 
KALA TRILOGY

BOOK ONE

### HEALER'S MAGIC

By

### Teagan Kearney

The right of Teagan Kearney to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchases.

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

Third Edition: 2017

The Kala Trilogy was previously released under the title, _Samsara_.

This book was previously released under the titles _Tatya's Return_ and _Power Rising._

The third edition contains substantial changes to the story's setting.

Copyright © Teagan Kearney 2017

Photo Copyright: Shutterstock

Acknowledgment

A sincere thank you to my editor, Teresa Kennedy, who also happens to be a fabulous human being.

Dedication

To Tim, for your loving support and help—where would I be without you?

And last, but definitely by no means least, to every one of my readers—a great big thank you!

Sign up for the author's mailing list to receive a free copy of _Hekate's Chalice_ , Book One in the _Adept Solutions Series,_ and information about new releases, discounts, and advanced reading copies: <https://bit.ly/2zGXGsS>
**Table of Contents**

Prologue

Chapter One: Vanse

Chapter Two: A Visitation

Chapter Three: Crisis

Chapter Four: The First Strike

Chapter Five: Metamorphosis

Chapter Six: The Northern Isles, 2800 BC

Chapter Seven: Changing Sky

Chapter Eight: The First Stirrings

Chapter Nine: Calling Back the Dead

Chapter Ten: Yfêlynys, Cymru, 60 AD

Chapter Eleven: Taken

Chapter Twelve: Recovery

Chapter Thirteen: Mathura, Uttar Pradesh, 1145 AD

Chapter Fourteen: Damage Control

Chapter Fifteen: Unusual Bedfellows

Chapter Sixteen: The Lair

Chapter Seventeen: Antisuyu, High Andes, 1500, AD

Chapter Eighteen: Unforeseen

Chapter Nineteen: Sean

Chapter Twenty: Hiatus

Chapter Twenty-One: Preparation

Chapter Twenty-Two: Trojan Horses

Chapter Twenty-Three: Sacrifice

Chapter Twenty-Four: In the Face of Adversity

Chapter Twenty-Five: When One Door Closes

FROM THE AUTHOR

Prologue

The following is a timeline of recent developments between the human race and various paranormal species.

**1920:** After World War I, the help received from the vampire, werewolf, and fae nations was acknowledged by the world governments in The Revelation Treaty, signed in Basel, Switzerland on the 21st of December, 1920. The agreement between human and paranormal races ended centuries of suspicion and hostility. Most humans had been aware of supernaturals, and the pact didn't shake the world, nor did it—as some had feared—rend the veil between the visible and invisible worlds in such a way as to allow the banished demon race to return. The understanding was that as long as none of the newly recognized species contravened the Treaty on a massive scale, life would continue on its designated path, with humans remaining dominant.

The Treaty was broken many times in the decades following the emergence of paranormals into the public arena, but eventually, all species figured out how to co-exist.

**1945:** At the end of WWII, the Medal of Honor was awarded to two supernaturals (a vampire and a werewolf respectively) for their outstanding contributions above and beyond the call of duty during the war.

All species benefited from industrial and technological progress, despite the resentment and protests by humans that, as they had made these discoveries, paranormal access should be restricted. It was a limitation impossible to put into practice, given that some paranormals lived as humans part of the time as was intrinsic to their natures.

However, the Treaty didn't change human or paranormal aggression; internal wars were still fought, and allies solicited from both humans and supernaturals. Each species had their own method of governance and policing, and as long as each species stayed within the parameters laid down by their own authorities, the accord stated that each would be protected from external interference.

All species, meanwhile, funded covert units for purposes of espionage.

**1949:** Professor Gordon Naysmith was awarded the Nobel Prize for Paranormal Research for his investigation into the nature of ghosts.

**1989:** A law banning the practice of contacting the recently departed was approved, making the practice illegal. Paranormal groups had persistently lobbied the UN hard, declaring the reluctance of humans to let the dead depart was disturbing the balance of their world.

**2014:** Due to a rise in demonic possessions, the Pope approved the revival of exorcism.

# Chapter One: Vanse

Tatya squeezed the box of donuts so hard, the damp sides bent inward. She blew out a breath. Aunt Lil was going to be fine, she told herself for the umpteenth time. She resisted the urge to bite her fingernails, an old childhood habit, keeping a tight lock on her empathetic abilities. She only looked up when a grimy, unshaven man, water dripping off him, boarded the bus and staggered down the aisle.

As one, the passengers avoided his gaze, staring fixedly out of the windows, as though the downpour outside held an immense fascination. If they didn't see him, maybe he wouldn't see them. He was about to park himself next to Tatya when she flicked a repulsion spell at him. A look of momentary confusion crossed the man's face as he gazed at the empty seat before moving on.

Today, she was taking the bus as her tenth-hand Ford truck was in the auto repair shop. With business slowing to a standstill since Sean's illness, money was tight.

Despite her ongoing anxieties from these problems, she had more urgent issues on her mind as she headed for St. Raphael's Hospital in the pouring rain. Aunt Lil was her one living relative, and been her shelter in the devastation of her life after her parents had died fifteen years before in a train accident.

A week ago, Tatya had left for the annual Midwest Organic Farmers' conference, stopping for gas after twenty minutes, then racing back to the house because she realized she'd forgotten her laptop. She had found her aunt unconscious on the floor of the kitchen, as black smoke from the burnt lasagna oozed out of the oven. It was nothing short of a miracle Tatya came back when she did, before the house burned down with her aunt inside. She'd cancelled the trip, and was hoping the results of the latest tests would give some indication of her aunt's ailment.

Unless she had a terminally ill client, Tatya tried to avoid such hot spots of bad karma as hospitals. Her psychic talent of seeing auras went into overload in such places, resulting in severe migraines if she didn't take care. Her green eyes flashed, and her hands tingled as power sparked from her fingertips. Worry about her aunt's condition left her tense. The possibility of losing her aunt shattered her stability, leaving her emotions all over the place, and command of her powers erratic.

Tatya was descended, on her mother's side, from a long line of healers and hedge witches. At the age of four, and without any guidance, she had found and healed a bird's broken wing. Her parents had realized at once she possessed more ability and talent than had been seen in the family for generations.

Centering her thoughts on the protective amulet at her neck, she soothed away the negativity. But Aunt Lil's illness wasn't the only difficulty waiting at the hospital.

Hospitals were one of the major loci for vampires, as they provided easy access to their legalized blood bank allowance. St. Raphael's, the main hospital for Orleton and the surrounding counties, was the headquarters of supernatural head honcho, Vanse. The possibility of seeing him increased her nervousness.

She used to call him Vanse the vamp. Once, the name had made her giggle—it was straight out of an old B movie. Not anymore. Not since he'd turned Sean, her best friend since high school, and recent business partner, into one of the undead.

Over the past couple of years, after starting from scratch, she and Sean had built up a moderately successful herb business with Tatya's healing practice on the side. They'd worked together on everything from planting seeds to supplying local herbalists and private customers with their special curative teas. Sean's latest project, setting up a website for online marketing, had been almost ready to launch when his health began to go downhill.

Sean's diagnosis of full blown AIDs, the 20th century plague, had changed everything. He had caught it from a former girlfriend who dated an ex-junkie for a while. Tatya had visited him every day, watching him become more emaciated as the disease ravaged his body.

Every time she visited, Sean tried to talk to her, but with Vanse always looming in the background, she avoided any private conversation. Now, she clenched her hands, ignoring the stray thought of what a thrill it would be to use her power for revenge—just for once.

She still couldn't get her head around the fact that Vanse had turned Sean. Her friend would never have asked to become one of the undead. Sean didn't possess the qualities she envisioned being desirable in a vampire. Generous and kind, he was a green-fingered earth magician who celebrated the growing of life. Dark, rich crumbly compost running through his fingers sent him into raptures; he was a poet who wrote haiku. He'd make a lousy vampire. Well, Vanse and eternity would provide plenty of time to develop other traits, and Sean would turn from someone who loved life to someone who could take it. This was all Vanse's fault. She swallowed the lump of resentment swelling in her throat, and mentally stuck a large, fat, white-oak stake into his heart.

The bus jerked to a halt at the hospital stop. Small towns didn't always offer the most efficient service—this one to the hospital being an exception. Tatya, along with most of the passengers, trailed off the bus, hitching her jacket hood up to keep off the driving rain. She splashed along behind the straggle of hunched shoulders and pinched faces under the bobbing umbrellas toward the beckoning shelter of the hospital.

Inside, Tatya pushed her jacket hood back off her head. Her thick, copper-brown hair escaping as usual from the clip she'd stuck in it in an attempt to appear presentable. She ignored the familiar clinical smell of the hospital disinfectant as she walked over to the elevator. She stood with the crush of people, the donut box under her arm, heading for the women's ward on the second floor. Maybe this time, she'd hear good news. Maybe she'd be able to bring her aunt home.

Aunt Lil was sitting up in bed, her pillows plumped behind her. She'd lost weight and her normally ruddy cheeks were pale, but her face lit up with a broad grin as her niece entered the ward.

"Tatya! My darling!"

Tatya hugged her aunt in a fierce embrace. Intimately attuned to Aunt Lil's energy, she opened her awareness a fraction, sensing her aunt was stronger than yesterday. Her aunt's inner aura was resuming its usual brightness, and the grubby gray smears of the previous days were fading.

"There, there...." Aunt Lil wiped the tears from Tatya's face. "I'm fine."

"Here. All your favorites." Tatya put the box on the bedside table, making herself comfortable on the visitor's chair, shuffling it closer to the bed. She glanced around at the other four women in the ward, three of whom chatted with family and friends. The fourth and most elderly patient lay thin and frail, with her eyes closed, on the farthest bed. Tatya had never seen anyone visit Alice Franklin. "I'll check on Alice in a while."

"You have a soft heart for those who need it."

"Tell me, any test results yet?"

"That reminds me, that nice young doctor said to tell you he wants to have a word with you."

Tatya rolled her eyes. Aunt Lil was always trying to pair her up with someone. Generally not someone Tatya had ever taken a liking to, at least not so far.

"Perhaps he'll ask me out," she joked, pushing her unruly hair out of her eyes, and striking a provocative pose before having a fit of giggles.

"Oh, and your friend sends his regards."

Tatya stiffened. "Sean?"

"No, dear, the other one. The tall, dark, and handsome one!"

Who in the world was Aunt Lil talking about?

"Him. That's the one I mean." She pointed behind Tatya who turned around, her breath catching as she saw who stood there.

Yes, as Aunt Lil said, Vanse was tall, dark and handsome—that is, if your tastes ran to the undead. She'd swear he had a radar system that pinged an alert the instant she entered the building. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes mournful.

"Come in, Vanse," Aunt Lil beckoned him over.

Tatya shivered as he eyed her before coming to stand by her side. The fact he had no aura to read was unsettling. Trying not to fall off the chair, she inched as far away from him as possible. She was much too aware of him, and the effect he had on her. The pull he exerted was almost overpowering as the faint scent of sandalwood tickled her nose. Studying her aunt's white bed sheet, she did her best to ignore his presence, in the faint hope he'd take the hint and leave. No such luck. Vamps weren't known for their subtlety.

"This is my niece, Tatya. Tatya, this is Vanse."

"Yes, Aunt Lil. We've met." Not bothering to hide her aversion, she glared up at him. "How's Sean?" She laced her voice with the bitterness she wanted him to hear.

"He's well."

Tatya froze as his voice stroked every sense in her body. She touched the small locket hanging on a silver chain resting at her throat. A gift from a close friend, it contained the image of Lord Narasimha, a protective deity she'd adopted as her own.

"If you wish to speak with him, I will summon him. Yes, it's difficult for you to accept the change, but it may well help him."

Help Sean! How dare he? Didn't he understand how hard it was for her to see Sean as a vampire? Despite the number of times she'd spotted her friend when visiting Aunt Lil, they had talked only once since his change. One of the benefits of becoming a vampire was enhanced physical perfection. Sean's light brown dreadlocks had transformed into a smooth, rich chestnut mane; his slight, wiry physique stretched and morphed to conform to the standard vamp body with its perfect height and musculature. He was now Michelangelo's David, hardly recognizable as the friend she'd once known. As far as Tatya was concerned, it was too high a price for your soul. From what she'd gathered when she touched on the subject with Aunt Lil, Vanse had never asked Sean—just turned him. She narrowed her eyes, feeling the familiar tingle of power begin to build in her fingers.

Vanse moved back a few steps. "Until later, Miss Lillian " He offered an old-fashioned bow to Aunt Lil and was gone.

"You two would make a lovely couple."

Tatya choked. "Not in this lifetime, and not while I have a pulse in my body!"

Alice Franklin's coughing brought Tatya to her feet.

"I've got this," she said to Aunt Lil.

As she helped Alice's wasted body into a sitting position, Tatya was shocked at the transparency of her auric haze. Drawing on her power, she sent a subtle stream of energy into the woman, focusing on her weakened heart and lungs. The old lady's aura strengthened, thickening where it met her skin and giving off a pale yellow glow as the coughing fit subsided.

"Thank you, dear."

Tatya poured a glass of water, holding it to her lips while she drank.

"Your aunt is lucky to have you." She focused her rheumy eyes on Tatya. "I fear I'll not be in this world much longer."

"Oh, don't say such things," Tatya chided, her voice kind. "They can do wonders these days with modern medicine."

Tatya had always possessed the ability to ease pain by touch, and as a teenager had become intrigued by traditional medicines. Aunt Lil wasn't at all surprised when Tatya began her business venture. After all, she was simply following in the footsteps of the women in her family. But she couldn't eradicate a disease. With Sean, she'd done what she could to alleviate his suffering, but it hadn't been enough.

"When you've breathed your allotted number of breaths, my dear, that's it." Alice sipped a bit more water. "But if I can help anyone as I leave, that's a bonus." Alice's gaze wandered over to the ward entrance.

Tatya turned to see what had captured the old lady's attention. Sean stood just outside the ward, a bewildered look on his face. She bit her lip. Surely the old woman didn't mean what Tatya thought she meant?

"Go speak to him, dear. He doesn't understand why you won't."

Tatya bent and kissed Alice's forehead. "I'll come tomorrow. Promise."

Aunt Lil's eyes were closed; she often dozed during visits. Tatya took a deep breath and walked toward Sean. Before his death, she'd spent months grieving for him. The Sean she'd known was dead, yet here he stood in front of her, re-born. Vanse was the one she was angry with; she didn't know why she was blaming Sean.

"Let's talk," she said, leading the way out of the ward.

They sat side by side on a bench in a nearby alcove. Sean's back was ramrod straight; his fingers tapped his knees. He was clearly unsure of how to proceed.

"How are you?" she asked. It was difficult to remember her Sean might still be somewhere inside this vampire.

"I miss you." He reached for her hand but she held up her palm. He flinched back.

"I'm sorry, Sean."

"Everything's different. Sensations, colors, light."

A nurse pushing a trolley full of medication hurried past.

"I sense the blood pulsing in their arteries, Tatya. I crave it. It's awful."

She stared at his hands. Hands that had previously grown healing herbs.

"If it wasn't for Vanse, I wouldn't be able to control myself."

"If it wasn't for Vanse, you wouldn't have to control yourself!" She didn't regret speaking bluntly.

"Thanks for your support. Why can't you accept this," his hand flicked downward "is still me?"

"You were supposed to die. When I left, you were dead. Then he..." she couldn't finish the sentence.

"Okay. It's not my first choice of species, and I don't have a pulse, but this is me, Tatya." His voice cracked. " Please, don't give up on me."

Tatya didn't answer. She hadn't come to terms with what had happened to Sean, and her concerns now centered on Aunt Lil. With the living, not the undead.

"I have to go." Sean's voice was soft.

"Is he calling you?"

"Yes. Didn't you know? It's part of the care package. A master vampire has telepathic links with his followers, especially those recently turned. Believe it or not, it's a matter of safety while we're learning."

Tatya wasn't interested. Big deal. Even violent criminals and animals cared for their own. "Go on then. Obey your master." She knew her words hurt. But no matter what he said or did, this wasn't her Sean. She couldn't tell if he was fooling himself or believed his own words. She stared at her hands, and squeezed them tight, not wanting to watch him leave.

Aunt Lil's doctor was off duty. The officious nursing manager told her only the doctor had the authorization to discuss the details of her aunt's condition, but she could inform her that more tests would be conducted tomorrow. Frustration at the lack of information and uncertainty about her aunt's illness fueled her anxieties, but there was nothing she could do but wait till tomorrow and ask again.

At the end of visiting hours, Tatya kissed her aunt on the forehead and whispered good-bye. She waved to Alice Franklin, who waved back.

She was crossing the foyer when she heard the distinctly recognizable voice of Sheriff Corwin, berating a deputy officer. Nothing new in that. Over the past few years, Corwin had invited her to assist in several missing persons cases. Someone had told him of her talent in locating missing objects—a gift she'd not used much until she met the Sheriff. Now, the police paid her a decent consultant's fee when he made use of her services.

Corwin noticed her approach. "I'll be over later, got something I want to run by you," he said hardly missing a beat in his tirade, "okay?"

"Sure. I'll be home."

He turned back to raking his subordinate over the coals.

As Tatya neared the exit, she fought the urge to look back, and lost. She turned and saw Vanse leaning against a wall by the elevators. Their gazes met, and the expression in his eyes wasn't one of triumph—he was pleading.

# Chapter Two: A Visitation

First Sean and now Aunt Lil.

Tatya trudged along her driveway, the sharp gravel crunching under her boots as her thoughts settled in slow motion, like a soft swirl of snowflakes whitening and silencing the world. Even years later, the image of Aunt Lil's sorrow-filled eyes as she told Tatya of her parents' sudden deaths was as fresh as the day it had engraved itself in her memory. She'd been seven years old; staying with her aunt for the Easter holidays while her father attended a teacher's conference in New York. Her mother had gone with him; she'd wanted to explore the art galleries. They'd been on their way to pick up Tatya and would have stayed a few days with Lil before returning home to Arizona.

Afterward, Tatya had fallen into a gray, cheerless lethargy for months. A psychiatrist would have diagnosed her with depression, but instead, Aunt Lil embarked on her own program of support and consolation, loving her niece back into this world. In the following years, her aunt had done her utmost to bring up her niece in the manner her brother would have wanted. Yet, those first days and weeks after the awful tragedy had left a residue in her psyche. She could hear those ghosts calling.

The investigation into the train accident that killed her parents never uncovered enough proof, but the final report had shown there was a reason to believe a pack of feral vampires was responsible. Since then, the very mention of their species had been anathema to her.

Tatya plodded around to the back garden as the setting sun limned the house in blood-red rays of fire. She entered the first of the three greenhouses. Taking a deep breath, she inhaled the healing smells of lavender, sage, and chamomile hanging in bunches from the drying racks Sean had constructed.

After she'd finished college and told Aunt Lil what she wanted to do, her aunt had taken her savings, and together with Tatya's inheritance, they'd transformed the surrounding acre of land. When she and Sean had bumped into each other in a local bar that summer, reigniting their friendship, their common interests, and goals for the future cemented the relationship. They'd never been an item, but each had found in the other, a soul mate of a different kind.

The old ranch house, a rambling two-story wood and stone building, was more than sufficient for their needs, and Sean had moved in. They'd worked hard: setting up greenhouses and polytunnels for the seedlings and drying of their herbs; selling Tatya's herbal teas at local markets; building relationships with customers; and getting the business off the ground. They were finally breaking even when Sean received his fatal diagnosis.

They'd gotten this year's crop cut and tied before Sean had gone downhill and ended up in intensive care. Tatya breathed in the lingering aromatic fragrances, shoulders relaxing as they worked their magic.

The one time she spoke with Sean after his turning, he'd suggested he continue to work for her, by night if she preferred. Vanse, lingering close by, agreed. If that was what she wanted, it would be arranged. It appeared that Sean, as a newly-turned vampire, a baby vamp learning to exist in his new life was unable to do anything without his master's permission.

Tatya had been horrified. The thought of a vampire laboring out in her fields and greenhouse while she slept was a nightmare. Even if that vampire was Sean. She'd managed to avoid throwing up on the hospital floor, but had run out of the building, power surging and flaring from her fingers. She got along fine with most supernaturals she came in contact with, which wasn't often, but she hated vampires with a vengeance.

Tatya looked at her hands. Wild flickers of power sparked from her fingertips. Since Lil had been hospitalized, her control over her powers had been steadily slipping. Slumping back, she initiated her protection, using Alexander's Shield for its strength and simplicity. Emptying her mind, she concentrated on her breathing. She knew where she needed to go, and without a second thought, journeyed to her sanctuary on the astral plane.

Tatya sighed with delight at the sight of the lush green valley. This was her refuge; a place where she might regain a little peace of mind from whatever traumas assaulted her in the outside world. Aunt Lil had taught her how to create such a shelter to help with her grief. She'd continued the exercise over the years, adding and increasing the details till it gained a reality of its own.

Crossing a wildflower meadow, Tatya stopped for a second to listen to the tinkling of a stream, taking pleasure in the warm breeze tickling her skin. She ran toward the water, leaping and landing with a thump on the other side. Today, she chose to head for the forested mountains and bypass the ivy-covered cottage with its sweet-scented garden. The path through the dense forest took her above the tree line, with the final stretch involving some deft footwork and scrambling across patches of shale, but she relished the challenge. Tatya had invested layers of warded power in creating this private refuge over the years, and if she fell, it felt real; but this was one of her customary routes and she didn't stumble.

When she reached the top, she was sweating and the thin air left her a little dizzy. A large boulder with a flat top lay smack in the center of the small plateau. Her seat. She clambered up onto the granite, gazing around with delight. Behind her, a range of mountains, their razor sharp, snow-capped peaks rose, row on row in the distance. Spread out before her, forests interspersed with green valleys and diamond streams twinkling in the sun, stretched to the horizon.

Aunt Lil always warned her of the dangers of staying out of her body too long, but here, time was relative. Except Aunt Lil wasn't in the kitchen preparing the evening meal, and no laughing friend waited to share the day's news any more. Tatya relaxed; it was so peaceful.

A cold warning prickle ran up her spine. She shivered, tensed, and sent out a few questing tendrils. Someone or something powerful was testing, pushing against her safeguards. Her gut clenched as a premonitory image materialized before her inner eye. A face. Shoulder length, thick red-gold curls surrounded classically molded cheekbones and nose with a full sensual mouth below, but it was his startlingly blue eyes that held her as they observed her with calculated interest. Her stomach lurched with a sickening intuition, and goose bumps rose on every surface of her body; his beauty masked unbearable cruelty.

Instinct screamed get out, but Tatya's anger flared. How dare anyone invade her haven? A sudden upwelling of energy and she flung a reckless bolt of power at the figure, throwing up another layer of protection as she aimed for her gateway with the speed of thought, and fled back into her body.

"Tatya!"

Someone was shouting her name, and banging on the front door. She stumbled to her feet, leaning on the wooden table to stop herself from falling. The sudden return to normalcy disoriented her, and she paused to catch her breath.

"Tatya!" That raspy cantankerous voice was unmistakable. Sheriff Corwin.

"Yes, yes, Sheriff," she called hurrying around the corner, "I'm here."

Sheriff Corwin greeted her with a big grin. "Ah, just the lovely lady I want to see."

Ten minutes later, warm mugs of cinnamon and sage tea in their hands, the Sheriff gave her a searching look.

She and Sheriff Bill Corwin enjoyed a good relationship. He was one of those humans who occasionally dealt with supernaturals, and a couple of years back, he'd approached her with a request. Someone had told him of her aptitude in finding lost objects, and after he'd run out of leads, he'd come asking if she would help trace a missing girl. Four cases later, the local police department hired her on a case-by-case basis, as a psychic consultant. She'd developed a genuine fondness for the gruff, sharp-tongued detective. They regularly met up, and he'd become something of a father figure.

"You holding up okay?"

"I guess so."

"Do they know what's wrong with her yet?"

"Nope. More tests. She seemed better today, but her recovery is slow."

"Your stuff doesn't work?"

"Nope. The first case I've not been able to help someone. I'm puzzled."

"What's up with your friend?"

"Sean? Sorry, Bill, I can't talk about him."

"No, not him. Your buddy out on the rez."

"Oh! Changing Sky's been away, but he's back tomorrow." Tatya poured more tea, added extra honey to Corwin's mug. "So, what's wrong? Much as I know you care for me, Bill, something's up if you've dragged yourself out here this late in the day."

Bill became Corwin the efficient sheriff. "Have you heard anything of a rogue vamp on the loose?"

She flashed on the interloper's cold, sky-blue eyes, examining her like an insect on a petri dish. Her skin prickled again, goose bumps skimming her arms.

"Hey, Tatya! Tatya! Snap out of it!" Corwin was shaking her shoulder. "You getting one of those future seeing things?"

The aroma of cinnamon brought her back to the conversation. She lifted her cup, blowing on the tea to cool it, sipping the soothing brew.

"Kind of, but... it's hard to figure out what it means when they happen. Sorry, Bill, you were saying? A rogue vampire?"

"We've got three cases in the hospital right now. That's why I was there earlier. Three football players from the high school team, fit and healthier than most, are in comas."

"What makes you think it's anything supernatural?"

"Like your aunt, the docs can't figure out what's the problem. No accidents occurred, no trauma. No apparent reason. All just found unconscious."

"I'll ask around, but I've not had my ear to the grapevine since Aunt Lil fell ill."

"Thanks, I'd appreciate that. No point in calling in the super squad till I'm sure of what we're dealing with."

"I'll let you know if I hear anything."

Bill gulped down the rest of his tea. "I'm a hundred percent coffee man, Tatya, but this tea of yours could convert me."

She smiled at him; without fail, he made the same joke whenever he visited.

Tatya saw the Sheriff out and had finished tidying up when the doorbell rang. She hurried to answer, hoping it wasn't an emergency. She'd canceled every consultation this week so as to be free for Aunt Lil. Yanking open the door, she froze.

Sean stood there, his head bowed to one side in a submissive pose. Vanse hovered at his shoulder.

"No, Sean, you can't come in."

The sudden wounded look on his face told her how much her words pained him. She didn't like making him suffer, but hadn't she made her feelings about this whole affair clear? Her gentle friend might still be inside the creature standing in front of her, but he had changed. That, she couldn't forget.

"Tatya," Vanse spoke but she refused to look at him, keeping her attention fixed on Sean. "He used to live here. You made this place his home, so he doesn't need your permission. He can just enter and invite me in himself. But out of consideration for your feelings, he has refused to do that."

Tatya shifted her gaze to Vanse. "Wait there." She grabbed a shawl off the coat rack behind the door, flung it around her shoulders, and went back out, closing the door hard. The lock made a loud click.

Sean looked away. A hint of a smile lurked at the corners of Vanse's mouth.

"What do you want?" She wanted to shake Vanse till his head fell off. She wanted to scream at him and ask why he'd brought Sean, because she couldn't see him without remembering who he used to be. Her best friend. "And don't try to glamour me like you did my aunt."

"Tatiana, I would never do that."

_Liar_ , she thought. Whatever rules vampires obeyed, honesty wasn't in their make-up. An honest vamp was rarer than a black rose. Survival and self-interest were their only motivations.

She looked past the two vamps. The sun had set, and although she caught a glimpse of the nearly full moon, rain clouds still darkened the sky. The early pioneers had ignored the drier plains to the east, and chosen the nearby plateau, with its more temperate climate, for their new town of Orleton. The air carried a damp, chilly, autumn evening smell. Autumn was Aunt Lil's favorite season: the changing colors as full fat-leafed trees became skeletal echoes of their summer selves; birds fleeing south, their V formations filling the sky; wood fires and roasting chestnuts.

She swallowed the tears; folding her arms across her chest she raised her chin, staring him in the eye. "Well? I'm waiting."

"Be extra careful, Tatiana. The wheel turns. What was past is now present, and it shows great interest in you."

Blue eyes and red-gold hair.

She shivered. "Er, well, thanks for that explicitly explained danger alert. I'll be sure to keep an eye out for the past. You don't happen to know the direction it's coming from?"

In the twilight, his eyes were dark pools, but she spotted a momentary flash of anger. His turning Sean served to confirm what she already considered an unwelcome interest in her, obvious from the first occasion he saw her visiting a sick friend. It cheered her immensely to realize she could needle him. She didn't see him move, but without warning, he was leaning in close, the scent of sandalwood in her nostrils. She stared up at him, frozen, hypnotized; the frightened mouse in that moment before the snake strikes.

"Note anything unusual. Dismiss nothing."

His attention on her was almost unbearable, transfixing her to the spot. He raised a hand and caressed her cheek sending ripples of pleasure across her skin. Only after he shifted his gaze was she able to jerk her head away from his touch.

"Be careful!" He spoke each word with precise deliberation. Then he was gone, and she faced Sean.

"Tatya?"

Even Sean's voice had transformed. He'd sung tenor in a local band, harmonies his specialty; now he was a bass. If he could even sing anymore.

"Sean, I can't. I can't." She clenched her fists, her fingernails digging in, and felt the power build.

Sean held his hands out toward her, pleading.

Tatya felt the rush of power, and clamped her teeth together so hard her jaw hurt as she ground out the words. "Go! Go before I do something I regret."

# Chapter Three: Crisis

The clink of car keys as the mechanic placed them in her hand felt good.

"Thanks, Mr. Warren."

"Anytime, little lady, anytime."

Tatya smiled. Mr. Warren's bald head gleamed in the morning sun. The mechanic didn't reach Tatya's shoulder; she stood five feet and a bit over five inches in her bare feet, but he called every woman whose car he serviced, 'little lady', irrespective of age or height.

Tatya picked up groceries, she was running short of coffee–never a good sign–and headed home. Next on the schedule of chores came cleaning. Then after lunch, she would set off for the hospital. With luck, neither Sean nor Vanse would show their faces after last night.

The sun was shining, and the sky was clear blue as she headed out of town. Autumn's rust and gold colors transformed the upland plateau. The world had that cleansed, after-the-rain shiny look. Opening the car window, she breathed deep, savoring the crisp bite of the wind.

She avoided thinking about the presence she'd sensed in her sacred space yesterday. Could she say for sure the creature, whatever it was, was malevolent? She'd been aware of and hadn't liked his deliberate interest in her. Usually, her premonitions occurred as impressions; a montage of frozen scenes from a movie. They were rarely accompanied by any emotion. Yesterday's visitation was unusual.

Tatya disliked her premonitions. In her experience, they hardly ever indicated good things were about to happen. They were cautionary and far too vague to interpret before the incident in question. But she'd had them often enough to learn that she ignored them at her peril.

How someone had penetrated her sanctuary was a question she relegated for later. She pushed the premonitory image, eyes the color of a bright summer sky, hair the blaze of a winter sunset, out of her mind. Thankfully, no goose bumps today. Tomorrow, she'd visit Changing Sky and get his thoughts on the matter.

Tatya pulled up in front of the house, braking with a spray of gravel. As she collected the groceries from the back of the car, she thought about the long list of chores building up at an alarming rate. Aunt Lil would never forgive her if she let the place go to rack and ruin, so she'd tackle the cleaning before gathering the items needed for this afternoon's healing session. Just because she'd not been successful in helping her aunt so far, it didn't mean she would stop trying. In her book, doing something was always better than doing nothing.

The phone rang as she shouldered the front door open. Dumping the bags on the floor, she answered, thinking whoever it was should have had the decency not to call till she'd put everything in the kitchen.

"Hi, this is Healing Herbs." She dredged up her professional phone voice. "How can I help you?"

"Ms. Rourke?"

Tatya did her best to sound obliging. "Yes, this is Tatya Rourke. How can I be of assistance?"

"This is the hospital, Ms. Rourke. We are sorry to inform you your aunt has taken a turn for the worse. We advise you come to the hospital as soon as possible."

Her blood beat so loud in her ears that, for a second, she couldn't hear anything else.

"I'm on my way." Slamming down the phone down, she sprinted back to the car, turned on the ignition, gunned the car out onto the main road, and narrowly missed a passing car. She slowed, sucking in deep lungfuls of air. She'd be no good to anyone if she wrapped the truck around a tree.

Tatya took the route avoiding the town center, only running one red light, and squealed to a stop in some doctor's empty parking place near the hospital's front entrance.

"Miss! Miss! You can't park there," the security guard shouted as she dashed past him.

She panicked when she saw the empty bed in the women's ward. No. It couldn't be.

Alice Franklin, sitting up in her bed, her cheeks pink, waved at her. "They've moved her to a private room," she called out to Tatya, pointing upward. "Two floors up. But she's fine."

"Thank you, Alice."

Alice's 'thank you, too' floated in the air behind her. Five minutes later, she stared through the window of a room at Aunt Lil lying with her eyes closed, wired up to half a dozen machines.

A nurse bustled toward her. "You must be Ms. Rourke's niece?

Tatya's empathy told her the trained sympathy in the woman's voice was genuine. Being able to detect when someone lied was useful sometimes. Other times, it was better not to know.

"What happened? She was fine yesterday afternoon. Is she going to be all right?" Tatya swallowed. Keeping her emotions under control wasn't easy; the thought of losing her one living relative skewed her world into a shape she couldn't envision. She blocked off that trail of thought as a tingle of power flickered through her hands.

"Doctor Mellior is in his office, and he'll answer your questions."

Tatya hadn't seen the good doctor yesterday, and after this latest alarm urgently wanted to speak with him. "Yes, that'd be great."

Doctor Mellior's aura was dark olive green. Most people involved with healing had auras in shades of green, from emerald to the dark blue-green of the sea, but the good doctor's was olive, shot through with spiking red streaks. The man was tired and stressed, overloaded with cases, and angry at being unable to give his patients enough attention.

"Your aunt isn't a young woman anymore, Ms. Rourke."

Tatya swallowed her retort. Nothing like stating the obvious.

"It appears your aunt has had a minor brain seizure. We've run several tests, and have more to do before we can make a clear diagnosis."

"Is that why she collapsed in the first place?"

"I regret to say that we've not been able to identify the reason. Blood pressure, exhaustion, overwork; there are any number of reasons why an older woman might faint."

Tatya observed more red spikes flickering in the doctor's aura. He saw patients as puzzles to be solved, and this case frustrated him. Tatya threw up another barrier. She had to focus; she didn't need the distraction of other people's emotions.

"She's out of danger and is resting. I'm afraid the medication makes her sleepy, but you're welcome to wait till she wakes and see for yourself how she is."

Tatya thanked the doctor and left, wondering if their health insurance covered the cost of a private room. But she'd worry about that later. Aunt Lil's welfare came first.

Sitting in the armchair by Aunt Lil's bed, listening to the whirr and beeps of the machines, she turned over the doctor's words. Her aunt was getting older, yes, true, but exhaustion? Overwork? Nope. The man might be a doctor, but he didn't know her aunt's determination. Fit and strong as a horse, she had never let ill-health get in the way of doing what she wanted, when she wanted. No way did the doctor's description of an elderly, ailing female represent the woman she knew and loved.

Tatya had tried healing her aunt before, to no avail, but she had to do something, and if there was any chance of improving the situation, she'd seize it. Releasing her shields, she examined Lil's aura. No doubt about it. Her aunt's relapse had dulled her aura to a sickly yellow, scored with thick, dark spines.

Tatya stood and closed her eyes, breathing deep till she was calm. With palms barely touching, she rubbed her hands together; pulling on her power till a band of bright white energy flowed between her palms. She moved her hands apart, concentrated on maintaining the correct level of energy, and positioned them on either side of her aunt's body. Expanding the channel to her power, she reached inside herself and sent wave after wave of healing energy into her sleeping form. She kept going till she dropped with exhaustion, collapsing back in the chair and closing her eyes for a minute to recover.

"Tatiana." She started in her chair. The soft caress of his voice resonated as if recognized, but the memories dissipated into thin mists before she could grasp hold of them. Then she realized who was speaking. Vanse. She had no doubt if there were any connections with Vanse, she'd remember. She refused to analyze her reactions to him. He'd never had, and never would have, any attraction for her; he repulsed and disgusted her.

"You tire yourself for nothing."

"Leave me alone."

She saw Sean hovering outside the room, too nervous to come in and speak to her.

"This illness of your aunt doesn't respond to your healing, does it?"

Tatya stroked Aunt Lil's limp hand, touching the calluses on her palms. Before her collapse, she'd begun helping with a lot of the ground work that had been Sean's responsibility.

"That should tell you something. Read the signs."

What was he saying? This sickness wasn't physical?

"It is wise to prepare yourself for the worst."

Tatya glared at him. The picture of Vanse drinking from her aunt's neck, his mouth red with blood, sprang to mind.

"I give you my promise—that will never happen."

Was he reading her mind? He held up his hand. For a vampire, his skin tone was an unusual bronze color.

"Your defenses are weakened, and normally I can't, but right now, I can read your thoughts. To put your mind at rest, I give you my word, neither I, nor any of my people, will ever taste a drop of your aunt's blood."

_Did he expect her to thank him?_ She closed her eyes and summoned her shield. It rose, but more sluggishly than usual. Damn him. He was right, she was weak. She should be more careful.

"If the worst does occur, I can turn her. Then you will never lose her."

As if he'd flipped a switch, everything slowed, and a blinding white light burst from her hands, striking him in the chest and throwing him against the wall. The machines beeped faster; an alarm went off at the nurses' station, and footsteps pounded along the corridor, but her rage burned hot, and she flung another bolt of energy at Vanse. He raised his hands to deflect the strike, but moved too slow. Her power blasted him in the stomach. He lay on the floor, panting, and stared up at her. His eyes shone with a mixture of fear and exultation.

"Tatya! Tatya!" She heard a voice as if from a great distance. Someone was shaking her arm. It was Sean. She tossed him off; his newfound vampire strength was nothing against her will.

He crashed into the door, stunned.

Suddenly, she was unable to move. While she'd focused on Sean, Vanse had gotten behind her and held her in a tight embrace, pressing her arms close to her body.

"Calm yourself." He loaded his words with glamour, repeating them over and over, till her mind made sense of the sounds he was making. Power still erupted, slowing, sparking on the hospital floor. Tatya sagged against him.

The nurse on duty rushed in and took the patient's pulse before she examined the machines.

"She's fine. Sometimes these machines give off false alarms, but we have to make sure."

The woman hurried out, not appearing to notice the way Vanse was restraining Tatya.

"Let me go. I'm fine."

Vanse lowered her into the armchair and pushed her hair back off her face. She didn't have the strength to resist.

"Sean, get a strong black coffee, plenty of sugar. Quick."

"How are you out in the daytime? Don't you have to wait till it gets dark?"

Vanse smiled at her. Even for a vamp, his looks marked him as unique. A straight aquiline nose, deep brown eyes; if he had a soul, she'd have said their expression was soulful. Golden tanned skin. How did he manage that? And the lean hardness of all vampire kind gave him a symmetrical beauty she found hard to ignore.

Sean pushed a plastic cup into her hand.

She sipped the hot liquid, a machine brew not worthy of the name, but containing enough caffeine to do the job of re-energizing her. The drained, washed-out sensation retreated, but uneasy questions at the thinning barriers between her emotions and her power lingered. A crawling prickle at the edge of her mind acknowledged if they'd not been vampires, she might have killed them. She didn't want to think about that, nor the source of the blind fury that had engulfed her.

"Go home and rest, Tatiana. The nurses will phone you if your aunt's condition changes. She is stable for the moment and in good hands."

She hated to admit it, but he spoke the truth. The thought of a cup of spiced sage and mint tea and crawling into bed was appealing.

"I will keep watch myself." For some odd reason, that comforted her.

"Okay. I'll phone later to check."

"And try to subjugate your irrational fears," he threw after her as she left. She didn't dignify his remark with an answer.

Tatya passed Sheriff Corwin and his trusty sidekick as she crossed the hospital foyer. They nodded to each other, but for once she was relieved he was too deep in conversation to stop and chat.

# Chapter Four: The First Strike

Tatya's sleep had been deep and dreamless. After the amount of energy she expended blasting Vanse and Sean, her overloaded brain had shut down, needing the time out to process her emotional and psychic outburst. When she woke, her memories of the incident were vague, and she pushed it out of her mind, not wanting to think about Vanse or her actions.

She spent the morning on the phone, asking her network of friends and colleagues if they'd come across anything unusual. Most hadn't, but a few on the sensitive end of the empathy spectrum sensed an uneasy stirring in the ether but reported nothing more than a vague foreboding.

Visiting the hospital in the afternoon, she found her aunt was awake for short spells but continued to drift in and out of sleep. After yesterday's debacle, Tatya decided to abandon her planned healing ritual for the moment, fearing she might do more harm than good. Maybe after she'd visited Changing Sky. She smoothed her aunt's hair back from her forehead, marveling at how sleep eased the worry lines on her face while leaving the laughter lines intact.

_Please... please heal,_ she prayed, holding her aunt's limp hand, willing her to recover.

The nurse had told her Aunt Lil was out of danger, but there was little improvement in her condition. When she asked how long before her aunt would be moved back to the women's ward, the nurse said arrangements had been made for her to stay in a private room. Tatya was pretty sure their insurance didn't cover this; she'd been too disturbed yesterday to ask, but the nurse seemed confident everything was in order. She accepted the information, making a mental note to check up on it at some point. Being hit with a huge hospital bill would cripple their finances, but she put it quite far down her list—a list that was getting way too long.

Back at home, she pushed her anxieties out of her mind, and focused on getting ready for Sheriff Corwin's meeting at the police station. She pulled a clean sweater off the shelf, banging the door shut on the mess at the bottom of the wardrobe. She chose a light brown color that would slide under the radar in a police station; a good move when more than a few cops had decided you were nothing but a sham and a waste of the police budget. The aim was to look respectable, yet not draw unnecessary attention.

Corwin had mentioned there'd be a few people there, and he'd like her general input. At least that's what he said. What he meant was he wanted her to scan the group and see what she could pick up. Tatya's telepathic abilities were minimal, and there were others in town more capable, but he trusted her. Her empathetic talent had proved invaluable in more ways than one when they worked together.

She dragged a hairbrush through her undisciplined curls. Short was how she preferred to keep it, but without Aunt Lil to carry out the monthly trim, it, along with the housekeeping, dropped off her priority list. The current length meant she was constantly pushing it out of her eyes and tucking it behind her ears, irritating her no end. Wearing it in a ponytail was the next best option, but it wasn't long enough yet. Hair clips worked, more or less, but she was always losing them. Yet that ability to find things so valued by Corwin, had little potency when used for items she mislaid.

Tatya studied her reflection in the mirror. She would have to do. Her slender build often fooled people into thinking she was fragile, but that was a mistake. She'd always been active and excelled at running in high school. In college, she'd added mixed martial arts and tai chi, but her studies interested her more than reaching the competitive level at any sport. She'd kept up her running until recent events changed her life, but still went through her katas when she remembered and had the time—lately it wasn't that often.

She had to get on top of the cleaning, she thought, flicking a glance over the floors as she ran down the stairs. Ramming her feet into her best boots, she grabbed her coat and keys and stood for a moment, listening. The living energy that pervades a house full of life was absent, instead, a heavy quiet filled the space. No loud country rock came from Sean's room, and Aunt Lil's radio, with its disembodied voices wafting from the kitchen, was silent. She left quickly.

The desk sergeant, a pal of Corwin's gave her a big smile, lessening her annoyance at having to park in the one empty space at the farthest corner of the visitors' lot. He directed her to the upstairs conference room. This discussion must be more important than Corwin had let on over the phone. Talks with Corwin usually meant standing in his cramped office with half a dozen others, while she wondered if the enormous, precariously balanced piles of paper on his desk ever decreased before they toppled to the floor.

"Come in," Corwin bellowed in response to her knock.

Apart from Corwin and his new sidekick, the junior officer from the other night, she was the first to arrive.

"Tatya, meet Deputy Bellamy. Bellamy this is Tatya Rourke."

Bellamy stood. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am,"

Up close, Tatya could see Bellamy was a good-looking young man, with the creases on his uniform looking sharp enough to cut. He made an excellent foil to Corwin's Columbo-style scruffiness. He offered a firm handshake while she mumbled the usual happy-to-make-your-acquaintance noises.

"Tatya, here on my right." Corwin pulled out a chair and she seated herself. "I'd appreciate it if you could observe and just note any unusual reactions to what I'll be telling them."

"Okay. What will you be telling them?"

Corwin didn't answer because the door opened and several police officers filed into the room. Tatya nodded at Jane Smith from vice, Burton from the drug squad, and two others she knew from previous visits to the station. All wore the expressions of people who saw wrongdoing, from petty thievery to the most abominable of crimes, every day of their working lives. Yet they went home and came back for more. Somebody had to.

Three men and one woman in smart black suits entered and sat at attention; one opened a laptop, the other two had notebooks at the ready. You didn't need to be psychic to win a bet they were FBI. Eleven altogether. Plus one empty seat.

"Make yourselves comfortable, everyone, while we wait for..." Corwin's sentence went unfinished as the door opened and in strode Vanse.

"Please take a seat, Seigneur Vanse."

Tatya's eyes widened. Why was he here?

"Gentlemen, let me introduce you." Corwin continued, ignoring the looks on the faces around the table. "For those of you who aren't aware, Seigneur Vanse is the overlord of the vampire enclave in the whole of our county. Before any of you voice your opinions, he wouldn't be here if we didn't need him."

Vanse glanced around the table, neither acknowledging nor reacting to the looks thrown his way, until his eyes rested on Tatya. She looked away as the weight of his intent pressed on her; even without eye contact, she was aware of his gaze.

"Ladies and gentlemen. I'm calling this meeting to order. Let's begin. We are part of a new task force. Except for Seigneur Vanse, that is. We have requested the help of the FBI," Corwin nodded to the suits, "and the rest of you spend far too much time in each other's company to need introducing. Bellamy, your report."

The young, fresh-faced officer shuffled his papers. "In the last week, ten young men have been admitted to St. Raphael's. They're between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, and are, or were, extremely active in various sports. All are in excellent physical condition with no known health problems, but every single one is now in a coma. Despite running exhaustive tests, the doctors are at a loss as to any possible cause for their condition."

As Bellamy talked, Tatya thinned her shields and scanned the group. The usual mix of colors visible in the auras of people sitting together showed varying shades of the blues and greens of intelligence mixed with smears of maroons, yellows, and browns from whatever else was going on in their personal lives.

One FBI man's aura spiked red every time he raised his eyes to Vanse—probably some history there; and one of the young policemen showed flashes of a bright yellow.

She picked up puzzlement from some, curiosity from others. So far, she detected nothing too much out of the ordinary. Except of course, Vanse had no aura to read.

"Thank you, Bellamy. Seigneur Vanse."

She found it hard to concentrate on the group while Vanse was speaking. He was using a trace of glamour to hold their attention. She sent the faintest flush of energy, strengthening her barriers. Vanse's gaze flicked toward her. She ignored the trace of a smirk, turning her focus to the others, whose eyes were fixed on him in total concentration.

"Sheriff Corwin asked me to find out if any of my people were involved in this. I have made extensive inquiries, and I assure you, even though there is something unusual about the condition of these men, no one that swears allegiance to me is connected to this."

"How can you guarantee that?" The sharp-faced woman in the FBI suit spoke.

Vanse turned the full force of his gaze on her. To her credit, she only flinched a tad.

"Because I can. That is how our society works."

No one argued with the master vampire. Tatya knew he'd not used any glamour while making that statement.

In general, people accepted vamps. As long as they kept to their own, they were considered just another race. Yes, their habits and beliefs were different, but if they observed the rule of law the same as everyone else, they were tolerated. They had little impact on most people's lives, but there were always those who were fascinated by the dark promise vampirism offered. Other paranormals, werewolves, the fae species, and those with darker magic kept to their side of the human/supernatural divide most of the time. It was better that way for all concerned.

"Smith, Burton, liaise with Bellamy here. You suits can use your contacts and determine if there are any similar incidents happening anywhere else."

The four FBI members stiffened, and one glared at the Sheriff.

Tatya stifled a grin. They'd have to get used to Corwin's bluntness quickly, or sparks would fly.

"Everybody else, make this a priority. Didion, Leipman, check out the victims,"

"Patients," Bellamy said.

Corwin gave him a dirty look. "Call them what you want, but check out their background, recent activities, and see if you can find anything, even the smallest detail, they have in common. Do they hang out at the same place, and so on? Bellamy will tell you when the next meeting is scheduled. Seigneur, I'll keep in contact with you myself."

Vanse nodded.

Chairs scraped as the group stood, the local officers talking among themselves as they left, and making a point of excluding the FBI.

"Thank you, Seigneur. We appreciate your help."

"It is my pleasure, Sheriff." His glance lingered on Tatya. "We'll keep looking." Vanse swept out of the room.

When he left, Tatya let out the breath she'd been holding.

"Well, what's your impression? Did you get anything from the suits?"

"The guy at the end has a lot of anger toward vamps, but otherwise, their emotions were pretty well shielded."

"Yeah, it figures. I believe those suits get special training to block empaths reading their minds. What reactions did you catch when Vanse walked in? I asked him to wait; I wanted his entrance to have maximum impact."

"Oh, it worked. Mostly surprise, but Didion, is it? The young blonde guy?"

Corwin nodded.

"Interesting reaction. I'd call it horrified fascination."

"Bellamy, change him for Rathmore. He's worked these kinds of cases. We don't need someone freezing at a vital moment or deciding he wants to join the chorus, now do we?"

Bellamy scribbled a note and waited with his pen hovering over his notepad.

"That's it, kiddo. Off you hop. Chop, chop."

Bellamy didn't bat an eye, picked up his jacket and left.

"He's a good kid, and given time, he'll make a good cop."

Tatya and Corwin followed Bellamy out of the room.

The Sheriff escorted her as far as the front entrance. "I want you in on this one, Tatya. I got a feeling."

Corwin possessed more than a smidgen of intuitive talent and when he got a feeling, Tatya had learned from experience, it was best to pay attention.

"Afternoons I'm at the hospital. If..." she left the thought unspoken.

"That goes without saying. Your aunt's the priority. But if any of your pals get wind of anything, give me a ring straight away."

"You'll know as soon as I know."

He gave her arm a fatherly squeeze. "Take care of yourself. I'll be in touch."

Tatya buttoned her coat tight as she left the building, stopping at the bottom of the steps as a whisper of something caught her attention. Darkness pressed against the pools of pale yellow shed by the car park lights; the hum of a car engine increased and faded on the main road. She touched the image of her protective deity, scanned the area, letting her senses probe beyond her immediate line of vision. Something was off kilter. Something unknown and yet familiar.

She checked her shields, sweeping a cloak of invisibility over her. Another of Aunt Lil's early spells—learned when a few kids at school had thought they could bully her. It was an easy spell that worked a treat. It didn't make you invisible, but somehow when people saw you, their eyes slid by you, and they never registered your presence.

With warning signals sparking, Tatya hurried toward her car, her psychic radar checking in front and behind as her heels clicked a loud staccato. She pulled the car keys out of her jeans pocket, flexing her other hand, readying to draw on her power if needed. Something wasn't right. She paused. The silence. That was it. She couldn't hear a thing. No leaves rustling in the wind. No evening birds. Absolute silence.

"Excuse me." The voice, deep, melodious, pleasing, dripped an overwhelmingly dominant glamour.

Tatya froze.

The speaker continued, "I only need a minute of your time."

She couldn't move.

A hand on her shoulder dug into her flesh, turning her bones to liquid as someone turned her around. "Ah, Tatiana. How good to see you again."

Her heart sped up, a current of panic surged through her. She struggled to break the holding spell, but the granite wall of someone else's will blocked her power.

"Don't fight me."

Tatya managed to look up and gasped as she took in the startling blue eyes and thick red-gold curls falling forward as the vampire bent toward her. Taking hold of the chain around her neck, he snapped it off and tossed it on the ground. He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

With one hand, he grasped a handful of her hair, slowly pulled her head back, and exposed her throat. She stared up at the sky as the clouds parted to reveal a full moon. It was the perfect moment. He stroked her jugular, pulses of euphoric pleasure emanating from his fingertips. His fangs pierced her skin, sliding in deeper as he drank, and she gasped as an exquisite thrill spread cell deep throughout her entire body.

# Chapter Five: Metamorphosis

The world was different. Even with her eyes closed, Tatya knew. How was it different? That wasn't clear yet. Opening her eyes, she immediately squeezed them shut as a cascade of colors flew along her optic nerves, flooding her brain. She tried again, this time squinting through barely opened lids. The blaze persisted, moving, vibrant.

She reopened her eyes, adjusting to the light. A living rainbow quivered with movement in front of her. Her gaze left the rainbow and traveled up to the ceiling. That, too, moved, synchronized with her breathing, descending and rising. She felt incredible, had she ever been more alive?

Her attention shifted, drawn by delicious waves of fragrance emitted by a nearby object. She stretched out her fingers until they came into contact with the object and she lifted it close to her nose. The perfume was heavenly, and she leaned back, closing her eyes, inhaling the scent for several minutes, lost in pleasure. Examined up close, the object shone not with one color, but with deeper and lighter shades swirling together. Extraordinary how she'd never noticed any of these details before.

Moving her fingers along one part of the object, something sharp pricked her finger. Letting the item fall, she observed a tiny red globule where it had pierced her skin. She licked the red droplet. Sensations, liquid black iron, and rich earth ran along her tongue. The craving for more consumed her. She sucked harder, but the liquid dried up.

Someone was coming. She recognized this person, and she loved him. His love for her was a stream of golden crystal connecting their hearts. She would do whatever he wanted. She was his to command. Her purpose in life was to please him. She loved him, and he loved her. Nothing else mattered.

The gold link thickened, swirling, rippling, her emotions heightening as the source of these feelings approached. He was the most beautiful creature in the world. He reached out toward her, and pulses of ecstasy radiated from the point of connection. From one second to the next, it vanished. She gasped in horror as Vanse loomed over her, his hand heavy on her head.

"Take your hand off me."

"Good. I'm glad to see you're feeling better." He picked a yellow rose off the floor placing it back in the vase on the bedside table.

Her neck throbbed. She raised a hand and touched a thick, padded bandage, The area was tender, and she was lying in what appeared to be a hospital bed. Then the memory surfaced and she saw the face of the other vampire leaning toward her. She shuddered.

"I will do my utmost to make sure Angelus does not repeat last night."

"Angelus? Is that his name? And if you're reading my mind, stop! I remember getting to my car." She struggled to recall last night's events. "Tell me what happened after that."

"That's when Angelus attacked you." Vanse took out her protective amulet; the image of Lord Narasimha, the half-lion, half-man incarnation of Vishnu, swung back and forth, light glinting on the silver chain. "This was on the ground." He placed it in her hand.

"Did he drink my blood?"

"Yes. He also gave you his."

Why couldn't she remember?

"Do you wish to remember?"

She gritted her teeth. "Stay out of my head."

"Or else what? I hardly think you're in a fit state to blast me across the room right now." He smiled indulgently.

She clenched her fists. "You were watching me?" She hated to admit it, but she was glad. Otherwise, she would be a slave to some passing vampire; carrying out whatever orders he gave, helpless to exert her own will.

"Tatiana! Where do you get these ideas? Few vampire lords conduct themselves in that way. Most of us don't have to impose our will on those we turn. We have more entertaining ways of occupying our time than being enforcers."

"Don't change the subject."

"Yes, I was watching you. I didn't have any proof, but I suspected something might happen. This was more than I expected."

"You think he's responsible for the coma victims?"

"Oh, there is no doubt he's the origin of that problem. We are looking for his lair. It can't be far."

"So, you saw this, this Angelus having me for supper and came to my rescue?"

The smile he gave her made her think of a naughty boy caught stealing cookies. She squashed the thought. Was he mocking her? What wouldn't she give to wipe that expression off his face? He was a vampire; an evil blood-sucking creature by nature.

"Angelus drank a lot of your blood."

"Isn't that what your species is famous for?"

He gave her that sad look as if he had feelings, and she'd hurt them. "In order to preserve your life, I had to give you my blood."

"What?" He'd turned her? In less than a breath, he went from mischievous child to cold killer.

"Listen, Tatya. You're not a vampire. Well, mostly not a vampire."

"Oh, well, I'm overjoyed it's mostly not." Her belly tightened in anger. Waves of resentment forced bile into her throat.

Vanse touched her wrist. A quick intake of breath as the shaft of sunlight shining in through the window morphed once more into a rainbow of living colors, before disappearing. She stared up at him.

"That is what a newly turned vampire experiences. But I am an old vampire, Tatiana, and... how shall I explain it? I am, in certain circumstances, able to halt the transformation."

"Get. Out." She laid a power command on each word. She didn't want to hear any of his explanations.

"If that is what you wish." He stopped at the door. "You should know those charms have no effect on me whatsoever."

She lay fuming, glad of the distraction when Sheriff Corwin bustled in through the door. He sported a red welt across his forehead, and what looked likely to be the makings of a black eye of champion proportions.

"Wow! What wall didn't you see coming?"

"You're one big ball of sympathy, aren't you?" They grinned at each other. Corwin had a special place in her affections. No pretending; what you saw was what you got. "It was the same wall you ran into. But how are you?"

"Oh, me? I'm fine. Vanse informs me I'm half-vampire or something. But if he expects me to thank him, he can sing."

Corwin adopted his serious business expression. "He jumped that bastard, Tatya. That redheaded vamp had sucked the life out of you and was taking off across the parking lot with you over his shoulder when all hell broke loose. I heard the noise and went outside thinking how sweet the local drunks were to save us the trouble of leaving the station to arrest them by partying outside our front door." He paused for a second, replaying the event. "And, I've seen things in my time that I wouldn't want to see again, but I've never witnessed anything like last night."

She pictured every cop in the station standing at the windows, their mouths hanging open, with a front row seat watching a once in a lifetime opportunity. Vamps generally dealt with their business out of sight of humans. Corwin stopped again.

"Go on, the suspense is killing me."

"Okay. To start with ol' fire head lays you on the ground, real careful I might add, and then the pair of them start going at each other. That's when I get this." He indicated his forehead, "'cause I go over to get you, and instead catch a passing whack. When I come to, I'm lying halfway across the lot and the two of them are flying—honest, literally flying at each other, with the redhead taking a swing with this huge sword, trying to hack off Vanse's arm. But our hero has the drop on this dude. He pulls out this fancy Colt 1911 and shoots him full of silver bullets."

"Did he kill him?"

"No, he took off real fast. That was when Vanse gave you his blood," he hesitated. "I know you hate his blood being inside you, it's written all over your face, but Tatya, you were a goner. He saved your life."

She pushed herself up and looked around. "Where am I, anyway? This isn't St. Raphael's."

"St. Mary's Hospice. It's the other side of the Catholic church, next to the station."

"I'm fine Bill. Honest. I just need to go home."

"Sure, but I'm sending a doc along to check you over first." He held up his hand. "I insist. If the doc says you're okay to leave, I'll have someone drive you home. Deal?"

"Send the doc. You are aware vamp blood has great rejuvenating properties, aren't you? I mean, those guys live forever."

"Yes, I know and, no, they don't always."

The doctor agreed to Tatya's release, told her to rest and she'd be back to normal in no time. She thanked him, thinking she'd never been normal. It was the degree of distance from normal that had exponentially increased. Corwin insisted on providing a driver, so Tatya sat in the passenger seat of a police vehicle while a deputy drove her home, followed by the neat and tidy Deputy Bellamy driving her Ford.

Later, Tatya sat staring out of the kitchen window, nursing one of her special recovery teas; lavender, lemon balm, rose, and cinnamon with a generous dollop of honey added.

The small orchard at the far end of their lot had a crop of late apples and pears waiting to be harvested, and the weeds they'd fought since they started growing herbs had reinvaded. Most plants, except the ones you didn't want, died off as autumn departed. She should do something. Aunt Lil wouldn't approve of her lack of attention to their cultivated herb garden.

She took her tea and crossed to the living area of the room, and sank into her favorite armchair. The comfy brown leather chair had been her father's favorite whenever they'd visited Aunt Lil when she was a young child, and she always found comfort sitting where he'd once sat.

Warming her hands on the cup and sipping her drink, she enjoyed the flush of warming herbs spreading through her body, and let her thoughts roam. Changing Sky had taught her that when your mind is in the right place, it's easier to observe those patterns invisible to the busy mind.

She went over yesterday's events, trying to make sense of what was happening: Aunt Lil with an illness the doctors couldn't diagnose; Vanse's hints about its possible supernatural origins; young men in their prime collapsing in comas with no apparent cause; and a powerful unknown vampire had attacked her right outside the police station.

Fragments of last night's attack began to surface, and she stiffened at the memory of those riveting blue eyes. Angelus. Angel. Angel of what? Death? It was as if he was standing in front of her. He smiled. She shielded herself and the image faded, although a faint trace of his presence remained. He'd drunk her blood. Surely she wasn't connected to him as well?

Vanse knew his name, and who he was. How well did he know this vampire? As if evoked, her connection to Vanse surged to life, far stronger than to the other, and try as she might, she couldn't break it. Warm shades of the morning's emotions lapped at her mind, and she shied away from thinking of the vampire master. It was becoming clear that to think even the slightest passing thought about him was dangerous if she wished to remain free of his dominance.

Now she understood the attraction a vampire master exerted over his minions. A master would never have to compel anyone. Being turned meant you were willing—more than willing—you'd be abjectly eager to fulfill the slightest of your master's desires.

Tomorrow, she'd go out and visit Changing Sky. He might know how she could break these connections.

She must have dozed off, because a loud knock on the front door brought her awake with a jump. Who was calling on her? She checked the time on the grandfather clock in the hallway as she hurried to answer the door. At five o'clock in the afternoon?

"Sean!"

Sean stood on the porch, blinking nervously. He was still the Sean she'd known; the kind, gentle, peace lover. Even if he did drink blood. Knowing Sean, he'd only drink from blood donor packs that were past their sell-by date.

"Can I come in?"

Tatya winced as a rush of colors flared in her memory, and the link to Vanse sparked. She damped it down, tried to cut it off, but it remained, a quiescent presence in the background. She refused to accept this might be permanent, that there was no going back. But as she looked at Sean, his shoulders drooping, a hangdog look in his eyes, her previous antipathy toward him melted—she'd glimpsed what he must experience on a daily basis.

"Of course." She stood aside, and as he walked toward her, she opened her arms wide. "Sean, I'm sorry. I didn't understand."

He pulled her close, hugging her to his chest. "Thanks, Tat." He hugged her tighter.

"I've missed you, you basket case. You want to do some weeding?"

He laughed. "I always knew it was my body you wanted. Just a minute." He signaled, and three of Vanse's vampires glided into sight.

"Sean, I'm warning you. They're not coming inside."

"That's fine. They're for outside. Vanse sent them for protection."

She glanced at the waiting vamps. Nope, she wouldn't tangle with them, but she hoped they could handle the red-headed vampire as efficiently as their master had. The thought of Angelus sent a premonitory shiver up her spine; she'd not seen the last of him.

# Chapter Six: The Northern Isles, 2800 BC

She walked beside her mother, as her younger sister, Kerra, skipped along the beach ahead of them. She shivered, looked up, her bright green eyes scanning the sky, and made the sign against the evil eye. For a second, she had felt the weight of someone's gaze on her, but the sensation vanished as quickly as it came. She looked back at the settlement. How small it appeared, crouched, almost hidden, among the low hills by the shore with the wide sky above. Despite being the first, their settlement had remained the smallest. "I'll just help Mara pick the crowberries, and then I'll join you."

She and Mara, the village healer, had found an early crop of crowberries yesterday. Some would be served in tomorrow's midnight feast, and the rest dried for the winter months.

The young woman pushed the wild curly strands of her russet-brown hair out of her face, tossing back her long braid, and waved to the fishermen landing their coracles. The little stick figures, jumped out and dragged their round boats up beyond the tide line. If they'd caught plenty of fish, it would augur well for them.

She stared out at the cobalt blue sea with scarce a ripple on its surface, the bowl of the sky a paler shade of blue, and not a cloud in sight. The signs were that Neudon, the God of the Sea, was already smiling on them. Tomorrow, she and Vanse would celebrate their joining ceremony. Her stomach fluttered, making little flips, at the thought of Vanse.

Mara, the village Sagart, was training her. One day, when the ancestors decreed it was Mara's time to join them, she'd inherit the role and responsibilities of priestess to the Great Mother. Mara had sought her out when she was young, announcing that the Goddess had sent one of her own to serve them. She'd prophesied a glorious future for the child, saying she possessed powerful healing abilities, the foreseeing power, and would bring much honor to them.

When she became a woman, Mara taught her the ancient wisdom handed down from Sagart to Sagart, unchanged from time beyond memory: how to purify herself, and perform her roles in the ceremonies for the Mother Goddess; how to attend birthings, her role in the death rituals; the herbs to cure illness, and where and when to harvest them. As Mara weakened with age, she would relinquish more and more of her duties. By the time Mara's spirit departed, the young Sagart would be ready.

"Come quick!" A child's high voice floated across the wide stretch of the bay. "The Bard's approaching!"

"Mother, will you and Kerra, help Mara with the baskets. I must go and greet the Bard."

"Go see if Vanse's catch was good, because you will be the one to prepare it. You have time before the Bard reaches the village."

The younger woman's bright green eyes twinkled as she kissed her mother on the cheek. She dashed off across the beach, small flicks of sand flying into the air behind her.

Three crows, Ankou's messengers, scavenged by the sea edge. Disturbed by her passing, they took to the air, flying over her head. She flicked her fingers for a second time. She pushed away the thought that one more inauspicious sign would not bode well for tomorrow night's ceremony. Slowing as she approached the group of men, she smoothed her hair, and settled her clothes, preening herself. She didn't want to resemble her little sister when she came in from playing with the other children on the beach.

Her soon-to-be husband glanced up and smiled. Her heart skipped a beat and drummed faster. With his generous smile, dark brown eyes, golden-brown skin, and straight black hair, he was the most handsome of the unmarried men in the village. Together they would have beautiful children. Lots of them.

She laughed up at him as he approached. "Look at you! How did a maiden like me choose a fish-smelling man like you?"

"You chose me, eh? Is that what you think?"

He picked her up and swung her round. The fishermen cheered.

"Soon, lad, soon," an oldster cracked.

Midsummer was the most auspicious time for a joining, and tomorrow was the solstice. Plans and preparations for this day had been in motion since Mara blessed the approved couples at the spring equinox.

The island's principal bard, Angelus, who held one of the most important positions on the island, was coming to officiate; without him, their memories were lost, and without their memories, their ancestors were lost. The villagers were determined to celebrate his attendance to the best of their abilities.

Of course, they had their own bard, but he and Mara were getting on in years, and Angelus held the position of Bard to the island's Holy Ones, presiding at every ceremony at the great Circle of Stones. His coming to conduct the annual joining of their young men and women bestowed a significant distinction on their settlement.

"Neudon smiled on me." Vanse pointed to the two-dozen fish piled in the bottom of the boat. "The others caught almost as many."

She had chosen well. Her man wasn't just strong and charming and kind—he was an excellent provider. "Your mother will be pleased."

"She's not the only one."

"You have the most beautiful green eyes. Have I told you that before?" He laughed again, pulling her close, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

She looked at the sun, still high in the sky. Tomorrow night, the first night of their joined lives, the father and mother of the world would come together in the sky to bless them.

"Soon," she leaned against his chest, breathing in the salty tang of the sea on his warm skin, and heard the rapid beat of his heart.

A shout and the cry, "The Bard! The Bard is here!" echoed through the settlement.

"Bring them quick," she leaned away from him. "I have to go."

The young woman stood on her toes and kissed the young man on the lips, ignoring the fishermen's jeers and lewd jokes; such jesting was compulsory before a joining.

A few minutes later, she arrived out of breath at the marking stone. The large, weathered granite rock signified entrance to the village; it was where the people assembled to welcome guests, or, on the rare occasion of an expulsion, bar an offender's return.

Usk, their wizened Holy One, stood waiting with Makar, their bard, on his right, ready to greet their honored guest. Behind them stood the families of those being joined, who were always given prominent positions. The rest of the people stood a little distance behind them.

She nodded at her father, and slipping into Mara's position on the left of their Holy One, bowed her head in respect. The Sagart would take over once she returned, but it was a serious offense for the settlement's wise woman, or her representative, to be absent.

One of the younger lads, acting as a lookout, flew toward them with the Bard striding along behind him. This man had only ever been seen at a distance during ceremonies when all the island people came together. As he approached, the murmurings died out and they stared in awe. Vanse was the tallest among them, but this bard stood a head taller. The sun struck fire colored glints from his thick, red-gold hair as he walked toward them. His eyes, a bright, mesmerizing blue, scanned the welcoming villagers, halting for an instant as they rested on the young Sagart in the front line.

That night on the beach, the women surpassed themselves honoring the Bard at the prenuptial festivities: oat and barley cakes flavored with herbs, fresh roasted fish, and crowberries washed down with smooth mead. The grins of satisfaction and twinkling eyes said everyone's belly was full.

Only the shouting out of jokes was less bawdy than customary, as even the rowdiest of men appeared inhibited by the weighty presence of the visiting dignitary. After everyone had finished eating, licking the last delicious juices off their fingers, the men built up the fire to a jolly blaze, and they waited to hear their guest.

Their own bard had deferred to the guest's higher status, so they listened enthralled as the striking red-haired bard enchanted them with the singing of songs, interspersed with tale after tale of the Gods and ancient heroes. Tomorrow night, the main celebration would take place, but tonight's festivities had gone well.

As the young Sagart lay in her sleeping place, next to her sister, keyed up with nervous excitement, she gazed at Kerra, fast asleep with her arms and legs akimbo. Her father and mother's bed lay on one side of the hearth, hers and Kerra's on the other. After their joining, the young couple would live together in their new dwelling place; Vanse had worked hard and it was ready and waiting for them.

Her mother spoke softly across the darkness. "The great Bard favors you."

She remembered feeling oddly uncomfortable at the heavy feel of his hand on her head when he blessed her. He'd rested it there far too long, but who was she to question her elders?

"His glance turned often on you."

Yes, she'd been aware of a certain intent toward her, but her thoughts were too full of her beloved to give it much consideration. "Vanse did not approve. He said nothing when we spoke, but I could tell."

"Oh, men will get their nets in a knot at any opportunity. He knows you are marrying him and not the Bard."

She and her love had stolen many sweet kisses, tasting the honeyed mead on each other's lips when they said good night. She smiled. "Dream well, mother."

The young woman tried, but sleep had fled. Even the rhythmic breathing of her family, usually soothing, had no effect. Her imaginings were filled with the morrow. She slipped out of bed and crept over to the Goddess's altar, bowing before the small round stone female figure.

"Bless me, Mother Goddess," she murmured. Sometimes she'd stayed awake praying while her family slept, and experienced the glow of the Goddess's presence—warm, comforting, strong. Twice, the Goddess had blessed her with visions, but tonight the Goddess did not favor her. Turning to the cold hearth fire, she offered up the ritual words of gratitude for the gifts fire granted and returned to her bed.

An urgent banging on the door jerked her out of sleep.

"Wake up! Wake up!"

The young woman, her mind still fuddled in sleep, stumbled toward the door. Her father and mother woke. She heard the prayer whispered in the dark. _Goddess protect us._

Vanse's father stood outside, his eyes dark holes, his face white with shock. His chest heaved with emotion, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as he struggled to speak. "Come." He strode off, leaving the young Sagart and her family to follow.

"This doesn't bode well. You must be strong, daughter, for whatever is coming," her mother whispered as they hurried after the disappearing figure.

Premonitory shivers sent goosebumps up and down her body as they approached the beach and heard the shrill keening of the women rending the air. People scuttled past, murmuring in low voices and casting fearful glances in her direction. She caught up with Vanse's father, grabbing his arm. "What is it?" she demanded. "Tell me."

"My son..." His voice cracked and tears rolled down his face.

She froze, and for a minute couldn't breathe. Her mother's warm arms encircled her, pulling her close. "What happened? Where is Vanse?"

Nothing moved, and time suspended, in that long moment waiting for his answer. Mara's warning echoed in the dark cavern of her mind. You will see many tragedies in your life, but the people will look to you for guidance. The young Sagart stood ramrod straight, unflinching, listening to her mother's soft prayer. _Mother protect us, Mother save us._ Tragedy was part of life, she knew, but this morning everything ought to have been filled with joy.

"Vanse is dead."

"How can he be dead?" Kerra's petulant voice burst out from behind them. "He was alive at yesterday's feasting."

They followed the grieving father, pressing close to each other. She tried to breathe, slow and calm, as before a ritual, but her breathing came in small gasps. She wanted to run as fast as her legs could take her, to get the beach and see with her own eyes. This couldn't be true. Vanse was her other half. He completed her. They were supposed to journey through this life, and the next, together. Today was their joining. It wasn't possible. This must be some terrible mistake. Whoever they'd found—it wasn't her beloved. She shivered as the icy wind of chaos blew across her spirit.

As they passed the last of the dwellings, the pregnant Moon Goddess sat low in the west. This was the season of long days and the Sun God waited in his appointed position opposite her. Today, they blessed the world by their presence in the sky together. Waves lapped the shore, the tiny slapping sounds smacked gently onto the sand, followed by the familiar sucking retreat in the cool of the early morning breeze.

As she crossed the sand, a dreadful chill spread throughout her body. When they drew near to where the people gathered, she couldn't restrain herself anymore, and dashed ahead, elbowing her way through the group of wailing women beating their chests in anguish. Vanse's mother knelt beside his body, rocking back and forth, keening and lamenting.

Her love lay on his back, one arm behind his head, as if asleep, except his eyes stared sightlessly at the early morning sky, and he bore raw, red puncture marks on his neck.

Tatya shrieked, throwing herself on top of his lifeless body. She screamed, fists beating her chest, nails tearing at her face, her agonized howls filling the air. Mara came, ordering the women to hold her as she forced a bitter tasting drink down her throat.

As the herbs took effect, calm descended, and it was if she stood outside herself, seeing the lifeless body of the man she loved. Such small marks to end the life of the person who would have traveled by her side on the path of life. Her limbs were leaden and she could hardly stand. Her mother took one arm, Mara the other, and together they half-carried and half-dragged her away from the mourners, and laid her in her sleeping place.

Hours later when she woke, her mind heavy and thick with the drug, she was alone. Tonight no one would sleep. Purification rites for the burial needed to be performed. No joinings and no rejoicings would take place now.

Was her beloved still lying on the beach? Her chest heaved as choking sobs forced their way out from the tightness inside; she hardly noticed her dress was already wet with tears. No, the women would have taken the body to cleanse and dress in his finest clothes. He should have been dressed for their joining, not for his burial. She should be there. She hastened out into the night.

The sky was clear, no clouds to dim the light from the Goddess Mother shining full above; Father Sun lay in his summer resting place above the horizon, and didn't sleep tonight to mark the season's passage. Tonight should have been filled with song, dance, laughter and love.

A low murmuring chant and the slow beat of a drum resonated with the soft shushurring of the sea. The women kept vigil, their voices offering comfort, and securing safe passage for the departing soul as it journeyed along the Road of the Dead.

She breathed deep, and the night air cleared her mind. Accepting the Goddess's will would be unbearably hard in the coming days, but first, she needed to see him. Vanse would be happy to hear her voice as he journeyed away from the living and toward the welcoming ancestors. She walked outside of the settlement, wanting to avoid people and their sympathy.

Her beloved appeared, walking toward her, the puncture wounds on his neck had healed, and his deep brown eyes were filled with sorrow.

She had learned from Mara of how powerful spirits could inhabit the bodies of the recently dead, and of souls who refused to leave. This figure in front of her, so alive, had to be one or the other because she'd seen Vanse's body emptied of his spirit earlier that day. She made the sign of the Mother at the ghost or demon to ward it off, but it only came nearer.

"Please, don't be scared. I don't know how, but this is me and I am here."

She stared up at the apparition. If this was Vanse, lingering on this plane because of her, she could make him listen. "Vanse, you must go. You know you cannot stay. You'll bring great sadness to your parents if they cannot send you to the ancestors in the proper way."

Voices shouted in the distance.

"I am so sorry," he said.

The creature resembling her love stood so close she could see his mouth move as he spoke. She wasn't afraid and reached out, placing her palm on his chest. Her touch told her the truth, he had no heartbeat. Yet it was strange how the heat from his body warmed her. Whether this was Vanse or not, she knew this spirit meant her no harm.

"You are always mine. Promise me you will never give yourself to another."

She longed so much to believe. "Tell me what happened."

He gripped her arm, his fingers digging in hard. "Promise me!"

"I promise. Please let me go. You're hurting me."

He released his hold. Anxious voices called her name.

"Forgive me," the spirit said.

She gazed into his eyes as he bent toward her, and thought she would drown in the grief she saw there. He kissed her. She wondered how spirit lips could feel so real. He pressed harder, silencing her short, sharp cry of disbelief as he slid a knife under her ribs into her heart, and her life bled out

# Chapter Seven: Changing Sky

Tatya's plans for the morning included performing a cleansing ritual on Aunt Lil. Unlike the restricted hours of the public wards, on private wards, once the doctors finished their rounds, visitors could drop in. This afternoon she'd go out to the rez to see Changing Sky.

She rechecked the small cardboard box on the kitchen table, making certain she had everything she required for the ceremony: two sage bracelets, a spray bottle, her freshly-cleansed crystals, her kachina doll, sacred feathers and a small drum.

She sipped her cappuccino, sighing appreciatively. The coffee tasted perfect. Vamp or not, no one made an early morning brew equal to Sean's. She glanced out the window. Sean had nearly finished weeding the largest of the herb plots. Sensing her attention, he looked up, and she waved, raising her cup to him. She still had a lot of unanswered questions. Like how did they stay out in daylight and not burn to piles of ash? Maybe her assumptions were wrong; it sure didn't match what she thought she knew about vampires. But she'd have to admit that, even at college, when other students thought it daring to visit the vampire bars, she'd stayed well away, avoiding any contact with them. Now, she was making up for the gap in her education. She could see one vampire patrolling the far end of the plot and was aware the other two guarded the front of the property.

Tatya massaged her forehead. Last night's dream had left her with a faint headache that even the coffee hadn't eased, and her lower left side, just under her ribs, was sore. She'd not fallen or banged herself against anything since Vanse's blood had healed her. She lifted her top. No bruises. Odd.

Of the dream, she could only bring to mind disparate images; the sea, a beach, and a younger girl who was her sister. The last intrigued her because Tatya was an only child. Changing Sky had taught her how to interpret dreams—but to do that, you had to have full recall. After her recent encounters, it would be a relief to talk with Changing Sky.

Tatya shied away from thinking of either Angelus or Vanse because when she did, she experienced a premonitory tingle warning the connections were active. Last night, she had noticed the more she thought about them, the stronger the link. Not thinking of either of them wasn't easy. Her thoughts kept circling back to Vanse, so she distracted herself with lists of herbs and their healing properties, planting and harvesting times—anything to busy her mind. As if she didn't have enough problems in her life. Hopefully, Changing Sky would help her break the bond.

She knocked on the window to get Sean's attention.

"Time to go." She gestured at an imaginary watch on her wrist.

Minutes later, with Sean in the passenger seat, holding her box as if it were fragile glass, and the other three vamps following in their car, they set off for St. Raphael's. She point blank refused to let anyone other than Sean sit in her truck; nor was she willing to relinquish her independence to him and by implication to Vanse, by relying on anyone else other than herself for transport. Besides, the prospect of squishing into a car with four vamps gave her the heebie-jeebies.

"How come you vampires drive when you can move superfast?"

"To start with, can you imagine how freaked out people would be? And have you seen Vanse's vehicle?"

"No."

"You're in for a treat."

They drove for about ten minutes before the memory of the dream hit her. The images were so intense she pulled over to the side of the road.

"Tat? Are you all right? What is it?" Sean was all sympathy as she rested her forehead on the steering wheel.

"Give me a minute. I had the weirdest dream last night, and it came flooding back."

Faint smells of sage and incense filled the car.

"Vanse and Angelus were in it."

"You know my opinion on all that stuff, and that's not changed."

Prior to his turning, Sean had regarded many of her beliefs with skepticism. Dream interpretation being one idea he took a more empirical attitude toward, even though now he could now verify more things existed in the world than he'd ever dreamed possible.

"In the dream, Vanse and I were in love!"

"Well, there you go. That proves my take on these things. Admit it, he saved your life, and this dream shows your subconscious accepting that, whether your conscious mind likes it or not."

"But he wasn't a vamp, he was human."

"That's just your mind rationalizing what happened."

"But I can't remember the end. I get to a certain part," she looked out the window so Sean wouldn't see the sudden rush of heat to her cheeks, "and the dream stops. That's it. There isn't any more." She started the car. "I'm going over to the rez this afternoon."

"Vanse won't like that. You're aware we can't enter the rez."

Tatya snorted. "Vanse won't like that, eh? Well, you tell Vanse to take what he doesn't like and stuff it where the sun don't shine! That reminds me, how come you're walking around in the daylight? I thought your lot burned up if you went out other than at night?"

"Yes. Most do, but Vanse learned how to survive in the sunlight, and he passes on that ability to everyone he turns. You can appreciate why he doesn't broadcast the fact."

"Yeah. 'Cause it gives him a greater advantage when he's looking for prey."

"No. He doesn't want to create panic and fear."

"Let's give him the compassionate vamp of the year award then, shall we?"

"You don't know him the way I do, Tatya."

She remembered the golden chain linking her to the vampire, the emotions she'd felt before he'd cut their connection. "Yeah, sure he's a saint. But I don't want to know him the way you do, Sean. Please, I don't want to talk about him. He's in my head enough as it is. I have to prepare myself for healing."

"I'm sorry, Tat."

She knew he meant it.

He reached out to touch her arm but withdrew as she flinched, unable to stop her reaction. "Me, too."

They drove in silence for the rest of the journey.

"Aunt Lil!" Her aunt was awake, sitting up with the top section of the hospital bed raised. Her face lit up as her niece entered the room. Tatya rushed over, depositing her box on the chair.

"I'm fine, I'm fine."

They hugged and Tatya held Aunt Lil tight, glad to see the medical staff had removed the intravenous drip and other attachments wired to various parts of her aunt's upper body. She lowered her shields, her gaze critical as she inspected her. Aunt Lil's auric haze was denser, and the greenish-yellow band close to her skin had faded. Hints of her usual turquoise were returning. Most crucial, no gray stains. Good.

"That handsome young doctor says I'm on the mend."

"Handsome young doctor?" It couldn't be Dr. Mellior; he was pushing forty-five, if he was lucky.

"Yes, that nice Dr. Mellior." She eyed her niece. "You could consider him at least."

Tatya uttered a noncommittal grunt. "I'll be doing a healing for you. Is that okay?"

Patients did better if they took part in their own recovery.

"Oh, Tatya. I'd love that. But you won't be able to light any incense or candles. Half the nursing staff will be in here dowsing you with fire extinguishers or rolling you in blankets or whatever."

The first time Tatya had performed a healing ceremony for a patient in St. Raphael's, her carefully crafted smudge stick set off the smoke detector. The nursing staff had not been happy. She'd proposed using scented candles. No, too much of a fire hazard they informed her. Eventually, they agreed to let her use a spray bottle containing a few drops of essential oil in water, as long as the scent wasn't too overpowering for hospital sensitivities.

Tatya burst out laughing. No one ever made her feel so cheerful and able to forget her worries the way Aunt Lil did. "Don't worry, I have this sorted. Voilà!" She picked up a spray bottle and squirted a fine mist into the air. "This works just as well."

Her aunt sniffed and smiled.

Tatya took the rest of the items out of the box, laying them on the side table. Before starting, she checked the protective wards she'd put around Aunt Lil's room, adding another layer. As before, barriers other than her own were in place, although now she recognized it was Vanse who had reinforced her safeguards. She didn't begrudge her aunt the extra protection, but as far as she was concerned, everything he did was suspect.

"Okay, you ready?"

"Whenever you are, dear." Aunt Lil closed her eyes and lay back.

Tatya concentrated on her breathing for a few minutes, accessed her power, and picked up the spray bottle. "Be gone, be gone, be gone," she chanted under her breath, spraying small squirts of mist into the air.

Aunt Lil breathed in the purifying fragrance, her eyelids closing.

With the space cleansed, Tatya scanned the room for unwelcome presences. Satisfied no spirits from the recently departed lingered, she set up her crystals, one in each corner of the room, and wedged her kachina doll just behind the pillow above Aunt Lil's head. Strictly speaking, she should start by standing behind Aunt Lil but as moving the hospital bed wasn't possible, she stood on her right side.

Settling the worn leather strap of the drum around her neck, its weight a familiar comfort as it rested against her stomach, she held her sacred feathers in one hand, and beat the drum with the other. She stroked the air above her aunt's head, pushing power into each movement, before flicking her wrist to the side. With patient care and attention, every sense alert, she repeated her actions, moving down her aunt's body.

When she reached the heart area, she detected a thickening of the ether that resisted, physically pushing back against her hand. Drawing more deeply on her power, she erased some of the darkness sitting in her aunt's heart, but she realized a large part of the baleful mass remained. With great care, she continued until she'd cleansed every inch of the rest of Aunt Lil's body.

Tatya understood her aunt wasn't cured of whatever psychic ailment had attacked her, but she rested at the end of the bed for a moment, satisfied to see the sickly yellowish band gone from her aunt's aura. Aunt Lil had dozed off and Tatya kissed her aunt on the cheek and smoothed back the hair off her forehead. _Please, please get better and come home soon,_ she prayed.

She was packing her healing paraphernalia away, preparing to leave, when flecks of gold sparked at the edge of her vision, and she knew he was there. Even if the heightened tension in the air or the scent of sandalwood hadn't alerted her. Was Vanse agitating her on purpose to make her realize he could reel her in any time he wanted?

"No, Tatya. Those emotions are coming from you."

She was still calm from the healing and wanted to hold on to that peace for a little while longer. She picked up her box, giving him a fleeting look. Flashes of last night's dream; a boat, fishermen laughing, a small village, and a sense of the ancient past.

"I am sorry, Tatiana."

She brushed off the flick of suspicion that it was a memory and not a dream. "Let me pass."

"Sean will stay with you from now on."

It wasn't a question. Vanse moved aside; she glared up at him as she marched out the door, too agitated to trust herself to speak.

Tatya asked Sean to sit in the other car with the vamp guards for the trip out to the reservation. She needed some alone time. Sean raised no objections. He understood her moods.

She drove, hardly noticing the traffic, wrapped in her own thoughts. She needed, and missed, Aunt Lil more than ever. Life was moving in unforeseen directions, and she felt rudderless. She tried to stay positive. Her aunt had taught her the glass half-full was easier to live with than the half-empty one. Everyone's got baggage. It wasn't what happened to you because there were times you didn't have the power to control events, but it was how you dealt with what life threw at you that made the difference.

Aunt Lil was an earth witch of limited ability, but she'd taught Tatya everything she knew. Changing Sky would know what to do. Thinking of him calmed her. They'd often joked how the universe sent Changing Sky when they needed him.

By the time the reservation's dilapidated boundary sign came in sight, she'd regained her equilibrium. She parked on a desolate stretch of road outside the reservation boundary.

The vamp bodyguards parked behind her, and Sean came over to her window. "We'll wait here. How long will you be?"

She rolled her eyes. "As long as the sky takes to change." They laughed at the old joke. "It'll take as long as it takes. What else can I say?"

"If, by any chance, we're not here when you leave, go back to Changing Sky's place and remain there. Okay? You'll be safer from Angelus there than anywhere else. Promise me."

Something resonated when he said those words. Had someone spoken them in her dream? She wasn't sure she wanted to promise anything to anyone, but she nodded.

"Say it."

"Okay, okay. I promise to stay on the rez if you're not here when I want to leave. There. Satisfied?"

He grinned at her. She was glad. She missed the old Sean, but this one would do; she could try to think of him as an improved, updated Sean.

Changing Sky's cabin perched on the top of a hill, overlooking the ramshackle government housing and mobile homes spread over the reservation.

Tatya parked at the bottom and climbed the narrow trail. As she neared the top, a young man with waist length crow-black hair in a tight braid down his back came down the hill. She'd met most of Changing Sky's students and some had become friends, but she'd not seen this young man before. Tatya stepped off the path to give the stranger enough room. He glared at her, almost growling in disgust as he passed.

She let it go. She had too much of her own stuff to deal with right now. Whatever was bothering him, it wasn't her problem. By the time she reached the summit, she was out of breath and stood for a minute, enjoying the autumn air cooling the sweat trickling down her back.

Changing Sky sat waiting for her on the steps of his home. For as long as she'd known him, he looked the same, his gray-white hair in a braid down his back, a weathered face, and eyes that could see into your soul.

"Who was that?" she asked.

"You know what he is?"

"A shifter."

"Which species?"

She remembered the way his nostrils had flared as he'd approached her. She remembered his growl. "Werewolf."

"Good. Go and sit on the other side. I'll bring tea."

Changing Sky's familiar presence lifted her mood. In spite of his name, the shaman was always the same; patient and wise. He had placed wooden benches on both sides of his cabin: one that looked over his people, and one that looked over the land. Depending on his mood or the needs of his callers, he would choose one view or the other.

She sat down, and in no time cradled a warm cup between her hands, inhaling the tea's sweet-smelling perfume. Changing Sky made the best sage tea she had ever tasted. She'd watched him and he did nothing different, hot water over dried sage leaves; she attributed it to the magic in his hands, because when she drank it, somehow the world was set right.

The two of them sat side by side without speaking, and from time to time Changing Sky refilled her cup. They sipped in silence, contemplating the landscape.

Orleton had been built on one of the Western Plateau's large expanses of flat grassland scattered throughout the small mountain range. To the west of the town, the land rose in a steady series of rocky ridges and forested slopes, and to the east, gradually dipped down to vast flat plains.

The reservation occupied the plateau's southern edge, and extended out into the plains, where the land received less rainfall than the north-eastern grasslands, and hadn't appeared overly attractive to the expanding white settlers. But the tribe had survived. They were practiced in adversity.

Today, there wasn't a cloud in sight and the bright afternoon sunshine turned the plains grassland to gold, generously dotted here and there with dark stands of trees.

"You are still not calm, Little Sister." Changing Sky's name for her. "You need to practice more often so your lessons become part of you. You must remember what is important if you want to benefit from my teaching."

He was right. Since Aunt Lil had fallen ill, Tatya had neglected her shamanic practice. She bowed her head, and without warning, the whole story of the night in the parking lot and the day that followed came spilling out. She included everything Vanse had said since then.

"Mmm..." said Changing Sky. Information was a meal to be digested slowly, he'd told her once, not a snack.

"There's more," she said, and recounted her dream.

Changing Sky brewed more tea, and they watched the sun sink lower in the sky.

"What do you make of it?" she asked at last.

"I will make a spirit walk and consult with Aditsan. We are the eldest among our people and together have much wisdom. I will also pray to the Spirits Above." The shaman stood. "You must go. Your friends are getting anxious. I will come and see you when I know more."

Since meeting Changing Sky, her powers had developed and increased in scope and strength. The shaman wasn't given to displays of affection, preferring his students to perfect their lessons, but there was no doubting his wisdom or his benevolence.

Tatya was gathering her courage to tell him how grateful she was to have him as her mentor when her phone rang, and her mind filled with images of screaming nurses running in the hospital corridors. She was as aware of her aunt's panic as if she stood next to her, then—nothing. Her heart hammered under her ribcage. She flipped her phone open. "Corwin, what's going on?"

"I don't want to be the one to tell you, but if I don't, you'll be real mad at me, so I will tell you."

She took a breath. "It's Aunt Lil, isn't it?"

"No, it's the coma victims. Your aunt's fine."

The squeezing sensation in the middle of her chest eased. "I'm coming."

"It's under control, Tatya."

"I'm still coming."

Sean and the guards stood open-mouthed as she gunned her truck, disappearing down the road in a swirl of dust.

# Chapter Eight: The First Stirrings

Something serious was up. The main hospital gates were closed and guarded by the oddest couple—a police officer and a vampire. The gates should have been open for evening visiting hours, with people coming and going. Instead, Corwin, a frown on his forehead, huddled deep in conversation with several police officers.

Tatya stopped her car outside the gates. "Hey, Corwin," she yelled.

He looked up, saw her and waved at the guards to open the gate.

"Park here." The officer glared at her, and pointed to a nearby spot.

Sean's car squealed to a halt as the gates clanged shut. As she got out of her car, slamming the door, she heard him arguing with the policeman and demanding to be allowed entrance.

Corwin left his conference and headed toward her, Bellamy in tow.

Tatya looked the young deputy over; tie loosened, jacket unbuttoned, shirt crumpled and not nearly as dapper as when she'd first met him. Working with Corwin did that to people.

"Those coma victims," he said, shooting a glare at Bellamy, as they walked toward the hospital entrance. "They woke up."

"You're sure Aunt Lil is okay?"

"Oh, I'm sure. You've got friends in high places, I mean low places; their headquarters are in the basement."

"Corwin! What are you talking about?"

"Vanse put extra guards on your aunt's floor."

"Oh."

"I know you don't want to hear it, but I've got a sneaky feeling ol' Vanse the vamp has a soft spot for you."

Tatya grimaced. "Please, Corwin, tell me something that'll cheer me up."

As they entered the hospital, Tatya's senses spiked. Something was very wrong, and she didn't have to lower her guard to see the violet and red streaks of rage roiling through the ether. She strengthened her shields.

"That's the good news. The bad news is when they woke, they were stark raving mad. They attacked and killed two security guards, one nurse and a patient before Vanse's people put them out of action."

_That explained the colors_. "Out of action?"

"Shot them full of silver bullets. It seems someone turned them, and even Vanse's vamps didn't have an easy time putting them down. Once they'd done that, they took them away; to finish them, they said."

Tatya's stomach heaved, and she swallowed hard.

Corwin pressed the elevator button. "Funny thing is they weren't aiming for the entrance, they were going up."

The intensive care unit was on the first floor, private patients on the fourth. The elevator arrived.

"I'll catch you later."

"Thanks, Corwin." She gave him a peck on the cheek.

"You take care, now. I'll be in touch."

When the elevator door opened, the fourth floor resembled the cleanup scene in a crime movie. Men in white plastic jumpsuits, shoe covers, gloves, the lot, were finishing up what looked like a very messy job. One man scrubbed at a stubborn stain on the wall. The crimson and purple waves lapping at her defenses told her someone had died a sudden death here. She guessed they didn't need to preserve the crime scene.

The two stone-faced vamps on guard at the security door stared through her as she nodded to them. The door to the ward, always open, was closed, but they allowed her to pass without question. Two more vamps stood outside her aunt's door.

She hated feeling obligated to anyone, especially a vampire and especially to Vanse, but couldn't suppress the grudging appreciation for his protection. Vanse had an agenda. She didn't know yet what it entailed, but she was one hundred percent certain he had one. She had no doubt when the time came, he'd let her know what price he wanted her to pay.

Aunt Lil was sleeping, and her complexion looked healthier; not quite roses in her cheeks yet, but getting there. Her aunt opened her eyes and smiled. "Tatya."

Tatya kissed her and sat on the chair by the bed.

"You missed the excitement."

"I went to visit Changing Sky."

"And the best place for you. Give him my regards next time you see him."

"You'll be home soon and you can give them to him yourself."

Tatya hoped Aunt Lil didn't know what had taken place. She couldn't imagine doctors dispensing information to elderly women about coma patients who woke up as rampaging vampires.

"Your dark handsome young man came to visit, but when he was here, I heard a lot of, well, to be honest, Tatya, it sounded as if people were fighting. Banging and growling, and my goodness me! But your friend kept me company, and I felt safe."

So Aunt Lil had heard something, and maybe Vanse's appearance was the reason her panic had abated? She wouldn't argue, but she clamped her jaw shut at the words, 'your young man' and 'your friend'. As far as she was concerned, Vanse was neither. Not now. Not in the future. Not ever. She stayed with her aunt till she drifted off to sleep again, kissed her on the forehead and tiptoed out.

Tatya arrived home around eight, with Sean and his crew pulling into the driveway close behind her. The sun had set, and a band of pale blue remained over to the west, fading into the encroaching night. Above, the sky was clear of clouds as the first stars appeared, and a thinning moon peeped above the trees. Tatya shivered at the chill in the air. She'd just put the key in the lock when a soft clearing of a throat made her whirl around.

"Tatiana."

Tatya had hated her name since her first day attending school in Orleton. The teacher had done the roll call using her given name of Tatiana, looked up and asked, was that really her name? And the whole class snickered. Her school life from that moment until she graduated high school meant she had to endure variations of Tatty, Tootsie, TaTa, etc. Growing up, she swore she'd change it as soon as she was legally old enough. However, by the time she left for college, she'd grown into, and even liked the shortened endearment of Tatya, first used by Aunt Lil, and now by most people who knew her. She still found it hard to be called Tatiana. Only her parents had ever used her full name.

"Tatiana?"

Her heart quickened at the sound of Vanse's voice. Why hadn't she sensed his presence?

"May I come in?"

"No. Why?"

"Because you will get cold standing out here without a coat." His lips held the hint of a smile.

"Keep it short and I'll be fine. I've survived worse." Oh, God, that was a stupid thing to say to a vampire who'd saved you from another, even worse vampire only a couple of days ago. "What do you want?"

His voice deepened. "I'd rather not, but I can compel you."

The gold flickering at the edge of her vision told her he meant it. "Okay. Just this one time, I invite you in." That amused, mocking look was back; she'd swear he enjoyed baiting her. Leading the way into the living room, she pointed to the couch and settled herself opposite him. She tucked her feet up and sat cross-legged, determined not to let him see how he rattled her. "Forgive my rudeness as a host, but I won't be offering you a drink."

"Those vampires were heading for your aunt's room."

The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees.

"How do you know that? And why should they want my aunt?" A knot of fear twisted her gut.

"Before we staked them, we interrogated them. It was difficult. Whoever turned them destroyed their minds, left them feral; we got nothing much of use out of them. We discovered the one impulse motivating their awakening." Vanse paused. The grandfather clock ticked loud in the silence hanging between them.

"Well, tell me." What kind of game was he playing now?

"Kill your aunt." He leaned forward, studying her reaction. Tatya didn't move a muscle.

"Who turned them? You can tell that, can't you?"

Humans hadn't a clue how they did it, but a vampire could always discern who'd turned another vampire.

A darkness wavering at the edges of her sanity told her the answer, but she wanted to hear him say the name out loud.

"Angelus."

The grandfather clock chimed once; eight fifteen.

"Why is he interested in me? Or my aunt? What have we ever done to him?" Now she was angry, but she preferred anger because it pushed the fear away.

"It's an old story, Tatiana, and for the moment it's better you don't know."

Vanse gazed at her, deep melancholy on his face.

For a second she thought he would cry. Holy Spirits above! What next? Maybe she should write a column—agony aunt to the vamps? "Gee, thanks for sharing such vital information."

"You couldn't bear to live if you had experienced, or even witnessed, a fraction of the suffering and pain I have."

"Yeah, I can see how killing people and drinking their blood might drive me to an early death."

"Enough!" A glimpse of the power he could wield flashed in his eyes.

Tatya blinked but didn't look away.

"Angelus needs you."

"Needs me? For what? I'm a healer who grows herbs. Okay, I have a few psychic powers on the side, but nothing major. Why the big interest in me?"

"All I can tell you is that if you give yourself to him," he paused.

She recalled the way her body had reacted to Angelus. Remembering his absolute dominance over her, a ripple of pleasure shivered over her skin. Vanse's mouth tightened, and she knew he was aware of her emotions. If Vanse hadn't saved her, she would have done anything Angelus asked. She cut off the memory.

"Tatiana, you have not even started to access the power inside you. If Angelus controls you, he controls your powers, and together with his, he will take over and dominate the vampire race. Think of the repercussions for your species."

Tatya stared at him. She was having difficulty keeping her mouth closed.

"You threw me across the room, remember?"

She didn't know how she'd done that. The echo of a memory surfaced; when she was twelve, she'd come home from school after an argument with a friend. Seething with anger, she'd stood in her bedroom, clenched her fists and the glass in the window exploded. But she hadn't understood how she'd done it then, and she sure didn't know how to do it again.

"Angelus is not just a vampire, he's half-demon."

Tatya shook her head. This was too much information to take on board at one hearing. She was well educated on the range of supernaturals that occupied the planet alongside humans. Vampires, werewolves, witches, and sorcerers were the most visible; fairies, elves, trolls, dwarves remained hidden; angels visited. Demons had been defeated and banished eons ago; they rarely ventured onto this plane of existence of their own volition, although they were more than willing to accept invitations.

"By becoming half-vampire," Vanse continued,"Angelus has hidden among us for a long time. But if he is to fulfill his ambitions, he must increase his demonic side. For that, he needs one thing."

"And that one thing is me?"

"Demons do not experience time in the same way as you, or even I. His pursuit of power has been going on for many, many centuries."

She recalled her dream of a Bard with blue eyes, and red-gold hair. When her phone rang, she'd never been so relieved to hear its ringtone. She got up and pulled it out of her jeans back pocket, moving toward the door. Phone calls were private; she didn't want him listening to hers. Vanse stood as if to follow her.

"Stay," she said and walked out of the room. Vanse followed but stood in the doorway. A small smile played around the corners of his mouth as he watched her.

"What's up, Corwin?" Something normal, she prayed.

"Ten more coma victims have been brought in. Same MO as the others. But one is still lucid. If you're up for it, I'd like you to try to get a trace on this Angelus's location. Can you get here quick before we lose him?"

She put the phone away, took a deep breath and studied Vanse, as he leaned against the doorframe, his gaze focused on her.

"I advise you not to do this."

"You know? Of course, you do. That telepathy thing. You guys must save a bomb in phone bills."

"Do not underestimate how risky any contact with Angelus is for you."

"Do I want to track down the vampire who almost killed me and is trying to kill my aunt? I'm not a coward." She shot him a withering look.

"Then we must hurry."

Vanse folded his long legs into the front of the truck squeezing Sean closer to her; a musky sandalwood scent pervaded the air. Trying to get him to sit in the other car was a waste of time they didn't have, and she was just glad he sat in the seat by the door. With three people in the front, the thought of his body pressing against hers was a distraction she didn't want to deal with right now.

"You might consider staying at the hospital. We have ample quarters available. You could choose."

"I'm fine where I am," she said through gritted teeth, and pressed hard on the accelerator, sending gravel flying into the windscreen of the car behind as she shot out of her drive and onto the road.

"As you wish."

She refused to look at him; she knew he wore that smirk. This time, despite every effort to lose them, their escort stayed right behind her. She suspected they didn't want to be chewed out by the boss.

Corwin waited for her outside the patient's room. "You're sure you're up for this, Tat?"

"Wouldn't be here if I wasn't. Open the door, Bill."

Tatya entered the room and studied the young man as he lay convulsing on a hospital bed, his movements restrained by leather straps across his forehead, torso, arms, and legs. He had a blonde-brown crew-cut, a snub nose, and a body built like a tank. He was most likely an athlete who played quarterback for a local team. Or used to, before he met Angelus. His eyes fluttered open, but by his expression, he was replaying the raw horror of whatever nightmare had come to life, staring in terror at something no one else could see.

"I guess the vamps have to stay?" she asked Corwin, nodding at the four vamps, two at the head of the bed, two at the bottom. She would prefer to follow the trail to Angelus without Vanse and his lackeys watching her.

"Our guys have neither the strength nor the weapons to deal with him if he kicks off same as the others did earlier."

Tatya didn't need to lower her shields to see the young man's aura. Dark gray, shading to black as it touched his skin, with red flashes as fear and terror poured off him. She felt sorry for him. He hadn't asked for this, wasn't a vamp wannabe; he'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Corwin moved away from her. He understood she needed a clear space for scrying. One vamp moved out of the way so she could position herself as close as possible. Vanse came and stood behind her. She glowered at him till he moved back a step.

Before starting, she needed to reinforce her shields and threw up more layers of protection to safeguard herself and the patient. Half closing her eyes, she concentrated on the in and out of her breath. It was harder than usual because of Vanse standing nearby, but gradually, the comings and goings of a working hospital, the shufflings and breathing of those in the room, muted as she blocked them out.

Massaging her hands against each other, she drew on her power till she judged the ribbon of vivid light was solid enough. Bit by bit, moving her hands apart, she positioned them above his head, careful to stay clear of his aura; One thing she didn't need was a blow-by-blow of his trauma. She began her search for Angelus. The young man sighed, and his trembling stopped. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on picking up any impression that might help locate the demon vampire.

The images came fast. The high school stadium, and the walk to his car. He was alone; everyone else had left. The lot lights flickering. Darkness and without warning a sense of... Suddenly, her link to Angelus sprang to life, and a surge of power smashed through her shields. She tried to defend herself, combat him, but the sudden intensity of his attack paralyzed her. She struggled, unable to speak or move.

"I'm already closer to you than I've ever been. It won't be long now, Tatiana." His voice resonated with power. Long, red-gold curls framed his perfect features as he moved toward her, the angelic blue eyes imprisoned her gaze as a smile curled his lips.

His touch burned, and she cried out as his fingers stroked her face leaving lines of fire, then moved down her neck to rest on the place where he'd bitten her. Frantic with pain, and desperate to escape, she struggled to break free. As her strength ebbed, she remembered. Angelus wasn't the only one she was linked to. Summoning every ounce of energy she had left, she screamed for Vanse.

# Chapter Nine: Calling Back the Dead

Tatya woke late.

After the ill-fated attempt to locate Angelus, she'd blacked out. When she regained consciousness, her head rested against a solid chest, protective arms were wrapped around her and she felt safe. She'd nestled in, the arms squeezed more tightly. Then she realized the absence of a heartbeat. She tried to jerk away, but Vanse shushed her, picked her up as if she were a child, ignored her protests and carried her out of the hospital. Sean had driven the Ford home, while she slumped against Vanse, swaddled in a hospital blanket.

She tossed the bedclothes back; someone had removed her shoes, but she was fully clothed and still wearing yesterday's outfit. Thank goodness! Okay, she thought, maybe she shouldn't give him such a hard time. Perhaps he was a gentleman. He appeared to be on her side; he'd come to her rescue yet again.

She showered, dressed, and chose a pastel pink, cashmere-blend sweater, a Christmas present from Aunt Lil and one of her best. She studied herself in the mirror; medium height, a slender build, and brown curly hair that shone with red highlights. Aunt Lil had always insisted she was beautiful, but the insults–rubber lips, weirdo eyes, stick girl–that started when she had moved to Orleton Elementary, had found a vulnerable target. She'd stood out among the Scandinavian and Germanic descendants of settlers with her almond-shaped eyes, full lips, and pale gold skin. Neither had she blended with the local Native American population.

Rummaging in the depths of her drawer, she dug out a small makeup bag and applied the barest touches of eyeshadow, blush, and lipgloss. Yes, the result pleased her, and anyway, she was doing this for herself. Not for anyone else. Certainly not for a blood sucking vampire, even if the one in question appeared benign. The smell of coffee wafting up the stairs got her moving. Sean. She smiled and shrugged off the shadows from last night.

Sean added sugar to her cappuccino, stirred it, and handed her the cup. By the amount of weeding he'd done on the final herb bed, either he'd worked through the night, or his vamp powers had amped up his strength and speed to a phenomenal degree. "Vanse isn't here."

"So?" She feigned nonchalance.

"Okay, okay." He raised his hands in a surrendering motion, but the grin on his face said he wouldn't let this go soon. "He left more guards."

She glanced out the window as a vamp strolled past. Somehow that pleased her.

"Oh, and Changing Sky left a message." He rubbed his ear as if it hurt.

"You spoke to him?"

"Yeah. Sorry. I answered the phone out of habit. Wish I hadn't. Even his voice is caustic to vamps' ears." He massaged his ear more.

"The message?"

"He's coming over this afternoon."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, you know how Changing Sky is. He should have been called Cryptic Speaker, or Minimal Words or something."

"Thanks, bro."

"No problem."

She sipped the coffee. "Damn, I missed your coffee!"

They grinned at each other.

The first time she set eyes on Vanse, she'd been visiting a patient undergoing chemotherapy who'd requested her healing skills to ease its devastating effects. The instant Vanse walked into the room, she felt the heaviness of his intent and looked up to find him staring at her. He smiled a mournful smile, and left. She paid no attention to him. After her parents' deaths, her hatred of vamps left her untouched by what many found to be their magnetic attraction.

Yet after Vanse rescued her, when her bond to him had been open, she'd picked up one thing. He'd turned Sean because he understood, even before giving her his blood, that she loved Sean. How many days ago was that? A few, but it seemed a lifetime.

"I thought I'd lost you, Sean."

"I'm the same person."

"Yeah, right! The Sean I knew would never be weeding before noon!"

"Okay, so I've got a few bonus features. Think of me as the upgraded version. I'm stronger, I can work for longer."

"You need human blood to survive."

"Wow. Thanks. That pretty much kills this conversation."

"I need more time, Sean." Sometimes her smart-mouthed remarks hit too close to home.

"I'll finish up that last patch," he said, turning as he reached the door. "But you know everything has its price, don't you, Tat?"

As she entered the hospital after lunch, the atmosphere was quiet; no signs of any undue etheric disturbances. The normal routine was re-established. The sight of vamp guards outside her aunt's room, and at both ends of the corridor, was reassuring.

Aunt Lil seemed chipper, her aura clear of any murky tinges. Even her cheeks had recovered their rosiness. Doctor Mellior dropped in long enough to speak with Tatya. The prognosis was good. They still hadn't diagnosed the cause, but her aunt was improving. In a few days, she'd be home. The hospital just wanted to make sure she didn't have another relapse.

Vanse was nowhere to be seen. She disregarded the odd sensation of disappointment, telling herself she was glad she didn't have to deal with his arrogance.

On the way home, she stopped at the local store to pick up a couple of packets of Changing Sky's favorite cookies. He loved chocolate Oreos. If she ignored the vamp escort, she could pretend life was normal, and she was just driving home on a gorgeous autumn day: brilliant blue sky, russet gold leaves sparkling in the sunlight.

As she pulled into her driveway, Changing Sky's beat-up truck roared toward her. The shifter she'd seen out on the rez the other day was driving. As they passed each other she nodded at him, but he returned her acknowledgment with a hostile stare. She'd known two shifters in her year at college and found them friendly, but they mostly kept their own company. This one seemed to hate her on sight.

Changing Sky was seated on the veranda, and there wasn't a sign of the vamp home protection squad, even though their car remained parked in her driveway. She smiled as she walked toward him. His presence scared them. Native American shamans had never forgotten how to deal with vampires.

"I don't like the company you keep these days," Changing Sky told her, his expression stern.

"I didn't invite them here, but..." she trailed off, touching her neck. No visible mark remained where Angelus's fangs had pierced her flesh, but the memory of the suffering he'd inflicted hadn't diminished.

"They're an abomination," he shrugged, "but sometimes a workman has to take advantage of whatever tool is at hand. There are worse things."

They drank sage tea and ate Oreos in the kitchen. The vamps stayed well out of sight.

"How is your aunt doing?"

Tatya filled him in on Aunt Lil's progress.

"I wish to speak with Dawn Crow Flies."

"Now? Here?" Calling back the Dead was a solemn undertaking when the person you were calling had been a shaman of immense power.

Changing Sky nodded. "I will also place more protection around the house for you."

"Thank you." She meant it. With Aunt Lil in the hospital and Sean turned, Changing Sky remained one constant in her life. Corwin was another. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Changing Sky unpacked his bag, handing her two sage bracelets for her wrists, and slipping two over his own. Tatya had assisted Changing Sky in many of his rituals. She would never be his tribe's shaman, but he trained her as he did his other pupils.

Tatya opened the windows, not much, but enough to air the room, then pushed the couch, armchairs and coffee table to the sides, leaving the center empty.

"Bring your drum," Changing Sky instructed.

Tatya scooted out and returned in seconds. While Changing Sky unpacked his paraphernalia, Tatya lit bundles of dried sage, dowsing the flames before smudging both herself and Changing Sky. She then moved around the room, and waved the smoke upward, dispersing any negative energy. The smoke wafted out of the windows and curled lazily across the driveway before dispelling.

Changing Sky passed her the cedar incense, and she repeated her actions, this time ushering in and welcoming auspicious influences.

"You must keep the drum going, no matter what," he instructed.

Tatya nodded. "I understand."

When a shaman traveled to the land of the ancestors, the rhythm of the drum anchored his spirit to his physical body. Otherwise, even for one as knowledgeable and proficient as Changing Sky, the return might be difficult. Satisfied with the arrangements, Changing Sky positioned himself in the middle of the room, and donned his ceremonial face mask.

Tatya sat opposite him, and beat her small drum in a slow steady rhythm with the flat of her hand.

A faint, grayish-white mist manifested, thickening as it swirled around Changing Sky before consolidating into an old, bent figure.

Tatya never faltered, although it became harder to ignore the ache beginning in her muscles, she continued to drum the hypnotic rhythm.

Changing Sky's chant ceased as he concentrated on the spirit form of an ancient shaman. The spirit leaned forward and talked to Changing Sky, but she couldn't hear the words they exchanged. The spirit was agitated and Changing Sky listened with his head bowed. Then, between one breath and the next, the ancestral spirit vanished. Changing Sky sat down, crossing his legs and closing his eyes.

She knew he'd let her know when to stop, and she sustained the beat, ignoring the increasing burn in her arms. As she watched, several whirling shapes appeared.

The growing twirling forms were mesmerizing as they revealed subtle features. Changing Sky remained, eyes shut, without moving, a living statue who displayed no acknowledgment of their presence in any way.

Tatya wondered if he even realized they were there. Were they benign? She had no way of telling.

The three forms became more distinct; two were bigger and more powerfully built; one was more delicately formed. One female and two males.

Tatya slowed the beat. The spinning figures slackened their pace until they matched hers. She increased the beat, and the speed of their movements intensified. Slowing the tempo virtually to a stop, she shuffled closer, so she could touch Changing Sky. She was aware physical contact with someone on a spirit journey was dangerous as the shock might break the psychic link, leaving them to wander on the spirit plane, while below their bodies became empty vessels. If the soul was stranded, while the body remained open, it became susceptible to occupation by undesirable beings.

Changing Sky sat completely still. Worried, she inched even closer. Stretching her left hand, while keeping the rhythm steady with her right, she tried to touch Changing Sky, but it was as if an invisible barrier had been erected. She reached out again, but something prevented her from touching the shaman.

As if sensing her intent, the three dervishes whirled faster, ignoring the slowing beat of the drum. Their forms extended till they merged into one swirling band of white and silver, encircling Changing Sky's head. Tatya watched, helpless to halt the scene taking place in front of her, and not daring to break his link to the spirit plane. Stabbing pains shot up and down the muscles in her arms, and her hands were numb. Using her power was out of the question. Changing Sky was journeying as a supplicant, not an antagonist.

A hissing sound emanated from the manifestation, faint at first, becoming stronger till it sounded like a river in flood and she could hardly hear the drumbeat. An explosion of bright light flashed outwards and blinded her. As her eyes adjusted, the band dissolved back into three forms, and she almost stopped drumming as they separated and entered the shaman's body, the first through his ears, the second through his nose, and the third into his open mouth.

# Chapter Ten: Yfêlynys, Cymru, 60 AD

She gripped her little brother's arm tight and pulled him along in the same way her father dragged her. They crashed through the forest as branches slapped their faces, thorn bushes scratched legs and ankles, and their lungs burned. Behind them, soldiers bellowed to each other in a foreign tongue amid the shrieks of the dying.

Ordovices scouts sent by Caractacus had run through the village yesterday, urging the villagers to flee west and escape. The Latinum army was headed this way, slaughtering everyone in its path. The scouts had stopped long enough to grab the offered food and moved on to warn the next village. People thought they had time to gather their belongings and prepare for flight, but less than a day later, in the predawn quiet, a Latinum force attacked. The men set to guard the valley entrance were slain, and without warning, enemy soldiers charged into the village, killing men, women, and children.

Her father tripped and the three of them crashed to the ground.

"Not a word," he hissed at them, climbing to his feet.

Bran sniffed. He was six years old. She was fifteen.

The forested hills surrounding their village provided good hunting and plenty of hiding places, but the terrain was treacherous when you were running for your life off the common paths. They lay unmoving, listening to the clash of weapons and cries in the distance. Suddenly, men speaking in the Latin tongue sounded far too near. She covered Bran's mouth with her hand and tugged him close. Her father tested his injured leg. He nodded and beckoned them to follow.

As they headed away from the voices, along a deer trail leading upward, she noticed her father limping. He halted, one finger to his mouth, and pointed to a forest clearing below where four soldiers stood. Their strident voices were loud as they argued over which direction to take.

Her father backed away and directed them toward a huge overgrown bush. Ignoring the vicious thorns scoring his arms, he leaned in, opening the branches and pointed to the center.

She understood. They would hide here until the soldiers left. They scuffled in on their hands and knees, wedging themselves into the tiny, darkened space.

Her father put Bran's hand in hers, and covered them with his own. "Take care of him. Keep heading west. When you reach the coast, head north for Yfêlynys. There'll be many who will help you. The Holy Ones there will protect you." He put his finger to his lip. "Whatever happens, don't make a sound."

She hugged her brother and refused to let the tears come, realizing Bran would follow her example. If she cried, he'd cry, and she didn't want her father's sacrifice to be in vain. Her bright green eyes never left her father as he backed out, moving the thorn branches back into place as he went until the greenery hid him from sight.

A little while later, he shouted. The soldiers picked up his cries and started after him. She listened to his footsteps becoming fainter and covered Bran's ears as the soldiers thundered past their hiding place. Her father was fast, and had intimate knowledge of the land; he'd escape and be waiting for them when they reached Yfêlynys.

They crossed the straits in an overcrowded coracle at low tide, along with a large crowd of refugees flooding into the Holy Isle. She kept a tight hold on Bran's hand when they walked and kept him close by her side while they ate and slept. The trust her father had placed in her meant more than anything, and she would kill anyone who tried to harm her mother's final gift.

They squatted among families; young and old huddled together, while the people of Yfêlynys did their best. Celtic warriors took men and boys, old or big enough, to the training camps near the sea crossing. No one protested. Women helped trap smaller game like squirrel or rabbit and prepare food; girls and younger boys were sent to the woods to search for nuts and berries. Throughout the straggle of temporary shelters thrown up by the refugees, the Bandrui administered aid to the injured, helping those weakened to the point of death across the threshold.

At the end of each day, along with husbands seeking lost wives, women lamenting missing children, and youngsters like herself and Bran who'd lost parents as they fled, they searched the endless stream of newcomers for their father. Instead, they found nothing but talk of butchery and the death of innocents.

"He'll be here soon," she told Bran each time they returned without him. "He's just making sure it's safe."

Bran, his cheeks hunger-pinched and his eyes huge, would nod in agreement. Everyone who fled before the oncoming army bore the same haunted, half-starved appearance.

One morning, she and Bran set off for the nearby woods beyond the camp with a group of youngsters. As they foraged, they spread out, and Bran soon spotted a bush of early raspberries. Both were stuffing the delicious, tart morsels into their mouths, juice smearing their hands, when three Bandrui approached them. The leader wore her thick blonde hair in plaits, looped up in a crown around her head. The elaborate gold pin fastening her cloak and intricate embroidery at the hem and sleeves of her robe showed her high stature. The other two, both young girls, hovered a short distance away.

She gaped at the priestess, and just in time remembered her father's admonition to respect those who had the ear of the gods and goddesses. She bowed her head and belatedly attempted to wipe the red stains from her mouth with the back of her hand as Bran hid behind her, clutching her skirt.

"I am called Fidelma. Tell me, sister, is your family here?"

"We are waiting for my father to arrive." She inspected the ground, not daring to look up at the woman.

"Your brother?" Fidelma smiled at Bran, peeking out from behind her skirts.

"Yes."

Bran nestled closer.

"Come with me."

The Druid priestesses, the Bandrui, were as powerful as the priests, with each having their domain of power, and ruling their separate sacred places, whether groves or caves. The women presided over healing, herbs, worship of the Goddess, and the gift of prophecy; the men governed the rites of renewal, the mistletoe, ordering of the calendar, and the advising of kings and chieftains.

She knew little of Druid business. Their village had been too small to boast its own priest or priestess, but there was no refusing a Bandrui command. Fidelma nodded at a younger girl, who stepped forward, picked up their fruit basket and left for the camp.

Bran's hand was hot in hers as they plodded in silence behind the blonde priestess along a track winding upward through the woods. The second priestess trailed behind them as noises from the camp below drifted on the breeze. Birds squawked, taking flight, disturbed by the unfamiliar visitors. At last, they arrived at an open grassy area at the foot of a steep cliff.

Fidelma stopped. "The boy, Bran, is it?"

She nodded.

"He cannot come any farther. Males are forbidden here. Alis will stay with him."

Fidelma bent down till she was at eye level with Bran. "Stay here with my friend and play till your sister returns," the priestess said.

Bran walked over and grasped the girl's hand.

"Come. He will be fine."

Stories of Bandrui magic weren't new to her, but Bran was a shy boy, even more so since they'd fled their village. The woman must have bewitched Bran with her eyes to make him behave so. As she followed Fidelma across the grass, she resolved to avoid looking into the priestess's eyes.

The priestess pushed aside the thick branches of a bush at the base of the cliff, revealing a small opening. Inside, the space was large, and rush torches gave off a smoky, flickering light. At the back of the cave, to one side of a stone altar, an aged wrinkled priestess sat with her eyes closed.

Fidelma knelt before her.

"Ah, Fidelma." A papery whisper. The old woman raised her hand and rested it on Fidelma's head.

"Mother, I have brought someone you'll be pleased to meet." Fidelma beckoned her guest forward.

She followed the priestess's example, and kneeled on the cold stone.

The old Bandrui opened her eyes. She was blind.

"Alaw is our seer." Fidela said.

It was unusual, though not unheard of, for a Holy One to be blind. Some held that it strengthened the powers of farseeing; others questioned how someone could be a proper seer if they could not read the clouds or the birds in flight.

As she kneeled in front of the of the ancient one, Fidelma guided the seer's hands onto her head, and at the seer's touch, power from the old woman's palms tingled against her scalp.

The old woman laughed, a youthful, soft joyous sound at odds with her age. "Child, I have waited a long time for you to arrive. Fidelma, make ready."

The blonde priestess bowed her head in submission and led the way back outside the cave. "The portents do not augur well for our people," she said. "We do not tell the leaders for their courage must be unwavering. Those who are coming seek only our deaths."

She thought of her father and the soldiers in the woods. "Why? Why do they kill us?" she asked.

Skirmishes between one tribe and another were a part of life, but a god of death headed this army of foreigners marching across their land.

"Because they fear our Gods. They cannot control our priesthood, so they are afraid they'll never gain real power in our land." Fidelma's eyes were fierce. "If we surrender, they will butcher us."

At that moment, she accepted what her intuition had been telling her since her father led the enemy soldiers away. He wouldn't be joining them her or her brother here on the Holy Isle of Yfêlynys. He had already joined her mother. "What do you need from me?"

Fidelma pointed to Bran, standing nearby and holding a woman's hand. He looked trustingly up at the stranger who smiled down at him. Behind them, an older man, his hair streaked with gray, looked on with pride.

"Branwen and Gideon live on the far side of the island, high in the hills. They can keep him alive and provide him with a home and a future. They are childless. Look at their faces."

Her heart sank when she saw how they gazed at Bran—as if they had waited a long time for this moment. His early life and memories of her would fade; he'd grow up with two parents and have a good life. Her breath caught in her throat. "May I say good-bye?"

"Of course, child."

Bran grinned as she ran over to him. "Branwen has a pony. She says I can give him any name I want and he'll be mine."

She knelt in front of him, stroked his hair, and imagined him riding in the hills, a smile of pride and joy on his face. "But you must learn to care for him, won't you?"

"And you're coming too, aren't you?"

"Not right away, Bran. I have to remain here and help."

Bran looked as if he might cry.

Branwen put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll teach you to ride before she comes. Won't that be something to show your big sister?"

Bran's smile was like the sunshine after a storm. She captured that picture. This was how she would remember him.

The man, Gideon, leaned forward. "We have to leave now. We have a long way to travel before dark." He spoke firmly, no trace of harshness. He wasn't Bran's father, but their father would rest peaceful, knowing another good man was willing to bring up his son.

Fidelma spoke. "We, too, have to depart. Time is short."

"Be good, Bran. Do as they tell you. I'll see you soon." She hugged his little body tight, releasing him before the tears came and she told them, no, she couldn't let him go.

Bran, her young vulnerable brother, nodded. At the edge of the clearing, he turned and gave her one last wave as his new parents led him away.

Alaw gave special dispensation for her initiation that night. Neophytes spent years in preparation, but the Ancient One said urgency was paramount; they must take advantage of the opportunity sent by the Goddess, for she had revealed her will

"You will fast and purify yourself with prayer," Fidelma instructed and guided her back into the now-empty cave. She pointed at the altar. "The Goddess will help you."

The Bandrui left her alone in the cave with two grim-faced women guarding the entrance. As she offered prayers before the altar, a new purpose filled her, and she pushed memories of her father, Bran, and everything to do with her life before this moment out of her mind.

Fidelma returned at nightfall, and without a word, beckoned her to follow. When she attempted to question the priestess, the woman put a finger to her mouth, indicating speech was forbidden. She followed the priestess in silence as they climbed a steep hill under a lustrous full moon, arriving at last at another cave hidden high in the hills.

Time blurred as two young novices bathed and dressed her in clean white robes. They brushed her hair until it shone, and left it loose, falling in thick waves around her shoulders and down her back.

The Goddess had chosen her. _Mother protect m_ e. She repeated the words over and over as the novices guided her along narrow, dark tunnels until they emerged into a cavern so vast the ceiling and walls lay beyond the wavering torch shadows. She blinked while her eyes adjusted.

The seer sat on a raised seat of stone before a massive altar to the Mother Goddess; the Bandrui, too many to count, fanned out in a circle and filled the central space.

Her legs shook as Fidelma steered her toward the Holy One. Everyone and everything she'd ever known and loved had disappeared from her life. Whatever would happen to her in this new life lay in the hands of the Goddess. She had no choice but to surrender.

"Kneel," Alaw commanded.

Fidelma's firm touch on her shoulder pushed her into position, and she knelt, rooted to the spot, unable to take her eyes off the blind seer.

Alaw raised a hand, and the women started a low, rhythmic chant. The hypnotic hymn increased until it was so loud, the throbbing sound entered her bones.

Fidelma raised her arms high; in one hand she held a gold cup, in the other, red glints from the torchlight sparkled along the wicked edge of a slender gold knife. She went around the circle, from woman to woman, nicking each held out wrist with a flick of the blade, allowing a few drops of blood to fall into the gold cup before moving on to the next. Having completed the circle, Fidelma approached Alaw bowing deeply. The blind seer nodded–a quick slash and her blood joined that of the others.

Fidelma brought the gold chalice to where she waited. Her eyes watered from the torch smoke, and a searing pain in her skull throbbed in time with the chant. The priestess tilted her chin up, commanding her to drink. She stared up at the blonde priestess, unable to move, until the cup was brought to her lips. Unresisting, she drank the dark, warm blood till she drained every last drop.

At first, nothing happened and her gaze remained fixed on Fidelma. Then she blinked, and the priestess disappeared as an icy wind rushed into the cavern. She shivered uncontrollably. Her heart banged against her ribs as howling noises whistled around her and she tumbled into darkness.

When she regained consciousness, she lay on a pallet in a small hut. Rays of sunlight full of dancing dust motes fell through the small gaps in the roof. She tried to rise but was light-headed and dizzy, and she could hear voices in her head. Voices other than her own. She fell back onto the bed and into unconsciousness once more.

When she next awoke, Fidelma sat by the bed, her eyes soft with affection. The priestess helped her sit up and held a cup of water to her lips. "Rest. You've been in a trance for two days and two nights. We feared we had lost you."

She drank greedily. "What happened? I don't remember."

"Alaw prophesied your coming. A great one who has the power to commune with past seers, she told us. Such a one is rare. But we feared we lost you, for hosts with the strength to carry such souls are rare."

"I hear them in my head. They're loud, but I don't understand what they're saying."

"Their voices will diminish with time, and you will become skilled at interpreting their words. Your arrival is a cause for celebration, even as we face the dread menace of war."

She had little opportunity to recover as messengers brought word of the Latinum forces reaching the coast and setting up camp on the opposite shore. The great battle would commence within days. She stayed close to Fidelma.

The Druid priests and priestesses had little opportunity to rest or sleep. They moved constantly among the warriors, praying, performing sacrifices to assure victory, and exhorting the men to destroy their enemies. More fleeing Celts, among them fierce Deceangli warriors, arrived under cover of night and swelled their ranks. During the day, the fighters continued to practice their skills, preparing and decorating themselves in the sacred woad patterns that rendered them indestructible.

This was a war to the death. The foreigners' Gods demanded they desert their own. This they would never do. Only one side would claim victory in this fight.

Night fled as the day of battle dawned. Celtic warriors massed on the shore, watching the sun climb above the trees in a blood-red haze. As the mist cleared, revealing the racing, silver-gray waters of the strait, sunlight glinted off rows of armored men on the opposite shore as they stood shoulder to shoulder, holding their metal shields in front of them. Further back, ant-like figures pulled large wooden machines forward to the front line, and soldiers crammed onto hundreds of flat-bottomed boats bobbing on the shoreline. Here and there, leaders rode horses into the midst of the ranked soldiers.

One Celtic chief struck his spear against his shield, and screamed at the enemy. Others joined with him, till the din of weapons banging against hide shields and the thunderous roar of insults filled the air. The spirit of the fierce tattooed fighters had the Latinum soldiers across the straits shrinking in fear. The Celts intensified the ferocity of their threats.

She was instructed to stay with the small group of women attending Alaw. A seat had been set up for the high priestess on a hill overlooking the beach and the straits. A young girl, barely out of childhood, sat at the ancient Bandrui leader's feet, her voice a soft murmur as she related the events taking place below them.

A procession of torch-holding Druids snaked its way toward the beach. An immense roar erupted from the Celtic fighters when they saw the approaching spectacle. The Druids separated into two groups, with the priests arranged in a long line on the slope above the beach. Raising their arms to the sky, they chanted prayers in unison, invoking the wrath of Aeron, the god of battle and slaughter, to destroy their opponents.

The Bandrui continued to the shore and ran among the waiting men, their bodies darkened and smeared with ash from the sacrificial fires and their hair streaming wild. They also invoked Arawn calling down the terror of the underworld upon the enemy. The fighters' hearts swelled with courage, and their bodies warmed with heat from the torches.

Watching from the opposite shore, the invading soldiers shuffled backward, terror taking hold as the Druid priestesses incited the Celtic warriors. The more the Druids and their army chanted, the more fearful the opposing soldiers became: the wild screams of the Bandrui terrified them in a way the battle-hardened army hadn't.

Standing with the Bandrui, she stared across the straits, at first detached, feeling nothing. She observed men on horses riding amidst the enemy, barking at them to conquer their fears. One took off his ridged helmet and shook it at the mass of waiting warriors.

Her heart missed a beat as the sun glinted, red-gold on the hair curling around his shoulders. She could not drag her attention away from him, fascinated as he wove a sorcerous spell over the troops. She trembled as their blood-lust rose, and the hairs on her neck stood on end as he noticed her, and his gaze lingered.

The enemy crossed the strait, a grim, bobbing flotilla.

She watched with horror as strange machines flung boulders and stones, causing havoc in the Celtic ranks when the devastating missiles landed, crushing bodies to a pulp. Once off their boats, step by viciously won step, the Latinum army gained a foothold, and they never relinquished an inch after they planted their boots on the sacred soil of Yfêlynys.

The curses of the Bandrui, the harsh bellow of the Latinum leaders, the roar of battle, the clash of metal swords on shields, of men killing and being killed created a torturous refrain. The enemy harvested all who stood before them for their hungry Gods, marching over the dead and dying in an implacable, ruthless advance.

She witnessed the souls of the dead rise, heard the air fill with plaintive laments as they left their broken bodies. What should have been a victory for her people became a massacre. The invaders moved beyond the shore, and the battle shifted to the fields behind as they pushed the outnumbered tribesmen inland, slaughtering as they came.

"We can only accept what the Goddess decrees," Alar said as she issued instructions. "Do not lament. Today, our warriors died in battle with honor. They have gone to the sun planet where they feast and rest eternally. But you must leave now. Where is the Blessed One?"

The priestess pushed her forward.

The old woman reached out, placing her hands on her head as she knelt. "My work is complete, and the ancient ones are safe. They will always be with you. Our enemies cannot kill our gods and goddesses, and they will rise again."

Alaw would not be coming with them, and the young girl remained crouched by her feet, refusing to leave.

She fled with the rest of the women, the howls of the wounded following them as they ran. An awful dread filled her heart as she hurried after the others into the woods. Thank the Goddess, Bran was safe.

"Stop," whispered the lead priestess, "soldiers ahead."

She halted, her heart thundering, and mouth dry as she peered through the trees at soldiers herding captured Druid priests toward the sacred oak groves.

The acrid smell of burning wood floated on the air.

"No, Mother, no," whispered one of the Bandrui as they heard the crackle and hiss of the holy trees as they burned, and clouds of black smoke plumed in the sky.

Gasping for breath, she ran behind the others as they tried another direction, but they ran straight into a second group of soldiers.

Laughing and forming a circle around them, their mad eyes spoke of blood-lust and sorcery. One grabbed hold of her arm.

Petrified, she stared up into his mournful eyes with a sense of recognition; the golden- brown skin and black hair awoke faint echoes of a memory.

He pulled her closer, and gripped her arm tighter, raising his weapon.

"Vanse," one soldier bellowed. "Angelus's orders are to take all the women priests to him. Alive! He insisted we keep them all alive!"

Though no one spoke, she knew without a shred of doubt, that Angelus was the blue-eyed leader with the red-gold hair on the horse whose gaze had lingered on her with predatory intent.

"He can have as many of the others as he wants. But not this one." The soldier holding her lifted his sword, his voice heavy with quiet authority.

He twisted her around to face him, and a stillness washed over her. Sorrowful brown eyes and golden skin. Why was he familiar? How could she know him? She experienced no pain as his blade entered her body just below the ribcage on the left-hand side, angling up and piercing her heart.

# Chapter Eleven: Taken

"Good morning." Changing Sky's voice interrupted her train of thought as he entered the kitchen. "I couldn't resist the smell of Sean's coffee any longer." He smiled. "You slept well?"

"Fine," she said. "You?"

The previous evening, after the Calling Back the Dead ritual ended, the shaman hadn't responded but sat staring at her for a few minutes. Tatya insisted he stay the night and called his driver. The shifter's antipathy was obvious as soon as he heard her voice. He acknowledged her message with a grunt and hung up.

Changing Sky had eaten a little soup, gone upstairs, and slept straight through the night in the spare bedroom. This morning, he looked refreshed. "I'm better than fine. Tell me what you witnessed," he said as she filled a mug for him, adding three teaspoons of sugar. He preferred his coffee real sweet.

"First, an old man came, but I couldn't make out his features—they weren't clear. The two of you spoke, but I couldn't hear anything."

"Good. You are making progress."

Changing Sky rationed his praise, and she swelled with pleasure at the compliment. This was the first time she'd played the drum for a Calling Back the Dead ritual; that she'd seen anything was remarkable.

"You beat the drum well yesterday. Did you understand what took place?"

"No, and I was worried. What happened at the end?"

"You did right not to interfere. My first visitor was Aditsan, a powerful Navajo shaman, known as the Listener. He sent me a gift."

She waited while he sipped his coffee, sighing with appreciation.

"Three ancestors are here to help."

His words sparked a memory, but the image hovered out of reach.

"There is a darkness coming, Tatya."

She refilled his cup. Changing Sky consumed lots of coffee in the morning.

"Yes, I know."

She pushed away the memory of how Vanse's hair had fallen forward as he'd bent toward her neck. Any thoughts of him, however fleeting, were a switch that could activate the link to him.

The growl of the truck announced the shaman's ride. Tatya escorted him out to the veranda. "I'm going home to pick up a few items; I'll return this evening. Don't mind the young pup," Changing Sky told her, "he's still growing into his skin."

She smiled. If anyone could tame a wild creature, it was Changing Sky.

Tatya was washing the coffee cups when she flashed on the picture of an old blind woman, and details of last night's disturbing dream surfaced—the second in recent nights. Parts were blurry, but she would have sworn Angelus and Vanse had been in the dream. There hadn't been time to discuss her dreams with Changing Sky this morning, but when he returned, she'd ask him for an interpretation.

Shaking off her misgivings, she made plans for the rest of the day. If she set off now, she could visit Aunt Lil and get the shopping done. With luck, her aunt might even leave the hospital. The possibility of having Aunt Lil home cheered her, even though it seemed to be taking forever to happen.

Tatya was finishing up in the kitchen when another car pulled into her driveway. She didn't have to check to know who it was. Her connection to Vanse spiked. She knew if she concentrated on him, even though she had no desire to do so, she'd see the connection, a chain of golden light, linking them together

The doorbell rang. How polite of him, she thought, when they were both aware he didn't need her permission to enter. Opening the door, she noticed, as if by magic, the reappearance of the vamp guards. They hadn't left during the shaman's visit, but they'd sure been careful to stay out of sight. She filed that fact away; it might come in handy.

Vanse waited with the patience of someone who has all the time in the world and nowhere else to be. More memories stirred and shifted, but they stayed elusive, and out of her grasp.

"Come in." Tatya refused to pretend she was thrilled, but she attempted to sound polite. She wasn't sure she succeeded.

"Thank you, Tatiana."

"Tatya. My name is Tatya. If you keep turning up at my house, I'd appreciate it if you'd bother to call me by my name."

"My, we are touchy this morning," he said, passing so close she breathed in the sandalwood scent coming off him.

An involuntary shiver ran down her spine.

"Having bad dreams?"

"Coffee?" She stalked ahead, refusing to rise to the bait. "Sorry, we're out of blood, and mine's not available."

His eyes twinkled.

Oh! How irritating! A vampire who twinkled at you! Standing here in her kitchen he was destroying every single one of her beliefs about his species.

"I've already had breakfast, but yes, a coffee would be lovely. Black, no milk or sugar."

Already had breakfast? No, she wasn't going there. She poured him a cup and another for herself. Today should be interesting if it continued this way; first, breakfast with a shaman who liked his coffee sweet, then with a vampire who didn't. "Anyway, I've got stuff to do, so what do you want, Vanse?"

"Hearing you say my name is worth the trip out here," he paused, "Tatya."

"Don't use that glamour voice on me. It doesn't work."

But it did. Even worse, she liked the velvet sound. How a vampire's voice reassured anybody of anything was beyond her comprehension. But his voice calmed her. He'd protected Aunt Lil and as a thank you, she resented him?

"Your aunt is doing well."

"And stay out of my head." Damn it, she was trying to play nice here. She threw back the rest of her coffee, ignoring the way it burned her tongue and throat.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Well, as you can observe, I'm fine." Images of broken bodies, hacked limbs, fierce fires, and screams as people burned to death flashed across her inner sight.

"Tatya!" Vanse's touch on her forehead, a light brush of his fingertips, jerked her back to the present and the images vanished.

She stared up at him. The melancholy was back in his eyes. She was puzzled. She picked up guilt mixed with sadness. Guilt for what? But before a discreet way of pursuing this line of questioning occurred to her, the back door opened and Sean rushed in, holding his phone out to Vanse.

A vampire with a personal secretary! Tatya turned the tap on and washed cups to hide the huge grin that spread across her face. What next? A fashion line?

"I have to–"

"Good-bye." She wasn't a mind reader, but she wasn't stupid either.

"Sheriff Corwin says hi." And with that, he was gone.

Tatya looked at Sean. "What? I'm trying."

Sean didn't answer, but judging by his skeptical expression, it was obvious he thought she should put more into the effort.

The convoy headed off half an hour later. Mrs. Olsen, one of Tatya's regulars, had phoned earlier, suffering from a migraine, and asked if she could drop off an order of echinacea, sage, and lavender tea. The woman lived about fifteen minutes' drive in the opposite direction from town.

Tatya drove alone, leading the way, with Sean and her personal vamp security unit following. She figured she'd be in town within the hour, shopping done, then over to the hospital by one o'clock. Plenty of time to sit with Aunt Lil, speak to the doctor and find out if her aunt could come home today.

Mrs. Olsen lived in a mobile home about half a mile off the highway, and just inside the town's northern boundary. After the Olsen turnoff, the highway followed the lie of the land and dipped gently down from Orleton's plateau toward the grasslands and flat agricultural plains in the far distance.

Their cavalcade turned onto a narrow track that wound among the aspen and spruce trees.

Tatya had told Mrs. Olsen if she ever wanted to move closer to town, she'd help her find somewhere. The elderly lady had smiled in appreciation, saying the quiet surroundings gave her peace of mind.

Tatya parked next to Mrs. Olsen's old Dodge, sparing an admiring glance at the spread of wild black currant and swamp gooseberry bushes the old lady had planted years ago. There was just enough room for her truck. Good. Because her escort would have no choice but to reverse all the way to the road in about two minutes when she'd delivered the tea. The thought gave her a smidgen of perverse pleasure.

Tatya jumped out, held up her hand at Sean telling him to wait, ran up and knocked on the door. No answer. Tatya knocked again, this time trying the door handle. It creaked as it swung open.

"Everything all right?" Sean called, getting out of his car.

She shrugged, caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye, and heard shouts.

"Tatya, run!"

Tatya's eyes widened in horror as half a dozen vampires erupted from behind Mrs. Olsen's home, swarming toward Sean and the vamps sent to protect her. Angelus. Somehow he had engineered this. Anger flushed through her and her fingers prickled, sparking with energy. Raising her hands and focusing her attention on the attacking vampires, she channeled the surge of white-hot power along her arms.

At that instant, something struck her hard on the back of her head, and she stumbled forward, falling into blackness.

When Tatya came to, a splitting pain zigzagged from the crown of her head to her right shoulder. Her forehead throbbed, but it wasn't till she tried to assess the damage that she realized her hands and feet were tied to the arms and legs of a chair. She was blindfolded, and the foul taste in her mouth was a gag. After figuring out that much, she passed out again.

When she regained consciousness, the pain had eased a little, but thinking with a thumping kettle drum in her head was exhausting. Her connection to Angelus sparked. She stamped on it, thankful she still had that ability. This time, though, he'd ordered his minions to do his dirty work. How much of a threat was Vanse to him? And where was Sean? Please, let him have gotten away, she prayed. Her breath came in gasps, and she had difficulty breathing through the gag at the thought of her best friend with his neck broken and a stake in his heart. She couldn't bear it if anything happened to Sean because of her. She tried to think. If he'd escaped, Vanse would know, and be on his way. She would not think about how reliant she was becoming on the master vampire, or about how many times he'd saved her already.

Where was she, anyway? Tatya extended her awareness, scrying the immediate vicinity. Vamps were difficult, if not impossible, for an empath to read without a heartbeat and a wall of nothing where their thoughts should be. But a telltale trail of essence always survived if you looked hard enough in the right places. She tried to relax and concentrate on her breathing, but every movement was torture. Healing herself wasn't an option; another of her gifts only to be used for others.

Okay, so scrying was out for the moment.

She heard footsteps, and as the door opened Tatya rested her head on her chest, pretending to be unconscious.

"I know you're awake."

She didn't recognize the speaker's voice. That was one small mercy because at least it wasn't Angelus.

"Angelus will be pleased with me."

The lines of fire Angelus had traced along her face with his fingers flamed at the memory, but she didn't move. She would not give this creature the pleasure of acknowledging his presence.

"He approaches as we speak."

She wanted to blast this creepy vamp and reached for her power, but the cracking in her head make it impossible. Her powers were there, but her injury created a barrier.

Tatya waited till his footsteps died away. She had no idea of how long she had, but if Angelus was on his way, then she probably didn't have too much time. The severe pounding in her temples forced her to wait. She breathed in slowly, attempting to block out the pain before extending her perceptions.

_Mustn't panic,_ she repeated to herself, as a warning prickle shivered into goose bumps. She needed to access the same energy as when she'd blasted Vanse across the room. The instant she pictured Vanse, her connection to him sparked into life.

He was frantic. "Where are you?"

She projected an image of herself tied up, gagged and blindfolded, embellishing the size and ferocity of the vampire guarding her. A little artistic license might work to her advantage at this point. "Angelus is coming." This time, she didn't have to exaggerate her dread. "Can you find me?"

"I'm on my way, but we might not have that long. Listen carefully. I'll awaken my dominance over you."

"Don't you dare!" A ruby flush surged along the link.

"Tatiana!" The anger in his voice jolted her. "Only so we, together, can remove the pain that's blocking your power."

"And then I'll be free of you?"

"This is not the time for that conversation."

And in the next instant, she was bathed in love for him. Her master. The chain that linked them was a torrent of emotion. Every fiber of her being thrilled with the ecstasy of compliance. An intense pulse of brightness rushed along the link, flooded her awareness, and removed the dam keeping her away from her powers. She yearned for him to stay, so she could continue to feel this love, something she'd been craving her whole life. How had she ever thought vamps had no feelings?

"I'm on my way." He withdrew.

And she experienced a sharp, cutting loss.

Snapping out of the thrall, and not wasting a second, she drew on her power. The vamp guarding her was so confident she was under control, he'd fallen asleep. Good. Sending subtle strands of energy down her arms, she burned the ropes binding her to the chair. They sizzled and fell to the ground. She ripped the stinking gag away, spitting out the disgusting taste as she tore off the blindfold. She looked around—she was in Mrs. Olsen's kitchen. She must have been unconscious for a good few hours as it was dark outside. She rubbed her wrists where the skin was tender. Vanse's energy, added to her own, needed refining. The ropes at her ankles needed a tad more energy than her fingers, and she managed to sear them off without burning herself. She sent a quick thanks to Vanse. He was coming to her aid, yet again, and she wasn't ungrateful.

Tatya crept soundlessly toward the kitchen door. Within minutes she was outside, extending her senses for any sign of vampires. The only one was the creature guarding her. She tiptoed along the side of the mobile home heading for the track, peeked in the first window, and wished she hadn't. Bile rose into her mouth at the sight of Mrs. Olsen lying on the floor with her neck broken, blood trailing from gaping wounds in her throat. The vamp had fed from her.

Thankful for her new improved night vision, she darted into the trees. The track led straight to the main road, but she'd be easy to spot if the pursuing vamp woke up, although the clouds scudding across the waning moon offered some cover.

Tatya ran as fast as she could, dodging between pale tree trunks, avoiding branches, while running parallel to the track, and keeping an eye out for sudden dips and bumps in the earth. She wouldn't get far if she twisted an ankle, or even worse, broke a leg. She glanced behind as a gap in the clouds appeared. The mobile home was no longer in sight. So far, so good. She halted for a minute, listening to the night. Her senses were definitely heightened, with the most likely cause being the addition of Vanse's blood coursing through her veins. Luckily, she didn't feel cold despite the night autumn chill.

Nearby, a rattlesnake heading for its den, paused at her approach. She concentrated on the snake. Despite the weapons at their disposal, a reptile's mind was simple to control and the chill night air left this one sluggish.

The snake had one goal. Food. Nothing else inhabited its internal landscape. No impatience or anger, just an overwhelming need to eat.

She withdrew her consciousness as she transmitted a dribble of heat to the snake. Filling it full of images of the vampire, she embedded the idea of food into the creature's brain and dispatched it on its way. As she moved off, the snake slithered toward the mobile home. Changing Sky would be proud of her. She ran faster. The road wasn't far now. If she reached it, she might flag a passing car.

Suddenly, she collapsed, folding in on herself and gasping with agony as the link to Angelus flared. He'd realized she was slipping out of his grasp and unleashed wave after wave of blistering pain to weaken and control her. She slashed at the connection, desperate to cut the bond to him.

The link died, but a door banged loudly in the distance as the vamp burst out of the mobile home in pursuit. Angelus had alerted her jailer.

Vamps possessed a speed she couldn't hope to outrun. She fired a final urging at the snake as it neared its target.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," the vamp crooned in a twisted singsong voice. "I'm coming to get you."

Tatya heard the warning clatter of the snake's rattle, followed by a high-pitched scream as the reptile bit deep and its fangs injected deadly venom. The vamp gave a strangled cry as he crashed to the ground. He wouldn't die, but she'd slowed him down and given herself more time.

Tatya kept going, swerved around a tree trunk looming out of the dark, tripped, and fell. Clambering to her feet, she ignored her skinned elbows and knees, and charged toward the road. She spotted headlights from an approaching vehicle flickering through the trees. If she managed a final sprint, she could make it to the highway before the car passed. This might be her only chance. As she closed the distance to the road, she could see the car was nearly level with her. Tatya pumped her legs harder, ignored her burning lungs, and flew across the verge. She dashed into the middle of the road and watched in disbelief as the car kept coming. Desperate for the vehicle to stop, she stood her ground, her arms windmilling like mad.

At the last second, the driver noticed the figure in his path, and spun the wheel, brakes squealing, as he attempted to avoid her.

And Tatya realized she'd left it too late; she jumped to one side but wasn't quick enough and excruciating pain exploded along her left side as she flew into the air.

# Chapter Twelve: Recovery

Tatya lay in a bed in St. Raphael's hospital. How she knew was unclear. No particular reason came to mind she could put her finger on, she simply knew. And she wasn't all right. A jackhammer pounded inside her brain, and every bone in her body hurt. She cracked her eyes open, widening them in disbelief as she glanced down at her body; casts encased her hips, and further down, the same rigid casing covered both legs.

Sickened with loathing, she stared at the sight of so many wires and tubes emerging from various parts of her body, hooking her up to the surrounding machines. Lying in a hospital bed, with the antiseptic smell, the quiet background of humming equipment and starched sheets was becoming far too familiar for comfort.

She remembered the car hitting her, and the pain. Maybe being alive was a miracle, but it looked as if she'd broken more than a few bones. How long would she be laid up and out of action?

The door handle clicked. She heard an intake of breath and a friendly voice. "The lengths some people go to avoid doing an honest day's work." Sheriff Corwin's careworn face grinned at her. The normal blue of his aura flashed with purple spikes of anxiety.

"Corwin! I'm offended. If there's a party going on, I want an invitation."

"How are you?"

"I need more drugs. I hurt. All over."

"The guy who brought you in thought he'd killed you. You're lucky he stopped to check." He put up his hand. "It's all right. Vanse brought me up to date about the kidnapping. You should have seen the state he got himself into."

Bellamy poked his head in the door, coughed to get Corwin's attention, and nodded at Tatya. She nodded back and winced, wishing Aunt Lil hadn't taught her to be so polite.

"Gotta go, kid. People to see, things to do. If your boyfriend doesn't update you, I'll bring you up to speed next visit."

She refused to dignify the boyfriend crack with an answer. Besides, the drugs fogging her brain made thinking of a smart comeback too difficult.

"Okay, you got your orders. Get better soon." He bent and gave her a peck on the forehead.

The door swished, and he and Bellamy left. She raised a hand, touching the spot where he'd kissed her. Between them, Changing Sky and Corwin had become the father she'd lost. She sniffed, wiping away a tear. At least her arms weren't broken.

She drifted in and out of consciousness for a while until Vanse came and stood at the foot of her bed, fixing her with his sorrowful gaze. What was with that look? Yes, her parents' death had been a tragedy, but he hadn't killed them. Was he one of those people, oops Freudian slip there, vamps who took on the sorrows of the world? It didn't fit with how she saw the position of vampires in relation to human society.

As far as she was concerned, vampires were an alien species, predators—and humans were their natural prey. In spite of this, their prey had a vast superiority of numbers on their side, and unlike vampires, the human species had and continued to eliminate other species. Predators they might be, but they had to live in the places mankind did not.

However, this one appeared to have a conscience, and she owed him her life. Was it twice now?

"Thank you."

He nodded. The link strummed with power. "Each time the link opens, it strengthens our bond."

"Yeah, good to know."

"I am sorry. I am aware you don't want this. But..."

Tatya's hand came up, seeking reassurance from her protective amulet, but it wasn't there.

"It's in the cupboard by your bed."

She wanted to ask him to put it in her hand but the drug induced lethargy made everything too much effort.

"It's okay," she mumbled as her eyelids closed of their own volition.

"Tatya!"

But Tatya had fallen asleep.

She floated in and out of dreams: a wide sandy bay, round boats bobbing in the distance, the sun shining on waves; fast flowing water that turned blood-red as she watched. Voices spoke to her, though their words remained beyond hearing, no matter how hard she listened. Whoever they were, they stayed out of sight, hidden, observing her, and despite every effort, she never caught a glimpse.

When Tatya woke again, she was much more alert, cheering up as a nurse pushed Aunt Lil into the room and parked her wheelchair beside the bed. Tatya twisted her head to face her aunt, and razor-sharp agony shot through her body. Even the places not broken hurt.

"Oh dear!" Her aunt tried and failed, to hide her distress at Tatya's condition.

"I'm fine. This looks serious, but I am quite comfortable."

Aunt Lil smiled. "A real trooper, that's what you are."

"But how are you? Has Dr. Mellior said when you'll be able to come home? Who else will look after me?"

"The doctors say I'm getting stronger, but..." she paused, "I'll let Vanse speak to you first."

"Aunt Lil!" Tatya tried to protest, but she didn't have the strength. Okay, he was proving useful, but making a decision about their lives? No way.

"He'll tell you himself. I'm an old woman, Tatya, and I understand he's," she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "one of them. But I trust him and I think you should too."

A machine beeped, and a nurse rushed in to check Tatya's pulse and temperature, adjusting the medication dosage.

"It's best if you stay calm, Ms. Rourke," she included both patients in her rebuke. "It's probably a good idea if we let the patient rest now, don't you think?"

Tatya gritted her teeth at the woman's patronizing tone.

"Your aunt can visit you later." The nurse readied the wheelchair.

As the drugs took effect, Tatya accepted that perhaps this one time, the nurse was right.

"I'll see you later, Tatya." Her aunt blew her a kiss.

Tatya smiled. "I love you, Aunt Lil."

"I love you too. Now you sleep and heal."

For the rest of the day, Tatya drifted in and out of a drugged stupor that dulled her suffering to a tolerable level. The sun had set when she awoke to find Vanse once more in her room.

"Aunt Lil says you have something to say. Spit it out." She might be drugged, but she hadn't lost her mind.

He approached the bed, pulling up the visitor's chair. He placed his fingers on her wrist, and she shuddered, as a trickle of power seeped in, easing her injuries. She resented his help and attempted to move her arm away, but he pressed harder and she surrendered. Did he enjoy the beat of her pulse, the blood moving through her body?

"You know me better than that by now."

Did he sound offended? Boy, not only did this vamp have feelings, but he was hypersensitive as well.

Vanse chuckled. Tatya looked at him. His smile was infectious. This is how he must have looked when he'd been human, she thought, softening toward him.

"How long have you been a vampire?" Oops. The question was out of her mouth before she could stop it. She'd heard somewhere that among vampires such questions were considered bad etiquette.

"A long, long time." The laughter faded.

The power seeping down the link made her feel almost normal.

"You are aware aren't you, that with our link, I can heal these injuries," he gestured at her cast enclosed legs, "quickly."

No, she hadn't realized. Now he had her interest. "How quickly?"

"Do you want to walk out of here tomorrow morning?" His voice gave nothing away.

"What's the catch?"

"Are you always so suspicious, Tatya?" His sad smile returned.

"Okay, tell me there's no price involved."

"You've already paid."

Tatya understood he meant the link. Would he activate his dominance? She didn't remember every detail of what happened when they were linked, but it always left a residue of emotion. A tantalizing, hypnotically magnetic emotion. But she hated the dependent position she had no choice but to adopt when he activated the bond.

"Is that so terrible?"

She glared at him. Telling him to stay out of her head when they were linked was impossible, but she didn't have to accept it without protest. If he was in her head, he should appreciate how much she prized her independence.

He withdrew his hand, breaking the connection, leaving her cold and alone. Even without asserting his authority, the link brought her alive in a way she didn't normally experience. Even during sex with the few partners she'd had.

"That can be remedied any time you want." He twinkled at her again.

"Mmm, let me see. Dependence on a vampire master and great sex, or free will and the chance of a proper relationship with another human being?" She realized she was close to crossing a line with him. But she would never give up her freedom.

"You don't have to give up anything. But that's another conversation. I'll be back later and you can tell me if you've suffered enough." He stood, his glance traveling down to her legs.

The level of pain had increased since he'd withdrawn from her.

"Oh, I've made my decision."

They both knew what it was, but he waited.

"Oh, not interested in reading my mind anymore?" Was he really playing this one-upmanship game? Was he going to make her say it?

Vanse watched her, a small, lazy smile on his face.

"Okay, okay! Do it! Do whatever you have to do so I can heal."

"Good girl."

She bit back her response.

"Trust me," he said. "You must learn to trust me."

He did not just give me the 'trust me' line. What does he think this is? A movie? Oh, I get it. He wants me to agree.

"Yes, Tatya, that's right. I don't need it but I want it."

Vanse sat down and picked up her hand. This time, despite the urge to slap it away, she allowed him to touch her without resistance. She realized touch wasn't necessary to activate either the link or dominion, but if she had to play sweethearts to get the healing done, so be it.

Tatya went rigid, her back arching in pain as a thousand ants sank razor-sharp teeth into her injuries, knitting broken bones and healing damaged muscles. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound emerged. Then it was over.

And she loved him. She experienced it in every cell of her body, and he reciprocated. He loved her above all others. He'd only ever loved her. Why hadn't she known this? How could she ever conceive of being separate from him? They were two distinct beings, yet they were simultaneously one.

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

How warm his lips were. How did someone without a heartbeat feel so warm? A memory floated out of reach, tugging at her; he reminded her of someone. He closed her eyelids, and she slept.

# Chapter Thirteen: Mathura, Uttar Pradesh, 1145 AD

"Om namo Bhagavate Narasimhaya."

The priest led the prayer, and the congregation responded. She stood on the women's side of the temple room, swaying in time to the repetitive chant. She'd chosen to stand at the back so she could glance over to where Vanse stood with the men without arousing suspicion. Hopefully, they would meet later.

The priest intoned the final words, and everyone paid their obeisance to the Deity on the altar. The half-lion, half-man incarnation of the Supreme Lord known as Narasimhadeva smiled down on them, full of benign promise. She touched the image of the Deity hanging at her throat. He was the form of the Lord who came in times of need to protect his devotees.

Mirabai, one of the house servants, tugged at her sari and beckoned her to follow.

She looked over at Vanse again and he gave an almost imperceptible nod. The two women slipped out as the assembly shuffled and settled in preparation for the priest's daily reading from the Holy Book.

They hurried down the steps and passed the flower sellers with their baskets of fragrant marigold and jasmine garlands. When they were out of sight of the temple, Mirabai pulled her into an alley and pressed a message into her eager hand.

"I can't do this anymore," the girl glanced up and down the alley, her voice anxious. "Your father nearly caught Vanse hanging around the house to give that to me. It will bring disgrace on my whole family if your father finds out."

Her father, Brhaspati, was the head of the town's most important merchant family and possessed a great deal of influence. He had the power to make Mirabai, and every member of her family, suffer—and he had a violent temper. Yesterday evening, he'd insisted everyone in the household, family and servants, line up in the courtyard. He'd then paraded back and forth, haranguing them about a paltry amount of missing rice. After he'd finished, he left them standing there till night fell before he dismissed them.

Mirabai was right. Seeing Vanse in secret was risky. If her father discovered what she was doing, he'd beat her, and marry her off to the first candidate from the proper caste that offered him the most benefit and connections. Her fifteenth year began on the next full moon, making her of marriageable age, and she didn't doubt her father had several candidates in mind already. After marriage, with a suitable dowry, she'd become her husband's property to do with as he wished. That she was his only daughter among five sons brought her no preferential treatment. She had no special place in his heart.

"Thank you, Mirabai. I'll always be grateful to you for helping us. Go now, before anyone sees."

After Mirabai scurried away, she thrust the tiny note inside her blouse and hurried back to the temple, praying neither her father nor her brothers, had noticed her absence. Later, in the privacy of her room she pored over Vanse's words.

"My beloved, meet me by the river. Usual time. V."

Her heart beat faster, and her green eyes lit up at the thought of him. The expression in his brown eyes when he looked at her and the smoothness of his golden skin under her touch delighted her. Their love was dangerous, forbidden, but he was her other half, her soulmate, and she was convinced this wasn't the first life they'd been together. Vanse's father would be as outraged as hers. An inter-caste marriage would bring shame and dishonor on both families.

After serving her father and brothers lunch, she told her mother she would fetch water for the next offering to the house Deity. No one could object if she was performing her regular duties.

The sacred river, Jamuna, ran low at this time of year, and she smiled at the soft rippling sound of the water, imagining it sang to her as she walked along the path, listening to the birds and enjoying the cooling shade of the trees. She and Vanse planned to leave in two days, travel far away and make a life together. First, they'd find a priest to marry them and settle in a small town. Neither of them worried if they had little money. Vanse would provide for them as he was a skilled weaver. They would have children, lots of children, and they would live a happy life.

She didn't want her life to be like her mother's—tiptoeing around, always fearful of the beatings when her father was out of sorts. No, that life wasn't for her, and each night before sleeping, she thought of her future with her love.

Their secret meeting place was a grove set back from the Jamuna where they hid from prying eyes. Her heart beat faster as she saw Vanse waiting, his white cotton shawl covering his bowed head, his back toward her. He didn't turn as she approached.

"Vanse?"

The figure flung aside his head covering, and leaped up, grabbing her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh.

"Manu?" Her brother's refusal to answer or even look at her fueled her fears. "Manu, please let me go. I've done nothing wrong. Please." She tried to break his grip, pry his fingers off her arm, but his hold was too tight and she didn't possess enough strength. Why was he doing this to her?

Manu hauled his sister back along the river path while she pleaded and begged him to release her. He dragged her into their courtyard and forced her to her knees in front of their father, who fumed, his chest heaving, and his eyes bloodshot with rage.

Her heart thundered in her ears, and she shook in fear as her father approached. He had never hit her. He'd never needed to, because her mother had trained her well, and she'd always been the perfect, subservient daughter.

"Who is this V?"

The notes Vanse had sent fluttered to the ground. He'd stressed how important it was to destroy them, but she had kept them because they were too precious. Had Mirabai betrayed her?

She stared up at her father, tearful, pleading. "He's a friend. I promise you on my life, he's only a friend." She listened to her father's breath, the rapid in and out of his increasing rage: she crawled closer to his feet. "Father, forgive me."

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and forced her head back.

"Prostitute! Slut!"

The first stinging slaps were open-handed, but her flimsy attempts to shield herself inflamed him more. She had seen him punch her mother with his fists in the softer parts as broken bones meant she'd be unable to work, but he had no intention of offering her any such discrimination. Each punch and kick sent excruciating pain through her body. As she passed out, she wondered if her father would stop before he killed her; and the last sounds she heard before losing consciousness were her mother's screams as she and Manu hauled her father off her.

She woke in an empty storeroom in the basement of the house, on a blanket on the floor, with bare walls, a thick wooden door, and one tiny window too high for her to reach. Attempting to sit up, she found the slightest movement caused agonizing misery. She could only open one eye, and her left cheek felt the size of a melon. Mercifully, she floated in and out of consciousness until at last, a key turned and the door opened.

Her mother crept in, knelt by her side, and smoothed the curls off her face.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She wept in her mother's arms. "Please tell father, I won't do it again."

"Shh. There, there." Her mother pressed her arms, body, and legs. "He has beaten you, but nothing is broken. Here, take this, it will help." Her mother shook the powdery contents of a glass vial into her mouth, but even swallowing hurt. As her mother stroked her forehead, murmuring words of comfort, she slid into a dreamless sleep.

The following evening, her father came. She shrank back against the wall, flinching with each step he took toward her.

"See, my child, what you have brought on yourself." His anger had cooled and his voice was full of regret. She fell at his feet, ignoring the pain of her injuries, and clutched his ankles. "Father, please, I beg you to forgive me."

"My child." He stroked her bowed head. "I have been too lax with you, given you too much freedom. You will stay here until further notice."

She bowed her head in submission.

Her father carried out his threat and hired a muscled sudra woman to guard the storeroom during the day and sleep on the floor outside the door at night. The woman escorted her to the bathroom, one hard hand on her arm, and stood watching while she did her business. No one, not even her mother, dared to visit. She was a prisoner, isolated in her own home.

Days turned into weeks, and the external signs of her beating faded. Yet she remained incarcerated. Time stretched and became one long day. Her life before dwindled to a dream. She prayed for hours, beseeching Lord Narasimha to allow Vanse to escape the thugs her father surely had hired to kill him. Brhaspati would destroy anyone and anything that might sully her reputation.

One evening, her father visited with a village woman she knew to be a midwife. Her father waited outside, vowing he'd kill her with his own hands if she wasn't pure. She had no choice but to undergo the humiliating examination.

"Good," her father muttered when the woman informed him of her intact virginity.

Another bright morning as she lay dreaming of freedom, watching the slanting sunbeams crawl across the wall, the door opened. Her bodyguard beckoned and escorted her up to the house.

She stared in bewilderment at the garlands decorating the hallways and every room. Her mother came out of the kitchen with tears in her eyes. The sound and smells of food preparation wafted out.

"Mother, what's going on?" After not speaking to anyone since her beating, and with the guard silencing even her attempts to keep her spirits up by singing, her voice croaked.

"We have to get you ready. You must prepare yourself. Your father has arranged your marriage."

If it wasn't for the bodyguard holding her arm, she would have collapsed. The next few hours passed in a daze as servants bathed and perfumed her, decorating her hair with pearls and garlands of jasmine, and applying kohl and rouge. Last of all, they dressed her in a red silk wedding sari so heavily embroidered with gold thread she had difficulty walking.

She let them do whatever they wished, and she kept her questions to herself. Was he a local merchant's son? Had she met him, seen him at the temple or around the town? But she had learned the lesson of total obedience. Who he was had no relevance. Someone who wasn't Vanse would bed her, and she would bear his children. This husband would own her body, but her heart and soul belonged to Vanse. She accepted her fate; she had no choice.

Preceded by musicians playing tablas and singing auspicious songs, the bridal procession, entered the temple, and a numb emptiness filled her heart. Karma had blindsided her, leaving her powerless to change her fate.

Servants guided her to the seat beside the groom. The heavy bridal veil covered her face, making it difficult for her to glimpse him clearly. She noticed he was tall. Like Vanse. She swallowed her tears. The past was a dead branch, its fruit withered, holding nothing of worth. The future awaited; she prayed she'd escape the treatment her father dealt out to her mother.

The ceremony commenced and moved inexorably forward as the ceremonial fire consumed generous quantities of ghee. During the final stage of the marriage rite, as the couple circumambulated the fire with her sari tied to his kurta, she caught a clear view of the groom. She wondered what caste he was and why her father had agreed to marriage with a foreigner: his light skin, and his hair, an unusual red-gold color showed he came from afar. He turned and, gazed at her, as if the veil was invisible. For a second, she froze, stunned by the brilliant blue of his eyes. He moved forward, and she followed, her hand straying to the medallion at her neck. _I am your devotee_ , she pleaded, _please protect me._

Her father headed the triumphant return home, although strictly, it was no longer hers. Her home, from now on, was wherever her husband lived. How foolish she'd been to think that her life might ever have been anything other than this.

She kept her eyes down during the feast and sneaked a sideways glance at this man to whom she now belonged. Every time their eyes met, a warning chill shivered over her skin. Her father called him Angelus. She rolled the name around in her head. What would he demand of her?

At the appointed hour, her mother and two maidservants led her away so she might be prepared for her wedding night. They removed the bridal finery and combed out her gleaming reddish-brown curls, dressing her in a robe of white muslin, bare of decoration except for the simple embroidered hem.

"Mother? What happens now?" Tears threatened to fall.

"The same thing that happens to every bride. Your duty is to obey. Whatever happens, don't protest. Be submissive."

She nodded, understanding her mother better. This was how to survive. Left alone to await the groom, she paced the room, her imagination conjuring both wonderful and awful scenarios of what was to come. She spun around at a noise on the balcony.

"Vanse!" She flew across the room into his embrace, and nestled against his chest, unwilling to see his reaction as she told him of her marriage.

"I know. This is my fault. I thought if I dampened your powers, he wouldn't find you."

What was he talking about? She could hear voices and laughter in the corridor coming closer.

"Go. It might be Angelus." She saw disgust flicker across his face at the name.

The voices became louder.

"Kiss me. One last time." Vanse pulled her close, and they kissed.

She breathed in the sandalwood smell of him and calmed. She knew what he would do, and this wasn't the first time because he'd done it before. As the blade sliced into her skin, she felt nothing but peace. Once more, he'd saved her.

# Chapter Fourteen: Damage Control

Tatya eased herself into her jeans, hoisting them up around her hips. She shook each leg, balanced on her toes, then jumped up and down a few times. The last time she'd felt this fit and healthy was the day she'd run the marathon at college. After the marathon was over, well, that had been a different story.

She'd awakened that morning swearing she was healed, begging the doctors to take x-rays till she thought she'd explode—but to no avail. Afterward, she called Vanse to glamour them into agreeing to let her go home. He also glamoured away their memories of how recently her injuries had occurred.

The full range of vamp talents was unknown outside their species, and they meant to keep it that way. As far as they were concerned, the human–vampire relationship didn't warrant full disclosure; life as a laboratory subject for scientists engaged in researching the source of their abilities to heal and their longer life spans played no part in the vampire agenda.

The doctors had removed her casts under light anesthetic; now the only thing missing was a signature, and she'd be on her way home. She stretched, enjoying the sense of wholeness, touched her toes, and paced over to the window. The sun shone in a beautiful blue sky, and the air would have that autumn crispness. Maybe she'd go for a run when she got home, a habit she'd lost since her business took up so much of her time.

"How are you?"

Tatya sensed Vanse's presence long before he got to her room and wished he would keep walking. She'd seen more than enough of him in the past few days.

"Okay."

Despite rescuing her from several challenging situations, she'd been too suspicious of vampires for too long to change overnight. But she'd try to play nice. She flexed her arm.

"There, all better."

"Oh," he said, "so the plaster covering the whole of your lower half was decoration?"

"Ha ha! Sarcasm in a vampire. What's next? Dramatic irony?" She couldn't help herself. She and Sean had enjoyed this kind of banter before he died and Vanse turned him. To her surprise, he chuckled.

"You always had a sharp tongue, Tatiana."

"Haven't we had this conversation? It's Tatya."

"My apologies."

No glimpse of the twinkle, instead, he wore his solemn vamp businesslike expression.

He sat on the bed. "Please," he gestured she should sit beside him. Choosing instead the visitor's chair, and moving it further away from him, she reminded herself she despised vampires, and this one was no exception. She wasn't sure, though, if the last bit was a hundred percent true anymore. Here and now, sitting so close to him made it impossible to analyze her feelings. But dammit, she did not want to admit she was starting to like him.

"You desire to be at home?"

"Er, duh, yes. Do you even have to ask? I'm hoping I can take Aunt Lil home, too."

"Tatya, it's not safe for you there. You must stay here. I have luxurious quarters below where you and your aunt can stay until this matter is resolved."

"Excuse me? I must stay here. Since when do you, or anyone else, dictate what I can and can't do? I can take care of myself." A shiver of energy pulsed along her arm, and as she thrust her hand outward, a flash of light burst from her fingers hitting the wall opposite. A tremor pulsed around the room. Tatya swallowed. That was a first.

"Your powers are growing, Tatya."

"I said I can protect myself."

"Do you think you can defend yourself against Angelus?"

She swallowed again.

"And his vampires?"

She remembered how they'd poured out from Mrs. Olsen's mobile home.

"Our wards are stronger."

She giggled, but tried to disguise it with a cough.

"Sorry," she mumbled." Hospital... wards... pun...." she trailed off. Oh dear, this was no fun. "Look, I'm aware your intention is to protect me, and I appreciate your efforts. But there's no argument here. I'm going home." She understood he had the power to coerce her to stay, but she was banking on the fact he'd rather avoid taking that action.

"Okay, I'll escort you."

Tatya rolled her eyes. "Yes, dad."

"Oh, Tatya, I was never your father."

She almost blushed. There was no mistaking his meaning.

Dr. Mellior wasn't available till afternoon, so even though Tatya had determined her own course of action, she wasn't willing to risk her aunt's health.

Vanse insisted they travel in his car.

Tatya remembered Sean's enthusiastic praise, and thought this vehicle was a vampmobile if ever she ever she saw one.

The Cadillac XTS with its leather seats and custom fittings purred as they hit the highway. Vanse drove, no chauffeur, and it was clear this was a favorite toy. The usual convoy, several cars full of mean, sinister-looking vamps, emitting a serious don't-mess-with-me vibe, followed at a circumspect distance.

Vanse told her Sean was working on the gardens, and she pictured the plots tended and tidied up for the winter. He'd be working his way through the greenhouses by now. How was this going to work? Would she and Sean pick up from before he became sick? His name was no longer on the company. He was legally dead but their friendship seemed to be back to something resembling normal since she'd accepted his new identity as a vampire enthralled to a master vampire.

Tatya noted Vanse's enjoyment in driving, though most people sitting in her seat would have had a heart attack. She watched the scenery flow past in a blur and was beginning to relax when images from last night's dream hit her. Vanse, the love of her life, had pulled her close and kissed her. But something was wrong. As she breathed in the smell of him, her fear fled. Her precognition told her what he would do, and this wasn't the first time. As the blade pierced her flesh, she experienced a glorious peace, knowing that once more, he'd saved her. The dream had the veracity of a memory, as if it had really happened. But how was that possible? She had never encountered any such violence in her life.

Vanse braked, tires smoking as they screeched to a stop.

"You killed me. In my dream you killed me." She gazed ahead, not seeing the road, only the dream sequence replaying in her head. _Vanse. The sense of stillness. The knife._

He didn't answer.

"It was so real. How can you explain that? Oh, and please, don't say it's complicated." She gave a short laugh. "If it's a memory–and how could it be a memory? But on the bizarre off-chance it is, I'd be interested to know why you're saving me this time?"

They sat in silence. The driver from the car behind opened his door. Vanse raised his hand, the vamp closed it again.

She recalled how he took away the pain before she felt the slice of cold metal. He loved her, and she loved him. She realized he'd had no choice but to kill her. What she didn't understand was why. "I loved you and you killed me?"

"Yes."

"But why in the universe would anybody kill the one they loved? Tell me that."

"Tatya." His voice broke.

Their connection confirmed the depth and truth of his anguish, but Tatya shut him out with a savage slash of the link. She knew she couldn't maintain the separation for long, but she had her own stuff to deal with, and she didn't need his.

"Tatya, please, I will justify my actions, but not here and now. You will find the truth hard to accept."

"That's not what I call an explanation. In this lifetime, believe me; I won't be falling for whatever line you gave me before. That's one mistake I won't make again."

"Tatya."

"Take me home. Now."

He started the engine, then paused as the wail of a police siren came within range. Tatya recognized the plain black sedan that swerved in front of them, slewing to a halt. The doors opened, and Corwin and Bellamy leaped out as if the hounds of hell were after them.

Tatya didn't need to read Corwin's aura as he approached her side of the car. His face said it all. Bad news. Her power spiked. In a blink, Vanse re-established the link, calming her before anything untoward happened. He tapped the dashboard controls and her window slid down.

"Tat. I'm so sorry. It's your house," Corwin said. "The fire department is on their way."

"The fire department?" She went to open the door.

Vanse laid a hand on her arm, restraining her. "We'll follow you, Sheriff."

Corwin stared at the vampire for a second, then nodded.

"I don't care what your opinion is of me," Vanse said, watching the two officers return to their vehicle. "I'm sure you'd prefer to be with Sheriff Corwin, but he can't protect you from Angelus."

They heard more sirens and waited till three fire trucks hurtled past, their sirens shattering the air. Vanse drove so close behind Corwin that if Corwin had braked they'd have ended up in his back seat. As they tore along the road, ominous, dirty black clouds towered into the sky, visible above the trees.

"Sean," she said. "Sean's there." Her heart dropped. Sean wouldn't have done anything so stupid as rush indoors to put the fire out? Because vamps could burn to death, like every other creature on the planet. "Is Sean all right? You'd know if he was dead, wouldn't you?"

"He lives."

The weight of worry lifted.

As they turned off the main road, Tatya's brain refused to accept the evidence of her eyes. Her heart sank as the reality of the devastation hit her. The roof had collapsed, but flames continued to devour the first floor. She stared in disbelief as gray-black smoke billowed out of the windows and rolled upward to the sky. The firemen, moving with practiced precision, raised ladders and ran hoses to the well. Within minutes, the three fire engines, one at each side and the other in front, sprayed huge gouts of water over and into the blazing building.

Tatya, Vanse, Corwin, and Bellamy stood in a huddled group, watching the firemen extinguish the blaze.

She knew Aunt Lil had insurance because she had insisted they increase the coverage to include the business. But this was more than a building or a place of business, this was her home.

Aunt Lil had never married. She'd talked once about a youthful love who died before they could marry. When Tatya became an orphan, Aunt Lil welcomed her into her life, shouldering the responsibility of loving and rearing her niece. This was where Tatya had grown up, loved by someone who cared for her above everything else.

A figure walked toward them. Tatya ran and threw herself at Sean, burying her face in his chest to hide the sudden flood of tears.

"Hey, Tat. I'm fine." He hugged her tight.

Tatya watched as half of the top floor caved when the roof fell, turning the place into a smoldering, blackened shell.

Eventually, a fireman informed them the fire was out, but she couldn't enter the building until the fire marshal gave the all-clear. Regrettably, that wouldn't be until they'd conducted an official investigation into the cause of the fire.

"Sorry to have to run, but you know, crime doesn't stop," Corwin said, preparing to leave. "But whatever I can do, you let me know. Okay? You know you're always welcome at our place. Winona would love to have you... just say the word."

Winona, Corwin's wife, had a soft spot for Tatya, and always liked feeding and mothering her. It had gotten worse since their youngest had left for college.

"Thanks, Bill. I'll keep that in mind."

"I'll speak with you later," the sheriff told Vanse.

After the last fire truck departed, they stared at the shell of the old ranch house, wisps of smoke still rising from the ruins.

The chilly autumn wind bit at her skin and whirled her hair into her eyes. She pulled up her hood to stay warm. Tatya wanted to cry, but no tears came. She could hardly grasp what had happened, let alone why. One part of her remained emotionless, and watched with almost clinical detachment, while the other half experienced a bone-wrenching loss.

"Listen," Vanse said.

"What is that?" A low, droning sound caught her attention.

"Sean, wait in the car." Vanse walked toward the back of the house.

Puzzled by his behavior, she hurried after him. The firemen had roped off the back entrance, covering the door to the kitchen with a yellow 'Danger. Do not enter' tape. Looking at the garden she gave a sigh of relief as the greenhouses were untouched. Other than a heavy covering of ash and debris from the burning house, the herb plots had suffered no fatal damage.

Vanse scrutinized the house. "Okay, stand still. Close your eyes, focus on the sound, and tell me where it's strongest."

_For goodness sake! What sort of game was this? Simon says?_ Too bewildered to argue, she obeyed, and the layers separating the inner and outer worlds thinned. She pointed at the ground floor of the house. "No doubt about it, it's coming from in there."

"Good. Now try to see it."

She squinted at the building.

"No, not that way. With your inner vision."

"Oh, my inner vision! Now, why didn't I think of that?"

"Sarcasm does not become you, Tatya."

Several smart-mouthed answers popped into her mind, but she let them slide. Now wasn't the time for petty squabbling. Learning to search with her inner sight was one lesson she'd been working on with Changing Sky.

First, concentrate on the in and out of the breath. The more you concentrated, the less intrusive external sounds became until there was only the breath. The humming vibration breathed with her. She extended her senses and sought the source. Yes, there. A dark mass of pulsing energy hovered in the middle of what used to be the living room. Dim, reddish lights flashed, and she could make out three metal spirals swirling in an intricate pattern. Thick shadowy tendrils span off the object spreading a stygian gloom. The intertwined, rhythmic movement was hypnotic and ensnared her, beckoning. She yearned to enter its fascinating depths. A face, Angelus's face, studied her from within the twisting coils. Those amazing blue eyes, his red-gold hair. He was so magnificent—and she knew he desired her.

"Tatya! Stay with me!" Startled, she glanced at Vanse before looking back at Angelus. "Can't you see him?" She pointed at the gyrating metallic helix.

"I see his handiwork," he snapped.

Even with her eyes open, Angelus beckoned, enthralling her.

Vanse shook her. "Angelus did this. The fire originated from that artifact."

Tatya faced Angelus. She accepted the truth of Vanse's words, and her heart told her that Angelus would stop at nothing till she became his. With deliberate slowness, so subtle at first it was nothing but a mental twitch, she accessed her power, letting it build, drip by drip, until it filled her. She smiled at Angelus as he watched her with unconcealed hunger.

At that moment, she pulled with every ounce of strength she possessed. She thought of how carelessly, how heartlessly, Angelus had destroyed her home and flung her hands out toward him. A spear of fiery energy seared straight into the pulsating heart of her target.

# Chapter Fifteen: Unusual Bedfellows

Tatya dug her heels in, she wasn't moving one step further than was necessary with this vampire. Okay, she'd experienced a momentary weakness toward Vanse after he'd saved and healed her, but until he told her the truth about what was going on, she wasn't budging. She didn't need a degree to see that joining with both Angelus and Vanse had increased her powers and played a major part in precipitating this disaster.

"No. I'm only going with you if you promise to explain." She stood, green eyes sparking defiance, her hands on her hips, and stubbornly refused to move. Yes, he could drag, throw her over his shoulder, or compel her, but she was getting a handle on how this vampire operated.

"Are you a woman or a child?" Vanse's eyes sparked gold at her. "Angelus knows where you are. We need to leave and get you to safety." His habitual facade of cool detachment was disintegrating.

Good, she liked seeing him rattled. "Well, if you treat me like a child, what do you expect?"

"All right. I promise to answer your questions. In the car."

"Not good enough." Her enjoyment at his discomfort grew.

"What then?" He glared at her, fireworks flashing in his eyes.

"You will explain every little detail, even the ones you think are unimportant, because bright though I am, I might not know what questions to ask. So, you will tell me why Angelus wants me. You will tell me why I'm remembering you killed me. Or another version of me. Or whoever that person was I thought was me, who you stabbed to death more than once. You will tell me every last little detail. Okay?"

"Yes."

He grabbed her arm, and strode along, hurrying her toward the car. Her legs had to move twice as fast to keep up with his long ones. Hustling her into the backseat, he sat beside her while Sean drove. The usual motorcade followed.

Tatya turned and took one last look at the wreckage of her home. A thin autumn rain was falling, dampening the last wisps of smoke. The ruined house looked sinister in the encroaching gloom of evening. She would not cry. She would get the bastard who'd done this, and didn't care how much supernatural power he had—she swore she would have her revenge.

"Right, you've got my attention." She twisted in her seat to observe Vanse's face. Although the link would tell her if he was lying, she was more comfortable with the human way of doing things.

"Angelus has been hunting you for a very long time, Tatya."

A shiver of premonition as crimson and black flickered at the edge of her sight. She wasn't anyone's prey.

"Angelus is first, a demon. An exceptionally powerful demon. When an alliance of supernaturals and humans banished demons from this plane of existence, he evaded detection by becoming half-vampire."

Tatya listened. This sounded like a European myth or legend, Or would have, if she hadn't met Angelus, and he hadn't been sucking at her throat.

"But, as half-vampire, he doesn't have complete access to all of his demoniac powers. He needs to strengthen his demon aspect and reduce the vampire part of himself. If he can do this, his powers will magnify, making him undefeatable. To accomplish his goal, he requires a certain power to negate the darker, vampiric influences. However, the person possessing that power has to give themselves willingly to him."

She snorted. "Are you saying what I think you're saying? That I hold that kind of power, and I'm the only one? And I have to willingly have sex with him so this change can take place? Please tell me I've misunderstood what you're telling me."

"Physical surrender completes his dominance on all planes, and he'll gain complete control of your power."

This was getting weirder and weirder.

"Do you remember how you felt when he drank your blood?"

She'd attempted to bury that memory deep below the other, more recently accumulated miseries, but it haunted her. It wasn't the pain he'd inflicted that bothered her; it was that as he'd drunk her blood, an overwhelming desire to please him had consumed her. She now recognized this had been the beginning of the transformation into a vampire because she'd experienced similar emotions when Vanse activated his link with her. But with Vanse, she was aware he loved her, whereas, with Angelus, a corrosive lust had coursed through the link. Vanse had halted her transformation. Angelus wouldn't have stopped until he'd achieved the domination he wanted.

"There's more. If—"

"Stop talking," she didn't care if he thought her rude. "I have to think for a minute."

The car entered the town's outer suburbs, and the quiet roads with streetlights casting pools of yellow light on the pavements looked everyday normal. People here woke in the mornings, spent their days working, arguing and loving; they built their lives ignoring other realities. She'd never envied them what appeared to be a mundane, humdrum existence, but today, she'd give anything for an ordinary life. Tatya had always known she was different, but Vanse was introducing her to a whole new meaning of the word.

"So why doesn't he rape me?"

"There is a curse. If he forces you, the curse ensures his demonic side will weaken almost to nothing. If he loses his demon powers, he'll be just another vampire struggling to create his own little fiefdom. With your powers, he can enhance his latent demoniac capabilities, and enslave the entire race of vampires."

The car turned onto the road leading to the hospital. Tatya, as a healer, was accustomed to illness and tragedy as part of the human experience, but this—this other thing that was happening, didn't have a place in her world. She thrust demons and their curses into a back drawer. It was too much information to absorb on top of today's heartbreak.

"I'll see Aunt Lil first. I want to break the news about the house to her. Alone."

"There's a meeting later. Corwin asked for you to attend."

"He couldn't tell me himself?"

"He didn't deem it appropriate to mention it while you watched your home burn."

As they entered the hospital grounds, they sat silently as Sean drove around to the back entrance. Visiting hours were over and Tatya watched families with sick parents or children, husbands with sick wives, and wives with sick husbands as they left. Disease and death were difficult enough to face, and despite what Vanse or Angelus thought, she wasn't anybody special. She was just an ordinary person, trying to survive in the struggle for existence.

"I've killed you more than once."

In the driving mirror, Tatya noticed Sean's eyes flick back at them. Was this new to him? She'd assumed he knew, but maybe not. "How many times?"

"How many dreams have you had recently?"

Sean parked next to the doors.

"I'm not finished with you yet," she told Vanse, getting out of the car and heading for the bright lights of the hospital.

Aunt Lil wept soft tears as Tatya described how their home had burned. Afterward, she took a deep breath, wiped her eyes, and told her niece they would start over and build a new house once the doctors declared her well enough. "I'm thinking they find my case so fascinating, they'll never let me out of here," she joked.

Tatya shushed her and sat by her bed till she slept.

"Tatya!"

Vanse's voice woke her. She'd dozed off in the chair. "Oh, come to kill me have you?" She stretched.

He looked pained. Good. He experienced guilt. He should.

"It's time for the meeting."

Tatya didn't bother asking him why they were meeting; she wanted as little as possible to do with this good and evil, vampire and demon crap. Leave her out of it. Her life before all this started was paradise compared to what was happening now.

The meeting was held in a room on the first floor. Corwin had commandeered what appeared to be the doctors' lounge. Several coffee tables were pushed together in the center and comfortable chairs arranged around the edge. Tatya nodded to Corwin and Bellamy when they entered. The two seats on either side of Corwin were empty. She took one chair, Vanse the other. Casting her eye around the table, she noticed the same local law enforcement officers as at the previous conference, except the FBI men were absent, and there were more vamps, plus some new military types.

"There are developments," Corwin said without preamble. "Oh, and so as I've ticked the boxes, this is Major Bryson and his men," he waved a hand toward the three military men, "who are from a special government unit for supernatural events, and are replacing the suits. They," he indicated the four new vamps, "are working with Vanse. Bellamy, update us on the coma patients." Corwin leaned back and gazed at the ceiling.

Bellamy opened the little black book in front of him; his fingers flipped the pages with practiced ease. "Number of patients in a coma, one hundred."

Tatya wasn't surprised she hadn't known of these events. Being kidnapped, run over, and having your house burned down could make you forget life wasn't all about you.

"Number of patients previously in a coma, but who woke and were killed, twenty-five."

How sweet of him to omit the running amok, Tatya thought, remembering the dark red stains being washed off the hospital walls.

"Number of patients in a coma, but who woke and escaped, fifteen. Total number infected so far, one hundred and forty-five."

Bellamy closed his notebook.

"We've no clue as to the why of it yet," said Corwin. "Smith, Burton. Anything to report?"

Jane Smith had a thin face and sharp intelligent eyes that missed nothing. "Increased levels of every crime from shoplifting, prostitution, drug arrests, assault, and murder. It's as if people have no fear of consequences. Our jails are full and we're sending people over to Knoxville for processing. The mayor isn't happy. The citizens aren't happy."

Corwin nodded. "Leipman, what have you and Rathmore got on the victims?"

"No specific connection, sir, other than they're young and healthy. The majority play football and most are linebackers."

"Vanse."

Tatya noted Corwin had stopped giving Vanse any title. The time for politeness was over.

The vampire master leaned forward on his elbows, his fingers steepled. He gestured at the three vamps; the female, white blonde hair falling to her waist, examined the humans with a predatory eye; of the other two, one was a teenage Goth, while the third was Mr. Everyman. "My colleagues report a surge in the number and variety of supernatural manifestations. Sightings from all directions including ghost hound packs, living gargoyles, and every creature in between have been noted. Movement seems to be toward Orleton."

"Thank you, Vanse."

Tatya looked askance at Corwin. _Thank you? Since when did Vanse and Bill get so cozy?_

"Major?"

"Yes, we've been monitoring events and started mobilizing our units. The FBI has informed me that crime drops to more usual levels the farther you go from Orleton. Local rates of suicide are on the increase." The major turned to the soldier on his right. "Lieutenant."

The lieutenant in question produced a rolled canister, uncapped it and took out a map. He fixed the map to the wall behind Corwin, moving with precise economy. Chairs scraped as everyone shuffled and shifted to view the map.

"Here's Orleton." The lieutenant pointed to the town. "These blue dots are where supernaturals have been seen, and the red dots are where crime is at proportions never experienced before in those areas."

Tatya stared at the colored dots on the map. The closer you came to Orleton, the greater the concentration of dots of both colors. Was this Angelus's influence? Her stomach did a weird flip.

"Thank you, Major," Corwin turned back to the group. "Vanse?"

"We know Angelus's power is growing, and he's the instigator of this escalation of undesirable elements. I regret we have not, as yet, located him."

"Do we know why he's concentrating on Orleton? What's here for him?" This came from one of the deputies.

Tatya's heart beat faster. She blew out a quiet breath, and breathed in, focusing on the rise and fall of her diaphragm. She didn't look at Vanse. All of this, these people here, the coma victims, the increasing crime rate, the supernaturals heading here because Angelus wanted her? The weight of this knowledge was a burden. If she was in charge, she'd hand her over and be done with it. She clenched her hands together under the table, feeling the familiar tingle grow sharper and stronger as her power sought release.

Vanse's eyes remained fixed on the Major. "No, not yet, but I'm sure he'll inform us of his demands in due course." He opened the bond just enough to let her know he would never leave her. She wasn't alone.

Tatya pursed her lips, and breathed out slowly, feeling calmer.

"Keep us updated on any developments."

"Of course."

"Smith, Burton, liaise with Vanse's, um, er," Corwin struggled to find the proper word, and in the end settled for 'people'.

The two detectives didn't seem pleased, but said nothing.

"Leipman, Rathmore, you're with the military."

The relief on the faces of the latter two couldn't have been clearer.

"Bellamy, check out—" Corwin stopped talking as the three guest vamps blurred toward the door. The Sheriff's unfinished sentence dangled in the air.

Tatya didn't see him move, but Vanse was instantly beside her. He gripped her arm and hauled her to her feet. "What's going on? Vanse, stop, you're hurting my arm."

A policeman thundered along the hallway. "Sheriff, there's a bunch of them this time. They're heading this way."

The room exploded into action. The military officers drew their weapons as they and the police ran toward the screams and shots coming from upstairs.

Vanse released his hold a fraction but didn't let go as he hustled her out of the room in the opposite direction to the one everyone else had taken. Stopping in front of a blank wall, he muttered a word, and a door opened where a second before there'd been none. He bundled her through, warding the door afterward.

She let him lead her down several flights of steps, through another warded door into a long corridor, and hurried her into a suite of rooms without protest. "Vanse. I can help. My powers are getting stronger."

"And so are Angelus's. If he drinks your blood again, I might not be able to stop him."

He took her face in his hands, forcing her to look up at him, bent and touched his lips, feather light, to hers, without the link and with no glamour. "I could not bear to lose you again. Promise me, no matter what happens, you will not leave this room. Do you understand?"

She nodded, compliant for the moment, allowing his will dominate.

"Say it."

"I promise.

# Chapter Sixteen: The Lair

Tatya couldn't settle down. Was Aunt Lil safe? What was going on upstairs? She stalked back and forth, caged in what she could only assume was Vanse's personal suite. This would have disturbed her had there not been more pressing issues at hand, such as this vampire-demon stuff. Aka random slaughter amidst bedlam. The chaos, inky-black and crimson, scraped against her aura, seeking entry. She abstained from scrying.

Looking for something to take her mind off whatever was happening upstairs, she explored the walk-in closet, which looked about the size of her bedroom and rooted through Vanse's clothes. She found color-coordinated rails full of suits and shirts, full drawers folded with knife-edged precision, with everything down to his underwear and socks bearing designer labels. A bathroom with a walk-in shower and giant bathtub, and a bedroom with emperor-sized bed. She trailed a hand over the silk sheets, paused, and turned her thoughts elsewhere. She didn't want to go there. Not now, anyway.

Everything in the living room, a desk in one corner, couch, and a couple of armchairs was a mixture of modern mixed with what looked like expensive, authentic antiques. The wall-mounted large screen TV, and the sound system were top of the range design. She opened the cupboard below the TV to find it full of DVDs and CDs, where the sight of _Handel's Messiah_ nestling next to the Pogues' _Rum Sodomy & The Lash_, and shelved above _The Wizard of Oz_ made her smile.

Vanse spared himself no expense when furnishing his surroundings. She pushed the question of how much this luxury cost out of her mind, but couldn't help wondering, did all his vamps have luxurious living quarters? And how did he fund this lifestyle?

Frustrated at the inactivity, Tatya sat, stood, seated herself again, and resumed patrolling the perimeter of the room while her brain worked itself into a Gordian knot trying to make sense of the madness taking place.

Desperate to do something, but unsure if it would work, she sat cross-legged on the carpet, distracted for the moment by the luxurious pile and intricately worked designs. _Probably hand-woven_ she thought before closing her eyes and directing her attention to her breath. The manic mood eased, and her mind decelerated as she withdrew her awareness, and disconnected her senses from the outer world. Here, in this quiet space, there was no turmoil, only stillness, and the sea of her breath.

Tatya sent a questing tendril down the link to Vanse. _Yes!_ The connection worked and she could see what was happening, but Vanse moved so fast it was hard to register what he was doing. One minute, he was looking down a corridor, the next he was at the end. There, he glimpsed three reawakened coma victims entering a ward, and was through the doors. He wrenched the head back of the first young man, twisting and breaking his neck in an instant, then moved on to the next. Patients screamed; high, piercing shrieks that petrified Tatya as the deluge of raw emotion swamped her defenses.

She wanted to cut the link. The slaughter horrified her; she needed to cauterize that place where she was joined to this emotionless killer. The next young man turned, and Angelus's blue eyes looked right through Vanse to Tatya.

Tatya collapsed, curling up in a ball on the floor, shuddering as a dreadful premonition coursed down the link before it went dead. He would have figured out where she was in time, but now his suspicions were confirmed. He would concentrate his efforts, not just on Orleton, but on St. Raphael's. She didn't move till she heard footsteps and voices along the corridor, then jumped to her feet, shoved her hair behind her ears and straightened her clothes.

Vanse had barely opened the door before she lashed out at him. "Do you feel nothing when you kill?" But she bit off the rest of her sentence as a hospital orderly wheeled Aunt Lil's wheelchair into the room, followed by a young nurse, and two vamps on guard duty.

"This way," Vanse led them into the bedroom. "It is safer for your aunt down here," he said, ignoring her outburst.

Tatya trailed behind, as the nurse helped Aunt Lil into the king-sized bed, plumping up the cushions behind her back. Vanse and Tatya watched as the nurse took her blood pressure.

"She's fine. I'll be back in a while to check on her. If she wants to walk around, as long as she feels strong enough, that's good," the young woman told Tatya, "but I'll leave the wheelchair here, just in case she wants a change of scenery and gets tired."

"Thank you."

Tatya couldn't help but notice the fearful looks the hospital staff cast at their vampire escort as they left. A week ago, she'd have done the same. Today, they'd become so much a part of her life, she hardly noticed their presence.

"I will take a nap if you don't mind, Tatya dear. This excitement is quite tiring."

"Of course." Tatya smoothed the silk coverlet and kissed her aunt. "I'll be in the next room."

Vanse sprawled in one of the deep brown leather armchairs, his long legs stretched out, his eyes hooded, his presence a silky sullenness barbed with death. As always, hovering like a silent companion, was his agonizing guilt. "More coma victims have been brought in. The Sheriff and the Major have made the decision to evacuate all other patients from the hospital. It's becoming too dangerous." His gaze slid up and down Tatya, taking in her jittery restlessness.

"What will you and your vamps do if you run out of blood bags?"

"That was a stupid thing you did."

Tatya raised her chin and didn't make eye contact. She knew what he was referring to, but if he was looking for an apology, he could go sing.

"If I did that, you'd wish you didn't have ears," he told her getting up and walking toward the door. "Stay here, and stay out of my head," he threw over his shoulder before he left.

Tatya did her best to resign herself to doing nothing. She peeked in on Aunt Lil, thinking she had lost weight since she'd entered the hospital. There was, as yet, no sign of a diagnosis, and if her illness had a supernatural cause, then it might be a race to kill Angelus before her aunt died.

"Tatya?"

Oh, thank goodness. She tiptoed out of the bedroom, a big smile on her face at the sight of Corwin and Bellamy. "Am I glad to see you two." She wanted to hug them both but knew Corwin would be embarrassed and Bellamy would blush. "Sit down and tell me what's going on."

Corwin sank into the depths of the armchair vacated by Vanse. Bellamy perched on the edge of what looked like an elegant antique Chippendale chair.

"I'm making sure you're okay," Corwin said.

"And your aunt," Bellamy added.

"What's going on, guys? You two are being suspiciously nice."

"Things are getting scary up there," Corwin pointed at the ceiling. "And outside. I tell you, Tatya, I've never seen anything like this. The atmosphere in the town, well, if you consider that down here in a vampire's lair, it's an improvement, you get the picture. The roads are jammed with people leaving town, and fights are breaking out between vamps and the special unit guys. Not Vanse's vamps. The other ones, that is."

"They got the coolest weapons that can take a vamp out in one blast." Bellamy butted in with enthusiasm.

Corwin shot him a dirty look. "We figure you're safest down here, Tatya. Vanse won't let the bastard get you."

The memory of a knife piercing her skin, slicing up toward her heart, surfaced. Yes, she knew that.

"More special unit forces are on their way, and Vanse is also calling for more of his, um, reinforcements," Bellamy added, trying hard, and failing, to suppress his eagerness.

"Bellamy, do you have to sound like a ten-year-old kid?"

"Boss, this is a once in a lifetime situation."

Corwin rolled his eyes. "Let's hope it's not the last thing you see. Tatya, we gotta go. You take care of yourself and your aunt. Okay?"

"Give my love to Winona."

"I sent her to her mother in Knoxville. You know," he shrugged. "We'll see you soon."

After they left, Tatya tried to imagine what living in town would be like. Instead of the familiar small town with people taking their kids to school, shopping, getting groceries, going to the doctors, business as usual, an intangible darkness had descended, one that was smothering goodness and decency. She must have dozed off, because when she woke Angelus was sitting in the armchair opposite her.

"We'll be together in a short while," he said. "I told you, I'm closer to you than I've ever been."

She tried to rise from her chair and warn Vanse, but her limbs refused to obey.

"Turning Vanse was a mistake, my biggest, but I will rectify that soon. Your blood is already mixed with mine. The end has begun."

He looked so beautiful.

He smiled. "Accept that your destiny is with me." He stood next to her, reaching out, his fingers, as always, burning her face. "Soon you will have no one but me."

"Tatya!" Vanse was shaking her.

For a moment, she couldn't speak.

"That's why you feel warm. That's why you, and everyone you turn, can walk in the day. You're half-demon too!" She jumped up and backed away from him. "You gave me demon blood. No wonder he knows where I am!"

Vanse moved toward her. "Tatya."

"No! Why don't you stab me like you always do? Get it over with."

"That never solves the problem, Tatya. It only delays it until you are born again and Angelus finds you."

His casual acceptance of the awful scenario stunned her. "Get out!" She walked toward him, stabbing her finger in his chest, pushing him back toward the door. She hated him almost as much as she hated Angelus. When he reached the door and could go no further, she pounded his chest with her fists, pummeling her frustrations and fears out on him.

Vanse stood submissively and made no protest until her emotional outburst was exhausted. He put his arms around her, holding her close. Demon warmth against her cheek. The link between them flared, his bright gold drowning her swollen anger. "Thank you for holding back," he whispered, bending down, stroking, smoothing her hair.

She hated him and she loved him.

Someone knocked on the door.

"We'll finish this later," he said.

She stared at the door after he'd gone, her emotions churning, and power dripping from her fingers. She couldn't be falling for Vanse, could she? A whimper from the bedroom interrupted her thoughts, and she hurried to check on her aunt. Aunt Lil slept with eyelids twitching, her aura cleared of any dirty gray smears, but still milky and fragile. Tatya stroked her aunt's forehead, and whatever disturbed her dreams ceased. She closed the door.

When Vanse returned with the young nurse from earlier in tow, Tatya had dozed off on the sumptuous couch and regained a measure of inner balance.

The nurse held up a small container with several pills. "Time for your aunt's medication."

"Nurse Shelby, isn't it?" Vanse asked, glancing at her name tag.

"Yes, sir." The young nurse appeared more assured than before, for which Tatya was grateful. It meant she would concentrate on her job and less on worrying about hungry vamps needing a snack.

"You and I have to attend a meeting. Nurse Shelby will sit with your aunt, and I'll send Sean along. I know your aunt has a soft spot for him." He turned to the nurse. "There are guards outside if you need anything."

"Thank you." Tatya smiled at the young woman as she disappeared into the bedroom, glad her aunt was still receiving professional care.

Tatya followed a silent Vanse as he led her along the corridor and down a narrow staircase past two more levels. She tried to push thoughts of her earlier outburst at him out of her mind, but they lingered, chaining them together as conspirators and collaborators. As they emerged into an enormous room, she stopped dead, her mouth dropping open. For a second, she was lost for words as she gawped at the painted gold and white walls, complex gilded wall carvings, ornamental patterns of stylized flowers, and the painted ceiling mural of a pastoral scene. "What do you do here?" she asked. "Have grand balls?"

"Yes, sometimes," he answered simply.

She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the image of Vanse and his swarm of vamps dolled up in tuxedos and ball gowns sipping A and O negative out of crystal glasses, and dancing to an orchestra playing Viennese waltz music.

She spotted Sean standing in one group at the far end of the room. He chatted with two vampires, then nodded at Vanse, and moved toward the door. Vanse must be telling him to sit with Aunt Lil. She shot a look of gratitude at Sean, and he grinned back at her. She looked around. Where were Corwin and Bryson? But before she'd time to ask, Vanse escorted her over to a huge, exquisite marble table. He sat at the head, placing Tatya on his right, as the other vampires seated themselves. She acknowledged the three master vampires she'd met in the previous meeting, but they stared back at her with cold eyes.

Half the vampires didn't speak English. If she had to say what language they were using, she'd have said Eastern European. Hungarian maybe, or Romanian. But the conversation could have been in Mongolian for all she knew, and as the meeting progressed she couldn't figure out why Vanse had brought her to what turned out to be a vamp conference. A sliver of resentment simmered. She was here so he could keep an eye on her, because he didn't trust her to do as he ordered. Yet as she sat watching, trying not to yawn, listening to the rhythms of unfamiliar languages, she ended up admiring Vanse as she watched him listen, chide, chivvy, and maneuver the group into agreeing to his plans. This Vanse was one she could respect.

An hour later and glad it was over, Tatya trailed behind Vanse back to her suite, with two vamp bodyguards in front and two behind. "Sean," she called entering Vanse's suite. The door to the bedroom opened and Nurse Shelby appeared.

"Oh, there, you are," she exclaimed. "I have to get back. My nursing manager will dock my pay if she thinks I've gone AWOL."

"Didn't Sean turn up?" Vanse asked.

"No one came, but I'll be back with her last dose of her medication before I finish my shift."

Vanse glanced at the guards, and they escorted her out. "Something's not right—I can't contact Sean."

"I'm going to check on Aunt Lil. I don't want her worrying."

"She is fine. It's you I worry about."

But Tatya wasn't listening. She opened the door and sighed with relief. Her aunt slept, her chest rising and falling, her breathing shallow but steady.

Two more vamps appeared out of nowhere.

Vampires living with their master must save a bomb on phone bills, thought Tatya as Vanse summoned half a dozen more vamps to join the search.

"The longer we live in proximity to each other, the easier it is to communicate," he told her. "The further from their master a vampire lives, the weaker the link becomes. It's odd that I can't connect with Sean. He's a young vampire and always lived with me. The link is strong. He shouldn't be able to avoid my command."

Tatya followed Vanse out of the room. If anything was up with Sean, she wanted to know.

The vamps didn't take long to locate him. He lay curled up in a ball on the floor of a linen cupboard.

Tatya wanted to run to him, but Vanse held her back. "Wait."

_No arguing with that ton_ e, she thought, watching as he stood over Sean. No doubting who the master was. Vanse emitted dominance. Sean whimpered and curled in tighter on himself.

"What's happened to him?" Tatya asked, opening her aura and scrying the room for clues.

"Stop." Vanse hissed, gold sparks flaring in his eyes as he turned toward her. "This stinks of Angelus."

The heat of his anger, sharp and abrasive, mixed with anxiety for Sean, washed over her, and she raised her shields. She hated being told what to do, Being bossed around by others was one reason she started her own business, but this time he was right, and she swallowed her irritation.

Vanse crouched, concentrating. Closing his eyes, he put one hand on Sean's head, and the other on his back, level with his heart.

Tatya sensed the energy flowing from Vanse to Sean as he sought the source of the problem. If she closed her eyes, she would see the living strand of bright gold. She was learning a lot about the bonds linking vampires by seeing Vanse in action. Cutting the connection was possible; just as Vanse had when she'd linked with him when he was fighting. But the bond could never be severed completely. How strong was Vanse's link to Angelus? Had time weakened it enough for him to ignore it?

After a minute, Sean opened his eyes and looked around, confused. "Why am I here?" He sat up. "What's going on?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" Vanse asked, pulling Sean to his feet.

"Tatya," he said, looking from one to the other. "I was following Tatya.

# Chapter Seventeen: Antisuyu, High Andes, 1500, AD

She rested and watched the dawn flood the land with rosy light as the sun rose over the mountains. Bowing to the Gods, her spirit lifted in gratitude for their gifts, and she offered thanks to Inti, the all-powerful Sun God. She continued climbing, determined to reach her destination before the sun was too high. Even though she was approaching her middle years, her brown curls thinning and graying, her skin dry, with age lines appearing on her pale gold skin, her green eyes were still bright and her body strong.

When she arrived at the summit, the sun had not yet attained its zenith, and a smile of satisfaction lit her face. The climb had been difficult but worthwhile. The upper reaches of the mountain supplied her with plenty of the precious purple shanshi plant. She patted the bag hanging at her waist, full with roots to replenish her own stock, and with enough berries to satisfy Vachama, the village priest.

She gazed up at the higher peaks where some wore crowns of jagged ice all year long. Below, the mountains merged with the lush jungle, and a vast, green sea stretched to the horizon. The healer thanked the Gods she was of The Blessed People who lived in the kingdom of the skies.

By the time she descended to the small plateau where the ancestors had built their squat stone dwellings, the Sun God was disappearing from the sky and the Moon Goddess had risen in full glory. The storytellers said the Moon Goddess, Ka-Ata-Killa chased Iti because he betrayed her. Now she chased him for eternity, but could never catch him.

The healer's legs ached as she walked through the quiet village. Firelight flickered from the windows, and smoke rose from the roof openings. Children's laughter, subdued voices, and smells of food filled the air as women prepared and served the evening meal. She hurried toward her own dwelling. Thankfully, no one waited in need of her services.

Later that night, she jerked awake out of a deep sleep, and it took a few minutes before the insistent knocking and voice calling her name registered.

"Healer!"

If someone came in the middle of the night, it was urgent. Throwing her shawl around her shoulders, she opened the door. The mother of a child treated for fever a bare two days ago stood hunched against the cold. The healer took a step back—the woman's aura was spiking purple and red with distress.

"Please, come," the woman begged. "It's Urco. He is sick with the fever again. It has come back and is worse this time."

Within minutes, the healer had grabbed a bag of herbs, and the two women scurried through the night's patchwork of moonlight and shadows.

At the woman's home, the healer examined the boy; his aura was a dull yellow, splotched with ugly gray smears, and his skin was hot to her touch. The child tossed and turned, not asleep, yet not awake.

Before the healer had dosed the lad with strong remedies to little effect and had to call the priest. Vachama said the demon was powerful and fought hard to stay, but he cast him out. Had the demon returned? She'd heard of such cases, but they were rare. Worrying thoughts niggled at as she looked at the boy. This would disturb everyone.

The healer laid one hand on the boy's head, and the other on his heart, and sent her power into the boy's body, checking the strength of his life force. His inner organs were burning. At that moment, the lad's eyes flickered open and staring out at her was the blue-eyed, red-gold haired demon who'd haunted her since childhood. She froze. Of late, his determination to taunt her had become almost unbearable.

He smiled at her and spoke words only she could hear. "I have searched for a long time," he said, "but soon, we will meet."

She trembled in terror. "Fetch Vachama," she whispered to the boy's mother. "The demon has returned."

After one sun and one moon had gone by, the village priest led the boy's funeral procession as it wound its way to the burial grounds. Drummers beat a slow, somber rhythm to accompany the ceremonial chant that guided the soul on its journey to the afterlife.

The healer followed behind in her traditional position, but even without seeing their expressions, she was aware people blamed her. Vachama said he'd defeated the demon, though she'd seen him in the boy's eyes. Yet the priest was more powerful, and if it was her word against his, the community would believe him. It was in his interest to encourage such rumors, as he'd always seen her as a challenge to his position, and stirring up her neighbors was simple work for him. The death of the boy implied her medicines were no longer potent, and the Goddess of Health, Quechua, had withdrawn her blessings.

The Keeper of the Graves waited for them outside the burial grounds. He was a strange man and lived as an outcast. Tall, with dark hair and golden skin, he shunned the villagers' company, preferring to dwell apart. The feeling was mutual, and the villagers avoided him if they could, making protective signs whenever they saw him. They never bothered him because they feared him. Yet he came to pay his respects.

The healer avoided eye contact with the man. He'd courted her more than once, and made several offers of marriage, but every time she refused, choosing instead a life of dedication to Quechua. Whenever their paths crossed, she sensed the weight of his intent, always conscious of when his gaze fell upon her.

The fare served at the feast afterward was simple, with the best offered to the priest. Poor or rich, young or old, celebrating and honoring the departing soul was an obligation laid on those left behind. None of the women sat near the healer and a barrier of cold silence isolated her. She accepted the insulting, paltry amount of food they placed before her without comment. If the Goddess was testing her, she would accept it. Every time she glanced up, the keeper's eyes were fixed on her. She smothered a sigh. In the past, his behavior had caused gossip among the women, with some even insisting she marry him.

Unable to sleep that night, she recalled each family in the village one by one. Didn't they remember how many healthy babies she'd birthed without a single death? How many bones had she set that mended straight? How many fevers, stomach, and head ailments she'd cured? Speaking out against Vachama was impossible. He was the Gods' representative, and the Gods favored him. How easy it was for him to rouse everyone's hostility toward her. A fearful presentiment shivered through her body.

After falling asleep, the demon appeared in a dream. She saw the gloss of his red-gold hair, and his blue eyes mocking her. He reached for her, but failed to touch her. She realized when he did, she would die. The fear of him was physical, a black mass that sat in her abdomen and spread throughout her body, weighting her limbs until she was incapable of moving. She'd always been able to call up glimpses of the future—now she saw nothing but his face and a dark curtain concealing what was to come. She woke, trembling, sweating in terror.

After the demon's visitation, the healer slept only in snatches. Her terror of the demon, the cruelty of his expression haunted her. She did her best to ignore and shut out the dread dark shadows of warning she saw everywhere. In the days that followed, it didn't matter where she looked; his face was all she could see.

Each time she stepped outside the shelter of her home she retreated, never going far as it became harder to pretend the looks given her were anything but malevolent, or that she didn't notice people making the sign of protection while children hid behind their mothers. Her house wasn't impregnable, but it offered a small refuge from the ill will around her.

After a while, she feared to venture outside her door. Yet, until the priest announced otherwise, she remained the village healer, and the sick sought her aid. She tried to ignore how depleted her store of herbs had become, but the day came when she knew she must restock her supply.

Peeping out at the small crowd that seemed to gather nearby, she panicked, invoked Quechua, and begged her protection for she'd been a faithful servant. Gathering her courage, she left home. Walking fast, she ignored the jeering insults and hurtful barbs filling the air. After leaving the village behind, she cut away from the path, and once out of sight of the village, collapsed on the ground, thankful they hadn't pursued her. A dull stupor filled with echoes of the demon's laughter fogged her mind, and she lay where she'd fallen, unwilling to move.

The Keeper of the Graves voice startled her. "You should leave here." He stared down at her, his brown eyes sad.

"Where would I go?"

He pointed east. "To the lowlands. You could start anew. Make up a story, any story. No one will care why you left here."

"They'll hunt me. They think the demon is in me."

"I've heard what Vachama says. Nobody believes it, but they are afraid of him. If they don't obey, he accuses them of conspiring with the demon. They have no choice." He reached out to help her.

"I must go." She flinched away from him and scrambled to her feet.

"Prepare food you can take with you. Make ready. You must leave tonight before you are cursed and banished. Or worse."

"Why do you care?"

The Keeper's eyes glinted with gold lights. His eyes were so different from everyone else's. "In your heart, you know why."

She tried to gather the herbs she needed, but her efforts were pitiful. Everywhere she looked, the demon's face leered at her, his ill-omened words repeated themselves over and over. She wondered if the keeper was correct, but the thought of leaving the village where she was born and had spent her life to go somewhere unknown tore at her heart.

When the sun fell low in the sky, hunger drove her home. As she neared the village, children playing outside screamed, their little feet flashing as they dashed along the path shouting, "She's coming. The demon's here."

Her heart pounded. The keeper's words echoed in her mind. He was right. She must prepare to depart. But as the men, women, and children whom she had cared for poured out of the village toward her, she recognized it was already too late.

Dropping the herbs, she turned and took to her heels. She ran, pumping her legs hard, her breath coming fast. She was fit, strong and with a head start. But it didn't take long before the first stones found their mark.

Ignoring the sharp burst of pain as one rock struck her neck, she cast a look backward and the sharp jagged edge of another stone sliced a gash above her eye. They were gaining. Blood dripped into her eye from the cut, and sharp shooting pains stabbed her calves and thighs, but flight meant a chance of staying alive. She had to keep moving. If she could just get to where the path forked, she might have a chance of making it to the tree line. Tracking her through the forest would be harder for any of those in pursuit.

More stones reached their target, and a large one punched into the small of her back, nearly knocking her off her feet. She staggered, gasping with pain, and struggling to stay upright. If they caught her, they'd stone her to death. She clung to one thought—she must keep moving. At that instant, her foot landed in a small hole, her ankle twisted and she stumbled, her breath whooshing out as she pitched forward, and the hard-packed dirt scraped the skin off her face as she skidded to a halt.

Winded, she lay gasping, as pounding feet closed the gap, and stones smashed into her body and legs. She tried to stand, fueled by the desire to live despite everything. But her ankle couldn't hold her, and she collapsed onto the path, landing on her hands and knees. The frenzied villagers howled louder, sensing victory over their prey.

She curled and huddled into a ball, protecting her head with her arms. Sending a last prayer to her protectress, Quechua, she pleaded for release and closed her eyes so she wouldn't see the faces of those she'd spent a lifetime healing as they murdered her. Silence. The end had come, and she was grateful to the goddess who had granted her request and was taking her to the next world without pain.

"Are you all right?" The Keeper leaned toward her, the gold in his eyes sparking furiously.

She stared up at the man, then peered past him.

Not a single person moved. Everyone stood motionless, with their arms raised, and faces frozen in grimaces of murderous hate.

Frightened, the healer scuttled backward, trying to flee. Could he be evil? After all, only demons possessed this kind of power. He touched her ankle, already swelling, and energy poured from his hand, healing her instantly. She gasped in disbelief. Maybe he was a God, not a demon. She would obey him.

The Keeper extended a hand and helped her to her feet. "Go." He pointed at the trees.

She cast a fearful glance at the living statues and fled. Taking the downward fork, she followed her instructions and didn't stop even when she reached the forest.

The night air was bitter, and the healer watched the breath steam from her mouth. But the God had worked great magic when healing her. She didn't feel cold or tired, but the need to block off her mind's constant replaying of the afternoon's events forced her to stop. Slipping to the ground, her back against the rough bark of a tree, she rested her head on her knees and sought relief in sleep

"Healer." The Keeper's voice was soft, and now she knew he was a God, she waited, because you didn't address a God, and when the God spoke, you listened.

He stretched out a hand and pulled her to her feet. "I'm neither demon nor god."

He read her thoughts, another sign of his Godliness.

"Nothing I can say will convince you otherwise, will it?" He threw back his head and laughed, his amusement rippling through the night air.

She shook her head.

"Well, believe this, sweet healer. You are the beloved one of this God."

He would protect her from evil. She was at peace. A peace that shattered as the thin blade pierced her skin. She remembered who he was, and that yet again, he was killing her. She saw the wide sandy bay and cried out as the memory of their love surfaced. The knife sliced deeper, and she witnessed a ghastly bloody massacre and the soldier who killed her was the same man-god. The knife cut into her heart as a third memory, being beaten into submission rose before her mind's eye. These were real memories, not imaginings. She loved him. He loved her. He would always save her from the demon.

The healer's life bled out, her memories fading as the blue-eyed demon with the red-gold hair shrieked and howled across time. He'd searched for a thousand lifetimes without gaining what he desired, and he was letting her know, he would never stop till he did.

# Chapter Eighteen: Unforeseen

Tatya jerked awake as the rage-filled shriek of a thwarted demon shattered her sleep. For a minute, she stood in a mountain forest gazing at Vanse wearing that same mournful look, and realized what he was going to do.

She cried out loud as the dream didn't fade, and the weight of that life—and more lives stirred from their centuries of slumber. She watched the film reel of her former lives play in her head: a Stone Age village by the sea where she'd loved Vanse, his death, and his return; the escape from her home with a dearly loved younger brother to an island sanctuary where she took part in a sacred ceremony; a stroll by a holy river that ended in a severe beating and imprisonment; being chased from her home, and a wild flight. Each time, Vanse–a lover, a soldier and a friend–embraced and killed her.

Was she those women? Were those memories hers? How could her past selves impinge on her present self like this? And, like the weft on a loom, Angelus, hunting her like prey, wove throughout each life. In a couple of lifetimes, he almost succeeded, yet each time Vanse had saved her—by murdering her.

How many times had she seen the sun rise and set? Time after time, she'd experienced immense happiness and awful tragedy. The loves and losses, affections and anguish of her former lives pressed in on her, a pitiless burden of identities. She didn't recognize herself anymore. How could she live, knowing the three of them were locked in an eternal pastime, and there would be no escaping Vanse or Angelus in this life, either? Did she have no other choice but to be the pawn sacrificed in every game?

A black despair settled into her bones. No wonder people weren't born with the knowledge of their previous lives. If you had to remember the suffering you'd lived through, you would be crushed before you started.

"Tatya?"

The battering weight of the past receded, reluctant and slow, a tsunami leaving devastation in its wake. Tatya rolled over to see Aunt Lil sitting up in bed, bright-eyed, and apart from the shadows under her eyes and translucent aura, her normal, cheery self. She and Aunt Lil had shared the guest suite's enormous bed, and not just because she wanted to enjoy the luxury of silk sheets, but because she would be able to raise the alert if any changes occurred in her aunt's condition during the night.

"Tatya...?"

Tatya burrowed closer and laid her head on her aunt's shoulder. The warmth of the present eased the pains of the past. She could never erase the hurt from those lifetimes, but they made her aware she had much to be thankful for in this life.

"I'm starving! Can you get me some breakfast?"

"Oh, Aunt Lil! I can't tell you how glad I am to hear you say that! Just let me shower and I'll find something for both of us." Tatya tried to hurry, but the power shower was a luxury and she let the hot water stream down her back and wash away the aches in her mind and body. Afterward, exploring the wardrobe and drawers hidden behind a sliding door, she discovered an array of designer jeans, T-shirts, sweaters, and even several pairs of boots in various colors, all in her size. She was flabbergasted because it meant Vanse had prepared for her arrival. The image of Vanse's female vamps picking through racks of jeans and sweaters to acquire a closet full of clothes her size was more than a little disturbing. Her budget range was Walmart, but these were Calvin Klein. A few minutes later, admiring herself in the mirror, she thought at least she was well dressed for Armageddon.

She emerged from the bathroom to find Vanse ushering in Sean, who carried a tray weighted with croissants, fresh orange juice, fruit, pancakes, cereal, with a large selection of Aunt Lil's favorite donuts on the side. but Sean avoided making eye contact with her. After he left, she figured he must still be bothered by yesterday's bizarre incident. _Didn't he know her well enough to realize she didn't blame him?_

Vanse brooded at the end of the bed.

His presence evoked a torrent of memories. Life after life of them. She barricaded them off. Now, she understood why he wore that forlorn expression when he looked at her. Did he also see the shadow of a ghost knife sliding into her heart?

Their host had provided a 'you name it and it was on offer' buffet breakfast, but Tatya just played with her toast. She enjoyed watching Aunt Lil relish every bite, and was glad her appetite had returned.

"Sean seems fine," Vanse said. "I've scanned his memory, and he remembers entering this room. You came in and ordered him to follow you, and the next thing he knows, we were standing over him in the storeroom."

Tatya pushed her plate away, sipped her coffee, and let him talk.

"It's difficult to tell if what he saw is a projection sent by someone or a hallucination caused by his own mind. And, if the first, is that somebody inside or outside the hospital?" His tone was neutral, and his expression distant, but knotted threads of unease about the situation slid along the link suspended between them; neither willing to voice their suspicions. As if the mere utterance of the name, Angelus, might summon him.

A knock at the door and Vanse blurred across the room.

She watched him, wondering if she'd ever get used to how fast vamps could move.

"A visitor for you," he said, as Changing Sky, his battered backpack in his hand, entered the room.

The agitation of the two vamp guards outside the door at the shaman's proximity was evident. They gave him more than ample space, despite their master's presence.

"I have business to attend to." Vanse bowed, took his leave, and was gone.

"So good of you to visit," Aunt Lil told Changing Sky. "Tatya, get the man his coffee!" Aunt Lil's face beamed at the sight of the shaman.

After a while, her mood lightened by his company and Vanse's absence, Tatya listened to the conversation. The disturbances had been less frequent on the reservation than in Orleton and its outlying suburbs, though people were disturbed by sightings of beings such as wendigos, long thought of as pure folklore.

"Sheriff Corwin asked my help, as has your host." The shaman studied her for a minute. "Do you feel strong enough to assist me?"

Nothing escaped her mentor's notice. He'd realized she was disturbed and was asking her to rise above whatever personal troubles were bothering her.

"Of course," Tatya said without hesitation. Anything she could do that would be of help against Angelus, she'd give it one hundred percent.

"Let's go." He pointed at his backpack. "I want to try something."

_Typical,_ thought Tatya, _no details._ But they both understood that in any magic ritual, absolute trust between participants was essential. He wouldn't ask if he didn't believe in her. She had confidence he wouldn't demand more than she could give.

Aunt Lil insisted they go; she'd be fine. She was more chipper and had kept up a good conversation with Changing Sky, but eating breakfast had tired her and she wanted to take a nap before Nurse Shelby's arrival. Besides, Vanse had a vamp security detail of two guards outside the door.

Though nothing around her was normal anymore, as Tatya walked beside Changing Sky, she tried to accept the reality of being in a master vampire's underground lair. As her memories and emotions from the past subsided, she returned to the twenty-first century. In other circumstances, she might have cracked a joke about the fear writ large on the vampires' faces as they gave Changing Sky a wide berth, but today, there was no room for humor.

They rode the elevator to the fourth floor, the private ward where her aunt had stayed, now given over to the coma cases. As soon as the doors opened, Tatya felt the change. On the last occasion she'd visited, doctors, nurses, and visitors had been bustling along the corridor, and despite people being there because of disease and injury, the atmosphere breathed care and support. Now, even with her shields locked tight, the darkness pressed in, seeking to dominate and force its will on her. The sensation wasn't physical, but her every cell sensed the deepening shadows of the approaching storm. If Angelus had his way, he'd overflow the restraining wards erected and held in place by Vanse. Those barriers alone denied the demon entry.

Tatya followed the shaman as he pushed through the swinging doors, and marched the length of the corridor, scattering the vamps guarding a room at the far end. Once she and Changing Sky entered the room and closed the door, the vamps returned to their position, ready to rush in and control the patient if needed.

Inside, a comatose young man lay strapped down to the bed. He was hooked up to an intravenous drip and several more machines that monitored his heart rate, blood pressure, and other functions.

Changing Sky pointed at the patient's aura, and Tatya lifted her shields a fraction, shocked to see his auric haze flickering in and out of existence. One minute, it was dark purple with gray flashes, and the next, nothing.

The shaman laid his hand on the patient's forehead. "This one is fighting. Unlike the others, he hasn't surrendered. With some help, he may have a chance." Changing Sky took a large spray bottle from his backpack, and handed it to her.

As with the ritual she'd performed for her aunt, she spritzed the room with water mixed with sage and cedar oils to cleanse the space.

One vamp starting coughing and a couple of the others sneezed as the room filled with fragrance.

Tatya stood by the end of the bed, holding the shaman's small drum, while Changing Sky positioned himself by the head.

As he chanted, Tatya concentrated on maintaining a beat to accompany his rhythmic chant, watching him through half-closed lids. Within minutes, the soft whir of machines had faded and Changing Sky's voice, pulsating with power, filled the room. As she watched him work, his Spirit Guides, faint at first, solidified and became visible.

Tatya stared in awe at their splendor and became aware of an inner response. Voices whispered in her head and images of women swaying, and a cup being put to her lips, rose before her inner eye. Changing Sky's voice became louder, dragging her back to the present. She forced the memories away. Now wasn't the time; not when lack of concentration might jeopardize Changing Sky's anchor to this world.

As the shaman methodically stroked the air, his totem feathers in one hand, and rattle in the other, three effulgent spirits emerged from within him, flowing in and out of the patient's body. Tatya faltered, hypnotized by the sight in front of her, and struggled to focus on maintaining a steady beat.

An old man led the three spirits, wearing a knee-length white cotton wrap tied around his waist, his body and headband decorated with beaded necklaces, wildflowers and feathers. In the middle, a fiercely beautiful woman with waist-length raven hair wore a cloak of white feathers that shimmered as she moved, and last but not least, a warrior wearing a magnificent, full-feathered war bonnet and a breechcloth with leggings, holding an immense bow and quiver completed the trio. When they exited the young man's body, straggling swirls of crimson and black smoke materialized, twisting upward before vanishing.

The vision took her breath away, and Tatya lost awareness of time and place as her existence narrowed to the rhythm of the drum and the swaying movements of Changing Sky's arm as it rose and fell in time to the beat.

Suddenly the youth's eyelids flickered open.

The shaman held his hand up and Tatya slowed the beat and stopped drumming.

The young man stared at them, his pale blue eyes dull, uncomprehending. "Where am I?" His voice was cracked and hoarse from the livid bruising around his windpipe, and he pulled at his restraints.

A nurse hurried in, and her chin dropped as she realized her patient had regained consciousness. "Oh, my! I'd better get the doctor," and she rushed straight out again.

"He'll remember nothing," Changing Sky said as he packed away his paraphernalia. The nurse returned with a doctor and two orderlies. The vamp guards leaped out of the way, their gazes averted, as the shaman and Tatya left.

"That was a miracle," she said awed by Changing Sky's power to heal as they descended in the elevator to Vanse's domain. "I saw your Spirit Guides during the healing."

"Ah!" he responded. After a few minutes, he asked, "What forms did they take?"

"An old man led them. He reminded me of you, but his hair had more gray than yours. Next, came a woman wearing a beautiful embroidered white buckskin dress, and a cloak of white feathers. The last one was a warrior in a war outfit carrying a huge bow."

"The first is Qaletaqa, an ancient Hopi elder. He is one of our Guardians. Meoquanee is a famous Cherokee warrior princess, whose name means Bringer of Blood. The warrior is called Otaktay. He has killed many, many men in battle. Was his quiver full of arrows?"

"Yes."

Changing Sky grinned, and for a moment her mentor, powerful with knowledge, became a boy. "They are here to aid us. The ancestors can't wear their true shapes, but take these forms so we can see them. You have guides within you, Tatya, and you must learn how to gain their help."

More hazy images floated before her inner eye. Flickering torchlight in a cavern, a ceremony, and a blood-red drink, but the memory was blurred and floated out of reach, failing to become clearer.

"Yours will come to you when they are ready," said Changing Sky as the elevator pinged to a halt. They exited to find themselves in the middle of a crowd of vampires standing around and glaring threateningly at no one in particular.

Every single hair on her body stood on end, and the bitter taste of bile filled her mouth. "Aunt Lil!" Tatya tried to push her way through as anxiety and foreboding fed her fear. She made little progress in elbowing the milling vamps out of the way till Changing Sky took the lead.

Holding up his hand, he cleared a path for her in no time.

A furious Vanse guarded the door to their suite. Anger boiled off him and his pupils flared red and gold. He didn't even flinch at Changing Sky's rapid approach.

"What's wrong with my aunt?" Tatya clenched her jaw and forced the tremor out of her voice as she opened her shields. She failed to sense her aunt's aura. Instead, something made her flinch back sharply.

The door opened and two of the most muscular vamps Tatya had ever seen, hefted an unconscious Sean between them, half-lifting and half-dragging him out of the room by the arms.

Vanse moved to block her line of sight, but he was too late.

She saw what he was trying to hide—her aunt lay spread-eagled on her back on the floor with a pillow across her chest. She wasn't moving.

Nurse Shelby crouched by her side, sobbing.

"Tatya, stop." Vanse's arm barred her way.

"Let. Me. In." Tatya spoke, enunciating each word with care. A curtain of icy serenity dropped and separated her from her emotions. She was detached, hovering above herself and felt nothing. She was an observer, watching this tragedy unfold.

Vanse stepped aside, and Tatya, entered the room, with Changing Sky close behind.

Nurse Shelby's crying lessened. "I must report this." She mumbled between sobs. "I'll bring a doctor."

As the nurse passed her, Tatya's aura prickled. She glanced at Vanse, but he seemed not to notice.

"What happened?" She spoke in the same tone as if she was asking about tomorrow's weather. None of this was real. None of this touched her. She knelt and stroked her aunt's face tenderly. Aunt Lil couldn't be dead because her skin was warm to the touch. She was napping, had tried to get up and walk, but fallen. Any minute she'd open her eyes, look up at Tatya and smile. "Silly me," she'd say.

"The woman..." Vanse spoke guardedly as if any harshness or sudden noise might shatter her composure.

"What woman? The nurse?"

"Yes. The guards heard her screaming. She tried to stop him, but by the time they came in, Sean had smothered her."

She considered his words, turned them over and examined them. "You're telling me that Sean killed my aunt?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure that nurse didn't do it?"

"Yes. Certain, because when the guards heard her screams and rushed in, Sean was still holding the pillow over her face."

The ice shifted and cracked. She closed the gap; she needed to control the raw volcano seething underneath.

"Well, thank you for giving me that final picture of the two people dearest to me," she snarled at him as her control wavered.

"If you want," he hesitated.

"If I want what? A funeral ceremony? A cremation? You'll arrange it for me?"

"She has not been dead long," said Vanse, his voice low. "I can turn her."

"You're offering to turn my aunt into a vampire? So she can become a murderer like you made Sean?" Sean was her friend. She knew him, knew his heart. He wouldn't do something like this. At least he wouldn't have, not before Vanse turned him. Vampires had killed her parents. Now her best friend, a recently turned vampire had killed her aunt. She stared up at Vanse.

He flinched under her gaze and looked away as her disgust flared.

Her grief shattered into a million pieces, and an incandescent ferocity boiled through her, vaporizing her control. Her skin heated and sparked. Tormented since she woke that morning by the ordeals of her past lives, her simmering hatred of vampires raged through her body and stoked her pain. She couldn't believe he'd said those words.

Vanse stood silent, avoiding eye contact, as he waited, ready to accept her decision.

Without hesitation, she opened the cracks wide, releasing control, her shields dissolved, and power saturated her body, filling it to the brim. She exulted in the intensity of the force she wielded. She saw and reveled in the red-gold glow of power emanating from her hands and skin. _Vanse was to blame for this. He should share some of the pain._

"Tatya! No!" Changing Sky's voice resonated with elemental power, and before she could act, he stepped in front of Vanse, raised both his hands above her head and with a sweeping downward motion, drove her power into the earth.

# Chapter Nineteen: Sean

Tatya waited, kneeling by her aunt, and holding her hand, her emotions on hold till a doctor arrived and declared Aunt Lil's time of death. She watched as medics arrived and took her body to the hospital morgue until a proper burial could be arranged. In the meantime, Vanse moved her to another suite and settled Changing Sky in the one next to her.

Changing Sky sat with Tatya long into the night while she ranted. How could Sean, her Sean, have lost his mind and smothered the woman who'd taken him into her heart and her home? She hated Sean. She hated Vanse. She hated all vampires. She cried and ranted again until Changing Sky made sage tea, and she slept.

When she woke, she looked around the unfamiliar room, wondering why she wasn't in the same room as her aunt. Then she thrust her fist into her mouth to stifle the scream building at the back of her throat. Tears poured down her face at the memory of Aunt Lil on the floor. Her gut knotted as disgust for the entire vampire species flooded through her. She clasped her talisman and swore she would have her revenge. Tightening control over her shields, she waited till the wave receded, then shut down and locked every wisp of emotion that threatened to unbalance her behind mental doors.

She'd no sooner showered and dressed—not in the least surprised to find her new wardrobe transferred—when she heard a knock on the door.

"How are you?" Changing Sky studied her face.

She looked away, unwilling to meet his gaze. He could read her too easily.

"Corwin has called another meeting."

"I'm not going. What's the point?"

"The point is, you might persuade Vanse to let you see Sean."

The previous evening she'd badgered the vampire master about seeing Sean and asked had he said anything that might explain his actions? Vanse refused to say or answer her questions and told her they attended to their own. Since then, the link had been inactive. She was sure he was deliberately shutting her out, but she had to talk to Sean and find out why he'd gone berserk. Her Sean hadn't even hurt flies but shooed them out of the greenhouse instead, so this sudden transformation into a killer was incomprehensible. She couldn't let it go and had to understand why.

Tatya quickened her pace to keep up with Changing Sky as they followed the escort sent to bring them to the scheduled meeting.

The vampire shot frequent worried glances behind him as he endeavored to maintain a good distance between him and the shaman.

"Do you have any idea where they've taken Sean?" she asked. Twenty-four hours had elapsed since her aunt's murder.

"They won't tell us. They consider discipline and punishment of their own a private business."

"Can't you find out?" What she meant was scry.

"I could, but that would be impolite. We are guests."

Tatya left the subject alone and mulled over the question of how to finagle a visit with Sean. Fixing on this immediate goal focused her thoughts, and saved her sliding into the black pit of despair waiting, like an old friend, at the edge of her consciousness. Emotions she'd worked through after her parents' death resurfaced and needed to be dealt with yet again—but later, after this whole affair was behind her. For now, her emotional well-being wasn't a priority.

Tatya and Changing Sky were the last to enter the room she thought of as the ballroom. Corwin, Bellamy, Bryson, Vanse, and the same vampire lords from the last meeting ranged around one end of the huge table, and the latecomers seated themselves in the two empty chairs between Corwin and Bryson. Tatya noticed that even though allied with the shaman, the vampires stayed as far away from him as possible. If the choice was theirs, they would have talked via video conferencing—anything to avoid being near to his shamanic power.

Vanse sat opposite her.

Tatya allowed his attempt via the link to test her mood and eyed him with indifference. She'd do whatever was necessary to see Sean.

"I'm calling this meeting to order." Corwin's brisk announcement focused everyone's attention. "Bryson."

"The last of the doctors, nurses, and patients were, as of 2200 hours yesterday, evacuated." Bryson's tone was as clipped as his hair. "We have our own medical team on standby to deal with any patients who re-awake." He turned to Changing Sky. "And thank you for returning that young man to sanity. We couldn't get any relevant information out of him."

"When will your guys arrive?" Corwin studied the major, waiting for his response.

Bellamy's pen hovered over his notebook.

"Our units are small in number. Until now, we've never had a situation on this scale, so more troops and volunteers are being organized. I believe the first is on its way, but the logistics involved in mobilizing larger numbers are more complicated."

"So, when will they get here?" Corwin didn't hide his irritation at having to repeat the question.

"The day after tomorrow."

"Bellamy?"

"A news shutdown is in place. We're not giving the public any information on the real state of affairs. A mass panic is the last thing we need. Only those here and some hospital staff know what's going on. We're evacuating all residents within a mile of the hospital."

Tatya wondered; what on earth they were expecting? A battle? How, in the name of all that was sacred, had she come to be at the center of this unfolding calamity? Humans and supernaturals got along just fine as long as everyone obeyed the rules. The trouble was, Angelus had a different rulebook.

"I agree, no vampire can be allowed to disturb the balance." Vanse stared at the other vampires. None of the three offered him any challenge. "We, too, have reinforcements on the way," he continued, indicating the other masters. "Angelus is making their approach difficult."

If that meant what Tatya thought it meant, vamps killing each other, she didn't care. In fact, she would be happy. Except right now, she felt nothing. The link sparked, but she paid no attention. She didn't want to feel anything. The block of ice sitting where her heart beat was good.

"If Angelus's forces attack, we can seal off at ground level and stay here indefinitely," Vanse informed them.

"Indefinitely?" Corwin asked.

Vanse's mouth lifted in an almost smile at the policeman's wry comment. "Sheriff Corwin, you, Colonel Bryson, and your teams may leave. Angelus is not preventing anyone's departure."

"Thanks for the offer, Vanse." Corwin almost smiled. "It's appreciated, but this situation is long past a simple territorial squabble between vampires. Bellamy here, along with my team and several volunteers from our department, are staying till this thing is finished."

Vanse continued. "We have access to the city's sewer system, but if we deactivate our protective wards, Angelus will realize it, and take advantage to enter. We leave them in position and deactivate at the last minute if the need arises for a sudden departure."

"Good to know leaving is an option you've considered. Thanks, folks. Stay in touch. We'll keep you posted." The Sheriff shoved his chair back and stood—his way of telling everyone the meeting had ended. Before heading out, he took Tatya aside. "I'm so sorry about your aunt, Tatya. If there's anything, the smallest thing I can do, you let me know. Okay?"

Corwin's face was more careworn and haggard than usual, with dark shades of red fringing the rim of his aura. He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. The jacket looked like he'd slept in it for a week.

He was trying to save a town, yet he still had time for her. She gnawed her lower lip as hate, the desire for revenge, and loss reared, and threatened to break her resistance. He was prepared to risk his life for her, so Aunt Lil's death wouldn't have been in vain. If anyone could soften her resistance and break through her defenses, it was Corwin. "Sure, thanks, Bill."

Vanse stood to the side, waiting for her, his manner outwardly mild, but the effort he was making to keep his fury on a tight rein vibrated through the dormant link. "Can I speak with you?"

Changing Sky gave her a cautionary glance.

She kept her expression neutral, her power locked tight. "I'll be fine," she told him.

The shaman gave Vanse a hard look. The security outside had cleared well out of his way by the time he reached the door.

"Tatya." Vanse's voice was neutral, but the underlying sympathy leaking through the link almost overwhelmed her.

"Don't," she said. "This works for me. I shut down, operate on automatic, don't feel for a while, and by the time I do, I'm strong enough to handle the emotional fallout. But I'll explode if you do any sentimental shit."

"Okay. But I regret your aunt's death."

Regret? Yeah, she thought, that sums it up, doesn't it? "Is Sean conscious?"

Vanse hesitated.

"Well, is he or isn't he?"

"I haven't worked out how, Tatya, but Angelus is behind this."

"Is Sean conscious? It's a yes or no question." Raw power pushed, tingling in her bones, and her fingers twitched. She restrained herself, forcing her rising anger back into its cave, and shoved a boulder-sized block into the entrance. "Then you know I have a right to see him." The right of the aggrieved to face the perpetrator.

"Okay. But not alone."

She relaxed, her tension unwound a fraction. She was squeezing her fists so tight, her nails cut into her palms. In an instant, Vanse gripped her wrists and turned her hands upward. He bent and licked the wet drops of blood, and she shuddered with sudden unexpected pleasure. He released her and the sensation faded. She inspected her palms. The skin was smooth and whole.

"Bleeding is a bad idea in a vampire lair," he said, his eyes sparked with gold flecks, one corner of his mouth lifting in a half smile. "Some of the less powerful vampires might not keep themselves in check. That would cause problems."

"I can take care of myself." She snarled at him. Did he think pleasuring her would solve anything?

He snorted. "Of that, I have no doubt. It's what drinking your blood would do to the vampire that concerns me. Come." Vanse led the way with his vamp security unit forming the usual procession behind them. He led the way through another hidden warded door, and they descended at least two levels below the ballroom. At the bottom of the stairs, he waved a hand and concealed lights came to life, revealing a cheerless corridor with metal doors spaced at regular intervals.

As they proceeded, with their footsteps muffled and swallowed by the silence, Tatya noticed the faint sheen of silver on the doors. She shivered. The air smelled old and musty. This place didn't see much use, even by the undead. "What goes on down here?" She addressed Vanse's back.

He pointed at the intricate designs worked into the doors, gleaming in the dull light. "A prison." At the end of the corridor, he stopped in front of the last door. "He will not be permitted to approach you. Nor should you try to touch him. Understood?"

"Yes. I understand."

"Tatya."

She gritted her teeth. "I'm not a child. Stop treating me like one."

Vanse gestured to the guards. They opened the door and entered first, and Vanse indicated she should go next. The cell was a fourteen by six-foot space, dimly lit by a tiny bulb set high in the ceiling.

Sean lay huddled in the darkness of the far left-hand corner with his back toward her, and his head hidden as he lay curled in a fetal position on the stone floor.

"Sean?"

Hearing her voice, he began to shake.

Vanse nodded, and the bodyguards yanked him to his feet and turned him to face her. Sean sagged between his guards—he would have fallen if they hadn't held him up; his body quivered, and he didn't seem aware of where he was or what was happening. He was a frail, broken figure.

"Hey! Don't treat him that way." Despite what he'd done, Tatya's instinct was to go to him, comfort him, but Vanse's grip on her arm held her by his side.

"Sean, obey!" Vanse's command, heavy with compulsion, had Sean straining to raise his head. He stared, terrified, at his master.

Sean worshiped the ground Vanse walked on, and Tatya didn't want to think what his maker had done to frighten him so completely. "Sean, it's Tatya." She laced her words with a quiet stillness. "I just want to know why."

Sean continued casting anxious looks at his master.

"He won't talk with you crowding on top of him. Move back a bit. Can't you see how scared he is?"

Vanse signaled the vamps, who shifted back and left Sean barely upright. His gaze flicked from Vanse to Tatya.

Tatya removed Vanse's fingers. "Enough, already."

Vanse didn't put his hand back but remained so close the heat from him warmed her back. Demon heat, she thought, too aware of the slow in and out of his breath. "Sean, can you remember what happened?"

Her direct question triggered recognition, and Sean focused on her. "I'll talk to you, but not with them here."

Tatya extended her senses, scrying for anything unusual, but her heart told her he was speaking the truth. This was her Sean, and there was no demon inside him now. Turning to Vanse, she opened herself to him, so he could sense the same truth.

He gave the barest nod, and the two vamp guards walked outside but remained ready to move fast if it became necessary. "The door stays open."

"Sure, whatever you say," Tatya muttered under her breath.

"And so does the connection," he said, and the soft threat thrummed under her skin, "otherwise you will regret it."

Tatya glared at him, wanting to mouth off, but she had more important things than bickering with him on her mind. Plus, she hated to admit it but his orders made sense. She left the connection open as Vanse moved back, blocking the doorway.

As Tatya walked toward Sean, his expression changed, and he cried. "I'm so, so sorry." The tears, blood-red, rolled down his face. "I tried to stop myself, but someone was in control of my body. It was like I was a puppet. I didn't want to do it, Tatya, I loved her."

Tatya reached out, stroking Sean's arm. Her touch soothed him, and his trembling lessened, but Vanse's distrust pulsed through the link. His patience wasn't going to last long.

"Help me, Tatya." Sean came closer.

She opened her arms to embrace him. Of course, she'd help. They, Sean included, needed to understand why he'd done this awful thing.

But instead of a hug, his hands were around her neck, a vice that squeezed relentlessly.

She couldn't breathe, her lungs were burning, and her eyes bulged. She made a strangling, rasping noise as she tried to pry his fingers loose. Then she collapsed, a gasping heap on the floor, as Vanse ripped Sean off her. She lay, clutching her throat, her breathing a ragged wheeze, watching the two guards and Vanse wrestle Sean into submission.

Whoever, or whatever, possessed Sean fought with formidable strength.

Tatya shrank back as he fixed on her, surging forward, carrying Vanse and the guards with him.

In a motion too blurred to catch, a long dagger appeared in Vanse's hand. The blade flashed, the engraved silver markings winking in the dim light as he raised and plunged the weapon straight into Sean's heart.

At once, Sean's body sagged to the floor with Vanse straddling his chest, and his arms and legs pinned by the vamp guards. The force that controlled him fled, and he was himself once more. He turned his head, and his eyes sought Tatya. He pleaded, "Vanse turned me because I begged him to, Tatya. I wasn't ready to leave my best friend."

Tatya crawled on her hands and knees over to where Sean lay on his back, the dagger deep in his heart as dark red blood leaked from the wound.

"It's all right, Sean. I knew you couldn't have done it." She stroked his hair back from his forehead, fingers tender.

Sean's eyes sought Vanse. "Thank you, Master. It has been my honor to serve you," his voice cracked. "End this before I hurt anyone else. Please. Do it."

Vanse bowed his head in acknowledgment. With slow deliberation, he tenderly kissed Sean's forehead before wrenching out the knife. Sean's head lolled to one side.

# Chapter Twenty: Hiatus

The muted lights cast patterns from the fretwork moldings onto the ceiling, and Tatya lay in bed, entranced by the pretty lights. She stretched and relished the sensuous luxury of silk sheets against her skin. Something scratched at her memory, but a cloud of forgetfulness slipped down and removed the nagging itch. There were no windows, so she didn't know if it was day or night—but that didn't matter. She rolled over and went back to sleep.

As memories of her past selves woke, and Tatya watched her earlier incarnations live their lives, she couldn't tell if she was asleep or awake. Simultaneously viewing and being the one watched disoriented her. Their lives flashed by, and the resilience and resourcefulness she showed amazed her, for despite loss and death, in each life she was born anew with the desire to help and heal others. Those women smiled at her; their hopes becoming her hopes, and their tragedies her tragedies. She understood her life was not a series of accidental happenings, but that she had a purpose. As time passed, each body became uninhabitable dwelling places for her soul, although her will to execute her destiny increased when she was reborn. She welcomed this gift of understanding, allowed the memories to subside and merge with the person she was in this life and become part of who she was today.

As the visions faded and the weight of past bereavements ebbed, Tatya woke and the present pain of Aunt Lil's death tore at her emotions. Tears fell for the woman who'd been mother, father, friend, and guide. Aunt Lil hadn't replaced her parents by solely performing their duties of care, she'd loved Tatya unconditionally. With Sean's death, she was on her own in the world.

Since assimilating Angelus and Vanse's blood, her powers had increased, but the emotional upheavals of the past days had blinded her to the fact she should explore the potential of her new-found abilities; learning how to control and use them might distract her from her loss.

Stirring herself, she made it into the shower. Relaxing under the hot jets, fragments of last's night's events resurfaced. After Vanse killed Sean, she'd broken down in hysterics, wild power blasting from her fingertips. The vamp guards had cowered, terrified, until Vanse grabbed hold of her, sending waves of power down the link till she quietened. She'd sobbed on his chest as he carried her in his arms to Changing Sky, then sat and waited, holding her close and rocking her while the shaman brewed a medicinal tea. After that, she'd slept.

The realization that yesterday's events weren't the first or even the worst, tragedies she'd suffered and survived plucked a nerve deep in her psyche. Angelus was not going to win—she would not allow him to win.

She emerged from the bathroom, swamped in the huge bathrobe she'd found hanging on the back of the door, rubbing her wet hair with another towel of gigantic proportions, to find Vanse lounging on the bed.

"How are you?" His voice was low, no glamour. He knew better than to use any of his parlor tricks on her.

"Are you asking am I in control of myself again? If so, the answer's yes. Have you found out who was controlling Sean?"

"When I staked him, he stank of Angelus." Vanse's lips curled in distaste. "We found Nurse Shelby's body in a stairwell, so I assume he gained control of her, though we'll never know how and where. But we do know that gaining control of Sean was a matter of waiting for the right opportunity. Neither of them, even though Sean was linked to me, were a match for Angelus."

Another casualty added to the growing pile laid at her feet. The young nurse hadn't deserved to die; she'd wanted to spend her life caring for the sick. "Why would Angelus try to have me killed, and why didn't you sense him?"

" Even if you're unaware of his presence, I'm sure he's been waiting to see if his plan worked. The second you died, he'd have activated his link to you, brought you back and finished turning you before I could stop him."

"He could do that?"

"Yes. His and my connection to you changes everything. I could not sense his presence in either the nurse or Sean because even if my powers have grown over the centuries, his demon half is still far stronger, more cunning and devious."

Tatya sat silent, her mind in turmoil.

"Are you aware that when you're angry your eyes have sparks of gold in them?"

Tatya was taken aback. _Was that the result of the link, of having his blood coursing through her veins?_

"Yes."

She narrowed her eyes at him, lips tightening.

He lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. I'm out of your head. But we are always aware of each other. I cannot ever separate from you."

She hadn't realized. "Is it the same for me?"

"Yes, giving someone blood creates a reciprocal relationship. Are you not aware of me?"

He lowered his guard, and she brushed his mind, flinching away from the surge of emotion coming from him. Seeing her reaction, he raised his guard.

"Only when you don't protect yourself. Otherwise, it's almost as if you're not there," she said.

"I'm sorry," he said, "Sean's death hurts me, too." He moved next to her; heat radiating off him, and even though he was guarded, a mixture of simmering anger and underlying grief washed over her shields. He traced the line of her chin and leaned toward her.

His touch stirred her blood; the love she'd had for him in her former lives echoing in the present. Once, she had even thought him a god. But this was the present, and if a relationship were to develop between them, it would have to wait.

"When you are born again, you forget what happened in your previous lifetimes, while my longing for you increases as I wait for you to reappear. Before you take birth again, I live with the guilt of taking your life."

Vamps with consciences, she thought. Maybe they had meetings in church crypts, Vamps Anonymous, where they confessed their remorse?

He smiled, but his eyes wore that soulful, mournful look.

"I need to get dressed. Do you mind leaving?"

"Shall I send you some breakfast? We can catch up later."

She stared at him in bewilderment. "No breakfast, just coffee. And catch up with what later?" she asked, but the door had closed behind him.

When Vanse returned, Changing Sky and Tatya sat on the floor opposite each other with an array of dried plants spread out on a cloth between them. Tatya had asked the shaman to show her and explain the properties of the herbs he'd used in the tea she drank yesterday. Vanse offered a slight bow to the shaman.

"Seigneur Vanse," acknowledged Changing Sky. To Tatya's surprise, the two of them appeared to have reached a detente.

"Good," said Vanse, surveying Tatya up and down with approval. "You found the clothes."

"Um, er, yes. Thanks," she mumbled, embarrassed at his scrutiny. Previous boyfriends had been as uncaring about fashion as she was, and Sean had cared even less.

"Come. Both of you, I want you to see this." No glamour, a simple command.

Tatya checked with the shaman.

Changing Sky inclined his head a fraction. "We can continue this afterward," he said and packed away his medicines.

The three of them took the elevator to the top floor of the hospital and went up a further flight of stairs. Vanse deactivated the wards and led the way onto the roof and over to the far wall.

Tatya didn't remember the exact number of days since she'd been outdoors. Was it two days or three? At first, she squinted as her eyes adjusted to the pale autumn sunlight, but her mood lifted as she breathed in the cool, crisp air. Leaning her elbows on the ledge she studied the town of Orleton spread out below them.

The hospital possessed extensive grounds, and her eyes followed the fallen leaves as the brisk wind teased them into the air.

Detached suburban homes where people lived peaceful, prosperous lives of the kind most would pick, if given a choice, and the nearby Kimimela Woods filled the rest of the immediate area. The main shopping section lay beyond the suburban belt, and the poorer districts, with their rundown apartment blocks and yellowish-brown aura of desperation spread lay toward the eastern edges of town.

In the distance, she could just make out the highway that led south to the reservation. The outlet mall, and a few warehouses lay to the west. To the north, lay the ruin of her home. She clenched her jaw. One more thing to put aside for the present.

Dark blue storm clouds were building over the south west. Dirty gray sheets of rain covered the landscape and moved toward them.

"What do you see?" Vanse asked waving his hand at the vista.

"Okay," Tatya said, shivering in the freshening wind. "It's not Shangri-la, but it's my hometown."

"Use your inner sight," instructed Changing Sky. He began to chant in a deep monotone, stamping to a slow rhythmic beat. He grasped her hand, Vanse took the other, and vibrations from his singing and dancing transmitted through her to Vanse. The vampire lord twitched as the power chant passed through his body. That he accepted such close contact with ancient shamanic energy, a challenge for any vampire—even one as strong as Vanse, signaled his desperation.

Tatya waited; the shaman would tell her if he wanted her to do anything. Vanse stood the other side of her, silent and still, not moving a muscle. Without the link, she wouldn't have been conscious of him.

The air shimmered and a silvery haze spread out from the shaman's mouth, and the veil covered the three of them before extending over the town. The link flashed bright gold and faded.

Before she'd seen nothing but a small town on a breezy autumn afternoon, but now she gazed with fascinated dread at the encroaching darkness. The pall, broken by the wind into smaller wispy strands, was paler at the horizon, and grew thicker and darker, blanketing the land beneath as it eddied closer to the town limits and the hospital.

Tatya's stomach churned at the sight. How much time did they have before this heavy miasma smothered them all? She anchored herself to Changing Sky's voice, as the feel of his and Vanse's hands grounded her in the present.

"See, there." Vanse pointed, and she gasped.

In the distance, weird, demented shapes moved within the murky blackness. Hounds with fearsome jaws, their spittle spraying as they bayed, hobgoblins and demonic beings crawled, slithered and slunk toward their destination.

She made out a few humans, shoulders hunched against the wind, hurrying about their business, oblivious to the nightmare surrounding them. A cold knot of foreboding formed in her gut and goose bumps erupted. Vanse sent a surge of reassurance and she calmed. Changing Sky slowed the chant, and only when he'd stopped did both men let go of her hands. She glanced at Changing Sky and saw, for the barest instant, his three spirit guides. Turning to Vanse, she caught the flare of fear in his eyes. He, too, had seen them.

"Our ancient enemy is getting stronger," said Changing Sky.

"Neither the military reinforcements nor my vampire support will be here soon enough. When Angelus killed me, he was a young vampire himself. Demons are stronger than vampires, and he killed his maker to keep his secret from the other demons. He had no intention of turning me, he thought he was removing an obstacle, but knowing nothing of vampire ways, he made me a vampire by accident. You should know that, in the past, each time you died, your death weakened Angelus; and when you were reborn, his power grew stronger. This time, he drank your blood, so you are linked to him as never before. As your power grows, so does his. As his power grows, so does yours. But having given you my blood, he and I are also more connected." Vanse paused, studying her expression, and eyed Changing Sky. "This time killing you won't succeed."

"Is that meant to make me grateful?" Tatya stared out at what on the surface was once again a normal town. "I have no answers. As far as I can see, we have two choices. Surrender or fight. Surrender is out of the question."

Changing Sky spoke. "Let's get started then, we have work to do."

# Chapter Twenty-One: Preparation

Tatya and Changing Sky sat cross-legged, opposite each other on the floor of his suite in Vanse's lair.

"One more time," he instructed, "then we'll move on to the next lesson."

They'd been practicing for over two hours as he taught her stronger defense strategies against unwelcome attention on the psychic plane. She'd found running through each lesson once was enough to master and own the technique. The process reminded her of using recipes she'd known but forgotten, rather than learning something new. Yet Changing Sky insisted she practice each lesson several times to make sure she got it right. Each time, she executed the exercise without fault.

"Stay humble," he'd warned her when she swelled with pride after mastering an archaic technique advised by his guardians that flipped your opponents' energy back on them. "Pride allows hidden weaknesses to creep in and cause your downfall when you least expect it. When the battle comes, you want your enemies outside where you see them."

His words had chilled and deflated her confidence in her abilities. The work engaged her mind, leaving her little time to reflect on recent events, but Changing Sky's words reminded her she would be called upon to use these methods to kill. Eliminating vampires, or any of the other hellish creatures waiting for them outside the hospital she could make peace with, but she didn't think she possessed the callousness necessary to take the life of a human being. She made excellent progress until Changing Sky's spirit guides ordered her to awaken and contact her own ancient guides.

An hour later, without success, they rested.

"You are tiring."

"One more time, please? Then I'll stop." Tatya recognized her own stubbornness was part of the problem. Her guardians within weren't servants to be summoned by force of will alone. Instead of allowing them to emerge, she was blocking them.

"Okay. Ready?" Changing Sky asked for the nth time.

Tatya shifted, placing her left leg instead of her right on top, getting comfortable, hands relaxed on her knees, palms facing upward, with the thumb and forefinger touching. She shut her eyes, and breathed in and out, soft and easy, focused on the rise and fall of her diaphragm, aware of the shaman's breath synchronized with her own.

"Shields up," he instructed.

Tatya heard his voice but couldn't have said whether he spoke the words aloud or in her head. Deep layers of protection slotted into place. Like blinking an eye, she thought.

"Seek," he ordered.

Tatya delved into myriad images from her previous lives. Changing Sky, or rather his spirit guides, had shown her techniques of calling up and controlling her memories. Changing Sky's prophecy that after seeing his spirit guides, she'd be able to hear them was correct. She learned to recognize who was speaking. Sometimes it was the clear strong tones of the young Cherokee princess, Meoquanee, at others, the deep boom of the Hopi elder, Qaletaqa, or the commanding voice of Otakay, the Sioux warrior. Her own memories no longer inundated her, but she was able to search and discard them at will.

Yet the current exercise remained the most difficult. Not the memory retrieval but reliving the emotions that accompanied them—fear, love, hate, desire, and loss. The whole gamut of human feelings was inextricably linked with her experiences and proved harder to deal with, because many were so traumatic. Reconciling the Vanse of today with images of him sliding a blade into her heart over and over wrenched her from one extreme to the other.

Tatya recognized the one lifetime's memories she had yet to mine. This was the only one where she hadn't known Vanse, except at the end when he turned up to kill her. She'd eliminated most of the memories from that life, narrowing the search to one particular occasion. That life hadn't been easy the first time, let alone again and again; however, familiarity had done its job, and she could behold the image of a loving father sacrificing himself for his daughter and son without shedding tears for the tragedy of those two lost children.

The Druid initiation was the memory she sought, but her recollection remained shrouded and fragmented. The Bandrui had given her drink that contained a hallucinogenic drug, and the images kept distorting and blurring one into the other. Slowing the stream of pictures that flashed before her inner eye to a stop, she slipped into a past self where she knelt and stared up into the eyes of a blonde, Bandrui priestess.

"Step back, look, consider." The power-filled voice was that of the proud Sioux warrior, Otakay.

Tatya obeyed his instruction and attempted to step outside her former self to observe, but she could only view the images as she had lived them. The priestess held a goblet to her lips, making sure she drank every drop. She reexperienced the sour, warm liquid slipping down her throat.

Changing Sky's guides sent a pulse of power, and in a beat, her awareness of the memory changed. She witnessed the same scene, this time from outside and watched as the Bandrui caught her when she fell forward, turned and laid her on her back.

Tatya gazed in wonder as first one whirling light, then another and another appeared above her, and her spirit rose from her body. The lights slowed, came nearer, and the forms of three effulgent women manifested. Their features were unclear, but she felt the power and love they had for her. A circle of brilliant blinding light surrounded her, increasing in intensity as the three women merged with her spirit body.

Another beat and she was back inside herself, sitting on the floor facing her mentor, her heart resonating with the impact of the vision.

"Tatya, are you all right?"

Tatya blinked, looking around, shaking her head. The barrier between this world and the spirit world had thinned, and she closed her eyes, seeking the Bandrui ancients within. She was amazed at the strength of their presence and understood her fear had been of being dominated by these companions, for they were older and stronger than she was. Knowing they were more powerful, she'd feared she would lose her individuality, be absorbed into them. But even though they had become one with her, they remained separate. Their warmth and power lifted her mood, giving her courage, even as the sense of their active presence faded.

Changing Sky's spirit guides retreated, a quieter presence since her own had awakened.

"That is enough for today." Changing Sky packed up his paraphernalia. "Your guides are here to help you with the difficulties you face. You should rest."

After she returned to her room, Tatya flopped in the armchair. She'd hoped to avoid being alone with her grief over the deaths of the two people dearest to her. Reliving sorrows from her earlier lives burdened her, but her trust in her guides and mentor was absolute. She fought the urge to sleep, but as she drifted off, she recognized the Bandrui spirit guides were a treasure that had already enriched her understanding. Those she mourned did not suffer, but watched over her with love.

Vanse came in the evening, and the two of them retraced their steps up to the roof. Over to the west, the autumn sky blazed with color, from glorious pale peach through to crimson vermillion as the sun kissed the western horizon goodnight. Over to the east, the last of the pale blue cobalt merged into Prussian, and a full, blood-red moon rose in inauspicious splendor. They remained silent and breathed in the refreshing chill of the late evening air.

Vanse led her over to the exact spot where they'd stood yesterday. "Such beauty." He spoke softly. "Nature is the greatest of artists, don't you think? Surely sunsets are among her most dazzling creations."

He stood close, and she was intensely aware of him, the heat radiating from his body, their connection flaring to life, as it always did when they were in proximity to each other. Coming to terms with pain from her past lives, and with the depth of his feelings was daunting. He'd waited and watched for centuries, always protecting her, even though she wished he'd been able to accomplish it without killing her.

Vanse moved back, leaving her alone, her gaze sliding over the scene. Today she required no help to see the demonic creatures approaching. The last few stragglers from the evacuated zone must have been rounded up because there wasn't a single human to be seen in the streets. She couldn't hear any birds singing, and it seemed that every living creature had fled.

Only the darkness survived, seething with malevolence. Ravening hell-hounds patrolled the perimeter of the hospital grounds, pawing at the edges of Vanse's wards, recoiling as if burned when they touched the barriers. High in the air, she saw huge, winged demons, their claws and talons darkened by the dried blood of their victims, snarling at each other. Many more half-demon, half-vampires than the pitifully small force Vanse controlled. As Tatya watched, the darkness thickened, a sulfurous mist drifting above the roiling mass. She licked her lips. "Have any reinforcements made it through?"

"Not yet." Vanse sounded detached.

"Do you think they'll be here soon?" Even as the words left her mouth, she realized she was pleading. She wanted a normal life; she wanted Corwin, Bellamy, Bryson, and every other person here in the hospital fighting against an enemy with immeasurably greater strength, to have normal lives. She even wanted Vanse to live, though she had no idea of what normal entailed for him.

"There's a possibility he will attack soon. Maybe tonight when he is stronger? Maybe tomorrow morning, when he will have the advantage of surprise?"

She sensed a flicker of emotion from the Bandrui; they knew this enemy of old. Their scorn strengthened her purpose.

"Come, you must rest. More depends on you than on anyone else."

_Yeah, me and my untested powers_ , Tatya thought.

"Don't you need sleep?" she asked as they crossed the roof, their footsteps loud and out of place in the eerie silence.

"Sleep is a luxury that my demon half doesn't need much of. I'm sure when this," he gestured toward the enemy forces, "is over I'll have plenty of time to sleep. One way or another."

Tatya walked in a beautiful garden where small paths wound between verdant trees, and bushes were weighted with perfect flowers and fruits of every variety and color. Fragrant perfumes of sandalwood, frangipani, jasmine, and rose bewildered her sense of smell. The sky was a blue vault, and lush grass cushioned her bare feet.

Here and there, she saw other people laughing together in groups, couples walking with their hands entwined, and at the edge of her vision, a building. As she strolled nearer, she noticed the walls were studded with jewels; radiant rubies, emeralds, diamonds added to the ethereal brilliance. Was this a palace?

"Ah, there you are."

At the sound of the voice behind her, Tatya turned. He was so beautiful: the hair, a fiery halo lit by the sun, falling around his shoulders; those sky-blue eyes. How had she forgotten?

"I've been waiting for you." He took her arm, and they sauntered along winding paths, the beauty of the garden saturating her senses. "Do you like it here?" his velvet voice caressed her skin.

"It's the most beautiful place I've ever seen." She smiled up at him.

"I created it for you."

Overcome with gratitude, not knowing how to thank this being for his munificence, she avoided his gaze, studying the soft blades of grass. He put a hand, under her chin, raising her face so she had to look at him. The power of his gaze captivated her. He leaned closer.

"You know what I want," he said, folding her in his arms. She shuddered as waves of intense joy swept through her, every cell in her body shivering with delight. He alone offered this.

Tatya caught the flash of something out of the corner of her eye. She looked up, her attention caught by a tiny black hole in the sky. Bewildered, she watched it expand, its eager edges eating up the blue, and an awful dread filled her. Something was wrong. "No, I can't."

Angelus grasped hold of her arm, and the dark gold chain joining their hearts became visible. Black writhing snakes appeared, creeping toward her, and she drew back in fearful anticipation of what would happen when they reached her heart.

The following instant she stood on the brink of a precipice, high on an ice-covered mountain. She gasped as the freezing air stabbed her lungs while the place where Angelus gripped her arm burned red hot as pulses of pain blazed along the link. He thrust her away from him, and she teetered on the edge as he held her over the sheer drop. She looked down, terrified.

"You can, and you will."

Tatya struggled, but his grip tightened. Her feet scrabbled for purchase as one minute she twisted in scalding agony, the next she trembled violently in the glacial cold. To regain ecstasy and end the suffering, he simply asked for her surrender.

"Then die!"

She screamed and screamed as she fell into the abyss.

"Tatya! Tatya!" Vanse was shaking her. "You had a nightmare."

She opened her eyes and stared up at him. The touch of his hands on her arms was real, and the burning pain was gone. "It was Angelus."

The vivid horror of the nightmare replayed in her mind as shades of pain from the dream surfaced. She was aware Angelus had inflicted a fraction of the suffering he could administer. If he won, he would torture her for eternity.

"Don't think about it. It's over." Vanse lay down beside her and slid an arm underneath her head. His touch calmed her, the length of his body alongside hers felt right as his heat warmed and dissipated the lingering traces of cold. He embraced her, pulled her head onto his chest, patting and stroking her back as if she were a child that needed soothing. "Sleep and be safe. I'll guard you."

She liked that idea. Lying this close to him, a blanket of peace cocooned her in safety. If the other thought she should be with him, she knew otherwise. She knew the truth.

# Chapter Twenty-Two: Trojan Horses

When she woke, her head rested on Vanse's chest; his arms cradled her, and she was surrounded by his musky sandalwood demon scent. She wanted to stay there, to surrender to his protection. The link glowed bright gold and kept fear and the slivers of the nightmare at bay.

Vanse's eyes were closed, but she could tell he was awake. She wondered if vampire sleep was different than human rest. It felt right, being this close to him, entwined together with the solid feel of his chest under her, her hand tucked around his body, and his arm heavy on her back.

Tatya knew where her thoughts were heading. _What cat refuses a bowl of cream placed right in front of its nose?_ He'd pursued her lifetime after lifetime, so why not indulge? They should make the most of the opportunity if only because they might not have another chance. It wasn't as if she was offering him her virginity; this was the twenty-first century, not the tenth, and if she chose to make love with someone, it was nobody's business but her own. She decided what choices she made with her body.

Vanse opened his eyes, his mouth creasing into a lazy smile. He squeezed, pulling her against him. She laughed.

"Mmm, for once I'm glad you can read my mind," she said, walking her fingers across his chest, enjoying the tease of his skin under her fingertips.

"It's not your mind I'm reading," he replied. He shifted so they lay facing each other. "Tatya, I would like nothing more than to make long, slow love to you," he paused, sparks of gold in his eyes, his smile deepening, "and I promise you one day soon I will, but I must, how do you phrase it? Take a rain check."

She blinked in disbelief. How dare he? Her palm itched with the urge to slap him across the face and hurt him. After lifetimes of pursuit, she'd offered herself to him on a plate well, on a bed, and he refused. Screw him! Hell could freeze over before she gave him another chance. She pushed against him, trying to move away, but he held her tight and refused to let her escape.

"It's not that I don't want you," his voice was low and intense. "My feelings for you will never change."

"Oh, cut the crap. I have to go to the bathroom. Do you mind?" He released her, and she rolled away from him as fast as she could. "If that's how you want to play this game, then that's fine by me!" She stormed across the room and slammed the bathroom door.

A sharp knock from outside the suite had her opening the door again before she'd taken two steps. But by then Vanse had ushered Sheriff Corwin and Major Bryson into the room. Both took in the rumpled bedcovers without blinking an eye as they looked from Vanse to her.

_If only,_ flashed through Tatya's mind. Vanse twinkled at her. She ignored him.

"Our reinforcements are having a tough time getting through," announced Bryson, too professional to allow his tone to betray his thoughts. This meant their total defense included Corwin and half a dozen police; Bryson's elite force of twenty men, and Vanse's one hundred odd followers.

_Yeah, where was the cavalry when you needed them?_ The trill of that warning trumpet heralding the salvation of the beleaguered soldiers in old western movies echoed in her mind. Aunt Lil had loved to watch those films.

"We're in a kind of Rourke's Drift, Alamo, Thermopylae, David, and Goliath..."

"We get it, Corwin," said Tatya, and thought things must be bad if Corwin was using that many metaphors.

"Any idea how long it will take for them to arrive?" Vanse's voice held no hint of urgency or sign that he knew the ravening hordes of monsters and demons from hell were about to batter down the doors.

Tatya wondered what multitudes of slavering, beastlike demons did when they got hold of you. The phrase 'limb from limb' jumped to mind and goose bumps erupted along her neck.

"No." Bryson's answer was flat and honest.

"Don't worry, Tatya. We got your back."

"Gee, Corwin, that's good. I was getting a tad worried there for a moment." She gave Corwin a wry grin. She knew he understood. The banter between them was a way of saying they cared about each other; if Corwin lost his life because of her, she'd incur a karmic debt she'd never be able to repay.

A loud, intermittent beeping began, and Bryson tapped his earpiece, listening with an intent expression on his face. "It's the coma patients," he said. "They're awake. Every single one, moving down through the building."

"Bet ya they're going for the entrance doors," Corwin said, pulling his inhaler out of his pocket and sucking in a large dose.

"Go, stay with Changing Sky," Vanse instructed Tatya. He blurred toward the door.

Bryson hurried after him, rattling off orders to his unit into his speaker microphone.

Corwin looked at her. "You okay?"

"Be careful, Bill. Please."

"Hey, you know me." Then he, too, left.

Tatya and Changing Sky sat in their established positions opposite each other on the floor of his room. Sage sticks burned in several metal bowls aligned with the cardinal directions, but this time, the pair sat with knees and hands touching.

Outside, a dozen vamps stood guard with orders to keep the occupants safe, no matter the cost.

"This will be the same as before," the shaman instructed, "but this is no practice."

Tatya gathered her strength. Aunt Lil and Sean were dead, and she needed to be calm and in control if she was to be of any use. Pushing her conflicting feelings about Vanse, her nervousness, her sorrow, and everything else to the back of her mind, she focused on the task at hand. At a nod from the shaman, he and Tatya raised their shields and synchronized their breathing. A tremor of anticipation ran through her as she sensed the Bandrui stirring.

"Tatya!" Changing Sky called. They linked.

In an intense flash of etheric movement, the shaman led them up and out of their bodies. As long as their bodies remained undisturbed, they could return. Although her consciousness had withdrawn from her physical self, a tiny corner of her mind remained aware of sitting in a room, deep below the hospital. Being both inside and outside of her body was a weird and wonderful sensation.

She sensed Changing Sky checking their psychic shields. Another beat and they rose high above the hospital, joined to their physical selves by the thinnest of astral links. From this viewpoint, Tatya witnessed the true extent and horror of the siege. Angelus was easy to spot; his figure tall and heroic with his burnished skin, and his hair falling in glorious red-gold curls around his shoulders. He stood motionless, facing the hospital, as a roiling blackness fanned out from him in waves.

If you didn't know he was the source of this insanity, you might fear for him, but Tatya knew how fixated those disturbing blue eyes of his were on achieving what he desired. Detached from her body as she was, she experienced no physical reaction and tried to ignore the tiny, hard knot of fear in her mind. How would they, how could they, ever defeat him?

"Remain small," Meoquanee commanded, her voice rich with assurance. "Look elsewhere. He knows you're here, and he knows you're protected, but for now we prefer if he doesn't examine us too closely."

Taking courage from the spirit guide, Tatya obeyed, and turned her attention away from Angelus, but the wrongness of the scene below tore at her senses. The Bandrui within, asleep until now, twitched as if in response to the external menace. Taking her time, she studied the legions Angelus had summoned, the adversaries they must defeat.

A pack of Barghest, with glittering, rage-reddened eyes, roamed the front line. The muscles in their great bodies bunched and rippled as they flung themselves and crashed against Vanse's outer perimeter wards. They bared their fangs and snarled as they were thrown back. Ranged behind them a host of Dökkálfar, dark elf like beings, blacker than pitch, jabbed the beasts with spears and javelins, and sparks hissed and sizzled as their tips connected with the iron hard bodies of the massive black dogs.

Tatya stared horrified in disbelief as creatures unseen for ages crammed the streets of Orleton.

Dullahans, riding with their heads held under their arms, eyes flicking here and there at the surrounding tumult, their mouths stretched in gruesome smiles, goading Angelus's half-demon, half-vampire followers into a frenzy. Among the madness ran every shape and size of living gargoyles. Some had more than one body sharing the same head; some had several heads with one body; some were four-legged creatures with serpents' heads—all ravenous to satisfy their bloodlust. Grotesque, reptilian humanoid creatures and gigantic warriors brandishing flaming swords strode among the multitude.

How long had Angelus schemed to amass these legions? And what sacrifices must he have performed to open the gates of Hell long enough to permit these fiends to escape? Tatya closed her eyes as her hopes of defeating the demon lord appeared increasingly impossible. A shiver of premonition flushed through her.

"Being this near to him drains hope, Tatya. It's part of his potency. Don't despair, we have strong allies." Changing Sky's voice comforted her.

"Do you think if Vanse killed me it might give the rest of you a chance?"

"No. It's too late for that. Angelus is Vanse's master, or would have been if he'd understood the vampiric process, but because your blood is mixed with theirs, either of them could bring you back, and turn you into a vampire."

"Don't forget the half-demon part."

"If it were Angelus, he'd control you immediately."

She caught a distant scream from one of the men fighting inside the hospital and recognized it for what it was—a death cry.

"Otakay says we must move now, but we only help. We will not fight the enemy ourselves today."

Tatya flicked a glance at Angelus, the glowing center of the approaching maelstrom. She stoked her anger, hiding the fear. She felt Changing Sky tighten his grip on her hands and make sure their breathing was in harmony.

In the next instant, filled with a bright energy, they made a steep dive into the hospital foyer, and straight into a vicious fight.

Keeping her fury on a tight leash, Tatya observed the scene. Bryson had enough weapons and silver bullets for the humans, and the near constant deafening blasts of gunfire contrasted with the deadly quiet of vampire hand-to-hand combat. She knew Vanse also had a store of firearms and silver bullets, but as his vamps weren't using guns, she figured he must be keeping them in reserve. This wasn't the worst they would face.

Paramedics had continued bringing in coma victims, even after the evacuation, and they outnumbered Vanse's vampires. The home team had more practice in killing whereas the vamp newbies had awakened to find themselves in a scene from Dante's Inferno, compelled to be pawns to a master they'd never known they had.

Vanse and his vampires moved with incredible speed, staking Angelus's younger vamps with ease. Many of the latter, distinguished by the comic touch of hospital gowns, had gathered over by the doors and were attempting to break out. So far, the protective wards held. Others formed a line of defense, battling to keep back their attackers.

"Stay away from Vanse," Meoquanee instructed, and, recalling the last time she'd tried that little exercise, Tatya understood why. By the time they focused on what he saw, he'd have dealt with it and moved on to the next encounter. For him, their presence would be a hindrance.

"There." Otakay directed their attention to one of Bryson's men, reloading his weapon as three vamps charged him.

In unison, Changing Sky and Tatya channeled a bolt of energy into the soldier. The beleaguered man suddenly gained faster-than-light reactions, whacked the nearest vamp with a back-handed swipe, sending him flying, and punched the second vigorously in the stomach, knocking him on his back. As the third closed in, he fired his reloaded firearm into his attacker's heart.

Tatya checked for Corwin and spotted him in the line defending the elevators. Bellamy stood beside him, a cold concentration in his eyes, firing his gun with deadly accuracy. In front of them, Deputy Rathmore lay on the ground unmoving. Nearby, two of Bryson's troop sprawled, limbs askew, necks broken.

When the coma vamps stayed out of range, the odds favored the humans. They were expert marksmen, Bryson's unit exceptionally so. The silver bullets brought their opponents down like pins in a bowling alley. But the newer vampires possessed the numerical advantage. When they got close enough, they killed before their opponents had time to blink.

"You're strong enough to act on your own, Tatya. That way, we can be of more help, but don't break the link."

Tatya didn't question Changing Sky's decision, but in the anarchic flow of hand-to-hand combat, finding who needed help wasn't easy. She scanned the fighting, saw a coma vamp about to skewer one of Bryson's men, and drew on her power, directing it into the soldier. She exhaled in relief as he leaped back up and shot the vamp who a split second ago, had been standing over him.

She sensed the warrior spirit guide, Otakay, guiding her each time to where she could help those who were most desperate. Again and again, she concentrated, and drawing on the linked sources of strength, sending pulse after pulse of energy to whoever needed help. Fighters nearing exhaustion discovered new reserves of stamina, and the speed to defend themselves and their comrades.

Tatya had no time to think as she mastered the skill of channeling support to someone under attack while searching for the next person in need. The immediacy of action, the pull and thrust of power, the flood of potency was intoxicating. The desire to kill the coma vamps and exact her revenge on their species grew.

But Otakay stayed her hand. "I, too, wish to fight. But if you do, you'll alert Angelus to the extent of your powers. Today we help. Have patience, our day will come."

And she had to be content with that.

Even amidst the intense fighting, Tatya kept a sharp eye out for Corwin; he had to stay alive. It was Corwin's men who benefitted most from her aid. As policemen, they witnessed humanity's less altruistic side on a daily basis, but they had never fought an enemy like this one. Yet, even she could see, that despite their skills, and the weapons at their disposal, they were losing.

An ear-splitting crash froze everyone in a ghastly still life. Heads turned in slow motion, searching for the cause of the noise. Tatya watched in shock as Angelus's hordes breached the barriers warding the outer perimeter and swarmed toward the building.

"Retreat!" Vanse's order, heavy with glamour, had Corwin's men and Bryson's soldiers backing toward the elevators, while his vampires guarded their withdrawal.

The coma vamps lost interest in them, and massed toward the windows, staring at their advancing brothers. The protective wards still held, but for how long was anybody's bet.

The last thing Tatya saw before the elevator doors closed on Corwin, and Vanse disappeared through a warded door, was Angelus.

Radiating dominance he walked with his head high and his blue eyes–as always–seeking her. His army of demons howled and screamed around him as he strode toward the hospital entrance.

And the final sound she heard as Changing Sky whisked her away, was the baying of the Barghest hounds as the glass shattered and Vanse's wards disintegrated.

# Chapter Twenty-Three: Sacrifice

Despite the post-battle exhaustion they both experienced, Changing Sky insisted Tatya put aside the urge to take time out and come to terms with her new powers. The situation was urgent. Contacting the Bandrui was the priority.

"Have you spoken with them yet?" Changing Sky asked.

Tatya's eyes snapped open. She had been trying to contact her spirit guides for the last hour without a break, but the results were always the same. "Nothing."

The shaman's spirit guides had withdrawn, saying they couldn't help her. The Bandrui were hers, and she'd carried them for centuries. This she had to do on her own.

Tatya sensed the power radiating from the Bandrui, but unlike the shaman's spirit guides, whose personalities were strong and distinct, she hadn't an inkling who wielded the dormant power living within her. Doubt she'd succeed, and despair at the thought of failure added to the pressure. As her energy levels dropped, Tatya struggled to stay upright, and not keel over and fall asleep. Gritting her teeth, she willed herself to continue, determined to make as many attempts as necessary. She would do whatever was needed to defeat Angelus. Slowing her breathing, shutting down her external senses, and forgetting her exhausted body, she woke her inner sight. Where were they? What would they look like? An image of three hags, with sharp, crone-like features, and white matted locks stirring a pot, sprang to mind.

Abruptly a young woman's laugh rang in her head and she saw a beautiful, slender young woman. The instant she appeared, Tatya remembered her name, Fidelma, and her role in Tatya's past surfaced. The priestess wore her blonde hair in the same three braids, and the same intricately embroidered robe as in her memories.

Laughing at Tatya's astonishment, Fidelma brought forward and introduced her to the other two guides. Brigid, with her kind eyes, matronly figure, and a forgiving warmth, evoked even dimmer remembrances of the mother from the same life who'd died when she was young. The last, Dhanu was older, but no hag. Keen gray eyes in a gracious patrician face studied her.

Tatya smiled as they bathed her in tenderness. They had witnessed her suffering, life after life, forbidden to act because it was not their time. Without hesitation, they drew her in, expanded her understanding of their purpose and why she'd been chosen. She accepted their gift and smiled in acknowledgment. They faded from her consciousness, and she let them go, aware of them at a subliminal level, yet she already missed their active presence. She opened her eyes, her tiredness dispelled, and saw Changing Sky's broad grin. He knew.

"Well?"

She was about to answer when a polite knock on the door interrupted them. One of Vanse's personal bodyguards waited, head bowed in submission.

"My master requests your presence." He stared at the floor, refusing to look at the shaman. "Immediately."

Tatya rolled her eyes at Changing Sky but swallowed the sarcastic remark on the edge of her tongue. Their predicament was no joking matter.

The conference room buzzed with more chatter and nervous energy than at the last meeting. Every military soldier and law enforcement officer had fought like the trained professionals they were, but once the immediate danger was past, the reaction set in.

With the barest lowering of her shields, Tatya observed auras ranging from bright red to dull brown, whole rainbows of colors flaring and fading, reflecting the fighters' emotions as they adjusted from adrenaline-fueled battle mode back down to normalcy, but she no longer felt overloaded by the influx of information. She offered a mental thank you to her guides—without doubt, this gift also came from them.

Most of Vanse's vamps were absent, as he didn't need them present to convey his orders. Bryson's soldiers had gathered at one end of the room, while his medics attended the wounded. Corwin, Bellamy, and his remaining officers stood in a group around Leipman who nursed an injured shoulder, but considering the jokes he was cracking, it wasn't fatal and wouldn't keep him out of action for long.

She flashed on the recent skirmish, thankful she'd been able to offer backup. Altogether Tatya knew of at least three soldiers and two policemen who were dead. Her earlier despondency flooded back. Their position was hopeless.

"Gentlemen," Vanse's voice held a trace of glamour; he needed their attention. The hyped up conversations ceased. "Tatya, shall we?"

He indicated he wanted her and the shaman to sit at his end of the table. She wondered if he sensed the Bandrui's presence. A quick scraping and shuffling of chairs as Bryson, Corwin, and Bellamy joined them at the head of the table. The others spread themselves along the sides, their attitude attentive and professional.

"It's only a matter of time." Vanse needed no glamour, nor was further explanation necessary. Screams and howls filtered down from above as Angelus's army sought to break the psychic and physical protective barriers.

"Those doors are strong. They were erected when people fought other people." Bellamy sounded calm but the rapid tapping of his fingers on the table betrayed him.

"Our entrances are warded," Vanse said, "but Angelus has already broken through our first and second lines of defense."

"What's the plan?"

Tatya shot a look of affection at Corwin. Ever the pragmatist who came straight to the point. He'd once told Tatya, life was too short to beat around the bush.

Bryson spoke. "We have two options: the first is to stay and fight; the second is for Vanse to drop his wards when we're ready, and we escape via the sewers. If we stay, it's unlikely anyone will live. If we opt for number two, the farthest exit from the sewer system brings us to the surface inside enemy lines. To continue in the sewers past the wards without diving equipment isn't possible." He paused while everyone digested that tidbit. "Questions?"

"But we'd stand a chance if we used the sewers?" The speaker, one of Corwin's men, had a bandaged head wound, and his survival wasn't guaranteed, given the current circumstances.

"Yes. But what are the odds? That's anybody's guess."

"How long will it take to dismantle, or whatever you do, your whatever you call them?" Corwin fixed his gaze on Vanse.

"If we move everyone as near to the exit as possible, the wards can be lowered, then reinstated as soon as the last person passes through. If I may make a suggestion?" he addressed Bryson.

"Go ahead."

"It's nearly midday. Yours and Corwin's men should recoup. They fought well, but they're weaker now. They should at least eat and rest a little. After that, we move fast. Angelus's forces will be strongest after nightfall, so we must get to the exit well before dark. The alternative is to wait here and leave in the morning, but I don't think that's a risk we should take."

"Okay," Bryson spoke. "Everybody–"

Tatya put up her hand.

"Yes, Ms. Rourke."

"Everybody is aware why Angelus is here, aren't you?" She glanced around the table.

Some of the military men looked puzzled.

"Well, in case you weren't aware, Angelus is here for me."

White confetti flakes of plaster floated down on their heads as a series of reverberations shook the building.

"My unit was formed to deal with instances such as this, Ms. Rourke."

"My people," Vanse began, but Tatya held up her hand and silenced him.

"Thank you and please call me Tatya. I'm grateful to you, Major Bryson, and to you, Sheriff Corwin, and those of you who stayed to defend me without knowing what this is about. But too many men, forgive me, I don't know their names, have paid too high a price today. Changing Sky, Vanse, Corwin, Major, a moment, please. In private."

Tatya stood, and the four men followed her back to her suite. Once inside, she talked while Vanse leaned against the door and watched, his expression calculating and predatory. Ten minutes later, she sat back and waited for their response.

Changing Sky backed her plan. He was working closest with her, and he told the others to trust her. He had absolute faith in her judgment. Corwin and Bryson listened, argued, and at last accepted.

"I want to talk with Tatya, alone," Vanse said as the emotional blast of his reaction scorched along the link.

She slammed it shut. The decision was made.

After the others left, Vanse paced up and down. Tatya kept the link sealed as the pounding waves of Vanse's emotion battered her defenses and threatened to unbalance her self-control.

"This is the craziest, most insane idea I've ever heard," he threw at her, his eyes flashing shards of gold. "You realize how easily this can misfire. You're judging Angelus by your standards. Human standards. Demons have no standards. Yes, he'll agree to your demands, but once he gets what he wants, do you think he'll keep his promise?"

Vanse ranted on, pointing out not just everything that could go wrong, but every little detail of how it would go wrong, and exactly what that result would entail for her.

Yet every word he spoke cemented her determination. She didn't respond, waiting until he'd vented his frustration. "I don't stand alone," she told him, thrusting her chin up. "I have ancient powers; Changing Sky and his spirit guides to support me, and I have Aunt Lil and Sean standing by my side. This is the way it has to be done."

Eventually, he stopped arguing and put his arms around her.

She opened the link, her body erupting with pleasure as she responded to him. He was the beloved, always had been, and always would be, no matter what happened. Why, after lifetimes, when the possibility of happiness came along–no matter how bizarre the situation–was there no chance of it lasting? She tightened her arms around his neck, unwilling to release him.

The link expanded and isolated them in their own bubble. Existence narrowed to a delight in touch, of skin flushed warm as breath rose and fell, and the scent of sandalwood filled her senses. For one moment, the world faded away, and they had only each other, and none could harm them. The almost physical ache in her heart quietened. I've waited lifetimes, she thought, how can I let him go? She pulled him closer and wondered if she had the will and the strength to do what had to be done. She leaned against him as he buried his face in her hair.

And the Bandrui whispered spells to ease the separation and seal her cracking armor. Staying here with him, just the two of them, was nothing more than an impossible mirage. There would be no leaving the ordained path.

As if he knew, he kissed her fiercely, and left.

Tatya threw herself on the bed, curled into a ball and sought comfort from the Bandrui. She'd never expected to feel this intensely about anyone. With the way she'd rolled the dice, it hurt she might never have another chance. But the Bandrui didn't respond, and at length, she fell into an uneasy sleep and dreamed of Vanse holding her in his arms.

When he returned, bringing Changing Sky with him, Tatya was awake. As they entered, she studied the two of them, observing and liking that their relationship had changed from antagonism and fear to something new.

Vanse didn't recoil when the shaman glanced his way, and Changing Sky seemed to have adopted an almost paternal attitude toward the half-demon, half-vampire lord.

"Is it time?" Tatya hoped she sounded stronger than she felt, because while her gut told her this was the only solution, she was scared. She'd put into motion a plan she didn't dare think about too deeply, or else she wouldn't be able to play her part.

"We've given Corwin a large white flag." Changing Sky's expression was neutral.

"Angelus will at least give him a hearing, won't he? Curiosity and all that."

"Let's do it then." Her mentor held out one hand to Tatya, and the other to Vanse, who grasped it without flinching. Normally, a shaman's touch resulted in a searing burn for a vampire, but Changing Sky had shielded his skin. Vanse gripped her other hand, joining the three of them in a circle.

Tatya opened her shields, and a tidal wave of power flooded in from the other two and filled her. She gasped for breath, cried out and the Bandrui opened like a flower welcoming the sun. They absorbed every last drop, made it small, and hid it where Angelus's prying eyes would never see. Then the Bandrui receded from her consciousness. She prayed they would return when needed.

A knock on the door and their hands fell apart. Corwin stood there with Bryson at his shoulder, looking ready to catch the Sheriff if he fell. Judging from Corwin's expression, that was a distinct possibility.

"Tatya, you don't have to do this. Those..." Corwin stuttered to a stop, stumped for words to describe what he'd seen. "We'll find another way. If I survive this, that scene up there will haunt me to the end of my days."

"It's okay, Corwin. The one card we hold is me, and he needs me alive. Did he agree?"

Corwin nodded. "Swore on your life. Said if you appeared as promised, he and his army would disappear. No one had to die." He glared at Vanse. "Told me to tell you, he'd spare even you."

"How generous of him," Vanse's mouth curled in a sneer. "No doubt he is the most magnanimous soul that ever walked the earth."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Tatya," said Bryson, "he stipulated certain conditions be met when we deliver you."

"Deliver," spat Corwin. He yanked three long strips of white cloth from his pocket. "Wrists, mouth, and eyes." He thrust the bindings at Vanse, his hand shaking. "And you must be the one to bring her. Those were his words."

For a minute Tatya faltered. The cloths flickered with strips of blackness she knew Changing Sky and Vanse saw, but neither Corwin nor Bryson possessed the sight to see. Angelus intended to separate her from everything and everyone; she'd be at his mercy. She didn't know if she had the strength, then the image of Aunt Lil smiling at her rose in her mind, and Tatya accepted that no matter the consequences, she would do her utmost to execute her plan. Too many lives depended on her to change her mind now.

Vanse didn't flinch as he took hold of the ensorcelled bindings, but the desolation on his face almost weakened her resolve. He lifted her wrists, tying them first. Despite tying them loosely, the instant he finished, the cursed cloth tightened against her skin, and sharp, stabbing pains shot through every nerve in her body. The jabbing stings eased as lethargy crept over her.

Vanse moved around behind her. Her awareness of him had dulled. More searing stabs pierced her mouth and eyes as he gagged her with the second cloth and blindfolded her with the third. Not a scrap of light penetrated the blindfold and a deep blackness entombed her senses. Her tongue was a heavy, immovable weight in her mouth.

Tatya lost her bearings the second the bindings cinched tight. Angelus' restraints disconnected her mind from her body and reshaped her reality. She was more than just imprisoned in a tower of sparkling black bars inside her own head; she was paralyzed.

Vanse took her arm and guided her out of the room with Changing Sky, Corwin and Bryson in a procession behind them. Blind, and unable to protest even if she wanted to, Tatya barely knew what was happening. Access to her power, to the Bandrui, her links with Vanse, and Changing Sky had been cut off, and she was alone. Except for the dead who stayed with her. She clung to Aunt Lil and Sean.

As the elevator door closed on the two of them, Vanse embraced her, holding her tight, blood tears leaking from his eyes. Tatya was dimly aware that she should know who this was, but the memory remained out of reach on the other side of the darkness. He didn't release her until the elevator pinged their arrival at the ground floor.

When the elevator doors opened, the outline of a glowing, golden figure penetrated the heaviness overlaying her senses. She knew who this was. Angelus. With that recognition, the names of others reemerged. Corwin. A friend who'd now go home to his wife, where they would hug each other in bed at night and live out the rest of their lives. As would Bellamy, Bryson, and the others whose blood she refused to have spilled on her account. She'd initiated this plan and was determined to follow it through to the finish. She clung to that thought.

Angelus reached out, and a cold pit of dread swelled inside Tatya as a golden arm snaked toward her, took hold of her arm, and dragged her to him. There was nothing she could do but stand, frozen and defenseless. His power flickered through her to Vanse, and for an instant, the three of them were linked as Vanse held one arm and his maker the other. Even through her confinement, she sensed the similarities.

By becoming half-vampire, Angelus escaped the absolute banishment of his demon species from this world, but as a demon arrogant in his strength, he'd not concerned himself with vampire imperatives. When he killed Vanse and satisfied his thirst, he'd studied his victim. He'd watched with interest as blood from where he'd cut his lip with his fangs dripped into the dying man's mouth. His first mistake was not completing the bonding; his second was underestimating the depth of Vanse's love for Tatya. He'd created an enemy instead of a slave.

The demon's loathing of his firstborn flooded through Tatya and she felt every drop as if it were her own. Vanse was what Angelus was not, and Angelus abhorred what he saw as an aberration to be exterminated. He smiled, a shiver of nails scraping her skin as he sliced Vanse's link to her.

Vanse shuddered.

"Thank you, Vanse. You've proven a cunning adversary and grown stronger over the centuries—more than I could have anticipated." He gestured at the demonic host, motionless and coiled to spring, awaiting his orders outside the hospital. "They serve me because I am more powerful. These days, those I turn have little or no demonic powers. I kill any half-demon who shows promise of power, and most cannot even walk in the day. That makes you, Vanse, not just my eldest, but my only true child. A shame I didn't kill you when I had the chance. I leave you alive for now, but I will return, and you will die. I promise you that much."

Vanse pushed away his repugnance, not wanting to antagonize the demon lord further, and fearful of the repercussions for Tatya. He released his hold on her arm and stepped back into the elevator.

Angelus pulled her close. She rested against his chest, and he laid his arm around her shoulders possessively. "Compliant, isn't she?" he taunted Vanse, as he pressed the button and the doors slid closed.

Tatya caught eddies of anguish from Vanse at the jibe that faded as the doors slid closed and left her alone. A question rose in the choking darkness. How effective were these restraints? Could she break them? Even as she tried, Angelus rested his gaze on her, and she silenced the scream that rose as the bars of her prison heated, reddening, smoldering, and emitting flickering needles she knew would blister and scald. Was this how her torment would begin? The feverish warmth dwindled as he laid the weight of his will on her, claiming possession. She leaned into him, submissive, and felt his exultation at her surrender.

# Chapter Twenty-Four: In the Face of Adversity

Amidst the thickening, swirling red mist, Tatya sensed Angelus turning toward her. He untied the blindfold and the gag, and the reddish haze thinned, but his physical closeness and their link ensured it didn't recede completely. As Tatya opened her eyes, he raised her chin, forcing her to look up at him. She gazed into his eyes, blue as the sky on a summer's day. With his body touching hers, his beauty was devastating. She would obey his commands. That was the natural order of things; her purpose was to serve him. Why had she sought to escape his dominion? How had she not known his authority was paramount? That no matter what, he would win?

"Come," he smiled as they faced the hellish army that occupied the hospital grounds and expanded into the town.

Tatya gazed on the scene, and shrank inside herself. She flinched as the vast demonic army gave a great roar, their twisted features grinning in triumph as they howled and cavorted in joy at their adored leader's achievement.

"I raised this army for you," he whispered, his breath hot, searing across her ear.

She bit her lip.

"Good. You will be an apt pupil." He held her arm in an iron grip as he marched her toward the entrance.

Though she could see and speak, she dared not. She was still bound, and her will was not her own.

"But first I must gratify my followers. You and I have a ceremony to perform."

Outside, the sky was heavy with crimson tinged storm clouds; lightning strikes flared and split the earth. The air was stifling, oppressive, and unnaturally hot. Despite the sweltering temperature, the sun appeared to have forsaken the earth.

As Angelus walked with Tatya by his side, the horde parted, and created a wide avenue. Ahead, his followers had erected a platform.

Tatya tried to remember she chose this, and to hang on to her reasons for agreeing to this insanity, but a sudden, icy foreboding closed her throat. She gasped and struggled for breath.

Angelus stopped. "Soon, you'll have nothing to fear," he said, placing his hand on her throat. His power trickled in hot globules through her skin and opened her airway. Her breathing returned to normal though the spot where he'd placed his palm pulsed with agonizing pain.

Angelus's legions shrieked and bayed a ghastly, deafening tumult of approval as he resumed walking.

The platform was a hasty construct of trees uprooted from the hospital grounds, topped with a level floor of what had once been white picket fences. Sorcery held the structure together, giving it the illusion of a royal edifice.

Angelus strode up the makeshift steps and onto the center of the platform. He looked over his vast army of twisted, demoniac creatures and their frenzy increased. He inclined his head and silence fell. "We have what we came for," he pushed Tatya forward. "And we will all profit."

Those with swords and shields banged one against the other and drummed a slow rhythm. Quiet at first, they increased the volume and speed of the beat, accompanied by wild shouts and screams. Others chanted a monotonous drone beneath the drumming. The cacophony cascaded outward in awful, disruptive waves.

The pulsating throb invaded Tatya's mind and drowned out everything else. She only knew she was in Hell, abandoned to the mercy of a demon master and his host.

Angelus bent, pressing his lips to hers. Tatya shivered, experiencing once more the mixture of exquisite joy laced with excruciating pain that was his kiss. Yes, she was his, and she acknowledged his dominance.

He drew back, his expression exultant. The next moment, he grabbed a handful of her hair, and yanked her head back, stretching her neck, as his other hand loosened the last binding on her wrists.

"For this, you must be free," he said bending toward her. As he released the piece of cloth, it floated away, and the leaden weight binding her will to his lifted. In that second, giving her no chance to react, he sank his fangs into her jugular, drinking deeply.

Tatya weakened, as drop by drop, he drained her blood. Her vision faded, and as he sucked out her life, she tumbled into oblivion.

She woke in darkness. Of the past, she recalled nothing; of the future, she had no awareness. There was only this place and this moment. As her sight adjusted to the gloom, she saw a flat, featureless plain stretching to the horizon in all directions. In the distance, a copper radiance shone. Fascinated, drawn by instinct, she ran toward it, her passage swift as the glow beckoned, luring her on. When she came close she saw the figure of a man, facing away from her. He was tall, golden-skinned, with perfect musculature, and his hair a mane of red-gold. She recognized him. Angelus. The enemy. The demon who'd evaded exile.

He spun around at her approach. "How are you here?" he asked, his mouth dropping open, puzzlement on his face. Without warning, he sprang at her, his hands rigid around her throat, and squeezed relentlessly. "I drained you. You should be mine."

Tatya staggered back under the force of his attack, but his touch woke the ancient Bandrui, and their magic surged through her. She tore his fingers away, charged with knowledge of her purpose.

His eyes widened in astonishment. "You," he hissed, his lips curling into a snarl. He rushed at her, a flaming sword in his raised hand.

She flung silver spears of energy at him. They pierced his body with such force they flung him onto his back.

He wrenched them out and came at her, his face a twisted mask of hatred.

If he defeated her on this plane, there would be no coming back. If she drank one drop of his blood, she would be his to control, and thralldom to a demon would be her sentence for all time. She smiled, the corners of her mouth lifting, as Vanse's connection jolted into existence. His power, and that of every half-demon, half-vampire he controlled poured into her, combining with the Bandrui power.

"Do you imagine the traitor will have a swift death? I will make sure he takes an eternity to die," Angelus hissed, and hurled a fiery discus at her, "and you will watch every second."

"Shields up." Tatya heard her mentor's voice, and through the link, added his protection to her wards, strengthening them. The flaming disc hit the barrier and disappeared in a burst of sparks.

The Bandrui sang, intoning an archaic mantra in a language unheard since beyond history. Now slow, now fast, now high, now low, the incantation resonated, gaining potency as it increased in volume.

Tatya added her voice to theirs, the words forming in her mind as they sang. Angelus didn't move, and for the briefest of instants, Tatya saw fear as first, Qaletaqa manifested, followed by Meyoquannee and Otakay. Changing Sky and his spirit guides started a different chant, a hypnotic hum, a low counterpoint to the rhythm of the Bandrui.

Angelus fled.

Tatya chased after the dim bronze figure, the Bandrui chant and shaman song guiding her as he vanished into the far distance. Movement in this reality needed only thought. Tatya drew upon the Bandrui witchery and shamanic wizardry surging through her and closed the gap between her and her quarry in a flash. Yet as she appeared, he winked out of existence.

Fidelma laughed. "He forgets. That's a good sign."

Tatya had forgotten too, but Fidelma showed her the link to Angelus. The connection was strong, but the gold had dulled to pure black, and the rope flamed furious red sparks as Angelus continued striving to defeat her wards without success. But now she knew where Angelus had gone, and she followed the glimpses of him appearing and disappearing as he sped through the trees and flower-filled bushes in his garden of Paradise.

As he passed, trees withered and became gnarled, deformed husks, and flowers faded, their petals turning to dried, desiccated fragments.

"He thinks to gain strength by removing his enchantments," Tatya heard Otakay's regret he couldn't battle the demon alone.

"Pull a branch from that tree," Dhanu, the eldest of the Bandrui, instructed.

Tatya slowed, reaching out and grabbing a small bough from a shriveled oak. The second her fingers touched the wood, it transformed. One end thickened into a handle, the rest smoothed and sharpened, becoming a long pale blade covered in runes and glyphs, shifting and glowing with wizardry.

Of Angelus, there was no sign. He had disappeared.

"You know where he'll go next, Tatya. Remember." Vanse's voice.

The forces streaming through her, the Bandrui hymn and the shamanic chant, spurred her on. She sought Angelus. And she was there, high on that snow-covered mountain ledge, but this time, she was impervious to the arctic winds.

Angelus turned as she blinked into existence behind him.

Power erupted, sizzling along the oaken blade as she leaped at him. Angelus fell, and she was on him. She raised the weapon, but he held her at bay and foiled her efforts to sink the spellbound blade into his chest. Tatya reached through her links to Vanse, the Bandrui, Changing Sky and his spirit guides, for the final intense burst necessary to achieve their goal—and found the connections dead. She'd found his hidden bolt hole because she'd been here before, but her companions could not breach the protective wards. She looked at the knife. The sigils were faint. She was alone with Angelus.

"Did you think I had no contingency?" His laugh shredded her defenses. He jumped up and attacked, but she had her own skills and was on her feet facing him before he struck. They struggled, rocking back and forwards on the narrow ledge, grappling for supremacy.

Angelus wasn't potent enough to prevent her allies' entry for long. She only had to fend him off until they disabled his wards. "How long can you keep them out?" she taunted, pressing harder, her green eyes sparked with gold flecks. The closer the blade came to its target, the more brightly the sigils glowed.

He tightened his grip on her dagger arm, barely able to protect himself.

Tatya pulled ever more deeply on her power, forcing her weapon, inch by inch, nearer his heart. Abruptly, Angelus let go of her other arm and punched her in the face with brutal force. Shaken, she stumbled backward, trying to clear her head, but he pressed his advantage, hitting her again and again and knocking her onto her back. Before she could move, he straddled her, and pinioned her wrists. He smashed the hand holding the knife against the granite beneath them. Over and over, he tried to dislodge it from her grasp, but she kept her hand locked tight around the blade. If she let go, her sacrifice, and that of those fighting with her would be for nothing.

Drawing ever more from within, she concentrated on his heart. He let go of her left wrist, grabbed her hair, and violently banged her head on the ground, stunning her almost unconscious. If his intention was to disrupt her concentration, it was working. Desperately, she struggled to connect with her source. This wasn't supposed to happen. He couldn't win. He mustn't win.

Angelus's demon heat seared her wrists where he pinned her to the ground, his legs on top of hers, immobilized her. Elation dawned in his blue eyes, brilliant with victory as he reinforced their link. He brought his face close and drew back his lips, showing his pearl white, perfect teeth. His fangs emerged, and he bit down on his lower lip.

She stared, mesmerized, as a droplet of dark red blood bloomed. He bent his mouth to hers. She screamed Vanse's name. His was the strongest link, he loved her. Where was he? Angelus's lips touched hers. The bead of blood sank into her mouth, and the world exploded. The blade radiated light; the sacred symbols swirled and shifted as her links blazed to life.

Angelus stared in disbelief as her connection to Vanse, his followers, the primeval Bandrui sorcery and the supernatural shamanic magics of Changing Sky reignited at the very instant of his triumph.

The surrounding rocks shattered. The elements of his construction shrieked as he withdrew the sorcery that held them together. A thousand black splinters punctured his body and face as he fought for survival. Stinking, yellow-green sulfuric fumes seeped through the long thin slashes opening around them. The abyss was close.

She realized if the barriers gave way, he would drag her down to Hell with him. He'd never give her up. If he couldn't have her, no one could.

The one solid place left was the spot where they perched. Dribbling a little of her conjoined power, she held the ledge in place; an unstable tower of safety, jutting above the abyss. Hellish screams rent the air. Attacking from all directions, those Angelus had left behind howled their anticipation at the prospect of their revenge at his return.

His face contorted, black and yellow bleeding into the blue of his eyes. "This is not the end," he snarled, baring his teeth, as he ignored the low thrum of disintegration. Tormented, twisted shapes bulged toward him, trying to haul him through the increasingly fragile barrier.

Tatya pulled even deeper on her power, and Angelus hissed in pain as the knife glowed, silver bright. She shuddered with a fierce joy as Otakay manifested behind Angelus. Shaking off the demon's hold on her wrist, she seized her opportunity, and as the spirit warrior grabbed a fistful of the demon lord's red-gold hair and wrenched his head back, she stabbed upward, plunging the blade deep into Angelus's heart.

# Chapter Twenty-Five: When One Door Closes

#

Tatya stretched, luxuriating in the hot sudsy water and inhaled the soothing scent of lavender. _Add bubble baths to the list of unexpected vampire penchants_ , she reflected, swishing the water with her toes. Thinking of vamps led to Vanse, who hadn't visited her since he'd carried her, half conscious, bruised and battered from the battlefield to his lair. However, she wasn't sure lair was quite the right word for the suites of lavish accommodation he inhabited. The stereotype of vampires sleeping in coffins buried in deep dark caves clearly didn't apply here.

She had floated in and out of consciousness since her rescue over two days ago. That morning, the doctor attending her removed the last of the drips attached to her arm and expressed his astonishment at her quick recovery.

She didn't remember a great deal after Angelus sank his fangs into her neck on the platform. Even that one memory brought back nightmares. She'd dreamed of an immense, dismal emptiness where she battled Angelus with skills she didn't know she possessed. She remembered the Bandrui and shaman spirit guides chanting a mantra so potent the words opened an awful slash in the fabric of reality as they expelled Angelus from this world.

The one glimpse she'd had of claws and talons reaching through and dragging a shrieking Angelus through the tear continued to haunt her. That image almost elicited sympathy as those full of rage and envy at his millennia-long escape sought to settle the score at last. But she still had gaps in the sequence of events where the details were unclear.

The Bandrui mantra was another thing that remained with her and she could recall it at will. The ancient spirits of the Bandrui had departed, leaving her bereft of more than their power. She had difficulty in recalling their features. Fidelma's image merged with Dhanu's and Brigid's until she couldn't tell the difference anymore. Today, she understood they'd been her silent companions since joining with her on an island in ancient Britain, and they had waited, life after life, to be called. They'd left the chant as a parting gift,

"Are you decent?" Corwin shouted, his voice crisp and businesslike outside the bathroom door.

"Give me a second," she shouted back. "Don't leave. Make yourself comfortable."

Tatya was out of the bath, grabbing the humongous, white fluffy cotton towel, and pulling on her jeans and a sweatshirt with more speed than she thought possible. Giving her hair a quick towel dry, she dragged her wild curls back into a hair band and flew out the door.

"Corwin!" She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight.

"Hey! Watch the coffee. Brought you your favorite," he said and handed her a takeout cup, "Large, soy, caramel latte, extra shot. Right?"

She stood back. Both blinked hard. Neither wanted to shed the tears.

"Look at us—two softies, eh?"

"Oh, Corwin!" She took the coffee and planted a loud smacking kiss on his cheek. "It's so good to see you. Why haven't you visited before?" She cradled the warm takeout cup in her hands.

"That's an easy one to answer. Your personal master vampire refused to let anyone come near you until the good doctor decreed you'd recovered enough to have visitors." The Sheriff planted himself in one of the comfortable armchairs, "but as soon as I got the okay, as you can see, I'm here."

Tatya sat in the opposite chair, and curled her feet under her, relishing the hot, bittersweet liquid. "Mmm, this is heaven!"

"How are you? Everyone at the station, and Winona, we're real anxious to know you're okay after everything that, you know... what happened."

She appreciated the implicit inclusion of Aunt Lil and Sean in his question. Corwin understood her. This wasn't just about Angelus.

"I don't remember too much after Vanse put those ties on me."

The truth was, she hadn't come to terms with the loss of her only living relative and her best friend. Since the end of the world crisis had been resolved, her struggle was adjusting to the gaping emptiness the absence of her loved ones left in her life. The space they occupied in her heart would take a lot of filling.

"Well, I had a grandstand view. While Vanse was escorting you up in the elevator, we–Bryson, and his force, Vanse's vamps, and my people–sprinted up the stairs. You had your plan, Tatya, but we'd made ours too. There was no way we were letting you sacrifice yourself without being prepared to hurt his lot."

"I remember standing on that platform with Angelus when he released the bindings." Her mind skittered away from the memory of how vulnerable and alone she'd been while under Angelus' dominance. "And the next thing, I'm looking up and Vanse is standing over me. I don't think I want to remember the fuzzy part in between."

"Tatya, I've never been so happy to see the cavalry come to the rescue. I've told the man, I mean the vampire, I owe him big time for bringing you out of there alive. He led the charge and lost a fair number of his people too, but when you and Angelus disappeared–"

"Disappeared?"

"Yep. Gone. Don't ask me where, but when you appeared again, it was without Angelus. And those spawns of hell–"

"Spawns of hell? Corwin, your vocabulary's expanded."

"More than my vocabulary's undergone a change," he cracked back. "Listen, girl, let me tell the tale, okay? The bigwigs have brushed the whole situation under the carpet. A gas leak and resultant explosion is the reason given to the public for the evacuation and the mess that was left."

"So, these spawns of hell?" Tatya tried not to smile. Corwin, the hard-nosed sheriff discussing creatures from other dimensions as if they were an everyday occurrence was funny.

"Right. Well, the second you disappeared, Vanse exploded out of the hospital with his vamps, leading the charge to the platform. They can move real fast when they have a mind to, can't they? Anyway, by the time he reaches it, you reappeared. As Murphy's Law would have it, Bryson's reinforcements turned up, too. When you shoved Angelus back to where he came from, his army knew something had happened. Half of them vanished right in front of our eyes. We fought the other half and it wasn't easy, even with Bryson's forces. But we got rid of the rest."

"Wow!" She could tell by the way his mouth thinned and turned down he was having nightmares. "How many did we lose?"

Corwin didn't reply.

"Oh, no! Tell me Bellamy is okay."

"You should have seen him when they assigned him to me, Tat. He was a puffed-up, freshly promoted little so and so, and I was just getting him sorted out." Corwin fished in his pocket, dabbed at his eyes with a crumpled white handkerchief. "He died the way he wanted. Told me once he joined the force 'cause he wanted to be one of the good guys, and he died fighting real evil, face-to-face, and took a fair few with him. He was a brilliant cop and a hero."

"I'm so sorry, Corwin."

They sat silent, remembering the eager deputy Sheriff. The blame for these deaths lay at Angelus's feet, but instead of abandoning her, these men had sacrificed their lives to save her. The guilt hovered, a weight she would have to carry for the rest of her life.

A rap on the door and a bright-eyed young man, dark brown hair sticking up like a brush from a high forehead, poked his head around the door.

"Branton, meet Tatya. Tatya meet Branton." The two nodded at each other.

"There's a call, sir." Branton's voice carried a smooth southern undertone.

Corwin was born and spent his early youth in the south though his accent had softened. Maybe hearing Branton would remind him of better, simpler, times. Corwin stood, stuffing the hankie back in his pocket. "The town's having a memorial service tomorrow to honor those who died."

"I'll be there," she promised.

Tatya was still nursing her coffee when a soft knock at the door brought her back to the present. The link was quiescent, but she knew it was Vanse. She took a deep breath, knowing she'd have to face him sooner or later. "Come in."

Vanse entered, seating himself opposite her. He didn't speak, or activate their connection, but sat, scrutinizing her warily.

An image surfaced. Shrieks and howls, the world disintegrating around her. Then Angelus, his fangs puncturing his lip, leaning close, his blood searing through her veins, and her final call to Vanse. "Thank you, for saving me."

"Yes. Angelus thought he created a haven where his wards were strong enough to prevent anyone from entering, but he forgot you and I are bonded. He also forgot that as my original maker, I was also joined to him. I'm sorry I wasn't quicker."

Tatya shrugged. "He's gone. It doesn't matter." She studied Vanse's expression. His eyes had lost their intense mourning, but she could sense a lingering sadness. "Okay, tell me. What is it? There's something you're not telling me. Spit it out."

He leaned forward to take her hand, but stopped as she shifted back. "Yes, he's gone, but..." he hesitated.

Tatya drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair.

"If I'd been there sooner," he started, but she jumped to her feet.

"Vanse, I'm not a baby, but I will have a screaming tantrum if you don't tell me what is bothering you."

"Please, Tatya, be calm. Sit down. This is a difficult subject."

She perched on the edge of the seat, glaring at the vampire master.

"Angelus has returned to Hell, his rightful home, but when you absorbed his blood, it established a bond that transcends the boundaries between this world and his."

"What are you saying? He can return?"

"That is unlikely, but I cannot say for sure."

"Oh, I'm so glad it's unlikely. I mean, after being beaten nearly to death by a demon lord who arranged the murder of those I loved most," she paused, choking down her grief. "With Bellamy and so many dead, please don't say we have no guarantee?"

"Tatya!" Power seethed in his voice.

She was aware of what it cost him to hold back and not activate the link, though he had the ability and the desire. _Breathe,_ she told herself _, breathe_.

"You will not be happy about this, but while we are connected, he cannot return. Together, we are powerful enough to defeat any attempt he might make, but alone, you are vulnerable."

She realized the Bandrui chant hadn't ruptured or breached her link with Vanse, but she'd believed that after they defeated Angelus, when there was no justification to keep the connection between them alive, Vanse would set her free. Her love for him, shared when she thought she would die, had been colored by the remembrance of her past lives. Those memories had awakened as the Bandrui came to life, and now they had gone, subsumed in a layer of her subconscious. That emotion, like the memories of her former lives no longer dominated her mind, and was growing fainter and weakening as dreams do in the daylight.

"My feelings for you haven't changed." He whispered with no hint of glamour, and no effort to persuade her.

Tatya opened and closed her mouth, biting back her words. Opening the link was more than a physical or spoken reciprocation of emotion with Vanse; they became part of each other, separate, yet together. The faintest trace of power trickled through the bond, but she blocked him. She needed to think, to digest the events of recent days, and she needed to grieve. Once she'd done that, she would deal with Vanse, Part of her wanted that intense pleasure of joining with him, and ached to have his arms around her, but not here and not now. "I need to get away for a while," she said, observing his expression change as he withdrew his power.

"Where will you go?"

"I have a good friend I've not seen in a while."

Eva, a roommate from her college days, had extended an anytime-you-want invitation to visit. She lived in a large, rambling house over on the west coast, up near Big Sur. Maybe she would come back and rebuild her aunt's house. She, Sean and Aunt Lil had often sat by the fire imagining the alterations they would make if the business became successful enough. Now, the insurance money would take care of that, but as with this vampire, with whom she shared a complicated, if half-forgotten past, the timing just wasn't right.

Vanse said nothing, but gazed at her. Even though the connection was dormant, they could not hide their emotions and thoughts from each other. If he had his way, she'd never leave.

"I'll leave after the ceremony tomorrow."

"As you wish," he said, and left.

Tatya waited outside St. Raphael's church for Corwin and his wife, Winona. Without Aunt Lil and Sean, they were the closest she had to family. She came to honor Deputy Bellamy, and offer her support. Changing Sky sent two star quilts and his condolences. He had to leave on urgent business and regretted he could not attend.

Winter was breathing down the neck of the town, and a cold wind whipped the dried brown leaves into a wild dance. She shivered and raised the collar of the black wool coat provided by Vanse, closing it tight around her neck. He'd thoughtfully provided a mourning outfit for her of black trousers, a cashmere sweater, and leather boots.

The local newspaper gave the gas leak one paragraph at the bottom of page five—Bryson's people possessed a long reach. The funeral service was attended only by the families of those who'd died. They would never be given the real reasons for the deaths of their loved ones.

Tatya, Corwin, and Winona were the last to enter the church. A profusion of white lilies filled the oversized vases lining the altar, and magnificent wreaths adorned each of the twenty-five coffins. The military had organized the funerals, and they'd been generous.

Tatya felt numb as the priest spoke poignantly of the departed, and she remained silent as the choir purified the atmosphere with hymns. Keeping her emotions locked under a tight rein was the only way she would get through this. If she sang, the floodgates would open.

After the slow, dignified walk to the cemetery, and Aunt Lil's and Sean's coffins were lowered into the ground side by side, she offered earth and flowers to her dead. She didn't care that Sean's coffin didn't contain his body. He'd died a vampire and their bodies, even those of new vamps, disintegrated soon after death. This was where she would honor his memory.

"Give me a few moments."

"Sure," Corwin said. "I'll just drop Winona home and come back for you."

Winona embraced Tatya. "Anything you need, let us know. We're here for you."

"I know. Thank you. It means a lot."

Tatya remained by the graves, staring down at the coffins, her heart still numb. A reception to honor the families of the dead was being held in the adjoining church hall, but she wasn't attending. She had no desire to socialize or hear sympathetic platitudes; she only wanted to remember the love and happiness she'd shared with these two souls. Organizing the headstones would be top of the list when she returned.

The link sparked. She looked up and saw Vanse, wearing the man's version of her coat, walking toward her. He'd been absent from the funeral service.

"How are you?"

"I've buried my family. For the second time." At least after the first time, she'd not been alone.

"You're not alone, Tatya."

"Get out of my head," she said, but the words were hollow, without force. She was too detached for her words to have any bite. She heard the low growl of Corwin's car as he drove up and parked at the cemetery entrance. It was time to leave.

"How long will you be away?" Vanse asked, his voice neutral, his control as rigid as hers.

"As long as it takes."

"I'll wait that long then. I've been waiting a long time already." A small smile lingered at the corners of his mouth.

She gave him a sharp look. Was that a joke? His golden skin glowed; he was unaffected by the temperature. His dark eyes sparked with gold as the wind blew his hair back from his face. She caught the scent of sandalwood. How had this half-demon, half-vampire lord grown to be part of her life? And what powers did his demon side possess that he'd bestowed on her? At that moment, she was struck by how dependent on him she'd been during the most difficult times. She'd always been so set against his kind she hadn't recognized how familiar, even comfortable, he'd become. The familiarity of lifetimes. "Yeah, well, see you around." She walked over to the car without looking back, opened the passenger door, slid in, and slammed it shut.

"You sure you're ready?" Corwin asked, his fingers tapping the steering wheel.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she said

The car pulled away. Tatya stared ahead although the only thing she could see was the look of longing on Vanse's face as she'd left. She knew, without a fraction of doubt, that he would wait, standing where he was without moving, watching till the car disappeared from sight.

THE END
Here are the first two chapters of Book Two in the _Kala Trilogy_. I hope you enjoy the beginning of the next stage in Tatya's epic thrilling journey.

Vampire's Bane©

By

Teagan Kearney

Chapter One: Starting Over

Angelus's demon heat seared her wrists where he pinned her to the ground, his legs on top of hers, immobilized her. Elation dawned in his blue eyes, brilliant with victory as he reinforced their link. He brought his face close and drew back his lips, showing his pearl white, perfect teeth. His fangs emerged, and he bit down on his lower lip.

She stared, mesmerized, as a droplet of dark red blood bloomed. He bent his mouth to hers. She screamed Vanse's name. His was the strongest link, he loved her. Where was he? Angelus's lips touched hers, and the bead of blood sank into her mouth.

Then the voice of another, chasing the nightmare away. "It's okay, Tatya. It's over. He's gone and can never come back."

And the golden link connecting her to the voice pulsed with reassurance and conviction.

Tatya jerked awake, covered in sweat, her legs entangled in the bedding making it impossible to move. She froze at the sound of footsteps in the corridor till she remembered where she was.

The door opened, and Eva's tousled blonde head and sleep filled eyes appeared in the doorway. "The same dream?"

She nodded. "Sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No problem. It's five thirty, and I wanted to be up early anyway. Coffee?"

"That'd be great. You up for a run before I leave?"

"You bet. Let's see who'll beat who today."

They grinned at the old joke.

After pulling on a sweat top and pants, and downing a quick coffee, Tatya followed Eva down the steep cliff path to the beach. The house was in an isolated spot and saw only occasional visits from a few hardcore surfers. The tide was out, and the dampened sand provided a firm surface for their morning jog.

Eva lasted an hour before staggering to a halt, and gasping for breath. "How you do it is beyond me, but I've had enough. Don't stay too long, I'm making pancakes for breakfast."

Once Eva had left, Tatya let herself go, racing back and forth on the mile-long stretch of white sand for another hour. When she finally tired, she stood for a moment staring out to sea.

Thin gray clouds lay in a line along the horizon, and the pale delicate blue sky hinted at fine weather after yesterday's spring storm. This morning the water was as peaceful as a sleeping babe, its surface smooth and glasslike, tiny wavelets surging and retreating, sushurring softly on the seaweed and driftwood-strewn beach.

She remembered the recurring nightmare.

She sat with others, young and old, men, women, and children on a beach. They shared a fermented drink laughing, joking, drinking, eyes twinkling, and teeth glinting in celebration. Red-orange flames danced under the bright moonlit solstice sky. The bard stared at her across the fire. He'd seated himself opposite where she couldn't avoid his gaze. He smiled, his blue eyes hypnotic as dark gold snakes covered in flickering black lines crawled out of his ears, eyes, nose, and mouth and slithered toward her. She turned to Vanse for help, but as she touched his arm, he disintegrated into ash. Then the half-demon, half-vampire grabbed her, and she was back on that ledge fighting for her life.

The memories and dreams never truly left her. Along with the dreams came thoughts of Vanse. Sometimes she dumped her pent-up lifelong hatred of everything vampiric onto him. At other times, when she could scarcely breathe at the thought of being separated from him, she wondered why she was putting herself through the unnecessary torture of staying away. After today, though, whatever problems she faced, this wouldn't be one of them. Today, she was going home.

To say the relationship between them was complicated was an understatement. Vanse had saved her from the half-demon, half-vampire, Angelus, by giving her his blood, so for a time she'd been connected to both of them. Until she'd killed Angelus. But to keep the demon in hell, she and Vanse needed to stay connected. She could cut him off for short periods, but when either of them thought of the other, the link sparked. Regrettably, she had no power over his thoughts.

She'd miss the sea––its vast unceasing movement and unending changes of color eased her inner restlessness. But she would miss Eva more. They'd been roommates in college, and Eva had offered her shelter and solace while she grieved for the loss of her Aunt Lil and Sean. Tatya laid both deaths at Angelus's feet; his need for her powers had destroyed the people she loved. She had never been able to confirm it, but her aunt's illness must have had a psychic origin, with Angelus the most likely culprit. But Aunt Lil hadn't died from her illness. The monster had orchestrated her death using Sean as his instrument.

An hour later, standing by the truck, Tatya looked around for the final time. The rounded brown hills nearby, the darker purple mountains further away, and as she turned, the dark Prussian blue ocean in the distance. With her heightened senses, she could hear the waves, soft in the background, and she breathed in the fresh salt sea air. Staying here had purified and healed her body and her mind.

"Looking forward to the first road trip in your new baby?" Eva asked, opening the passenger door of the vehicle and dropping Tatya's bag on the floor.

Tatya had spent a part of her aunt's inheritance on a brand new shiny black Chevy truck. She'd never owned a new vehicle. Every single one of her previous cars and trucks had been second, third, or even tenth-hand. "I can't wait to see how it handles. A long drive will give it a chance to stretch its muscles."

"Be careful, though. Remember that card. You've pulled it every single time I've done a reading for you."

Eva was a fortune-teller. A good old-fashioned seer who used a crystal ball, the _I Ching_ , and her specialty, reading Tarot cards, which she'd taught Tatya how to use during her stay. The card she referred to was The Abyss.

The memory of Vanse turning to ash from her dream came to mind. "But you could say there's danger at every step. You can get killed just crossing the road."

"In New York or Los Angeles, yeah. But Orleton?"

They laughed

"You haven't forgotten any of your new outfits, have you?"

One day Eva had surprised her by taken her on a trip to San Francisco's Uptown Oakland district, dragging her from one shop to another, insisting she needed at least a few smart outfits for the next chapter in her life.

"All packed and ready for those big business meetings I'm bound to have."

"What time will you arrive in Orleton?"

"Tomorrow afternoon. I'm going to enjoy the scenery."

"Drive safe."

"Come here, you. Thanks. For everything. I mean it. You're an angel, and I won't forget. I owe you big time." She put her arms around Eva and hugged her tight.

Listening to the engine's smooth purr as she headed for the freeway, she calmed the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She knew why she was nervous. Vanse. She'd put him out of her mind over the winter, while she cried her heart out over the two people she'd lost and mourned their passing. Now she had to return to the land of the living—or in Vanse's case, the land of the undead.

The link flared, as his emotions, knowing she was returning, poured through the connection, and her body shook with the strength of his feeling.

She slowed down, and summoning her power, she cut the link. A short sharp cut. Her hands and fingertips glowed as she gripped the steering wheel. Good. Eva's psychic exercises were working. She no longer leaked like a powder keg waiting to blow. She was stronger physically and psychically. He'd caught her unawares, that was all, but she'd be prepared next time. He should know that overwhelming her wouldn't make any difference to how she felt about him. Sparks would fly and rules would be made clear when they met. Keeping her speed down till her anger calmed, power retreated, and her hands steadied, she fixed her eyes on the ribbon of road ahead. But as she drove, her thoughts kept circling back to the tall dark and handsome vampire.

Vanse had waited centuries for her, but she'd known nothing of this, till knowledge of her past lives had awakened. The trouble was, in her first life she'd loved Vanse, and each time they'd met that love had rekindled. Last autumn, before Vanse halted her transformation, she'd experienced the intense emotions a newbie vamp has for its maker. This was now layered on top of memories of her love for him from the past. Tomorrow she'd be in Orleton, and unable to avoid him. The problem was, despite her protests to the contrary, the thought of seeing him a shiver of anticipation up and down her spine.

Tatya opened the bedroom blinds, flooding the room with bright early morning sun. If she squinted, she could make out a dark line to the southwest, where the land rose in forested slopes. Farther on, was the Glusgap National Forest. Maybe when she got time, she'd drive out that way, do some exploring. She wriggled her toes. Feeling the smooth worn floorboards under her bare feet grounded her, connecting her to this new home. Her intuition had been right. Whoever had lived here had welcomed love in, and it had flourished. Her bedroom, at the rear of the apartment, overlooked a quarter of an acre, which she planned to use for growing herbs. The shop wasn't near the town's two up-market shopping blocks, but sat at the southern end of Main Street, right on the edge of Orleton. Those who wanted to buy her specialist teas or needed her healing skills would find her, and be happy they didn't have to make the trek out of town any more.

The yard had been cleared of the garbage that had littered it when she'd first seen the place, but the well-established weeds would still have to be dug up, roots and all. She'd look into setting up a modern automatic irrigation system when it came time to plant seeds.

Tatya had arrived later than she'd planned yesterday evening. Too tired to do much more than unload her few boxes of clothes, and dump them in the shop, she'd taken her sleeping bag, and slept on the thick piece of foam she'd bought and left last time she was here––it would do till she could buy a new bed.

She decided to go for a run before starting her long list of things to do. Reestablishing the habit at Eva's had given her a clear head at the start of the day, and she'd resolved to maintain the habit. Kimimela Woods wasn't far; twenty acres or so of trees and bushes with paths for dog walkers, joggers, and cyclists designed for residents from the nearby exclusive suburbs.

She pulled into a parking space at a less frequented entrance to the woods. She could have chosen the regular access nearer town—but she'd have had to park in St. Raphael's car park. This would be too near to Vanse's lair in the hospital basement, and she wasn't ready to face him yet. She remembered yesterday's overload, and pushed down on the connection, ensuring it stayed closed. Keeping her mind clear of memories was a challenge, even without the extra stresses brought on by contact with him. Becoming reacquainted with the familiar sights, sounds, and smells of the town she'd grown up in was enough for the moment. She'd get around to Vanse when she was good and ready.

She stretched, although she was positive her muscles no longer needed the warm-up, and entered the woods. Ground mist swirled through the aspen and spruce trunks. By the time she'd run her fifth lap, passing the odd dog walker and fellow runner, the kinks, and anxieties about returning to Orleton had eased. She wondered if she could manage to run all day. How far could she push this hybrid body; what were its limits? An idea flickered. Perhaps she'd take up a martial art, judo or something—didn't the high school run a course in something in the evening? She giggled aloud. Who did she think she'd turned into? Wonder Woman?

Stopping to get her bearings, she realized she'd been too absorbed in her own thoughts and had taken a wrong turn ending up adjacent to the hospital car park. Checking her watch, she realized she'd stayed longer than she intended. The new kitchen was scheduled to arrive this morning. As she turned to retrace her steps, a flash of red caught her eye. Bending and moving aside branches from a low bush at the edge of the track, she peered into the undergrowth. For a second she thought the young woman was asleep—she lay on her back with her arms crossed over her chest, long red-brown hair curling around her shoulders, her expression peaceful. Then gasped as she realized there was no rise and fall of her chest, no air moving in and out of her lungs. She was dead.

Tatya snapped her shields into place, and with her heart drumming faster she took a deep breath and began to scry. Linked to a person's life force, the aura took around twelve hours to disappear. Here, disintegration seemed to be advanced, and tattered remnants of shredded pale green scraps lingered, bleeding into the ether. Her psychic senses spiked, alarms flashed.

"What's wrong?" Vanse's concerned voice quickly broke into her thoughts.

"Nothing," she snapped, startled by the suddenness of his intrusion.

"Tatya, do you need me?"

She softened. Pushing him away was instinct. "I'm fine." She didn't mention the dead woman. Otherwise, he'd be out here in a flash, and working with the sheriff had drummed certain habits into her.

"Are you sure?"

A pulse of warmth caressed, soothed her. "Vanse, back off." But her words were without bite. "I'll see you later." She cut the connection, grateful he'd called. That 'later' had jumped out before she could stop it. She could practically see a lazy smile spreading across his face. Yes, he cared, but he crowded her, was over-protective; yet he had her back. No matter what happened, he'd come if she asked. The thought strengthened her.

She took out her phone. "Bill?" She turned away from the woman's body, wiping away a tear. As a healer, she'd seen death more than once, but young women didn't just come out into the woods, lay down and die. This wasn't a natural death.

"Hey, Tat! You've returned. Great to hear from you. How are you?"

"I'm okay, but I'm standing next to a dead body in the Kimimela Woods. On one of the paths near the hospital."

"Give me your exact location. I'm coming. Don't move."
Chapter Two: Reunions

Probably more by accident than intent, nobody else passed by. She waited, glancing at the woman's half hidden body, looking away, trying not to think of what had happened here. Spring was in full swing, columbines and wild licorice blooms peppered the earth. Soft baby leaves, waiting to uncurl, covered nearby tree branches as sap rose and new life was born. Life and death: the eternal cycle. A wave of sadness at the tragedy of a young life cut short swept through Tatya. She paced, impatient for the sheriff and his deputies to arrive. Abruptly she heard sirens, cars, and then voices as people hurried along the track toward her.

Sheriff Corwin came first. "Good to see you, Tatya. Got you a latte." Bill grinned at her.

Overcome with relief at his arrival, she threw her arms around him.

"Hey! Watch the coffee."

"Sorry." She pulled away. She and Bill didn't normally do hugs, but he wasn't just the county sheriff. Over the years she'd known and worked with him, he'd become one of her closest friends. He understood what she'd been through last year having been part of the team that stood by her when Angelus and his demon hordes descended on the town. He and Changing Sky together had become the father she'd lost when young.

"And boy, am I glad to see you too." He pulled her close, hugging her again. "Okay, business first, Tat." He handed her the coffee. "I'll take your statement, and then you're free to go." He turned to the deputies behind him, "Branton, get the area roped off. Where's Morton? We need pics ASAP." He turned back to Tatya. "Have you, you know, done your thing?" Bill had often hired her, in an unofficial capacity, to scry and search for clues when somebody or something went missing. Despite his pragmatic outlook on life, he understood there was more to life than meets the eye.

She nodded. "Just a little." Vanse had interrupted her scrying. "Then I thought it better I phone you."

"And?"

"It's probably nothing but there was something about her aura that didn't seem right, though I can't put my finger on exactly what. Sorry, Bill, that's not much help, is it?"

After Bill took her statement, he sent her home, telling her he'd be in contact if they needed anything else.

Tatya left, relieved to be dismissed from the crime scene; her appreciation increased for the work the sheriff and his men did. Dealing with the worst of human behavior was a tough job.

Within minutes of walking into the shop, Tatya was supervising the installation of her new kitchen. One week. That's how long she'd give herself to get everything shipshape before opening the shop.

The workmen left by mid-afternoon. They'd connected the cooker to the mains, installed the fridge freezer, washing machine, cupboard units, and breakfast bar. She liked the clean shiny whiteness of everything. This venture would work. She sighed in relief. She'd dedicate every ounce of energy she had into creating a successful business to honor Sean and Aunt Lil.

An hour later, not wanting to give herself time to brood over the morning's discovery, she unloaded cans of paint from the truck and stacked them on the shop floor. She worked steadily through the afternoon, admiring the delicate light green shade she painted on the walls.

The wind chimes she'd hung on the front door jingled.

"Tat."

She flew across the room and Bill enfolded her in his arms. "Whoa! Twice in the same day?"

"Yes, I missed you. Hey, you're not blushing, are you?"

"Nah. I've fallen in love with that black beauty out front. I take it that's yours? And, if you haven't noticed, I'm jealous."

She laughed, leading him into the kitchen.

"Wow. Don't invite Winona over. She'd nag me to death if she saw this place. Which reminds me, you're invited to dinner tonight, and don't even try to make any excuses."

"Will there be pie?"

Bill nodded.

"How can I refuse?" she laughed.

Winona still suffered from empty nest syndrome, even though the last of their three kids had left for college over a year and a half ago, and took every opportunity to mother Tatya. Which meant lots of pie, and Winona's apple pies were competition winners.

"Have a seat. Tea?" Bill loved her sage tea though she was under threat of arrest if she ever told anyone.

He made himself comfortable on one of the chrome stools by the breakfast bar. "How are you after this morning?"

"I'm okay. Keeping busy." Tatya gestured around the room. "Any information you're allowed to tell me?"

"It was a vampire."

She paused, let the knowledge sink in, and controlled the shudder that ran through her.

"Have you met up with Vanse yet?" The sheriff was one of the few people who were aware of her relationship with the vampire master.

"No, but I'm certain he'll drop by soon. I promise you'll be the first to know if anything develops in that department—positive or otherwise." She tilted her head to the side. "You want me to give him a message?"

"No. I was being nosey. When you see him, don't mention this morning. Not yet anyway. Okay?"

"No problem."

"Are you still up for doing the occasional job for me?"

"Of course." She remembered how peaceful the woman looked and hoped they caught whoever murdered her. "You got anything particular in mind?"

"I'll call you tomorrow and let you know."

"You're a caring man, Sheriff Corwin, but remember I'm not as delicate as I look."

Bill laughed. He made the appropriate noises as she showed him the small room she planned to use for healing and consultations, the lounge, the future herb plot, and the two rooms upstairs; her bedroom and a second room. She hadn't yet decided whether to use it as a study or a meditation room. "I've got furniture, a bed, and other bits and pieces, ordered, but opening the shop is the priority."'

"Have you thought of using Rob Svenson? His rates are reasonable and he's quick. He'd get the walls painted, and any other jobs you wanted done."

"I need to keep busy. Does he do signs? I need someone to put the name of the shop up."

Bill nodded. "I'll get his number to you." He studied Tatya. "You're looking well, Tatya."

"Why thank you, kind sir." She bobbed a curtsey at him.

"No, I mean it. You're looking strong and healthy. Winona expects you at seven. Don't be late, you know how she is when the food gets cold."

"Yes, sir!"

After Corwin left, Tatya tried to control her wayward thoughts. She had another latte, enjoying the mellow taste of the brew from her new shiny steel coffee machine. The caffeine had little or no effect on her metabolism these days—whether it was the demon half or the vampire half responsible for her physical changes she couldn't tell. Maybe it was both. More stuff she didn't want to bother thinking about. She deliberately pushed thoughts of the master vampire out of her mind. Vanse would visit soon enough. She didn't know how or why, but when he was around, her difficulties somehow multiplied.

The link flickered, and she broke the connection instantly. Dismissing thoughts of him had somehow been easier at Eva's. Was it possible physical distance made a difference? Today she'd found herself unable to ignore the bond and blocking him took constant effort. What she needed was a conversation with him. Get things out in the open. She wasn't clear in her mind exactly what things. But she wouldn't be making the first move. There, read that thought. She knew he smiled at the challenge.

She returned to painting and covering up the grubby beige color with the soft green she'd chosen. With luck, she'd get two walls done today. But thinking of Vanse had turned on a tap.

The bond stayed quiescent, but memories surfaced, one after another–memories she'd kept in check for the last six months–lying next to him, her head on his chest, his arm heavy as it lay across her shoulders. The protection his presence gave. How many times had he saved her? When she'd agreed to surrender to Angelus, Vanse had offered the most resistance, but she'd never thanked him. She just took his help as if all he had to do was run after her and save her.

Most damning of all was the memory of how she'd felt toward him when she woke after having imbibed his blood. For a short time, she'd been consumed with love and adoration for him, would have done anything he asked to please him. Her devotion to him, the absolute need to satisfy him as her maker was like nothing she'd ever experienced with another human. It had been far richer and deeper. But he'd halted her transformation, and she'd not become a vampire, although the link remained. Even the slightest mental allusion to that time revived those emotions, and the golden chain between them would flare into life.

Tatya painted furiously, but the memories wouldn't lie quiet. She kept seeing his soulful brown eyes, golden skin, and black hair; his head tilted just slightly as he studied her when he thought she didn't notice. He was always protecting her despite the cost to both of them, when the safer option would have been to walk away. But she was back in Orleton and if she wasn't going anywhere then she had to face whatever came her way—including him.

She finished the wall, and satisfied with the afternoon's work, packed away the paint and brushes. Mrs. Mallachy's daughter was an artist, and she'd thought of commissioning her to paint a mural on one of the walls. Something to create a visual impact when customers entered though she'd yet to come up with any clear ideas. A Garden of Eden, minus Adam and Eve?

Dinner at Bill and Winona's was great. As they ate Winona commented on how long and thick Tatya's hair was getting, and asked if she planned to keep it long.

When Aunt Lil was alive, she'd always trimmed Tatya's hair, keeping her thick brown wavy curls short and under control, but since her aunt's death, she'd let her hair grow. Now it was longer, thicker, and the red highlights more noticeable. The upside was she could now pull it back into a ponytail though it never stayed as tight or neat or out of her face as she'd have liked.

Winona was more than happy to keep piling the pie and cream on her plate.

Tatya didn't stay late. Bill worked long hours, and an evening at home undisturbed was rare.

"Drop in any time," Winona called after her as she headed out the door.

"With pie as heavenly as yours, you'll be seeing a lot more of me," Tatya responded with a wave.

She took her time driving home, enveloped in the warm haze that friendship and delicious home cooked food generated.

Most of Orleton was quiet at night, except for a few bars at the other end of town, where the young explored the few options available, and older sadder adults drank their misfortunes into oblivion.

Tatya parked the truck and was digging out the door key from the depths of her purse when the link blazed.

Suddenly Vanse was behind her. "Good evening, Tatiana." His voice stroked her skin. His eyes bored into her.

She shivered. "Tatya. It's Tatya. We've had this conversation before." She dampened her emotions. This was the present, not the past. In this life, she didn't love him. She didn't.

"My apologies."

"Come in." There was no point in denying him entry—they were well beyond the stage of polite strangers. Added to which, even in this day and age there were people who objected to interspecies mingling, and a night conversation with the local vampire master might offer a nosey neighbor grist for the local gossip mill. She led him through the shop front, and into the kitchen.

He took in the new kitchen and the lack of furniture in the rest of the living space. "If you need help finishing off the place, I will send someone over to shop for whatever you want."

"Thanks, but I got it covered." Okay, it wouldn't be the top of the range modern or expensive antiques he enjoyed in his extensive underground lair, but whatever she chose, she'd pay for it herself. "Coffee or sage tea?"

"Coffee. Black—"

"I remember. Black, no sugar. Have a seat." She gestured at the breakfast bar.

Vanse sat, not saying a word, never taking his gaze off her as she made him coffee, and a cup of sage tea for herself.

"So, what can I do for you?" She kept her tone neutral, her emotions under control, sensing nothing from the link. He was behaving, not pushing the boundaries... not yet anyway.

"How are you?"

Away from Orleton, everything had been sorted. Now she was back, face-to-face with him, nothing was clear anymore. Her skin prickled as her power rose and fell, responding to her wavering emotions. Relax, she told herself. It's a normal question to ask when you've not seen someone for a while. Everyone will be asking the same thing. The connection flared and a wave of power from Vanse enveloped her, soothing, easing the pain of remembering.

"Don't!" She cut him off sharp and hard.

"Tatya, you can't pretend the past hasn't happened. Whether you desire it or not, I'm in your life. I am always aware of your emotions, affected by them. Even if I didn't have these feelings for you, your change is comparatively recent. As your maker and someone who observes those obligations, I'm duty bound to help."

Tatya's power surged, a white-hot throb of anger. She flexed her hands as power dripped from her fingertips and the cup between her hands glowed. So much for her control. "Obligations? What does that mean? And I don't want your help, thanks. I'm a grown woman and capable of managing without it."

"Vampires have laws we are supposed to follow. There are consequences for those who don't. I'll explain them if you wish."

"No, I don't wish. You are not my master. Not now, not ever." She slammed her cup down on the counter. A sharp crack echoed through the kitchen. She stared at the smashed pieces in horror.

Another surge of power; this time restraining her. "Tatya." A world of sadness in the way he spoke her name.

Her resistance crumbled, and suddenly his arms were around her, holding her close, stroking her hair, sending wonderful shivers of pleasure down her spine. The idea of surrender was tempting—she just had to give in—so easy. "Promise me you will never compel me to do anything."

"Tatya..."

"If you can't promise me I have free will, then linked or not, there's no future in this relationship." She stared up him, her teeth biting her lower lip. He was so beautiful. The lines of his cheekbones and jaw. The brown eyes full of emotion; regret, sadness, love. She saw them in his gaze, but she wouldn't be controlled. Not by him, not by anybody. She pushed him away. He let her go.

"I will not force you, Tatya, but we have always had, and always will have a connection."

Was this his method of bringing her up-to-date? Informing her the rules of the game had changed? "Our lives are too different for you and me to work. Besides, a proper relationship takes two equal partners." She saw him flinch. Yes, he could compel her, but that wasn't his style. Damn him. Passion for him from past lives swirled and mixed with her feelings for him in this one, impossible to separate one from the other.

"I'll make you a promise, Tatya." He smiled. That lazy smile of his. "I am capable of waiting for as long as it takes for you to work out whatever it is that's bothering you; unless I think you are in danger our bond will stay dormant. I'll keep my distance, and will not activate my dominance for the moment. Will that satisfy you?"

"For the moment?" When he didn't respond, she continued. "Yes, fine. Okay. Stay out of my life." She searched under the sink, found a dustpan and brush, and began cleaning up the mess. "You know where the door is." She didn't look up at him, but there was no ignoring the weight of his intent pressing on her as he left. Or the sense of isolation and loneliness after he'd gone.

#

# FROM THE AUTHOR

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