 
## Blood Song

### Lynda Hilburn

Copyright 2014 Lynda Hilburn

Digital Edition published by Lynda Hilburn at Smashwords 2014

Cover design by Kim Killion

Digital formatting by A Thirsty Mind Book Design

All rights reserved. No part of this book, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, may be reproduced in any form by any means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission from the author.

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

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Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Epilogue

Titles

Excerpt: Blood Therapy

Excerpt: The Vampire Shrink

Meet Lynda Hilburn

# Boulder Daily Times  
September 9, 2013

### More Bodies Found in Boulder Canyon Near Silver Hill

_Another cache of mutilated bodies was discovered by hikers today, buried in a shallow grave at the bottom of Cline Ravine, near the location of two previous sites. Specific details of the murders are being withheld from the public in order to assist in finding the killer or killers. A reliable source in the Sheriff's Department tells_ The Times _they have information only the perpetrator will know. As in the other cases, the bodies were found by visitors to the area. According to witness Dan Ogden, "We were walking back from our campsite, and wouldn't have found the remains, except my buddy Jake tripped over a rock and slid down the side of the mountain. When we went to get him, we saw arms sticking out from the dirt. Lots of arms. At least ten dead people. It was gross, dude." All possible resources have been mobilized to help police find the responsible parties. The victims have yet to be identified. No further information was available by press deadline. Check online for the latest updates._

# Chapter 1

"Awesome sound circle, Grace," a dreadlocked woman said. "I'm so glad my friend talked me into coming. I've never heard anyone do what you can do."

"Yeah." A man wearing a kilt stretched his upper torso and sighed. "It was like your voice actually flowed through my body and gave me an inner massage. I was so relaxed I could barely get out of the chair when we were finished. Where'd you learn to sing like that?"

Grace smiled, locked the door to her studio, and then turned to the group of new attendees lingering on the sidewalk in front of the building. "Thanks. I don't ever remember _not_ being able to sing. It came naturally, like breathing. Even the healing aspects appeared without any help from me."

And without any invitation. Lucky me.

"That really was an amazing experience," said a tall man, dressed in a long, velvet cape and top hat. "My back hurt before we started, but now I feel great. I'd never heard of sound healing until I moved to Colorado. I looked you up online. You're pretty famous. Why aren't you living somewhere like New York or L.A., where you can make a bigger name for yourself?"

That's the last thing I want...

"I _have_ lived in both those cities," Grace said, "and I made a lot of great musical contacts. But those places are too wild and crazy for me. I prefer small, quirky locations like Boulder, where I can keep a low profile and," she laughed, "stay sane. I don't really want to be on a national stage anymore. It's exhausting." _And risky._

"Is it true you can heal people with your voice by long distance, without even being near them?" a short, blond woman asked. "How does that work?"

They all stared, eyes wide.

"Yes, it's true." She grinned. Participants were always so curious about this aspect of sound healing. Even though she answered the same questions over and over again, she didn't mind. She was glad people were interested. She liked sharing her passion. "I use my voice to heal over distances, but I don't pretend to understand how or why it works. People have lots of different theories, mostly based on the idea that time and space are illusions. Some think it's magic, but it feels pretty normal to me. As a matter of fact, I'm giving a lecture about sound healing at the university in a few weeks. If you want to attend, I can email you information."

"Oh, yes! Please." The woman clapped her hands with enthusiasm. The others echoed her.

They tightened their half-circle, as if they sensed her eagerness to leave.

"We're heading over to grab a drink at the pub down the street," Top Hat pointed. "Would you like to join us? It would be so cool to hang out with you. You could tell us some of your famous musician stories. And," he shrugged, "maybe you shouldn't walk home alone. Even in a small town like Boulder, women can't be too careful. We can escort you back to your place afterward." They all began speaking at once, trying to persuade her.

She looked into their sincere faces. It was the same every time. Everyone got so energized after participating in the sound circle that they tried to stretch the evening out as long as possible. She, on the other hand, yearned for peace, quiet and a glass of wine in her living room. After a session, solitude was crucial in order to recharge. Walking home through the quiet, tree-lined streets at the end of the evening had become a private pleasure.

A true introvert, she selfishly guarded her alone time. Of course, sometimes she envied her extroverted friends' active social lives, but not enough to actually step out of her protective bubble. She definitely knew better than to do that.

"Thanks for the offer, but I've been going non-stop since early this morning. I'm ready to kick off my shoes and crawl into bed." Purposefully, she rummaged through her shoulder bag and pulled out a small aerosol canister. "And there's no reason to worry about me." She raised the container. "I've got my trusty pepper spray. I'm armed and dangerous. My house is only a few blocks up the hill, and in all the time I've lived here, nobody's ever bothered me."

She caught herself before saying she'd never even encountered a mountain lion, though they were native to the area. It wouldn't be wise to give her companions any more ideas about why she might need company—whether she wanted it or not. Nothing scary had ever happened to her during her walks in the foothills, fanged predators or otherwise. _Unfortunately, nothing exciting, either._

They continued their appeals for a few more seconds as she waved and started up the street before the group could foil her escape. "Have a good time at the pub. I'll see you at the next sound circle." She appreciated all her clients and circle members, but it had been a long week and it wasn't over yet.

After a couple of minutes—certain that none of them had followed her—she slowed her pace, took a few deep breaths and let herself unwind. Retreating into nature was her favorite part of the day. The lingering tension in her shoulders began to ease.

The sidewalk rose in a gentle incline as she strolled, enjoying the fresh air and savoring the silence. When she reached a familiar dead end, the well-worn path to her neighborhood veered off into the foothills. She paused for a moment to take in the view, which never failed to dazzle her. Soaking in the ambiance, she gazed up in wonder. The full moon illuminated the peaks of the Rocky Mountains, outlining them in breathtaking detail against the star-studded tapestry of the night sky. Lights from the houses sprinkled across the canyon glittered like suspended fireflies in the magical darkness.

"What a beautiful spot," she said aloud, as she continued on. "Beats the hell out of the crowded streets of New York and graffiti-covered buildings in L.A." She'd talked to herself since childhood and had long ago given up worrying about any mental health implications of the behavior. "And this is the most beautiful hiding place I've found so far."

The late summer air held a subtle hint of fall, and she fantasized about the Autumn Equinox sound ritual she'd be helping with again this year. As usual, the organizers had invited sound healers from all over the world to participate. They'd asked her to take a more visible leadership position, but she'd made excuses, saying she preferred to work in the background. No reason to borrow trouble.

Thinking about trouble triggered a memory of the handsome Brazilian musician she'd met at the Summer Solstice celebration in Rio several weeks earlier. Heat shimmered through her body.

_Silvio_.

It was impossible not to smile at the vision.

He'd attended one of her sound healing demonstrations, and had waited to speak to her afterward to discuss the car accident that injured his hand. His doctors gave up on him, saying his recovery hadn't progressed as expected and they were out of options. Silvio feared his guitar playing would never be the same again. While they chatted, he smiled at her with those amazing, full lips—displaying wicked dimples and beautiful white teeth—and raised his hand up in the air, flexing his fingers. He said her singing had taken away the pain and stiffness when nothing else had.

His gratitude gave her the same uncomfortable feeling she always got when people thanked her. She'd never made peace with accepting praise for something she wasn't in charge of. Besides, she couldn't take credit for the positive things without owning the negative, and she was beyond tired of thinking about the dark side of her abilities. Her voice often felt like an unwanted obligation she hadn't signed up for, at least not consciously. Friends believed her talents came from a past life, which made her laugh. If that were true, she couldn't imagine what awful thing she'd done in her past life to cause her double-edged sword in the present.

She'd gladly trade her unique pipes for a normal existence. Whatever _that_ was.

She crossed a bridge over a fast-moving creek and trailed her hand along the wooden railing. Listening to the water soothed her, and her mind wandered back to the handsome Silvio. He _had_ been a feast for the eyes. Curly, dark hair skimmed well-toned shoulders appealingly displayed in a sleeveless T-shirt. His expressive, sensual eyes matched the color of the Mediterranean Sea, and she'd longed to dive in.

He'd done his best to charm her with his delicious accent and sweet invitation. "Please," he said, "you must allow me to take you to dinner, to repay you in some small way for your gift." His enticing aroma had caressed her nostrils and teased her libido.

She'd wanted to say yes—to spend the rest of the night with the gorgeous musician—but when she opened her mouth to speak, nothing came out. Her desire warred with fear. Now thirty, she had much better control of her voice than she'd had earlier in her life, and she was _almost_ certain she wouldn't hurt anyone by accident ever again. But past experience taught her to be cautious. To hold back. She'd seen what happened when her emotions spiked and her hormones kicked in, and vowed never to put herself—or anyone else—in harm's way.

But what if I can't ever have sex again? What kind of life would that be?

Her cheeks warmed as she recalled the lame excuse she offered to avoid spending time alone with Silvio. "I'm sorry," she'd said. "I have to prepare for my workshop tomorrow. I haven't typed up my notes yet." _Haven't typed up my notes yet? I don't use notes. I might as well have used the 'I have to wash my hair tonight' cliché!_

A mischievous smile curved his lips. "I could help you." He waited, eyebrow raised.

She almost fanned herself. _Ooh, Baby. You certainly could. More than you know._

"No. Really, I wish I could, but I can't. Maybe some other time?" _Sure. Anytime you'd like to have your brains blast out of your ears, or the contents of your stomach suddenly evacuate in both directions. Sounds like fun to me._

He'd seemed truly disappointed, but accepted her refusal graciously, with an elegant nod and another heart-stopping smile. It wasn't as if she could tell him the truth. Not that he'd believe her, anyway.

Few people knew her dark secret: her voice was a blessing and a curse. Even fewer understood what it was like to fear oneself as she did.

Lost in the memory of Silvio and the missed opportunity with him, she tried to dislodge the familiar melancholy, which curled through her mind like psychic fog. She knew better than to ruminate about what she couldn't have. But, hell. Sometimes reality sucked big time.

Despite her lifelong fantasies, no white knight would be charging to her rescue.

She sighed, thinking that if an unsuspecting champion rode up behind her and startled her, she'd likely scream and explode his head or something. Not exactly the fairy tale ending she'd dreamed of as a child. She'd learned early that her life was stranger than fiction. "It's hard not to be pissed off!"

Why the hell did she send Silvio an invitation to the Equinox ritual? Was she trying to sabotage herself and create another disaster? He hadn't replied, but what if he showed up? What would she do then? She'd made a mess of things years ago, the last time she tried to tempt the fates and play with fire.

A rustling sound a few feet away snapped her attention from her fretting. On guard, she froze and raised the pepper spray, scanned the bushes and trees, and listened. Her heart pounded against her ribs, and her mouth went dry. Adrenaline shot through her system.

That's what she got for being cavalier about mountain lions. Only idiots daydreamed and talked to themselves while navigating through cougar territory. Simply because she'd never come across one of the beasts, didn't mean they weren't here. Her hands trembled so badly she almost lost her grip on the canister. Weak knees threatened to fold. She'd heard the deadly cats stalked their prey. Was one watching her now? Her mind spun as she tried to remember what the recent article in the local newspaper said about the lethal animals: try to look big and never run. Run? Even though her brain demanded action, she didn't think her rubbery legs could manage.

Heart hammering, she waited in the thick silence with her finger poised over the canister, muscles tight. Her gaze darted from side to side, senses on full alert. The seconds passed like hours. Finally—when nothing happened—she let out a shuddered breath, relieved her imagination had probably exaggerated the sound of a deer or a raccoon.

Whether her voice could cause destruction on command remained a mystery, since all her previous experiences had been unplanned, but she didn't want to find out.

Sighing, she'd just relaxed her shoulders and taken a couple of shaky steps up the path, when something burst out of the bushes. Something large.

She pivoted toward the movement, screamed and pressed the spray button, sending a shower of hot cayenne pepper into the eyes of a husky male who'd lunged at her, hands clutching, mouth gaping to reveal long, bloody fangs. He shrieked as the irritant coated his eyes and face, but still managed to tackle her, slamming her body down onto the dirt path. Her canister bounced against the ground and rolled away.

The man—or whatever he was—had outrageous strength. He pressed against her like a concrete slab, easily holding her down, while madly swiping at his eyes with his free hand. The treacherous, long, razor teeth she'd glimpsed as he'd leapt at her were poised over her neck, dripping saliva and blood. The slimy, wet substance oozed down her shirt as she choked on the hideous stench of his breath.

His long dark hair hung filthy and stringy, his skin deathly pale, his clothing torn and disgusting.

She kicked and flailed, pushing against his powerful shoulder, struggling to dislodge the creature. Her arms ached from the useless pounding. Her throat went raw from screaming, which didn't seem to slow the demon. What the hell? Now that she wanted to use her voice as a weapon—to unleash her vocal arsenal—it didn't work. He seemed immune. After all the years of worrying about accidentally harming someone, now her voice betrayed her.

The beast's body weighed so heavy against her chest, she feared her ribs would snap any second. Her heart thundered in her ears as if about to implode from terror. He'd kept up a growling rumble, punctuated by yelps and groans, as he frantically worked to wipe his face and clear his eyes.

Struggling for air, she gasped, all the fight gone out of her limbs. Paralyzed.

The tips of his pointed fangs broke through the skin of her neck, sending a wave of sharp pain shooting down her body _. No! This is it! This is how my life ends. It was all for nothing!_ Fury, sadness and hopelessness crashed over her. She raged against the feelings, trying not to give in, but her body wouldn't cooperate. It was over. And as soon as she accepted the end, a feeling of peace swept through her, leaving behind a strange stillness. She braced for the expected horror, the gut-wrenching torment she was sure would come.

Then suddenly the monster was gone. His weight no longer pressed on her chest. She could breathe. Startled, she blinked her eyes, realizing she must have closed them in her panic.

Am I dead?

For a moment she felt certain she'd been killed, that the thing had torn out her throat or crushed her heart. She hadn't seen a white light or a tunnel, or any of the near-death symbols always present in books and movies. There were no idyllic scenes, no relatives arriving to guide her to greener pastures. No sage wisdom. And, it _was_ strange that her body still hurt, which she hadn't expected to experience after death. Who knew there would be physical sensations after leaving the body? But she _had_ to be dead. There was simply no other possible explanation.

Because she'd gazed up into the perfect face of an angel.

And then nothing.

# Chapter 2

"Shit!" Ethan yelled. He grabbed the back of the undead troublemaker's filthy shirt, jerked him off the woman, and dangled him in the air. Blood leaked from the attacker's ears.

"Nelson! Come and take this vermin, would you?"

A low moan turned his gaze to the frightened eyes of the beautiful woman sprawled on the path. He gave her the command to sleep, and watched her eyelids close. That would hold her for at least twelve hours. Despite her blood-soaked clothing, her heart pumped strong. She wasn't near death.

Of all the rotten luck. He lost sight of the brainless newbie for one minute, and look what happened. Of course there had to be a mortal walking around. Why didn't these humans stay in their houses at night, like they were supposed to?

Nelson thrashed through the trees and retrieved the snarling bloodsucker from Ethan's grip. He locked eyes with the flailing fiend, and gave him a suggestion to be still. "Damn. This fool is covered in blood. He's gonna ruin my favorite shirt." Nelson flopped the now-quiet perpetrator over his shoulder. "Sneaky bastard almost got away, didn't he? I think we both need a vacation from this job."

"Yeah." Ethan snorted. "That'll happen." Since Mordecai came to town and started turning out these mindless morons at a disturbing rate, he and Nelson were in greater demand than ever. There seemed to be no end to the number of bloodsucking idiots they had to track down and capture. Why did Mordecai only turn humans who couldn't find their asses with a flashlight? "As long as stupidity is the main requirement for Mordecai's recruits, we're stuck. Why does Alexander always have to piss him off? If he hadn't brought his grudge match to our quiet little mountain town, we'd be dozing in our coffins or watching reality TV right now."

"Dude." Nelson laughed. "Fine way to talk about your lord and master. Alexander's okay. He's got a little bit of an anger control problem. Maybe a few sociopathic tendencies. Nothing a few electroshock sessions while he was still human wouldn't have cured. And Mordecai knows exactly how to push his buttons. They're two sides of the same demented coin."

Nelson flexed his shoulder to rebalance his undead cargo and nodded at Ethan. "You know how it is. Vampire bullshit. One drama after another. Angst is our middle name. If we weren't focused on Mordecai's minions, it would be something equally ridiculous. How else would we fill eternity? Speaking of dramas," he pointed at the sleeping form on the ground, "what are you going to do with the delicious morsel our brainless friend attacked? You probably shouldn't leave her here. All that blood will draw attention. We aren't the only predators prowling the area."

"You're right. Time for Plan B."

"That's weird." Nelson turned his head toward his passenger and sniffed. "Most of the blood on our disgusting guest isn't the woman's. Did this newbie asshole bite himself instead of her? Mordecai obviously hit a new low with this one."

"You got that right." Ethan sighed and studied the woman. "The moron did bite her, but I'm not sensing much blood loss. She'll be okay." And now that he looked more closely, he had to admit she was a looker. In the forty years he'd been a vampire, he'd rarely paid more than passing attention to a mortal female. It was simply too dangerous for him to be around most humans. The blood lust burned powerfully strong, and their fragile bodies were no match for his hunger. He didn't have the age or ability needed to ignore the urge to suck them dry. Every time he'd been around humans, he'd nearly lost control of himself, and since he was still sensitive enough to be bothered by useless slaughter, he avoided temptation altogether.

Of course, he had no problem drinking from the lowlife drug dealers, criminals and pedophiles who unknowingly volunteered to become his nightly entrees. Their blood tasted as sweet as any other, and he considered their executions to be acts of public service. He'd even become remarkably talented at disposing of the drained corpses, so he never broke the cardinal rule of vampirism: remain hidden at all costs. In his world, it was a true death sentence to betray the existence of the undead.

A slow smile spread his lips as he explored her body with his gaze. This one was lovely. When she'd stared up at him with her dark eyes, he'd had the odd notion that she was much older than she appeared. But, strange ideas aside, Nelson was right. He couldn't leave her as bait for the normal part of the animal kingdom.

"I'll carry her over to her house, clean her up, wipe her memory of having crossed paths with our repulsive friend, and give her the suggestion that she'd arrived home and gone to bed as expected. Go ahead and take your package to Alexander's and dispose of him. I'll join you shortly."

Nelson smirked. "Why do you always get the good jobs?"

"Because I'm me and it sucks to be you." Ethan laughed. _Sucks to be all of us._

Nelson tromped off through the bushes with his cargo, and Ethan squatted down next to the woman. He smelled her blood through the distracting odor of the newbie's donation, which wasn't fit for consumption. Vampire blood held no life force.

The woman's scent enticed him, and the pulsing vein in her exposed neck made his fangs descend. As his usual feeding trance threatened to enthrall him, he argued with himself about whether to act on his immediate needs or take her home. His primal brain insisted he could simply drain her and dispose of the body. Nobody would be the wiser. He was so hungry. But something about her gave him pause—an intriguing element he didn't want to destroy. In fact, the more he stared at her, the greater his curiosity about the pretty human grew. A faint voice in his head, a remnant of what he used to be, piped in to insist he wasn't an animal.

_Stop it!_ he hissed at his brain, constantly warring between his two natures. He closed his eyes, and locked down his raging blood lust.

He scooped her into his arms, grabbed her purse, and scanned the area to make sure no other humans lurked about. Satisfied they were alone, he followed her scent up the narrow path to the group of houses tucked away on the side of the mountain. It was pure luck that nobody had heard the woman's screams. But he moved quickly, just in case rescuers were on their way.

It was a short trip to her two-story Victorian. Her fragrance permeated the area around the house. He assumed she must walk the path often in order for the aroma to be so strong. The house smelled of herbs, coffee, flowers—and her.

He climbed onto her front porch and jiggled the knob on the front door. Locked. He instinctively tightened his grip on the handle, intending to use his vampire strength to shatter the deadbolt, but then—at the last second—he thought better of it. No use drawing unwanted attention to his visit.

"Well, Sleeping Beauty. Let's see what other options are available," he whispered, then walked them around the back of the house and tried that door. Also locked. "I'd congratulate you on being so security-minded, gorgeous, but right now it's a pain in my ass."

He needed to do something quickly before one of her neighbors spotted him. Looking up, he scanned the windows on the second floor and smiled. "Now we're talkin'. You left your bedroom window open a crack. That'll do just fine. Hang on now." He shifted her limp form into a fireman's hold over his shoulder and effortlessly scaled the back of the house until he reached the window. He shoved it open, stepped inside, then dropped her purse he'd been carrying on his arm like a fashion accessory onto the floor, and headed for the bathroom.

It suddenly occurred to him that he could have fished her door keys out of her purse, but he hadn't even considered doing that. "Ethan! You don't always have to do everything the hard way! Use your brain."

Clearly, he couldn't put her to bed with so much blood everywhere. Not if he wanted her to wake in the morning and _not_ call the police to report an assault. What could he do about the bite marks the revenant had left on the woman's neck? His saliva might not close the wounds left by another vampire. But one thing was sure: Alexander would be angry if the police got wind of any alleged "vampire attacks."

He flipped the light switch, and the spacious room filled with a soft glow.

"Okay. What's the best way to get you cleaned up, my lady?" Ethan asked his unconscious companion. He noticed an old-fashioned, claw-foot bathtub surrounded by a Harry Potter shower curtain. "Which do you prefer? Bath or shower?" He leaned in, as if to listen more closely. "What? A shower, you say? Because it's easier to wash the scum out of your hair? You read my mind. That's exactly what I was thinking. And, look here. You even have one of those hand-held shower heads. This is our lucky day." He frowned and made a disparaging noise. "Geez. Here I am, talking to myself. Playing pretend with a zonked-out human. What kind of nutcase does that?" _Maybe it's true that vampires lose their minds after a few decades. I doubt if there are any assisted living places for the bloodsucking version of dementia. Of course, I could always walk into the sun. True-death wish, anyone?_

He gently balanced her over his shoulder and pushed the plastic curtain out of the way. Then he turned on the water, adjusted the temperature and removed the shower nozzle, laying it on the bottom of the tub.

"Well, Damsel in Distress, I'm ready if you are." He pulled a chair from the corner and sat her on it, holding her shoulder with one hand while he unbuttoned her silver blouse with his other hand. "I can't make any promises, but I'll try my best to be a gentleman." He slid the fabric down one arm, then the other, and dropped it on the tiles. "Of course, vampires lie, so you can't really believe anything I tell you. Let's say that when I was alive I didn't do anything awful. I was respectful of women."

He lost his focus for a few seconds as he appreciated the picture she made, sitting there in her lacy white bra. He lifted the long, golden, blood-clumped hair away and reached behind her to release the hooks. Her round, full breasts sprang free as if they'd been held captive. Pink nipples stood at attention.

He licked his lips.

The romance novels had it right about vampires and sex. He'd heard that the very old vampires eventually lost interest in the horizontal bop, but the rest of the undead were always primed and ready for a toothsome seduction scene. For bloodsuckers, it didn't get any better than sucking on a fat vein while pumping in a warm, wet sheath. Of course, it went without saying that their companions had the best sex of their lives.

Unfortunately, in some cases, it was also the last sex of their lives. Vampires weren't known for self-restraint.

He realized his fangs had descended again, and he shook himself to break the self-induced spell.

"Damn. Help me out here, blondie. Stop looking so desirable so I can hose you down before I give in to my base nature." He tugged off her jeans and panties and sighed. "Ah, blonde everywhere, I see." Then he transferred her from the chair to the bathtub. Her boneless body slid down the porcelain.

He tested the water temperature and mentally debated whether to use soap and shampoo, and clean her properly, or to squirt her with water to get rid of the worst of the carnage. He had no doubt it would be dangerous for him to put his hands on her.

"The hands-off version, it is." He lifted the showerhead, pointed the spray at the dried blood on her hair and body and squirted away the evidence of her rendezvous with a newly risen night walker.

When he was satisfied with the job, he turned off the water and snagged a towel from the rack. Wrapping it around her shoulders, he lifted her out of the tub before turning off the light. He walked them into her bedroom, held her with one hand while pulling down the covers, then deposited her on the soft mattress.

"Mission accomplished."

He leaned down, brushed a stray clump of hair from her face, and burst out laughing. "Oh, crap. I'm sure that's not how your eye makeup is supposed to look. I managed to change you from Cinderella to Alice Cooper with my clumsy spraying." He snickered. "You probably don't even know who Alice Cooper is. Are there any musicians these days who paint black lines around their eyes and down their faces? Probably not. Fuck. I'm so stuck in a time warp. Wait right here while I go and find something to clean you up with."

Returning with tissue and face cream in hand, he bent over her and cleaned away the offending mascara.

"There. That's better." He cocked his head. "Sort of. But good enough for now." His gaze shifted to the two fang holes in her neck. "Shit! I almost forgot." Although he would've enjoyed using his tongue to apply saliva to the wounds, he decided to play it safe. He wasn't trustworthy around humans at the best of times. He sucked his index finger into his mouth, wet the tip, then worked the moisture into the woman's skin. He'd never asked his master what to do in such circumstances, so he was in unknown territory.

Like magic, the holes began to close, the angry red edges already fading to pink. "Fuckin' A! It worked. At least something went right tonight."

Satisfied that one obstacle had been overcome, he tugged the towel from underneath her and used it to dry her hair. Then he rummaged through the drawers of her dresser, looking for sleepwear. He had no idea what women wore to bed anymore. She didn't seem like the type to sleep naked, so he pulled out a silky, skimpy, red nightgown and held it up for inspection.

"Oh, yeah. Now that's truly inspirational. I'll have to remember this _dress up_ game for the future. I might have discovered a new hobby. If Alexander doesn't find out, of course. He has no sense of humor." He slid the gown up her curvy body, straightened the straps on her shoulders, and stood back to appreciate his creation.

His blood lust tackled him, stronger than before. Playful demeanor gone, his fangs descended again.

"Shit." He balled his fists at his sides. His mood darkened. "How old will I have to be before I get a grip on my urges? I hate these primitive feelings, these ugly needs. I fucking don't want to be this thing. I'd rather be really dead." Anger and sadness churned in his gut.

He reached down and grabbed the covers, pulled them up to her chin, then stepped away to explore the bedroom and calm himself. Distraction, that's what he needed.

It had been four decades since he'd been killed, and he still hadn't dealt with his rage.

"You should get the hell outta Dodge, Ethan," he said to himself, knowing he was stalling. He didn't want to leave.

The room was colorful and feminine, bright hues adorning the walls and curtains. She had a particular fondness for deep red, which reminded him of the addictive substance pulsing through the veins beneath her ivory skin. He stiffened, swamped once again by the urge to drink, and he struggled to shake it off.

No. I can fight this. I will not lose control. I won't forget everything I was.

He forced himself to move, to shift his attention, and strolled around the perimeter, studying the artwork. Noting the musical instruments displayed in one area, he picked up an acoustic guitar and strummed a chord. The corners of his lips quirked at the sound, and he replaced the guitar and sniffed the air, appreciating the soft smells hovering around an unlit scented candle. A deck of Tarot cards lay spread out on an antique table. He pulled a card and laughed: the Devil. How appropriate. Photographs of the woman performing in various settings were displayed everywhere, along with diplomas from well-known universities. He leaned close to read the inscribed name: Grace Blackburn. _Her name is Grace_. He paused in front of a framed newspaper article about the opening of her sound healing studio on the Pearl Street Mall a few years earlier. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out she must be a singer and musician.

Music. I used to be pretty good at performing, myself. It was the greatest joy of my life. In fact I once hoped...

He immediately stomped on that useless thought—mentally crushing it like a nasty bug. Nothing would be gained by dwelling on the past. The person he used to be was destroyed. His existence had changed in the blink of a fang and he had to face reality. Anything else was too painful.

After exploring her room, he found himself still strangely reluctant to leave. He tugged a wicker rocking chair from the corner to the side of her bed and sat, watching her sleep, determined to show himself that he could control the beast inside.

If she knew what sat in her room, she'd run screaming.

Something about this mortal woman made him feel oddly peaceful. Now that he was calm again, he could pick up a subtle vibration coming from her, a relaxing energy that seemed to emanate from her skin, as if her actual physical body gave off a pleasant hum he could perceive with his vampire senses. How unusual. Did her close encounter with the newbie alter her in some way? Had she lost more blood than he thought? He reached out and touched her neck, thinking he might find it cold. Instead, she burned hot. Heat radiated from her, and he leaned in to revel in the sensation. As the warmth penetrated his cold skin, he began to feel dazed and drowsy, reminding him of times when he'd smoked too much high-quality ganja. He thought how great it would be to crawl into the bed with her and sleep.

What? What the hell's wrong with me? I don't sleep. I can't sleep. I die at sunrise.

His mind spun. Here he was, sitting beside an unconscious human without drinking from her. Why was he pushing his luck? He didn't know how strong his willpower was—how long he could maintain contact with his old ethical ideas. What was his problem? Why was he acting so weird with this human? Why didn't he get up and leave?

Even as he asked himself those questions, the strange lethargy overtook him again. A pleasant sensation surged through his body.

Despite the sweet and innocent expression on her face, he remembered the sight of her sensual body and decided she definitely qualified as a grown-up woman. Her beautiful, still-wet blonde hair fanned out on the pillow, giving her an ethereal, otherworldly appearance. Pale skin shone translucent and perfect. Full, soft-looking lips aroused his body. He wondered how they'd taste.

That thought jolted him back to sanity, and he leapt quickly from the chair, and bent over the slumbering human. _Something's wrong. I've got to get out of here while I still can_. He cleared the lump that had formed in his throat and spoke, layering his voice with vampiric hypnosis. "You will sleep through the night, experience only pleasant dreams, and will wake in the morning remembering an uneventful walk to your home the previous evening. Everything is normal. You will feel relaxed and happy about your life." Why not give her a little boost for her trouble?

Without thinking, he inhaled her aroma and pressed his lips to her forehead. "Goodnight, Grace."

What the hell, Ethan? You are so screwed up.

He shoved the chair back into the corner, grabbed her bloody clothes from the bathroom, crawled out the window and shut it behind him. About to jump from his perch, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. One of Grace's neighbors waited while a dog took care of business. Ethan clung to the window frame watching, impatient to make his escape. _Damn!_ Weren't any humans afraid of the dark anymore? No matter how quickly or silently he moved, the woman would notice him. She was within sight and hearing distance of his planned exit route, so he had to wait. Finally she bent to retrieve the dog's gift, and turned in the other direction. Silently, he dropped to the ground, scrambled along the flowerbed next to the house, then ran with vampire speed back to the lair where his undead companions waited.

# Chapter 3

Grace woke to a shrill noise _._

She blinked heavy eyelids, and rolled toward the annoying interruption coming from the retro phone on her bedside table.

"Hello?" she croaked.

"Grace? Is that you? What's wrong with your voice?"

"Uh-huh. It's me, Roz." She cleared her throat. "There's nothing wrong with my voice. I'm just groggy from sleeping."

"You're still sleeping? Are you sick?" her friend asked, the pitch of her voice rising with each word. "I had a feeling something was wrong. The only time I've ever seen you sleep until noon is if you're too exhausted to get out of bed. Or you've sung yourself into a trance. Should I skip my yoga class and come over?"

Roz owned the Boulder Psychic Center, a few doors down from the sound studio. They'd been friends ever since Grace moved to town four years ago.

Grace forced herself to sit up, which wasn't as easy as she would have expected. Maybe she _was_ coming down with something. "Don't be silly, Roz. I'm a grown woman who can take care of herself." _Who am I trying to convince? Roz or myself?_ She glanced at the clock. "Crap! You're right, though. I don't usually stay in bed this late." She shook her head to clear away the strange mental cobwebs. "I had the most bizarre dream."

"A dream? Excellent. Right up my alley. Spill. What did you dream? Have you finally begun to explore your gift of prophecy? You know the Great and Wondrous Roz sees all and knows all."

It's a good thing The Great and Wondrous Roz seems to have a blind spot in her psychic visions where I'm concerned.

Grace chuckled. "I don't think so. Unless my future is filled with angels and vampires."

"Hot damn! Angels and vampires. My favorites. Maybe the dream represents the basic struggle between good and evil. The quintessential Freudian battle in your psyche. You've always tried to take the consciousness high road. Are you finally ready to join me on the low road?" She laughed. "Are you considering doing something wicked, my repressed friend?"

"Not that I know of." _But then, my life is such a freak show, who knows what I might do next?_ "Maybe I'm yearning for something unusual."

"Something unusual? Hmm. There's hope for you yet. What do you remember about the dream?"

"The strongest memory is the face of the angel who saved me from a creature with fangs. My rescuer had long, dark hair, beautiful emerald eyes and pale skin. Hey! I just realized I dreamed in color. That's weird for me. Even though the dream took place at night, I still saw the red blood dripping from the vampire's mouth and the green of the angel's eyes. I could smell the monster's disgusting breath." Grace hooted out a laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"The angel wore a Rolling Stones T-Shirt. The one with the big tongue. Not anyone's idea of standard celestial garb, I'd say."

"At least he had good taste. A hip angel. I'm encouraged that you're dreaming about men, even if neither of them were human. Remember what I told you..."

Grace snorted. "You mean your margarita-fueled ramblings about my destiny? The man I'm supposed to meet? The one who'll rock my world?

"Hey!" Roz pretended to be offended before assuming an obviously fake Gypsy-fortune-teller accent. "You're trifling with an ancient prediction. Ignoring the prognostication passed down through the women of my family, the outcome of a revelation long-awaited. Disregard at your own peril..."

"Chill, Madam Roz. Put away the crystal ball." Grace chuckled. "I believe! I believe!"

"Okay, then," Roz said, cheerfully speaking in her normal voice again. "Maybe your dream has deeper implications. I'll have to meditate on your archetypes and see what I can conjure for you."

"Thanks." Grace sighed. "But I'm sure I can figure it out. I'll sing about it. Maybe I watched too many horror movies as a kid." _Maybe I lived too many horror movies_.

They both fell silent for a few seconds.

"Grace? Are you sure you're okay? You sound very serious this morning. Not yourself. I'm picking up strange vibes. Why don't I come over? I could cast a little healing spell, cook something chocolate in my cauldron. It's not a problem. I worry about you being alone so much."

Me, too.

"You're sweet, Roz. Really, I'm fine. Everybody has an off day once in a while, right? I'd better haul myself out of bed and get busy. I've got a full afternoon with lessons and a recording session. Then tonight I have another sound circle. But, really. Thanks so much for calling. I probably would've slept all day if you hadn't."

"Well," Roz's voice dripped doubt, "if you're sure. I'm just a phone call away if you change your mind. Love you."

"You, too."

Grace hung up.

With a fuzzy brain, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. The last time she'd felt this weird was when she'd gotten carried away with champagne at a friend's wedding, but she hadn't consumed any alcohol in days. Unless she'd overindulged in her dream, and had an imaginary hangover. Or maybe being in an angel's presence was intoxicating. She grinned at the idea.

When she pushed aside the bed covers, a flash of red caught her attention. She looked down at herself and gasped. Fear coursed through her. What the hell was she wearing? Groggy, she stumbled into the bathroom and stood in front of the full-length mirror. Her mouth slowly sagged open. The person staring back at her seemed vaguely familiar. Blonde hair, brown eyes, a pretty good body. All the basics were in place. But when had she dressed in the gag gift her women friends had given her for her last birthday? The red lingerie came with a video entitled, "Learn to Pole Dance for Your Man." She'd tucked the scanty item away in a bottom drawer, never expecting to engage in the educational experience. Her breath caught. She had no memory of putting it on.

Anxiety twisted her stomach. _Did I black out? No. Not again._

Squinting to focus, she looked more closely at her hair and her face. Her eyes were circled in black, evidence of wet mascara gone bad. She reached up and tried to run her fingers through long hair that felt gummy and greasy. Upon closer review, she discovered a thick, dark substance along her scalp.

The feeling of fear grew. Her heart tripped. Could she have lost time again? Did she forget falling and hitting her head on the way home? Maybe someone had put something in her drink. But what drink, where?

As far as she knew, her bizarre quirks didn't include any additional personalities, but she supposed it was possible that her brain could have decided to add a new way to torture her. In fact, she lived in dread about it.

Finally forced to pay attention to her bladder, she hurried over to the throne and sat. She hadn't needed to pull down any panties, because she wasn't wearing any. Another odd thing.

Memories of the hours after she left the sound studio were nonexistent. Without conscious thought, she began humming a favorite trance-inducing chant. Immediately, her heart rate and breathing slowed. She envisioned her brain waves deepening. As she willed her senses to sharpen, words floated through her mind, spoken in a warm, rich, male voice.

"Well, Damsel in Distress, I'm ready if you are... hands-off version, it is... Alice Cooper... Shit! I almost forgot... I don't fucking want to be this thing. I'd rather be really dead ... goodnight, Grace."

Images from the dream flashed one after the other, mixed with new picture fragments, both featuring the same green-eyed, dark-haired man. The angel from her dream. She gasped and thrust her hands up to ward off water being sprayed in her face by the celestial messenger before she realized the vision was imaginary. Her breath came fast. Chills crawled along her skin as she touched the straps of the red nightie, remembering the feel of strange hands sliding the fabric into place on her shoulders.

Am I having a breakdown?

"No I'm not! I refuse. Get your shit together, Grace. This is just one more weird item on my brain's demented menu. I will simply _deal_! Even if something _is_ happening to me, I'll figure it out. I always do." She tugged on the toilet paper roll, sending a cascade of white pooling onto the floor. "Breathe, Grace. Breathe." With a sigh, she reached down, snagged a length of the tissue, and used it.

"It's been a long time since I've had an episode. I was probably sleepwalking. Let's pretend this is a normal day, and I didn't have some kind of psychic crash." She stood. "Maybe I _should_ talk to Roz about this. It would be so great to be able to vent. To tell the truth. But she's not exactly firing on all cylinders, either. Hmm. Tell the truth. Yeah, right. That's all I need. Another reason for people to think I'm more creepy." She stepped over to the tub and reached to turn on the water. "Hey!" The showerhead, usually attached to the hook hanging at the top of the circular curtain rod, now sat dripping water in the center of the tub. The memory of water being sprayed on her face, along with the sound of the unidentified male's laughter, gave her that same, surreal feeling again. As if she'd missed something important.

"No! I'm not hallucinating! The damn thing fell, that's all. Maybe we had an earthquake." But she didn't sound convincing, even to herself, since she knew the holding clamp on the shower head actually took some effort to dislodge. More often than not, she couldn't pry the hand-held sprayer loose quickly even when she wanted to. And while the Rocky Mountain region definitely _could_ have earthquakes, none had occurred in recent memory.

Determined to cling to her denial, she tugged the red, pole-dancing costume over her head and tossed it onto the floor, giving it an extra kick to remove it from view. She stepped into the tub, slashed the curtain closed, then clicked the detachable sprayer back onto its perch. After she fussed with the angle and was satisfied that everything had been restored to normal, she twisted the handles until water burst from the nozzle.

As the warm liquid caressed her skin, her focus returned to the dream. An air of mystery accompanied the beautiful, phantom man with the green eyes. It was unusual for her to remember a face in such detail, after only a glimpse. She imagined running her fingers through his long, silky hair and skimming her lips along the strong bones of his jaw. His features were almost too perfect, his body too buff.

_Whoa! Get ahold of yourself, Grace! It was just a dream. A great dream, but all in your_ _head._ Pitiful that she let herself get so caught up in an imaginary situation. Was she recreating her childhood imaginary friend in an enticing adult form? How pathetic was she?

Reminding herself to relax, she breathed the steam into her lungs. The hot water felt wonderful against her bruises.

Wait a minute. Bruises? Why am I bruised? When did that happen?

Her heart tripped and she quickly finished washing her body and hair, daydream forgotten. She pushed the plastic curtain aside and trudged over to the full-length mirror. Investigating all the tender spots, she discovered bruises and scrapes on both elbows and hips, with an especially spectacular extravaganza near her tailbone.

What the hell?

As she pressed on the blue-purple patch on her hip, she had a sudden memory flash of hitting the ground, hard.

I fell? But when?

Suddenly, the pale face of the dream angel with the Rolling Stones T-shirt floated into her mind again. She was definitely experiencing some kind of altered reality today.

"Okay, Grace. At least you know what to do to fix the damage. Whip out your killer voice and do your stuff." She stood in front of the mirror, willed herself to relax and closed her eyes. As she visualized the discolorations on her body, she sang open vowels on ascending pitches, imagining the sound wrapping and penetrating her skin. The usual realigning sensations rippled through her, tingling up her spine, across her scalp and along her limbs. She waited for the warmth that signaled the completion of the healing, and opened her eyes.

Turning slowly to display every inch of her now-bruise-free frame, she nodded.

Maybe I fell out of bed. Yeah. That's it. Wait, I had night terrors and slammed myself against the wall. That explains everything. Perfect. Just ignore what you don't want to deal with. No mental disintegration here!

She glanced at the wall clock, frowned and hurried into the bedroom to get ready for her day. Even if it turned out she'd been in a long-term remission that was now over, she'd still do everything she could to maintain some semblance of a normal life.

She raked through the clothes in her closet. Fall in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains could be schizophrenic. One minute the relentless sun baked the temperature into the nineties, and the next, several inches of snow surprised sandaled feet. Dressing in layers was always the best plan, so she topped her long, silky, purple skirt and white satin shirt with a multi-colored embroidered shawl. Her freshly cleaned hair was pulled back into a long tail. She applied just enough make-up to disguise the morning-after paleness of her face.

After collecting the sheet music she needed for her recording session, she hurried to the dresser to fetch her purse. It wasn't there. Her heart raced. She always kept her bag next to the jewelry box. She turned, thinking she might have dropped the large black purse somewhere, and there it was. Tipped over on the floor.

Chills radiated up her arms as she collected the items that had scattered along the throw rug and pushed them back into their compartments. Whether she wanted to believe it or not, the evidence was mounting that she'd lost consciousness at some point last night. And if things got worse, who knew how much longer she could control herself?

She sat on the edge of the bed and rummaged through her purse for her cell phone. Maybe it was time to call Dr. Alden again, the paranormal psychiatrist who'd helped before—the only one she'd ever confided in about her strange situation. She'd told him she wouldn't be back in touch unless something serious happened. Did this fit that description? She stared at the phone a moment longer, then tucked it back into the side pocket of her purse. "No," she said, standing. "I don't want to alarm him. Last night was a fluke."

Careful not to think about what had or hadn't happened last night, she gathered what she needed for the day, and then headed down the stairs and out the front door.

# Chapter 4

Ethan's eyes popped open the second the sun dipped below the mountain peaks.

Immediately, he experienced an uncomfortable feeling he'd never had before. Concentrating, he tried to understand the wispy perceptions and couldn't shake the idea that he'd been... _interrupted_. Or something. Who knew what went on in his brain while he was dead during the daylight hours, but he had the craziest sense that he'd been _thinking_ a few seconds ago when his life force—death force?—reanimated his body. His sire, Alexander, adamantly insisted vampires became empty shells while the sun ruled the sky, nothing but paralyzed cadavers. But if that were true, he must be losing whatever passed for his mind. Maybe he was. First he'd lurked around the human woman without fanging her and then he'd _dreamed_ , of all damn things. Which, of course, was impossible.

It was her. The mortal female. Grace. Her scent was all over him. She'd done something. He just knew it.

He sat up in one of the cardboard boxes that passed for coffins in the basement of the vampires' headquarters, then gathered the bottom of his T-shirt under his nose so he could sniff it. He sighed and flopped back, feeling suddenly relaxed and limp as a drained meth addict. Even her smell melted his bones. He wished he'd kept her bloody clothes, but bringing them to a vampire nest would be like ordering a keg for an AA meeting.

The last time he'd fantasized about a female so obsessively had been when he'd fancied himself madly in love with the drummer in his first teenage rock band. Lulu, the percussionist in question, had been a rebellious, well-endowed sixteen-year-old who resembled a young Marilyn Monroe. Ethan had behaved like a hormonal moron, following Lulu around, spending every penny from his part-time job showering her with drumsticks, rhythm instruments he found in pawn shops and the latest LPs of her favorite bands. He remembered the way his heart—when he still had a human one—used to trip at the sight of her. Not to mention the effect she had on other parts of his anatomy. In fact, he was pretty sure his brain had an "out to lunch" sign posted during that time, since the only head he ever used was the southern version.

With a sigh, he sat up again. His fixation on Lulu had only lasted a few years, until she ran away with one of the roadies from Eric Clapton's band. Ethan had believed in Lulu's faithfulness and discovering her betrayal changed everything. From that time forward, he never let himself become ensnared by love—or lust—again. He kept things strictly impersonal. No woman would hurt him again. Ever.

Last Ethan heard, Lulu had become a heroin addict and died of an OD in London. She probably didn't deserve that fate, but if she'd stayed with him, maybe...

"Well, shit! That's the last thing I need to be thinking about."

The strong feelings he'd suddenly developed for the human woman Grace made him nervous. He'd managed to avoid emotional commitment throughout his short mortal life and during the last four decades as a vampire. What did it mean that he was experiencing old, reckless thoughts?

Compelled to see her, and unable to stop himself, he quickly showered, then changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a Jimi Hendrix T-shirt. He ran a comb through his thick, dark hair and skulked out the hidden exit of the coven's lair. It wouldn't do for Alexander to become too interested in his activities. The master had forbidden his offspring to take any action that wasn't a direct order or undead business. If the short-tempered vampire knew about Ethan's new obsession, there would be hell to pay.

Ethan wasn't an idiot. He usually gave every appearance of following the rules, but he couldn't seem to dampen his fascination with the blonde-haired human.

What he intended to do was dangerous. Going to the human's—Grace's—studio meant being in the vicinity of other mortals. Other mortals with beating hearts and the pungent, intoxicating aroma of blood flowing beneath the surface of their skin. He'd never been able to control himself before. Was he willing to go berserk and massacre an entire building full of people?

Apparently, he was.

"Hey, where ya goin', man?"

"Damn, Nelson!" Ethan jumped. "What the fuck you doing sneakin' up on me?" Crap. He didn't want to have to explain anything to his friend. His trouble-making partner in mayhem would want to tag along.

"You weren't paying attention. So much for your enhanced vampire hearing, Dude."

***

Ethan thought about the lame excuse he'd given Nelson for wanting to go off alone. He'd claimed he was depressed, which happened to him pretty regularly, and didn't want to talk to anyone for a while. There was enough truth to it in general that Nelson bought it.

On his walk downtown Ethan practiced saying her name aloud, "Grace, Grace, Grace..." The sound enchanted him. He got so caught up in his verbal trance that he almost missed all the startled reactions of the humans he passed on the busy pedestrian mall.

They're going to call the men with the white coats and butterfly nets if I don't try to blend in better.

The full moon illuminated the night like a lighthouse beacon. He stared up at the sky, remembering the tales of madness inspired by the lunar glow. Humans supposedly lost their minds under the influence of the frenzied light. He suspected vampires were to blame.

When he arrived at Grace's studio, he slipped around behind the building and leaned against the brick wall. Suddenly his knees buckled as the realization hit him. Had he just walked along a street filled with his favorite food source without attacking anyone? The thought stunned him, and then he laughed as he noticed he'd actually clutched his chest in the familiar, mortal _heart attack_ gesture. It had been a long time since he'd done anything like that. Something almost frighteningly freaky was happening. He hadn't felt this odd since becoming a vampire decades before. Almost _human_.

Beautiful chanting caught his attention.

Inching toward the music studio window, he peeked in, expecting to see a roomful of mortals, but the large space was empty. Where was the music coming from? He took a step back and focused on listening to the sweet sounds still flowing from somewhere nearby. Lowering his gaze, he tracked along the foundation of the building until he came to an open window in the ground level, then stepped closer and squatted to investigate.

The basement of the structure had been transformed into a sound chamber. Instead of muting the voices, the acoustics of the room exaggerated the depth of the tones, causing the frequencies to reverberate in breathtaking ways.

The chanting vibrated every cell of his body. Or whatever made up his body these days. His eyes stung from the sound, as if he fought back tears. Crying was supposed to be impossible for his kind.

He stared through the window. The chamber appeared larger than he'd expected. At least fifty people sat in concentric circles on the marble floor. Grace knelt in the center, next to a sobbing woman who lay on a body-size pad, clutching her stomach. Ethan's keen vampire nose told him the woman was sick. Not far from death. Why had she come to Grace's gathering on her deathbed? Maybe she wanted to experience the same odd peaceful feeling he'd noticed at Grace's bedside. He knew from personal experience how horrible it was to die a painful death.

The chanting became so loud and powerful, his consciousness started to slip away. He didn't know what would have happened if he hadn't suddenly been overwhelmed by the scent of blood—so many humans in one place—which immediately thrust him deep into his vampire nature. He growled and slowly rose to his full height, just in time to be surprised by a pair of mortals turning the corner, heading toward him. His mind churned as he obsessed on the aroma of the blood pulsing through the hapless mortals' veins. His fangs descended and he crouched, ready to spring.

"Hi! Are you here for the sound circle? We're late, too. Why don't you come on in with us?" The female of the couple moved to the door of the underground area and stood, waiting, a smile on her friendly face. Her companion waved.

As if he hadn't regressed into a snarling, bloodthirsty beast, he forced himself to straighten, then snapped his shoulders back and raised his chin. "Yeah, okay." He clenched his fists at his sides.

Yeah, Okay? What the hell? Nobody ever told me vampires could have psychotic breaks. Maybe all the drugs I did in the '60s finally caught up with me. Did I just choose not to attack them because they were nice to me? Am I insane? Since when does my brain work when I'm near mortals?

He edged over to the door and held it open while the two humans entered and descended the staircase, then he followed, already enraptured by the engulfing sound.

Can't these people sense me? Don't they realize a predator is behind them? What's happened to human instincts?

They entered the chant-filled sound chamber and quietly found places to sit in the outermost circle. Keeping a distance between himself and the others seated nearby, he scanned the room. It was incredible. Whatever Grace had done to the walls made the area seem as if they'd stepped inside an amethyst quartz crystal. The circle area consisted of gentle risers, so that people in each ring sat slightly elevated over the row before. Scented candles burned atop tall, ornate holders, creating soft light and shadows. His vampire vision, especially attuned to the darkness, allowed him to see the blissful expressions on the faces of the participants. The sounds washed over and through him. Fifty voices chanted unfamiliar words, creating extraordinary harmonies. The vibration lapped against his ears like the soothing waves of a vast sea. He imagined himself back in the womb.

His gaze finally locked on the only person who mattered, and he studied her as she sang, her face ecstatic. Grace's long, blonde hair flowed down the front of her body, hiding all but the sleeves of her shiny, white shirt. With his sensitive hearing, he was able to eliminate all the other voices and tune into hers. It was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. Her timbre caressed him like summer rain. His heart sputtered, then beat wildly, which startled him. He'd previously had no occasion to allow his cold, dead heart to mimic life.

He closed his eyes, lost in the pleasure of her vocalizations, and began chanting himself. Or, more accurately, the chant took control. The sound simply happened. He'd heard about the concept of _channeling_ , but he had always thought it was a scam. He'd never have guessed what an amazing sensation it was to simply allow sound to flow from his body without any conscious direction. He hadn't sung in so many years, he was surprised by the power of his own tenor voice.

Suddenly, everyone in the room went silent. Everyone except Grace, that is. He'd stopped singing, too, without even being aware of it. Had there been some imperceptible signal? Her glorious voice soared through the rarified space as she leaned forward, bringing her face near the woman on the floor, whose hands had relaxed at her sides. The sound was eerie and unearthly. Goosebumps rose on his arms, something else that shouldn't have been able to happen.

After a few seconds, Grace stopped singing and eased back from the woman. Like releasing a taut rubber band, the formerly limp recipient sprang to her feet, thrust her arms into the air, threw her head back and laughed. "She did it! Grace did it! I'm pain-free for the first time since my cancer was diagnosed. Thank you, Grace! Thank you!"

Grace stood, opened her arms, and the woman collapsed against her, sobbing.

Ethan sniffed in the woman's direction, expecting to recognize the familiar scent of impending death again and instead sensed... life. Shocked, he focused his full attention on the woman, reading her body with his expanded perception, and was forced to acknowledge that he'd either been wrong when he declared her near death, or... no. Impossible. Chanting couldn't have altered the woman's physical body. Grace couldn't possibly do anything so astounding. Things like that simply didn't happen.

Then he frowned. Even if Grace _had_ been able to do the impossible, the healing wasn't the most bizarre thing in the room. Erasing cancer with sound was nothing compared to rising from the dead and drinking human blood to survive. Would all these people who took Grace's miracle for granted be as open-minded about him? Yeah. He wouldn't hold his breath—so to speak.

Still hugging and patting the woman, Grace addressed her audience. "Thank you all for coming tonight and for lending your voices and your positive intentions to Mary's healing. We've shared something magical and special. It has been a wonderful session. I look forward to seeing you next time." At her words, everyone stood quietly and began filing toward the door. They appeared to be in a light trance.

Grace hugged Mary again, and released her to her waiting friends. Ethan remained seated as the room emptied. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, but he felt driven to... what? He had no idea. His heart still pounded unnaturally.

He rose and moved quietly, with only human speed so as not to frighten her, to the center of the circle where Grace had bent to retrieve the pad from the floor. As she straightened and saw him standing in front of her, she gasped.

"You're the angel in my dream," Grace said. She backed away, dropped the pad, and pressed her palms to her face. "I must be in an altered state. You're a figment of my imagination. Another bizarre element in an already screwed-up day. This vision will pass any minute now. I'll keep on talking to myself until you vanish."

"I'm sorry to startle you," Ethan said softly. "And to disappoint you. I'm afraid I'm no angel." _Not even close. Another dimension altogether._ His gaze locked on her brown eyes and he had to force himself not to entrance her. For some reason it seemed important that she speak to him of her own accord. He struggled to control the urge to touch her. It was clear his presence confused and frightened her. Her fear rode the air.

Grace dropped her hands and stared at him. She reached out a finger and poked his chest. "You're real." Obviously rattled, she retreated another step, blinked a couple of times, and shook her head. "I'm so sorry. You must think I'm incredibly rude and very strange. I'm not myself immediately after a sound healing session. My brain waves don't return to normal right away. For a moment, you reminded me of... someone I've seen before. The resemblance is uncanny." She stopped talking and stared again for a few seconds. Anxiety shadowed her features. _"Have_ we met before? Was this your first sound circle? You really do seem very familiar."

He heard Grace's heart speed up even more, so he sent a light relaxation command. After a few seconds, she inhaled a deep breath and released it. Her rhythm slowed. How could he possibly seem familiar to her? He'd erased himself from her mind.

Deciding it might be wise to change the subject temporarily so as not to make her any more uncomfortable, he said, "I wanted to tell you how moved I was by your session. I've never seen anyone heal with sound before. I'm impressed." He added another subtle, mental nudge, suggesting she would feel at ease with him. Trust him. He wasn't trying to manipulate her, only to allow a bond to form. He might tell her the truth eventually, but not yet.

"Thank you." She gave a gentle nod and visibly calmed. "I sometimes forget how unusual sound healing is to the rest of the world. I'm so used to doing it that it seems very normal to me." She offered her hand. "I'm Grace Blackburn." Then she cocked her head, inviting him to introduce himself.

Ethan grasped her hand. "Ethan..." He paused, unaccustomed to using his last name. In the vampire world nobody used surnames. "Ethan James." He hoped his skin was still sufficiently warm from his last meal the night before so she wouldn't notice the coolness of his grip. Sometimes the "buzz," as the bloodsuckers called it, lasted a day or more. She gave no indication of discomfort. _Why don't I feel the blood lust? I'm definitely in a parallel universe._ "Do you have a few minutes to talk? I'd really like to hear more about your healing techniques."

A beautiful smile spread her lips. "I'd love to talk to you... uh, about the sound healing. It isn't often I meet such a handsome man." She paused, her eyes wide. "Geez. Did I say that out loud? I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me tonight. I don't usually connect with new people so easily. Especially men..."

Ethan laughed, feeling suddenly elated. "I'm happy to be the exception." _What am I doing, laughing like an idiot? She'll be disgusted and repelled as soon as she finds out what I am. What the hell is happening to me?_

Grace nodded toward a small couch against the wall. "Why don't we sit and make ourselves comfortable?"

Ethan grinned. His idea of being comfortable with a beautiful woman used to involve a lot less clothing. Having a clear visual memory of Grace's nude body wasn't helping the situation. But sitting together was a good start. Though it wasn't likely he'd be taking her home to his cardboard box, who knew what might happen? It had been ages since he'd been so attracted to anyone. Apparently, he still had a weakness for the occasional blonde. He bowed. "Excellent idea. After you."

"What you did tonight was extraordinary," Ethan went on after they sat. "How can you be sure the woman's illness is gone? Can you sense it?" He stared at her face, noticing the curve of her lips, the blush of her cheeks, every individual eyelash. He could swear her nipples were hard. _She's even more beautiful than I remembered._

"Hmmm. Gorgeous _and_ smart." She rolled her eyes and grinned. "Yikes. Once again, sorry. My mouth seems to have a mind of its own around you. I'll go ahead and apologize in advance for anything else I might blurt out. But to answer your question, yes. I can sense it. Sort of. Okay, this is going to sound weird, but it's as if I can feel the obstructions—or misalignments—in the body or the psyche as the sound flows around and interacts with them. Then, I imagine the disruption smoothed out by the vibrations and it seems to happen." She paused. "Now you probably think I'm a complete weirdo! A freak. Not a normal person, right? You wouldn't be the first."

He frowned. _She doesn't think she's normal?_ _Wait 'til she gets a load of me._ "I think you're incredible. I wish I had your skills. I used to sing and play music years ago, but I never explored the healing aspects. Your talent fascinates me." He sensed a change in her mood. _What's up? She's gone all anxious again._

"I've worked hard to build up my skills." Twisting her hands in her lap, she shrugged. "I think anyone can heal with sound. It's natural. You can do it, too." She blinked a few times and stared at him, tilting her head. "I don't remember if you ever answered my question about whether or not we've met before. I swear I know your face. In fact, I'm sure I dreamed about it. Your green eyes–"

This was it. He'd run out of time to avoid the inevitable. He sighed, bracing for her horrified reaction. "What did you dream?"

"There you are, Grace." A tall, Eastern Indian man wearing a white turban hurried over to the couch and nodded to each of them, before refocusing on her. "Ready to go? We'll be late for the recording session. Come on, I'm double-parked outside."

Grace shifted her gaze back and forth between Ethan and the new arrival. "Oh, yes, Nadu. I'm coming. Go ahead. I'll be right there."

The man bowed and left the room.

"Actually, I _did_ forget about the recording." Grace gave a half-smile. "I guess it was the company." She stood and moved across the room. "I would like to tell you about my dream, if you're really interested. Maybe we could..."

"Get together another time?" He rose and followed her to the exit. "Absolutely. I'll drop by again soon." _I don't want to talk about the dream, but maybe I can find a way to distract you._

Their gazes locked for a few seconds. He wondered again how her lips would taste.

"I look forward to it."

# Chapter 5

"Where ya been, man?" Nelson asked, his face serious, the corner of his lip twitching. He shifted his weight back and forth from one foot to another. "Alexander was pissed that he couldn't find you. I told him you needed some alone time and he nearly split a gut laughing. He said if you want alone time, he can arrange your true death, then you'll have all the alone time you want. He needs us out on patrol. He said there are lots of newbies roaming the streets. Shit, dude. Don't bail on me like that again."

_Nelson's right. I shouldn't have taken off. I know how Alexander likes to use us to hurt each other._ _The sadistic bastard._ "I'm sorry, man. Leaving was selfish of me." Ethan punched him lightly on the arm. "Am I forgiven?"

"Sure." Nelson threw his shoulders back and raised his chin, making an unsuccessful effort to mask the Alexander-inspired fear. "If you do it again, I'll have to kick your ass."

"Deal." They bumped fists. "So, where to?"

"You need to ask?"

"You're shittin' me. Again?" Alexander liked to assign them to the busiest part of town—the bars along the west end near the foothills. The Master didn't choose the location because Ethan and Nelson would do a good job. Not even close. He gave them the hardest route—filled with brain-dead newbies trolling for blood—because he liked doling out punishments when humans inevitably got killed on their watch.

Ethan looked up at the full moon and noticed the hazy ring around it. That was a bad sign, but he wasn't going to say anything to Nelson, who tended to worry enough for both of them. "Lead the way, my friend. Let the games begin."

"Yeah, what fun." Nelson deadpanned and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets.

Keeping to the shadows as much as possible, they prowled along buildings and crouched behind cars until they reached the alley running near the noisy clubs.

They'd barely staked out a position alongside a dumpster, when a woman's scream pierced the air. They bolted toward the ear-curdling shriek.

A short, thin female wearing only an oversize bloody University of Colorado T-shirt, struggled with a much taller woman dressed in bicycle-racing clothes—spandex tights, cropped shirt featuring the logo for an energy drink, cycling shoes and a neon-orange helmet—trying to hold her still for neck biting. "Help me!" The bicyclist's screams ended abruptly with a choking sound as the vampire struggled to rip the helmet off her head, but couldn't because it was fastened with a strong chin strap. The victim fought against the rabid bloodsucker, making gurgling noises as she tried to breathe. Finally giving up on the strap, the attacker threw the woman to the ground and ripped into the vein in her arm.

Nelson leaped on the vampire. He pulled her off, and held her in a steel grasp while Ethan hefted the cyclist—who'd passed out by this time from shock and blood loss—into his arms and ran farther down the alley. He found an unlocked car door, opened it and thrust his passenger inside.

Nelson struggled to subdue his prisoner, who was now flailing and making loud "Gah! Gah! Gah!" sounds, while blood dripped from her fangs. Ethan ran back to help.

"Damn, man," Nelson said, momentarily losing his grip on the newbie and then regaining it. "This is one wild little blood-seeking missile. Kinda cute, though. Too bad she has to die."

"Let me grab her feet, while you turn her face around and hypnotize her into submission." Ethan closed the distance between him and the woman and she went crazy, managing to propel herself out of Nelson's arms and onto Ethan. The force of her leap took him down with her. She latched onto his shoulder, stuck her fangs in and sucked.

"Hey! What the fuck?!" Ethan yelled. "Nelson, get this thing off me! She's actually drinking my blood!"

Nelson pounced on the small woman, and angled his arm around her neck to force her mouth from Ethan's shoulder.

Ethan rolled away, and then jumped to his feet. Nelson wrestled the newbie onto her back, then restrained her wrists over her head with one hand while he straddled her hips. Sniffing the air, he leaned down toward her mouth, which still kept up a constant stream of obscenities while she kicked her legs. "That's weird. I don't smell your blood on her. Only human."

Nelson grabbed her by the hair with his free hand and stared into her eyes. Every muscle in her body went slack, and her head flopped to the side.

"What the fuck just happened?" Ethan rubbed the already closing gashes on his skin. "Hasn't Mordecai taught his minions not to drink from other vampires?" He looked down at himself. "Damn. She trashed my T-shirt."

Nelson released the woman's limp wrists and sat up, frowning. "That's really bizarre, man." His voice shook.

"What's bizarre?" Ethan crouched down next to Nelson, confused about what had his friend so freaked. Was Nelson having some kind of breakdown? He wouldn't be surprised. All that constant anxiety had to take some kind of negative toll.

Nelson lifted his nose into the air and sniffed again, his nostrils flaring. "Let me smell your shoulder."

"What?" Ethan leaped to his feet. "You want to smell me? Now _that's_ fuckin' weird."

Nelson slowly rose. "I know what your blood smells like. I've been covered in it often enough when we've fought these vampo-zombies together." He looked down at the woman. "I saw her suck blood from your shoulder. She has it all over her mouth and chin."

"Yeah, so?"

Nelson's eyes narrowed. "So, all I smell is human blood—several different kinds from her recent victims—her own blood, a little of mine from where she scratched me, and nothing else. Your blood isn't there." He stared at Ethan. "Come on, man. Help me out here. What's happening?"

_Wow. Nelson is obviously losing his mind. But, no. That can't be it._ _He isn't old enough to mentally fragment._ "I don't know, Nelson. Why does it matter if you can pick out my blood? What's the difference?"

Nelson lunged, grabbed the shoulder of Ethan's T-shirt, and breathed in. "Fuck, Ethan!"

"Hey! Get your hands off me!" Ethan stared into his friend's frightened eyes.

Nelson let go and backed away. "What the hell's going on with your blood? It smells... _human_. But that's impossible." His lips were pressed in a tight, quivering, thin line.

_Damn! Is Nelson losing it?_ "Really, man. Cool your jets. You're starting to wig me out. Talk to me. Why does the fact that you can't isolate my blood scare you?"

"I don't know. I have a really bad feeling."

Ethan noticed a fine trembling in Nelson's hands. The poor guy had been so traumatized as a human it was astounding he'd survived the turning process without even more side effects. If he was having a burnout, somehow they had to keep that knowledge from Alexander.

"Okay. Wait." Ethan grabbed the bloody part of his T-shirt and pressed it against his nose. "See? It's my same old vampire blood..." He sucked in air, then his breath caught. _What the fuck?_ It wasn't the same. He sniffed again, and then licked a saturated portion with his tongue. Not his blood. He smelled his hand where he'd pressed against the newbie's bite wounds in his neck. Startled, his head jerked up and his wide-eyed gaze met Nelson's. His mind spun. _Did the newbie have some kind of poison in her saliva? Did she pollute my blood?_ "What's going on, Nelson? Did that vampo-zombie do something to me?"

Nelson jumped to his feet and backed away. "I dunno, dude, but this isn't good. You're flippin' me out. You don't smell like yourself anymore. Does anything hurt?"

Ethan thought for a moment and patted himself down. "No. I feel like I always do. Dead."

"Fuck, Ethan. I'm whacked. What if there's some new threat to vampires and you're the first casualty? We need to tell Alexander—"

"No!" Ethan cut him off. Alexander would simply destroy both of them if anything threatened his dynasty. "Let's think for a minute. Maybe whatever the newbie did to me will wear off soon. So far, the only change is that my blood smells different."

"Yeah. Like you're human. Do you know what that means? It means other vampires will attack you for your blood. They won't realize you're a vampire."

"Okay, I guess that's a possibility—if this situation is permanent. And it probably isn't. I mean, how _could_ it be? I haven't been human for forty years. Nothing I've ever heard of could restore me from death..." He stopped and stared off as something impossible occurred to him. A strange, niggling suspicion. Chills rushed through his body as he remembered how odd his behaviors had been since encountering Grace and how she'd affected him. He'd watched her heal the dying woman. Somehow she'd _changed_ him. He felt it.

But it couldn't be. There was no such magic. Was there?

Nelson's frightened pleas faded as Ethan bolted away into the night.

# Chapter 6

"Thanks, Nadu. I'll see you tomorrow."

Grace unlocked her sound studio and stepped inside. She flicked on the lights and walked through the spacious main area to her private office in the back. She'd set up the room as a comfortable place where she could regroup between students or sessions. A combination office and dressing area, the space held a comfortable couch, a desk for her computer and other equipment, cabinets for files and supplies, a small refrigerator filled with bottled water, and a recently installed shower. Various percussion instruments dotted her shelves. An electronic keyboard and several guitars lined another wall. It was her home away from home.

Appreciating the quiet, she finished up a huge pile of paperwork she'd been avoiding, forcing herself to stay on task. After she finished the last form, she placed it on top of the pile and glanced at the clock. 1 a.m. _Fuck_. _Too late to go home_. She stretched her neck back and forth. _Looks like another night on the couch._

She'd barely taken off her shoes when her cell phone rang. She fished it out of her purse and read the caller ID.

"Hey, Roz. What's up? What are you doing up so late—or so early?"

"I read Tarot at a private party up in the mountains and they didn't want me to leave. They kept throwing money at me." She chuckled. "When I got home, I had the feeling you were still working at the studio, so I decided to check on you. You've been on my mind. Strange visuals floating around in my brain. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just tired. It was a long day." _It's been the demented yellow brick road._ "How about you? What have you been up to?"

"No way, my slippery friend. We're not switching the subject to me. I want to talk about you. I know something's going on. It's been bugging me all day. Something about a guy. Usually I'd be excited about that, thinking it's a great thing, but I get a real mixed vibe about this one. He seems okay, but then there's something weird about his energy. Really, Grace. Level with me. What's going on?"

Grace was seriously tempted to talk to Roz about the fact that Ethan—the angel from her dream—showed up at her sound session earlier, but she really didn't want to spoil the one good friendship she had in town. Having at least one person who didn't think she was crazy was nice. But that was only because Roz didn't know everything.

Should she take the chance? After all, Roz was pretty _unique_ herself. Maybe it was time to be courageous. And if Roz was picking up something about Ethan, Grace wanted to hear it.

Deciding to take the risk, she jumped in. "As a matter of fact, something strange _did_ happen today. Remember I told you I had a dream about an angel? The gorgeous guy with dark hair, brilliant green eyes and a body to die for?"

"Yeah. He sounded yummy. I had dream envy. Go on."

"Well, he showed up today, wearing a Jimi Hendrix T-shirt instead of a Rolling Stones T-shirt, but it was the same guy."

"Whoa! Wait a minute. You're saying the guy you dreamed about showed up today? In the flesh?"

"Yep. And better looking than I remembered. But the moment he came over to me, I started acting weird."

"What do you mean? Weirder than usual? You get pretty spacy after a sound session."

"Definitely non-ordinary. Uninhibited. I started blurting out things. My lips kept flapping and whatever was on my mind flew right out of my mouth without any thought. You know I never do that. I'm rarely chatty in general, much less after finishing a healing circle. And never with men. It was like I suddenly turned into a gushing extrovert. And I _flirted_!"

"Oh, my God! You _flirted_?" She paused. "Grace, we've been friends since you moved to Boulder and I love you. I've never pushed you to tell me why you avoid men and seem anxious around them. I figured, like most women, you've had your share of traumas. You've been consistently closed up around guys. I know something bad happened. So, if you flirted with a man you just met, something strange is going on."

"I know, right? I'm like a different person around him. He felt so familiar, as if I'd known him forever. Like I've been waiting for him."

"Sounds like a past-life connection to me. Twin souls."

"Maybe. I can't believe how he affected me." Grace sank back into the couch cushions.

"So, are you saying he _rocked your world_?" She said the last three words in her fake Gypsy accent.

Roz had told her months ago she'd meet a man who would rock her world. "Yes, oh great and powerful Roz. You were on-target. I was thoroughly and completely rocked." _And aroused beyond belief._

"It's gratifying to be right, but we don't know what's up with this guy's energy. I'm not sure if I'm happy for you or not."

"What have you been picking up?" Roz might be a little eccentric, but she was an accurate psychic.

"I'm not certain," Roz mumbled. "I keep getting visuals of a dark-haired man who's between worlds."

"Between worlds? What does _that_ mean?"

"I really don't know, Grace. I've never experienced anything like that before. Let me do an official reading, and I'll call you in the morning—or later in the morning. I don't want to give you any feedback until I have a better grasp on whatever this is. So far it feels... _slippery_."

Grace tensed. "You mean he's dangerous—I shouldn't see him?" She didn't like the sound of that at all. He hadn't _felt_ dangerous...

"No. Or at least I don't think so. He seems like a good guy, but there's something..."

"Well, for all I know I'll never see him again, so this is probably a non-issue." A wave of sadness washed through her. "I'm going to sleep here. I'm really tired." Grace yawned. "Thanks so much for being a good friend, Roz."

"You know you can come over and stay with me tonight if you want to. I worry about you. Something's _off_."

"No. I'm okay. Don't worry. Let's get together tomorrow. Bye, Roz."

"Ciao, Grace. We'll figure this out."

The moment Grace clicked off her phone, the studio door opened and footsteps pounded across the wooden floor.

"Grace!"

She recognized the voice. "Ethan?"

He stomped into the room, his shirt torn and bloody, and froze in front of her. "What have you done to me?"

Her mouth fell open. She didn't know if she was more shocked by his sudden appearance, his bloody clothes or the strange question. It took her a few seconds to find her voice. "Ethan!" She pointed at his ravaged and stained shirt. "What happened to you? Are you all right? You look like you've been attacked by a wild animal." She stood and took a step toward him, not sure if she should call an ambulance or run to the business next door for help.

As if he hadn't been aware of his appearance until she mentioned it, he looked down at himself then met her gaze. "I _was_ attacked."

"Oh, my God! You need medical attention. Let's get you to the hospital—"

"No. That's not the problem."

"What are you talking about? Of _course_ it's the problem." She grabbed her purse and started tugging him toward the front door, having decided to go to the neighbor, who was a chiropractor. "You're covered with blood. Your skin is pale. You've been hurt."

He clutched her upper arms and she dropped her bag. "We need to talk." His voice sounded shaky and thick.

She gasped, surprised by his sudden move and the strength of his grip on her arms, and studied the green eyes she'd found so beautiful before. Now they seemed wild and frightening. "Ethan, let me go. We need help." Fear clenched her stomach. She didn't really know the man bleeding in her studio, and what about her own safety? Why had this virtual stranger burst in? She'd only had a brief discussion with him after the sound session. He could be a criminal—a sexual predator or a serial killer—for all she knew. Just because he was good-looking and she'd considered jumping his bones didn't mean he wasn't a threat to her. She took a couple of deep breaths and imagined sending a calming tone through her body. As the phantom sound flowed through her, she relaxed. "Okay." She forced her voice to remain steady and her breathing normal. "Let's sit down and talk." _Maybe I can explode his head if I need to, although that didn't work very well with the creature in my dream._

They sat on Grace's office couch.

"It's happening again. Right now," Ethan said. "That strange, drowsy feeling whenever I'm around you. The brain melt. It's like you have some kind of mystical energy that's transforming me—turning me into a half-thing."

_Holy shit_. _What is he talking about? What if he really is a mental case?_ She'd fallen into the trap of thinking her little town was safe and she'd foolishly left her studio door unlocked. Maybe if she kept talking to him quietly, he'd turn back into the rational man he appeared to be earlier today.

"A half-thing?" _Is the poor man delusional? Maybe his attendance at the sound session had the opposite effect and instead of healing, it disrupted? Aggravated his mental state?_ The smell of blood was strong in the room, and the beginnings of a headache throbbed at the base of her skull.

"I know I'm making you nervous and giving you a headache, but you need to explain what's going on." Ethan peeled his shirt over his head and tossed it onto the floor. "Sorry about the smell."

How did he know about my headache?

"Grace, I'm going to tell you the truth, and I need you not to freak out. But if you _do_ start to lose it, I'm going to use some of my powers to cool your jets."

His powers? Oh, no. He's really out there. Can I reach my cell phone?

She studied his chest. The skin under the bloody slashes in his shirt gleamed back with pale perfection. No wounds or scratches. But how could that be? She clearly remembered seeing the torn fabric.

Did I see it? Maybe I hallucinated...

"I could feel your headache, and your anxiety about how I _knew_ you had a headache. And your nervousness in general because I showed up out of the blue looking like a mad thing. Knowing stuff is one of my talents," he said in answer to the question she hadn't asked him. "And since you're still uptight, I'm going to send a hypnotic suggestion to remain peaceful, no matter what weird things I say."

He stared into Grace's eyes and she blinked several times. Her shoulders slumped and her lips parted. She leaned back into the couch cushions, too relaxed to even sit up straight. She eyed his smooth chest, thinking how nice it would be to run her fingers over the muscles. Maybe lick his nipples to see if they'd harden. And his lips. She studied his kissable mouth. What fun it would be to lean in and suck the lower lip. Maybe give him a tongue massage. That made her smile.

"Good. You're smiling. Now we can talk." He angled to face her directly. "Tell me about your dream, Grace."

"The dream? That's where I first saw you." The memory replayed in her mind in vivid detail. She told him about being attacked by a creature and how he—Ethan, her angel—rescued her. He kept his gaze focused on hers while she spoke.

"Okay. I don't know why you remember that since I went to a lot of trouble to erase the memory, but it wasn't a dream, Grace. It was real."

She fought against the waves of relaxation pulsing through her mind and her body, and struggled to lock onto his words. "No. That can't be right." She rallied her willpower and sat up straighter, watching his face, waiting for him to laugh and say he was joking. But his expression didn't change. A trickle of fear fanned through her briefly before it was swept away by another rush of bonelessness. She laughed. "You're being ridiculous. There are no such things as blood-drinking monsters with fangs. And maybe angels don't exist either. It was all in my imagination."

He raised a brow.

"Wasn't it?"

"No. The monster in your dream was a newly turned vampire."

Grace burst out laughing again. "You're a real comedian. Or you're nuts."

"I probably _am_ nuts, but I'm telling the truth. My friend Nelson and I were supposed to track the newbie down and capture him before he hurt any humans. Just my luck he got away at the same time you were walking on the path toward your house. He jumped on you, bit your neck, and would have killed you if we hadn't gotten there when we did."

_Oh. My. God. He really is insane._ _But very cute. Is it bad to lust after a sick person?_

They stared at each other for several seconds. "Ethan, I like a good joke as well as anyone, but this isn't funny. I think you need help—"

"I'm going to give you another suggestion that you'll be able to listen to me with _calm, detached objectivity_. And an open mind _._ " He locked his gaze onto hers.

A tingle ran up and down her spine as he said the last words. Her scalp prickled. The fear and anxiety, present only seconds before, vanished.

He nodded. "Since I obviously didn't erase your memories of my visit, was anything out of the ordinary when you woke up this morning?"

The _calm, detached objectivity_ he'd mentioned seemed to be true, because she could recall her strange morning and her assumption she'd blacked out again without getting upset. "I woke up dressed in the gag gift I'd gotten from friends on my last birthday, my hair was gummy and I felt like I'd been run over by a truck."

"Gag gift?"

"Yes. A sexy red nightie I never wear."

He grinned. "You ought to think about wearing it more often. It really suits you."

She had a quick flash of anxiety before the feeling dissolved. She settled deeper into the couch cushions. "How could you possibly know that?"

"After Nelson and I captured the newbie vampire, I carried you to your house and hosed you down in your shower. You were covered with blood from the idiot and dirt from the trail. I grabbed the first thing I found in your dresser, which happened to be the red number. Then I tucked you safe in your bed and left."

She didn't want to believe anything he was saying, but if he was lying, how else could he know about the silly nightgown she'd awakened wearing. "You were in my room?" Then a horrible thought smacked her in the head. She gasped. "Did you do anything to me?" Her mouth went dry and her heart pounded.

"No!" He scooted closer and took her hand in his, a serious look on his face. His skin was unusually cool. "I told you I'm no angel, but I didn't do anything... no matter how tempted I was."

She wasn't sure why, but she believed him.

"Why do you chase vampires?" She fought a snicker. "Are you some kind of male Buffy the Vampire Slayer?" _Really, Grace? Vampires? You're sounding as mad as him._

He smiled. "I always liked that show, but no. I'm one of the creatures she'd hunt."

She felt the humor drain from her face. It was worse than she thought. How could she get away from this handsome lunatic? She tried to lift her arms and couldn't. Maybe she could distract him, disable him without permanent harm. _Can my voice heal delusions?_

"I see that look on your face. Before you send for the men with straitjackets, let me explain—"

Without waiting, she closed her eyes, took a full breath and sang a high-pitched tone, imagining the sound penetrating and surrounding Ethan.

He jumped up, rubbing his arms. "Holy fuck! What are you doing? My whole body is tingling." He looked at his skin. "I've got goose bumps and my heart's racing. That's impossible."

Surprised to see he wasn't bleeding, or hadn't thrown up or lost his bowels, she prepared to launch another tone at him if he continued his bizarre story. She sucked in a breath.

"Stop!" Ethan returned to the couch, noses almost touching, and locked eyes with her. "Believe me, Grace. Everything I'm saying sounds perfectly normal to you. You can listen without getting upset."

She blinked, and then shook her head to rouse herself from the sudden brain fuzz. "Are you seriously telling me you're a vampire?" Her voice was flat and monotone.

"Yes, I am. One of the foul creatures of the night, the undead—a blood-drinking parasite."

They stared at each other again.

She licked her dry lips. "Are you going to kill me?"

"No, of course not." He raised his chin in the air, his tone of voice somewhere between shocked and insulted.

"Why not? Isn't that what bloodsuckers do?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, it is. And before I met you, I had to avoid humans so I _wouldn't_ suck them dry. You've done something to me. You're messing with my vampire nature. I noticed it as soon as I carried you to your house." He raised his arm to his nose and sniffed. "I don't even smell like a vampire anymore."

"Well, it sounds like you don't _like_ being a vampire, so what does it matter if I'm changing you—not that I believe a word of your story." _Why does the cute one have to be a loon?_

"Are you saying you really _can_ change me?" Ethan sprang up and began pacing before he stopped and stared at her, his eyes wide. "You're a witch!" He pointed at her. "I should have guessed. You put a spell on me." He slapped his hands against his thighs.

"Witch? You really are crazy." Although she had to admit she'd considered that possibility herself when she was young and trying to figure out her bizarre tendencies. She studied the frantic man in constant movement in front of her.

"No, wait." He held up a hand in a _stop_ gesture. "The weird feeling started while you were still unconscious, so you couldn't have bewitched me on purpose. Maybe I was transformed by being near you."

She watched his face. He did seem genuinely worried and confused. What would it hurt to tell him the truth? Especially since he'd shared his whopper of a fantasy tale with her. She patted the couch next to her, hoping she wasn't making the worst decision of her life by encouraging the nutcase to come closer. "Sit down. I'll tell you what I know about my abilities."

He hesitated for a couple of seconds before he sat. "I saw you cure that sick woman at the sound circle. It was a miracle."

She nodded. "It often does seem like a miracle. But it's also a curse." Thinking about telling the story made her lips go dry and her midsection tighten.

"What do you mean?" He leaned in and met her gaze. "You are totally relaxed, and every time I say the word _relax_ , you will become more comfortable and peaceful."

She didn't know how she'd signaled him that she was getting nervous, but at his words, a burst of warmth flowed down her spine, and she lowered the shoulders she hadn't realized were bunched with tension.

"Is that better?"

She took a deep breath. "Yes. Thanks. You must be one helluva hypnotist, Ethan."

He grinned. "It's a vampire skill. One of the ways we incapacitate our victims."

Her brows shot up. "Am I your victim?"

" _Relax_." He flicked a hand in a dismissive gesture. "We already covered that. Go on with your story. What about your abilities?"

Her fear dissipated. "Long before I discovered I could heal with my voice, I knew I could harm with it. At first I didn't understand why people around me—anyone who bullied me on the playground or stole my candy or pushed me off the slide—would start bleeding from their noses, mouths, eyes, ears, and they'd wet their pants or worse. The school staff thought it was some kind of virus going around. Nobody associated it with me for a while, until it became clear I was always in the vicinity when one of the outbreaks happened but I never had any symptoms." Tension coiled in her stomach again.

"Just _relax_. Are you saying that anytime someone hurt you they immediately got instant karma? That sounds like the prom scene from the movie _Carrie_."

"Not quite that bad. It wasn't only them hurting me. It was whether or not my emotions—fear, anger, or later, lust—were aroused. If I yelled at someone and backed it up with emotions, bad things happened. If I was a little annoyed with someone, but didn't have strong feelings about it, they weren't harmed."

"So, the emotions cause the damage?"

"It's the combination of emotions and sound. My parents had to move me around to different schools when I was a kid. To this day they still don't understand that I'm not possessed by demons or mentally ill, which is what they thought. Or maybe they're right." Her heartbeat pounded.

" _Relax_. I doubt if someone possessed by demons could cure people the way you do." He grinned. "Unless it's an open-minded demon."

"Are you laughing at me?" Her lips pressed into a firm line. She was losing patience trying to placate the gorgeous lunatic.

"Only a little. _Relax_. You said something about lust..."

"You would lock onto that one." She gave a weak smile. "I was pretty repressed about boys and sex. After I figured out my voice was a lethal weapon, I isolated myself. I made it all the way through high school and most of college before I trusted a guy enough to let him near me. I thought if I never got angry at him, there wouldn't be any negative consequences. But—" She licked her lips and twisted her hands in her lap.

" _Relax_..."

She breathed deeply before continuing. "In the middle of our first 'going all the way' session, I found myself swamped with love and desire for this guy. His name was Jeff. He sang in choir with me and his voice was amazing. I'd never felt such intense positive emotions or felt so close to someone. I called out his name, and as soon as the best orgasm in the universe ripped through me, Jeff started screaming. He—" Her words were choked off with a sob. Tears poured down Grace's cheeks.

Ethan took her hand. "Look at me, Grace. When she did, he repeated, " _Relax, relax, relax_. It's a distant memory. Easy to talk about."

She sniffled. "He raised his head to look at me and blood poured from his eyes and his ears. He jumped off the bed and clutched his head for a few seconds before he collapsed on the floor. I screamed until I noticed a pool of urine expanding around him."

"Jesus," Ethan mumbled.

"I pressed my hands against my mouth to stop the sound in time for my neighbors to swarm in through the door I'd left unlocked. They called an ambulance and the police. It looked like Jeff had some sort of stroke or seizure, and they all thought I was in shock. Nobody knew my horrible secret—they didn't know it was all my fault—so they treated me with kindness and took me to the emergency room to get checked out. I was terrified I'd killed him."

"Holy shit, Grace. Did he die?"

"No. He was in the hospital for a couple of weeks. They couldn't find a clear cause for the head pain and bleeding, and all his tests came back normal, so they finally released him. I was too horrified and ashamed to visit him, but I sent cards and flowers. He tried to call me a few times, and then emailed saying he understood I didn't want to see him again after he got so sick for no reason, and in the middle of having sex. He assumed I was afraid of him, which I was, but not for any reason he could imagine. I transferred to another university at the end of the semester and never saw him again."

"Wow. What a miserable experience."

"After that I never tried to get close to anyone again. That was my only experience of hurting someone with positive emotions. So, any future love relationships are out of the question."

"Geez, your love life is even shittier than mine." Ethan grinned and patted her hand.

She realized he was trying to cheer her up after the ghastly story so she gave him as authentic a smile as she could muster. "I'd say that's an understatement."

"Okay, there's a downside to your voice, but there are a lot of upsides. Have you ever been unable to cure someone you tried to heal?"

"Yes, lots of times. I can't inflict healing on someone who doesn't want it. Sometimes people who are terminally ill are ready to die. They don't want their well-meaning family and friends to bring me in to save the day. I always sense when the answer is going to be _no_ , and in that case I sing to soothe them and ease their passing."

Ethan stared at her for several seconds, frowning. "What if someone's really close to death and they don't want to die? Can you save them? And what if they've already died? Is there anything you can do?"

Grace's vision blurred and her head spun. Her breath caught.

"Hey! You went all chalk-white on me. _Relax, relax, relax_." He pushed against her shoulder with his finger and she dropped back into the cushions. "What just happened?"

Tears gathered in her eyes, and she blinked them away. "I've healed many people who were on the brink of death. That's no different than any other kind of sound healing. But the first time I pushed the limit—when I didn't listen to my intuition telling me it was too late—I caused a disaster. I let my pride and ego take over. I refused to stop the process, even when I felt the soul leave the body. I was young and stupid, and I wasn't going to let _Death_ win."

"So, what was the disaster?"

Grace hyperventilated, unable to get enough air to speak.

"Grace, close your eyes and breathe deeply." He waited while she followed his instructions. "Imagine yourself floating above the scene of the disaster. You can see it, but it doesn't affect you. _Relax_." He paused. "Now tell me what happened."

Her heart rate slowed. "I sometimes go to hospitals to do healings requested by a doctor or nurse familiar with my work. Once at a New York City hospital, after I finished healing the person I'd been scheduled to see, I stopped by the cancer ward and spent a few minutes with each patient. I was about to leave when someone's groans of pain caught my attention. It was a young woman whose cancer had metastasized throughout her entire body. She was in horrible agony. As I began singing to her, I felt her struggle to live. I pushed my will into her, and for a couple of minutes it seemed she chose to stay. But I was wrong. Her soul left and I didn't stop pushing. She was dead but I forced the body to react. I animated the corpse, which started bleeding and oozing substances from every opening. Since there was no soul—no consciousness—present, the body began moving instinctively. It shot up off the bed and ran down the hallway like a zombie from _The Walking Dead_. I followed and watched her crash through a window and fall ten stories to the street below. The cause of death was listed as suicide. Once again, nobody knew it was all my fault. But _I_ did."

They both sat silently for a few minutes then she frowned. "Hold on. I was very emotional—angry and fearful—when I sang that high-pitched sound at you a few minutes ago, but you aren't bleeding or clutching your skull. Why didn't my voice hurt you?"

He shrugged. "Maybe because I'm a vampire. I'm already dead so you can't hurt vampires. But..."

"But what?"

"That doesn't feel like the right answer."

"Not that I believe your vampire story, but how could you possibly know how my voice usually affects vampires, since you're the only one I've ever—allegedly—met."

"You're right... wait! You _have_ met another vampire. The newbie you thought was a dream. We noticed he had his own blood all over him, but we didn't know why. Were you yelling at him?"

"Yes, of course. I screamed myself hoarse trying to get him to let go."

"So, maybe your lethal weapon _does_ work on vampires. Except for me."

"I don't understand. Why wouldn't it work on you?"

"This is just a guess, but I sat by your bedside when I took you home and there was an odd, calming sensation—the one I feel every time I'm around you. Like some kind of positive radiation. And then I attended your sound session where you healed the woman. The whole room was full of powerful vibrations. Maybe I'm immune to your voice now. I think you've altered my vampirism and I'm something in-between alive and undead."

None of that can really be true, can it?

"Let's do another experiment," he said.

"An experiment?" Her stomach tensed. She was pretty sure she wouldn't like whatever it was.

"Yeah. I think we both know we're attracted to each other. I'll kiss you and get your hormones all stirred up. Then you yell my name and we'll see what happens."

"What? No! Are you insane? I told you about the damage my voice can do. I don't want to hurt you." _Although I like the part about kissing..._

"But you haven't hurt me yet. I want to figure this out." He scooted closer and took her face in his hands. "Okay, ready?"

Her breath hitched and she reluctantly nodded, both scared and excited.

The kiss started out slowly, a brush of lips, and then it went deeper. He slid his tongue into her mouth and she opened for it, her heart racing. His skin seemed to warm to her touch. Unable to believe how bold she was acting, she wove her fingers into his silky hair and groaned. "Ethan."

He pulled away enough to whisper. "Say it again and again. Just because I want to hear it. And I'm not bleeding yet."

"Ethan, Ethan, Ethan..."

Their lips met again, tongues dancing together as they melted into each other. Heart pounding along with his, she groaned when Ethan cupped her breast and used his thumb to caress her nipple. Pleasure shot through her. She didn't know why her voice didn't hurt him, or why she was acting so weird, but forced herself to stop thinking about it. Instead she enjoyed every moment of her newfound freedom and the wonderful things Ethan was doing with his mouth and hands.

"I like this experiment," he mumbled as he untucked her shirt and slid his hand up her stomach and under her bra, giving her chills and making her hot all at the same time. He squeezed one breast, then the other.

Because of her affliction, she'd given up thinking about ever being with a man again. She didn't understand why Ethan had changed that. Part of her was afraid, but the rest of her wanted to feel his naked skin against hers. For the first time in years, she wanted to take a dangerous risk. Maybe Roz was right about Ethan being her twin soul. She wasn't completely sure what that meant, but it sounded exotic.

She'd begun to plan the fastest way to get rid of all their clothes when someone snickered.

"Well, what have we here?" A man's voice growled.

Grace and Ethan's heads jerked in the direction of the abnormally tall man wearing a black robe and blood-red snakeskin boots, who stood in the doorway of her office.

"Look, children." The intruder pointed one of his crooked, bony fingers, the nail protruding like a jagged, yellow claw. "Come and witness the disobedient vampire playing with his food. What shall we do with them?"

# Chapter 7

"Alexander!" Ethan bolted off the couch and stood before the visitor. He spotted Nelson standing behind the Master and glared at his friend.

Nelson mouthed "I'm sorry" before lowering his gaze.

Obviously Nelson had followed him to Grace's studio and reported his whereabouts to Alexander. Ethan thought he should be outraged at the vampire with whom he'd shared so many years of servitude, but he couldn't summon any anger, because he knew how damaged and frightened Nelson was. The lost soul simply never had the strength to defy the Master, no matter how much he hated his undead existence.

"It appears we have a doomed love affair in progress," the sandpaper-edged voice boomed again. Towering over everyone, Alexander stalked up to within an inch of Ethan's face, his long silver hair flowing down his body like liquid mercury, an evil grin stretching his lips. He bent his head and locked his black gaze onto Ethan's. "You know the rules, silly boy. Now I have the pleasure of draining your plaything dry and making an example of you for the rest of my slaves."

The menacing vampire glided over to Grace, exposing his long, sharp fangs. Quick like a snake, he bent, lifted her arm and bit her, making loud sucking sounds as he drank her blood.

Before Ethan could even think about coming to her rescue, Grace screamed. The razor-sharp, high-pitched sound bounced off the walls and crawled over his skin like sonic bugs.

All the vampires in the room began to tear at their ears and wail. Alexander retracted his dripping fangs, and jerked upright. Howling, he covered his ears as blood oozed from his nose and eyes. "What is this witchcraft?" He pulled his hands away. They were covered with thick, red liquid.

"Master, save us!" the servants pleaded as they panicked and rushed toward him, bleeding from every opening.

Grace took a breath and sang out another, even more lethal tone.

Chills raced up and down Ethan's body. He couldn't believe his eyes. Blood was oozing from the pores of the slaves' skin. _Holy hell. Her voice really_ is _a weapon!_ He expected his head to explode any second.

Alexander rubbed the blood from his nose and mouth and roared, "I don't know what you're doing, but I know how to stop you." He swung his fist and hit her hard on the side of the head above her ear. "Shut the fuck up!"

She fell back against the cushions, unconscious.

All the vampire minions froze, silent.

Ethan started to move toward Grace, but then thought better of it. He knew she was still alive. It was best to keep quiet, to drop off the master's radar. He couldn't afford the luxury of showing a reaction to the violence.

Alexander straightened, pulled a rag from the pocket of his robe, and wiped at the blood crusting on his chin and dripping down his hair. "Leave it to you, rebellious servant, to find a human who can bleed you with her voice. What freaks you both are." He looked Grace up and down. "But she _is_ quite fetching for a mortal woman. I can't fault your _taste_. Of course I'll _taste_ her very soon." He gave an evil grin. "And I'll make sure to rip out her tongue first so we don't have a repeat performance." His dark eyes narrowed and he beckoned several vampires with a slight twitch of two fingers. "Quickly now. It's near dawn. Take them to the lair. We'll have a full gathering tonight. It's been too long since I made an example of a slave."

One of the blood-covered lackeys lifted Grace into his arms and trotted out the back door. Another came for Ethan, who was tempted to fight, but didn't want to let on that he hadn't been entranced. He'd waited for the usual spaced-out feeling he got whenever Alexander put the vampo-whammy on him, but it hadn't come. It didn't take long for him to connect his new immunity to being a half-thing, thanks to Grace. Since he had no idea what he was capable of now—or how long the changes would last—he continued to act as if he were in an altered state. He'd seen ample evidence of vampires being hypnotized by the brutal master, so he knew how to play it. He let his mouth hang open and his eyelids droop. He wasn't worried about Alexander seeing through his pretense. As powerful as the short-tempered Master was, he had his limits. Ethan discovered years earlier that Alexander lacked any ability to intuit or perceive beyond his normal vampire senses, which surprised Ethan because he'd believed everyone could use imagination and will-force like him.

Barely cracking an eyelid, he tracked their progress toward the lair.

By the time they got to the hideaway there was a subtle shift in the Eastern sky, which was no longer pitch black, but now indigo blue. Dawn would arrive soon. Ethan braced himself for the claustrophobic sensation—he wasn't sure if it was more like drowning or having huge boulders layered on his chest—that preceded his daily sunrise death.

Over a century ago, Alexander seized an abandoned hospital in the foothills west of the city. The dilapidated place used to be a sanitarium for humans with tuberculosis and other contagious diseases. Back in the day, one of its selling points was access to nearby hot springs, and only the rich could afford to take the cure. The site had been abandoned when half the resident patients died within a three-month period from unexplained causes.

What a coincidence the vampires moved in about the same time.

The city eventually discovered the toxic level of minerals in the hot springs caused more problems than they cured, so the area was fenced off and the property condemned.

Still feigning unconsciousness, Ethan studied all the vampires, noticing they'd begun to slow, their footsteps labored and unsteady. It was during this time, right before sunrise, when all vampires looked like zombies. That's probably where the horror tales about the brain-eating cadavers originated from to begin with.

"Take them to the lowest sub-basement," Alexander ordered. "We'll continue the festivities when I rise." He strode around the corner of the building and Ethan heard a door slam.

The two vampires carrying Grace and Ethan stumbled down several staircases and pushed through squeaky double doors leading to a windowless expanse filled with rusted medical equipment. Several inches of putrid water, left over from the last flood, covered the floor. Body parts floated in the foul liquid. It smelled like mildew, blood, disembowelment and death.

"End of the line." The vampire carrying Grace dropped her onto a stained metal table covered in rat droppings. Her head hit with a thud.

"For you, too," said the other vampire as he shoved Ethan onto the top of a large shelf. "I'd hate to be in your shoes, mate. Have fun down here, but don't drink her. Alexander has dibs."

Ethan kept his eyes closed until the laughing vampires shuffled up the stairs.

"Grace," he stage-whispered as he jumped down from the shelf and waded to the other side of the room. "Wake up!" There were no windows, so he couldn't actually see the subtle light shift outside, but he felt it. He didn't know how much time he had to rescue Grace before he collapsed facedown into the shit pond. It was amazing he'd been able to stay conscious this long.

He stared down at her closed eyes and saw jerky eye movements under her lids. Was she dreaming? Wherever she was had to be better than the reality she'd face when she woke up. It wasn't going to be pretty. He sniffed the thick, noxious air. Even though his sense of smell was a hundred times more sensitive than a human's, the odors weren't as horrible for him since he was used to them. Grace wasn't. "Grace! We've got to make a plan." He patted her cheeks with no response.

Tempted to grab her and make a run for it up the stairs, he forced himself to keep trying to rouse her instead. He couldn't imagine what would happen if he dropped her in the slime when his vampiric spark extinguished for the day. He stilled for a moment, trying to sense the familiar vibration given off by nearby bloodsuckers, the faint buzz he barely heard anymore unless he paid close attention. Nothing. Maybe they were too far underground.

"Come on, Grace. You have to walk on your own." He pulled her into a sitting position, and gently shook her shoulders. Her head bobbed back and forth like her neck bones had dissolved. Damn Alexander for hitting her so hard. Wondering if his trance skills would work on her if he held her lids open and stared into her eyes, he moved closer. Holding the sides of her head between his hands, he used his thumbs to pry up the lids and locked eyeballs with her. "Grace! It's time to wake up. You gotta do what Ethan, the angel from your dream, is telling you." He kissed her forehead.

For an instant, he thought he saw a muscle twitch in her cheek. "Yeah! That's it. Come on back." He waited. Nothing. "Well, shit! Now's a good time for you to be your amazing self. Hey, Amazing Grace. That's you!" Without thinking he started singing, "Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now I'm found. Was a bloodsucking vampire but now I don't know what the fuck I am..."

One of her eyes opened. Then the other. She coughed and blinked several times.

"Ethan? I hear your voice, but I can't see you. I don't think those are the right words to that song." She rubbed the back of her neck. "I've got a major headache. That asshole hit me!"

"He did."

Sniffing, she blinked a few more times. "Where are we? It smells so horrible in here. Did the sewer back up?"

He fished in his pocket for the old lighter he always carried, a remnant of his former life. He justified keeping it by figuring he'd be prepared the next time he came across some quality weed. Of course pot had no effect on the undead, but it was a good excuse. He flicked the flame to life, hoping there wasn't any gas to ignite, and held it near his face so she could see him. "This place is _way_ worse than any sewer."

Trembling, she pulled him in for a hug. "I'm so glad you're here. Who were those men who broke into my studio?"

"That was master vampire Alexander. My boss, I guess. Or more like my owner."

"Your owner? He had a very odd energy. His aura was missing. No life force."

"No surprise there, since he's a vampire—a dead thing. Are you ready to accept that now?"

"Since I've never seen a live person without an energy field, I can admit he isn't a normal person."

"Are you saying you didn't notice I don't have one, either? I'm as dead as he is. Or at least I was before I met you."

"You _do_ have an aura. It's not as brightly colored as most people's and it has a different shape, but it's there. I noticed it right away when you talked to me after the sound circle."

"No shit? I guess that's something else you've done to me. But we've got bigger problems right now." He lifted her into his arms so she wouldn't have to walk through the toxic sludge pooled around his feet. "I need to get you out of here before they realize I wasn't zapped by Alexander's eyeball hypnosis." He sloshed through the chunky water, hoping he'd be able to stay conscious at least long enough to point her in the right direction.

Halfway up the third staircase, he thought it odd that he hadn't encountered anyone yet, or even heard them, for that matter. When he reached the top of the fourth set of stairs, he froze, confronting a sight he never expected to see again. Something he never would've believed. Light. Grey, overcast light, but actual daylight. He almost dropped her in his shock. Stunned and trembling, his dead heart pounding, he stared out the broken doorway toward the eastern horizon and the beautiful sunrise in progress. How could this be? He looked down at Grace who was staring up at him.

"What's wrong, Ethan? You're shaking. And you're holding me so tightly I can barely breathe."

"Sorry." He released her and moved closer to the door. "This is the first sunrise I've seen in four decades." Moisture gathered in his eyes and a lone tear trailed down his cheek. "Even if I melt five minutes from now, I'm a happy dead dude."

She took his hand. "I still don't know whether you're crazy or you really are a bloodsucking creature like Alexander, but I'm grateful to you for getting me out of there. Can we leave now?"

Leave? Go out into the sun? All vampires knew that was certain death. "I can't leave, Grace. You know the myth about vampires bursting into flames in the sun?"

She nodded.

"It's not a myth. It's true. Watch." He steeled himself, anticipating the coming pain, and stuck his arm out through the doorway, expecting to see smoke and smell burning flesh. He had to show her the truth of his reality, even if it destroyed him.

Resolved to die with dignity he waited, and felt... nothing.

"What the fuck?" He thrust out the other arm.

"Ethan, what if you aren't a vampire and never were? Maybe they captured you and you got confused. Brainwashed. Did you have a recent head injury, or –"

He dropped his arms and stared at her, frowning. "I know what I was. I don't understand. Not only did I _not_ die at sunrise, but I'm not frying in the light. It's you. You really changed me. But into _what_ I have no frickin' clue."

"But, isn't this good news? If I did have something to do with healing your condition, aren't you glad?"

He pressed his lips together and strode out the door.

"Ethan! Where are you going?" Grace followed and caught up to him on a patch of dead grass a few feet away.

"I had to see if my body would explode if I came outside. Apparently—at least for the moment—I'm fireproof." Tears overflowed his eyes again, and he raised his face up toward the sun. "I don't get it." He choked, his voice thick with emotion. "I should be truly dead. This can't be happening." He blinked, and then looked at Grace. "How is this possible?"

"I don't know, Ethan." She took his hand. "If you really were a vampire, maybe it was a mutation—something abnormal. If that's the case, then it could be healed like anything else, right?"

He lifted her arm and studied the fang holes and dried blood then met her eyes. "I've got to find out if I still crave blood. I promise I won't hurt you." Before she could answer or figure out what he intended to do, Ethan extended his fangs and sank them into the wounds Alexander had made in Grace's skin.

She gasped and tried to pull back. "Ethan, stop! No!"

He held tight while she kept fighting, and sucked for a few seconds, before he retracted his fangs and let go.

Eyes wide, Grace jumped away, rubbing her arm.

Ethan felt bad about scaring her, but he had to know. "I still like blood. It tastes good to me. For a second I was tempted to take a lot more from you, but I was able to control myself. That's definitely new for me." He scanned the horizon. "I don't know if I'm disappointed or relieved that blood is still my Happy Meal. I didn't die at dawn, and I'm standing in the sun. What the fuck am I?" He shifted his frightened gaze to her as his knees went out from under him and he dropped like a stone onto the grass.

Maybe I'm having an LSD flashback and none of this is real. Yeah. That's it. I'm lost in a brain chemical nightmare. But vampires don't have flashbacks and nightmares...

Grace stood silently, staring down at him, an annoyed expression on her face. "You bit me." She glanced down at the holes he'd opened in her arm, which were still bleeding.

"I know. I'm sorry." _But not totally sorry._ _You taste great._ Ethan sat up and held out his hand. "Give me your arm and I'll make the wounds disappear."

She stepped further away. "No thank you. I can heal myself." Her stern tone of voice made it clear she wouldn't be his snack again anytime soon.

His gaze drifted to the sky. Watching the sun rise was a surreal experience. Who—or what—was he now? As much as he'd hated his brutal life as a vampire, at least he knew what he was and what was expected of him. Now he'd awakened into a new landscape, one he didn't have a road map for.

"Ethan?"

He snapped out of his daydream and looked up at Grace, trying to focus on her words. "Yeah?"

"I'm going to walk home now. I need food and a shower and at least twenty-four hours sleep. After that maybe I can begin to grasp the notion that vampires exist. And why my voice didn't kill you."

"What?" He jumped up. "Wait, no! You can't go home."

Grace's brows rose, her expression tensed. "Why not? Are you going to keep me prisoner so you can drink my blood?" She backed up a few steps.

"Of course not, but there's a much bigger threat than me."

"What are you talking about? The bad guys are asleep in their coffins, or wherever they go to die during the day. We're safe."

"No. We're not." Ethan shoved his hands in his pockets and paced in a circle, deep in thought for several seconds. "As soon as they wake up, they'll go to your studio to find us. If we're not there, Nelson knows the general area where your house is because he was with me when the newbie attacked you. Alexander will smell you. They're not going to give up on the bloody ritual they planned."

Watching Grace, Ethan saw the exact moment she figured out how much trouble they were in.

"Oh, my God, Ethan!" She wrapped her arms around herself. "We'll have to leave until they forget about us. Come on. I need to go home and pack." She started walking, and he grabbed the back of her shirt. "Hey!" She spun to face him.

"You don't get it. They'll _never_ forget about us. They have nothing better to do. Vampires _live_ for situations like this. They have eternity to plot revenge and think of new ways to amuse themselves. We'll have to..." He stopped before saying the words he couldn't believe he was thinking. The ramifications of his plan caused his stomach to churn.

"Have to what?"

"Destroy them." A wave of panic flashed through his body, and he trembled, light-headed with the intensity of it. But after saying the words out loud, he knew they were true. It was clear what he had to do. Grace would only be free of them if Alexander and his entire coven perished. And since the only ways vampires could be killed were by cutting off their heads and burning them, or by direct sunlight, his task was clear.

But that meant Nelson had to die, too.

Anxiety and fear twisted his gut. Ethan didn't know if he could kill his friend, even though Nelson hated being a vampire and wanted nothing more than to escape in whatever way he could. He'd tried to kill himself many times since they'd met. Nelson had gotten very creative about his suicide attempts, but he hadn't had the courage to walk into the sunlight.

Maybe destroying him would be a mercy.

"There's no other solution." Ethan locked his gaze on Grace's. "We have to go back into the building and destroy them all." He hurried through the doorway and started down the stairs, knowing Alexander and his minions could be found in one of the regular basement levels, _the bunker_ , they called it, in honor of one of Alexander's heroes, Adolf Hitler.

Ethan had spent years in a cardboard box down there, so he knew the territory.

"Are you serious?" Grace asked, panting from trying to catch up, disbelief dripping from her voice. "What are we going to do? Find an ax and chop their heads off? Or maybe pull them out into the sun."

"Exactly."

"I was kidding! That's insane. We're not murderers."

"How can we murder something that's already dead?"

She frowned and pursed her lips. "Well, regardless. How many are there, anyway? Ten? Twenty? Fifty?"

"Boulder's pretty small, and it can't sustain as many vampires as a bigger city, so there are only about thirty servants here in addition to Alexander."

" _Only_ thirty? How are we supposed to handle thirty bodies? I can't believe I just said that."

"One at a time. Come on, let's go. Daylight's wasting." He still wasn't convinced he wouldn't collapse at the worst possible moment. "We have to find Alexander first because they all obey him."

Ethan led the way to the unflooded basement level where he'd lived.

"What are all these big cardboard boxes for?" Grace moved to the nearest one, lifted the flap on the side then jumped back. "What the hell? Somebody's in there." She held her nose. "And they smell bad. Like soiled underwear and blood."

"That's what a dead—well, dead for the day—vampire smells like."

"Eww. If you're a vampire, why don't you smell like that?"

"Beats me. I'm sure I did before. Quite the olfactory treat, eh?" He hurried down the center of the space and pointed off to the left. "There's a separate area back here where Alexander stays." He waited for Grace to join him. She nervously shifted her eyes from side to side as she passed through what he thought of as the vampire version of a trailer park.

They walked into the alcove and discovered a huge stone sarcophagus, etched with Egyptian hieroglyphics and surrounded by statues of demons. Drained human bodies were stacked against a wall.

"Holy shit. He was a sicker fuck than I thought."

Grace audibly gulped and ran her fingers over the lid before trying to lift it. "This thing weighs a ton. We'll never get it off. I hope you have a Plan B. Or C."

Ethan grimaced. "Let's see if anything beyond craving blood remains of my former existence." He pushed against the heavy cover, and it slid to the side with ease. "Yes! I've still got my super strength. What a deal." He pushed again and the lid crashed to the ground, the sound echoed through the cavernous basement.

They both startled from the noise then looked down at Alexander, who lay naked, bloody and dead.

"Oh. My. God." Grace pressed her hand against her chest and nodded toward the collection of bodies. "Did he kill all those people?"

"And thousands more throughout his long life. So, if you're feeling squeamish about ending him, keep _those_ murders in mind." He studied her pale, sweaty face. "Are you sure you're up for this? I could do it alone. You can wait for me outside."

"Part of me really wants to bolt out the door and keep on running, but you're right. I don't know what I was thinking. Of course, he won't forget us. I want to help." She took a deep breath. "Let's get it over with."

"Okay." Ethan reached in and grabbed Alexander's limp form from the stone coffin. He half expected the Master to open his eyes and attack with his lethal fangs. But there was no movement at all. "Come on. I'm going to stand at the outside door and throw him into the light. I don't personally know what happens to a vampire in the sun. Alexander used to threaten us with frying in the sun, but he never gave any specifics. It's all urban legend. I hope _something_ happens."

"But how could you not know? I mean, it's in every vampire movie..."

"Yeah, well, don't believe everything you see or read. And besides, Alexander was a control freak. Our lives—if that's what you want to call them—were pretty limited. Come on. Let's go." _No way I'm telling her the truth about my life. She'd be disgusted._

Grace followed him up the flights of stairs to the main entrance. "This is really creepy, Ethan. Now I'll have more horrible memories to add to the stash I've already got."

"Yeah. I'm sorry about that. Truly. If I hadn't come across you the other night, you'd never know vampires exist and you wouldn't be afraid for your life. But this is the hand we were dealt and we need to play it."

He stood in the doorway, looking out at the sun shining on the sidewalk and then at his former master. "Bon voyage, Alexander. Don't forget to write." Tensing, he held his breath as he tossed his boss's body onto the cement. The corpse hit the ground and immediately burst into flames, like turning on a gas grill. Ethan backed away and watched the long strands of silver hair crackle like Fourth of July sparklers. After burning white-hot for a few seconds, nothing remained of the body except a scorch mark and a scattering of ashes which moved with the breeze.

"Shit! It's true. Vampires really do fry in the sun. And fucking fast!" He stuck his arm out again as he had earlier. Nothing happened. He turned to Grace. "But apparently not me. Maybe I'll never be able to explain what changed, and for all I know the more time I spend with you, the more I'll morph into something _other_ , but I'm glad to have the chance to rid the town of a cancer it didn't know it had. Who would've thought? Ethan James, Super Hero."

"And Grace Blackburn!" She struck a Wonder Woman pose.

"Of course!" He hugged her. "Let's get started." He wanted to keep busy. Eventually he'd have to deal with all the emotions he'd repressed. But not now.

They ran down the stairs and stood by the first cardboard box and lifted the side flap. "Here's the fastest way to do this: you pull the vampires out of the boxes, and I'll haul them upstairs and toss them out the door."

"Really?" She wiped her hands on her shirt. "I have to pull them out of the boxes? I'm strong, but not _that_ strong."

"You'd be surprised how skinny most of us are. Many of us were barely getting by when we were turned. We're easy to drag."

"But what if they have cooties? It isn't very clean down here."

"Cooties, Grace? Really?" _Is this experience messing with her mind more than I thought?_

She shook herself like a dog in the rain. "Okay, okay. I'll pull them as close to the stairs as I can."

"Let's do a few together to get things started." He couldn't imagine how hideous this entire day had been for Grace. She'd been remarkably calm in the face of absurdity and horror.

They went from box to box and dragged the occupants out into the center of the room. "All right. I'll take a couple up. You keep bringing more."

Eventually, Ethan saw Grace walking toward the last two boxes and called out, "Grace, wait!" He caught up with her in time to reach into an empty box and retrieve an acoustic guitar. "This is my box and my stuff." He stood still for a few seconds.

"What's wrong, Ethan?"

"It just occurred to me that I have no home. Nowhere to go. I lived with Alexander for almost half a century."

She slid her arm around him. "You can stay with me while you figure things out. Don't worry."

"Thanks." He gave her a quick kiss, then strode to the last box and squatted down. "This is Nelson's box. Something smells different here. I've been dreading this." He lifted the flap and pulled Nelson out by his feet. Headless. "What the fuck?" Ethan crawled into the box and came out carrying the severed head.

She gasped. "Oh, no!"

"Nelson." Ethan stared at his decapitated friend. He clenched his teeth together, his jaw so tight he couldn't speak. Overwhelmed with rage at Alexander and sadness for his best friend, he fought the urge to cry. His gut churned with grief and the need for revenge. He'd kept his emotions in check for so many years, he didn't know what would happen if he let them out. He trembled with the effort to hold back the feelings—to keep himself together. Nelson had been a true friend, something Ethan had little experience with. He'd never felt such a loss. _Hold on, hold on, hold on._

He lifted both parts of Nelson into his arms and moved toward the stairway. "Come on." He sniffled and cleared his throat. "I'll give him to the sun. I guess I should be grateful that Alexander was a monster until the end. He must have punished Nelson for not coming forward sooner. Or some other lunatic thing he made up on the spur of the moment."

They moved silently through the basement and up the flights of stairs until they reached the doorway.

Pausing, Ethan looked down at the head of his friend. "I love you, man. I wouldn't have made it all those years alone. I'll never forget you, Nelson. Never. I'll make it right."

He launched the head and the body onto the scorched sidewalk and watched them ignite. Finally, tears rolled down his cheeks.

Grace wrapped her arms around his waist and crooned softly. "I'm so sorry, Ethan."

After a few minutes, Ethan wiped his eyes and turned his gaze to her. "I'm going to make one more trip, to be sure we got them all. I'll be right back." Needing a minute to collect himself, he bolted down the stairs, testing his vampire speed, which was apparently still in operation, and quickly returned. "Okay. All clear."

Grace yawned and stretched. "I'm so glad that's over. Let's go to my place and clean up. We both smell horrible." She retrieved Ethan's guitar he'd leaned against the wall and walked outside. Stepping carefully around the ashes, she stopped, looking over her shoulder. "Hey, aren't you coming?"

He'd frozen in the doorway. "It's _not_ over."

"What do you mean? You said we got them all."

"Yeah. We got them all _here_. But I forgot about Mordecai."

"Who's Mordecai? Another one of your vampire friends?"

"Not even close." His lips pressed into a tight line. "He's another master, even worse than Alexander. He moved to Boulder a few months ago and started his own vampire-making factory. There are mindless newbies wandering all over the city killing humans and leaving bodies for the mortal authorities to find. He made the moron who attacked you. We've got to find his lair while it's still daylight, and drag their carcasses into the light, too."

Grace backed away slowly, staring with her mouth open. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear the part about dragging more carcasses." She set his guitar on the grass. "This has gone too far, Ethan. I'm already shell-shocked and questioning my sanity. Everything that's happened since you showed up in my studio last evening has been a nightmare."

Recognizing her fear and vulnerability, Ethan spoke in a quiet, soothing voice. He didn't want her to have a stroke or some other normal human reaction to unnatural terror. "Everything? I don't think everything was bad."

She goggled. "How can you say that? We killed a bunch of people you knew." Her skin paled and sweat dripped down her face.

"Not people. Vampires. Not the same thing at all." He added a layer of seduction to his tone. "But what I meant was, I thought the kissing was pretty amazing. Didn't you?"

Flinching instinctively, he stepped into the daylight and reached for Grace. Tapping into the suggestions he'd given her back at her studio, he stared into her eyes. "I won't let anything happen to you, Grace. You can _relax. Relax. Relax_."

Grace's shoulders slumped and she licked her lips. "It's not fair that you can do that to me. What if I _want_ to freak out?" She took a deep breath.

Ethan moved close, leaned in and kissed her, long and sweet. _I could really get used to this._

She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back.

After a few seconds they pulled apart. "I guess I'll have to agree _that_ was amazing." Grace smiled at him. "Why don't we go to my house and practice some more?"

"That's exactly what I want to do after we finish what we started."

When her anxiety rose and her heart pounded again, Ethan pressed his palm against her breast. " _Relax_. We'll get through this and then things will be a lot better."

"I don't understand why we have to worry about these other vampires you don't even spend time with. They probably won't know anything happened." She gave Ethan hopeful eyes.

"Trust me, they'll know. Vampires are worse than humans. Even more brutal and bloodthirsty, because they have centuries of time to fill. Killing is fun to them. Mordecai always used to spy on Alexander here. The next time he comes around, he'll realize the master and many of his servants went into the sun. It's like an energetic memory—an extra vampire sense. Not to mention the burning smell."

"But what does it matter if they know? Maybe it will scare them away."

Ethan gave a harsh laugh. Grace was still in denial. Well, why wouldn't she be? She had no idea what kinds of monsters lived off human blood. Two days ago her life had been normal. "Of course they'll be glad to have the area to themselves, but they'll be able to smell us: a human and whatever I am. The scent will never fade, and they'll track us."

She suddenly looked so forlorn, so defeated, that it tugged on his heart—or whatever passed for his heart these days. "Are you saying we'll never be safe? I'll never be able to use my studio—"

"No." He took a step back and stared up at the sky, realizing what he had to do. It was his fault she was the target of bloodsuckers. His fault the rug had been pulled out from under her life. He'd find a way to make it right. "You _will_ be safe. You _can_ have your life back. I'll make sure of it."

"How?"

"You'll go away for a little while. Long enough for me to destroy Mordecai and his minions and make sure no reinforcements show up. I'll set fire to this location and any other vampire nests I find." He stroked her cheek with the side of his finger. "Please forgive me. I shouldn't have expected you to help with such a horrible task. I might not be fully vampire anymore, but I'm more than human and I can handle this job by myself. Especially since I have the advantage of being awake during the day." _As long as it lasts._

"No!" She moved in and hugged him tightly. Her heart slammed against her ribs. "That's not going to happen. As much as I don't want to murd... er, dispose of any more bodies, I won't leave you alone. I've been hiding and afraid for too long. You need me. We're a team now." She tightened her grip on him. "I don't want to lose you."

"What?" He couldn't believe his ears. _Is she saying she wants to be with me? No. That can't be. I don't deserve anyone like her. I don't even know what I am anymore._ _She doesn't know what she's saying._ His throat tightened and he had to swallow a couple of times before he could speak. It had been so long since he'd been attracted to a woman, he didn't trust his instincts. Surely she would come to her senses any minute now. "I don't want to lose you either, Grace, but I can't pull you into my troubles any deeper than you already are. You deserve to be happy." He pressed his lips to hers and sank into her warmth, delaying the inevitable as long as possible.

As the kiss went on and on, their arms tightened around each other. He couldn't remember ever feeling so connected to anyone or wanting a woman so badly. In his own way, he'd been as fearful of relationships as Grace. He'd met female bloodsuckers he found attractive, so his lack of attachment hadn't been from want of opportunities. And it wasn't so much that he'd been afraid he'd be hurt again—although that's what he told himself. But rather he'd become so hopeless he couldn't see the point of allowing any joy or comfort into his miserable life at all.

He thrust his hips against hers, and she groaned. The sound sent a rush through his body, hardening his cock and making his heart pound. His fangs descended and Grace's tongue scraped the tip of his sharp teeth, drawing blood. The taste flooded his senses. His erection grew, and he wanted nothing more than to throw her to the ground and push himself into her. Even imagining pumping inside her made him harder.

_Shit!_ Realizing he was losing control, he willed his teeth back up into his gums, and forced himself to put some space between their bodies. He didn't want to overwhelm or frighten her with his urges, because he knew what would happen if his hormones triggered his blood lust. How could he think about sex in the midst of the grisly task they'd undertaken—to put her in such danger? What kind of animal was he?

"Ethan," she mumbled. With another groan, she slid a hand between them and stroked his length.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck. I'm gonna lose it._ _She doesn't know what she's doing. I can't..._ He hesitated, and she rubbed him again.

The blood lust swamped his reptilian brain, his fangs reappeared, and his gaze shifted to the pulsing vein in her neck.

Grace unbuttoned the waistband of his jeans, lowered the zipper then took him in her hand. "Oh, yes..."

Over the edge now, his cock ached with the need to penetrate every part of her. Trembling with the effort to restrain himself, seconds away from drinking her dry, he called on the last remnants of his humanity, pushed her away, and re-zipped his pants. "No." His voice sounded thick and rough. He lisped from trying to talk around his fangs. Shocked he could stop at all, he stepped further away from her, watching the hurt and confusion shadow her face.

"You don't want me?" Grace asked in a quiet voice.

"Damn, woman. I want you more than you can imagine. That's the problem." His erection pushed painfully against his zipper. He loomed over her, panting, which wasn't something vampires ever did. That more than anything scared him. What else would his body do on its own?

"How could that possibly be a problem? I want you. You want me. I haven't killed you yet." She moved toward him then stopped abruptly. "Wait. Are you afraid my voice will hurt you? Is that why—"

"No way. You're the one who's in danger from me. I can't control myself."

They stared at each other for a few seconds. He willed his canines to retract.

She nodded. "I would've argued that you'd never hurt me, but your energy is strange, your aura spiked and red. You probably _could_ harm me." Suddenly her eyes went wide and her brows shot up. "Of course! Let me use my voice. Maybe I can soothe the primitive part of you. You said I already changed you—that you're now a _half-thing_. What if I can help you manage that aspect of yourself?" She stepped toward him.

"No." He backed up. "Stay there. I don't want to take the chance."

"Ethan, if you truly want to be with me, using my voice is our only option."

"And if it doesn't work?"

"Then," her shoulders slumped, "we'll never be able to touch each other again."

Grace's words hit him like a punch to the gut. Dejected, he stared at the ground. After forty years, he'd finally found a reason to stay alive. Didn't he owe it to himself, and to her, to at least try? Wracking his brain, he mentally reviewed the worst-case scenarios—weighed the downsides to the possible plan, afraid what would happen if she touched him. His cock strained rock-hard and the tips of his fangs pushed against his gums.

"I can heal you without being near, you know."

His head jerked up. "What?"

"Yes. I've healed people on the other side of the world by holding them in my mind's eye and chanting."

"How is that possible?"

She laughed. "Seriously? The bloodsucking, immortal vampire who rises from the dead every night is asking _me_ what's possible?"

He gave a sheepish grin. "I think my rising-from-the-dead activities are over. Maybe I'm turning into a sparkly vampire who never sleeps. But I can't see any other solutions. If you're sure you don't have to touch me, let's give it a go. I'll stay over here and work on getting a grip." He balled his fists at his sides.

"Okay." She took a deep breath. "I'm going to imagine the red in your aura changing to light blue while I chant. That will give me visual evidence. Ready?"

He nodded. At this point, he didn't care if his aura sang and danced, he just didn't want to kill Grace.

She began chanting quietly in a low key. Immediately, he felt an energy pulse moving along his body, causing a tingling sensation. His heart tripped and he gasped. As she changed the words and raised the pitch of the notes, he could've sworn invisible fingers stroked his skin, leaving trails of warmth. She increased the volume of the chant and the air pressure shifted, raising the hairs on his arms. A wave of heat sizzled through him. "What the hell?" he said, right before he collapsed onto the ground, out cold.

***

"Ethan! You're burning up! What did I do to you?"

He opened his eyes and looked up into Grace's frightened face. She was slapping his cheeks, trying to revive him. Blinking, he grabbed her wrist. "What happened?"

"You collapsed. Your body temperature was so high, I could feel the heat from where I was standing. I've never seen anything like it."

He tried to sit up.

"No! Don't move, Ethan. You might still be impaired." She pushed him back to the ground and pressed her palm to his forehead. "You're cool."

"Thanks! So are you." He grinned.

"I guess you're back to normal if you're trying to be funny." She touched his brow again. "You seem okay. I still don't have any idea what happened, or if you were altered."

He sprang up into a sitting position, and this time she didn't try to stop him. "There's only one way to find out."

"Wha—"

He smashed his lips against hers. Then, when nothing disturbing happened, he did it again, tangling his tongue with hers, and wrapped his arms around her.

Finally, they came up for air and he slid his tongue along his teeth. "No fangs." He looked down at his lap. "Definitely an erection, but no overwhelming urge to take you whether you want it or not. I'd say control has been reestablished and progress has been made."

"How can we know that for sure? Your reactions to my voice are abnormal."

"We'll have to play it by ear. Or," he playfully nipped her lower lip, "by lips. But that's me: Abby Normal."

"Who?"

"Don't tell me you never saw _Young Frankenstein_."

"I saw it, but I don't remember a character named Abby."

"Pitiful. You're lucky I'm here to rectify your lack of cultural education. But for now, come on, Buffy," he jumped up and reached out a hand for her, "let's go hunt some vampires."

# Chapter 8

Nothing they'd experienced so far prepared her for the reality of Mordecai's vampire nest.

Housed in an abandoned commercial chicken coop in the unincorporated part of town, the building overflowed with limp bloodsuckers and victim corpses. The smell—human remains, putrefying vampires, rotted chicken carcasses and ancient feces—mixed with stagnant flood water to create an olfactory nightmare.

There had to be fifty vampires and twice as many ripped-up humans inside. Apparently, Mordecai hadn't cared how small Boulder was.

Grace followed Ethan near the doorway, but couldn't breathe without choking. "Oh, my God, Ethan! This is worse than any feedlot I've ever smelled. My eyes are watering." She hadn't believed the day could get any more miserable, but she'd been wrong. Never again would she feel sorry for herself for the problems her voice caused. Her life had been a walk in the park.

"Holy fuck. I had no idea Mordecai kept his newbies in such a hideous place. And I didn't realize how right I was about him being much worse than Alexander. Lucky I don't need to breathe. I'll go in and find the Master and drag them all out. He deserves to die."

She grabbed Ethan's arm as he moved through the broken door. "No. You can't do this all by yourself. It will take hours. And even if I don't go inside, I don't know if I can stand to be here that long. This place has given me the worst headache ever. Isn't there any other way?"

He stepped outside and surveyed the nearby environment. "Maybe. I planned to torch the place, anyway. Why not set it on fire to begin with?" He walked further away. "There's nothing but dirt and tumbleweeds here. We're on a high plateau pretty far from city services. It's possible the old wood will go up like paper. And once the roof goes, the sun will fry the non-human bodies."

"That sounds like a good plan, but what if the fire department manages to show up before all the bodies are incinerated? It would be bad if the vampires weren't totally dead."

"That's a chance we'll have to take if we choose to barbeque the bloodsuckers in a bonfire. It seems we have limited choices." He turned to her. "Pull them into the sun, or flame them up. Fire will get us out of here quicker. Or, you could leave without me and I'll meet you at your place later. But I'll let you make the decision."

Stink or no stink, she didn't want to abandon Ethan after everything they'd been through. "I'm not leaving without you. Besides, I've never had a chance to set something on fire, so I'd say arson sounds like the best solution." She'd always been such a good girl, never getting into any trouble in normal-kid ways, this adventure had turned out to be more exciting than she wanted to admit.

He dug the lighter out of his pocket. "Okay, arson it is. I'll make a quick trip inside to see what I can use for kindling."

She waited, moving a few feet away, hoping to minimize the stench. When his quick trip took a lot longer than she expected, she inched toward the building. A few seconds later she heard a _woof_ sound and billows of black smoke blew through the door and missing windows. "Ethan! Where are you? Get out of there!" What the hell? Had he caught himself on fire? She couldn't bear the thought of losing him. "Ethan! Ethan!" she screamed. The roof exploded. Then she saw him sprinting out of the burning building.

"Shit!" Eyebrows singed and hair smoking, he ran past her. "Stop yelling! Your voice fueled the fire. It's an inferno in there. I barely got out."

She caught up with him and leaped, wrapping her arms and legs around him. "I'm sorry! I was afraid one of the vampires woke up or something."

"No worries. They're all ashes now." He patted out some embers sizzling in his hair. "I'm just a little scorched around the edges."

"Obviously you found something to start the blaze."

"Yeah. They had a ton of porn magazines in there. I had a nice fire going before you _helped_." He laughed. "But my fire would have taken a lot longer to get hot than yours did, so thanks. But remind me never to piss you off."

She kissed him. "I will. Can we go home now?"

They watched the fire consume the rest of the building and then looked up toward the sun. "I'd say our work here is finished," Ethan said. "Let's go."

She linked her arm with his. "You sure know how to show a girl a good time."

"You haven't seen anything yet." He picked her up and draped her over his shoulder.

# Epilogue

Six months later...

"See you next week!" Ethan waved at the last circle participants as they left the sound studio, and then placed his guitar in the stand along the wall with the other instruments. He thrust his fist into the air. "Yes! I still can't believe I can heal with my voice and my music. It's too much of a miracle for vampy old me."

Grace hugged him. "A bigger miracle than being half-human again? Eating human food? Going six months without losing control to your blood lust?" She held his face in her hands. "You're a miracle in every way, Ethan. You saved me."

"We saved each other."

"That's true, we did. Not that I'm any closer to understanding what happened than I ever was."

He grinned. "We've got plenty of time to figure it out. I like your friend Roz's _twin souls_ theory, myself."

She slid her fingers across his broad chest. "And being able to have sex without killing you is a pretty big deal for me, too."

"Speaking of sex." He gave a wicked grin, and nodded toward the office door. They'd rearranged the office to make room for a bed. "You know I need to connect with you—no pun intended—after every session to maintain my zen vibe."

"Mmm. I'm getting all wet and squishy just thinking about it." She tugged him inside the other room, next to the bed. "Seduce me, oh half-undead one." She looked down at her breasts. "My nipples are so hard they ache. I think they need a little healing..."

He opened her blouse and unsnapped her bra, which hooked in the front. Her breasts sprang free, nipples large and pink. Leaning down, he spent several seconds licking one breast and then the other before sucking a nipple into his mouth. He caressed it with his tongue and moaned. His hand stroked her bare leg all the way up to her hip, before detouring to explore her ass.

Grace grabbed his silky long hair, holding him in place. Not that she had much experience for comparison, but she'd never imagined sex could be like it was with Ethan. Every cell in her body vibrated with need. He'd transformed her libido, and all she could think about was sex with the half-vampire. "My knees are getting weak. I'm going to fall down any minute now." She let herself drop backward onto the mattress, taking him with her.

He laughed and jumped off the bed. "I promise to strip for you slowly tomorrow, but right now I need to get naked so I can finish your seduction." He kicked off his shoes, pulled his John Lennon T-shirt over his head and tossed it onto the floor. His jeans came off next. Since neither of them wore underpants anymore to save time, he now stood before her in all his nude glory, his erection hard and ready. He pulled her skirt down by the elastic waist and tossed it.

She drank him in with her gaze, loving his muscular shoulders, smooth chest and lean hips. His mouth was a pleasure vortex. Sex had become not only a transcendent experience, but a necessity to keep each of them steady. She didn't know how long they could maintain their multiple-orgasms-per-day routine, but she would enjoy it while it lasted. Ethan's new healing abilities had increased with time, and her skills kept morphing into new directions. She recently helped a couple conceive, long distance, by chanting while they listened via speaker phone. Who knew what she and Ethan could do together in the future?

Giving her another wicked grin, he crawled on the bed. His emerald eyes sparkled.

Shifting her attention back to the gorgeous man licking his way up her body, she sighed as he parted her legs. He hooked his arms under her knees and lifted them, spreading her wider.

"Do you want me to make you come?" He brought his face near her folds, his breath warm, which happened more regularly since he began healing people.

"Yes." She arched her hips.

"Patience, woman. Say it."

"I want you to make me come."

"Did anyone ever please you like I do?"

He stroked his tongue along her clitoris and she bucked. Holding her legs tighter, he stroked faster, longer.

"Oh. My. God! Nobody. Ever."

The orgasm slammed through her, leaving her trembling and already yearning for more. That's how it always was with them. No matter how many times they made love, it wasn't enough.

He slid up her body to press their lips together, tongues exploring.

She wrapped her legs around him and rubbed herself against his rock-hard cock.

"Should I make you come again?" His voice oozed sensuality. He poked against her opening, sliding an inch of himself inside.

"Oh, yes." She jerked her hips up and took him all the way in.

He stretched her arms over her head and entwined their fingers, stroking slowly, torturing her. "You just want me for my body." He slowed his motion.

"No! Don't stop. I don't _just_ want you for your body."

"Tell me what you want." He began to move faster.

"I want you."

"You do?"

"Yes." She felt another orgasm building.

"Why?"

"Because you're a sex god, you're funny, you're gorgeous, you sing like an angel... and because I think I love you."

"You think? When did that happen?"

She glanced at her watch. "About five minutes ago." She laughed.

"Well, that works out perfectly because I _know_ I love you." He thrust harder. "And we'll be together forever."

She wasn't sure what forever meant for them, since his vampirism had been changing her as much as she'd transformed him. Each time he took a little blood from her, she became... more.

They climaxed together.

He kissed her before rolling onto his side.

"I'd be lying if I said I had a clue about anything. How can it keep getting better? The orgasms are astounding, I can walk in the sun, I only need small amounts of blood, I can heal with my voice, and all my vampire abilities are still in place. What the hell am I?"

"I don't know, Ethan. But whatever you are, you're mine."

"Good answer." He circled her nipple with a finger. "So, what should we do now? Work on a song? Take a walk? Watch TV? Play Scrabble?"

"Well, we _could_ do those things." She slid her hand down his stomach and gripped his half-hard erection. "Or not."

He groaned. "Definitely not."

"Have your way with me, Dracula."

"My pleasure."

They laughed.

## Other books by Lynda Hilburn

All available to buy: <http://www.lyndahilburnauthor.com/books.html>

Kismet Knight, Vampire Psychologist series (in order):

Devereux: The Night Before Kismet

The Vampire Shrink

Until Death Do Us Part

Sex in a Coffin

Blood Therapy

Other paranormal tales:

Diary of a Narcissistic Bloodsucker

Undead in the City

Vampires! A Bundle of Bloodsuckers

Blood Song

_Dream Vampire_ (by Lauren J. Hunter)

Read on for a sample from:

Blood Therapy

and

The Vampire Shrink

## Blood Therapy

Book #2: Kismet Knight, Vampire Psychologist series

Reaching out to an old friend...

A half-hour later I sat at my desk, drinking coffee, and eating a banana-nut muffin, while I fired up my laptop.

Since I was willing to do anything that might help my situation, I'd put the diamond cross back on after my shower, along with the pentagram necklace. I should have felt relatively safe because the sun was out, but I no longer had any pretense of thinking I knew what was, or wasn't, possible in the world of the vampires.

I toyed with the cross, grabbed my phone, called Alan's cell, and went to voice mail.

"Hey, Alan. It's Kismet. I need to talk to you. Please call me back as soon as you can. It's important. You have all my numbers. Bye."

Last we'd spoken, he was still in Sedona following Lucifer's trail of drained bodies, while at the same time continuing his search for his mother – his mother the vampire. On Halloween, he'd told me his childhood story of her disappearance. He'd never gotten over her abandonment and had become a forensic psychologist, joined the FBI and devoted himself to exploring the strange and unusual in hopes of catching another glimpse of her.

"Come on, Alan. Call me," I said to the silent phone. "Where are all my alleged abilities when I need them? Seems like I ought to be able to contact you psychically. Well, hey, let's give that a try." I held my hands out, palms up, adopting what I thought might be a mystical pose, and said, "Ohm, ohm. Alan! Ohm, ohm. Call me now!"

I'd just taken a breath to laugh at myself when the phone rang. I jumped in my chair.

"Hot damn!" I read the caller ID screen and saw Alan's name. I scooped up the phone and answered. "Alan? Is that you?"

"The one and only."

"You got my message?"

"Message? No. I haven't had time to check my voice mail today. I was out all night riding with some cops, and just got up a while ago. Now I'm sitting in a coffee shop, updating my notes, and I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to call you. Weird, eh?"

Actually, it's excellent. Maybe I finally have a reliable skill!

"Yeah, weird. But I'm glad you called. Do you have a few minutes? What time is it there in Sedona?"

"As of two days ago, I'm no longer in Sedona." A small crash echoed through the phone. "Shit!"

"What was that?" I took a bite of muffin.

"I just managed to spill my coffee on myself and drop the mug on the tile floor. That was the clatter you heard. What a mess. Hold on..."

"Do you need more napkins, sir?" a young-sounding voice said in the background.

"No. I'm good, thanks."

"Would you like a coffee refill?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"Alan?"

"Yeah, I'm here – looking like I wet myself – but I'm here." His mouth shifted away from the phone. "Thanks, I'll try to hang on to this one." He cleared his throat. "So, like I said, I left Sedona. A few days ago I started hearing rumblings about activities in San Francisco that sounded like our repulsive, bald, toothsome friend so I hit the road. I'm now staring out across the water at the notorious Alcatraz, and thinking life doesn't get much better than this."

"San Francisco? I just saw something about serial killers there. Are you involved with that, too?"

"No. I heard about it, but nobody's said anything. I've got my hands full with Stink Vamp and the six deaths I'm sure he's involved with, and as psychologically interesting as it would be to chase some version of Hannibal Lecter, I can only handle one fiend at a time. Of course none of the locals have put the pieces together about the six drained bodies yet, so I'm the only one who knows that there's a supernatural angle."

"Well, as awful as this sounds, if you have to track him somewhere, I can't imagine a more beautiful city."

"Yeah, it's great. I've spent a lot of time here over the years. And let me remind you that you have a standing invitation to come and visit, wherever I am. I'd be glad to show you the town." He laughed. "And the inside of my comfortable hotel room. We could tour this side of the bed, then that side, then the table in the corner..."

Nope. Let's not go there.

"Gee, thanks."

He didn't say anything for a few seconds. "Okay. What's up? You didn't give me any grief for the hotel room remark. Is something wrong? What was your message about?"

"I saw Lucifer."

"What do you mean?" The easy banter ended. His voice acquired a serious edge. "Where did you see him? My undead intel is pretty solid that he's primarily killing on the West Coast."

I took a sip of my coffee to give myself time to decide what I wanted to say.

"I'm sure you're right. We both know vampires can be on the other side of the world or in another century from one moment to the next. There's really no way for humans to track them."

"So, where was he?"

"In Aspen. I went to a vampire wedding with Devereux last night, and Lucifer showed up in time to ruin the nuptials. It was bad enough that he was even there. But he seemed to focus on me. He stared and pointed before Devereux took off after him and both of them disappeared. Of course, he stank – engulfed in his usual horrible rotting-corpse, sewer-from-hell odor. I smelled him a few nanoseconds before I saw him. But just because he was there doesn't tell us anything about where he is now."

It felt so good to be able to talk to someone who knew.

"Yeah, you're right about that. You said the last time we talked that you're still getting voice mail messages from the Brother Luther part of the maniac's personality. Is he still calling?" Another crash. "Turds! What the hell is up with me today? I just dropped my bagel plate. Damn tiny tables. I'm going to gather my stuff and walk back to the hotel room. Don't hang up. So, about the messages..."

"Uh, huh. He calls at least once per day. Same tirades as before. I'm going to burn in hell, satan's whore, I'll be punished, washed in the blood – same demented song. Sometimes he just sobs and says help me, help me, over and over. But I guess that's the child part. I wonder if there are only three personalities, or if we're in for additional surprises?"

A door slammed.

"All right. I'm back in my room. With my luck an earthquake will shove California into the ocean today, and I can't swim. Hey, do you know what Skype is?"

"Sure. I use it to meet with clients who can't come to the office."

"Cool. I'm all set up for it, too. Why don't we connect face-to-face, so to speak? I've turned on my computer and now I'm adding you to my contacts."

"Okay." I put on my headphone microphone and made sure the camera was working. "I'm ready."

Alan's smiling face popped onto my computer screen. Behind him was a nondescript tan motel wall with a colorful oil painting of downtown San Francisco. "Hello there, gorgeous." He waved his fingers.

"Hi, Alan. Nice to _see_ you." And it was. His eyes, always some variation of bluish-purple, or purple-blue, really stood out today against his faded tan, messy brown hair and five o'clock shadow. "You look a little tired."

"Yeah. It's been a rough few days. You, on the other hand, look great. So, picking up where we left off," he frowned, "is this the first time you've seen Lucifer? You haven't told me that he's shown up before."

"Uh-huh." I sipped from my coffee cup. "This was the first time. I hadn't gotten complacent about him – I know he can materialize anytime he wants to. I've also thought I smelled him a couple of times. But I can't stay in a constant state of terror. My heart can't take it. I'll stroke out or something." I adjusted my microphone. "It's not like I have anywhere to run to. I've been wearing the protective necklace Devereux gave me, and I know he has some of his vampires watching me. Maybe even some humans during the day. Normally that would annoy me, but anything that keeps the boogieman away is all right with me. Not being able to find Lucifer has really pissed Devereux off."

"What do you mean he can't find him?" He glanced down at the coffee stain on his white T-shirt. "Isn't that impossible? From what I hear, Devereux's like the vampire Pope – infallible."

"Apparently not. He hasn't talked to me about it, but one of his vampire friends said the entire community has been shocked by him being bested by Lucifer at the Vampires' Ball on Halloween. I don't think anything has ever rocked Devereux's confidence like this. He's been very moody. Angry. Gone a lot. Searching for Lucifer without any success."

"Really?" He moved closer to the camera. "That's too bizarre. According to the vampire grapevine, Devereux's the biggest badass around."

"Well, judging by what I've been hearing, there's definitely a dent in his badass reputation. Vampires are saying awful things about him. I actually heard one guy at the party call Devereux a _sissy_. Which, now that I think about it, seems like a pretty _sissy_ word for a vampire to use. And I'll bet Devereux is trying to keep a stiff upper lip through this whole thing. No wonder he's acting strange."

"Wow. That doesn't bode well for the vampire community, since Devereux keeps them in check." He paused. "Something else is going on here. You sound weird today. You're not yourself, either. What's up? Are you two still an item?"

## The Vampire Shrink

Vampire in the Waiting Room...

I met with a few more clients that afternoon and early evening and had just kicked off my shoes when I heard the door to the reception area open. I quickly scanned my appointment book to make sure I hadn't forgotten anyone. Finding I hadn't, I put my shoes back on and opened my office door.

Sitting in one of the chairs in the waiting room was the very same gorgeous, blond-haired, leather-clad man I'd seen outside my building and in Midnight's drawing.

My stomach lurched and I think I gasped out loud.

He stood when I opened the door and it was fluid motion, as if he had simply willed himself vertical. His body was all lean muscle radiating some kind of primal power. He moved elegantly over to me and gave a slight bow of his head. He offered the kind of smile that made my Inner Nerd want to fan herself and hide in the closet.

Dressed in black, his snug leather pants, form-fitting silk T-shirt, and long leather duster gave the impression of high fashion rather than Harley-Davidsons.

I froze in the doorway with my mouth hanging open, speechless, staring into the most amazing pair of turquoise eyes I'd ever seen.

He picked up my hand gently and kissed the back, his lips soft and silky. "I am Devereux. Is this a good time for an appointment?"

So many emotions slammed against each other inside me that I didn't know which one to act on first. Fear decided to step to the front of the line and my mind began to weigh options in case the man physically attacked me. He didn't seem menacing at the moment, but he was much bigger and stronger than me, and I hadn't spent nearly enough time in the gym. Hell, I hadn't spent any. Obviously, he had.

My heart raced and I still hadn't formed a coherent sentence or done anything beyond stare at him like a zombie. What was happening to me? My eyelids felt as though they were coated with cement, my jaw sagged open, the air suddenly became thick, and a sumo wrestler was pounding on my chest. The normal background white noise acquired a sharp edge and turned into a persistent buzz, vibrating in my ears. I felt as if I was in some kind of trance.

"I am very sorry." He took a step back from me and released my hand. "I have frightened you. That was never my intention – sometimes I forget how intense we can be. You must be a keenly sensitive individual. I will endeavor to control myself. Please accept my sincere apologies."

You will endeavor to control yourself? I'm the one having the meltdown here.

He lowered his gaze for a moment, and when he met my eyes again, the tension drained from my muscles and I could breathe. It felt as though a switch had been thrown and I was once again in charge of my bodily functions. I could still hear the hum in my ears, but it had diminished in volume. I ran my tongue over my very dry lips.

"You did startle me. I wasn't expecting anyone this evening."

"Again, my sincere apologies."

Both times I'd seen this man, he'd caused my anxiety levels to blast through the roof. I wanted to scream at him that it was absolutely _not_ acceptable he'd come unannounced to my office, and that his habit of lurking around me was going to earn him a trip to the police station. He was altogether too sure of himself. I wanted him to know he couldn't just stroll in and expect me to drop everything and attend to him. No matter how gorgeous he was.

Instead, I swallowed the irritation, opted for whatever remnants of professional demeanor I could summon, and said, "Well, Mr. Devereux, why are you here?"

"Just Devereux." He cocked his head and flashed that godlike smile again. "As I mentioned a moment ago, I had hoped this would be a good time for our appointment. I trust Midnight told you I wished to meet with you?"

His voice was unusually pleasant. The timbre of it flowed through me like a favorite song, as if I were listening to him with my entire body. He had a lilting European accent, sounding almost old-fashioned, like he'd stepped out of another century. Strange how a voice could be so enticing.

I closed my eyes and sniffed the air. What was that wonderful aroma? It seemed to hover around him like an olfactory aura. Maybe he used a special kind of soap or shampoo, something spicy and masculine and unusual.

He brushed a finger lightly along my arm. "Dr. Knight?"

My eyes flew open and I realized I'd been standing there, blatantly reveling in his scent, making sniffing noises. _How embarrassing. What the hell is wrong with me? Come on, Kismet. Talking has always been your strong suit. Just one word at a time. Concentrate._

"Yes." I cleared my throat. "She did mention that you might call to set up an appointment. Would you care to schedule one for later this week?" I inhaled a deep breath and tried to remain professional.

I was so nervous my stomach contracted, my hands were sweating, and my knee twitched. I'd always had a fear of small spaces, and something about this situation gave me that same closed-in panicky feeling. He had done nothing obvious to make me afraid, but my entire body felt as if it was waiting for some other shoe to drop. He radiated danger. Almost raw power.

"Would it be terribly inconvenient for us to meet now, since I am here?"

That voice. Maybe he was a hypnotist and he knew how to use it to put people under. It was so soothing, I could stand there and listen to it all night.

I felt myself sliding down that slippery slope again and rallied. I needed to get this guy out of my office before I made a complete fool of myself.

If I'd known I was going to have a mental breakdown today, I'd have penciled it into my appointment book.

"I was just leaving. It would be much better if we could schedule another time –"

He reclaimed the step he'd given up and stated, as if the outcome was already a foregone conclusion, "I would appreciate very much the opportunity to speak with you about Midnight. I am concerned about her."

Through the cotton candy that had taken up residence in my brain, the voice in my head screamed _NO!_ but my mouth said, "I guess I could give you a few minutes. Please come inside."

Please come inside? Hey, wait a minute – that isn't what I meant to say. Where'd that come from?

I backed away from the door, drawing it open so he could enter, leaving it ajar so he wouldn't be encouraged to make himself too comfortable.

I was about to invite him to sit down when I noticed he'd already seated himself in the chair I normally used. I realized he had no way of knowing that was "my" chair, but it still annoyed me.

"Would you mind filling out a little paperwork for me?" Force of habit had me handing him a packet of papers on a clipboard.

He took it. "My pleasure."

I sat across from him and studied him while he wrote. His hands were artistic-looking, with recently manicured nails trimmed close. He had very pale skin with a lovely translucent sheen to it, which gave him an ageless quality. It wasn't often that I encountered someone with skin lighter than mine. His bone structure brought to mind the word _chiseled_. Perfect features. Almost too perfect.

Midnight was right: his eyes were extraordinary. They were indeed aqua and beautifully shaped with long, dark eyelashes. I was surprised that his eyebrows and eyelashes were dark because his hair was so light, but the combination was very appealing.

His thick, lovely hair flowed down over his shoulders to mid-chest. It looked soft and silky and very touchable. And his mouth... Studying his soft, full, generous lips caused a visceral reaction in me. I imagined the feel of them against mine.

What the hell? Take a breath, Kismet. You're in your office. This is a professional situation. Have you lost your mind? What you're imagining is beyond inappropriate. Stop daydreaming about what you want to do to those lips and pay attention.

As I raised my gaze from his mouth to his eyes, I found him watching me with an amused expression, apparently finished with the paperwork. Embarrassment warmed my face as I reached for the clipboard. For some reason, I couldn't take my eyes off him long enough to even glance at the forms he'd filled out.

Why am I acting so weird?

I took a slow breath and struggled to regain control of myself. "What concerns you about Midnight?"

"Before we speak of that, would you mind if I ask you a question?"

"Well, you can ask. I can't promise I'll answer."

"Do you believe in vampires?"

"What?" Surprise radiated up my spine and I stiffened in my chair. The buzzing in my ears got louder and I was suddenly very thirsty.

He toyed with a beautiful antique medallion on a chain around his neck. "Do you believe what Midnight has been telling you?"

Okay. Maybe he has a suggestion about how to help Midnight move beyond her vampire fantasy. He might be crazy, but maybe he can help.

To steady myself, I stood and walked over to the small refrigerator in the corner of the room and selected two bottles of water. I set one of them in front of Devereux, opened the other for myself, took my seat, and drank deeply.

Breathe. Just breathe. This can't be hot flashes. I'm too young.

"I can't discuss anything that Midnight may or may not have talked to me about – it's all confidential. But generally speaking, I can tell you that I've never seen any evidence to support the existence of vampires or any other supernatural beings."

"Ah." The corners of his lips quirked up. "You are a scientist. Do you wish to see evidence?"

I was getting that claustrophobic feeling again. Maybe this handsome man really was a nutcase and I'd allowed myself to be distracted by his obvious assets instead of following my professional instincts. I switched into the noticeably calm voice I used to soothe disturbed clients. "Is it important to you that I believe in vampires?"

He threw back his head and laughed with pure delight. "I have never been called insane in such a lovely way ever before. I can assure you that it is of no importance whatsoever to me if you believe in vampires or not, but I think the information could prove useful to you. What if I told you that everything Midnight has shared with you is absolutely true?"

Oh, geez. He's a loon.

"Since we can't talk about anything Midnight might have said, I can only suggest that you tell me directly what you want me to know."

"I am a vampire."

## Lynda Hilburn

Lynda Hilburn writes paranormal fiction. More specifically, she writes books about vampires, ghosts, psychics, wizards and witches. After a childhood filled with invisible friends, sightings of dead relatives and a fascination with the occult, turning to the paranormal was a no-brainer. In her other reality, she makes her living as a licensed psychotherapist, hypnotherapist, professional psychic/tarot reader, university instructor and workshop presenter. Her first novel, "The Vampire Shrink" – which introduced us to Denver Psychologist Kismet Knight and a hidden vampire underworld – was released by Quercus/Jo Fletcher Books UK and Sterling Publishing, 2011. The second book in the series, "Blood Therapy," released September, 2012 in the UK and February, 2013 in the USA. The third book, "Crimson Psyche," will be published in 2014. Several more books are planned. Her short story, "Blood Song," is part of the "Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance" anthology, April, 2009. For more information, visit Lynda's website: www.lyndahilburnauthor.com

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