Dear Reader,

I’m excited to share with you the second book in the SWEETBLOOD series, Embraced by Blood. This world is a deadly and seductive one, where a team of vampire Guardians fights to protect humans from Darkbloods—vicious members of their race who kill like their ancestors and sell the blood on the black market. The rarest, called Sweetblood, commands the highest price.

When I first met Alfonso, it was through his brother’s eyes. Naturally, I was intimidated to write about him. How could a man with a past like his ever redeem himself enough to be a hero? But the more I got to know him, the more I fell in love with him, and I began to see him as Lily did: a warrior, wounded in body and spirit, with a heart of pure gold hidden underneath.

That’s not to say sparks don’t fly between Lily and Alfonso. This is a reunion story—he broke her heart once and she’s not about to let him do it again. Besides, you don’t cross Lily without serious repercussions. I hope you enjoy reading about how she took him to his knees and brought him out of the darkness, whether he thought he deserved it or not.

Oh, and regarding the first scene … I apologize to the students of Western Washington University, my alma mater. Now you know what waits for you in that dark corner near Haggard Hall.

All my best,

Laurie London

Embraced by Blood

Laurie London

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my sister, Becky,

because without you, there’d be no this.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Writing a story may be a solitary process, but making it a book isn’t. I am truly thankful for so many people.

In addition to my sister, I’d like to thank Janna, Kandis, Mandy, Shelley, Kathy and Barb for giving me invaluable feedback. When I count my blessings, these women are seriously at the top of my list.

Thank you to Cherry Adair, who opened her heart and her home to a bunch of fledglings and encouraged us to fly.

To my Romance University friends, particularly Kelsey Browning, thank you for everything. To Vicky Dreiling and Delilah Marvelle, thanks for your friendship and the marathon phone calls. To the Cherryplotters, thank you for the laughs and the creative inspiration. Thank you to my agent, Emmanuelle Morgen, my GIAM x4 buddies, and my fellow GSRWA writers.

Thank you to my talented and thoughtful editor, Margo Lipschultz, as well as all the hard-working people at my publisher who’ve been so enthusiastic about this series.

A giant thank you to my mom for all her help and to the rest of my family who’ve been so encouraging. Thank you to my two wonderful children who think it’s cool to have a mom who writes books even though they’re not allowed to read them.

And last but not least, to my sexy sidekick, my incredibly supportive husband, Ted: Thank you, baby, for holding my world together. With every breath, I love you.

CHAPTER ONE

GALE–FORCE WINDS BLEW IN from Bellingham Bay, funneling rain between the darkened lecture hall buildings like a raging river. Red Square in the middle of campus should’ve been deserted at this time of night.

A lone student dashed under the covered walkway of Haggard Hall and slipped off a heavy backpack. It hit the bricks with a splatter.

In the shadows behind her, a dark figure watched her movements with interest. He didn’t bother stepping deeper into the doorway—the darkness rendered him invisible to humans.

Alfonso Serrano sniffed the air and let his pupils dilate with hunger.

Don’t they tell students, especially the female ones, not to walk alone at night?

Fortunately, there were always a few who didn’t follow directions.

Breathing hard, the student brushed off her rain-sodden hood and swiped her nose with the back of her hand.

Alfonso moved a step closer and reached for her.

But when she grabbed a cell phone from her pocket, he hesitated and dropped his outstretched arm. If she made a call, he’d wait. If she texted, he’d continue.

She brought the phone to her ear, and he retreated into the seldom-used doorway, careful not to disturb the waterlogged pile of leaves in the corner. Stuffing his hands deep in his pockets, he clenched them into fists to stop the tremors. Her call had better be quick, otherwise he was likely to drain her dry when he struck. Four weeks between feedings was way too long.

She yelled into the phone and he bristled at her harsh tone. Fighting the urge to plug his ears, he rethought his decision to wait. He didn’t know how long he could listen to this.

As she carried on her heated conversation, a blast of wind swirled around him, blowing his chin-length hair into his eyes. He pulled out a knit skullcap, stretched it over his head and tucked the hair beneath it.

But when the damp wind changed direction, it brought with it an odd smell. A sickeningly sweet odor, like that of rotting meat, and he froze.

Darkbloods.

He scanned the darkness and unzipped his coat with quiet precision. From a leather sheath strapped to his chest, he eased out two silver kunai and held them by their rope-twined grips. The custom-made weapons, small but deadly, were designed to be thrown. They fit perfectly in his hands, like the contours of a lover.

What were Darkbloods doing in Bellingham? The Alliance didn’t normally set up cells in small northern towns like this. There weren’t enough people and, given the low ultraviolet index, the residual energy level in the indigenous population was too low to make it worth their trouble.

Christ, that was why he’d moved here. To be far away from them.

Staying in the shadows, Alfonso crept to the next doorway, trying to pinpoint their location. The scent came from the far side of the square, but he didn’t have a visual yet.

It shouldn’t have surprised him they were here. Logic said they’d move in eventually. Expanding the DB power base among law-abiding vampires was one of the Alliance’s primary objectives. However, it wasn’t as if Bellingham was a hotbed of activity. Of the vampires who lived in the region, most were concentrated near Seattle and Vancouver. Not in small college towns.

And then another possibility dawned on him.

The smell might not be from an ordinary Darkblood.

It could be his blood assassin.

A glacial calm filled his veins as he fingered the handles of the identical knives and looked out into the night again. Puddles of standing water rippled in the howling wind, reflecting the light of the streetlamps scattered around the drained fountain. A paper coffee cup tumbled toward him and lodged behind his heavy work boots.

What a fool he’d been to think he was out of the Alliance’s reach. You couldn’t do what he did and expect to get away with it. But, Jesus, he thought he’d been so careful moving to this remote town.

The sound of the girl’s voice drew his attention once more.

“Listen, Ryan, I’m not putting up with this bullshit much longer. Either you tell her or I will.” Oblivious to the fact that she was surrounded by those with deadly intentions, she stepped away from the leading edge of the rain and slumped against the building. She popped a piece of gum into her mouth and let the wind carry away the wrapper.

Could she be the target, not him? Her blood type was relatively uncommon in this part of the country, he reasoned. He’d covered his tracks well and it wasn’t as if this was a planned visit to the campus anyway. No one knew he was here.

Movement in the overhang of Old Main on the other side of Red Square caught his eye.

Two figures—darker than the shadows—hugged the ivy-covered brick. Like marionettes on the same wire, their arms and legs moved in unison. To a casual observer, they looked like well-coordinated Goths, but to a fellow vampire, they were remorseless killers who profited from the death of humans.

Alfonso relaxed. Blood assassins worked alone. They must be after the girl.

Adjusting the rope grips in his palms, he cursed silently. His fingers felt so weak. Hell, his whole body did. If it hadn’t been so long since he’d taken the blood of a human, he’d be stronger right now. He couldn’t confront them like this.

Besides, since he was marked for elimination, the average DB wouldn’t hesitate to finish him off if they learned his identity. It wasn’t like he wanted to rub shoulders with them on purpose.

He tucked the blades away and melted into the shadows.

As soon as he rounded the far side of the building, his steel-toed boots began to feel like lead, each step more difficult than the last, and he stopped. The hollow pit in his stomach became too hard to ignore.

He had planned to take only a small amount of the girl’s blood, leaving her tired and a little dazed, yet alive. But if he left, she’d be dead within minutes, her body completely drained of its life energy, her blood portioned out and sold in vials to the highest bidders. A perfect example of how supply and demand worked on the black market of the vampire underworld.

He didn’t need much from her to regain his strength. Was there enough time to—?

Nope, too late now. He’d have to let them have her. Better her than him, he thought as he turned up his collar and took off again toward the empty parking lot across the street. The sound of his boot heels striking the pavement echoed loudly between the buildings. Each step seemed to be saying, “Loser, loser.”

A Guardian would never stand by while a Darkblood took a human.

I’m not a Guardian, he wanted to remind his conscience. It’s not my job to protect humans from vampires. But he hesitated anyway.

The Darkblood Alliance believed their kind belonged at the top of the food chain—they had no regard for human life. They didn’t want to blend in; they wanted to dominate. These predators would either discard the body here to be discovered by the authorities, or they’d take her back to their den and drain her there. Regardless of what they did with her, every kill, every disappearance, risked exposing their secret to the human population. That backward attitude may have been tolerated in the Middle Ages, but it wasn’t acceptable today.

Even in his weakened condition, he realized he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t at least try to prevent the inevitable. Goddamn guilty conscience.

He made his way back along the edge of Haggard Hall. When he got to the corner, he glanced quickly around. Driving rain fell at a severe angle, but he could still make out the Darkbloods moving on the other side of Red Square.

He sprinted across the narrow walkway over to Miller Hall, thankful the weather was so crappy. Chances were, even though vampires’ senses were more acute than humans’, the DBs couldn’t hear him above the sound of the wind and rain. As he flattened himself against the brick facade, he formed a plan. He’d jump them when they got closer and hope to God he had the strength to pull it off. Retrieving the blades, he waited.

Within heartbeats, the two figures emerged like liquid darkness from the corner of Old Main and stopped on the far end of the same walkway, but they didn’t advance farther.

Damn. Had they seen him? He doubted they smelled him. Not only was he downwind, but their all-blood diet dulled their sense of smell.

Although he couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying, the wind carried snippets of their hushed whispers. They were trying to figure out what to do next.

Shit, they had seen him.

With his lack of strength, the element of surprise had been his only ally. He couldn’t hope to fight them like this and win. His only hope now was for the girl to leave. Then he’d split.

For chrissake, he wanted to yell at her. Would you get the hell out of here? Your voice is like a goddamn dinner bell.

Unsure what to do next, he considered his options. Maybe he could stall the bastards.

Switching both blades to his left hand, he tucked them against his forearm to keep them hidden. He stepped from the shadows and ambled toward the end of the walkway in his best non-confrontational manner, a skill he’d honed to perfection as a double agent.

Side by side, with their hands on their hips, they waited for him. The tall, gangly one, a female with stringy blond hair whipping across her face like Medusa, fidgeted the heel of her boot.

A newbie maybe? Seasoned DBs were usually more stoic and controlled. Perfect.

The other one, a stocky male, stood silent beside her. Both wore matching ankle-length black coats, but because neither one had on the wraparound sunglasses common among DB pairs, he could see their coal-black irises and the lifeless gray of their whites. Along with that rotten meat smell, it was another characteristic of their all-blood diet.

“What’s going on?” Alfonso asked as he got closer. He touched two fingers to his lips in a fang-slang greeting and dropped his hand. “Darkbloods, right?”

Wordlessly, they looked at each other, something passing silently between them before they relaxed their stances and returned the gesture.

Great. Just great. The female couldn’t be as new as he’d first thought—the pair operated in tandem like most longtime DB partners who fed from the same hosts night after night.

The male cocked his head in the direction of the coed. “You taking her tonight?”

Relieved that it definitely was the girl they were after, not him, he flashed an apologetic grin, hoping they’d buy his discomfort. “Was thinking about it.”

“Is she an A-poz or B-poz? We couldn’t tell from over there.”

“B-positive, I think.” He tried to convey uncertainty, although he knew for sure that she was. “Why?”

“Excellente,” the male said with a faux accent. “We’re building up our stock and are short on a few of the less common varieties. More people are B-poz up in Vancouver than down here. Didn’t want to head up there just for that, so this is perfect.” He flipped open his coat and displayed his wares. His partner did the same. The inside was like a goddamn pharmacy with vials full of blood, syringes, a few nasty-ass knives and God knew what else.

“You a revert?” the woman asked, as she fastened her coat and scrutinized him. “Or just slipping.” One of her eyeballs canted slightly off center, not quite moving in conjunction with the other one.

Glass eye or lazy eye?

He noted the whites of both her eyes had the same dull gray tint.

Better assume lazy and be pleasantly surprised if I’m wrong.

“Am I reverting back to the Old Way? Yeah, I guess you could say I’ve moved beyond the occasional slip-up.”

“Well, good for you,” the male said. “Got any kills under your belt?”

Alfonso shrugged. More than you’ll ever know.

“You’re in luck,” the male continued. “Me and Sigred—” he indicated his partner with a jerk of his chin “—are settin’ up shop here in Bellingham. We can save you the trouble of having to come out on a night like this looking for a little substinex.”

The blonde leaned toward her partner. “Sustenance,” she whispered.

“Don’t go fucking college on me,” he said through clenched teeth. “I know what I’m talking about. As I was saying, we’re gonna save reverts such as yourself a lot of time and offer a delivery service of sorts. You call us, place your order, and we’ll figure out where to meet. No more embracing the elements, if you know what I’m saying.”

Sigred produced a plain white card with a single phone number printed in black. “As far as I know, no other Darkblood cells are offering this special service. Not even those fancy big-city ones. In Seattle or Vancouver, you go to them. You traipse through the clubs and alleys looking for a seller if you’re in the mood for a little substinex. That, or take it off the hoof. We know most reverts aren’t comfortable doing it old-school, at least when they’re starting out. But here, we come to you.”

Forcing another smile, Alfonso took the card and tucked it into his pocket, where he crushed it into a tiny ball. “You know what they say—you get better customer service in a small town.” That got a hearty laugh from both of them.

“Since you found her first, how about we’ll do her to save you the trouble and give you a couple of freebies.” The male pulled out an empty syringe and displayed it with his pinkie lifted as if he had class. “Sound like a plan?”

Alfonso rubbed his forehead under his cap to make them think he was considering their offer. Maybe if he stalled them a little longer, the girl would leave and they’d all go home empty-handed. He glanced over, but she was still there on the far side of the square. Jesus, how long was she going to fight with her boyfriend anyway?

“I don’t know if you’ve done it much,” the male was saying, “but feeding off the hoof is a little tricky, although you did choose an excellent locale—dark, private—and your subject is alone. But the instant you strike and you taste the rush of fear in the blood, it can freak a guy out if you’re not expecting it. If you’re not good at mind manips, you feel what the human feels the entire time their life energy is waning. Not sure if you’d be into that or not.”

Did he look like a youthling fresh out of puberty? Most of their kind did feed from live donors, just not as often as these losers did. Suggesting an alternate memory of events during a feeding was one of the first things a youthling beginning his Time of Change was taught. This is perfect. They think I’m younger and less experienced than they are.

He tried to keep the satisfaction from showing on his face, flashing them a nervous smile instead. “I wasn’t planning to drain her dry.”

“Old habits are hard to break.” Sigred patted his arm. Although his first instinct was to jerk away, he didn’t flinch, instead rubbing the pad of his thumb on the rope grip to control the impulse.

“Personally,” she continued, “I adore it. Blood tinged with fear is sweeter than most. In fact, I love scaring them right before I strike for that very reason. But many reverts are uncomfortable with it at first. And we understand that. That’s what we’re here for. You can have your cake and eat it too. It’s a service we’re happy to provide. What do you say?”

A perfect regurgitation of the DB playbook. “How long have you been here? Any more D—Darkblood cells here in town?” He’d almost slipped and used Agency slang. He’d been out of practice too long.

“Not yet,” she said. “But with the Night of Wilding less than a month away, we’ll probably have a few new groups moving into the area. The new sector mistress is planning a huge event.”

The pair started toward the girl, brushing past him a little too close—their stench always made him nauseous.

“So where’s the party this year?” he asked, trying to stall them.

Originally, the holiday had been an all-night festival of eating and dancing as family and friends celebrated the longest night of the year, but for the past few decades Darkbloods had been using it as a means of attracting and recruiting new members. It had devolved into little more than a costume party of debauchery and violence, often held in a macabre location. The few humans invited rarely left alive.

“Keeping it secret for now,” Sigred said as she watched the girl, eyes narrowed and focused like a predator. “Do you play HG?”

“What?”

“The online game, Hollow Grave?”

“No, I don’t.” He recalled some of the Darkbloods talking about a new online game, but that had been almost two years ago.

“As long as you’re a registered user and get to Grave Crawler status, you can log in at noon the day before and the location will be posted in the forums. There’ll be plenty of time to get there between sundown and midnight. It’ll be on one of the islands this year.”

Wasn’t that interesting? He knew the Alliance was working on some new ways to attract the younger generation of vampires, but since that hadn’t been his area of expertise when he was inside, he had no idea what they were up to. Online gaming? They must be using it to promote their agenda by romanticizing the violent past of their kind.

He fought to keep his expression blank as he recalled being a youthling in a Paris gaming house centuries ago, where less than candid recruiting methods had been used on him with devastating results.

“We should have an ample supply of Sweet by then.”

How were they planning to get more? Last year he’d helped thwart the Alliance’s plans to breed sweetblooded humans and had seen to it that all their research had been destroyed. Had he missed something? Were they starting up operations again?

There was a huge market for the extremely rare, highly addictive type of human blood—the street price was astronomical. Sweetblood, Sangre Dulce, Devil’s Elixir—it was all the same. It shouldn’t be a surprise that they would be trying other methods to get their hands on it. If there was one thing he’d learned while spying on them from the inside, it was how tenacious they were. Like mongrels on a steak dinner.

“How does the mistress plan to get it?”

Sigred snapped her attention from the coed to him, her gaze narrowing slightly. Shit. He’d asked the question a little too quickly, or maybe the tone wasn’t right, or maybe he shouldn’t have been so confident in how he’d referred to the sector mistress.

Alfonso gave her his best sheepish grin and rubbed the back of his neck. Hopefully, her bullshit meter wasn’t set too high. “I mean, isn’t it difficult to find Sweet? I know if I had some, I’d have a hard time saving it. You guys must have some serious willpower to keep from draining a sweetblood.”

“You got that right,” the male replied. “Last time I ran across one it was with my old partner. Let me tell you, he had to pull me off the bitch because there’d be nothing left to sell. I went like fucking mad for a while—like a feeding frenzy—I couldn’t stop.”

Maybe he’s the one who’s new. Most DBs got pretty good at capturing their victims, bringing them back to their dens, then draining their blood there. This one’s impatience and lack of control suggested inexperience.

The male continued. “The sector mistress is turning a Tracker from the Agency to help find ‘em. Guess those guys can smell one from miles away. All we gotta do is follow the nose.”

It was a sucker punch straight to the gut and panic flooded his veins like wildfire. He had to use every ounce of his training to keep the shock from showing on his face. Lily, his former lover, was a Tracker.

“We don’t know that for sure.” Sigred’s laugh sounded forced. She was backpedaling; her partner had said too much. “That was just an idea someone bounced around. Everyone’s trying to get a piece of the action, making promises to have more Sweet available, staking out their territories. So far, it’s just been us here in Bellingham, but probably not for long.”

Alfonso found himself thinking once more that he shouldn’t be surprised DBs were moving into areas they’d never been before. With Lord Pavlos, whom the Darkbloods reverently referred to as “the Overlord,” dead, the Alliance was going through a power struggle of sorts as potential leaders crawled out of the woodwork like rats, trying to make a name for themselves. The one who controlled the Sweet was the one with all the power, a fact he knew firsthand. A Sweet-laden Night of Wilding was sure to attract those living on the fringe of civilized vampire society and maybe a few who didn’t realize they could be tempted like that.

“Ain’t it a bloody shame that you’ve got to share this small town?” Alfonso was relieved to notice that the girl was finally leaving.

Should he try to take these two out? He wasn’t Agency—these guys weren’t his problem. The girl was safe.

He tucked the weapons under his coat and thrust his hands into his pockets. Time to go home. He could last one more night without feeding.

The blonde halted, turned back around and pinned him with that lazy eye of hers. “What was that?”

“Huh?”

“Did you just say ‘Ain’t that a bloody shame?’”

“I don’t know. Did I?” He didn’t like the sudden change in her voice. He pulled his hands back out of his pockets and held them loosely at his sides.

“You know, it’s funny,” she said. “I rode a day transport from Southern California to Seattle last year with a guy who was high up in the Alliance ranks. Didn’t get a good look at him, but that was his pet phrase. He must’ve said it a dozen times on the way up. Heard he turned out to be an Agency spy. The one responsible for the Overlord’s death.”

Shit, shit, shit. She must’ve been one of those recruits in the back of the bus.

“No kidding.” With his heart pounding, he turned to leave. He reached under his coat and grabbed the rope-wrapped handles again. His slow, measured footsteps echoed under the walkway. One … two … three.

Keep walking. Don’t rush. Act casual and they won’t think anything of it. These two aren’t familiar. They don’t know me. Just keep going.

“The name was Alfonso Serrano, I think,” Sigred called after him. “So tell us, friend, what’s yours?”

Without hesitation, he spun around—they were drawing their weapons. He had one chance. With a flick of his wrists, the kunai cut through the air and landed simultaneously between their breastbones with a thunk.

The male fell to the ground. The silver had penetrated his heart; he’d be a pile of ashes in moments. But the female was merely wounded.

She dropped the blade in her hand and staggered sideways, away from the covered walkway. While the rain pummeled her face and plastered the hair across her cheeks, her fingers curled around the hilt of the kunai and pulled it from her chest. If he hadn’t known for a fact she had silver weapons of her own, he’d have waited it out until she collapsed from the energy drain. But she had his blade and who knew what else. He was just as susceptible to silver as they were and he certainly couldn’t outrun a silver bullet.

In one motion, he leaped forward and retrieved his stake from the rapidly charcoaling male. The exertion and sudden movement made him dizzy. He staggered and fell to the bricks.

“Fucking traitor,” Sigred hissed through clenched fangs as she lunged at him, kunai raised above her head.

Summoning the last of his energy reserves, he scissored his legs, knocking her feet out from under her. As she fell, he aimed the tip of the retrieved kunai slightly to her left, several inches down from her shoulder. She landed on the blade, and with a little shimmy on his part, the razor-sharp tip scraped over bone, slid to the hilt between two ribs and hit home.

He pushed her dead weight off and lay flat on the ground, that putrid Darkblood smell lingering in his nostrils.

While the rain pounded his face, soaking his knit cap and jeans, he watched, completely spent, as her body folded inward and turned to ash, leaving behind only metal. From amidst the clothing rivets, zippers, coins, syringes, needles, a multitude of weapons and—oh yes—one glass eye, he fished out his other kunai and slowly pushed himself up.

Let campus security think this was the remnant of a drug deal gone bad. He kicked everything around and crushed the vials, blood washing away in the rain. Although drinking it would’ve given him the strength he needed, he wasn’t about to consume blood taken from a killing. He was weak, but he still had morals.

He yanked off his waterlogged cap and made his way slowly across Red Square. Christ, that nip/tuck had just about done him in.

With a hand up to his face to block the wind, he finally made it back to Haggard Hall. His rig was parked nearby.

And there she was. Western Washington University’s dumbest, most irritating student, a mere ten feet away.

Alone. With no one else in sight. Texting.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

CHAPTER TWO

NINETY MILES SOUTH of Bellingham, on the rain-soaked streets of Seattle, Lily DeGraff was about to have a major panic attack. Problem was, that wouldn’t set the best example for the Tracker trainee she was mentoring.

They dashed across First Avenue in Belltown and slipped into the shadows of an old brick building, pausing to make sure they hadn’t been spotted. If a human witnessed them moving this fast, even though the few still out were wasted or high, they’d be forced to slow down and do a mind-wipe. But that took time, a luxury they didn’t have. Their footsteps echoed on the sidewalk as they sprinted downtown again.

Just after the clubs had closed, a call had come in over the police band about a missing young woman. Lily and her trainee had made a routine drive past the Pink Salon to see if it involved their kind. The private, Vegas-style club was popular among both races, except the humans were clueless that they partied with a few vampires.

In the alley out back, she detected fresh blood. Not a killing amount, but she could guess what had happened. Like many other predatory animals, a vampire wouldn’t carry his meal too far away. Once a revert crossed the line and went into feeding mode, he wouldn’t have the willpower to wait too long for the blood and energy rush he craved.

But that had been thirty minutes ago. Now they were running all over the city trying to locate the bastard before it was too late and the woman was dead.

Although he hadn’t said anything, Kip Castile probably wondered why his trainer was waiting so long to take over from him. At least that was what Lily assumed he was thinking. She’d be thinking the same thing if she were him. Only problem was, after that brief scent of blood in the alley, she hadn’t detected anything more. All she smelled now was a muddy, dirt-like odor, as if everything was mixed together into one massive, indefinable lump. This weakening of her ability had been fluctuating off and on for quite a while now, but lately, it seemed to be getting worse. Tonight she could hardly smell through it.

“Let’s hold up a minute, Kip. Take a deep breath and before you exhale, I want you to focus inward. Good.” Her calm voice was a stark contrast to the rising knot of turmoil in her gut.

“I still can’t smell the blood trail, Ms. DeGraff. I’m sorry.” The kid was starting to panic.

She gave him a reassuring pat on the back. She’d already told him several times that he could call her Lily, but he kept slipping into formalities. Nerves, maybe.

“That’s all right. Let’s keep going. He can’t have taken her far.” She only hoped the woman was still alive.

“Maybe you should take over. I’m … I’m just not sure I can do it.”

Normally, she’d have guided Kip closer and closer until he could pick up the scent himself. Build up his confidence. Then they’d track the revert, take him down, call for a pickup and be back to the field office in time for corn flakes. After decades of being a Tracker and working for the Agency, these kinds of assignments were pretty routine. But not any longer, she thought, as she noticed the chalky grayness of the night sky. Morning wasn’t far away.

There it was on the corner of Pike and Pine. The unmistakable smell of human blood. Finally. She drew in another full breath, processing all the ambient scent markers. It was the human woman from the club.

“Kip, do you have it yet?” She was eager for him to experience what it felt like to detect a blood memory. She’d never forgotten the first time she’d been out on patrol and mentally matched a scent to something she’d smelled earlier.

“I … I think so.” The young man lifted his nose a little higher and blinked when a raindrop hit his forehead. His short brown hair looked almost black in this light, and his expression was wide-eyed and hopeful. God, he was young. Had she looked that fresh faced once? “It’s pretty faint, though.”

“Tell me what you’re smelling. Close your eyes. It’s easier to concentrate and focus your olfactory senses. An important part of the process is being able to match what you’re scenting now to something you scented earlier.”

“Okay.” He did as he was told and took a deep breath in through his nose. “Sea air from the sound. Garlic and oregano from a restaurant.”

“Good. What else?”

“I smell—” Kip gasped. “There it is! It’s coming from over there.”

“Describe it for me, please, as we head that way.”

“It’s coppery, of course, and slightly sweet. Not a sweetblood, though.” His laugh was almost giddy, and his dark eyes glittered with excitement, the pupils expanding in response to the adrenaline and scent of blood.

Yeah, she remembered the first time she’d gone on a real assignment after spending countless hours in class and in the scent labs. It had been an exhilarating feeling. And even after all these years, it still was.

“The blood in the alleyway was a human female,” he continued, a little breathless as they ran down the sidewalk. “Blood type AB, and I think it’s the same marker I’m smelling now.” He took another deep breath. “I can sense the warmth and her fear. I’m pretty sure she’s still alive.”

He smelled the victim’s fear? Although this was a skill she’d mastered some time ago, she sure as hell couldn’t detect any fear now. Gritting her teeth, she tucked away the nagging feeling that something was terribly wrong with her. She’d deal with that later. Right now, she had a job to finish.

They slipped under the Post Alley sign and she flattened herself against the brick wall on one side of the entrance, motioning for Kip to do the same on the opposite side. The erratic beat of her heart slowed with relief as she slipped into Guardian mode now that they had a lock on the bastard.

Okay, time to wrap this thing up.

She held up one fist, indicating Kip should stay where he was. He hadn’t gone through any hand-to-hand combat training yet, so she didn’t want him to get much closer to the target. Agency rules were pretty specific in regard to what a rookie could do. The takedown was her responsibility.

She scanned the shadows and doorways as she edged closer to the smell, trying to get a visual. Careful not to touch the business end, she eased her red-tipped nails into a set of brass knuckles with silver spikes—not normally her weapon of choice, but she really needed to punch something—and crept around the iron railing of a stairwell. The coppery, slightly sweet scent intensified and her pupils dilated further.

The nagging voice of sensibility, her rule-abiding conscience that was never far away, told her she should’ve called for backup a while ago. But she didn’t want to admit to anyone she needed help. There were plenty within the Agency who believed she’d made it to Tracker only because of her father’s influence. She wasn’t about to prove them right by admitting she couldn’t handle a routine patrol call. No, she’d keep this matter to herself.

In the direction of one of the darkened doorways at the far end of the alley, she heard the scuffle of shoes on the wet pavement followed by a low, almost orgasmic moan.

Finally. You can run, but you can’t hide.

Kip had been right. The human was alive, but just barely. There wasn’t much time. After punching a code into her cell phone to request a pickup and a medic, she sprinted down the alley, not caring if the revert loser spotted her at this point. If he ran, she’d catch him.

But before she got to the far end, a side door banged open in front of her. She ducked behind a Dumpster right before the light from the doorway spilled out, spotlighting the alley as a train would a dark tunnel. An elderly woman in curlers and slippers shuffled out holding a plastic trash bag. But it was another figure, not more than ten feet away, that caught Lily’s attention. Hunched over a body, he raised his hands to shield his eyes from the sudden glare. But he didn’t cover his fangs, which dripped with his victim’s blood.

“Oh, my word! What in the world is—” The woman dropped the bag at her feet and the door slammed shut, trapping her outside. “Hon? Hon?” she called, not taking her eyes off the horror playing out in front of her.

Great. Just great. Guess I’ll have an audience.

Lily jumped over the trash bag, ignoring the woman’s gasp of surprise, and launched herself at the loser. Grabbing a handful of his hair, she yanked him away from the body. Her fist made such a satisfying sound when it connected with his jaw that she had to stop herself from doing it again just for the hell of it. Instead, she flung him onto the cobblestones. He landed at the feet of the old woman, who tried to scream but ended up in a coughing fit instead. Thank God for tiny miracles. She didn’t need any other human witnesses. One was enough.

The revert pushed himself up with one hand and defensively held up the other. Clearly, he wasn’t a fighter, just a run-of-the-mill loser—of which Seattle had plenty.

She repositioned the silver knuckle piece to the inside of her hand, the short spikes facing inward this time, and grabbed him around the neck. He shrieked and clawed at her hand when the metal pierced his skin. But it didn’t take long for the silver to do its thing and he became too weak to stand on his own. She restrained him with silver-lined handcuffs and dropped his ass to the ground.

As she took a step in the direction of the victim, the old woman’s coughing reminded her she needed to deal with secrecy issues before attending to collateral damage.

“Ma’am, it’s okay. I’m just going to—”

“Don’t—Don’t—Stay back.” The woman’s eyes widened even further in the dim light of the alley.

Lily ran the tip of her tongue over her fangs, which had stretched from her gums during the fight. Guess she couldn’t pass for a regular cop now. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. I just need to—”

The woman screamed, and this time her voice found itself.

Lily was on her in an instant. She brushed a hand over the woman’s forehead, silencing her. “You saw two drunks in the alley. Nothing more.” Lily wrenched open the door as if it had never been locked. “Now get back to bed and stop this sleepwalking. Hon is waiting inside and wants a little lovin’ from you.”

The woman blinked a few times. A glassy, faraway look replaced the terror in her watery gray eyes. Clutching the front of her housecoat with a gnarled hand, she shuffled inside a little quicker than Lily had expected, a faint touch of pink coloring her cheeks. The door closed softly behind her.

Lily got to the victim just as two unmarked blackpanel vans turned into the alley and screeched to a stop. A medic with a crash kit and a member of the capture team stepped out and jogged toward her.

“Over here, fellas.” She pointed behind her and strode out of the alley, thoughts whirling.

For God’s sake, this was a simple assignment. What was going on with her? She glanced over her shoulder as Kip followed her into the night. She might as well be a trainee, too, not an elite Class-A Tracker for the Governing Council.

“Ms. DeGraff, why are you walking that way? Your car is parked down the hill over there.”

She tossed him the keys. “Go ahead and take it back to the field office for me. I need the fresh air. Good job tonight, by the way. We’ll review things in the classroom later.”

IF THE GUY GOING POSTAL on him in the hardware store hadn’t been Region Commander Tristan Santiago, Alfonso would’ve let the two-by-fours over his shoulder “accidentally” smack the asshole in the head. Instead, he threw the lumber onto a flatbed handcart and headed over to the flooring department.

“Look, I told you everything I know. DBs are after Trackers. Don’t know how, don’t know where, although I assume it’s somewhere local since they mentioned the islands. Hell, I don’t even know if it’s true. It’s not like I got the information from a reliable source. They were greenhorns and, for all I know, they could’ve been blowing smoke.”

“And you wasted them before you got any real intel.” Santiago’s voice sounded like he’d just chain-smoked a pack of bare-ass Camels, although Alfonso knew he never touched the stuff. “What the fuck is up with that?”

A woman pushing a shopping cart covered her child’s ears and flashed Santiago an indignant expression. For a moment, it looked as if she was going to scold him, but then she quickened her pace and sped down the aisle. That was nothing, Alfonso wanted to tell her. If they hadn’t been in public, the guy would be cursing in three languages.

With his eyes narrowed to slits and his own anger barely in check, Alfonso glared at Santiago. “What are you talking about? I had no choice but to—” Why the hell was he sitting here justifying what he’d done? He looked around and lowered his voice. “Listen. I don’t work for you any longer, remember? Pavlos is finito. My obligation to the Council has been met. I can show you the documentation if you don’t believe me. They did it up real nice. Parchment paper, fancy lettering. Hell, it even came wrapped in a goddamn scroll. Figured I was doing you a favor letting you know what I stumbled across. Guess I was sorely mistaken. Why don’t you go back to Vancouver and leave me the hell alone?”

Santiago’s jaw muscle flexed over and over, like he was chewing on what he was about to say. Or more likely, he was pissed off and trying not to flash fang. “You know, I let you have your time after everything that went down last year. Recoup from your injuries—that leg of yours looks fine now, by the way. I wanted you to decompress in peace and quiet—”

“How terribly considerate and thoughtful of you.” Alfonso threw a box of drywall screws on top of the lumber and resisted the urge to rub his knee. Maybe his limp wasn’t as noticeable as he’d thought.

Santiago continued as if Alfonso hadn’t spoken. “But that was a year ago—” more than that, but who was counting? “—and we could really use your help now.”

“So you insult me, then you offer me a job? That’s a funny way to conduct an interview. And why are you the one asking me, anyway? Why isn’t Dom? Isn’t he technically the Seattle field team leader?”

“Your brother’s in Australia, helping with the opening of the new Carpentaria field office down there. He’s not scheduled to be back up here until after the Night of Wilding. The baby’s not due till after the first of the year.”

Alfonso sighed. His brother’s wife, Mackenzie, had just started wearing maternity clothes the last time he’d seen her. He’d commissioned a few paintings from her that depicted the hill country of his ancestral home in Spain. As soon as he finished building his house, a smaller version of his boyhood villa, he planned to hang her artwork in the entryway.

Not that he had any illusions that this tribute could atone for what he’d done to his parents. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even be around long enough to enjoy it. Sooner or later his blood assassin was bound to track him, and he was far from confident that he’d survive that meet-up. Selected as youthlings by the Darkbloods’ inner circle, these vampires were raised in the art of killing and torture. Strong, fast and lethal, they didn’t make mistakes.

“If what you discovered is true,” Santiago said, “we’ve got a big problem on our hands. The Longest Night is only a few short weeks away.”

“Don’t you have a tech person who can break into that game forum to figure out what’s going on?”

“I’ve asked Cordell to look into it, but frankly it’s a wonder Darkbloods haven’t overrun the city by now. With Dom and Mitchell out of the country, we’re understaffed. We could really use you.”

Alfonso shoved a hand through his hair. The guy was so friggin’ dramatic.

“What part of no don’t you understand?” Alfonso looked over the various diamond blades, trying to find one that would fit his particular wet saw. His current blade was dulled from all the tile-cutting he’d been doing and needed to be replaced.

“I understand plenty, starting with the fact that you have nothing going on. What’s so important you’d turn this opportunity down? Tinkering on that house you’re building? A man needs goals in his life. Something to work toward. He needs direction.”

“Yeah, well, I do have goals. They all revolve around getting my house finished.” And finished quickly. Since those losers had guessed his identity, it wouldn’t be long until the assassin tracked him, too. Then he’d be on the run again. He’d always known it’d happen, that his assassin would eventually figure out he wasn’t living in Europe, that those leads Alfonso had meticulously created were false. But he really hoped to finish the house before that day arrived.

Yeah, recreating Casa en las Colinas probably was a stupid dream. He’d been a fool to let his sister-in-law talk him into setting down some roots—even if it was temporary. Give him a chance to meet his niece or nephew. Attempt to repair his relationship with his brother. What had he hoped to accomplish by building this house, anyway? Impressing Dom? Earning his respect? Getting him to understand that he did honor their parents’ memory, despite everything he’d done? Maybe it’s time for a reality check—forget about the house and disappear. He could mail the keys to Mackenzie, and she could have it finished. Or not.

“And then what? You gonna take up fly-fishing?”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m serious, Alfonso. Your expertise on Darkblood matters is unequaled by anyone in the Agency here in North America. It’s a shame you’re pissing away that talent and knowledge while you swing hammers at a pipe dream.”

Alfonso gripped the handle of the cart so hard he was afraid it would bend beneath his fingers. There was a reason he preferred talking to Santiago on the phone: so he could hang up on him. Good thing they were out in public or he’d have the guy by the throat right about now, even though Santiago was one menacing vampire with a hair-trigger temper and a Dempsey-like left hook. The black military shit inked on his neck was just icing.

“What would my brother say if I suddenly became one of his Agents? He’d go ballistic on your ass, not to mention mine. It’s not like he and I are suddenly best friends. Centuries of thinking your brother is one of the bad guys isn’t rectified in one short year. Besides, I’m tired of Darkbloods. I’m tired of the Council.”

Santiago stared at him with those dark, piercing eyes, clearly not buying any of it. For chrissake, the guy never took no for an answer. How did Dom put up with this? What did he have to say to get through to him?

“Listen,” Alfonso continued. “I worked for centuries on the inside, trying to redeem myself in the eyes of everyone I cared about, and for what?” He pounded a fist on his thigh and a sharp pain pierced through the dull ache in his knee. “I’m permanently injured and my family wants nothing to do with me.”

Given that he’d been marked for assassination, it probably wasn’t safe for them to be around him anyway, but he wasn’t about to share that little tidbit with Santiago. Alfonso could hardly stand knowing what he’d pledged all those years ago.

And what it had cost him.

He sure as hell didn’t want to admit it to the Council. They could very well revoke his pardon.

“I’m tired of everything, and it’s probably time for me to move on anyway. You’re right. Maybe the house is a stupid pipe dream.”

“But—”

“Shut the—” He glanced around. Seeing an elderly man nearby, he lowered his voice. “You seriously think I’d want to come back? You wasted your time coming down here, Santiago. I’ve put in my time, so leave me the hell alone. Go find yourself someone who cares, because I’m done.”

“So then it makes no difference to you that Lily is back at the Seattle office?”

Like a shot from an air compressor, his heart slammed against his rib cage, and he struggled to keep the emotion off his face. He couldn’t have been more surprised if someone had doused him from behind with a bucket of ice water. “I thought she transferred down to one of the southern regions,” he said, his voice almost as gravelly as Santiago’s.

“She did for a while. Guess it was too hard commuting back and forth with her daughter up here in the Horseshoe Bay region with her parents. Getting to British Columbia was no longer an easy three-hour drive over the border.”

“But she and Zoe were together. I heard she was … trying to make a go of it with Zoe’s father again.” At least that’s what his sister-in-law had told him. Part of him just wanted Lily happy, but another part of him desperately wanted—Don’t go there, he reminded himself. Don’t do it.

Santiago shrugged. “I don’t get involved in my staff’s love lives. I’d need a damn social secretary for that. I’m just glad she’s back.”

My God, given this new DB intel, he’d have been keeping tabs on her had he known she was back in the area. “Does she know about this new threat against Trackers? She’s not going out alone, is she?”

“She’s in charge of on-the-job training for the rookies coming out of Tracker Academy. So, yes, she knows about the threat and, no, she’s not alone. Jesus, Alfonso, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you still had a thing for her. Still wish she was your Agency contact? Your handler? I’m sure we can arrange to have her handle something of yours, if that’s what it’d take for you to join the team.”

Alfonso’s gums ached as his fangs threatened to elongate. Santiago had no idea. The guy could laugh all he wanted, but he had no fucking clue. Not even Lily knew the truth about why he’d left her. He grabbed a saw blade off the shelf and shoved it into the cart.

“So what do you say? Can I count on you this time, Alfonso? Can we make an honest man of you yet?”

“On the contrary, I’m afraid you’ve given me the best reason of all not to come back.”

Santiago raised his brows, clearly clueless.

Alfonso pushed the cart toward the checkout stands. “Lily.”

CHAPTER THREE

“WHAT’S so interesting on the other side of that window? You’ve been staring outside all night.” Although Mel had first served the guy almost an hour ago, she’d not had the gumption to strike up a conversation with him till now.

Not that she was timid or anything—far from it—but he had that don’t-mess-with-me vibe, and she did her best to respect that. As a bartender in this joint for years, with the gray hair to prove it, she’d learned who was approachable and who wasn’t into chitchat. He fell into the latter crowd. But something about his expression made her ask tonight.

He pulled off his knit cap and ran a hand through his hair. Right now it was mainly dark blond, but some strands were much lighter. She’d be willing to bet that in the sun, it’d bleach out to a surfer’s golden blond.

She cracked open the longneck—only his second since he’d arrived—and slid it toward him, the wisp of escaping carbonation evaporating into the air. The guy nursed his alcohol like a first-time mother did her baby.

Not really expecting an answer to her question, she wiped a small water spot from the polished oak bar and grabbed his empty. But as she turned away, she was shocked as hell when he replied.

“Just keeping an eye on an old friend.”

She retrieved a fresh bar towel from the stack under the counter and flipped it over her shoulder. His leather bomber jacket, worn to a lighter shade of black around the wrists and neckline, creaked just a little when he lifted the beer and took a long swallow.

“Friend, as in friend? Or friend, as in an enemy you want to keep tabs on?”

“A friend.”

Having just tossed the bottle into the recycle where it rattled with the rest, she wasn’t sure if she’d heard him correctly. She lifted her eyebrows, waiting for him to say more.

Somehow he didn’t seem like the type to be pining over some woman, nor could she picture him as a stalker. More like the other way around.

The guy was working-class handsome, with rugged hands that no doubt knew how to swing a hammer and a slight limp he tried to conceal. He definitely wasn’t an accountant. A light stubble covered his jaw, and his eyes, despite their crystal-blue color, were intense and hinted at something a little frightening. Yes, his picture could seriously be in the dictionary next to dangerously handsome. She prided herself on being a pretty good judge of character. No, the guy wasn’t a stalker. But a heartbreaker? Oh, yeah.

He saw the question in her expression and tipped the bottle toward the window. “A woman I used to know is over there. In the Pink Salon.”

Ah, but maybe he was jealous. The Pink Salon wasn’t a place people went for a dart tourney with coworkers. “How long ago did you two break up?”

He narrowed his eyes. So her guess had been accurate. “Last year.”

“And she’s out with someone else?”

“No, working.”

“Yo, Mel,” called one of the guys at the far end of the bar. “Show us a little love down here.”

She filled a couple drink orders, and when she returned, Mr. Not-An-Accountant was still looking outside. Several club hoppers stopped on the sidewalk in front of the window. He scooted his barstool a few inches to the left to get an unobstructed view of the garish pink sign across the street.

As she polished nonexistent water stains, Mel scrutinized him further without making it appear she was. She knew if you looked a reluctant guy in the eye, he’d clam right up. But keep your gaze focused elsewhere, and he’d yap like an ankle-biter when the doorbell rings.

“She a bartender like moi or a waitress?” she asked, somehow doubting his ex was one of the high-priced hookers who frequented the place.

The left side of his mouth twisted up slightly, revealing a fleeting dimple. “No.”

“A cop then?”

“Sort of.”

She was dying to ask him what a sort-of cop was, but didn’t want to continue pressing her luck.

Noticing the time, she flipped the channel on the small flat-screen that hung at an angle on this end of the bar. One of the local stations replayed last week’s high school football highlights at midnight. She was a sucker for anything that reminded her of being younger, and watching those fresh faces who thought they were grown-ups always brought her back. She took a drink order from one of the waitresses and filled two glasses with Jack and Diet, but when she glanced at him again, she couldn’t resist another question.

“Some bad stuff went down over there the other night, but I heard they caught the guy.” What kind of a twisted SOB would have the cojones to kidnap a woman in front of all those people anyway? “Your ex involved in bringing him down?”

“It’s my understanding that she was. The main thing is, he’s off the streets and won’t be seeing the light of day for—let’s just say a long time.” There was that dimple again. But it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

Mel nodded and turned back to the TV, still listening.

“She’s doing routine stuff tonight.”

One of the kids on the highlight reel caught a flea-flicker, broke an almost-tackle, then ran it in for a touchdown. Beautiful. A little thrill shivered down her spine and the guys clustered at the other end of the bar cheered with gusto. Yeah, she wasn’t the only one who vividly remembered those Friday-night games, although from the looks of it, those guys weren’t going to be remembering much of anything tomorrow. She should probably consider cutting them off.

“That place sure gets its share of freaks. Seems like you’re worried about her even though she’s a cop. Can’t she take care of herself?”

He picked at the label on his beer, tearing off little strips and piling them on his coaster like a mound of confetti. “Cop or no cop, it’s no guarantee she’ll be safe. But she can take care of herself. Or at least she thinks she can.”

“And that’s why you’re here. Because you can do it better? Take care of her, that is?”

His bitter laugh surprised her. Clearly having had enough of the nursing, he drained the rest of his beer in one long guzzle. Unlike most of the yokels in this place, he didn’t belch when he set the empty bottle down.

“No, definitely not.” He pushed the stool away from the bar and stood. Peeling off a bill, he plunked it onto the counter and tapped it with his knuckle, indicating he needed no change. Holy criminy. She’d pegged him as a good tipper, but this was ridiculous. “She’s much safer with me out of the picture.”

A bad boy who knows he’s not good for you? Oh, to be young again. “Why? You got loser friends?”

He nodded as he turned to leave. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it.”

THE RED DIGITS ON THE ALARM clock confirmed it was late afternoon, and Alfonso cursed.

A hell of a day this was turning out to be. He’d kept Lily under surveillance most of the night, making sure she did indeed have someone with her at all times. That she wasn’t vulnerable to those responsible for poisoning his life. Not that it was foolproof, he reasoned, but there was safety in numbers. Sure enough, Santiago hadn’t been dicking with him; the entire night, she’d been accompanied by her trainee. He’d watched them head for the field office, confirming with Jackson that she’d arrived safely before he left for home.

He flipped the pillow to the cool side and shoved the couch cushions back into place beneath him. After all these months, he hadn’t expected that seeing her would affect him so profoundly. But hell, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. And because the imported European tiles still hadn’t arrived, he couldn’t get his mind off of her by working on his house.

What had happened between her and her ex that had caused her to move back to Seattle? he wondered. A familiar ache formed in his chest as he thought about her living with another man.

He didn’t begrudge the fact that she’d started seeing Steven again. After all, the man was her daughter’s father. Almost ten years ago, shortly after he and Lily had begun dating, Alfonso’s work within the Alliance had required that he move back to Europe. They’d called things off because, at the time, Alfonso didn’t know whether he’d ever make it back to the States. A few years later, he had come back, only to learn that Lily had been engaged, had given birth to a daughter, and that her relationship with Steven had ended. She’d eagerly accepted the assignment to act as Alfonso’s handler within the Agency and they’d begun their relationship again as if it had never even ended.

And it had been great. While it lasted.

The explosion changed everything.

At first he hadn’t let her know—hadn’t let anyone know—that he’d survived the fire. The Alliance needed to believe that he’d died trying to save the Overlord. His plan was to wait till he recuperated before going back to Lily. During that time, the Alliance would forget about him as various lieutenants vied to become the new leader. Battles would be fought, people would be killed, and he’d be just another vampire who’d sacrificed himself for the cause.

Deep down he knew that part of his decision not to tell Lily had also been motivated by pride. He didn’t want her to see him until he was whole again. And he didn’t want her sympathy, either.

But when he’d discovered that his blood assassin had been activated, that the Alliance knew he was alive, all his hopes for the future had been shattered.

He recalled in painful detail the phone call where Lily had demanded answers. For days, he’d been ignoring her calls and emails, hoping to find a way out of this mess, but he couldn’t. After finally reaching that agonizing realization, he’d watched his phone light up over and over before he answered. He’d known what he had to say to her.

With this permanent knee deformity, he’d never be able to adequately protect her. The assassin would hunt him down and go after her as well. If he’d told her the truth, she would have tried to convince him that she could take care of both of them, that she was tough and a good fighter. But he couldn’t let her take that chance, so he’d lied, told her he’d no longer loved her, and hoped she’d stay away.

And it had worked.

He sighed heavily and flung an arm over his face. Last night, he’d recklessly shadow-moved closer to her than necessary. But he couldn’t help it. He’d decided that he didn’t bloody care if she detected him or not. In fact, if she had, she’d have confronted him then and there. That was her style. Actually, maybe that was why he’d done it in the first place—to speak with her again, to see her up close, even if she wanted to kill him with her bare hands. He’d always loved provoking her.

Reaching down with his other hand, he cupped himself lightly and thought of how she’d looked last night.

With that trademark swagger and attitude that made confident men stand up and pay attention while weaker men shriveled, she had walked out of the Pink Salon, sauntered down the block and climbed into that red Porsche of hers. He’d held his breath, wondering if she’d scent him, but she hadn’t. Her trainee barely had the door shut before she’d peeled away from the curb. He could almost smell the lavender scent of her favorite soap on the night air as her car had sped past him in the shadows.

In a hotel suite they’d shared once, she’d walked toward him in much the same manner. Her jaw set, her eyes determined, focused. Except then, she’d been naked and focused on him. He’d waited for her on the bed, positioned as he was now, a hand behind his head, one knee bent, and the other hand around the base of his erection. Her hips had moved the same way, back and forth, back and forth, her blond hair skimming her shoulders—although last night her hair had seemed longer, pulled back into a high ponytail, the ends reaching to the middle of her shoulder blades.

He closed his eyes and was back in the hotel again. Her breasts bounced as she climbed onto the bed, inviting him to come play with them. And he did, for hours, while they made love and he nestled his—

Oh for chrissake. His cock was as hard as a baseball bat. Again. Kicking off the sheets till they bunched at the foot of the couch, he got up and took a quick shower. No use dreaming about something that could never happen. Things with Lily had been good while they lasted. Period.

Ten minutes later, he grabbed his laptop. If he wasn’t going to make progress on his house tonight, might as well make some progress on something else.

After a few botched attempts at playing Hollow Grave, he came to the conclusion that he at least needed a game controller, if not a few other accessories. He wasn’t about to ask Cordell because Santiago would find out and, if that happened, the guy would be all over his ass. He’d claim Alfonso did give a damn. No, Santiago didn’t need to know. If Alfonso found the location of the party, he’d inform Jackson and deal with Santiago then. But if he didn’t, at least he wouldn’t be giving the guy any false hopes that he actually cared.

A short time later, with his laptop tucked under his arm, he entered the computer store and headed to the help desk.

“What do I need to buy in order to play video games on this thing?”

“That depends,” said the kid behind the counter. He wore a name tag that said, I’m Kenny. Ask me, I know. “What game are you interested in playing?”

“Why does it matter? Just get me a game controller and a headset.”

“Depending on your laptop’s capabilities, it might not have the best graphics card for gaming. Or enough RAM. Or decent speakers. You might need a new computer in order to—”

Alfonso held up a hand. “No. I need to play it on this.” The laptop had been configured to make his online movements virtually impossible to trace. He certainly didn’t want to leave a trail; he worried enough about his blood assassin finding him without laying down a bunch of virtual bread crumbs.

“All right,” Kenny said slowly as he scratched his head. “How much memory you got? Are you interested in playing first-person shooter games, strategy, RPGs …?”

Oh for chrissake. Alfonso opened the laptop and typed in the URL of the Hollow Grave website. The screen went black for a few moments before animated trickles of blood dripped downward, and the sounds of blowing wind and a pipe organ echoed through the tiny speakers. “This game. What do I need to play it?”

Kenny’s face lit up as if he’d just stepped into Disneyland. “Dude, that’s totally sick. It’s like the forest in The Blair Witch Project. And the haunted house. What’s this called—Hollow Grave? How’d you hear about it, anyway? I’m a gamer and I’ve never heard of it.”

“From a friend. Now what?”

Kenny cracked his knuckles and excitedly rubbed his palms on his jeans. “Do you mind if I check out the system requirements to play the game?” With his fingers poised over the keyboard and his heart beating fast and loud enough for Alfonso to hear, he looked inquisitively at Alfonso.

“Go for it.”

Kenny’s hands flew over the keys and in a few seconds, he was smiling. “You’re lucky. Your machine is totally kick-ass. With just a few add-ons, I think you’ll be in business.”

He soon had the laptop outfitted with a controller, a headset and a pair of external speakers. Anxious to get home to start playing, Alfonso quickly paid and threw Kenny an extra fifty bucks.

“Thanks, kid,” he called over his shoulder.

Before he got to the door, Kenny ran around in front of him, the money clutched in his hand, face flushed, eyes wide. “Want me to help you with the game? You know, set up your user name and stuff.”

“Nope. I’m golden. Just needed this stuff to get me going.”

“Are you sure, mister? I could show you some tips, get you started. It doesn’t seem like you’ve played many games before and I’ve played a lot.”

Alfonso took a deep breath and considered the offer. The tile delivery should arrive tomorrow, he reasoned, and after that, he wouldn’t have much time to waste learning how to play Hollow Grave. Alfonso could just wipe the kid’s memory clear of the website when they were done.

“All right then. Let’s see how fast you work.”

Soon they were situated in The Garage, the store’s gaming lounge, the screen open on the table before them.

“You’re going to need a screen name,” Kenny began.

“How about BlackNight?” He had to devise a new persona, someone who was looking to party at the Night of Wilding.

“Lame,” said Kenny. “Bloodsucker?”

Alfonso stifled a smile. “Too clichéd. There are probably many with that name.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. SoulEater?”

“Maybe. BloodySunday?”

“Ooh, I like it. It’s perfect.” Kenny held out his hand. “Now, we’re going to need a credit card.”

Ten minutes later, BloodySunday was the newest user on the Hollow Grave website, complete with a skeleton avatar dressed as a military operative, three starter grenades and a full syringe of liquid power, also known as Bleed.

“Now what do I do?” Alfonso couldn’t even get his character to move out of the foyer of the haunted house.

“Here, can I try?” Kenny twisted the laptop toward him slightly and with a few clicks, BloodySunday grabbed a knife inside a small cobweb-infested box sitting on a hall table, slit the throat of a zombie who stumbled out of the dining room, filled a second syringe with Bleed and headed down a long flight of stairs.

He glanced over at the redheaded kid sitting on the edge of the seat, his heart beating loudly enough to make Alfonso’s mouth water. That kind of enthusiasm for adrenaline-induced excitement reminded him of when he’d been a spirited youthling centuries ago. He and his friends had sought out anything that produced crazy, mind-numbing thrills. Wild rides on horseback through Spanish hill country at night. Masquerading as swordsmen for hire. Tormenting human grave robbers, which in turn had sparked rumors about the existence of vampires. That stunt had landed him in all sorts of trouble with his parents. Too bad he hadn’t obeyed his father, who’d been newly appointed to the Governing Council. Instead he’d chosen to frequent the gaming houses and brothels of Paris that summer, where nothing was more seductive than a pile of notes, the écarté tables and beautiful women well-versed in the art of male pleasures. He sighed and turned his attention back to the game.

They continued playing and a short time later, a message popped up in the corner of the screen, congratulating BloodySunday on his progress. Not only had he gotten past the Newly Anointed level, he’d achieved Grave Crawler status, which gave him access to the forums where players shared special tips and tricks, and could make teams. He was on track to learn the location of the Night of Wilding party.

Which meant it was time to go. He’d post something in the forums about wanting to party when he got home. He pushed back from the table and faked a yawn. “I don’t know how you guys do it, playing all these games, staring at a tiny screen all day. My eyes are about to pop out of my head and my ass is numb. Thanks again, kid.” He’d have flipped him another fifty—he really couldn’t have gotten this far on his own without getting completely frustrated—but didn’t want to draw more attention to himself.

“If you ever get stuck or need more lessons or anything, I’d be happy to help,” Kenny said.

Not knowing whether Darkbloods used the game to troll for human victims, Alfonso didn’t want to risk it. He gripped the kid’s outstretched hand firmly. “Thanks for helping me restore my computer. When it crashed, I thought I’d lost everything.” The kid’s eyelids fluttered a moment as the altered memory took hold.

“Uh, sure.” Kenny blinked. A confused look flashed across his expression, and then it was gone. “If you continue to have problems with that hard drive, bring it back and I’ll see what else I can do.”

In a half hour, Alfonso was back at the estate. He right-clicked on an icon Kenny had shown him and memorized all the screen names currently logged on, noting the ones highlighted in red. They were the forum moderators and, quite possibly, Darkbloods. He wasn’t sure if the whole game had been created by the Alliance or if they only moderated the forums.

He scanned the thread topics but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Taking a deep breath, he created a new thread asking if anyone knew of some good parties in the Bellingham area. Then he logged off and strapped on his tool belt.

AN AIR–CONDITIONED CHILL blasted Lily in the face when she pushed open the heavy double doors at the end of the tunnel that connected her condo to the field office facility. Housed several stories beneath the city, it occupied a large but secret portion of Underground Seattle. The city had been damaged by fire over a century earlier, but instead of demolishing and rebuilding the structures, city planners at the time had elevated the roads and constructed new buildings above the old ones. The Council had wanted to establish a Guardian presence in Seattle anyway, so they took advantage of the unused space. They blocked off areas, did their own excavating and eventually located the field office in the heart of the city, right under everyone’s noses. Later, when tours of the Underground started, no one had a clue what was on the other side of the charred brickwork.

She’d been getting ready for bed but didn’t think she could sleep until she’d seen what Kip had put in his online log notes about tonight’s capture. In his last few reports, he hadn’t mentioned anything about her inability to track, but it was the third night in a row things had gone badly. First the alley with the human witness, then the nightclub, now tonight in the SoHo district. Recalling the look on Kip’s face a short time ago when she’d passed him the car keys again, she knew she couldn’t keep up the charade much longer.

Would anyone take note of the large chunk of time that had passed between when the original call came in and when the capture team was dispatched? She’d take a look at the capture team’s report as well in order to prepare herself for possible repercussions. Better to know now than to be blindsided later. And then she supposed she’d have to discuss her waning abilities with Santiago—if that’s what was really wrong with her.

She got to the security checkpoint and smiled at Francesca, who was sitting on the other side of a glass partition. The young woman looked up from her crossword puzzle and her face brightened.

“Forgot to tell you, but I finished that book you loaned me last week,” Francesca said. “Loved it.”

Lily smiled and placed her thumb on the reader. They often traded books, but with everything on her mind lately, she couldn’t remember which one she’d loaned her. “Awesome, that’s great,” she said generically.

Three tones sounded. She removed her thumb, inserted her key card into the slot, and Francesca buzzed her in.

“Got any free time?” Francesca tucked a pencil behind her ear. “It’d be fun to get together and discuss it. Someone told me about a new coffee shop nearby that caters to book lovers. Maybe we could check it out.”

“I’d love to, but I’m booked solid. Heading up to see Zoe and the fam. Can you wait till I get back?” Maybe by then she’d feel back to normal, and she could concentrate on something other than her problems.

“Yeah, sure.”

She waved to her friend, tucked the lanyard back inside her zip-up hoodie and strode down the hallway, apprehension growing with each step.

She didn’t want to speculate about what might be going on if her lack of abilities couldn’t be explained by a simple sinus virus. But then, what kind of virus lasted for this long and kept getting worse? Being a Tracker was much more than just a job. It meant that for the first time, she’d been respected for her talents and her brain, and not because she was Henry DeGraff’s daughter or because she looked good in a miniskirt. Sought after by other field offices, she’d located vampires and humans that no one else could track. But if she couldn’t get rid of that muddy scent clouding her ability to delineate smells—much like a filmy cataract lens obstructing one’s vision—she’d be worthless as a Tracker.

Which basically made her … worthless.

She poked her head into the gym and looked around. On the far side of the huge room, just past the juice bar, Cordell Kincade worked out on one of the rowing machines. Okay, perfect, she thought as she headed toward him. Since she only had access to the Tracker system, she’d get him to pull up the capture report, then she’d check out what was on the official record. If she was lucky, the long time-gap wouldn’t be noted and Kip’s report wouldn’t mention anything out of the ordinary. She’d be able to relax for now, and head up to British Columbia this evening. Maybe that and a few nights off were all she needed to get back on track. She was eager to see her daughter again.

She smiled at how far she’d come since finding out she was going to be a mother. At first, she’d been horrified. Hooking up with a player like Steven had only been meant as a fun distraction. It wasn’t supposed to get her pregnant. Not to mention that her job as a Tracker, with its unpredictable schedule and the frequent travel it required, was extremely demanding and very important to her. How could she possibly do that and be a mother as well?

God knew her parents had been excited about her pregnancy, even if Steven hadn’t, and they offered to do anything they could to help. But when she’d held Zoe for the first time and seen her chubby face, none of that had mattered any longer. She’d vowed to figure out a way to work as a Tracker, with or without Steven. As the mother to the most beautiful child on the planet, she was determined to make a good life for both of them.

“Hey, Cordell, when you’re done, can you get me into TechTran? I want to take a look at the capture reports from a few assignments.”

“You bet. Give me … a minute.” Eyes forward, concentrating on his workout, he spoke only when he exhaled as the seat slid backwards. “Last night’s report?”

“Yeah, that and a few others.”

His gaze flickered in her direction but he kept rowing. “You think … they entered … it yet?”

Damn. He did have a point. She’d already filed her activity summary, but had everyone else? Trying to act casual, she shrugged, but the knots in her shoulders tightened anyway. “Hadn’t thought about it.”

A few minutes later in the computer lab, with a white gym towel around his neck, Cordell pulled up the TechTran system as Lily leaned over his shoulder. She held her breath while he scrolled through the various field divisions, finally clicking on the capture team button.

“Nope.” he said, pushing back in his chair. “Nothing for last night yet. Protocol may dictate everyone file timely reports, Lil, but you’re one of the few around here who actually does it.”

She exhaled slowly, unsure whether she should be relieved or not. Maybe it wasn’t all bad, she reasoned. The longer they waited to submit the summary, the less detailed it was likely to be. But she’d still need to keep checking, which meant involving Cordell each time. Unless it was filed today, she probably shouldn’t head north tonight. Her heart weighed heavily in her chest at the thought of not seeing Zoe. With her piano recital coming up, Lily’s daughter had been practicing daily and was eager to play for her mom.

A shitty Tracker and a shitty mother. What a combination.

“Hey … you mind if I log into my account?”

“Knock yourself out. I’m hitting the showers.”

She waited until he’d left before she clicked into the Tracker section. That’s funny. She double-checked that she was on the correct page, but she was. All of Kip’s other reports were there. Neat, organized, just the way she’d taught him. The only one missing was last night’s. Surely he wasn’t slacking off already, was he? Was she the only one around here concerned about the rules?

Irritated now, she logged off and exited the computer lab. Kip had obviously been hanging around Jackson too long. His poor habits had rubbed off onto her very conscientious trainee. She ground her teeth together. All the screwups in the office seemed to revolve around Jackson. Well, things were about to change.

A fresh, vaguely familiar scent caught her attention when she stepped into the hallway. She inhaled, couldn’t quite separate it from the muddiness, and that too-familiar swell of panic gripped her stomach again. In an enclosed environment like this—undisturbed by the elements—a scent should be easy to identify.

Knowing that smell was closely associated with memory, she closed her eyes and pressed both hands on the top of the foyer table, careful not to lean in too close and get speared by one of the pointy orange flowers that looked like a crane’s head.

She took a deep breath and held it for a moment, focusing inward on the mental images and emotions stirring in her mind as she tried to pry loose the scent memory.

Apprehension. Disrespect. Inadequacy.

Then it dawned on her. Of course. Gibson’s here. I should’ve known. He’d assumed she’d gotten the job as a Tracker because of her father, not because she was qualified, so he’d never respected her.

Angry with herself for letting an ass like Gibby get under her skin, she squared her shoulders. Catching sight of herself in the reflective doors of the elevator, she made a quick appraisal. Not bad, but not perfect either. Much as she loathed being judged for her looks alone, around men like Gibby, her image was her armor.

“Good, you’re here,” said Jackson, startling her, his heavy footsteps beating a loud rhythm behind her. Subtlety was not one of his character traits. “I need to talk to you.”

Three boxes of sugary cereal balanced precariously in his bulging arms, along with spoons, a half gallon of milk and two bowls large enough for popcorn. Without waiting, he brushed past her and headed toward the game room.

“Listen,” she said, following him. “I’d appreciate it if you’d try to be a good example for the new guys. I know it must be hard, but for godsake, you’re the acting field team leader. They look up to you. The least you could do is encourage them to follow procedure. They’re in place for a reason.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Kip, that’s who I’m talking about. He used to be so responsible, but hanging out with you, he’s—”

“Hold on. All this … it’s slipping.” The snake tattoo on his biceps, with its open mouth, fangs and forked tongue, looked eager to be eating Tony the Tiger as Jackson juggled everything.

She grabbed the bowls from him. “And why didn’t you give me a heads-up that Gibby was here? You know I can’t stand him.”

“What? I figured you knew. Sensed him or smelled him or something. Sorry.” With a snap of his head, Jackson flicked his hair out of his face, blond and gold highlights mingling with the brown, the splayed-out ends settling back along the top of his shoulders. Ever since he’d dated that chick who worked at one of Seattle’s top hair salons, the guy had been addicted to funky highlights. Two weeks ago they’d been various shades of blue.

“I did, but … not soon enough. I’ve got a head cold. I would’ve changed into something else before I came over.”

He gave her a quick head-to-toe. “What are you talking about?”

How could she explain it to someone so obtuse? No use beating around the bush with him—he’d never get it. “Because you’re all used to seeing me like this, eh? We hang out together and have a good time. But the guy’s a total Richard. Sorry, he is. It makes me uncomfortable when I know I could look better.”

“That’s dumb. You look hot.”

Oh man, why had she even bothered?

She followed him into the game room, half expecting to see Kip inside. Without looking up, Val Gibson leaned over the pool table and took a shot. He didn’t bother to acknowledge her, so she returned the favor and stayed silent.

After setting the bowls on the wet bar, she leaned against the doorjamb and absently flicked the tiny chain hanging from her navel while her annoyance grew. This better be fast. I’m sick of him already.

Jackson held up two boxes and looked at the cartoon characters on the front as if trying to decide which was more worthy. Evidently he couldn’t make up his mind because he dumped some of each into his bowl.

She cleared her throat. “Jacks, you had something you needed to—”

“You gonna take a shot or not?” Gibby asked Jackson, interrupting her as if she’d never spoken.

Her skin prickled. She plucked a stray blond hair from her sleeve as she counted backward from ten to one.

“In a sec,” Jackson said to him. “Lil, did you hear DBs might be looking for Trackers to help them locate sweetbloods? Wanted to make sure you watch your back when you’re out.”

“Yeah, they want to bring you over to the dark side,” Gibson said in a faux announcer’s accent, like the whole thing was a joke. He dumped at least a half box of cereal into his bowl, then held up the carton of milk and poured it in a slow, steady stream.

Oh please, did he need to make sure each piece was coated? She gladly tore her eyes away as Jackson continued.

“They’re looking to convert Trackers. Use them like, well, bloodhounds—tracking and finding sweetbloods. They’re branching out to places not previously popular with Darkbloods. Building up their blood inventory levels, I guess.”

Gibby had discovered that? It sounded way too covert for a musclehead like him to be in on. “Converting Trackers? How’d you get that intel, Gibby?”

“Ah, he didn’t.” Jackson kept his head down and stuffed a large spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “Alfonso called.”

“Alfonso?” The blood drained from her face and she felt light-headed for a moment.

Why should it be surprising that her former lover didn’t want to deal with her and went straight to Jackson with this news? Acutely aware of a sudden ache deep inside, she folded her arms tightly across her chest and kicked at the carpet nap with the toe of her flip-flop. She most definitely didn’t have feelings for him any longer—just anger at herself that she’d been gullible enough to ever believe he felt the same way about her. She may have thought she loved him once, but not any longer. Not after what he’d done. “How did he hear that?”

Jackson stirred his cereal. “He ran into a couple of DBs who told him right before he wasted them. But Gibby says a Tracker disappeared just last week down in the San Diego office, so it could be happening all over. Maybe it’s a new tactic they’re trying.”

Gibson took a bite and wiped a trickle of milk from his chin with the back of his hand. “I thought you guys were friends with benefits since you were his handler in the Agency for … how many years? You guys broke up, huh?”

She was not about to discuss her failed love life with Gibby. Especially not after those nightmarish few months with Steven in San Francisco—what the hell had she been thinking trying to start something back up with Zoe’s father? Clearly, she had poor taste in men. She was ready to call it quits in the relationship department altogether.

It was her turn to ignore Gibby. Flexing her fists, she directed her question to Jackson. “How do DBs think they can get an Agency-trained Tracker to work for them?”

“Probably by getting them addicted to Sweet,” Jackson said. “Gorge on enough of it and it’s as difficult to kick as a meth or heroin addiction. You’ll do just about anything to get more. Alfonso said they do that type of coercion a lot.”

He should know. That’s exactly what they did to him.

With the cereal bowl in one hand and his thumb on the spoon to keep it from slipping inside, Jackson approached her. “He was really worried about you, Lil,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I think if I hadn’t told him you’re training someone—that you haven’t been on patrol alone lately—and that you’re off the schedule for the next few days, he may have come here himself. He asked if you were going up to your parents’ house to see Zoe.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I told him I thought you were. He chilled out a little after that.”

Alfonso was worried about her? She highly doubted it. He was aware she had a black belt in Krav Maga and, as far as he knew, she was still one of the Agency’s top Trackers.

“What’s Gibby doing here then?” The guy worked out of the San Diego office most of the time, and she wished he would’ve stayed there.

“He flew up for the MMA fights. We’ve got ringside seats. It’s gonna be on HBO. You should watch it and see if you can see us.”

“So what do you say, princess?” Gibson called from across the room, raising his thick eyebrows. “Wanna hook up? I’ll show you what a real man is capable of.”

“If you’re the definition of a real man, then I’m going to bat for the other team. Jacks, for the life of me, I can’t figure out why you’re friends with a guy like him.”

“The other team? Now you’re talking,” Gibson said, rubbing his hands together. “I haven’t had a threesome in ages. My body could be your wonderland.”

“Oh, please.” She held up her middle finger to Gibby and left.

JACKSON SET DOWN the empty cereal bowl and caught up to her at the elevators. “Lil, wait up. I didn’t mean to stir up old feelings. Should’ve just told you we got the information through some intelligence in the field without mentioning who the source was.”

“I can assure you,” she said coolly, “there’s nothing to stir up. Any feelings I may have had for him are long gone.”

He wasn’t so sure, but he wasn’t about to argue with her. “Listen, I know this is going to sound out of left field since you and me—well, we haven’t gotten together in forever. But … are you going straight to sleep when you get home or do you need a little company?”

Well before she’d met Alfonso, Lily and Jackson had rolled around in the sack together a few times just for fun. Like all modern vampires trying to control their naturally aggressive tendencies, they needed the tension release that only sexual activity provided. He’d never considered it serious, and neither had she. Just a fun way to work off the edge. And right now she looked like she could use a little tension reliever.

“Wow, out of left field is right.” She smiled. “Jacks, you know I love ya, and the shagging was fun.” She knocked him on the arm and he knew the no was coming. “But that was forever ago, like you said. We hang out now, have fun. You tell me about the women you date, and I try to keep them all straight. I’m afraid you’ve become more like the little brother I never had. A little brother with giant muscles. Jeez, what are you feeding these things?” She smacked his biceps again with the back of her hand. “It’d be weird now. Sorry, love.”

He hadn’t really expected she’d take him up on it, but it never hurt to try. And it wasn’t completely altruistic on his part either. After all, she was hot and had a smoking body.

After glancing at her watch, she pressed the elevator button and twisted the cord of her hood around a finger. What was she anxious about? Did she have to get back home for something?

Then it dawned on him. No wonder she seemed anxious and in a hurry. Kip was probably waiting for her back at her place.

“Sorry to have kept you from your boy toy,” he said. “I’ll let you get back to him.”

A confused expression flashed across her face. “What are you talking about?”

“Kip. Isn’t he waiting for you back at your condo?”

“Kip? Why would you think so? For one thing, he’s totally not my type. Too young and probably way too inexperienced.”

Jackson gave her a skeptical look. Since when was being the more experienced partner in a sexual relationship a bad thing?

“I’m serious. He’s probably crashed in the bunk room by now. It took us a little longer than normal to track down a revert and I think he was pretty tired when we finally did. Go check if you don’t believe me.”

“I don’t think so. Xian just made up one of the beds for Gibby and mentioned that Kip wasn’t there. I just assumed you and he—”

“You’re way off. Hey, there’s Xian now,” she said, looking behind him. “Let’s go ask.” She brushed past him and strode down the hallway.

As they got closer to the kitchen, the smell of warm chocolate nearly brought Jackson to his knees.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Xian said to Lily. “I wanted to get these to you before you left for Willow Run.” The small, dark-haired man offered her a bundle wrapped neatly in brown paper, tied with a frilly pink bow. “Brownies. No nuts. I promised Zoe I’d send some with you the next time you headed up.”

“Oh, Xian, that’s very sweet of you,” she said, taking the package from him. “She adores your brownies. Thank you.”

Brownies? Jackson’s mouth was watering already.

For a moment he forgot why they needed to talk to Xian as he scanned the granite counters, first the large island with some frou-frou wicker basket arrangement, then around the perimeter, looking for a pan, a platter or the friggin’ plate that held them. He was about to ask Xian if he’d made any extra when he spotted a lidded plastic container. Bingo! He beelined to the far side of the kitchen.

Lily started asking Xian a bunch of questions, but Jackson was only half-paying attention. He removed the lid and—Holy cow, they were frosted.

“I put nuts in the batch I made for everyone else,” Xian called over his shoulder as he touched the wall-mounted Comm screen.

“Is there anything you can’t do, Xian?” Grabbing the container, he shuffled back to the other side of the kitchen, trying to decide which one to eat first. The biggest brownie or the one with the most frosting? The biggest, he decided, and fished it out, smearing chocolate all over his fingers.

“Yes, get you to approve the latest expense sheets. I’ve got Guardian and trainee credit card bills due soon. Dom never makes me wait this long.”

“Oh shit, sorry. Remind me later, okay?” Jackson stuffed the thing in his mouth and crunched down. Not surprising, it was fan-fucking-tastic. Moist, chewy and very chocolaty. “Xian, you know it’d really suck if you Van Helsinged and teamed up against us. I’d miss all the food.”

“Jackson!” Lily’s eyes narrowed.

“What? I’m joking. Kind of.” He sat on the counter and crossed his legs. “Sorry, Xi, if I pissed you off.”

“No worries. But if you don’t get your feet off my clean granite, those will be the last brownies you ever eat.” The man’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he punched a few more buttons on the screen.

Jackson obeyed and crooked his pinkie, which was covered with frosting. “See, Lil? Xi and I are tight.”

Not that Jackson actually thought Xian would sever his loyalties to their kind, deciding instead to hunt and persecute vampires as a handful of humans had done over the years, but he liked to tease the guy anyway. When Darkbloods had slipped into the family bakery late one night, targeting them because a few of them were sweetbloods, Xian and his sister would’ve been dead if it hadn’t been for Guardians. They hadn’t arrived in time to save his mother, but because he and his younger sister were not sweetbloods, the Darkbloods hadn’t gotten around to killing them before the Guardian showed up

Grateful and insisting he owed the team his life, Xian eventually became the administrative manager for the Seattle field office, where he did a little of everything, including occasionally volunteering as a blood donor. And making some kick-ass desserts. Although Jackson could do without all the fish and healthy shit the guy loved to fix.

“No, it appears Kip is not in the field office,” Xian said. “His badge has not been scanned since—” Xian touched the screen again “—since eleven forty-three last night.”

Lily’s face paled. “That’s the time we left for our shift. I assumed he was entertaining one of the women. Are you sure?”

“I am certain of it.”

Jackson licked his fingers one by one. “I don’t understand. Weren’t you working the shift together, Lil? I thought he was shadowing you.” He grabbed another brownie and held it out to her.

Glancing at his hand, she cocked an eyebrow and shook her head. He shrugged and shoved the piece of heaven into his mouth.

“He was with me on second shift, but I had him drive my car back to the office while I walked home. I … I wanted to clear my head after a somewhat difficult capture.”

He considered taking yet another brownie, but decided two were enough. Any more sugar and he’d never get to sleep. Then again, as soon as the others saw the brownies, the container would be picked as clean as a chicken leg in a tank of hungry piranhas, so maybe he should take a third.

“That’s your very own container,” Xian said, obviously following his train of thought. “Didn’t you see your name on the lid?”

Jackson flipped it over and saw his name printed neatly on a piece of masking tape in Xian’s perfect script. “Xi, dude, if you were a woman, I’d kiss you.” To Lily, he said, “Is your car here? Did he even come back?”

“I’ll go see,” she said as she sprang toward the door.

“No, wait. I can check the parking garage cameras from here.” Xian swiped his finger over the screen several more times, then made a clucking sound with his tongue. “I am afraid your red Porsche is not parked in the garage.”

“Maybe he stopped by the Pink Salon and is spending dayside with a human woman somewhere.” Jackson popped the lid on and held it on his lap.

“With my car? Without calling or asking? No, Kip’s not the kind of guy who would do that.”

From the pocket of her sweatshirt, she pulled out her cell, punched in a number and held the phone up to her ear. She waited a few moments, a worried look creasing her brow, before she snapped it shut. “He’s still not picking up.”

“Come on,” Jackson said as he jumped from the counter and jogged to the kitchen door, the container of brownies tucked under one arm. “Let’s have Cordell pull up your car’s GPS system to see where it’s located.”

Lily followed closely on his heels. “Tell me exactly what Alfonso told you about Darkbloods looking for Trackers.”

ALFONSO SET A HAND–PAINTED tile flush against the edge of the wet saw, lined up his black Sharpie mark, and grabbed the handle of the blade. Just as he was about to flip on the power switch to make the cut, his phone rang.

Not Santiago again? Few others had his number. He checked the screen and his gut tightened. Damn. The Seattle field office.

He pressed the green answer button. “Yes?”

“Alfonso, it’s Jackson. Lily’s partner is missing.”

Alfonso’s heart flipped in his chest and he stripped off his protective eyewear. “Lily. Where is she?”

“She’s fine,” Jackson said.

Alfonso leaned on the wrought-iron railing and sank to the bottom stair as his heart kick-started under his ribs again with the force of a jackhammer.

“Your intel was accurate,” Jackson continued. “We’re thinking Darkbloods kidnapped Kip because he’s a Tracker. It happened to a Tracker Agent in San Diego as well.”

“Isn’t Kip the new guy? He hasn’t gone through all the training yet, has he? I thought you said Lily just started working with him.”

“Yeah, she only had him out on patrol a few times.”

Alfonso grabbed the handrail and leaped to his feet. “Then it’s her they wanted, not him.”

“Could be a possibility.”

“Where was she when he disappeared? Wasn’t she with him? Tell me everything.”

“She decided to walk home last night at the end of their shift and Kip was to drive her car back himself. Evidently, she’s done it before.”

“Walked home alone?”

“Yeah.”

Alfonso groaned, rubbing his temples.

She hadn’t walked home the night he had watched her. What was she thinking? He was a fool to assume she’d carry out her duties the same way every night.

Jackson continued, “But this time, he never made it back to the field office. The car was found only a few blocks from where they’d originally parked it.”

My God, it could just as easily have been her. “Didn’t you tell her what I told you? That she shouldn’t be out on patrol alone with Darkbloods actively looking for Trackers? What was she thinking?”

“Of course I told her, but you think that made a difference? She’s not gonna change shit just because someone doesn’t think she can handle herself. Besides, we don’t have a lot of Agents here. Not really enough personnel to double up on patrols.”

“Oh, for godsake. They were probably after her in the first place and took the trainee by accident.” The thought of Lily walking unprotected through the streets of Seattle made him want to throttle some sense back into her.

“Thing is,” Jackson said, “she’s taking Kip’s disappearance really hard. Thinks it’s her fault. That if she’d been with him, DBs would never have been able to kidnap him. She’s going out at nightfall to track him.”

“And who’s going with her?”

Jackson hesitated. “No one. We can cover more ground if we split up.”

Not if I can help it.

Alfonso sprinted upstairs. “Was this decision discussed with Santiago? Does he know you’ve got a missing Tracker? I’ve already told him that they’re being targeted by the Alliance. Does he know you plan to allow one of the Agency’s finest Trackers to go out alone?”

There was an icy pause before Jackson replied. No man wanted to be questioned about whether or not he’d checked with his superior for permission. “He’s in complete agreement with me. Lily isn’t just a nose. She’s an awesome fighter. Hell, she’s kicked my ass a few times.”

Yes, but these guys had no fucking idea what she might be up against. “Fine. Then I’m going with her.” He retrieved his army-green duffel bag and began jamming a few things inside.

Jackson laughed. “Dude, you better plan on telling her yourself because I sure as hell don’t want to. She’ll rip me a new one thinking we don’t believe she’s strong enough to do the job without help.”

Alfonso paused. If she heard he was coming, she’d leave before sundown and deal with the resulting energy drain, rather than deal with him. “Don’t tell her I’m coming. It’s imperative you stall her as long as possible. That woman is not to go out alone, understand? When she goes, she goes with me.”

“Wait. You’re not coming now, are you? It’s still daylight.”

“I’m leaving in five minutes.”

Jackson swore and muttered a few things under his breath. “You’ll be a friggin’ mess when you arrive.”

Yeah, maybe, but he was willing to take that chance. “My rig is outfitted as a pseudo Daytran vehicle. It came in handy a few times while working undercover. I’ll manage.” With his heavy weapons bag in one hand, he took the stairs two at a time.

“I need to clear this with Santiago, since you’re not technically an Agent.”

“You do that,” Alfonso said and slammed the phone shut.

CHAPTER FOUR

LILY PUSHED OPEN THE STEEL door at the far end of the parking garage with a bang, her heart thumping madly in her chest. She was angry, she told herself. Angry and pissed off, and not at all excited.

There he was. Just where she figured he’d be.

Alfonso leaned against the hood of her red Porsche, his long legs stretched out in front of him, one large boot crossed over the other, looking like he owned the whole damn place. The warm smell of leather and pine filled her nostrils as she marched toward him, her heels pounding on the pavement with every crushing beat of her heart.

An hour ago, while she’d assembled her weapons bag, the little hairs on the back of her neck had begun to tingle and thoughts of Alfonso kept filling her mind, despite her attempts to shut them down. And now, of course, she knew why. Her sensory abilities had detected him, knew he was nearby, whether her conscious self was completely aware of it or not. At least her scent memory wasn’t totally fried.

Shoving the duffel bag behind her, she stopped in front of him, feet squared, hands on her hips. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Calm as always, he shifted his weight to the other foot and examined his fingernails for a moment before he lazily lifted his gaze to meet hers. The clear blue of his eyes used to remind her of the color of truth, but all she saw now was icy deception. What a fool she’d been to trust her heart with someone like him.

A hint of a smile sat on his lips, his dimple appearing on one cheek. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“Listen, Alfonso. Don’t play games with me. My intelligence quota has increased exponentially since you last saw me and I’m not nearly as gullible. Why are you here? And I want the truth.”

His brow furrowed and he studied her face as if she were a science experiment that needed to be weighed, measured and cataloged. Then his gaze traveled slowly down her body, tickling every traitorous nerve ending. “You miss the latest Agency directive? Until further notice, all Trackers shall be accompanied by another Guardian while out in the field.”

“I’d have heard if the rules had changed.” Jackson hadn’t said anything about it a few minutes ago.

“It was just faxed to all the field offices in the region.”

How the hell would he know? He was obviously trying to trip her up, make her think it was official so she’d agree. “And last I knew, you’re not a Guardian. How’d you even get in here? The place is cloaked. Did Mackenzie tell you what was going on? She did, didn’t she? Or wait, Jackson!”

During the lame-ass emergency briefing that had cut into the precious time she should’ve been out searching for Kip, he hadn’t made eye contact with her. Not once. It totally was him. Next time she saw the guy, she was going to fry his ass.

“Nope.” He looked down, flicking something off his thigh. As he picked at the frayed edges of a small hole in his jeans, his thick lashes rested against his cheeks.

His nonchalance fanned her anger and every muscle in her body went rigid. How could he be so calm and act so totally uninterested? They hadn’t seen each other in over a year. The least he could do was shake her hand or give her a hug. Tell her she looked good or something. Like normal people would do. Normal people who’d once shared something special. God, she was so stupid for thinking he’d ever cared about her.

A tiny voice inside told her she wasn’t exactly welcoming to him either, but she shut that down instantly. She needed to keep her exterior shell as hard and rigid as possible in order to protect her too fragile heart. Love was a candy-coated fairy tale whose sugar high didn’t last long in the real world.

“Sorry to break it to you, but you’re not coming with me.” She poked a finger toward him and the loaded duffel bag almost slipped off her shoulder. She elbowed it behind her back again. “In fact, you’ve got a lot of nerve showing up like this. What do you mean accompanied by another Guardian, anyway? You’re not Agency.”

“Santiago okayed me coming on board temporarily to help you track down the missing trainee.”

It felt as if someone had slapped her. The Region Commander didn’t think she had the chops to handle this assignment on her own? Santiago must think she’d slacked off because Kip had disappeared under her watch. Despite the chill in the air, her internal temperature cranked up like a furnace and the stiff collar of her jacket suddenly became too tight.

She clenched her jaw and pressed her lips into a hard line. “Well, news flash for you. I don’t report directly to Santiago. I don’t need your help or anyone else’s, so get away from my car. It’s new and I don’t need any scratches or fingerprints.”

“He got the okay from Roxanne Reynolds. Does that make a difference?”

She had started to step over his legs, but that stopped her in her tracks. Roxanne was in charge of all Tracker Agents and her word was law. If you valued your job, you didn’t cross her. Unlike Santiago, her bite was much worse than her bark.

“Yeah, I thought it would.” He stood up, straightening to his full six-foot-four frame, taking full advantage of the fact that he was almost a full twelve inches taller than her. She had to crank her head back to keep eye contact with him and it made her feel even smaller. Damn. She should’ve worn heels.

A piece of his tousled blond hair fell to the middle of his cheek, and when he absently pushed it off his face, it slid back down anyway. The soft color of his eyes and the tiny wrinkles around the corners belied the hard planes of his square jaw and the rough texture of his unshaven face. Those large hands, with fingertips callused from playing the guitar, were incredibly dexterous, and that powerful body could be surprisingly tender. He was a mass of contradictions, wrapped up in a package too attractive for her own good.

She shouldered past him, the corner of her duffel smacking against his hip. Too bad it missed his balls. Yanking the car door open, she threw the bag inside, angry with herself for still being so physically attracted to him. He angled himself around to the side of the car, and leaned against the front quarter panel as if he was the one calling the shots.

“You wasted a lot of time driving down here,” she said. “Despite what everyone must think, I am perfectly capable of tracking Kip on my own. Now, step aside.” But he didn’t budge. Fine. He’d move his ass as soon as she hit the accelerator.

“I realize that,” he said. “You’re one of the best Trackers in the Agency. That’s not why I’m here.”

She crossed her arms and raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Then why are you here?”

“Despite what you must think, Lily, I worry about you. With this new Darkblood strategy, if they even so much as catch wind of you while you’re looking for your little trainee, they’ll ditch him in a heartbeat. He’s not who they wanted in the first place. I plan to be your temporary assistant. No, your bodyguard.”

“You? My assistant?” She lifted her chin and laughed. “That’s the most absurd thing I’ve heard in a long time. Wait. I think I understand. You’re feeling nostalgic and want to screw again, eh? You want to do it for old time’s sake because—” she lowered her voice to a caricature of him “—I can’t find anyone who shags like you do, baby.”

“Gimme a little credit here.”

Something flashed in those glacier eyes. If she didn’t know any better, she’d have thought he looked hurt. But that wasn’t possible. He was the one who had hurt her.

“Yeah, nothing says you care like a year’s worth of … of … nothing. I was much too naive, thinking you’d be back after things settled down. But I guess it was just an assignment to you. A long-term assignment, and once it was over, we were over.”

“Jesus, Lil.” He opened his mouth as if he were going to say more, but snapped it shut. The square corners of his jaw flexed over and over.

She’d struck a nerve. Good.

“When Mackenzie thought she saw you in the lab moments before she saw flames, I thought you’d been trapped inside. I spent the next few nights sifting through the ashes looking for your remains. I looked for that medallion I gave you for luck, but then you probably only wore it when you knew we were getting together anyway.”

He reached into his shirt and pulled out the gold pendant that swung on a leather cord around his neck.

She stared at it, stunned. He still wore it?

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but it couldn’t be helped. They had to believe I died along with Pavlos.”

She swallowed and tried to regain her composure. He’d probably put it on knowing he was coming to see her. “And you didn’t see fit to inform me of your little deception.”

When she’d thought he had died in the fire that day, a huge part of her had died as well. But when Mackenzie told her later that he was very much alive, she wasn’t sure what to think. Then, in one fateful phone conversation, when he’d told her he no longer loved her—even after all they had shared—it just about sent her over the edge. She’d sworn she’d never be such a sucker for romance and a handsome face again.

“For your sake, it was better if everyone thought I was dead. It still is.” He examined the medallion, its interconnected links with no beginning or end, as if he’d never seen it before. “I was hoping you’d moved on by now.”

“And what makes you think that I haven’t?”

His expression went suddenly blank as the implication of her words sank in. She could’ve sworn his pupils widened for a moment. Yeah, let him ponder that. Her gaze languished down his powerful body to make her point, over his lean hips and muscular legs, then back up to meet his icy-blue stare again. There was no way in hell he’d been celibate this whole time. No way. God, she didn’t want to even think about him lying between the legs of another woman.

With a sniff, she flipped her long ponytail to the other side, smoothing it over her shoulder, in order to keep her thoughts grounded in the present. And in the present, he pissed her off.

“You’re not tracking him by yourself, Lil. You’re clearly the original target. Santiago and Jackson are idiots to let you go alone. I told them both that, so I went around their authority. And if I were on speaking terms with my brother, he’d no doubt agree with me.”

She had to admit Alfonso was right about one thing. If Dom wasn’t on assignment in Australia, he would insist she have backup as well. They were cut from the same mold. Stupid, overprotective Serrano brothers. She scoffed and rolled her eyes.

He smacked his hand on the roof of her car and she jumped. “You are not. Going. Alone.” As he stepped around the open door and into her personal space, his jaw muscles tensed below his earlobes, the black of his pupils expanding against the blue.

Not wanting to touch him, she stepped backward, flattening herself against the back door of her car. In this position, his scent was stronger than ever, filling her head and activating memories that were too dangerous for her heart. He rested a hand on the roof, just inches from her face, and leaned in close. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she couldn’t remember if she had been breathing in or breathing out. He wasn’t going to try to kiss her, was he? Because if he did, she’d—

She stared at his full lips, recalling how they’d felt moving against her own, brushing over her neck, tickling the delicate skin beneath her chin and along her jaw.

Shit. He was talking. She blinked, tried to concentrate.

“I thought about forcing you to stop—I can and you know it.” He enunciated each word with deadly precision.

Her pulse quickened and the chain of her belly ring flickered on the sensitive skin of her lower abdomen. Their relationship had always been passionate; sometimes she’d been the one in charge, and other times he had. Clearly, he was taking the dominant role tonight, and although it pissed her off, it excited her on some level as well.

“I’d find him myself,” he said, “but my ability to track is a fraction as strong as yours. I can’t do it without you. My only choice is going with you and that’s what I intend to do. Give me your keys. I’m driving.”

No one ordered her around. Gritting her teeth, she pushed him away, thinking if she wanted to, she could grab him by the shoulders right now and plant a knee or an elbow in a number of tender spots. Force me? My ass. She’d taken down bigger men than him just for the sport of it.

“There is no way in hell you’re coming with me. I don’t need you or want you. Now get out of my way.”

“Lil, please.” The brittle planes of his face softened just a little. “If you’re driving, how do you expect to concentrate on tracking your friend’s scent? You’ll be faster, more effective, if all other stimuli are eliminated. Come on, let me drive. You just close your eyes, concentrate and tell me which way to go.”

She examined her fresh manicure and pushed back a cuticle. Her goal was to find Kip as soon as possible and she supposed it would be easier if she didn’t have to drive.

“My way is much more efficient,” he continued. “Come on. We don’t have time for this.” He snapped his fingers, as if she were an insolent child.

She was about to acquiesce—he did have a point—when this arrogance of his slipped under her skin again like a newly sharpened dagger. Digging her nails into the palms of her hands, she drew in a breath to calm herself. She was about to tell him to go to hell, but then Kip’s eager, young face, flush with excitement over his first few tracking assignments, flashed in her mind. Finding him, getting him back safely, was the most important issue. Not her past relationship with a man she used to love.

Fine. She’d table her emotions and put up with Alfonso temporarily for Kip’s sake. But one thing was for sure. Despite their past and the fact that he was still so damned attractive, she would not allow him to get into her heart. He’d played her once. She would not let her guard down again.

She fished the keys out and threw them at him hard enough to make a mark. With lightning-fast reflexes, he snatched them out of the air and gave them a jaunty little toss before he turned his back and grabbed the door handle.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” she called over her shoulder. “I’m only agreeing to this because of Kip.”

“Fair enough.”

The leather squeaked as he slid his large body down into the seat, and he scanned the interior of her new car. By the time she’d jogged around to the passenger door, he’d reached over and cracked it open for her from the inside. As she climbed in beside him, the Panamera’s engine roared to life, a deep, rumbling, powerful sound. His fingers caressed the top of the dash as if he were familiarizing himself with an exciting new lover that he couldn’t wait to bed. She had to admit, he did look pretty hot behind the wheel.

“Ever drive a sport-mode dual clutch?” Her voice sounded a little too scratchy, so she cleared her throat.

He adjusted the seat and mirrors in such a precise, preoccupied manner that she wondered if he’d even heard what she’d said. “How hard can it be?”

Oh, this should be interesting. She leaned over, pressed a button on the console near his thigh, taking care not to touch him, and popped the gear shift back to center.

“What was that?”

“Turned off the sport mode and put it back into automatic. The dual clutch takes some getting used to.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her in a flippant, you-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about look. Figured. All men thought their DNA made them better drivers.

“I don’t have time to give you a lesson,” she said. “And I can’t be distracted wondering when the hell you were going to shift.”

As if his mere presence just inches away wasn’t distracting enough.

CHAPTER FIVE

“THIS IS IT.” THE MAN TAPPED a knuckle on the taxi window. A small, unadorned prayer box dangled from a hole in his thick pinkie nail and clinked against the glass. “Wait for me around the corner.”

“For how long?” the driver said, his nicotine-graveled voice sounding more like a growl. “I’m scheduled for a pickup in an hour.”

The passenger slipped him a hundred-dollar bill, the pads of his fingers brushing against the cabbie’s outstretched palm, and he repeated his command. “Wait for me. I’ve got another one marked for you when I return.”

The driver’s eyelids fluttered a few times and his worn expression softened. “Sure, I’ll be right up there.”

After navigating past a line of young palm trees and stepping over the uneven pavement of the walkway, the man stood on the front porch as sounds of a TV blared through the half-closed door. Noticing a scuff on the toe of his shoe, he stooped to brush it off, irritated when it didn’t disappear. He straightened up, realigned his black jacket and rang the doorbell.

He waited, then rang it again.

“Brice!” a female voice called from inside. “The pizza guy’s here.” Footsteps shuffled on the fake Spanish-tile floor a moment later.

“I didn’t order any damn—”

The door was flung open with gusto, creating a slight breeze across his forehead. He smoothed his slicked hair back in place as a man in a stained college sweatshirt appeared at the other side of the screen. The smell of cigarettes, fried food and beer-laden blood filled his nostrils. He pulled a handkerchief from his inside pocket, folded it carefully and dabbed his upper lip.

“Oh, Jesus. Ah, Father, what can I do for you?” The man pushed the screen door and held it open. “Would you like to come in?”

He touched the mandarin collar of his jacket. It wasn’t the first time he’d been mistaken for a man of the cloth, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. “Heavens, no. I’m tremendously sorry I did not call first. I don’t wish to trouble you, but I have a simple request that had to be made in person.”

“Yeah, sure, what is it? Father … Father …?”

“Rejavik. The name is Rejavik.” With his hands clasped at his waist, he held a smile in check and tried to look pious. “You take on boarders from time to time, is that correct?”

“Not really, Father Rejavik. My old lady used to, but not anymore. Why? You looking to rent a room?”

Rejavik held back his contempt. He’d rather lie on a beach at noon, have the sunlight leach every ounce of energy from his body, than spend one night in this filthy shit hole. “I’m trying to locate a member of my congregation who may have stayed here several years ago. His name is Alfonso Serrano. Tall fellow, blond hair, blue eyes.”

“Hey, Marge,” the man yelled over his shoulder. “You remember a renter named Alberto?”

“Alfonso,” Rejavik said quietly. Idiot.

“Why does the pizza guy want to know?” she yelled from the other room.

“Oh for Chr—” Brice clamped a hand over his mouth and hiccupped through his fingers. “Sorry, Father. A few years ago?”

Rejavik nodded.

“I haven’t lived here that long but I know Marge had a long-term renter for a while. Maybe he’s your guy.”

“Let me speak with her.”

“Hey, Marge!” No answer. The television laugh track, prompting the desired proletarian response, blared from the other room. “Marge!”

Enough of this. Rejavik placed his palm on the man’s shoulder. “Take me to her.”

The man jerked away and eyed him warily. “What the hell was that? It felt like an electric shock or something.”

Not quite the intoxicated simpleton I’d assumed. “I’m terribly sorry. With the cooler air, I sometimes conduct a little more electrostatic energy this time of year. There—” he touched the doorjamb “—it’s dissipated. Forgive me.” He held out his hand to the man and gave him a benign smile.

Tired of these pathetic niceties, he silently counted to three, at which point he’d spill this fool’s blood and get the answers from Marge himself. Either way, it didn’t really matter, although he just picked up this suit from the cleaners and didn’t want to get it soiled again so soon. He was hungry, but not desperate.

Thick, sausagelike fingers gripped his hand and the human’s energy flowed into his body like an open spigot. Ah, yes, very good. Palm-on-palm was much more effective than contact through clothing anyway, making thought suggestions harder to resist. Although palm-to-forehead was best, he didn’t think he could bear touching the man’s sweat-stained face.

“Take me to Marge, then lie down and go to sleep.”

Within a few minutes, the man was sleeping on a ratty couch, the television was turned down and Marge’s hands were clasped between his.

“He has eyes like Paul Newman,” she said, “and he’s tall. Had to duck under the attic beams and couldn’t stand up all the way. He pays in cash, six months in advance, but like I said, I haven’t seen him in a long time. Don’t remember his name being Alfonso, though. Do you think he could be the same guy?”

“He stayed in your attic room?”

“No, he didn’t like it there. Said he needed to come and go at weird hours and didn’t want to disturb us, so he rents the outbuilding at the back of our property. Not sure why ‘cause he’s hardly ever there, but, hey, I’m not complaining. Don’t think he’s into drugs or nothing.”

“When was the last time he was here?”

She shrugged. “Six months. A year, maybe more. Like I said, I don’t keep track. Pays like clockwork though.”

Wedged against the rocky hillside a half acre from the rear of the house, the wooden shed looked largely forgotten. Tumbleweeds lay among the rusted-out garden tools, empty paint buckets and other assorted junk that leaned against the outside walls. Some idiot—probably the one who’d answered the door—had parked a dented blue car, now up on jacks, so close to the shed that it blocked the small door. The woman unlocked it and stepped aside to let him pass.

The interior should’ve smelled stale and dusty, a perfect environment for black widow spiders and scorpions, but it didn’t. It had obviously been cleaned more recently than the house, but then, that wasn’t saying much.

She pulled the cord of a light fixture near the door, and the bare bulb swung from the ceiling, casting moving shadows over the room. Pushed up against the far wall was a cot with a floral comforter tucked in at the edges and a small nightstand.

What kind of man would stay in a place like this? he wondered as he looked around the neat and tidy surroundings. Maybe the lead he was following up was wrong. Surely someone with Serrano’s means and lineage would never surround himself with such flea market squalor, even if it was simply used as an occasional hideout.

He opened the nightstand drawer with his handkerchief and found a flashlight, an unscented candle, a book of matches and a well-worn bible. He grabbed it, flipped through the pages, and when a guitar pick fell out, he couldn’t help smiling. Serrano took his guitar everywhere.

This was promising after all.

When he picked up a pillow and drew in a deep breath through his nostrils, something lingered in the back of his scent memory and almost—

“How can you tell if your guy is my renter?” The woman’s voice broke his concentration and his shoulders stiffened. “I mean, we really shouldn’t be in here without his permission. It ain’t right.”

“Wait for me outside near the blue car.”

“Why—”

He leveled a hard stare at her and noticed the loose skin of her jowls hung in parallel cords from her chin to the base of her neck. The soft tissue would tear easily, he thought as the tips of his fangs poked through his gums.

“I’ll be right out there if you need me,” she said, suddenly wising up.

Good. He didn’t want to flood his system with her blood right now anyway. It would dilute his senses too much and he needed them keen at the moment.

As his fangs receded, he turned back to the cot. With a fingernail, he lifted the lid of the prayer box and held it to his nose.

He recalled the Oath of Loyalty ceremony when the item had been placed in his possession centuries ago. In the dimly lit caverns beneath the city of Madrid, he had watched as the Overlord drew a blade over the palms of each of the inductees. They were to dip a square of muslin in their own blood, place it inside a prayer box and present it to their assigned blood assassin as a sign of their undying loyalty to the Overlord and the Darkblood Alliance.

Something about Serrano’s demeanor had nagged at him that day, and he’d checked inside the tiny golden box before placing it into the vault. Maybe it was the way Serrano had looked at him, almost glaring at the Overlord, eyes full of defiance, with no trace of the reverence visible on all the others’ faces. It was, after all, an honor to be asked to join the inner circle.

Maybe it was the slight sheen of sweat he’d noticed on Serrano’s upper lip. Rejavik couldn’t be sure what it was that hadn’t seemed right, but it was a good thing he’d checked—the tiny box had been empty. The blood-soaked piece of cloth had somehow fallen to the dirt floor.

Serrano had acted surprised, as if he thought he’d placed it inside the box, but Rejavik wasn’t so sure it hadn’t been intentional.

When he’d learned Serrano had been identified as the insider responsible for the death of their great leader, that he’d been feeding intelligence to the Governing Council’s Guardian unit for years, Rejavik hadn’t been surprised. He doubted Serrano had ever been loyal to their cause. It would be his pleasure and honor to kill the traitor.

A quick death would be too kind. No, he’d make sure to draw it out as long and as painfully as possible. And if there was anyone special in Serrano’s life, anyone he cared enough about to share blood, Rejavik would find her and make her suffer as well.

He inhaled deeply and held his breath, the remnants of Serrano’s blood inside the box reactivating his scent memory. He visualized the defiance in Serrano’s eyes, which shone brightly beneath his hooded robe, the slight flare of his nostrils and the rigidity of his shoulders. Ah, yes. It was all coming back to him now.

He closed the lid and ran his fingers lightly over the bed, leaning his face close to the surface. Yes, the scent patterns matched. Although the smell was old, Serrano had definitely been here.

But there was something more.

He pulled back the comforter and sniffed again.

Although faint, the smell of sex still clung to the sheets. Serrano had fucked someone in this shit hole? A whore? Did he drain her as well? Rejavik didn’t detect any blood scent, though.

He was about to leave when his hand alighted on a lump near the foot of the bed. Flipping back the comforter entirely, he spotted a tiny, wadded ball of black string and lace forgotten on the sheets, kicked off in the heat of the moment.

With just the tip of a finger so as not to disturb the scent, he lifted the flimsy material to his nose.

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