the side, his eyes latching onto her throat with glinting hunger. “Time for another station break. Do you know about the first bite hurting?”

“What?” It hurts? “It… How bad?”

His lips parted around short, shallow breaths, exposing his elongated fangs, brilliant white and wickedly sharp.

She frowned. “How bad does it hurt?” she repeated.

“Just…hang in for five seconds, then my fiinţă will take over and you’ll be fine.”

Okay. Except that wasn’t exactly an answer, was it? She drew in a deep breath and exhaled it. Whatever the level of pain, she had to endure it. This bite was her gateway to everything she wanted—sex, commitment, marital bliss, a family. The whole deal.

“After you’ve got my fiinţă running regularly through your body,” he added, “then it’ll never hurt.”

“I understand. You can go ahead.”

Relief washed over his face. “Good.” He placed a hand at the small of her back and urged her snugly against his body. Now her breasts pressed fully against his chest, and her nipples hardened again.

A gasp spilled out of her, a rising heat of pleasure chasing away any lingering anxiety.

Jacken dropped his face to her throat, one hand cradling the back of her head, and nuzzled her flesh. He inhaled several deep lungfuls of her scent, and the rush of his warm breath over her skin tickled.

She felt him shudder. “Your scent’s already so deep inside my head. Damn, Toni.” A low growl rumbled out of him, the animal quality of it spraying gooseflesh up her arms.

He latched his lips onto her neck and sucked eagerly on her skin, the pull of his mouth drawing a corresponding tug from the depths of her womb. Her erect nipples ripened. Her heartbeat picked up its pace.

His enormous shoulders hunched over her and his hard jaws snapped closed around her throat. She gripped his shoulders, tensing. A pulsating energy hummed from his fangs, and then he drove the sharp points into—

She cried out, her entire body jolting. Holy Mother of— What she’d thought would be no worse than a couple of immunization shots felt more like two daggers plunging into her vulnerable carotid.

Blood gushed from her artery, and she heard a noise of indescribable pleasure come out of Jacken. He sucked harder.

Instinct for survival seized her. “Stop!” She struggled to get away.

Jacken’s arms tightened around her.

Her panic deepened. He’s going to kill me!

“Let go of me right now!” she screamed.

He didn’t.

Chapter Fifty-Two

How dare you!

Toni shoved at Jacken’s shoulders, but it was like trying to move a cement block. “Dammit, I said no-oooooh.” Her protest drew out into a long moan as unparalleled pleasure crashed over her, dozens of fist-sized starbursts of heat lighting off all over her body. Her legs drained of strength, and she went limp in Jacken’s arms.

He held her securely against him as the starbursts gradually melded together into a single large pool of fantastic sensation that—Oh. My. God. The tide of warm molasses ecstasy glided lazily through her extremities, seeped into the trunk of her body, then gathered with mind-altering magnificence in her crotch. Her back spasmed into an arch on its own as the sultry heat flooded the folds of her private area. She swelled and clenched and… Yes. Oh, yes. Her sheath began to throb with pre-climatic pulsations.

She was panting hard now, hard enough to hyperventilate, and—

Jacken withdrew his fangs.

She dug her fingernails into his shoulders and hissed. Now you stop?

He stumbled backward, flinging his arms wide.

Her boneless legs dropped her to the carpet, and she landed on her butt with a thump.

He tipped his head back and howled in what sounded like utmost savage glory.

The sliding glass door on her balcony rattled.

She gaped up at him, stunned rigid.

Chest heaving, he looked down at her, his eyes stained unfathomably black with lust. “Fuck, you taste fantastic. I never thought—” Words stopped.

He stood frozen in place. Then he slowly looked down at the front of his pants. “Holy crap.” His voice was a deep rasp of amazement.

She followed the direction of his gaze.

A sizeable erection was bulging against his jeans.

With unsteady hands, he unclasped his belt, then slowly undid his button fly. Pop…pop…pop… Boxer briefs came into view.

Toni’s mouth went dry.

It looked like a lead pipe had been stuffed down the front of his underwear.

He pushed his briefs down his hips, and his erection sprang into view.

She made a pleased sound. Wow. She’d never seen such a fine a piece of male equipment in all her dating years. He was in possession of both length and girth, and the flesh of his organ was mostly smooth—the network of veins tracing his length subtle—making his sex look like a pure, white marble pole thrusting out from his black pubic hair. Hair!

She pushed up onto her knees. “That,” she breathed, “would’ve been a waste of some fine male apparatus if I hadn’t come along.” She wrapped her fingers around the jutting appendage.

He barked a shout, his body convulsing, then wrenched her fingers away. “Jesus, I need to come inside you to complete the bond, Toni, not all over this damn room.”

“All over the room?” She pulled in her chin. “Is there something about the Vârcolac male’s trajectory abilities I should know before we—”

Her sentence gasped to a halt when Jacken seized her by an elbow and hauled her to her feet. “Get on the bed,” he commanded.

She wasn’t a huge fan of his tone, but she didn’t complain. The high voltage of power emanating from him suggested a discussion about his manners wouldn’t be prudent just now.

She crossed to the bed, hiked herself onto it, and scooted to the middle, settling back on her elbows, her legs crossed at the ankles.

Jacken stalked to the edge of the mattress and kicked his boots aside, then nearly ripped the seams of his pants getting them off. His muscles rippled and bulged with the task of stripping himself down to buck-gorgeous-nakedness, and she actually felt a little faint.

The mattress dipped when he planted a knee on it. “Lie back.” He climbed toward her. “Bend your knees and open your legs. I want to look at you.”

“L-look at me?” Her breath hitched. “What do you mean?”

“Look at your—” He pointed at her crotch. “There.”

Her heart stumbled to a standstill. “You want to…to…?”

“Lie back,” he repeated, sounding impatient.

Shivering even though it wasn’t cold, she did what he asked, swallowing hard as he bore down on her. Excitement dizzied her senses and—how unexpected—her belly quaked with a little nervousness of her own.

Jacken placed a hand on each of her bent knees and pushed them apart. A breath slid out of him. “Look at that.” His eyes drank in the sight of her. “You’re so pink.”

A congested noise spilled from her throat, her core giving a little pulse. Who knew being inspected could be so arousing, but it—

Yipe! An avalanche of sparks tripped through her pelvis when he swirled his fingertips through the little curls covering her mons.

He took his hand back. “What just happened?”

“That,” she gasped out, “felt good.”

He regarded her strangely. “Only that?”

She gave him the best droll look she could muster. “Would you like me to touch your hair down there, Jacken, and see how you do?”

His lips leaned off-center. “Fair point.” He reached for her again, his fingers trailing along her sensitive inner thigh, sending more shivers racing through her body. He hunkered down between her thighs to get a better view, his broad shoulders forcing her legs wider.

He slicked a finger along the length of her moist cleft, and a moan of sheer pleasure erupted from her. A huge shudder wracked her.

He made a fascinated noise, and involved several more fingers in his exploration, gently touching every inch of her dewy folds, spreading her, and—oh, sweet death—discovering her clitoris.

“J-Jacken,” she stammered, her thighs quivering. “Please…”

“Damn, you are wet.” He leaned in close to her opening and inhaled a deep breath. “Smell good, too.”

She stared fixedly at the familiar sixteen-bulb light fixture overhead with an unholy mix of profound embarrassment and gut-punching arousal. Did he really just smell my—

“Hell, woman, if you could bottle and sell this scent, you’d make a mint.” He pushed the tip of his finger experimentally into the entrance to her body.

That’s it!

“Jacken,” she panted out. She could hardly breathe her heart was beating so fast. “I need you to come up here to me.”

His head popped above her hips, his brows down. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No. Absolutely not. I just need you inside me.” Too fast? Was she going too fast?

“I’m not done. I want to touch you all over.” He bared his teeth in a grin that showed his fangs. “Taste you.”

She actually gulped. That would kill her right about now. She grabbed his arms and urged him up her body, settling him between her legs. “You can touch me later.”

“But—”

Reaching between their bodies, she took hold of his sex and positioned him at her entrance.

She felt him stiffen, heard his surprised intake of breath.

“Right now”—she gripped his butt—“you’re driving me crazy.” She pulled him in, hard.

A guttural, roaring shout exploded from him as he landed deep inside her, his shaft gliding easily on all her slippery wetness.

She moaned and arched. So good. He was a fulsome weight inside her, potent and powerful and throbbing, the size of him stretching her sheath in a promise of fantastic friction once he got going.

If he got going.

Right now he was frozen above her on quaking arms, his lips slack, his eyes glazed.

“Try…try moving, okay?”

He remained frozen in place. A bead of sweat lazed out of his hairline.

She lifted her hips toward him in encouragement.

He gave a small, experimental thrust. An enormous shudder rocked his body, and he slammed to a halt. “I can’t,” he breathed. “It’ll end.”

“Then we’ll do it again.” She touched his arm. “And again and again. We have the rest of our lives to make love together.”

He squinched his eyes closed, a vein pulsing visibly in his forehead.

Oh, boy. This wasn’t working. “Why don’t you let me get on top. Here—” She grabbed his shoulders. “Lie on your back.” She urged him over, making sure they didn’t separate as she settled on top of his lap, her legs straddling his thighs.

Her lips slackened as a wave of sensation crested in her. His thick sex penetrated her more deeply in this position, the tip of him kissing a pleasure spot immersed within the farthest reaches of her core. The raging need to feel every long inch of him burned through her. She slowly lifted up on her knees, sliding off his shaft to the ridge of his head, then she sank back down. A small cry broke from her.

He shouted again, his hands clamping her waist to still her movements.

“Here, Jacken,” she said, prying his fingers off. “Try keeping your hands in this position.” She raised his arms above his head, the tattoos on his chest undulating, and wrapped his fingers around the bottom edge of the headboard. “Don’t let go.”

He gave her a dark look.

“This is going to be really good.” She started to rock her hips against him, slowly setting a rhythm.

She tried to maintain a moderate tempo, she did, but he just felt too good inside her. Before she knew what was happening, she had her chin tucked to her chest, her eyes squeezed shut, her palms planted flat on his chest, and she was slamming up and down on top of him with crazy intensity.

“Yes!” A knot in her womb unloosened. God! It’d been so long since she had an orgasm, she almost forgot how the beginnings of it felt. “Jacken,” she panted, “I’m going to come, just…just…”

He was gripping the headboard for all he was worth, his head arched back into the mattress, teeth and fangs gritted, the veins in his neck straining against his skin. “Toni.” Her name was a gnashed warning—he couldn’t hold out any longer.

That was okay. She was done.

The taut coil inside her snapped completely free, sending surge after surge of pleasure thundering through—She whooped in surprise as the fiinţă still coursing through her veins grabbed hold of her orgasm and spun it off the charts. “OH!” Her entire body convulsed and jerked in unbelievable ecstasy, bright sparklers dotting the sides of her vision. Her sheath clutched at Jacken’s penis with an impossibly tight grip.

“Ah!” His body strained so hard off the bed, he almost bucked her clear of his lap. She threw her hands against the headboard to catch herself as he released a primeval roar of rapture, a noise so far beyond the human capacity for pleasure, she had no idea where inside him it could’ve come from.

Wet heat throbbed inside of her, her womb flooding with warmth.

Jacken shuddered to the end of his very first orgasm, and gasped out, “Ho-holy fuck,” then sprawled in heaving shock on the mattress beneath her.

Fighting for breath, she fell forward against his chest, pressing her ear to his wild heartbeat and the panting grabs for oxygen his lungs were making.

She slid her arms around his back and held him while she waited for herself to calm—her own heartbeat to slow and her breathing to even out. When the storm finally passed, she ran a hand idly over his torso, learning his body—the contrasting sensations of smooth flesh over thick bones and ridged muscles, and a puckered scar near his ribs.

“So…” She lifted her head and peered lazily at him. “Was it ‘really good,’ like I said?”

She felt him go still. After a beat of silence, his chest rumbled, the vibrations starting out as a small chuckle then growing into full-throated laughter.

“My God.” She gaped at him. “I didn’t even know you were capable of laughter like that.”

He shook his head at her, his eyes shining. “Woman, you seriously need to expand your vocabulary if you think ‘really good’ even begins to cover what just happened between us.”

She gave him an intimate smile. “Yes. For me, too.”

His lips settled into a tender, close-mouthed smile of his own. Raising his hand to cup her cheek, he threaded his fingers into the side of her hair. “Hey, you.” His gaze filled with such deep affection that her insides scurried about with frantic joy, aimless and bonking into stuff like a wind-up toy.

How long had she yearned to see him look at her like that?

“Hey back,” she whispered.

His thumb swept the curve of her cheek in a gentle caress. “Have I told you how much I love you, Dr. Toni Parthen?”

“Yes.” She lay down and snuggled against him. “But tell me again.”

Chapter Fifty-Three

Somewhere along the way, the mattress beneath Jacken had turned into a pile of soft feathers. He was sunk deeply into it, practically engulfed in the bed, his bones washed away under the effects of satiated exhaustion. He’d never felt more relaxed in his life, never so…weirdly happy.

His mind was a desert oasis. No memories of Oţărât were banging on the door to his brain, no grumblings about the crap circumstances of his existence were yapping in his ears. Those were just blurry images at the back of the stadium.

Hard to believe a few short hours ago he was glowering at scrambled eggs and pissing and moaning about the endless misery of his life.

Maybe there’s a God, after all.

He stretched, the sinews in his right shoulder popping.

There sure as shit was a Heaven, and it existed between—to be unavoidably blunt about it—the legs of a certain strawberry-blond doctor he was nuts about.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

That’s what sex was. How else to describe the indescribable? He’d been utterly unprepared for the whole show. Not that an assload of imagining hadn’t gone into picturing what having sex with Toni would be like, but the reality of her mounting his cock and riding him to within an inch of his life still had him reeling.

He broke into a grin. Ten out of ten points for taking a guy’s virginity in a way that was totally cool.

He heard the object of his lust puttering around in the bathroom, the soft padding of her footsteps, water running. “Jacken,” Toni sang out. “Would you mind coming in here?”

What, he had to move?

Stupid question.

Damn right he did. Because when hot blond wifey summoned, then recently laid male—whose awakened cock was super excited to lend new meaning to the term eager beaver—came running. Or maybe he should say frigging, seeing as the events of the past few hours had turned him into a husband. He should probably try to clean up his mouth.

Hoisting himself to his feet, he sauntered into the bathroom on deliciously weak knees.

Toni was standing near her gargantuan tub, both faucets jetting water into a basin large enough for four men. It was a tub fit for royalty—which worked out really well for her now, didn’t it? The main part of the tub was enclosed by a wide, semicircular ledge of white tiles, about every fifth one painted with a blue flower of some sort—he didn’t know flowers from shit. The ledge rose in steps to a pedestal at the back where a vase about the size of a small child displayed more godawful flowers. Square mirrors framed in gold curlicue surrounded all sides of the tub, already fogging up from the rising steam.

Toni herself was wrapped in a thick white towel, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy ball. He was brought up short by the sight of her exposed neck. Shit. The skin where he’d bitten her had already purpled into a nasty bruise, the twin puncture marks an angry red.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Oh.” She pressed a palm over the bruise on her neck. “Now, yes.” She made a face at him. “But I didn’t like that you didn’t stop when I asked you to.”

Yeah, that part had sucked. “Sorry, but I couldn’t. If I’d stopped while you were scared and in pain, it would’ve screwed up all future feedings for us—you never would’ve let me near you again. We had to stick with it long enough for my fiinţă to kick in and make things right.”

“Well…hell, you could’ve warned me.”

“I didn’t think about it.”

She sighed. “Someone needs to write an instruction manual.”

“Probably.”

She finally gestured behind her. “Anyway, I thought we could take a bath together. I wash you, you wash me.” She slanted a smile at him. “I did say you could touch me later, after all.”

He scratched his ear. “Did you? Ah. That must’ve been around the time you were taking my dick in your eager little fist and ramming it inside you.” He reached for a back tooth with his tongue. “I might’ve been a bit distracted.”

Her lips began to part, but then she caught herself. One eyebrow edged up instead. “Are you complaining?”

“Nope. I actually think there’re some awesome perks to having a tart for a wife.”

“A—?” Her lips twitched. She cleared her throat. “Well, this bath isn’t about sex, buster. It’s about touching only. Do you think you can handle that?”

“Sure. Easy as pie, Doc. I don’t want to have sex with you at all.”

“Excellent.”

“You pretty much wrung me dry on that last one.”

“Superb.” She dropped her towel and gave him a saucy look. “Then hop in.”

Oh, damn me…

His gut went buttery as he raked his gaze over her body—her high firm breasts with those rosy nipples that poked out as boldly as the woman herself…the sweet indent of her slender waist flaring into softly rounded hips…the apex of her thighs where gold—in every sense of the word—nested.

The image of all that sexy beauty whacked the air right out of him. He had to flex his toes into the tiles to keep from flying at her and frantically scrambling his hands all over her goodies like she was an exploded piñata.

Her eyes sparkled—like she damned well knew exactly what he was thinking. Stepping into the tub, she sank down into the water, moving in the kind of sinuous way that kicked the flow of his blood into high gear. He inhaled a deep, groaning breath. Christ, every inch of his body felt so good now. Ever since feeding on Toni, it was as if all his veins had become super highway conduits for blood, pushing feeling everywhere it needed to go. Especially into his—

“You will try not to knock anything over with that thing on your way to not having sex with me, correct?” Toni cast his hard member a sideways glance as she cranked off the faucets.

Yeah, yeah, so he was a big fat liar. And here was Lesson One of all the things he needed to remember about the male-female relationship—the woman would always hold the upper hand, no bones about it.

Right. Sue me for not caring.

He started for the tub.

Her smiling gaze remained on that part of him that was sticking straight out, bouncing along like a divining rod seeking out damp, warm places that were the Mount Everest of happy places to be.

He climbed into the tub and sat.

“Duck under to get wet,” she instructed.

He did as she asked, and when he broke through the surface, she straddled him on high knees and lathered shampoo into his wet hair, her massaging fingers opening up a whole new world of touch for him to just about die over.

His eyelids kept trying to sink closed, but he forced them to stay open. There was too much good stuff to look at right in front of him. “Your body rocks,” he murmured, following the path of a foamy soapsuds as it slipped off one of her nipples.

She smiled. “Duck under again.”

He did. This time when he came up for air, she had a bar of soap in her hands. She lathered up her palms, then smoothed her soapy hands over his shoulders, up his neck, and down his chest. Ecstasy lessened slightly here, as the mode in which his tattoos had been applied had left his chest semi-nerveless. Then pleasure rocketed right back up when her hands dipped below the water to wash his—

His head slumped back on his neck, his eyes spinning up into his skull as she took hold of his arousal and stroked him from tip to base, then back up. His fangs, already half-extended, stretched fully into his mouth on a near-painful surge. Her hand moved down again, but this time all the way down to his balls. He sucked in a short breath. She cupped his nuts, testing their weight, then her fingernails lightly scored the underside of his sac. He moaned. Here again was something really fuc…frigging new. Previously not much more than a pair of lead weights hanging between his thighs, his balls were now doing a real number on him, tingling and aching and…being very insistent about what needed to go down next.

Abruptly, she stopped washing him and pressed the bar of soap into his hand. “Your turn.”

He flipped his lids open.

Steam was drifting in hot clouds around her, coiling loose strands of her hair against the moisture on her throat. She looked like an enchanted mermaid.

He curled his lips back from his teeth in a wolfish smile. “I can wash you anywhere, right?”

She sloshed backwards from the sight of his fangs, although the glittering heat in her eyes told a different story from her retreat—she wasn’t scared of his canines anymore.

“Oh, payback’s a bitch, sweetie pie.” He rose to his knees, water cascading off his body, and came at her.

A husky laugh tumbled past her lips, her gaze dropping to watch him work the soap into a sudsy ball between his hands.

“I wonder where I’ll start. Hmm, maybe your—”

It hit him like a Monster Truck.

Grunting, he lurched forward, the soap dropping from his lax fingers, and fell against her with an umph.

“Jacken?” Toni’s arms came around him. “My God, are you all right?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. His muscles had gone completely gelatinous. He couldn’t do anything more than lay on top of her, his cheek mashed against her chest.

“Jacken?”

His mouth fell open and hung there for several seconds before a rough sound spilled out. “Your…scent.” Tucking his face into the upper swells of her breasts, he rubbed his open lips over her skin. “It’s changing.” He drew deep, hungry breaths of her newly emerging aroma into the back of his throat, the shifting power of it swirling through every cell in his body. “I’m…bonding to you, Toni…Jesus Christ.”

Chapter Fifty-Four

A hard shudder shook Jacken, then another rocked him to the core of his being as the biological process transformed him into what he’d be for the rest of his married life—a fully bonded male.

After several mind-blowing minutes, he took in a last, fractured breath, Toni’s scent making a final descent into all the small fissures of his brain. He straightened and stared down on her with ruthless possession.

He’d never smelled anything so good in his life as Toni smelled to him now. He’d heard other bonded males rave about The Change, but he never thought it could be this powerful. Toni was his now—he felt it completely—and the territorial Vârcolac in him stretched and roared.

“Mine,” he snarled at her.

Toni said, “Uh, oh.”

Eye-blink quick, he hefted her out of the bathwater and tossed her onto the surrounding ledge of tiles. Grabbing her ass with two hands, he tilted her hips up.

The maneuver forced her to fling her arms behind her to brace herself.

“I’ve got an idea,” he said, going down on his knees before her. “Why don’t we do that tasting-thing I also missed out on?”

Her eyes sprang wide.

He shoved his face between her thighs, needing her new taste down his throat right fucking now.

Thing was…he didn’t exactly know what he was doing. He was only able to poke his tongue and nose around the area a bit at first, too stupefied by the intoxicating mixture of her newly mated aroma and the scent of her arousal to do much more than grunt like a Neanderthal. Then he caught on to licking as the best way to experience her, and here he was in his element—the folds of her sex were very soft.

He would’ve been happy to spend the next week just lazily running his tongue all over their slick contours. But he was paying attention to Toni—the noises she was making and the ebb and flow of tension in her body. And, yeah, although she definitely liked her folds tended to, stroking her clitoris was what really spun her top.

The thing must’ve been packed full of more nerve endings than he realized—at least based on what he was able to do to her. Giving it a little suckle wrenched such a wild noise out of her, her pelvis straining up into his face, that he nearly stopped what he was doing to chuckle.

Still… He couldn’t spend all his time there.

Because whenever he really got going on that knot of nerve endings, the entrance to her body would squish full of more of her juice, and, damn, the stuff was frigging amazing. Like honey in consistency, and just as sweet, it tasted as good as her blood, and that was saying something. He had to get down there and lap it up.

He was down there now, pushing his tongue into her opening to chase down more of her juice—a move which ramped up the noises she was making, a bunch of uh-uh-uh, oh-oh-oh shit in his ears that nearly brought him to his own explosion. She reached between her legs and dug her fingers into his hair, frantically twisting up fistfuls of it.

A message that she was done with his messing around?

Her folds were plumped up with blood, and a series of broken gasps were tumbling out of her, so, yeah. He probably should give her a break.

Curling his hands around her legs, he spread her thighs wider and latched on good to that jewel of hers. With his lips and tongue and jaw all working together, he got down to the serious business of sucking on—

He was rewarded almost instantly.

She yelped once, then settled into a high keening cry while her thighs clamped his ears, and—the best part—her feminine core pulsed rhythmically against his chin. His New-and-Improved-Balls got off on that big time, hugging tight against his body and—Oh, shit. A drop of his own juice leaked to the tip of him.

He reared back from her with a hard expulsion of air. He was going to come.

He heaved unsteadily to his feet, bringing her up with him to the next highest step of tiles. “I have to get inside you.” He grabbed his cock and probed around her silky wetness, just about ending himself right there. Damn…damn. He looked down between her splayed legs to aim better.

Another huge mistake.

Her sex was a deeper pink than before, the petals glistening and fuller. So ready for him. With a ragged groan, he drove his hips forward…only to succeed in shoving her backward along the slippery tiles. He growled.

“Pull me toward you at the same time you push.” Her voice sounded heavy and breathless.

Hands trembling with the force of his need, his fingers no doubt digging too roughly into her skin, he grabbed her by the hips and hauled her forward and upward into his next thrust. He plunged so deep inside her, an incoherent noise burst from him. The hot petals of her sheath closed around his shaft like a velvet fist. Ah! again. He jolted forward from the intensity of it, bonking his head on the mirror behind her.

Toni exhaled a muffled sound of amusement.

He gulped for air. Yeah, laugh it up, lady. See how well you do after thirty-five years of deprivation.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

“I just…can’t seem to get used to how good you feel.”

Her fingers caressed the length of his spine. “Do you want me to get on top again?”

“No.” He didn’t think there was time for adjustments. “I got this covered.”

Riiiight.

He felt like a complete oaf when he started to surge between her thighs. He tried to be proficient about it—straight in, straight out, nice and smooth. But she was such a tight glove of torturously squeezing muscles that, time and again, imminent danger would rise up through his testes and contract the muscles in his lower back, making his strokes go all sloppy and uneven, his frigging knees banging into the side of the tub.

But then…why should he care, if she didn’t seem to?

Each deep thrust inside her body, whether unskilled or expert, earned a corresponding groan of pleasure from her. So he must’ve been hitting something good in there. Her legs were also wrapped securely around him, her head thrown back in a picture of ecstasy.

He eyed the elegant stretch of her throat hungrily. Bloodlust rose up to join the action, and he lunged for the unblemished side of her neck, sinking his fangs in with one clean stroke. Her resilient flesh gave way with a satisfying pop.

She jumped only slightly, then melted beneath him into a pile of groaning jelly.

He guzzled her quenching blood, growing drunk on it. Would he ever get used to the incredible taste of her? The power and energy her blood gave him? How it filled him with—

He went rigid as his climax came at him full throttle, as unstoppable as a bullet. Yanking his fangs out of Toni’s throat, he shouted in pure barbaric ecstasy, the blood-fiinţă combo that was pouring through his system back-loading his orgasm with staggering force. A bolt of lightning sheared his balls in two and blew the top of his cock off. Shuddering again and again, he pumped hot liquid into Toni in what seemed like an endless stream.

She had a second orgasm, and the convulsions of her sheath around him damn near pushed him into a dead faint.

Gasping for breath, he sagged forward, utterly spent. He planted a hand on the mirror behind Toni to keep from collapsing on top of her, and hovered there for the small infinity it took his climax to finally lose some of its grip on him. Hell…shit, if there was anything better than an orgasm in this whole wide world, somebody needed to write a point paper on it.

He gazed down on his beautiful wife, still struggling to get his heart back into his chest and his lungs to a place where they could fully inflate again. “All right,” he panted. “That one might’ve been ‘really good’.”

She exhaled a laugh. “Boy, howdy.” The hazy, satisfied look in her eyes made him want to spike the ball in male triumph.

With a contented sigh that cranked up his I-was-a-stud-horse-in-bed status even more, she wrapped her arms around his neck and urged him into a hug.

He moved to embrace her, his arms still a little unsteady with—

His jaw unhinged in naked shock.

When he’d swept his palm through the steam on the mirror just now, he opened up a visible patch of reflection behind her. And there on her back was—

“Holy shit,” he said.

Chapter Fifty-Five

The same night

Midnight

The Rec Room was in an uproar.

Alex was laughing so much he’d just started hiccupping, and the villainous-looking one called Dev Nichita was totally gone, rolling on the floor, his arms clutching his middle. Male Model Dude, Thomal Costache, was trying to help Dev up, but he was stumbling around so much from his own hysterical laughter, he kept missing Dev’s hand. Kasson Korzha had tears running down his face. The one with the bull skull tattoo on his arm, Gábor Pavenic, was shaking so hard across the shoulders he might as well have been convulsing.

One of these men was going to need CPR soon if this didn’t stop—and it was all Alex’s fault, because he’d just taught everyone how to do blue flamers.

Yeah, light farts.

Alex laughed louder, his ribs beginning to ache. Shit, man, there wasn’t anything funnier than the mighty blue flamer. The position a dude had to Gumby himself into to complete the light-off was comical enough—ass scooted to the edge of a chair, knees jacked back to the ears, hand doing a reach-around so that a lighter could be held near the ol’ bunghole…not too close or else you risked catching your pants on fire.

Then, fwapp! Let one rip and watch the spurt of blue flame.

After Alex’s entertaining demonstration, the warriors had jumped right in to taking turns, their enthusiasm spurred on by the copious amounts of alcohol they’d all consumed.

Some hours ago, Roth Mihnea, Toni’s new work bubba, had passed out top-shelf bottles of scotch to Dev, Thomal, and Kasson as a consolation for their loss of Toni. The three men shared liberally with Alex, Gábor, and Nyko Brun, and now they were all pretty trashed.

As competitive fighting men, the warriors had turned the blue flamer demonstrations into a contest and immediately tried to one-up each other. Things rapidly degenerated from there.

Kasson ended up yelping like a girl when he burned his sphincter…Gábor admitted to maybe crapping his pants a little after pushing so hard to get a fart out…then Big Bad Nyko came up to bat.

The man exploded such an Aurora Borealis out of his butt that the current near-seizure-like laughter took them out.

Dr. Jess—passing by in the hallway—stepped inside to see what all the commotion was about.

He was now standing next to the foosball table, his head tilted to one side, an expression of—

“What the hell is going on here?”

Jacken had just entered the Rec Room. He was standing by the door, dressed in a pair of black sweat pants and nothing else…which left bare one Holy Mackerel of a tattoo-embattled upper body. Daaaamn. Too bad Jacken hadn’t been Alex’s brother back when he was thirteen and wearing his first pair of eyeglasses.

That way when eighth-grade bully Bobby Knudson had knocked Alex’s new specs askew with a hard cuff to the face and sneered, “Hey, poindexter, nice coke bottles,” Alex could’ve come back with, “Oh, I’m sorry, have you met my brother, Cronk?”

Toni was lolling against Jacken’s side, her pink T-shirt on inside out, her pajama pants hanging low on her hips, and the bun on her head damp and unruly from whatever she’d just been doing with Jacken.

Grody!

Nyko was the first to recover from his laughing fit. He lurched out of the blue-flamer chair, rising unsteadily to his feet. “Hey, look! It’s my new sister-in-law.” He smiled broadly. “What a breath of fresh air you are now, Toni. Jacken must’ve done his job well.”

The room broke into applause and whoops.

Alex made a face. Yuuuukkkk!

“Damn, Jacken…” Dev tried to get off the floor but failed his first attempt. “…what’re you doing coming up for air so soon?” He finally managed to stagger drunkenly to his feet, one arm flinging out for balance.

A lamp crashed the floor.

“Smooth move, bumblefuck.” Gábor sniggered.

Jacken was scowling at them like they were a bunch of unruly frat boys.

They were a bunch of unruly frat boys.

“Shut the hell up,” Jacken barked. “I need to show you something.” He pulled Toni closer.

“Oh, shit. Oh, no.” Thomal covered his eyes with one hand. “He wants to show us that he knows how to bang a chick now.” Thomal peeked out from the edge of his palm.

“Works for me.” Dev swept a stack of magazines off the coffee table with a clumsy swat of his hand. “The table’s clear.”

Kasson chortled into his scotch glass.

Nyko’s eyebrows clamped together. “Jeez, you guys, were you all raised in a barn?” He flung a hand in Alex’s direction. “The woman’s brother is sitting right there.”

Sitting? Alex blinked. When did I sit?

“I said shut the fuck up!” Jacken roared. “This is important.” He turned toward Jess, the Felix Ungar of all doctors, who was still over by the foosball table. “Can you take a look at something?” Jacken positioned Toni against his body, her front to his front so that her back was facing the room.

“Of course.” Dr. Jess moved toward the newlyweds, but kept a fair distance away. “What is it?”

Jacken yanked Toni’s T-shirt up in back.

Dr. Jess’s eyes flared wide. “Goodness gracious!”

A bunch of exclamations made the rounds of the men.

“Shit…”

“Damn…”

“Wow…”

“It’s fantastic,” Dr. Jess added breathlessly.

Spread across the length and breadth of Toni’s back was the same dragon tattoo Alex had seen on Thomal’s back earlier, brilliant scales and all. But instead of green and red, her dragon was—

“Why’s it blue and red?” Thomal asked.

Dr. Jess tapped a forefinger thoughtfully on his lower lip. “That would be the color of the Fey, I imagine.”

Kasson was squinting at Toni’s lower back. “Is her dragon missing a foot?”

Dr. Jess looked again. “Ah, yes. She had it lasered off. That part of her dragon will take additional days to appear.”

“What’s that thing?” Gábor stepped forward and pointed at the lightning bolt in the upper left quadrant of Toni’s—

Jacken’s fist flashed out.

Impossibly, the punch sent Gábor flying out of his boots and soaring across the Rec Room. Alex gaped as Gábor landed ass-first in the middle of the foosball table, skid-bumped across the top, then flipped over the opposite side. The table crashed down on top of him with a splintering thwack.

The group of warriors stared at Gábor dispassionately.

“Dammit to fuck!” Gábor scrambled out from under the table, roughly swiping little hockey men off him. “What the hell is a newly bonded male doing out in the general population anyway?!” He staggered sideways, blood leaking down his forehead.

Thomal snorted softly. “Your own fault, dickhead. You got too close to her.”

Jacken rounded on Jess. “I just need to know if Toni’s okay.”

“Of course,” Jess replied hastily. “She’s better than okay—she’s fully Fey now. She’ll acquire her power soon. That mark Gábor indicated designates her enchantment skill…although I haven’t the foggiest notion what a lightning bolt signifies.” The doctor paused thoughtfully. “Do you know what caused this?”

“My fiinţă. The tattoo popped up after the second bite.”

“Hey!” Alex exclaimed. “Could this fiinţă stuff boot up my enchantment skill, too?”

Everyone turned to look at him. Except for Toni, who was cuddled sleepily in Jacken’s arms, and Gábor, who was kicking debris out of the way and pouting.

Alex went on, “I could read the Străvechi Caiet Book, then, right?”

Dr. Jess’s cheeks flushed with excitement. “Yes! Just so.”

Alex adjusted the set of his glasses, his excitement growing along with Jess’s. “All righty, then. Tell me what I need to do and point me in the right direction.”

Laughing, Dev gave Alex a staggering whack on the shoulder. “Well, okay, human. You just have to fall in love with a Vârcolac female and be willing to spend the rest of your life with her. No biggie, right?”

“Actually…” Alex smiled. “That’s exactly my plan.”

Dev’s silver eyes brightened. “Ho, shit, wait! I need to introduce you to my sister, Luvera.”

“Screw that, Nichita,” Kasson inserted hotly. “I’ve got four sisters who—”

“Would somebody get Jacken the fuck out of here?” Gábor growled. “And a damn bandage might be nice.”

“Yes,” Toni murmured. “Let’s go back to bed, Jacken. I want to…” She stretched languidly and gazed up at her new husband with heavy-lidded adoration, her smile slipping sideways. “You know what a blow job is, right?”

Boiling heat shot into Alex’s face when Jacken bolted from the Rec Room with Toni at ass-on-fire speeds.

Aw, man… Now he needed to take a shower. Probably two.

Chapter Fifty-Six

February

One month later

The underground community of Ţărână

5:27 p.m.

“You said that I could go topside for a visit at some point.” Toni set down the chef’s knife and leveled a look at her husband across their kitchen island. “And may I also remind you of the law now stating that no one can be kept in Ţărână against his or her will.”

The Free Will Law had been the first decree enacted at the inaugural council meeting three weeks ago. When it passed unanimously, Kimberly stood up in the spectator section of the council room and clapped.

Shortly thereafter, all five Dragons were poled—Do you want to stay in Ţărână? Or leave?

All five said stay.

Do you want to work outside of Ţărână?

Four nos and one yes—the latter from Kimberly.

Since then she’d already been allowed topside an unprecedented three times to go on job interviews.

Improvements were happening.

In fact, as a part of the Free Will mandate, eight new Dragon women were slated to come into the community next week. Voluntarily.

Another unanimous vote had ushered in Toni and Alex’s idea to offer potential Dragons a half million dollars to work for one year in Ţărână. During that year, the resident males could charm the women and, with any luck, love would blossom. By the time the unsuspecting Dragons were told that their love interests were vampires, the hope was that they wouldn’t care.

“I don’t need to be reminded of the law,” Jacken shot back. As head of security, he was one of the council members. “But, hey—here’s an idea. Maybe you could not give me a heart attack by going into the city until I’ve figured out how to fight the Topside Om Rău.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’ll take forever.”

“Your confidence in me is inspiring,” he returned sarcastically.

“It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s them.” Toni unwrapped two pounds of ground beef and plopped all of it in a mixing bowl. “From what I can tell, the Topside Om Rău are immortal.” She cracked an egg on top of the meat. “I saw that young, creepy guy as a corpse, then he came back to life.” She shook in some salt and pepper. “You saw that bald guy get stabbed in the neck by Thomal, then he came back to life.” She grabbed a bottle of ketchup from the fridge. “I mean…those two were both alive and well when they showed at the Water Cliffs, weren’t they?” She handed Jacken the chef’s knife. “Cut up the green pepper into small pieces, okay?”

“They wouldn’t be immortal by nature.” Jacken chopped the green pepper with quicksilver speed—the man definitely knew his way around a knife. “They’d have to be under an enchantment, and what can be enchanted can damn well be unenchanted.”

She measured out two tablespoons of ketchup and added those to the meat mixture. “How does an enchantment work anyway?” She set the bottle of ketchup on the kitchen island—she’d need more for the topping.

“Certain Om Rău and Fey have the ability to manipulate power through rituals.” He cast a quick glance at her. “Something you’ll be able to do at some point, I’m guessing.”

Probably true. She’d been feeling strange forces surging inside her ever since she became fully Fey a month ago. Nothing she knew how to use or control, yet, though.

Jacken scooped up the diced pepper and dumped it in the bowl, then glanced around the counter. “What next?”

She pointed at the can of Progresso Bread Crumbs.

“Bread? In meat?”

“It’s meatloaf. And, yes, you’ll like it.” She handed him a measuring cup. “One cup.”

He measured out the bread crumbs with unnecessary precision, and she hid a smile. She never would’ve guessed how enthusiastic Jacken would get over all things domestic.

But it was a Brave New World for him.

Before coming to live with her in Ţărână’s white picket fence neighborhood—they’d grabbed a house next to Arc and Beth—he’d lived his entire adult life in Roth’s mansion. He never had to contend with life’s banalities, like washing a load of laundry or shopping at a grocery store for more than beer and snacks or cooking a meal.

So now that he had a home of his own, he wanted to master it all. Anything that needed doing, no matter what it was, he wanted to do it with her. And ridiculously enough, she found herself racing home after work to do mundane chores—make dinner or fold underwear or demonstrate how to pick out a ripe melon.

Because mundane stuff turned into fun stuff when they did it as a couple.

She watched Jacken upend the cup of bread crumbs into the mixing bowl, and tenderness filled her. If she thought she’d been in love with this man before, the past month spent getting to know him—the real him that was available to her now that his iron defenses were down—had catapulted her right to the top of Guineas Book contenders for the most in-love woman ever.

An emotional state that was having an unexpected effect on her—outright, unadulterated fear. Why this was happening, she wasn’t sure, but she figured it had something to do with her heart being on the line for the first time ever in a relationship with a man. If something happened to Jacken, if he died or left her, she would lose everything.

She’d been wracking her brain for ways to get past this fear, but kept drawing a blank because…

Being truly, deeply in love was her reality.

There was no evading the truth.

“Anything else?” Jacken asked.

“Um…” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Milk.”

Jacken opened the fridge and grabbed the milk carton, muttering, “This is the weirdest recipe ever.”

“Half a cup,” she told him.

He poured the milk into the measuring cup.

She asked, “Has Cleeve been able to find out anything about the Topside Om Rău?”

“Nothing that’s very frigging helpful.” Jacken added the milk to the meat mix. “Only a complaint lodged last year by the manager of The Blarney Stone bar about some chick with a black flame tattoo on her belly who ripped a guy’s arms out of their sockets during an arm wrestling match.”

Toni arched her brows.

“Yeah. Sounds pretty Rău-like, doesn’t it?” He jammed the milk carton back in the fridge. “And freaky shit like that going down is dangerous for all of us. It starts the police asking too many questions.”

“Yes, I think, uh…” She paused speaking while she glanced down at the recipe card to check if they’d missed any ingredients. It starts the police asking too many questions… She snapped her chin back up, a memory of her last night as an SDPD blood expert coming back to her. “The police.”

“What about them?”

“The night of my car accident, I was called in to consult on a murder scene. That was when I saw the creepy corpse for the first time. The kid was wearing a strange ring.”

Jacken frowned. “Strange how?”

“Detective Water—” Maybe she wouldn’t mention that name. “The investigating detective told me not to touch the ring because it would shock me.”

“Shock? You mean to prevent you from removing it?”

“I assume so.”

Jacken grunted. “Sounds like an enchantment to me. I bet that—Oh, shit. That’s right. Skull was wearing a ring the night he tried to kidnap you at Scripps. I remember because when the fucknut punched me the ring tore a strip of skin off my face. Here—” Jacken drew an invisible line high up on his cheek with the tip of his index finger. “Skull also bled acid.”

She chuffed. “As a hematologist, I can tell you that’s impossible.”

Jacken spread his hands.

“So, are you thinking that the rings these Topside Om Rău wear are somehow associated with their immortality?”

“That’s what I’m thinking, yeah.” Jacken’s eyes slowly narrowed. “But if the rings can’t be removed, it creates a big problem. I can’t combat those dickheads unless I can turn them mortal.”

“True.” She glanced into the bowl. “Okay, time to mix the meatloaf.” She slanted an eyebrow at him. “It’s the funnest part.”

“Yeah?” His expression eased. “Why’s that?”

“We get to do it with our hands.” She stuck her fingers into the bowl. “Come over here with me.”

He strode around the kitchen island to her side of the counter and came up behind her. Extending his arms on either side of her body, he put his hands in the bowl next to hers. She began to knead the ingredients together, and he copied her, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Doesn’t it feel good?” She chuckled. “All that stuff squishing between your fingers?”

“It feels great,” he said, making it clear what he really meant when he pressed his hips forward against the curve of her rump.

“We’re in the middle of making dinner, Jacken.” She tried to come across as lightly scolding, but it was difficult to sound convincing with a long, hard phallus prodding her right butt cheek.

“Last I checked we’re grownups, sweetie pie. So I think we can have dessert before dinner if we want.” He lowered his lips to the curve of her throat and kissed her, the tip of a fang grazing her skin.

Excitement spun through her tighter than an over-wound top. Groaning softly, she rolled her head to the side, giving him better access to her neck, blatantly inviting him to take a vein.

“You’re shameless,” he murmured.

“Mmm,” she said by way of agreement. Marriage to a Vârcolac was proving to have more than its fair share of magnificent perks, but being fed on was definitely the best of the best.

The intimacy of the act itself was a total turn-on—Jacken’s need for her life-sustaining blood was something indescribably special. But she’d be a huge liar if she didn’t admit to really getting off on the Holy Moly ecstasy fiinţă gave her.

By itself, the stuff was an Elixir of the Gods, but an orgasm-fiinţă combination was like sending her whole body—especially her vagina—on a rollercoaster ride through Nirvana, Mount Olympus, Heaven or any other celestial sphere where pleasure was unutterably fantastic.

Was it any wonder she was always game for a bite?

“It’s too soon,” he told her in a deep voice, nipping at her collarbone.

An unfortunate truth.

Jacked tried to keep to a strict every-two-to-three-days feeding schedule so she wouldn’t become addicted to his fiinţă, and he’d fed last night.

“Enough then, husband.” She ducked away from his teasing lips. “We have to get this blob of meat in to cook.”

They scooped up the meatloaf mixture and patted it into a loaf pan.

“Put it in the oven, would you?” she said, washing her hands. “I have to go to the bathroom.” She dried her hands and tossed the dishtowel on the counter, then headed into the bathroom located at the base of the stairs.

She plopped down on the toilet, her body still humming with desire, but…there was also a strange, tangled sensation in her belly. She stared forward, absently unwrapping an O-stick.

Test your ovulation cycle regularly was something the other Dragon wives had advised her to do. Because God forbid you get caught unaware by your husband’s glaze-out…

“Hey,” Jacken called to her. “How long should I set the timer for?”

She urinated on the stick. “An hour,” she called back.

She stared at the O-stick, numbly absorbing the results, then tossed the stick in the trash.

Pulling up her jeans, she washed her hands again and exited the bathroom…

And walked straight into the kitchen.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

The same night

6:19 p.m.

The punching bag was ruined, the canvas gashed open from top to bottom, yellow foam stuffing oozing from the laceration.

Sedge wasn’t even hitting it anymore—or pretending to for the sake of the other warriors training in the gym. He was jamming his hand inside the bag’s innards and tearing out the guts. And with every fistful, he imagined it was Kimberly’s abusive ex who he was disemboweling.

This is the asshole’s kidney…this is his liver…this is his heart… No! Any man who would beat on a woman doesn’t even have a heart.

Behind him in the gym, all training had stopped.

From his peripheral vision, Sedge saw Dev, Arc, and Vinz standing in a line and staring at him.

By some miracle, he’d kept a lid on his rage during the whole month since Kimberly told him about what happened to her, somehow managing to engineer the calm because he’d wanted to be there for her—available to comfort her or listen to her or do whatever she needed when she needed it.

He couldn’t be a good husband if he was blowing his top.

But the images never stopped haunting him…

He bloodied my nose countless times, blackened my eyes, knocked out one of my molars, cracked my ribs, broke my wrist, crushed two of my toes under the heel of his boot, and bruised my body in too many places to count…

Sedge saw all this being done to the woman he loved as clearly as if he’d been standing in the same room with her, every image playing out across the screen of his mind in vivid surround sound.

He took me by the throat, rammed me against the wall, and punched me over and over right in the stomach…

He couldn’t stand it anymore. When he’d started working out tonight, the lid suddenly came off, and he whaled on the punching bag until he destroyed it.

Destroyed her ex.

Now he ripped out another hunk of stuffing, then he cranked back his head and yowled.

The three warriors stirred their feet and exchanged glances.

Dev finally spoke. “Yo, Stănescu. What’s wrong, man?”

Breathing heavily, Sedge keeled forward and hugged the punching bag. His body ran with sweat—his long hair was soaked. “I can’t get the images out of my head.” His feet went sloppy beneath him, and he staggered sideways, swinging with the sway of the bag and stirring up the litter of foam balls. “I’m trying to, but—fuck!—I can’t. I keep seeing him beating on her, breaking her little bones, punching her in the stomach until she…she…”

Snarling, he straightened and hauled down savagely on the punching bag, ripping it from its moorings. A steel plate and four screws showered down from the ceiling along with chunks of drywall.

The other warriors jumped back.

There was a beat of stunned silence.

“Who?” The dark syllable came out of Vinz.

“Kimberly’s ex.”

Arc gritted a curse. He was a bonded male, same as Sedge, so he could relate to why the wheels were coming off Sedge’s sanity.

A male Vârcolac couldn’t find peace until he’d avenged a hurt mate.

Dev’s eyes lit. “Let’s go topside and mop the floor with this peckerwood. I’ll gladly be your backup.”

“Kimberly won’t tell me his name.” Sedge yanked open the Velcro fastenings of his fingerless boxing gloves. “She’s afraid I’ll kill him and end up in jail.”

“Ask Alex,” Vinz suggested. “If you got any info at all on this dude, I bet Alex or Cleeve could track him down.”

Dev nodded. “No sweat, Stănescu. Whatever we need to do to get you some face time with your mate’s ex, we’ll do it. So erase those images from your mind right now. You hear?”

Sedge wrenched off his gloves. “Yeah. Okay. I hear you.”

Dev set a hand on Sedge’s shoulder and squeezed. “Good. Now go hit the showers before you fall on your face. You look—”

The gym’s intercom squawked. “This is an all-warrior call!” Cleeve’s tinny voice rushed out of the small speaker. “Emergency at the Brun household!”

Sedge, Dev, Arc, and Vinz weren’t the first warriors to arrive at the scene. Thomal and Breen—whose black hair was always hanging in his eyes—were already in the street fronting the Brun house.

Toni and Jacken were rolling around on the ground and grappling. Toni was screaming and kicking at Jacken. Jacken was trying to tear her clothes off. Thomal and Breen were circling the couple.

Sedge stopped dead in his tracks, unable to believe his eyes. This wasn’t right…

Bonded couples never fought physically—they couldn’t. Male Vârcolac were wired to protect their mates, so even if a married man got it into his head to hurt his woman, his bonded side would pull him to a screeching and painful halt.

“Get in here and help us!” Thomal yelled.

“What the hell’s going on?” Dev shouted back, looking as confused as Sedge felt.

“Toni ovulated, and Jacken went into a glaze-out.”

Oh, shit. So Jacken was operating on autopilot. That explained—but wait. The level of violence still didn’t make—

“The glaze-out made Jacken go Rău!” Thomal added, still shouting.

Double-shit. That meant Jacken was in the middle of a combo Rău-fit and procreation daze.

Sedge pulled a face. “We can write off stopping him then.”

Thomal tossed him an annoyed look.

As if to prove Sedge’s point, Breen darted into the fray and tried to grab Jacken. For his troubles he was thrown back with a bloody lip.

Thomal swore.

“Stănescu,” Arc barked. “You grab Toni and haul balls to lockdown. The rest of us will jump on Jacken all at once. Ready? Three, two, one—GO!”

Sedge plowed forward, grabbing Toni under the armpits and dragging her out from under her crazed mate. Thomal, Breen, Dev, Arc, and Vinz dogpiled on top of Jacken.

A snarl boiled out of Jacken.

The viciousness of the noise launched Sedge’s heartbeat into a gallop. Five strong warriors might be strong enough to hold a Half-Rău who’d lost his marbles, but it wouldn’t be for long.

Sedge picked up Toni and raced for the mansion at full tilt.

Behind him, it sounded like Jacken was roaring loose from his captors.

More sweat poured down his body. He really wished he hadn’t exhausted himself with the punching bag.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Three days later

The Field Irish Pub

Downtown, San Diego

6:02 p.m.

The Field Irish Pub located on 5th Avenue in the heart of San Diego’s bustling Gaslamp district was always hopping, and tonight was no exception. At six o’clock, the Happy Hour crowd was in full swing.

Toni’s mother—probably wielding the luck o’ the Irish—had managed to snag a cozy, dark wood booth near the back of the bar, and now both women had a frothy Guinness set in front of her.

Toni had forgone her usual martini this evening. “When in Rome” ’n all—or, in this case, Ireland.

Odd that such a hip young place was one of her mother’s favorite hangouts, but Shannon Parthen, née O’Rourke, loved all things Irish, and this pub was one of the most authentic in the city. The walls were covered with enough Irish paraphernalia to make anyone hailing from the bonny green hills of Éireann feel right at home. A lively Irish ditty was generally playing.

“He’s teaching me golf.” Shannon chuckled—she was talking about her latest boyfriend.

At fifty-nine, Shannon was as naturally strawberry-blond as Toni, nary a gray hair in sight. Her shoulder-length hair was plaited into a French braid tonight, which only added to her youthful appearance.

“If you can imagine me, of all people, trying to—” Shannon stopped talking. Her mouth fell inelegantly open and her eyes widened to their fullest.

A strange burp of silence rolled through the crowd next, an almost imperceptible pause in noise and action before everything resumed normal activity.

Arc Costache came to a stop at the edge of their table.

“Oh, my,” Shannon breathed shakily.

Toni set her jaw. Well, that explained the weird, total-crowd reaction—three too-gorgeous-to-be-true men had just entered.

Gábor Pavenic headed over to the bar, lounging one bent arm negligently against it, his bull skull tattoo bulging. A statuesque brunette smiled cautiously at him, and his return cockeyed grin nearly sent her sliding off her stool.

Thomal, meanwhile, was being mobbed by a gaggle of simpering co-eds.

Toni grumbled, “Remind me to punch Alex in the face the next time I see him.” How else could she have been unearthed among hundreds of bars in San Diego if not for a certain rat fink brother?

Jacken wasn’t with the warriors, and a strange pain speared through Toni. Strange, because the moment she’d finished her two-day stint in lockdown, she came topside for a weekend getaway with her mother to get a break from him. Right?

Toni swept a curt gesture back and forth between Arc and Shannon. “Arc Costache,” she introduced. “This is my mother, Shannon Parthen.”

Shannon cast Toni a quick you know this man? look before offering her hand to Arc. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s mine.” Arc shook Shannon’s hand, lavishing a grin of roguish charm on her. “I see where Dr. Parthen gets her looks. May I?” He used his hold on Shannon’s hand to slide her over in the booth. He sat, his smile remaining annoyingly in place. “Sorry to barge in on your mother-daughter time, but I work at your daughter’s new place of employment, and—”

“Oh, the research institute?”

Arc’s smile grew—if his lips spread any more, Mr. Charm would be showing his fangs. “That’s right. And we were just wondering when Dr. Parthen might be returning?” He turned to level a stare at Toni.

She offered him her poker face. “I’m not sure.”

“No?” Arc sat back. “Because, see, after the time you spent in our…suites, I assume you’re not having the O-stick problem anymore.”

Shannon’s eyebrows dipped in confusion, whereas Toni was able to translate—she was no longer in her fertile time, so she could safely be around Jacken now.

Except for the part about her feeling too chicken to face him. “I need some time with my mother.” Not want. Need.

“Yeah, and Jacken realizes that, which is why he hasn’t chased down your ass, even though he’s going nuts with you gone.” Arc snapped out his next words. “There are some things you don’t know about your husband, Toni. He—”

“Husband!?” Shannon exclaimed. “You’re married?”

Toni blasted Arc with a heated, thank-you-very-much-you-ass glower. “I was going to tell you tonight, Mom.”

Shannon’s hand went to her throat, her fingers twining in her pearl necklace. “Was there a wedding or…or…?”

“No, Mom. If there had been, you would’ve been invited. Please, don’t feel hurt. The whole situation has been…very unconventional.”

“Well…can I meet him?” Shannon asked, still flustered.

“The thing is,” Arc butted in. “Toni’s husband isn’t feeling too chipper right now, ma’am.”

Toni bolted her focus back to Arc’s face and felt something in her chest squeeze, a bad feeling stirring in her belly.

“Jacken requires his…medication.” Arc’s gaze returned to Toni and sharpened. “And you’re the only one who can give it to him.”

Toni frowned. That didn’t make sense. Jacken shouldn’t need to feed until she got back. Pure-bred Vârcolac could last five to seven days without blood, Mixed-blood Dragons up to ten. “It’s only been three days.”

“Yeah, but men of your husband’s unique heritage require their meds every three days. Today’s the third,” Arc added meaningfully.

Toni’s stomach bottomed out. Dear God, by tomorrow Jacken could be in a blood-coma.

Arc waved off an approaching waitress, and the woman headed for another booth. “We’ve got Jacken holed up at the Doubletree Hotel on Front Street. Nyko’s babysitting him.” Arc’s mouth compressed into a tight line. “He’s pretty bad off.”

Toni’s cheeks went cold, then numb. “Stop looking at me like that, would you? I’m not a monster. I didn’t know something like this was going to happen to him.”

“It wouldn’t exactly have been an issue if you’d kept your ass at home where it belonged, now would it?” Arc shoved forward in his seat, his eyes blue steel. “You got problems with your husband? Then man-up and fix them, Toni, because everyone’s getting sick and damned tired of you running away.”

Arc’s words hit her like a hard slap, stealing her next breath. She surged back in her seat, bracing the heels of her palms against the edge of the table. Tears sprang painfully into her eyes.

“Shit.” Arc’s gaze dropped, and he rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I saw what Jacken did to you, and, yeah, it was really bad.” He exhaled. “But you’re one of the leaders of our institute now. You can’t deal with your marital issues like this. It sets a bad example.”

She swallowed. “I suppose it does.”

Shannon was staring at her Guinness, but Toni could tell that her mother was listening intently to every word being said.

Arc scooted out of the booth and stood. He held Toni’s gaze. “What do you want to do?”

“Just let me say goodbye to my mother. I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

“All right.” Arc shook Shannon’s hand again. “It was nice meeting you, ma’am. Sorry for all the weird.” He jerked his chin at Gábor and Thomal, and the two men joined him on the way out the door.

Toni watched the three Vârcolac leave, her stomach so heavy it felt like it was full of lead. She turned slowly to look at her mother. “Well…uh…” She managed a faint smile. “I’m sure you have a ton of questions.”

“Just one.” Shannon’s eyes clouded. “Are you all right, Toni?”

Chapter Fifty-Nine

“Mom…” Toni planted her elbow on the table and slumped her forehead into her palm. Her mother probably thought Jacken was some kind of wife beater. “I don’t want you to think… What my husband did to me wasn’t awful, like Arc said. I mean, it wasn’t his fault, so… I don’t want you to think ill of him, okay? He’s a great man.” He’s just genetically challenged.

Shannon smiled gently. “I don’t mean to kick you while you’re down, honey, but your choice in men hasn’t exactly been spot-on over the years.”

Toni flipped over a cocktail napkin, changing it from a shamrock to a leprechaun. That was, unfortunately, a valid point. “I can’t explain all the reasons why things are different now, but they are. I’ve chosen well.”

Shannon tilted her head to one side, her eyes moving over Toni’s face. “You love this man of yours, don’t you?”

A rush of emotion flooded Toni’s heart. “Yes, I do,” she pushed through a suddenly blocked throat. “Very much.”

“Hmm. I’d say that’s the problem, then.”

Toni drew her brows down. “What do you mean?”

Shannon’s expression softened. “Toni, honey, ever since what happened with that Brad Flannigan boy back in high school, you haven’t been the same. It changed you.” Her forehead wrinkled. “You’re more closed now, more—”

“Mom, no. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Of course you don’t. You never do. You’d rather go through life pretending the consequences of that Homecoming night never happened. But the problem is, every part of your heart knows it did.”

Shannon gazed at her Guinness again. The foam had melted down to a thin line. “Ever since your senior year, you’ve been living in preemptive strike mode, pushing away anyone you might care about—or who cared about you—before they could leave you.” Her mother’s throat moved. “Alex might’ve been an exception, but I certainly haven’t been.”

Toni gaped. “You think I’m the one who’s been pulling away from you?”

“Yes,” Shannon answered somberly. “You have been.”

Toni put a hand over her mouth, tears gathering in her eyes again. Had it really been her all this time?

“And now I’m guessing you’re doing the same thing with your husband. You’re running away from him, not because of whatever he did to you—awful or not—but because you started to love him too much. And you got scared.”

A tear slipped past Toni’s lashes and rolled over her fingers. She dropped her hand.

The Irish ditty switched to one with extra fiddle, and some people at the bar started to stomp their feet.

Shannon picked up her purse. “You need to stop beating yourself up for the choices you made back then. You didn’t do anything wrong. You did everything absolutely right.” Shannon reached inside her handbag and pulled out a photograph. “Here.” She set it in front of Toni. “It’s time you took this.”

Toni didn’t look at the photo. She didn’t have to.

“I’ve kept it all these years,” her mother said softly, “knowing you’d want it someday.”

“I don’t.” Toni reached out to push the photo back to her mother and inevitably glanced at it. The paper was curled at the corners and yellowing around the edges, but the picture in the middle was startling clear. Acid lurched into her mouth.

“Take it, Toni.” Shannon nudged the picture closer. “Show it to your new husband and tell him about it. When you see nothing but loving acceptance in his eyes, then maybe you’ll finally realize you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Toni stared blurrily at the photo. “Oh, Jesus,” she moaned low. “Mom.”

Shannon reached across the table and gripped Toni’s hand, holding it firmly while Toni cried, her chin tucked to her chest, tears dripping off her nose. She couldn’t believe she was crying in the middle of a bar, but there was nothing she could do about it. That photo had torn open an unhealed wound, and there was no escaping the excruciating anguish of something that had been festering within her for so many years.

When Toni’s tears finally eased to sniffles, Shannon patted her hand. “Are you okay?”

“I will be.” Toni wiped at her eyes with the palms of her hands. “I should probably go, though.”

“Yes,” her mother agreed. “It sounded like your husband needs you.”

They both stood.

Shannon put some money on the table and handed Toni a tissue. “So when do I get to meet this man of yours?”

“Probably Christmastime. Sooner if I can arrange it.” Toni blew her nose. “I should warn you, though, he’s…kind of scary-looking.”

“Is he?” Shannon laughed. “Okay.” She hugged Toni. “Email me, all right? I miss you so much.”

“I will.”

The two women exited The Field, parting at the door.

Toni headed for the parking lot, spotting Arc, Gábor, and Thomal standing next to a Pathfinder.

Thomal made a pained face when he saw the evidence of her tears.

She came to a stop in front of Arc, clutching the photo to her chest. “You don’t know anything about me Arc Costache,” she said, barely keeping a quaver from her voice. “The experiences I’ve had and the pain I’ve suffered. So I’d appreciate it if you kept your judgments about me and my marriage to yourself.”

Arc paused, lines around his mouth showing. “Yeah, all right.” He pulled her into a quick brotherly hug. “Sorry, Doc.”

Chapter Sixty

The same night

Rancho Santa Fe, San Diego

6:41 p.m.

Raymond set his double-old-fashioned glass on the edge of the billiards table and racked a set of balls. He chalked his cue stick lazily, feeling quite relaxed in this, his den, the only room that was truly his own in the Rancho Santa Fe mansion he shared with what felt like a shedload of other people. Entrance into his masculine haven was by express permission, and tonight he’d deigned to invite his partner, Boian, to join him for a game of Snookers.

“You break,” Boian said, puffing on a Cuban.

“Very well.” Leaning over the table, Raymond sighted along his cue, then broke the rack with a solid hit on the head ball. He watched the red balls whiz around the green tabletop.

There was a knock on the door.

Boian whipped his head around. “Tell whoever it is to fuck off,” he snarled in what sounded like real anger.

Raymond slid a glance over to his partner. Was it any blooming wonder Boian’s progeny always seemed to spring directly from Yavell’s womb in a nasty temper? The man was in a perpetual bad mood.

“Something dire must be afoot,” Raymond reasoned. “No one would be daft enough to disturb me in here for anything less. Enter!” he called.

Pandra stepped inside.

She was dressed in her usual shagbag inelegance, her frock a see-through red mesh piece that showed off a matching red bra and knickers. Tall black leather boots extended up from her feet to her thighs.

Boian jerked the Cuban out of his mouth.

Jesus wept.

“It’s about Toni,” the girl jumped right to the point. Wise of her.

Raymond leaned on his pool cue. “Elaborate.”

“Toni is currently out with Shannon Parthen at an Irish pub called The Field.”

Well. That was important news. “This comes from Mr. Rathburn?”

After Toni was taken by the Vârcolac, Raymond assigned the private investigator on his payroll to shadow Toni’s mother…with the hope that a situation just like this one would develop.

“Yes,” Pandra said.

“Brilliant. Send the lads out to fetch—”

Pandra’s cell phone went off. She tugged it out of the top of her boot and glanced at the screen. “It’s another message from Rathburn. Toni’s on the move…”

*     *     *

DoubleTree Hotel

1646 Front Street, San Diego

6:54 p.m.

Toni made it all of two steps inside the Doubletree Hotel room before slamming back against the door, a startled gasp escaping her.

Jacken was coming at her like a Howitzer.

Nyko leapt to Jacken’s side and grabbed his brother by the arm, pulling him to a halt.

Jacken snarled at Nyko, showing his brother a pair of rapidly lengthening fangs.

“I’m not trying to keep you from your woman,” Nyko told Jacken in clearly enunciated syllables. “But you don’t want to scare her, right? Just let me talk to her a second.”

A sinew in Jacken’s jaw shivered ruthlessly, but he nodded and stayed where he was.

Nyko let go of his arm and looked at her. “Please don’t be afraid, Toni, all right? Jacken’s not Rău and he’s not going that way. He’s just three days without blood and screwy. The last thing you probably want to do is let him feed before you’ve had a chance to talk things out, but—”

“No, it’s fine,” she interrupted. Dear God, she’d never seen Jacken look so bad.

He was standing in an oddly loose-jointed way on the far side of a king-sized bed, his black hair sticking up all over his head like lacquered broomsticks, his eyes wild and bloodshot, his skin zombie pale. Huge sweat rings marked the area under each armpit, and more perspiration painted a wide racing stripe down the middle of his pecs.

She added, “He startled me for a second, that’s all. I’m not afraid.”

“Okay,” Nyko said. “Good. That’s good. I’m going to leave this phone here for you just in case.” He set a cell on the nightstand holding the regular hotel phone. “Press number one, and it’ll automatically send out an all-warrior call.”

“I won’t need it.”

“Of course not. It’s only to make you feel solid about things.” Nyko started for the door, gesturing the other men to follow. “We’ll be down in the lobby bar.”

The four Vârcolac left, shutting the door softly behind them.

“Oh, God, Jacken,” she said hoarsely. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea this was going to happen to you.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry.” He rushed over to her, his eyes turbulent. “I…” He swiped a hand across his upper lip. “I don’t want to be too rough with you, Toni, but I’m ….”

“It’s okay.” She opened her arms to him, every loving instinct inside her just wanting to make him better. “You won’t be.”

With a groan, he took her in shaky arms and plunged his fangs in, his jaw pumping hard as he sucked down her blood like the starving man he was.

Tears rose and blurred her vision. I did this to him.

Everyone’s getting sick and damned tired of you running away…

Jacken’s fiinţă swam through her body, but she was too upset to enjoy it.

Abruptly, Jacken jerked out his fangs, then he collapsed to his knees at her feet. “I… If I could let you divorce me, I would. I swear it.” He hunched over and grasped his head between his hands. “I wanted you so badly for my mate, I didn’t stop to think about how crappy being bonded to a Half-Rău would be. Now you’re stuck with me.”

She touched his sweaty hair. “I’m not stuck with you. I want to be with you, and that will never change.”

He lifted his head, showing her haunted eyes. “I hurt you,” he rasped. “I would’ve forced myself on you if the warriors hadn’t—”

“You were in a glaze-out and didn’t know what you were doing, and I…have to take a share of responsibility for what happened.” She paused, glancing across the room, then forced herself to admit, “That night we cooked meatloaf, I had just checked an O-stick. I saw I was ovulating, but I came out of the bathroom anyway.”

He gave her a confused look. “You did it on purpose?”

“Partly subconsciously, I think, but yes. I certainly didn’t know you were going to go Rău when I went into my fertile time, but I think somewhere in my mind I was looking for any excuse to run away.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know. Will you sit with me while I try to explain?”

His brow cleared. “Of course.” Pushing to his feet, he moved over to the bed with her and sat.

She picked up her purse from the floor, pulling out the photo her mother had given her. She handed it to Jacken, peering over his shoulder while he studied it, seeing what he saw—a blond girl in a hospital delivery room, painfully young-looking, a bundled newborn baby in her arms. The expression on the young woman’s face was something between amazed shock and anxious desperation.

Toni knew exactly what the girl was thinking—that she was going to have to give up something soon that she deeply wanted to keep.

“That’s me,” she said around a lump in her throat.

Jacken looked up from the picture and met her eyes.

She smiled weakly. “When I was a junior in high school, I had a stupid crush on a guy that led me to make an even stupider mistake. I…got pregnant.” She pointed to the baby in the picture, the lump in her throat nearly choking her. “I held my son for three minutes, thirty-two seconds, then never saw him again.” Tears flooded her eyes. “Ever.”

Jacken took hold of her hand.

“I did the right thing by giving him up for adoption. I was in high school and couldn’t have taken proper care of him. Other girls, maybe, but I was immature and had low self-esteem.” Now she knew that was because of being a Dragon among Regulars. “My son went to loving parents, and I know he’s had a good life. It’s just…” She pressed a palm over her eyes.

He would be about sixteen himself by now.

Was he good at sports like his dad?

Did he like chocolate chip mint ice cream like she did?

She lowered her hand. “Even though my logical brain tells me that I did the right thing, my heart doesn’t agree.” A cold, hollow feeling opened in the pit of her stomach like an echo. “I feel like I abandoned that sweet little boy, just like…like…”

“Just like your father did to you?” Jacken filled in for her.

“Yes,” she sobbed.

“Aw, Toni.” Jacken took her into his arms and hugged her close.

She pressed her face against his chest, tears tumbling in a steady stream down her cheeks.

“I don’t know why your father took off,” Jacken said. “But I do know that he was an adult when he walked out on his wife and kids. That makes him a selfish bastard. You gave up a baby you obviously adore for your son’s welfare. That’s the furthest thing from selfish there is.” He stroked her hair. “You’re nothing like your old man, okay? You shouldn’t feel anything but proud of yourself for making what was probably the biggest and hardest sacrifice of your life.”

She nodded mutely against his thick shoulder. She didn’t entirely accept everything he’d just said, but she was going to try.

Jacken grabbed a tissue out of a box on the closer nightstand and tucked it into her hand.

She gulped and sniffled into the tissue. “My mother says that I’ve been pulling away from people ever since I gave up the baby. To, you know, protect myself, and…I think she’s right.” Toni straightened and looked at her husband through swimming eyes. “Somewhere in my mind I must’ve decided that anyone I loved would eventually be lost to me, like my father, like the baby. So I needed to leave first before I got hurt.” Her lips trembled. “I love you so much, Jacken, more every day, and as idiotic as it sounds, that’s why I ran away. I’m so afraid of losing you, and…and being destroyed.”

He stared at her for a long beat, the tendons along his throat flexing. “First off, that’s, uh, probably the best thing anyone’s ever said to me. Secondly, are you insane? Leaving you is an absolute impossibility—you have to know that. Besides the fact that I’m biologically bonded to you, I’m batshit crazy in love with you, too.”

“I know you wouldn’t leave me on purpose, but, well…you could die.”

“I’m not going to die.”

“You don’t exactly have a desk job.”

“Toni, I’m not going to—”

The door exploded open.

A man thundered inside—the Topside Om Rău known as Spike Boy—holding a rifle. He aimed it at them.

Toni screamed.

Jacken threw his body in front of her.

Spike Boy shot Jacken in the head.

Chapter Sixty-One

“Jacken!” Toni shrieked.

She leapt at her husband, her heart nearly falling from her chest. “No! Please don’t be—” In a cold panic, she ran her hands all over him. Pulse…check his pulse. She found a steady rhythm at his wrist.

Alive!

She glanced at his forehead. A small, round disc was smashed into the flesh between his eyes. A pellet. Oh, thank God. Spike had used knockout pellets again, not bullets.

The sound of bootsteps brought her head whipping around.

Spike was coming for her.

No! She flew onto the bed, another bolus of adrenaline dumping into her bloodstream as she raced on all fours for Nyko’s cell phone. She snatched it off the far nightstand and—

Spike seized her by one ankle and yanked her back across the mattress. “Now, now, no tryin’ to scarper, Toni love.”

The phone bobbled in her hand. Gasping, she righted it and jammed her thumb down on number—

Spike jerked the cell out of her hand and hurled it against the wall. The crack of the phone breaking rang out like a gunshot. “Hard-shit for you—there’ll be no rescuin’ today.” Wedging a knee into the base of her spine, he grabbed her arms and yanked them behind her back.

Gasping, she struggled and fought, flailing her body until she managed to tug one arm free. She swiped her hand back to where she thought Spike’s face was, and her fingernails made contact.

“Shite!” he snarled. “You fuckin’ scut.” This time when he wrested her arms back, it was with painful force.

She screamed again.

He bound her wrists and flipped her over. “Scream one more time,” he warned, his black eyes murderous, “and I’ll plant one right in your—”

His head swung toward the door.

She heard it, too—the low murmur of male voices out in the hallway, the sound of approaching footsteps. She had managed to press her thumb to number one long enough to send a signal!

She hauled in a breath to scream, but before she could make a peep, Spike jammed a wad of tissues in her mouth.

The door started to open, but slowly and cautiously, the Vârcolac no doubt figuring they would be walking into the middle of a marital spat.

Spike had plenty of time to set up an ambush. He rushed for the door.

Thrashing her legs, Toni tried to scream around the wad of tissues.

Thomal was the first to enter, his eyes jerking wide at the unexpected presence of a Topside Om Rău.

Spike growled, “Another ’round with you, is it? Brill!” He grabbed Thomal by the throat and testicles and tossed the blond warrior across the room.

Thomal smashed through the fourth-story window in an explosion of razor-edged glass.

“Thomal!” Arc pulled a Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon across the room after his brother, flinging his body halfway through the broken window just in time to catch Thomal by the forearm.

The two men dangled there as Spike snatched up his rifle from where he’d left it leaning against the wall by the door, shouldered it, and—pop!

Gábor down.

Air rushed from Toni’s nostrils, and her throat bucked.

Out in the hall there was another pop! and a second later, Skull appeared in the doorway, carrying his own rifle. “I just pegged a humongous vamp. Fuckin’ hell, a real dobber, that one.”

Nyko! Tears glassed over Toni’s eyes.

“That the last of them?” Spike asked.

Skull nodded.

“Let’s leg it, then.” Spike turned, saw Arc still dangling, and with an almost causal lift of his rifle, he fired two shots.

Pop! Pop!

Arc crumbled out of the window, falling with his brother four stories down to the street below.

Toni let out a strangled cry.

Spike sauntered over to the bed.

Toni’s chest heaved, tears streaming down her face and puddling in her ears.

Spike stared down at her dispassionately, his right cheek streaked white where her fingernails had gouged out runnels of flesh. “Tut, sunshine, looks like you’re in a bag of shite now, doesn’t it?” Bending over, he hiked her up and over his shoulder, then strode for the door.

Her heart thumping wildly in her chest, she muffled a cry for help to her husband.

Jacken never moved.

*     *     *

Rancho Santa Fe, San Diego

7:32 p.m.

Toni’s pulse was nearly pounding out of her mouth by the time Spike parked his car in front of a sprawling Mediterranean-style mansion. Blazing porch lights chased back the night, revealing the stunning building—walls of terracotta stucco, a roof of red mission tiles, well-tended subtropical landscaping.

She had no words.

The last place she expected a psychotic maniac to bring her was a mansion.

Spike dragged her out of his car by one arm just as another vehicle pulled into the circular driveway.

Skull climbed out of the second car.

Spike Boy ignored him. “Shall we, my pet?”

She’d long since spit the wet wad of tissues out of her mouth, but she didn’t say anything.

Spike Boy frogmarched her down a flagstone walkway.

Skull followed close behind. “Where’re you takin’ her, Ren?”

“Where do you think?” There was enough innuendo in that statement to send a cold shiver down Toni’s spine.

She cast a frantic look over her shoulder at Skull.

He met her gaze, then said, “Raymond’s off springin’ Videon from jail.”

“Yeah? So?”

“So he’s not home.”

“Big deal.” Spike Boy—Ren—pulled Toni inside the mansion, crossing through a domed foyer into a spacious living room done with Turkish carpets and mahogany antiques.

“You should be waitin’ for Raymond,” Skull argued. “See what his orders are for her.”

“I know what he wants, Murk, you daft twat.” Ren headed down a long hallway lined with oak doors. “He wants me to impregnate her.”

To what?! Toni pitched to a halt and dug in her heels.

Ren let go of her arm and seized her by her bound wrists, jerking her down the hall.

Pain speared through the small bones in her wrists, and she bit back a cry.

“Raymond will spit tacks if you hurt her,” Murk warned.

“Hear that, Toni love?” Ren stopped, moved up behind her, and pressed wet lips against her ear. “Best you be docile and sweet as a lamb, eh? Make sure to please me, so that all goes well.”

Toni’s throat closed off. “Who’s Raymond?” Whoever he was, it sounded like he had the power—and maybe the compassion—to help her.

“No time for questions. We’ve got shaggin’ to do.” Ren started off again, angling abruptly through a doorway.

They stepped into a room fitted out with expensive dark wood furniture, though the place was messy with piles of clothes strewn about. A skylight was above, and a huge bed was by a—

Bed! Her intestines went watery from a terror she’d never felt in her life.

Waking up to discover she’d been kidnapped by vampires…? A cake walk compared to this.

Getting punched in the face by the huge iron mallet that was Lorke’s fist…? She’d gladly take another one of those hits rather than confront the prospect of being raped by Spike Boy.

She darted a look over to Murk. “Please! Don’t let him do this.”

Murk’s gaze skidded from her to Ren. His tongue flicked out to lick his lips.

Ren shoved some clothes off the bed. “Time to bugger off now, mate.”

Murk hovered in the doorway.

“You muckin’ about to get an ogle at us when I’m slippin’ her a length, is that it?” Ren crossed to the bedroom door and shoved Murk into the hallway. “Right sick of you, old sod.” He slammed the door and stalked back to Toni, grabbing her by the shoulders and spinning her around.

He started to untie her wrists, his breath hot on the back of her neck. He worked slowly, and somehow the care he took made the act of releasing her menacing.

Her heart trembled, as if the life was draining from it.

Her bindings gave way, and she wrenched free and hurried across the room, halting beneath a framed poster of a bizarre mix of creatures, a cross between Heavy Metal and Manga—the creature dead center looked like a gargoyle with bulbous, bloodshot eyes.

Toni rubbed the soreness from her wrists.

“Better now, yes?” Ren took off his leather jacket and flung it onto a chair that was already mountainous with clothes.

Her temples throbbed. He was going to… She should say or…or… She didn’t know what to do.

Moving to a tall dresser, Ren leaned his back against it and crossed his arms. He took his time running a glittering, black gaze over her body. “You really are a right fine piece,” he said. “It’s goin’ to be a bit of all right knobbin’ you.”

Her skin crawled. Her nose burned from an upsurge of bile.

“Get your kit off,” he ordered her.

A sick feeling pulsed low in her stomach.

“Don’t be a bottler about this, eh? Face it with courage now.”

Come on—say something. Talk your way out of this.

Ren rubbed a hand along his jawline. “I have a brother named Videon,” he said in an offhanded tone. “He gets a real trouser tent over a girl cryin’ and carryin’ on while he’s fuckin’ her. He’s the real radgie one, see. Me?” Ren shrugged. “Either way’s fine. Savvy?”

Ren straightened off his dresser and tugged his T-shirt over his head, tossing it on top of his leather jacket.

Toni’s mind whited out. She’d seen a lot of large physiques during her time in Ţărână, but Ren’s was one of the more brutally masculine bodies out there—his massive muscles looked like they’d been carved out of curving rock.

“What I’m sayin’”—Ren unbuckled is belt—“is that this can be a doss for you or hard as fuck.” He toed off his boots. “It’s entirely up to you.” He shoved his pants down, stripping himself naked. “What’s it goin’ to be?”

Her pulse pounded with such force at the backs of her eyes, her lashes shook. Ren’s penis probably wasn’t larger than any other well-endowed man’s, but the circumstances made it seem dangerously enormous. Not to mention that he was sans pubic hair, and that was super creepy. Mainly, because it looked like he’d shaved his pubes to expose a range of black teeth tattoos surrounding his thick stalk—the tats were the same as the ones on the side of his neck.

“You…” She cleared her taut throat, opening up a channel for speech. “You’re an Om Rău.”

He smirked. “You’re in on my little secret, yes—I’m aware.”

“No, it’s just… You can’t get me pregnant, like you think.”

He laughed. “Don’t underestimate the power of this.” He wrapped a fist around his stiff member.

The room spun, bending Ren’s smile into a grotesque shape. She opened her mouth and closed it. “Y-you don’t understand. I’m already mated to a Vârcolac. I can’t get pregnant by any other man but my husband, including Om Rău. That’s what I’m trying to tell you—there’s no reason for doing this.”

“I can think of two reasons.” He leered at her breasts, then waved away her words. “Any road, I’m not like the sheep-shaggin’ Underground Om Rău you’re used to dealin’ with. I’m half-Fey.”

“The rule still applies.” Does it?

He looked at her breasts again. “As bang-tidy as you are, it’ll be worth the experiment.”

“Worth incurring this Raymond’s wrath by—”

“GET NAKED!” Ren roared, red lights firing in his eyes. “Now!”

The force of his shout jolted her backwards, her feet slipping out from under her, her pulsebeat thundering inside her head. She darted her eyes around, looking for a way to escape.

But the walls just closed in on her.

Time was running out.

Options were disappearing.

No one knew where she was, and even if the warriors could find her, it didn’t matter.

They were all unconscious.

Ice rolled down her spine. No eleventh-hour rescue was on the way.

Chapter Sixty-Two

The same night

Hotel del Coronado

Coronado, San Diego

8:05 p.m.

Sedge Stănescu shrugged his shoulders to settle the blazer into a better fit, grimacing as he did. The monkey suit was annoying as hell—too restricting across his thick, broad frame.

His body type wasn’t made for pulling off “businessman” comfortably. But tough shit and all that. He had to look the part of a reputable, up-and-coming newscaster for this performance…otherwise his chance at revenge would be over before it even started.

“The dickhead’s late,” Sedge snapped.

Dev glanced at the bedside clock. “Only five minutes.”

Dev Nichita, Sedge’s backup, was dressed in chinos and a polo shirt—lucky bastard—for the role of cameraman he’d be playing tonight. He was—

Someone knocked on the hotel room door.

Dev swiveled his head, his silver eyes lighting up with savage Pure-bred fire. Dev’s lust for violence ran nearly as deep as Sedge’s.

“Do you think maybe you can ratchet back the psycho killer a bit?” Sedge drawled. “You look like a vampire right now, and one who’s totally pumped to disembowel a guy.”

Dev snorted. “Have you looked in a mirror lately, Stănescu?”

“Yeah, I know.” Sedge could feel the insane rage pouring off him in scalding waves. “Let’s both put a lid on it, okay? I don’t want to blow this.” He drew in a calming breath.

Dev did the same, then crossed to the door and flung it open with an exuberant, “Hey! Tim Armbruster! It’s a real honor, man.” He reached out and pumped the football star’s hand. “Over a thousand yards rushing, eight TDs this season… You’re my favorite running back of all time.”

Armbruster smiled broadly. “Thanks, fella, it’s always nice to meet a fan.” The tall, built athlete sauntered inside the room. No limp.

Evidently the man had fully recovered from spraining his MCL a month ago.

Sedge somehow managed not to flash his fangs. Hope the asshole isn’t too attached to his knees being all hunky-dory.

Armbruster gave Dev a once-over. “You look like you could do some damage yourself. You ever play?”

“Nah, nah, not really,” Dev lied. “Just spend a lot of time in the gym.”

“Ah, well, not everyone can toss the pigskin around, right?” Armbruster chuckled, arrogance loading the sound.

Dev sliced a look at Sedge.

Yeah, fucking poser. The guy was going to make this even easier than it already was.

“At least not as good as you,” Dev chirped.

Sedge stepped forward. “Mr. Armbruster, I’m Bob Haywood.” He shook Armbruster’s hand, gritting his back molars together to keep from pulverizing the man’s bones right then and there.

This hand had committed unspeakable acts of violence against Kimberly.

Sedge gestured at Dev. “And you’ve met my cameraman, Chip Landon. First, I want to thank you for coming out to do this segment on running backs.” His jaw nearly came apart from the effort it took to plaster a smile on his face. “As I mentioned in my email, I’m a brand new broadcaster at ESPN, and having a man of your stature on the show will really help give me a leg up.”

Armbruster chuckled that obnoxious chuckle again. “Hey, you offered me an all-expenses paid trip to the Hotel del Coronado. Who could say no to that, Bob?”

The muscles in Sedge’s hands tightened toward fists. Bob. Did I say you could call me Bob, asswipe? Sedge gestured toward the sitting room. “Why don’t you come in and get settled.” He led the football player past a large camera on a tripod, set up just for show, although it was tempting to record what was actually going to go down. Sedge wouldn’t mind having it for posterity. “We can discuss how we’ll run—”

“Holy shit!” Armbruster had spotted—as he was meant to—an array of photographs displayed on a rectangular table across the room. Striding over, he stopped at the long side of the table. “Look at all this.”

Some pictures were action shots, others of him at parties or events.

Sedge took a position at the short end of the table, kitty corner to Armbruster. “Great, huh? We’re going to use them for publicity.”

Armbruster inspected the pictures. “Damn, some go back to my Huskies days at the University of Washington.”

Sedge watched Armbruster’s reaction.

The man’s gaze passed over the photo of himself and Kimberly leaving some after-game party—her in a beaded gown, young and so pretty, her yellow hair long—as if she was nothing. Less than nothing.

Sedge wrapped his fingers around the edge of the table.

Dev came to stand at the other short end, across from Sedge. “Wow, man.” He whistled under his breath. “You never lacked for some serious beauties on your arm, did you?”

Armbruster chuckled again, the sound making Sedge grip the table in taut fists. “I’ve never suffered in that department, fella, that’s for sure. And these women weren’t so much on my arm, as mostly on their knees.” He winked at Dev. “If you catch my drift.”

“Ho, yeah.” Dev smiled, dangerously close to showing his fangs.

Anyone who didn’t know the warrior wouldn’t notice the I-can’t-wait-to-see-your-face-get-fucking-ripped-off in the expression.

But Sedge did.

He needed to do this thing before one of them snapped the table in two.

Sedge moved to the long side of the table, directly across from Armbruster, and pointed at Kimberly. “Who’s this one?”

“Oh—” Armbruster waved her aside. “Just some ditz I dated in college.” He smirked. “Nice ass, though.”

Sedge inhaled a seething breath.

Armbruster went back to the pictures.

Dev poked his tongue around inside his cheek.

“That’s funny,” Sedge said, lethally soft. “Because I’m married to her, and I’ve never found her to be a ditz.”

The football player went still. After two beats of uneasy silence, a tic of muscle pulsed in his jaw as he surely felt the hostility Sedge was allowing to boil off himself now.

Armbruster’s eyelashes shifted, as if he’d involuntarily conducted a searching glance of the room. Not gonna find any friends here, pal.

“Or maybe,” Sedge went on, his voice a low drawl of menace, “you’ve just abused so many women during your days as an asshole, you can’t keep track of them all.”

Sedge could almost see the cogs and wheels in Armbruster’s brain turning as he contemplated his next move. The running back finally lifted his head, meeting Sedge’s cold stare with a frosty one of his own. “What the hell is this?”

“Take a wild guess.”

“You’re not an ESPN newscaster?”

“Quick of you.”

Armbruster stepped back from the table, tension visibly constricting his muscles. “You’ve wasted a lot of time and money then, fella. I remember Kim, yeah. She’s fucking crazy, okay? Whatever she said about me isn’t true.”

Sedge choked on another upsurge of rage. “Excuse me, but did you just call my wife crazy?”

Armbruster rolled his eyes. “I meant she went crazy, all right, so take it easy. Betcha she told you I killed her unborn baby, right? That’s total crap. She miscarried, all on her own, but she never got over it. That’s the problem. She went completely loopy, talking smack about me and shit. I finally had to break up with her, me, and now she’s feeding you the same pile of bull.”

Sedge stared at Armbruster, hatred corroding his veins. In his own kitchen, he’d witnessed Kimberly confess the story of her relationship with this monster. He’d sooner believe the sun was going to rise out of his ass than what Armbruster had just said—even without the additional evidence that hacker god, Alex Parthen, had unearthed about this dick.

“A guy like you,” Sedge said in a brittle tone, “doesn’t have any balls at all, you know that? You have to beat on and terrorize someone smaller and weaker than you to feel like a man. It’s pathetic.”

Armbruster exhaled, then shrugged. “Think what you want.”

“I will, thank you.”

“We done here?”

Dev lifted a manila folder off the table. “Yo, douche-nozzle. What’s your explanation for what happened to your other girlfriends, huh? This file”—he slapped it on the edge of the table—“is filled with hospital reports about at least half a dozen other women you dated.”

Armbruster didn’t answer. His silence was really telling, though.

Scenting the kill, Dev laughed low in his chest, the sound hair-raising. “Do you know what it’s like to feel helpless, Armbruster?”

“He’s going to find out,” Sedge promised darkly.

“Yeah, all right. Whatever.” The running back squared his shoulders. “So how we doing this? Both of you at once? One at a time? Whatever it is, bring it, fudge-packers. I’ve handled worse.”

Dev settled his hip on the edge of the table. “I’m only here to enjoy the show, fella. This is totally Bob’s deal.”

“Just one of you?” Armbruster sneered. “This is almost going to be too easy.”

Dev’s eyes glinted. “I’m thinking…not so much.”

Sedge was over the table lightning fast.

Chapter Sixty-Three

The same night

Rancho Santa Fe, San Diego

8:45 p.m.

This can be a doss for you or hard as fuck. It’s entirely up to you. What’s it goin’ to be?

Toni stood rigidly beneath the bug-eyed gargoyle poster in Ren’s bedroom, every cell in her body rebelling against being docile and sweet as a lamb for this horrid man.

But, unfortunately, her mind wasn’t offering up any other ideas on how to outsmart him, following her you-can’t-impregnate-me failure.

That was a regrettable lack, but such was the debilitating effect of panic.

She could fight him, but to what end? There was no way she could win against the Half-Rău, who was at least a hundred pounds heavier than she was, skilled at fighting, and totally unaffected by feelings of morality.

If she was really clever—and lucky—she might be able to hold him off for a short period, but what would she gain from that…besides increasing her risk of injuries?

More time for Murk to find his conscience and come to her rescue? Considering Skull’s morality was buried under a lot of Rău, she probably couldn’t depend on that.

More time for Raymond Whoever to come home and save her? Since she had no idea when the Lord of the Manor was due back, or if he would even be inclined to help her, once again she was—

Ren stepped toward her.

It was such a casual step, it left her totally unprepared for his slap.

The hard edge of his palm caught her high up on the cheek with a head-ringing thud, the blow whipping her face to the side. Stars blinked to life before her eyes, and her cheek throbbed with pain.

She had only a moment to shake the fog from her brain before Ren was seizing her around the waist in a steely grip and hauling her off the floor. He tossed her on the bed.

She landed in a sprawl, and in a breath Ren was on top of her, one hand snapping shut around her throat, the other tearing at her clothes.

Her abdominals cramped on a fresh surge of panic. Her blouse was gone…now her bra. Wheezing and choking, she clawed at the vise-grip around her neck. Her vision began to gray at the edges, her throat pumping frantically against Ren’s fist.

He stripped the lower half of her completely naked too, and only then did he release her throat.

She gasped for breath, her eyes watering.

Ren grabbed her legs and jacked her knees back to her ears, then took hold of his blood-engorged penis and maneuvered it toward the entrance to her body.

She managed to rasp out a half-scream, the near-violation igniting a strange, ferocious electricity inside her. It whirred and whipped, an awesome force. She grappled for control over it, but the harder she tried, the further the power drifted out of her reach.

So she fought him…

But with her legs hooked over the bastard’s broad shoulders and the weight of his muscled body easily keeping her folded in half, she couldn’t do much more than get her calves swinging furiously.

“Come now.” Ren laughed low in his chest. “It’s not as wretched as all that.”

Bile swam up her throat and into her mouth. She could feel the frenzied, painful rhythm of her heart, pounding beyond her control, heightening her sense of helplessness.

No! She reached between her legs and grabbed Ren’s hand, straining to push his member away from her entrance.

He froze, his eyes stretching wide, then he jerked his head down to gape at their joined hands. “How the buggerin’ shite are you touchin’ that?”

Touching…? She looked, too, and… Dear God, she was touching his ring—his enchanted ring—and it wasn’t shocking her.

Teeth gritted, she wrestled with his hand, but he easily made a fist—except when one of her fingernails nicked his penis. His hand spasmed and loosened, and she wrenched his ring off.

“Bloody hell!” Ren snarled. “Give that back, you fuckin’ slag.”

She locked gazes with him across the small space between them. Several throbbing seconds passed.

The white scratches on his face turned blood-red.

He winced in pain, then his eyes darkened with rabid urgency—he knew he was mortal now.

She shoved the ring into her mouth.

Ren slapped her again.

Her bottom lip split open, blood rushing onto her tongue and chin. A wave of dizziness rolled over her.

Ren tried to ram his fingers into her mouth and—

The skylight overhead shattered, glass raining down, along with—one, two, three—Jacken, Sedge, Dev.

And then Ren was no longer on top of her, but driven to the floor by the juggernaut that was her husband.

His eyes flashing the hellfire of Rău red, Jacken roared above his victim.

Her head spinning, Toni clawed through the glass on the bedspread for a sheet and wrapped it around her naked body. Stumbling off the mattress, she wedged herself between the nightstand and the wall, watching through tear-blurred eyes as Jacken punched Ren with a blow that sounded like a plumber’s wrench meeting a side of beef. And again. And again.

Spitting Ren’s ring out of her mouth into her palm, she yelled at Jacken, “I removed his immortality ring!”

Jacken paused long enough to confirm that, yes, Ren was bleeding normal red blood, not white acid. He had two long knives slicked from his belt in a heartbeat, one in each fist. Fangs bared and dripping, Jacken stabbed the blades into either side of Ren’s throat, then crosscut his arms, slicing Ren’s head off with a sickening crunch. More red blood gouted from the ragged stump.

Toni leaned behind the nightstand and retched. Doctor or not, she was done with this night.

Jacken powered to his feet, wild-eyed. “Toni?!”

“H-here. I’m here.”

He spotted her in her hidey hole and rushed over, crouching down. “Fuck,” he hissed. “You’re bleeding. Are you—”

She launched herself out of her nook and into her husband’s arms. “Th-thank God you got here when you did.” She trembled against him. “He…that monster…he almost…”

“I saw,” Jacken said in a gravelly voice. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” He leaned back and brushed his thumb lightly over her split lip. “Shit.”

“H-how did you find me anyway?” she stuttered.

“Dev and Sedge were topside tonight on another mission and received your all-warrior call. They came to the DoubleTree Hotel, roused the rest of us, and then we followed your homing signal.”

“But… Ren ruined my cell phone.”

All community cell phones and vehicles now had tracking devices on them—a new security measure that Jacken had cleared at the first council meeting.

“There’s a tracking device in your purse too.” Jacken said.

“Oh.” She sagged against him. “That was good thinking.”

Arc slipped silently through the broken skylight above, landing on cat feet. He was covered in dirt and grime, and his nose was bleeding. “What the hell,” he swore, glaring at the headless corpse. “You were supposed to save that dickwad for me.”

Jacken rose, drawing Toni up with him. “What that lowlife did to my mate way outstrips what he did to you and Thomal.”

Arc’s gaze raked over Toni’s sheet-clad body, taking in her bloody mouth and bruised eye. “Shit, I’m sorry. Are you all right, Toni?”

“Are you?” Arc and Thomal had crash-landed from four stories up.

The bedroom door swung open.

“Hey, guys,” Gábor said. “Lookee who I found in the hall.” He shoved Murk inside by a belt wrapped around the Om Rău’s throat.

Red-faced, Murk was fighting for breath.

Gábor spotted the dead body on the floor. “Whoa! You’ve been having a party in here without the rest of us.”

“No shit,” Arc muttered.

Murk angled his focus down to Ren’s headless body, and his face drained from red to white in two seconds.

“You going to end cue ball her too?” Gábor asked.

Arc growled. “Fucking A we are.”

Jacken cupped Toni’s cheek with his free hand. “I know it’s been one helluva night, but do you think I could ask you to get Skull’s ring off?”

“What?!” Murk thrashed against Gábor’s hold. “No!”

“I won’t let him hurt you,” Jacken assured her.

Nodding, she clutched the sheet around her body and started forward.

Jacken kept a steadying hand on her lower back as he led her to a spot in front of Murk.

Murk fought to escape, the white line of his teeth showing. “Get away from me!”

Dev stepped forward and slammed a fist into Murk’s solar plexus.

Murk sagged against the garrote, wheezing.

Jacken grabbed the Om Rău’s arm and forced it up, presenting his hand to Toni.

She swallowed convulsively. “You’re going to have to pry open his fingers.”

“Oh, please,” Arc drawled nastily, “allow me.” He seized Murk’s wrist and twisted sharply, breaking it with a brittle snap.

Murk’s hand flopped open.

Toni quickly tugged his ring off.

Instantly, Murk threw back his head and howled in pain. “Toni, please!” he panted. “Don’t let them kill me! Please!” He struggled backward, his thick boots gouging up chunks of carpet. “For fuck’s sake, Toni, I’m your brother!”

Chapter Sixty-Four

The same day

The underground community of Ţărână

10:03 a.m.

The front door clicked open, and Beth hurried from the kitchen into the living room. “Arc! Are you okay?”

Her husband was just closing the door with another click. He turned around.

She skidded to a halt and gave him a thorough inspection. And, okay…he seemed all right… Other than being dirty. Well, the corners of his eyes were pinched, but that was his tired-and-frustrated look, not his I’m-in-pain expression. Still… “I heard that you fell from a four-story building.”

“I was knocked out of a fourth-story window.” It seemed important for him to clarify that. “And Thomal cushioned most of my fall.”

Lord. “Is Thomal okay?”

“He has a sprained wrist, two cracked ribs, a cut on his head, a pair of sore nuts, and mostly a very bruised ego.” Arc moved forward and set a small paper sack on the coffee table.

The sack had a logo on it—a picture of an open book. Beth blinked. That was the Community Library logo. Library…?

“The dunce even refused to stay in the hospital,” Arc went on. “So I took him to his room—at which point he told me to fuck off. I assume that means he’s okay.” Arc ran his fingers through his hair. “I worry about him, though, Beth. I’ve never been one hundred percent sure Thomal is cut out to be a warrior. And now Jacken has put him on the new Spec Ops Topside Team.” Arc flung a hand out. “God knows what kind of trouble he’ll get into running around topside without me to watch out for him.”

“Oh.” Beth didn’t know what to say—Thomal seemed tough enough to her. “Um…should I bring him dinner tonight or something?”

“Maybe. I just…” Arc kneaded the back of his neck. “I wish he had a mate.” He peered at her through his lashes, emotion rushing into his eyes. “It was really nice being able to come home to you after a hard day.”

She gave him a tender smile. “Well, what a sweet thing to say.” She moved forward to hug him.

“I’m dirty as fuck,” he warned her.

“I don’t care. As long as I won’t hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

She swept her arms around his neck.

He hugged her back, squeezing her until her lungs almost hurt, his face in her hair.

The poor man smelled like asphalt. “So what’s in the bag?”

“Hmm?”

She leaned back in his arms. “The sack you brought in—I’m dying to know what’s inside.”

“Ah.” He released her and picked up the sack. “I went by the library on the way home from Thomal’s.”

“I can see that. Why?”

“You once told me how much you enjoyed talking about a book with Toni—The Goldfinch, I think it was—so I thought—”

“What?” Her mouth dropped open briefly. “I told you that, like, a month ago.”

“Yeah. Sorry.” He grimaced. “I’ve been a little slow about getting—”

“No,” she cut in. “I mean, I can’t believe you remembered that.”

“Of course.” He tapped his right ear with a forefinger. “Ears are wide open now, baby. I’m listening to everything.”

A wave of warmth flushed through her. “That’s good to know.”

“So I thought you and I could read a classic together, then discuss it afterward.”

“Really?!” She clasped her hands together. “I would love that!” She gestured at the sack. “What did you bring?”

“Two options.” He withdrew a couple of paperbacks from the sack and set them on the coffee table.

One was Animal Farm by George Orwell and the other, One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Alexander Solzhenitsyn. The first book looked to be about a hundred pages, and the second couldn’t have been more than two hundred.

She set her hands on her hips and laughed. “God, Arc, what did you do—ask Hannah for the shortest classics she could find?”

His eyes danced. “Hey, you might be smart enough to do a damn book report on a classic, but I happen to be a knuckle dragger.”

She giggled. “You really think I’m smart?”

“As a whip.” He smiled the smile that turned her belly to sugar.

Uh-oh. At five weeks pregnant, her horny-monkey hormones were raging, and… Biting her lower lip, she drifted up to him and slid her arms around his neck again. “What do you say to starting the book later?” Her kiss was light but full of promise.

He gave her another one of her favorite smiles…and no words were necessary.

*     *     *

Kimberly threw open the door to her house and barreled into the living room, pumping her briefcase over her head. “Boo-yah, Sedge! Guess what? I got the—” She lurched to a halt.

Her husband was already standing in the living room, a huge smile on his face, a bottle of champagne chilling in a silver bucket on the coffee table. The TV was on, the news playing softly in the background…so it looked like he’d been waiting for her for a while.

“You already know?”

“Yep.”

“How?”

“Roth.”

“That blabbermouth.” Kimberly checked her watch. “I was offered the job only about two hours ago.” She’d met with the firm’s partners for after-work drinks at George’s at the Cove in La Jolla, and they made her the offer then.

She’d accepted with gusto and ended up having a couple of cocktails—and returning tipsy to Ţărână’s breakfast crowd had felt a little funny.

“Well, yeah, uh…” Sedge picked up a fluted champagne glass. “I needed to get another matter cleared with Roth related to topside, so I pressed him for the info.” Sedge lifted his glass high to her in toast. “Here’s to the new junior associate at Bitterman, Zanhunch, and Pickett. Congratulations, Berly!”

She set down her briefcase and accepted a flute of champagne from her husband. “Thanks.” She beamed. “I wasn’t even sure I could pull off a power interview anymore, but I guess I impressed them.”

“Of course you did.” Sedge clinked his glass with hers.

She took a sip of champagne. “So what’s the other topside matter?”

“Oh, nothing. I mean…you know. I can talk about it another… Let’s just celebrate.”

“Jeez, what’s with all the weird, Sedge?”

“I’m not acting weird.”

“Yes, you are.” She set her flute down. “C’mon, spill.”

“Um…okay… It’s just…now that you’re going to be spending so much time topside, I’ve been looking into the possibility for you to, uh… All right, here’s the thing.” He cleared his throat. “Roth has a sister-in-law named Karrell. She lives and works topside, and I think she’s someone who—”

“A Vârcolac?”

“Yes.”

“No way.”

“Roth keeps it quiet because he doesn’t want anyone else thinking it’s okay to live outside of the community.”

“Perish the thought,” Kimberly drawled.

“Kimberly—”

“No, really. I can’t flippin’ believe this. For three years, I tried to get Roth to loosen his security restrictions, and all that time—”

“Karrell doesn’t come and go—same as you’re not going to—so it’s not a security issue.”

Kimberly rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” Today was a day of triumph. She wasn’t going to ruin it by thinking about Roth. “So why are you bringing up this Karrell?”

He set his champagne glass on the table next to hers. “She’s, uh…she’s a therapist.”

“A—huh?”

“Yeah, I…I was hoping, you know, I was thinking it’d be a good idea for you to talk to her.” Sedge rubbed his palms up and down his pants. “You could tell her about what your ex-boyfriend did to you, and Karrell’s Vârcolac so you wouldn’t have to censor yourself.”

She stared at him. He’d arranged this?

“You’re not crazy, okay? I’m not saying that.” He made an adamant downward gesture with his hands. “It’s just that what your asshole ex did to you was really rough, and I think that it’d be a good idea to have some help getting over it.”

“So, you arranged for me to go see this Karrell?”

“Yes.” His eyes dipped. “I spent a lot of years not helping you, Berly—just watching you be unhappy. I’m not going to be that man anymore.” His eyes lifted. “So…what do you think?”

“I think…” She stepped forward and hugged him. “…that you’re the best husband a woman could ever ask for.”

His chest moved. “You’re not mad?”

“No.”

His hands came to rest on her hips. “And you’ll go?”

“Yes.” Truth was, she wasn’t doing the best job getting over Tim on her own. “I’ll go.” She eased forward to kiss Sedge, but then an image of her ex-boyfriend—as if right on cue—flashed on the TV screen.

She thrust back from Sedge and stared at the television.

“One month ago,” a thirty-something male newscaster was saying, “Tim Armbruster of the Seattle Seahawks fully recovered from a sprained MCL, only to find himself back in the hospital tonight, once again for his knees. According to sources close to the unlucky football star, he tore the patella tendons in both knees during a freak skiing accident. Coaches aren’t giving the find word on their star running back, yet, but there’s talk that Armbruster might never play football again.” The anchorman glanced down at the page in front of him. “In other sports news, the Miami Dolphins—”

“Jesus,” Kimberly hissed. “It would absolutely kill Tim never to play football again. He—Wait a minute.” She whirled on Sedge. “Do you know anything about this?”

“About what?”

She pointed a rigid finger at the TV. “My ex.”

“Is that guy your ex?”

She narrowed her eyes at Sedge.

“Hey, how would I know?” Sedge shrugged. “You never told me his name.” He gave her puppy-dog eyes and picked up her flute from the coffee table, offering it to her again. “More champagne?”

*     *     *

SpongeBob SquarePants let out a stupid-ass giggle, then the cartoon sea sponge said something equally stupid-assed about Krabby Patties.

Five minutes into this show and Jacken’s brain was already melting out of his ears. “Can we please watch something else?”

“This is mind-numbing.” Toni rested her cheek on his shoulder. His wife was cuddled up next to him on their living room couch, her legs curled under her. “I kind of need that right now.”

“Might I suggest football then?”

“There aren’t any games on in the morning,” she reasoned.

“I can call Raln.” Raln Dodrescu was Ţărână’s media tech guy in charge of programming. “Ask him to replay a game.”

“Mmm, no. That’s okay. I should get off my butt and go to work anyway.”

Jacken frowned. “You’re not going to take the day off?”

“No.”

“Your face is beat to shit.”

“It’s not that bad.”

Yeah. It is. To him at least. “I’m sorry.”

She angled her head up to look at him. “For what?”

“For not protecting you better.”

She sat up. “You were unconscious while Ren was kidnapping me, Jacken. And you were knocked out because you’d thrown your body across mine to protect me.” She met his gaze. “I feel safe with you, okay? Don’t worry.”

“All right. Good.” Not that he’d entirely earned her trust in him. But he would.

She scooted to the edge of the couch, gingerly touching the bruise beside her left eye. “Maybe I’d better put some makeup on this anyway.”

“I really think you should take the day, Toni. Give yourself some time to recover.”

“Recover from what?” She glanced over her shoulder at him and her tone turned droll. “Discovering that my long-lost father is Raymond Parthen, leader of the Topside Om Rău?”

Jacken closed his eyes in an extra-long blink. For as long as he lived, he’d never forget the look on her face when Skull-slash-Murk blurted out that factoid.

She turned back to SpongeBob. “Don’t be silly.”

He stared at her profile. It was the unbruised side of her face, but she still looked incredibly fragile right now.

“Freaky,” she added, “that I have an unknown number of half-brothers and half-sisters in the world, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Freaky.”

“Freakier still that one of those half-brothers is currently locked away in the community jail.”

Jacken zeroed in on the back of her head, then sat forward and peered at her face.

She was scraping her teeth back and forth over her bottom lip.

“You want to let him go, don’t you?”

She sighed. “I do.”

“He’s our enemy. Releasing him could come back to bite us in the ass.”

“I know. I can’t explain why I feel this way. It’s probably just…family means everything to me right now.”

I held my son for three minutes, thirty-two seconds, then never saw him again…

Jacken scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I get it.”

“So you’ll let him go?”

“Hey, you’re the boss.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Not when I’m on this couch.”

True. She’d been doing a great job of separating out “wife” from “leader.”

She turned to face him fully. “I didn’t notice you trying to kill Murk today—tonight…” She waved her hand. “Wherever we are.”

No. That’d been Arc, losing his shit over his brother eating the pavement.

He slanted his lips. “Maybe you’re taming my Rău.”

She laughed. “Am I?” Smiling into his eyes, she reached out and smoothed several strands of hair off his brow with her fingertips.

The skin on his forehead tingled.

“Don’t get too tame on me,” she murmured.

No chance of that. He bent forward and brushed his mouth over hers, the best kiss he could manage with her split lip, then he stood.

She peered up at him. “Where are you off to?”

“To arrange a meet with your asshole father.”

Chapter Sixty-Five

The same day

Ace Parking Garage

La Jolla, San Diego

4:08 a.m.

The silence in the deserted underground parking garage was as complete as it was deafening and was really getting on Jacken’s nerves. That cockroach ambling across the oily pavement—he could totally hear each tiny footstep. Those water droplets on a pipe in the corner—he could hear each one crawling down the metal. The bilious flicker of the overhead fluorescents was a constant hum under his skin.

He could hear his own fucking hair growing, for Chrissake, and he was about to ram the sharp end of his elbow into his brother’s face.

“Would you shut the hell up with all the gum chewing,” he snapped at Nyko, who was sitting next to him in the front passenger seat.

Nyko’s jaw stilled. “I’m nervous.”

“Gimme a break.”

“Excuse me for not wanting to get caught with a dead body in the car.” Beat. “And you were driving four miles over the speed limit for most of the way here.”

Jacken curled his lip at his brother. Are you shitting me? He twisted his torso to check on his men in the back seat of the Pathfinder. “Do you have your skirts in a wad too?”

Vinz didn’t answer. But his grip on the rifle cradled in his lap was tense.

Jacken shifted over to Dev.

His hands were loose around the rifle propped between his legs, and his pointy smile spoke volumes. He was pumped.

Good thing. Nichita would soon be dealing with topside problems as the leader of his own team, so he needed to be able to keep a level head. Leadership was—

Movement over Dev’s shoulder caught Jacken’s attention.

He shifted his focus, watching a stretch limousine pull into the gloomy garage. “Well, hell,” he muttered. “The fucker came.”

“Of course,” Nyko said. “He wants his sons back.”

Jacken sliced a look at Nyko. Sometimes his big, badass brother was too naïve for words.

Back at the limo, two men were emerging from the vehicle.

One was that trigger-happy mutt from the shoot-out at the Water Cliffs, black flames slithering up his jaw. The other man he’d never seen before. He was black-haired like the mutt and had a scar tugging his upper lip into a permanent sneer, making him look like the type who strangled kittens and drowned puppies just for shits and giggles.

Scar Lip had an AK-47 assault rifle, Jaw Tattoo, an Uzi.

An interesting amount of hardware to be carrying, considering both sides had agreed to meet peacefully.

“Looks like nobody trusts anybody,” Nyko observed.

Nyko had that right. “Stay tight on your game,” Jacken ordered his warriors, hopping out of the Pathfinder. “The shit could hit easily with these fuck nuggets.”

He prowled to the end of the car and took up a wide-legged stance across from the two Half-Rău, holding his own rifle nose-down. The weapon felt heavy and clumsy—he was much better with knives.

They all waited in the silence of the garage. No keys jangled. No engines cranked over. No footsteps echoed out. No one was around.

Anything at all could go down here and the world would never know.

Scar Lip finally spoke. “Bring Murk and Ren.”

“I’m only dealing with your leader,” Jacken retorted. “So tell him to stop sucking down caviar and get the fuck out of the car.”

The rear limousine door swung open and a polished shoe emerged, then a sleek pant-leg, and finally the rest of the man, tall, dressed in a fitted suit that probably cost a gazillion dollars—Jacken didn’t know silk from sackcloth, but even he could tell that the suit was expensive. “Debonair,” women would call a man like this, or “silver fox” with his thick, silver-blonde hair and steely cheekbones.

Jacken would call him a damned meteorite. The intensity of power coming off him pulsed through the entire garage, an electrical current that surged and ebbed through Jacken’s body as if electrodes had been attached to his ’nads and some kids were fooling around and rapidly turning the switch on and off.

Vinz stiffened. Guess his ’nads weren’t having a jolly time either.

Mr. Elegant strolled across the garage, the heels of his shiny shoes tapping sharply on the concrete floor. He came to a stop a few yards away, his blue eyes cold and piercing. “Raymond Parthen,” he introduced in a cultured accent. “I detest caviar, if the truth be known. Terribly fishy stuff.”

Hatred corroded Jacken’s veins. He ached to squeeze the trigger of his rifle and keep squeezing until this man was riddled with holes. This fucker had abandoned Toni, and that selfish, dick move had caused her endless amounts of pain.

Parthen clasped his hands loosely behind his back. “Your message said that you have my lads.”

Murk/Skull had been all too happy to give up Parthen’s cell number to Jacken if it meant a chance to get out of jail. “Yeah, we have them,” Jacken confirmed. “And as an act of good faith between our races”—and because my wife wants it—“I’m returning your boys. But with the understanding that Toni is off-limits to you, Parthen. Forever. Leave her the fuck alone.”

“My, how dreadfully final that sounds.” Parthen raked his eyes up and down Jacken. “And who are you, might I ask, to speak with such authority on Antoinetta’s behalf?”

“Her husband.”

“Gor blimey!” Parthen burst out laughing. “Surely, you jest.”

Jacken gave the asshole a flat stare.

“No, this won’t do a’tall,” Parthen informed him. “I have long-term plans for my daughter, you see, and those plans don’t include her dipping into the primordial ooze that is clearly your gene pool for her offspring.”

Jaw clamped, Jacken chinned at the two men by the limo. “And you think those shit-stains have better pedigrees? They’re Half-Rău, too.”

“Half-Rău and half-Fey,” Parthen corrected. “Bred correctly, this brood of mine will have progeny with active enchantments. Hence the reason that Alex and Toni are so important to my endeavors. I realize that someone of your suspect intelligence might have difficulty understanding—”

“I get it. With their royal bloodlines, Toni and Alex’s children will be some of the most powerful.”

“Precisely.” Parthen offered Jacken a smile that didn’t defrost his eyes. “You’re not as much of a gobbin as you appear.”

Jacken just laughed darkly. What would this egomaniac say if he knew that a few shots of fiinţă from a lowly Vârcolac could bring today’s Fey generation into their full enchantments? “Power lies where you least expect it, Parthen. I’d remember that if I were you.” Jacken nodded at Nyko, who was waiting by the rear end of the Pathfinder.

Nyko turned and lifted the hatchback, exposing Murk/Skull lying next to a black body bag.

Murk sat up, and Nyko helped him out of the car.

Parthen’s gaze sharpened on the plaster cast encasing Murk’s right forearm.

Next Nyko hefted out the body bag and dumped it on the garage floor, then he tugged down the zipper low enough to show Ren’s face.

Scar Lip and Jaw Tattoo by the limo shifted and stiffened, their hands going knuckle-white around their weapons.

Parthen’s eyes turned so glacial, the blue of the irises seemed almost transparent. “You have an interesting definition of an act of good faith, Vârcolac.”

“Just thought that before you get into a war with us, you should know that we can get your rings off.” Jacken broke topside rules and let his fangs show in a smile.

Parthen tugged on the cuffs of his fancy shirt. “Do you have any notion who you’re toying with, lad?”

Electricity thrummed off Parthen, and sparks of pain shot down Jacken’s arms and speared deep into the bones of his legs. Ouch and fuck—but he managed not to show any reaction.

Parthen sniffed once, then gestured.

Scar Lip came forward and zipped closed Ren’s body bag, then hefted the bag over one shoulder.

Everyone heard Ren’s head go shh-clunk down to the bottom of the bag.

Scar Lip exchanged a glance with Jaw Tattoo as he tossed the dead body in the trunk.

Murk crossed the garage and got into the back of the limo.

Scar lip and Jaw Tattoo jumped into the front and shut the doors.

Parthen gave Jacken a hard-edged smile. “I shall leave peaceably now, Vârcolac. I’m a man of my word, and there will be no violence today. But I will get Toni back, even if I must destroy every last one of you. Surely you must know that.” He turned, sauntered back to the limo, and slipped into the back. The door closed with a decisive snap.

There was a hiss of the power steering engaging and the squidge of rubber tires turning on pavement, then the limo was driving away.

Dev shouldered the strap of his rifle and snorted. “Helluva father-in-law you got there, Brun.”

Jacken glared at the limo’s retreating taillights. “Shit.”

Chapter Sixty-Six

June

Four months later

The underground community of Ţărână

4:15 p.m.

“I really don’t see why this mission is necessary.”

Alex rubbed a hand over his mouth and nodded, acting like he was giving Roth’s comment serious weight when he was actually trying not to roll his eyes.

Four women’s lives were at stake with this mission. Didn’t that make the necessary part obvious?

Checking for reactions from the other council members, Alex glanced around the U-shaped table.

There were twelve members total.

The two co-leaders of the community, Toni—Alex’s sister—plus Roth, sat at the head, while the rest of them took positions along each arm.

On the left-side arm was Jacken, Toni’s hubby and the leader of the Warrior Class, then Syrian Popovici, one of the community’s blood donors—Jacken’s former, in fact—then Ælsi Korzha, proprietress of the town coffee shop, and next Valerica Vlahuţă, co-owner of the grocery store. The fifth seat was empty—the Stânga Town rep rarely showed.

On the right arm sat Jess Bochinsky, the community’s jack-of-all-trades medical man, then media tech guy Raln Dodrescu, then electrician Balc Oargă, then Anca Iagar—she was Donree’s mother. Donree was Toni’s new assistant…and hadn’t it caused quite an uproar when Toni picked a young woman from Stânga Town for that job? The fifth seat on the right arm was filled by yours truly.

At the open end of the U stood Dev Nichita, waiting for their mighty twelve to give him the go-ahead for his mission.

Or not.

Dev stood with his hands locked at the small of his back, and from the steely cut of his bearded jaw to the wide set of his legs, it was clear what the new leader of the Special Operations Topside Team was thinking—quit being such a worrywart, Roth, and let me do my job.

Although, er, worrywart was more of an Alex-word. Dev would probably think pussy.

Anyway.

Alex looked across the way at Jacken, but his brother-in-law’s thoughts were never easy to determine. Usually that was because of Jacken’s super hard face, but right now he was distracted by Toni’s throat, which was exposed by her up-style hairdo.

Kind of dumb to wear her hair like that. She was married to a vampire, for crying out loud. She would have to know that showing off her throat like that would be a turn on to—

You know what? Alex wasn’t going to finish that thought.

Although all grody stuff aside, he was really glad that whatever had made Toni bolt her marriage four months ago—something she’d never discussed with him, surprisingly enough—had clearly been ironed out. Alex had never seen his little sister happier.

“What’s your reticence, Roth?” Toni asked, bringing Alex back to the present.

Roth swept a hand through the air. “This mission is too risky for the indefinite benefits it would bring us. We just welcomed eight women into the community yesterday, whereas the four Dragons we discuss now are a complete unknown. We don’t know if they fit the other parameters we require, or if they’re even remotely interested in joining us.”

Alex cleared his throat to call attention to himself. “Thing is, Roth, those eight were the only women off an original list of fifty who accepted our offer.” And didn’t the town shit a collective gold brick when Alex had unearthed that many Dragons in California. But finding Dragons was a whole different deal than convincing them to spend a year in an underground cave away from their families—even with a half-million dollar paycheck waiting for them at the end of it. “Do we really have the luxury of ignoring any we can get our hands on? They’re the key to the salvation of your race.”

Which was, yeah, sort of something Alex shouldn’t have to mention. Roth, after all, was the guy who’d been so determined not to ignore any Dragons he could get his hands on that he’d stooped to kidnapping them.

“Many of those fifty,” Roth argued, “have expressed an interest in joining us at a later date, when the timing in their lives is better.” He swept the U with a flinty stare. “I assure all of you, I don’t underestimate the value of these women. How many years have I lived with the threat of extinction of my own race?” He sat straighter in his chair. “But need I remind you that on this mission our warriors would be facing down members of both the Underground and the Topside Om Rău. We have no idea how many of the enemy that could be, although I think it’s fair to assume that their numbers would grossly exceed ours. How many warriors are on the new Spec Ops Topside Team? Four?”

Toni exhaled a forceful breath. “You bring up all good points, Roth, but here’s the thing that’s itching at my conscience. Four women are about to be handed over to some extremely unsavory men, and we’re privileged to know that.”

Thanks to Alex.

He’d been surfing the nearby airwaves a few hours ago when he found what looked like the Underground Om Rău’s IP address. So he hacked into their network and came across an email between them and the Topside Om Rău. According to the message, the Topside Om Rău owed the Underground Om Rău some Dragon women for the privilege of being allowed down to their town—the Topside Om Rău had needed to travel from Oţărât through the Hell Tunnels to Ţărână so they could nab Toni…a bungled kidnapping that resulted in a panicked mob scene at the Water Cliffs five months ago.

Alex hadn’t been living in Ţărână back then, but he’d heard about it.

Anyway, the Topside Om Rău had four precious Dragons that they wanted to hand over to the Underground Om Rău toward payment of their debt. The exchange was going down at a warehouse in the Kearny Mesa Industrial Park tonight in a few short hours.

So a decision needed to be made soon about whether or not to send Dev’s team on a rescue mission.

And, yeah, Dev wasn’t the only person looking impatient about all the back-and-forthing.

Toni’s eyes had come alive with a stubborn glint—a look which always popped an uh-oh into Alex’s mind.

Probably Jacken’s, too, if the man had learned anything in five months of marriage.

“Do you really feel comfortable,” Toni asked Roth with the barest hint of ice in her tone, “just sitting back and doing nothing to save these poor women, regardless of whether or not they bring us a direct benefit? Because I don’t—not after my own experiences with these Topside Om Rău.”

Roth’s eyebrows lowered.

Dev’s scowl, on the other hand, eased for the first time since this meeting started.

Toni glanced across the U-shaped table to Jacken. “Can you give us a risk assessment, Jacken?”

“What do you want me to tell you?” Jacken bit out. “The pucker factor on this mission’s going to be damned high, but as you just said, does it really fucking matter?”

Toni lowered her lashes and flicked her husband a look.

Yeah, that hadn’t been so helpful.

“This mission is do-able.” Jacken leaned forward and set an arm on the conference table. “I wouldn’t have put Nichita in charge if I wasn’t sure he could handle it.”

Alex glanced at Dev.

The large warrior’s black fatigues barely contained all the bulging muscles of his body.

Alex made a face. Man, he needed to get into the gym more often.

Roth looked at Toni again. “I can’t believe you’re supporting this.

“It’s what the warriors train for, Roth. I trust in their abilities.” She looked at her husband again. “This is ultimately a decision for the leader of the Warrior Class. It’s your men who’ll be put in danger.”

Jacken leveled a look at Dev. “Put your team in the field.”

“Yes, sir.” Dev swiveled an about-face and strode from the conference room.

Roth rose, his spine straight. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said stiffly to the rest if the council. “Other matters need my attention.” He exited.

Ton exchanged a glance with Alex—Roth was supposed to close the meeting with a wham of his gavel—then she smiled at the others. “We’ll go ahead and adjourn.

The rest of the councilmembers scraped to their feet and started to file out.

Alex jammed his hands into his pockets and wandered over to Toni and Jacken. “Mr. Mihnea isn’t going to be the life of the party for a while.”

“The hell with him.” Jacken’s jaw somehow managed the feat of growing harder than it was on a normal day. “I hate it when he gets like that.”

“I know.” Toni sighed. “I’m working on him.” She glanced at her watch, her brow furrowing. “Will Dev’s team make it in time to save those women?”

Jacken’s mouth set in a grim line. “It’s going to be tight.”

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Want more of The Community Series…?

Every nineteen years a full moon rises on Beltane night….

Known as Lună Zână in Vârcolac folklore, this powerful moon holds special sway over the breed. Lured by its potency, three vampire males make a terrible mistake one night while in the city of San Diego. They vow never to speak of their crime, and for over thirty years, their secret remains hidden…until Book 4 of The Community Series, MOON-RIDERS, when the town’s gentle physician, Dr. Jess, will pay dearly.

Click HERE now to obtain your FREE copy of “Lună Zână,” a companion short story in The Community Series.

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Book Two in The Community Series

THE PUREST OF THE BREED

Dev Nichita’s story…

Now available!

An elite vampire warrior rescues a woman kidnapped by a sadistic demon race and discovers she’s his fated mate. But will their fledgling relationship survive when all the lies are revealed?

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Sneak peek of THE PUREST OF THE BREED, Book Two in The Community Series…

Dev took Marissa gently by the arm and led her downstairs and into his bedroom. “So, you ready to hit the hay?” he asked, closing the door behind them.

She looked around his room. “Not really,” she answered.

“It’s almost three in the morning.”

Everything in his room seemed to have passed muster, because Marissa’s eyes landed on him again. “It’s almost three in the afternoon,” she countered. “Back in Normal Land, I’d be making myself a fruit salad for a snack right about now. Why do you flip-flop the times, anyway?”

He shrugged. “We only work topside at night, so switching the time just makes it a regular work day for us.”

“Always at night?”

“Yep. That’s when the bad guys come out, after all.” Plus, I’m a vampire. “Um, you should’ve been given a sleeping pill to help you adjust.”

She shook her head. “I wanted to stay alert, in case…” Anxiety filmed her eyes. “Just in case.”

He exhaled a slow breath. Damn, these last couple of nights had really tangled her up.

“And…” She nodded at the knife set slung over his shoulder. “Should I be worried that you’re still holding onto those?”

He smiled. “Nah.” Crossing to his wet bar, he put his knife set on it. “This is just an occupational hazard, sweetheart. I don’t even go to the bathroom without a knife in my hand, right?”

“That does sound hazardous.” Her eyes came to life with amusement. “You might cut something important doing that.”

He chuckled. Christ, but this woman was cu-ute. So pretty her face made his bones ache.

She was wearing a new pair of lightweight sweatpants and a T-shirt that, Christ, yes, did show off a nice pair of ta-tas, although he hated to quote Gábor. Her nipples were suffering from a serious case of stick-out-itis, and at the cocktail party, he’d kept them under solid surveillance in his peripheral vision. It’d taken every ounce of willpower he owned not to lean forward and close his mouth over one like the cherry-on-top it was.

“You have incredible eyes,” she said, surprising him out of his nipple reverie. “They’re a gorgeous silver color and, wow, so bright.”

He hooded his lids. Stop thinking about her boobs, you dumbass. “Um, your eyes are also… I like your eyes, too.” Besides being a beautiful green, the pupils were surrounded by starbursts of gold. “They look like little suns shining up from the bottom of a mossy pond.”

Her eyebrows popped high, then she laughed. “My God, who are you, Dev? A big bad GI Joe type, or a poet with a palate for fine wine?” She nodded toward the floor-to-ceiling wine rack across the room, home to his extensive collection.

“All right, all right, don’t get all fired up now. I’m not a high-society type.” He pushed his fingers through his hair, raking it back from his brow. “It’s just that not much dating goes on around here.” Or any. “Uh, small town politics, you know? So hobbies are essential.”

“Really?” She gave his body a slow, thorough once-over. “It’s hard to imagine you not being constantly swarmed by women.”

The appreciative look in her eyes made his skin jump. “Uh, well…um…” He snapped his mouth closed. What the hell was that? A beautiful woman was flirting with him and he couldn’t come up with anything better to say than something Urkel might’ve spluttered? Though in his defense, he’d always been the flirter, not the flirtee. Vârcolac females weren’t allowed to be flirtatious, and the Dragon women they’d brought into Ţărână before hadn’t exactly been in a welcoming frame of mind, the whole abduction thing putting a real damper on that. So having a woman show interest in him was a real red-letter-day experience.

“Hey, you want to open a bottle?” Marissa wandered over to his wine rack and carefully eased bottles out of their circular holders to peer at the labels.

Hmm, let’s pause and assess: hot woman alone with him in his bedroom being flirtatious and in a vulnerable state…plus several cocktails already consumed by both of them…plus more alcohol in the form of wine. Decisions, decisions…

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About the Author

Tracy Tappan is a bestselling and award-winning author of gritty romance and the creator of the Choose A Hero Romance™ reading experience, a brand-new concept in storytelling where the reader controls the ending. You can find out more about this exciting new trend at www.chooseahero.com.

Tracy’s books in paranormal and military romance have earned both bronze and gold medals in the Readers’ Favorite contests, have finaled for the USA Book News and Kindle Book Awards, and won both the HOLT Medallion and the Independent Publishers Book Award (IPPY) bronze medal for romance.

Tracy holds a master’s degree in Marriage, Family, Child Counseling (MFCC), loves to play tennis, enjoys a great glass of wine, and talks to her Labrador like he’s a human (admittedly, the wine drinking and the dog talking probably go together).

A native of San Diego, Tracy is married to a former Navy helicopter pilot, who retired after thirty years of service and joined the diplomatic corps. He and Tracy currently live in Rome, Italy.

Visit her website and join the gang on her monthly newsletter for giveaways, publication updates, and other fun and sexy news. www.tracytappan.com.

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