Bound by the Vampire

BOUND BY THE VAMPIRE a paranormal romance novella

by Chloe Hart Blood and Absinthe, Book 2

Smashwords Edition Copyright 2011 by Chloe Hart All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Chapter One “There’s a woman here who wants to see you.” Evan Grant looked up from the neck he’d been drinking from. His bar manager was standing in the doorway of his private office, looking uncomfortable. “I’m a bit busy here, Shank.” “I know, sir, but…well…she insists.” Evan sat up a little straighter, licking blood from his fangs. The woman kneeling at his feet, whose name he couldn’t remember, looked up at him with pleasureblurred eyes. “Do you want me to go?” He glanced down at her briefly. “Yeah, love, might as well. Got something here needs looking into.” She nodded and rose unsteadily to her feet, grabbing her purse before she edged out past Shank. Evan’s fangs retracted as he leaned back in his desk chair. “She insists, does she? A dozen people a week insist on seeing me, and you send them on their merry way. How did this woman convince you to interrupt me in the middle of a meal?” Shank looked even more uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, sir. But she did mention Jack Morgan.” The vampire who’d once saved his life. “A point in her favor. Anything else?” “Well…” “Spit it out.” “She’s a real pretty little thing,” Shank said in a rush. “And she looks like she’s in trouble.”

Evan stared at him. “The club is full of pretty little things.” “Not like her,” his employee said, sounding certain. Evan’s eyes narrowed as he studied the other vampire. Shank hailed from Lubbock, Texas and was six foot five and three hundred pounds. He’d played linebacker for the New England Patriots before he was turned and he’d never shown any symptoms of chivalry before. Had the “pretty little thing” put some kind of spell on him? “Vampire?” “No.” “Human?” Shank frowned. “She looks human, but there’s something about her…” Fae. He’d bet everything he owned that the mysterious woman was one of the Fae. That tied into her mention of Jack Morgan. His old friend Jack had been idiot enough to fall hard for a Faery female—a member of their warrior clan. The same clan that had killed his maker more than seventy years ago. “What’s her name?” “Celia Albright.” Jack’s mate was named Liz. Liz Marlowe. So, not her—but one of her kind. He was sure of it. He opened his top drawer and pulled out the chunk of obsidian he’d spent a fortune on a decade ago. He muttered the spell he’d bought at the same time—also for a fortune—and smiled grimly when he saw the tiny motes of light creating a faint shimmer in front of him. His curiosity was piqued but he wasn’t an idiot. If the bitch had done something to Shank, she wouldn’t be able to do it to him. He leaned back in his chair again. “Show her in.” A minute later, he heard Shank’s voice outside the door, and a woman’s voice answering him. She spoke softly, but his enhanced hearing told him she was nervous…and young.

Then the door opened, and Celia Albright stepped over his threshold. He was expecting something spectacular—something that would account for Shank’s reaction. But on the surface she wasn’t spectacular at all. He liked his women openly sexual and dressed to thrill, and Celia Albright was neither of those things. He liked high heels, and this girl was wearing tennis shoes. He liked tight and low cut, and she was wearing a shapeless sweatshirt over an old pair of jeans. She had gorgeous hair, a soft, silken mass of red-gold, but it was pulled back from her face in a no-nonsense ponytail. Definitely not his type. “Have a seat, Ms. Albright,” he instructed her, and she sat down on the very edge of the chair in front of his desk, like a bird about to take flight. Her pretty, heartshaped face was pale and tense and determined, and her green eyes were full of trouble. Her hands were folded primly on one knee, but the knuckles were white. “I’m guessing you’re not here about the job,” he said. She blinked. “Job?” “Yeah. We’re looking for dancers.” She blushed, and the sudden pink in her cheeks made her face glow. She might not be spectacular, but Shank had been right—she was a pretty little thing. “You mean for the…for the club?” “Yeah. You interested?” He let his eyes rove over her, just to provoke her into another blush, but found himself suddenly curious about the body hidden behind her baggy clothes. She cleared her throat. “No, thank you. Your club isn’t really my…uh…scene. Not that it isn’t very nice,” she added quickly. “Everyone seemed to be, you know, having a good time. But that’s not why I came. I’m here to ask you a favor. I need…” she hesitated. He decided it was time to cut to the chase. “Is Jack Morgan in some kind of trouble?”

She looked away, biting her lip, and the action distracted him. Her mouth didn’t quite go with the rest of her. It was full and soft and sensual, and for a moment all he could think about was what those satiny pink lips would look like wrapped around his— “Jack’s not in trouble. I am.” He brought his focus back to what she was saying. “And you thought I’d help? Why not go to Jack, if he’s a friend of yours?” “Because he’s not here. He’s up north, fighting demons in the Canadian Rockies.” “Ah. So you’ve come to me, have you? On Jack’s advice?” “No. I mean…he’s mentioned you, which is how I knew where to find you. But he didn’t tell me to come here.” “He’s mentioned me. And did he tell you what a good citizen I am? Full of the milk of human kindness, all hell bent on rescuing damsels in distress? Did he tell you that underneath my gruff exterior lies a heart of gold?” Her green eyes showed a flash of humor as she shook her head. “Not exactly. He said you’re mercenary to the core and won’t do anything for anybody unless you’re paid. He told me you’re rude, self-centered, and dangerous, and one of the most vicious fighters he’s ever known.” Evan raised an eyebrow. “An accurate description. Which begs the question, pet— what the hell did you come here for?” “Because…” Suddenly she tilted her head to the side, peering at him. “Are you…is that a warding spell?” It wasn’t supposed to be visible to anyone but him, which pretty much confirmed that she had Fae blood in her. Faeries could see magic much more easily than humans. “Well spotted.” “But…why? You can’t possibly think I’m any sort of threat to you.” Did she think he didn’t know what she was?

“It’s there so you can’t work your mojo, Faery girl. Now tell me what sort of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into.” “I don’t have any mojo. I mean…I’m not working any magic. And I wouldn’t do anything to you against your will.” “Good for you, Tinkerbell. Now state your fucking business.” “I’m not…I mean…I’m only an eighth blood Fae. I’m more human than Faery.” He shrugged impatiently. “Look, sweetheart—I don’t really give a shit what you are. You’ve got about five seconds to tell me why you’re here. After that I’m going to get a lot less polite.” She chewed on her lip for a few seconds, and he clamped his jaws together when he felt a tingling in his incisors. “I need protection.” “Protection? From who?” “Whom.” “What?” “Not from who, from whom,” she explained, and he realized she was talking about grammar. Jesus. “Who is a subjective pronoun,” she was saying. “Whom is in the objective case. With a prepositional phrase, whom is the—” She must have noticed that he was staring at her like she was demented, because she flushed bright red. “Sorry. I tend to babble a little when I’m nervous.” “Yeah, I picked up on that. From whom do you need protection, Ms. Albright?” She took a deep breath and fumbled with something at her waist, and he realized she was wearing one of those fanny pack things. Christ, this girl was fashionimpaired. She unzipped it, pulled out what looked like a wadded up handkerchief, and set it on his desk. He frowned as she carefully opened the edges of the handkerchief to reveal what was inside.

“I need protection from whomever shot this at me.” It was a stone knife. No—an arrowhead. An arrowhead carved from obsidian, like the piece he had on his desk. He leaned forward, wanting to get a closer look. “Don’t touch it,” she said sharply. “It’s been dipped in some kind of poison.” He glanced back at her. “Lovely. And where did this little toy come from?” “I don’t know. I heard the sound of a bow—a crossbow, I think—when I was walking across the Common. The arrow missed me by inches. I broke off the arrowhead and came straight here.” He raised an eyebrow. “I can’t tell you how flattered I am. But if someone’s trying to kill you—however unlikely that seems—I ask again: why come to me? I understand Jack’s up in the wilds of Canada or wherever, but what about your own people? The Green Fae are no friends of mine, but they take care of their own. Why not go to them?” She took a deep breath, and suddenly she looked very young. “Because they’re the ones trying to kill me.”

Chapter Two For a minute Evan just stared at her, and Celia had to force herself to meet his gaze without letting her own drop. His eyes were dark brown, like mahogany, and there was keen intelligence behind them. He wasn’t anything like what she’d expected, especially after walking through his club to get to this office. She’d known about Blood and Whiskey by reputation, of course. Every Faery in Boston did. Those who’d been called to the warrior clan—demon hunters like her best friend, Liz—kept a watchful eye on both the club and its owner, but since there had been no deaths or violent incidents (at least none that weren’t consensual) associated with the place, the Fae had never tried to interfere. Evan Grant skirted the edges of what the Fae considered ‘safe’. He wasn’t an ally like Jack Morgan, a vampire who worked with the Fae to protect humanity, but he wasn’t an enemy, either. He didn’t kill humans, but he didn’t live solely on animal blood like Jack did. Instead, he owned Blood and Whiskey—a place where vampires could satisfy their taste for human blood without going too far and drawing the attention of either the Green Fae or the human authorities. The humans who came here to indulge their own dark urges thought it was a hardcore vampire fetish club. Which it was, of course. The only thing they didn’t know was that some of the members were actual vampires. The club wasn’t all about blood. It was about sex, too, which was on display in the corners where men and women in leather and chains danced on small raised stages, or engaged in activities Celia had previously thought of as private in velvet upholstered booths. If that was the kind of thing you did in public here, she didn’t want to think about what might be going on in the curtained recesses and back rooms.

As much as she wished she were the kind of sophisticated, worldly woman who could take all that in stride, the fact was, she was totally out of her depth in this place. Everywhere she looked, something had made her blush. So she’d been half expecting Evan Grant to look like one of the guys out there, all leather and handcuffs and over-the-top dominance. Instead, she’d found a cooleyed man in jeans and a plain black shirt, with military-short hair and a disturbingly handsome face. He was tall and powerfully built, and he held himself with a careless, easy confidence that reminded her of someone or something she couldn’t quite place. He leaned back in his chair as he continued to study her. “What did you do to piss off the Fae?” he asked in his rich, British-accented voice. “Research.” He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? I didn’t know the research game had gotten so dangerous. Is it right up there with drug trafficking and gun running, now?” She felt herself flushing. “I’ve been looking into some of the properties of Faery absinthe.” Now Evan raised both eyebrows. “I see. And what have you found out?” Celia hesitated. The Fae kept most of their culture a secret from other supernaturals, and absinthe topped the list of things you never, ever talked about outside the clan. As an eighth-blood Fae and a spellcaster, she’d been taught how to make the brew as well as indoctrinated into the necessity of guarding with her life the recipe and magic involved in its preparation. The oaths she’d sworn weighed heavily on her tongue. “You don’t need to know that. All you need to know is that the direction of my research has upset some of my clan leaders. Enough that at least one of them would rather kill me than let me continue doing what I’m doing.” She bit her lip, feeling the pain of that knowledge sweep through her again. The thought that one of her own people could hate or fear her so much… But there was nothing to be gained from that maudlin train of thought. She reached into her waist pack again and pulled out her checkbook.

She placed it on Evan’s desk and tried for a cool, business-like tone. “I need protection, and I’m willing to pay for it.” Evan glanced down at the checkbook and back up at her. “Make things right with your clan,” he said. “Stop doing your research. Then you won’t need protection.” If only it were that simple. She shook her head. “What I’m finding out…” she paused. “It’s important. So I can’t stop. I need to convince the clans to…to take a certain course of action. But I can’t do that without learning more. So I need somewhere safe to work. Somewhere the Fae can’t reach me.” Saying those words out loud sent another stab of pain through her. They were her people—and she was afraid of them. Or one of them, anyway. But because she didn’t know which one, her fear was formless, all-encompassing. She took a deep breath. “I want to stay here,” she said. “The Fae could get to me almost anywhere, but not here. I sensed the protection spells around this place when I walked through the doors. And you’ve got a reputation that…well, that would make anyone think twice about going through you to get to me. And that’s assuming anyone will figure out I’m here, which is doubtful. None of the Fae would guess I’d go to a vampire for help.” She took another breath. “So let’s talk terms.” She pulled a pen out of her pack and gripped it, waiting. Evan shook his head slowly. “I doubt you can afford me, sweetheart.” She gripped the pen harder. “My father is Elton Albright, the president and CEO of Boston Investment Bank. I have a trust fund I’ve never used. How does fifty thousand sound? Bearing in mind that you don’t have to do anything to earn it— just let me stay here for a few weeks. Maybe less.” He shook his head again, and a sliver of panic went through her. Sitting across from him, seeing his steely-eyed confidence and feeling his power, she’d felt safe for the first time since the arrow had whizzed past her ear tonight. With Liz and Jack out of reach in Canada, she needed an ally—and Evan Grant would be a powerful one.

“A hundred thousand.” She’d been planning to negotiate a lot more gradually— anything up to the three quarters of a million she had immediate access to. But she wanted Evan to know she meant business. He sat back in his chair, his eyes on her. “Anything on the table besides money?” What could he mean? And whatever it was he wanted, couldn’t he buy it with money? “I have jewelry. I have some rare artifacts from—” “Not what I had in mind, love. I was thinking something a bit more personal.” She felt bewildered. “Like what?” He studied her through hooded eyes, a faint smile on his face. “I’ve heard stories, you know. About Faery blood. Wouldn’t mind having a taste.” His words hung in the air between them. Her pulse throbbed, bringing blood to the surface of her skin. “I…don’t do that.” He tilted his head to the side. “I can see you’ve never been marked. But there’s a first time for everything, yeah?” Her face was flaming. Her eyes dropped to the desk, and she took a deep breath. He sounded so casual about it. And why wouldn’t he? That’s what his club was about, wasn’t it? She remembered the woman who’d come out of this office a few minutes before she’d gone in, her hand pressed to her neck, an expression of dreamy pleasure on her face. She kept her eyes down, hoping that Evan couldn’t somehow sense the truth about her. That she’d fantasized about vampires from the time she’d learned they really existed. There were so many taboos in the Fae clans against mating with a vampire or allowing a vampire to bite you that the unspoken edict felt bone deep. Her best friend, Liz, had already come under fire for her relationship with Jack Morgan, endangering her status within the Green Fae clan. The fact that Jack was their ally hadn’t stopped the more conservative Fae from making nasty comments.

Even without all that cultural baggage, Celia knew she couldn’t give Evan what he was asking for so casually. Liz had told her a vampire’s bite wasn’t just a simple exchange of bodily fluids. It was a deeply emotional and sexual experience—for the person being bitten, anyway, if not always for the vampire—and not to be taken lightly. And blood shouldn’t be given as payment. She was sure that kind of exchange went on in Evan’s club all the time, but she wasn’t about to sink to that level. She might be scared and desperate, but she wasn’t yet at the point where she was willing to sell her body—any part of her body—to buy security. “I have a boyfriend,” she heard herself say, though she’d only been dating Danny a month…and though she doubted Evan would care. He’d probably bitten hundreds of women who had boyfriends or husbands. He froze for a second. “If you have a man, where the hell is he? It’s his job to protect you.” An oddly Victorian attitude for a supposedly amoral vampire. “He’s human,” Celia said defensively. “We’ve only been dating a little while, and…and I haven’t told him about the supernatural stuff yet. He doesn’t know I’m part Fae. He doesn’t know Faeries exist.” “Sounds like a hell of a relationship.” She bristled at that, but since she had no desire to discuss her love life with Evan Grant she decided to let it go. “The point is, my blood isn’t part of our negotiation. I’ll give you two hundred thousand dollars to let me stay here, under your protection, for one month. I think you’ll agree that’s a very generous offer.” “No.” She blinked. “You don’t think it’s generous?” He shrugged. “The offer’s fine. But I won’t be taking you up on it.” Her hands tightened into fists. It actually hadn’t occurred to her that he might turn her down. She’d had the impression that Evan Grant would do anything if the price was right. “Three hundred thousand.”

He grinned at her. “I wouldn’t mind sitting here a while to see how high you’ll go, but the truth is, you interrupted me in the middle of a meal. I’d like to get back to it.” The image of that other woman flashed before her mind’s eye. “You’d do it for blood, but not for money?” He shook his head, a wicked glint in his eyes. “I wouldn’t do it for blood, either. I was just jerking your chain before, to see how red your face would get. You’re cute when you blush.” A swirl of emotions clouded her usually rational thought process. Evan wouldn’t let her stay here. And he was making fun of her. She was in danger of her life, and he was making fun of her. “You mean…you weren’t even serious? About wanting my blood?” He shrugged again. “Like I said, I wouldn’t mind having a taste—but blood is blood. I’m guessing the rumors about Fae blood being special are exaggerated. And you’re just an eighth, right? Mostly human, like you said. Not that I’ll turn you down if you want to lose that particular brand of virginity. But I wouldn’t offer you a rusty nickel for the privilege of biting your lily white throat, much less the protection of my home. I’ve got no shortage of willing necks.” Her cheeks burned. He was treating this like a joke. He was treating her like a joke. “I’m sure that’s true.” She rose to her feet. “Well, I’m sorry we’ve both been wasting our time.” She fought to stop the burning in her eyes from turning into real tears. She would die before she’d let herself cry in front of this cold-hearted bastard. “No problem, love. It was mildly entertaining. Give Jack my regards.” “On the off chance I’m still alive when he gets back from Canada, I will.” She winced inwardly when she heard the words come out of her mouth. It sounded like a little girl’s defiance, along the lines of, you’ll be sorry when I’m dead. Considering Evan had made it clear he didn’t care if she died or not, it was a particularly empty shot.

“Goodbye, Mr. Grant,” she said, thankful her voice didn’t tremble. She headed for the door, walking stiffly, and had her hand on the knob when she heard his voice behind her. “Wait.” She kept her hand on the knob, turning her head to look over her shoulder. He seemed as relaxed as ever, except for a little tension around his jaw. “If the Fae really wanted you dead, you’d be dead. Maybe this was just a warning. If you’ve got the brains God gave geese, you’ll make things right with your people. Offer to stop doing whatever it is you’re doing. If you won’t do that, then get out of town until your mates are back.” She stared at him, unable to remember ever hating someone as much as she hated Evan Grant at this moment. “Thanks for the advice.” She was still clutching her checkbook, and now she made a show of poising her pen above it, ready to write. “Do I owe you anything for that?” He shook his head slowly, his brown eyes unreadable. “Not a penny. Good luck to you, Ms. Albright.” This time she didn’t answer. She just turned the knob, went through the door, and closed it behind her, pleased that she managed not to slam it. Only when she was standing in the hallway outside his office did she realize she’d left the arrowhead behind. She debated going back in there, but only for a second. She’d already used her magic to sense the poison on the tip; she doubted she’d be able to learn anything else from it. And if she were lucky, Evan Grant would touch it accidentally and die a horrible, lingering death.

Chapter Three Evan had to fight every impulse in his body to keep from following her. He was determined to overcome the atavistic urge assailing him—the urge to go after Celia Albright and stand between her and danger. The urge to shield her with his body from anything that dared threaten her. What the hell was happening to him? His incisors had been tingling from the moment she’d walked in the door, but he’d been able to tamp that down. He might have reacted that way to any pretty girl. But the more they’d talked the stronger the feeling had become, until the moment she mentioned she had a boyfriend. In an instant, it was all he could do to control his demon. He’d felt blind rage at the idea that she belonged to someone, and an unaccountable need to mark her as his own. And then to hear that the man was human, unable to protect her…that he didn’t even know who she was… But then, by dint of ferocious effort, common sense had reasserted itself. He was too smart to get in the middle of Fae politics—or whatever Celia Albright was mixed up in. He needed to get her out of his place and make it clear he would not offer her protection. So he’d acted like an asshole, and driven her away. Mission bloody well accomplished. He’d been worried she might beg or plead or cry, and he’d steeled himself against that. But she hadn’t done any of those things. She’d just left. Evan rested his elbows on the desk and put his head in his hands. What if she was right? What if her own people really were after her? It was hard to believe she could represent any kind of threat to the Fae, no matter what she’d found out about that green shit they drank. But what if he was wrong?

Not that it mattered to him, he reminded himself. He was well clear of whatever situation Tinkerbell had landed herself in. The Fae had killed his maker, and no matter how much the bastard might have deserved it, his memory of their coldblooded assassination had made him permanently wary of any interactions with that particular race. No way would he do something as stupid as offer sanctuary to one of them. When he raised his head again, his eyes fell on the arrow she’d laid on his desk. It had come within inches of her, she’d said. And it had been dipped in poison. Without warning, his fangs burst from his gums. He realized that he was trembling with the desire to kill—to kill whoever had sent that thing towards her, whether it was with murderous intent or merely to convey a warning. His hands clenched into fists. He couldn’t give into this. He was no Jack Morgan, gone soft-hearted over humans and Faeries, risking his life to protect others. He was Evan Grant, and he cared first, last, and only for himself. That was his credo, and it had stood him in good stead for the last seventy odd years. He’d decided a long time ago that he would never put anyone or anything ahead of his own interests. Especially not a female. He’d seen good vamps turn into blithering idiots when that primal mating urge took over, and he’d only ever felt contempt for them. He felt contempt for any male who acted like a fool over a woman. An image of Celia Albright flashed before his mind’s eye. She’d surprised him more than once. He’d pushed her buttons deliberately, and she’d stuck around gamely. She’d been frightened, but she hadn’t let her fear make her irrational. She’d come here with a purpose and a plan, and even when her plan failed she hadn’t given way to emotion. Her voice had quivered the tiniest bit, but that was all. He remembered the way she’d answered him when he’d told her to give Jack his regards. “On the off chance I’m still alive when he gets back from Canada, I will.” He stared down at the arrow as, unbidden, an image came to his mind of Celia Albright lying on a city sidewalk with that thing piercing her heart. Those green eyes open but empty, never again to sparkle with intelligence or determination or life. He closed his eyes and took a deep, unnecessary breath.

“Fuck,” he whispered. He opened his eyes and said it louder. “Fuck!” Then he surged to his feet and went after her. She was gone by the time he found Shank by the front door. “Which way?” he asked sharply. “Celia? She went towards the Charles,” his bar manager said, looking puzzled. “But I thought she said you wouldn’t—” “You’re in charge for the night,” Evan told him, and then took off down the street towards the river. He spotted her after a few minutes, walking swiftly down a deserted side street towards a college neighborhood, and felt a surge a relief. At least he hadn’t sent her out of his club and straight into the arms of death. He hesitated a moment, wondering if he should make his presence known. But what the hell would he say to her? I’ve changed my mind, I can’t bear to think of you coming to harm, please let me take care of you? No. No fucking way. He might have an unaccountable urge to protect this girl, but he hadn’t transformed into a poncy idiot. He’d follow her home, just to make sure she got there all right. Then, once he knew she was safe for the night, he could decide on his next move. Maybe he could detail Shank to protect her. He could order him to lie about it, too—tell Celia he was acting on his own, without Evan’s knowledge. Or maybe he could— He heard the sing of a bowstring a millisecond before he felt the arrow. But in that millisecond he dove for the ground, which probably saved his life. Even as he felt the shaft pierce him, his first thought was for Celia. She was only half a block ahead of him. “Celia! Run, goddammit!” She spun around just as an arrow whizzed past her. He forgot the searing pain in his back as he shot to his feet, reaching out with his senses and moving with blinding speed.

There, jumping down from the fire escape. With a roar he sprang forward and fell on the archer, knocking the crossbow away and pinning his foe to the ground. He felt his lips curl back in a feral snarl. He hadn’t killed in more than six decades, but he was going to make an exception for this— Woman. The archer was a woman, staring up at him with defiant hatred. He froze, staring down at her. Then he heard an amused voice behind him—a voice he recognized. “Hello, Evan.” He jerked his head around. Hawk Blakestone was standing a few yards away, lighting a cigarette as casually as if he were in Victoria station, instead of standing beside an old friend who had an arrow sticking out of his back and his hand around the throat of the woman who’d just shot it at him. “Good to see you, Hawk,” he said, his tone almost as cool as the other vampire’s. “I’m a bit busy at the moment, but if you’re in town for a few days maybe we can catch up some night. The first round will be on me.” Hawk took a long drag on his cigarette. Evan felt the woman beneath him stir, and he tightened his grip on her throat. She stilled immediately. As Hawk let the smoke curl out of his mouth on a slow exhale, Evan glanced around to see if Celia had run as he’d told her. She was nowhere in sight, so she must have. In spite of his own somewhat precarious situation, tension eased from his muscles at the knowledge that Celia was safe. Finally Hawk spoke. “I’d love to toss back a few with an old friend, but I’m not in town for long. I’m here on a job.” Hawk had once been an assassin—the most feared assassin in the vampire underworld. Then, about ten years ago, he’d dropped out of sight. Word was he’d gone into retirement. Something had obviously lured him out. “A job,” Evan repeated. “Well, well. I can’t recall pissing anyone off lately—no one rich enough to afford you, anyway—so I’m assuming you’re not here for me.”

“Not you, no.” Evan glanced down at the woman he’d captured. She had a mane of silvery blonde hair spread out on the asphalt, and green eyes filled with loathing. Her mouth worked for a few seconds and then she spit at him. He used his free hand to wipe the saliva from his cheek. “Her?” he asked. “No.” “Pity,” he muttered. He had a feeling he knew exactly who Hawk was in Boston to kill, and the assassin’s next words confirmed it. “Celia Albright’s the name. The girl you shouted after a minute ago.” Hawk took another drag on his cigarette. “Be a shame if she means anything to you. Because then I’d probably have to kill you, too, to keep you from interfering.” Jesus. Someone had taken a hit out on Celia. Someone powerful enough—or rich enough —to tempt Hawk Blakestone out of seclusion. He looked down at the blonde. “And what about you, love? Have you been hired to kill Celia, too? Popular girl, that. Knows how to win friends and influence people.” “I don’t kill for money, vampire scum,” she hissed. “Of course not. For fun, then?” Her green eyes glittered as she stared up at him. “I serve my people,” she said through gritted teeth. “I fight our enemies.” “Lovely.” Evan reached around behind him and pulled the arrow slowly from his back, managing to keep the searing pain from showing on his face. “Where I come from, only cowards shoot their enemies in the back. Is that how you were going to kill Celia?” “I wasn’t going to kill her.” She smiled coldly, and Evan suddenly had a very bad feeling. “Any second now, you’re going to find out exactly what I was going to do to her. I’m surprised you haven’t felt it yet.”

Almost before she finished speaking, he did feel it. A hint of numbness at the site of the arrow wound. “Poison,” he whispered. She shook her head slowly, that damn smile still on her face. “Not poison. A paralytic. In a few minutes you won’t be able to move at all.” The numbness was already beginning to spread, but all he could think of was Celia. “You were going to capture her, not kill her. But why?” She kept on smiling. And then, with a sudden, violent twist, she escaped his hold and was gone. “Speedy little thing,” Hawk said, watching as she disappeared into an alleyway across the street. “Beautiful, too. It’s a pity she’s an ice-cold Fae bitch. You can tell she’s at least a quarter-blood—maybe even a half-blood.” Evan wasn’t interested in the archer’s pedigree, and he wasn’t sure how much time he had left before the shit she’d pierced him with took full effect. He lurched to his feet and faced the other vampire. “When we knew each other back in London, did I ever ask you for a favor?” Hawk flicked his cigarette butt in the gutter. “She does mean something to you.” “Don’t do this, Hawk. She’s not like the others you’ve taken out. Most of them deserved death, but she doesn’t. She’s an innocent.” There was a flicker of something in Hawk’s eyes; something like regret. “I’m sorry, Evan. I really am. But someone made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, and I’ve got to see this job through. For what it’s worth, though, I’m sorry to cause you pain.” The numbness was still spreading. But Evan also felt a fire licking through him, a fierce rage at the knowledge that Hawk was on the hunt, ready to kill Celia. His fangs burst forth and he heard himself give a low, feral growl. Hawk raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want to do this, mate. Not the shape you’re in. I don’t want to kill you, but if I have to, I will.” “I won’t let you hurt her.”

Hawk smiled a little, clearly not regarding Evan as a threat. And considering the fact that he was swaying where he stood, it seemed like a pretty accurate assessment. “I hate to break it to you, but you’re in no shape to stop me.” Evan closed his eyes, feeling sick and nauseous as the stiffness reached his joints. “I know,” he muttered. Then he let his demon take over as he lunged forward. He was slower than normal but not weaker—not yet, anyway. He got his arms around the other vampire and took him down to the ground, and Hawk growled in surprised fury. This is not going to end well, Evan thought dimly as Hawk flipped him to his back and sank his fangs into his forearm, tearing the muscle from the bone. He was going to die, and Celia wouldn’t be long for this world once Hawk finished with him. And given the very different afterlives they were probably headed for, he would never see her again. “Stop!” He and Hawk both froze. Then Evan moved his head an inch to the left, so he could see over the other vampire’s shoulder. Celia was standing a few yards away with a crossbow pointed at them—the same crossbow he’d knocked out of the other woman’s hands not long before. Her hands were shaking, and he was very, very glad that Hawk’s body was between him and the deadly looking arrow. Hawk had to twist his head to see what Evan saw. Then he went very still. “I’ve got this aimed at your heart,” she said, her eyes on Hawk. “I’m giving you one chance to walk away. If you’re not gone in ten seconds, you’ll be dead.” Hawk didn’t waste any time arguing. He let Evan go and rose to his feet in one smooth motion. He bowed to Celia as if they were at a social function, a slight smile on his face. “Round one to the lady,” he said softly. And then, moving with vampire speed, he was gone.

For a moment Celia stared after him. Then she let the crossbow clatter to the ground as she rushed to Evan’s side. “This looks bad,” she said, looking at the bone-deep gash on his arm. “Really, really bad.” “It’s nothing,” Evan said, hearing the words slur slightly. “But, Celia—you should have taken Hawk out when you had the chance. He’s a hired assassin, and he’s in Boston to kill you.” For a minute she didn’t say anything. Then: “I know I should have. But…I’ve never killed anyone before.” Evan kept his eyes on her face. “Now might be a good time to start.” She shrugged. “It’s too late now, anyway.” She looked up, scanning the deserted street. “We’ve got to get you somewhere safe before he comes back. Or Jessica does.” There was pain in her voice when she said that name. “Jessica?” Celia nodded, her eyes shadowed. “I don’t know her, but I see her every year at the solstice ceremony. She’s a Fae princess. The queen’s daughter.” She took a quick breath. “But that’s not important now. Let’s get you out of here.” The stiffness was spreading everywhere, and it wouldn’t be long before he couldn’t move at all. “Don’t worry about me, love. You get the hell out of here. Go back to the club; it’s close, and it’s safe. Tell Shank where I am and he’ll come and fetch me back.” If he lived that long. She looked shocked. “I’m not leaving you here. You’re practically defenseless.” She slipped her arm under his uninjured shoulder and brought him up to a sitting position. “Can you get up?” The worst thing about the numbness in his body was that he couldn’t feel her against him. “I’m serious, love. You need to get out of here.” That look of determination was in her eyes. “I’m not leaving without you. So you either get up, or we’ll both stay here.”

There was a funny throb in his chest, as though his dead heart was trying to beat. “Why did you come back? I told you to run.” She flushed, and the color made her face lovelier than anything he’d ever seen. “You were trying to protect me. I was just returning the favor.” Then her chin went up. “Although if you wanted to help me, you could have saved us both a lot of trouble by accepting my offer back at the club. Why in the world did you kick me out of your place and then come after me?” That was a very good question. He sighed. “Damned if I know. Look, pet—if you won’t listen to reason, I’d better try to move now while I still can. I hate to ask for your help, but—” “Of course,” she said immediately, tightening her grip around his shoulders. With her help he struggled to his feet, and then he set his teeth as he forced himself to walk back towards the club. Celia kept her arm around him the whole way. Which was why, even though every step hurt like hell and the tear in his arm burned like fire, a part of him wished they could keep going forever.

Chapter Four “You’re sure he’s going to be all right?” Shank nodded as he closed Evan’s bedroom door. “The paralysis is wearing off, and his arm is already starting to heal. He’d heal faster if he’d drink something real, but—” Celia frowned. “What do you mean, if he’d drink something real?” Shank looked a little uncomfortable. “He, ah, wouldn’t let me call in one of his usual girls.” It took her a few seconds to put it together. “Oh. Right. But…why? If he needs blood…and there are all those women downstairs willing to, you know, service him…” Using that particular phrase made her blush, but it also brought a sudden, vivid image into her mind’s eye. She pictured herself at Evan’s bedside, holding her wrist to his mouth as he pierced the skin with his fangs, his eyes on hers as he drank… “Miss Celia? You look flushed. Are you sure you’re all right? None of that paralyzing stuff got in you, did it?” She cleared her throat. “No, I’m fine.” She hesitated. “Could I…would it be all right if I went in?” Shank smiled. “He told me no visitors—except for you. He said if you wanted to see him, day or night, that I was to let you in. Otherwise, he told me to show you to the guest room and make sure you have everything you need.” She still couldn’t understand what had caused this change in Evan—but she was very grateful. Just as she was grateful that he’d risked his own life to save hers. “I won’t let you hurt her.”

As long as she lived, she’d never forget the thrill that had coursed through her when she’d heard Evan say those words. “Thank you, Shank. I won’t be long. I know he needs to rest.” Shank nodded and went back downstairs. Even at four o’clock in the morning there was noise coming from the club, although it seemed to be winding down a bit. But it was much quieter up here, on the floor Evan had converted into an apartment. She took a deep breath before opening the door to his bedroom. It was a big room, dominated by a king-sized bed—which in turn was dominated by the vampire lying on it. Evan was covered by a dark red blanket from the waist down and bare from the waist up. His eyes were closed. His injured arm had been bandaged, but that wasn’t what drew Celia’s gaze. He was magnificent. His naked torso was packed with hard muscle, and he was the perfect image of power at rest. His skin was so smooth— Suddenly she realized his eyes had opened. He was looking straight at her. Her cheeks flamed, as if she’d been caught doing something illicit. She cleared her throat. “Shank said you weren’t…you know, drinking,” she said without preamble. He frowned. “I’m drinking plenty,” he said, indicating the bottle on his bedside table. “Is that blood?” “No. Whiskey.” He shifted on the bed, and she wondered if his bad arm was hurting him. “Shank said you need blood.” “I’ve had blood.” “Animal blood won’t heal you as quickly. Shank said you wouldn’t let him get one of the—” “Shank talks too much. Don’t worry about me, Faery girl. I’m fine.”

She closed the door behind her and crossed the room towards him. A few feet from his bedside she stopped. “You could have mine,” she said, her cheeks still hot. She couldn’t meet his eyes as she made the offer, so she looked out the window beside his bed. After a minute of silence, though, she looked back at him. A rush of goose bumps prickled her skin when she saw that his eyes had turned yellow and his fangs were gleaming in the light of his bedside lamp. She barely kept herself from taking a step back. “Thought you had a boyfriend,” he said after a moment, his voice low and rough. “I…” she swallowed nervously and tried again. “I do. But you need blood, and you saved my life, and…” It wasn’t like before, she told herself. He wasn’t asking for her blood in payment. She was offering, and only for medicinal purposes. “So you think you owe me, then?” He sounded harsh, but maybe that was just how he sounded when he was in vamp face. “Well…yes. And it will help you to heal.” He turned his head away, and after a moment his fangs retracted and his eyes returned to brown. Then he looked at her again. “Don’t do me any favors, Tinkerbell. We’re even as far as the life-saving thing goes. The only thing I want from you is to know what the hell is going on. Why does everyone in the world have it in for you? It would take something special to bring Hawk Blakestone out of the bloody woodwork. He used to be one of the most expensive assassins in the underworld, and his targets were always other vampires. So why did he come out of retirement to go after you? What the hell kind of research are you doing?” He nodded his head towards a chair by the window. “Pull that over and start talking.” Some impulse made her sit beside him, instead. “There’s room for me here,” she said. “Your bed is huge.”

After a moment he shrugged. “Whatever juices your orange. I don’t care where you sit, as long as you talk.” The taboos against sharing information about her people didn’t seem so important anymore. “Okay,” she said. She took a deep breath. “A couple of years ago, I started making absinthe for my best friend, Liz. She’s a member of the Green Fae. You know that’s our warrior clan, right? Demon hunters.” Evan nodded impatiently. “Yeah, I know all about the Green Fae.” “Okay. Well. I don’t know how much you know about Fae culture, but absinthe is sacred to us. Not the kind humans drink, although there are similarities. They’re both made with wormwood, anise, and fennel.” Evan nodded again. “I know that much. I had a friend at Oxford who drank the stuff. The human version, anyway.” Celia stared at him. “You went to Oxford?” He looked at her sardonically. “I should be insulted that you sound so surprised. But considering I worked damn hard to get rid of my Oxford accent, I suppose that would be hypocritical.” “What did you study?” “History.” Celia felt a rush of pleasure. “That’s what I’m studying. At Boston University.” “Good for you. Now, if we could get back to the subject at hand?” She felt her cheeks heating, and wondered why she’d been so pleased to find out that she and Evan had something in common. Especially when, as he’d said himself, he’d made a deliberate effort to put his past—his human past—behind him. Evan was still speaking. “Humans have always linked absinthe with your race, you know. They call it the Green Fairy—La Fée Verte.” She nodded. “I know. Even human absinthe has a reputation, and as for the Faery brew…if a human with no Fae blood drinks it, they’re pulled out of this world

entirely.” She bit her lip. “A hundred years ago, there were Fae—pure bloods, mostly—who found it…amusing…to do that deliberately. To give our absinthe to humans. There were some disappearances.” “Delightful sense of humor your people have,” Evan said drily. “It doesn’t happen anymore,” Celia said defensively. “There are strict laws against it.” “That’s a comfort. By the by—where, exactly, did the absinthe send them?” “That’s the thing,” Celia said. “We’ve never really known for sure. Passage between the worlds has always been one-way—or so we’ve thought. The story among our people is that the other world is the realm of the Dark Fae.” Evan frowned. “Dark Fae?” Celia nodded. “Faeries without souls or hearts or consciences. The way some human storytellers have described all Fae.” “I can’t imagine how your people could have gotten such a bad rap.” Evan’s voice was sardonic, and Celia knew he was thinking of the Fae who’d deliberately given absinthe to humans. She flushed. “Of course there have always been some Faeries who were… unfriendly to humans, but for the most part, our people are good. And over time— the last hundred years, especially—the Fae have mated more with humans. Purebloods have become rare, and as our blood has mingled we’ve seen that our fates are mingled, too. We see ourselves as protectors of this world, including the humans who live here. Our most ancient legends tell us that the other world—or dimension, or whatever—is populated by Faeries who are truly evil. Who would do harm to humans if they could. The legends also say that there have always been portals between the dimensions, which is how the Fae came to learn of Earth’s existence. And that the first Fae who found their way to Earth did so because they were different. Capable of compassion, and empathy…and love. They came to Earth so that they could have those things. And in exchange for the gift of love— for their souls—they gave up immortality.” Evan had been listening to her with focused attention, his expression inscrutable. “Our origin myths are a bit different. The other way round, actually. The first vampire, as our stories go, was willing to give up his soul for immortality. I’m not

sure if love figures into that equation, but there’s no doubt our races are heading in different directions.” “Different directions?” “Well, yeah. You folks found a way into Heaven, and we’re heading straight for Hell. If we’re careless enough to get killed, that is,” he added with a grin. “I myself have always subscribed to Jane Eyre’s recipe for avoiding Hell. ‘I must keep in good health, and not die.’” He spoke lightly, but Celia sensed that there was real feeling behind his words. What the feeling was, she had no idea. “I’m not sure I believe in all that,” she mused out loud. “All what?” “Heaven and Hell.” “But you believe in other dimensions?” “I do now,” she said quietly. Evan nodded slowly. “And now we come to it. That’s what you’ve discovered, isn’t it? Something about that other dimension.” She nodded. “The Fae are only supposed to drink absinthe once a year, on the night of the winter solstice. Our legends tell us that if you drink more often, you risk being pulled into that other dimension, never to return. You see, the herbs we use to prepare absinthe—they come from that other world. Brought here by the first Fae to cross between the dimensions, and tended in secret gardens around the world.” Evan raised his eyebrows at that. “That’s something I didn’t know.” She nodded again. “If my people knew I was telling you this, they wouldn’t be happy. But that’s why we believe the drink enhances our powers—because it pulls energy from the other world into us. Too much, and it could draw us back to the world where the herbs came from. That’s the story I was raised on, anyway. But there haven’t been any Faery disappearances in recent memory, and very few Fae really believe in the risk. More and more Faeries have been drinking absinthe outside of the solstice ceremony. The truth is, I was one of the doubters. Not in the

power of absinthe, but in the risk. So when Liz asked me to make her the absinthe…I agreed. I warned her, but I agreed.” “So what happened? She get sucked into that other place, or something?” Celia shook her head. “No, thank God. In fact, Jack—” she paused. “You know that Jack and Liz are…” “Shagging like bunnies? Yeah, the word’s gotten around.” She felt herself flushing. “They’re not just having sex. They’re in love.” Evan shrugged. “Good for them. You were saying?” “Jack didn’t like it that Liz was drinking so much absinthe. He’s been allied with the Green Fae clan for decades, and I think he suspected some of what I’ve told you, even if he didn’t know much for sure. And then, of course, Liz told him more once they were a couple. So he got Liz to quit. And then she told him—and me— about some of the dreams she’s been having.” She took a breath. “Now, vivid dreams are part of the absinthe experience. But what Liz described…she talked about meeting a man in the other world, a man who wanted her for his bride. I’ve had dreams like that, too, after I’ve drunk absinthe. I’ve never taken them seriously, but Liz said her dreams turned dark after she stopped. Almost like the man was angry with her. He said things, too. He told her their line is dwindling, and they need ‘hybrids’—that’s what they call those of us who aren’t pure bloods—to strengthen the line.” She took a breath. “And Liz started to think it might be real. Not just a dream. She thinks the Dark Fae want to pull us back to their dimension, for breeding. And she thinks they might try to take us by force.” Without warning, Evan’s face changed again, the fangs bursting forth and his eyes turning demon yellow. Celia froze, staring at him, and watched as Evan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “No one’s going to take you anywhere by force.” Celia felt a sudden rush of warmth. No man had ever expressed such testosteronefuelled rage on her behalf before. “There’s more,” she said, trying to stay focused.

“Yeah?” “After Liz and I talked, she and Jack went up to Canada to help in the fight there. There’s been unusual demon activity all along the Rockies, in Canada and America. While they were gone, I took absinthe. I wanted to see if I could guide the experience at all, like with lucid dreaming.” “Lucid dreaming?” She nodded. “That’s when you’re in a dream but realize you’re dreaming. When that happens you have a lot more control over your actions, and the dream itself. Of course an absinthe trance isn’t exactly like a regular dream, but I wanted to see if I could find out anything.” “And?” She closed her eyes, remembering the terror of what she’d seen that night. After a minute she opened them again. “I think…I think absinthe is causing it.” “Causing what?” She swallowed. “The demonic activity on Earth. When I was in the trance state, I saw the Dark Fae realm. And faeries aren’t the only creatures inhabiting it. There are demons, all the kinds of demons we’ve been fighting for centuries. We’ve always known that absinthe pulls supernatural energy from the other world. It never occurred to us that it might pull something else here, too. That we might be endangering the humans we’re sworn to protect by thinning the veils between the worlds. Opening more portals, so that the demons can cross to this plane.” Evan’s eyes widened. “That’s quite a theory.” “I know. And I went straight to my clan leaders with it—along with my recommendation.” “Your recommendation?” “That the Fae stop drinking absinthe altogether. That we destroy our wormwood gardens and every trace of the herbs from that world.” Evan closed his eyes and rubbed a hand across his face. “Jesus, Celia. You told them that?”

She nodded. “My suggestion wasn’t—um—well-received. A few of the elders seemed willing to listen to me, but—” “It would have been better if they hadn’t been,” he said harshly. “Better if they’d all dismissed you. Because now the others perceive you as a threat to their way of life. They’re afraid you might find out more, that you might persuade some of the clan leaders to your way of thinking. And of all the idiotic things that people— human, Fae, or vampire—are willing to kill and die for, preserving their way of life is at the top of the list. Just ask the Americans who fought the Civil War. All that bloodshed, because the South couldn’t bear to give up their way of life.” Celia sighed. “I get that now. I mean…absinthe is so central to our culture, to who we are as a people. And we’ve always believed it’s the source of our power. If we stopped taking it, what would become of us? Maybe nothing would change…or maybe everything would. My guess, now that I’ve had a chance to think it through, is that we would…diminish. Become less powerful, more like humans.” “You don’t sound very bothered by that idea.” “I’m not. I’d become human in a heartbeat if it meant a chance to eliminate so much evil and darkness. By doing away with absinthe, we could close the door to demons entering this world. Don’t you think it would be worth giving up our powers to accomplish that? Especially since we’ve always believed the primary use of our powers to be protecting this planet and its people?” Her voice had turned passionate, and she took a deep breath to calm herself down. She didn’t want Evan to make fun of her. “I want to go into the trance state again, to see if I can confirm what I’ve found out. But if it turns out that I’m right, don’t you think giving up absinthe is the only logical thing to do? Not to mention the right thing to do?” Evan was looking at her with human eyes again, his fangs retracted. His expression was softer than she’d ever seen it as he reached out to take one of her hands in his. Goose bumps shivered her skin. She looked down at where their hands were joined, and watched as he moved his thumb gently over her wrist. “You’re an unusual woman, Celia Albright. And yes, I agree that if you put the good of the many above the good of the few, then what you’re saying is perfectly logical—and right. But you’re asking people to voluntarily give up power. Even more than their way of life, people will fight to the death to preserve their power. I

know you’re not very old, but surely you’ve learned that much about human nature?” Her hand was lost in his much bigger one, and it was hard to think about anything but the way his strong fingers and rough calluses felt against her softer skin. She forced herself to focus. “I’ve learned it now. Too late, maybe, but I’ve learned it. And I’m not sure what to do next. That’s why I wanted to stay here. So I could have a safe place to do the absinthe ritual, and figure out my next move. And to wait for Liz and Jack to get back. I know they’ll be on my side.” It occurred to her suddenly that with everything that had happened, she’d been assuming that Evan was on her side now, too. But maybe she shouldn’t assume that. She cleared her throat. “We haven’t discussed the…the terms. Whether you’ll let me stay here, under your protection—and how much you want in payment. I can offer you up to—” He let go of her hand, and she tried not to miss the contact. “Your original offer is fine,” he said, his voice cool. “Fifty thousand, if I recall.” Had she hurt his feelings? The idea seemed absurd, but— “I didn’t mean to imply…” she stopped, not sure how to finish the sentence. “I don’t care what you imply, love,” he said easily, sounding more like the Evan she’d first met tonight. “Whatever you think about me, I promise you the truth is worse.” He shifted again, and she wondered if his arm was hurting him. “I’ll expect you to stay within the walls of this club. You were right about the protection spells on this place; they’re powerful. I’ve spent years—and a hell of a lot of money—hiring witches and magicians to weave spells around it. It’s a fortress, and no one can get in here if I don’t want them to. But my protection doesn’t extend beyond these walls, which means you’ll stay inside. Got it?” She nodded. “All right, then. Tomorrow will be soon enough to figure out your next move—and mine. I’ll try to set up a meeting with Hawk. It’s obvious why that Jessica bird was after you—she was under orders to capture you, to bring you before her clan leaders. But Hawk’s a wild card in all this. We need to find out who hired him, and why.”

He closed his eyes briefly. “But for now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some rest.” “Of course,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry I kept you talking for so long. Shank won’t be happy with me.” She hesitated. “You said you don’t want my blood, but will you at least let me try a healing spell? It might help.” He shrugged, his expression indifferent. “Whatever waxes your canoe. Do I need to do anything?” She shook her head, reaching into her waist pack for her rose quartz crystal and the tiny leather journal she used as a spell book. She warmed the crystal in one hand as she flipped to the right page. “I’ve never actually tried this spell before,” she said, reading over the words. She glanced at Evan and saw that he was smiling. “Not going to turn me into something by accident, are you? I don’t fancy spending the rest of my existence as a newt.” “You’re safe,” she said, smiling back at him. “If it doesn’t work, nothing bad will happen. You just won’t feel better.” She paused. “Is it all right if I touch you? I have to hold the crystal against your skin.” He nodded, keeping his eyes on hers. Feeling self-conscious, she laid the crystal on his chest and covered it with her palm. Her fingers tingled when they touched his cool skin. Then she spoke the words of the spell slowly and carefully, willing her magic into the vampire who’d gotten injured trying to save her. When she finished she pulled her hand away and looked at him questioningly. “Well?” He looked down at his forearm, frowning. Then he unwound the bandage from it, his eyebrows quirking up when he saw what was underneath. “Well is right,” he said, holding out his arm so she could see. The jagged, ugly wound was gone, replaced by a thin scar. “I’m impressed, Tinkerbell.” She felt inordinately pleased. “Well. I’m still hit or miss with my spells, so I’m glad this one worked.” “Hit or miss?”

She nodded. “My teachers have always been frustrated with me. I’m supposed to have all this potential, but for some reason I’ve never been able to access my full power as a spellcaster. By this point, I shouldn’t always have to use a spell book, or a focusing object like the rose quartz crystal. I should be able to cast spells with my will alone, just by using a word of power, or even an image in my mind. But I’ve never been able to do that.” He looked interested. “Why do you think that is?” “Well…Yana, one of my teachers, told me it’s a combination of things. She says I have to believe in myself more, that an important component of magic is having faith in your own ability. She also says I have to want it more. She thinks if my need or desire is strong enough, the power will be there.” Evan smiled a little. “So you’ve never experienced strong desire?” Her cheeks heated. “I…not like…the kind Yana was talking about.” His eyes were fixed on hers. “I don’t think you’ve felt the other kind of desire, either. Or if you have, it’s never been satisfied. You can correct me if I’m wrong, of course. But you don’t have the scent of a satisfied woman.” A rush of curiosity warred with embarrassment. But her curiosity, always her greatest weakness, won out. “What does a satisfied woman smell like?” She regretted the question as soon as she blurted it out, but it was too late. One corner of his mouth lifted. “Depends on the woman. Some have a briny scent, like the sea. Some smell like sugared lemons or blackberry juice. Some are spicy, like cardamom or anise or cloves.” It wasn’t what she’d been expecting at all. “And…what do I smell like?” She couldn’t believe she’d asked another question, but for some reason she had to know the answer. What did she smell like to a vampire? Evan studied her for a moment, his eyes opaque. “Like linen too fine for common use, so it’s been packed away in a cedar chest, with rose hips and lavender water.” Rose and lavender weren’t bad smells. They were good smells, in fact. But for some reason, she found Evan’s description almost unbearably depressing. It made her feel dowdy and frumpy, like an old woman.

Then he went on. “That’s on the surface. Underneath…” He paused. “Something bright and fierce, like…” he paused again. “Like when you look straight at the sun for a second. That moment when your eyes water and you feel a sneeze coming on.” Contrary to popular myth, sunlight didn’t hurt vampires. But they were nocturnal, and typically slept during the day and woke after sunset. Celia wondered if Evan were remembering his days as a human, or if he were one of the rare vampires who chose to spend time outdoors when the sun was shining. “I smell like a sneeze?” It was an odd description, but somehow she liked it better than the other one. A corner of his mouth lifted again. “Sort of.” They looked at each other for a moment, and Celia was intensely aware of Evan’s bare chest, his powerful arms and smooth skin…and his mahogany eyes fixed on hers. And then she was aware of her own body, of a tingling warmth suffusing her, and of something coiling low in her belly. Desire. Suddenly afraid he could smell that, too, she rose quickly to her feet. “Good night, Evan. And…thanks. For saving my life.” “Ditto,” was all he said, but his brown eyes were warm as they looked at her. Another rivulet of sensation washed through her. They stayed like that for another minute, neither of them speaking or moving. Evan was the first one to break the silence. “Your man’ll be worried about you,” he said abruptly. “You should call him, tell him you’re going out of town for a few weeks. You can call other people, too— anyone who might miss you. We don’t want anyone to send out a search party.” She tried to sound as business-like as he did. “That’s a good idea. I will. Well… good night,” she said again. This time she turned and walked away, not stopping until she reached the door.

She forced herself not to look back.

Chapter Five Evan slept like the dead—which, of course, he was—and woke up at sunset the following day feeling better than he had in a long time. He wondered if that was one of the effects of the spell Celia had done the night before. He closed his eyes as he remembered that moment, the thrill that ran through him as she spoke the words of the spell. Her energy had flowed into him through the crystal she held against his chest, and he could have sworn his dead heart tried to beat in rhythm with hers. Christ, he needed to get a grip. He was starting to sound like a lovesick schoolboy. But he couldn’t stop thinking of the way she’d looked as she’d faced down Hawk in the street, that crossbow held in her trembling hands. The courage and determination that had sparked in her eyes. And he remembered what she’d told him last night, the dilemma she found herself in—and the solution she wanted her people to adopt. She was naïve, yes, but also brave and selfless. And what it all added up to was that Celia Albright was not for him. It had nearly killed him when she’d offered her blood. His demon had almost howled out loud as he’d pictured her on her back under him, her neck arched to expose that beautiful throat. He’d been a hair’s breadth away from lunging for her like an animal…until he’d realized why she’d made the offer. Because she felt grateful. Because she thought she owed him. Which was pretty fucking ironic, considering he’d kicked her out when she’d come to him for help—and almost got her killed. No, Celia wasn’t for him—even though she seemed to have ruined him for other women without ever having been his. Quite a trick, that. Witness the fact that he

hadn’t been able to stomach drinking from any of the girls in the club last night, and had told Shank to bring him a supply of animal blood instead. Yeah, he was well and truly fucked. And having her here, just a few rooms away, was not going to improve the situation. He suspected he’d be drinking butcher shop fare as long as she was under his roof, not to mention mooning after her like some kind of idiot. He had to get her out of here as soon as it was safe. He needed to neutralize the threat against her, make sure she was in no danger from her own kind or his. Then he could send her on her way, back to her human boyfriend, and do his best to forget she existed. Which meant, among other things, arranging a meet with Hawk on neutral ground. He was downstairs an hour later, talking to one of his old London mates who had no idea how to get in touch with Hawk, when Shank popped his head into the office. “He’s on line two.” Evan frowned. “Who?” “Hawk.” Evan raised an eyebrow. “Well, well. That makes my job easier.” He picked up line two as Shank closed the office door again. “Hello, old friend. I can’t tell you what a pleasure it was to catch up last night.” “The pleasure was mine. How’s the arm?” “All patched up, thanks.” “It’s good to know your cricket-playing days aren’t over. You were one hell of a bowler at university, if I recall.” They had both graduated from Oxford—Evan in 1934 and Hawk nearly half a century earlier. “You were the cricket legend, mate. Is that what you called to chat about?”

“No.” There was a long pause. “That Fae female—you haven’t marked her or claimed her.” A vampire could sense the marks of another vampire’s bite on a human, even if they weren’t visible to the naked eye. And when a vampire claimed a human— whether as a blood source or as mate—the claim created a kind of energy signature that other vampires could feel, as well. “No. Your point?” “She can’t mean much to you yet.” “Your point?” “I’m wondering how much she’s told you. About what she’s up to.” “She’s told me enough.” “Has she told you she wants to close the portals between this world and the demon dimension?” How the hell did Hawk know that? It was hard to believe a Fae would talk to a vampire about this shit. Unless he was fishing for information? “I’m not passing on a damn thing about what she’s told me.” A low chuckle sounded over the phone. “Still a cagey bastard, I see. I’m cagey, too, but I’m willing to make an exception in this case.” There was another pause. “Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that Celia Albright told you that she went to her clan leaders to propose that they destroy their supply of absinthe. Not just here, but all over the world. Will you accept that scenario as a working hypothesis?” “Go on.” “Let’s also assume she told you that the clans weren’t exactly wild about her suggestion. Because if they close that door, their powers will wane. They’ll diminish over time until they’re no different from ordinary humans.” “Go on.” “Did it occur to you that the Fae aren’t the only supernaturals who would be affected? Where the hell do you suppose our powers come from?” Evan was silent. The truth was, it hadn’t occurred to him…and it should have.

He knew why it hadn’t. Whenever he was within a hundred feet of Celia, he couldn’t seem to think straight. “Ah. She didn’t tell you that part, did she?” He couldn’t let that go. “Assuming that Celia did tell me this, you can also assume —hypothetically—that she didn’t keep anything back to deceive me. You can assume—hypothetically—that she’s honestly trying to do the right thing, according to her lights. She’s only just found all this out, remember. She hasn’t had time to think it all through. She’s in a bloody rotten position and she’s doing the best she can. And it’s only natural that her first concern is going to be for her own people— the Fae and the humans.” “Defending a lady…how uncharacteristically chivalrous. And unnecessary in this case, as I didn’t mean to insult her. Of course it’s natural for her to think of her people. Just as it’s natural for us to think of our people. I don’t expect the Albright girl to be wasting any time worrying about vampires. That’s why we need to.” Evan was silent, and after a moment Hawk continued. “The…parties who hired me for this job believe it’s important to act now. They fear if Miss Albright continues to trumpet her cause, that some among the Fae might come around to her way of thinking. They believe that if they eliminate her now, the danger will pass.” “Why would killing Celia end the danger? What’s to prevent another Fae from coming to the same conclusion she did?” “They don’t think it’s very likely, but they’re prepared to deal with any new threats as they arise.” “By murdering anyone who makes the same suggestion?” “By taking whatever action necessary to ensure that the portals between dimensions remain open.” Evan sat back in his chair, realizing for the first time that the discussion with Hawk had brought forth his demon. His lips were drawn back in a snarl, and his fangs ached with the desire to tear and rend and destroy anyone who dared threaten Celia Albright. But he had to stay cool if he wanted to protect her. “Why are you telling me this, Hawk? What are you trying to accomplish?”

“I want us on the same side. Would you really put the life of a Fae girl—one you’ve not yet marked or claimed—ahead of your own life and that of every vampire in existence?” Evan dragged a hand over his hair. “This is all speculative. You don’t know for sure what would happen if the absinthe is destroyed. Maybe that would close the portals; maybe it wouldn’t. And what if they do close? We don’t know for sure what would happen then. Maybe everything in this world would stay the same.” “The parties who engaged me don’t think so, and they’ve put a lot on the line to back their belief. And if they’re right, it would be far, far worse for us. The Fae are strengthened by the other dimension, but they can live without it. Not so vampires. Our entire existence is fueled by demonic energy. We’ve given up our human lives; there’s nothing else for us but death.” Evan digested this in silence. What Hawk was predicting might or might not come to pass, even assuming that Celia convinced the Fae to destroy the heart of their culture—a doubtful proposition at best. None of this was certain. The only thing Evan knew for sure was that Celia had made some powerful enemies, and that they wouldn’t hesitate to kill her to stop her from spreading her message. “You want us on the same side,” he said slowly. “What does that mean?” “In an ideal world, it would mean your sense of self-preservation has kicked in after what I told you, and you’ll turn the girl over to me without a fuss.” “Not going to happen.” “I didn’t think it would. Now, bear in mind that the parties involved will go to war with you if they have to—but they’d much rather avoid anything so publicly bloody. Instead, I’m proposing a compromise. I’ll go to my principals with a promise that your girl will never again so much as hint that the drinking of Faery absinthe is linked to demonic activity on Earth—and that she will never again suggest that absinthe be destroyed.” “Christ. You think they’d accept a promise like that?” “I know they will, because I’ve already spoken with them. Miss Albright will have to go before her clan leaders and publicly rescind what she’s said, and she’ll have

to swear privately—to certain parties—that she will never speak of it again. And of course, if she ever goes back on her word, her life will be forfeit.” Evan remembered the look of fierce determination in Celia’s eyes when she was talking about the greater good. “I don’t know if she’ll do it, Hawk. She’s…honorable. Truehearted.” “That’s unfortunate,” the other vampire said drily. “If I were you, I’d tell her about the risk to the vampires of the world. Tell her she’d be saving your life as well as her own.” “I won’t put that on her shoulders.” “As you like. I think she should be allowed to take that information into account, but that’s your affair. Convince her however you want—but convince her. You have forty-eight hours.” The line went dead. Evan hung up the phone, surged to his feet, and slammed his fist into the wall. If he’d been human, the impact would have shattered the bones in his hand. The only way to ensure Celia’s safety—and that of every vampire on the planet, according to Hawk—was to ask her to betray her ideals. He didn’t want to do that. But if she did somehow convince the Fae to destroy the absinthe…and it turned out that Hawk was right about the consequences…how would she feel then? How would she feel if the vampire race was wiped out because of her actions? Would she think it was worth it, to protect the human race from evil? Or would she torture herself with guilt? Or would she think that wiping out vampires was an added bonus? Most of them, after all, were fair game to the Green Fae warriors. Vampires who hunted and killed humans were favorite targets of the demon hunters. Vampires like Jack Morgan, who had actually allied themselves with the Faery clans, were a rarity. And vampires like him, who refrained from killing humans— not exactly allies but not enemies, either—were almost as rare. If you were thinking in terms of the greatest good to the greatest number of people —people being humans—then ending the vampire race was a consummation devoutly to be wished.

Evan’s eyes fell on the arrowhead in Celia’s handkerchief, still on his desk from the day before. Twenty-four hours ago, he’d never heard of Celia Albright. He’d been drinking from one of his regular girls, the club was hopping, and things were marching along as they had done for the last ten years. He’d made a good life for himself here in Boston. A comfortable life. Now, because of one small redhead, that life had been turned upside down. He went out to the club, where extra security had been added and only regulars were being admitted. He’d also paid a witch to add warding spells between the club and the floors above it, where he lived and where Celia was staying. No one but he, Celia, and Shank were able to cross that boundary. He found Shank behind the bar. “How is she?” he asked without preamble. “Miss Celia? She’s fine. She woke up a few hours before you did, and I showed her the clothes and things in the guest room. I brought the dinner you told me to order from the human restaurant, and she ate every bite.” “Did she ask for anything?” “Yeah, she did.” Shank frowned a little. “She wanted a sugar cube, a cordial glass, and a slotted spoon. I guess she’s making some kind of drink, but she didn’t ask for a bottle of anything.” Absinthe. That was how you drank it—whether it was the human stuff or the Faery stuff, apparently. He remembered watching his Oxford friend prepare it. He’d put a shot of absinthe in a glass, laid a slotted spoon over the rim with a sugar cube on top of it, and then poured cold water slowly over the cube. As the sugared water dripped into the green absinthe, it had turned almost milky in color, which his friend had informed him was the anise and fennel releasing their flavors into the drink. If she’d asked for those particular items, it meant Celia was going to take absinthe again tonight. Well, that was good. They needed more information, right? She’d said she was hoping to learn more while she was in the trance state or whatever.

But she’d also said it was dangerous. That if you took too much, you could be pulled into that other world. The demon world. Where the Fae had no hearts, no souls, no consciences. He’d fit in just fine there, but imagining Celia in a place like that… “You’re in charge tonight,” he told Shank, and went upstairs to her room. Her door was closed, and he stood in the hallway frowning. She hadn’t asked for him, and he didn’t want to interrupt her if she was in the middle of some Faery magic shit. He might mess things up if he did that. Or maybe she’d finished with the ritual and was sleeping now—in which case he still shouldn’t go in there. He imagined her inside, curled up on the bed. Her red-gold hair would be spread out in all its copper glory. Her soft, creamy skin would be warm with sleep… He cursed softly as he put his hand on the knob and turned it. If it was unlocked, he’d just stick his head in and make sure everything was all right. If it didn’t open — But it did. The door opened soundlessly, and he took one step inside. The moonlight pouring through the windows illuminated the girl lying asleep on the bed. Her long red hair was lustrous and loose, just as he’d imagined, and she was wearing a white cotton camisole top and plaid pajama bottoms. Her arms were flung out to the sides and her legs were tangled in the sheets, as if she’d been tossing and turning. If she’d been restless earlier, she was sleeping peacefully now. Evan tuned his senses to her and was relieved to find her heartbeat and breathing slow and even. She was perfectly well. Which meant that he had no reason to stay. But instead of taking a step backwards, he took one forwards. And another.

Before he knew it he was in the middle of the room, and the effort to keep from going closer was making him shudder. She looked like an angel. Her lips were parted slightly, and her softly rounded breasts rose and fell with her breathing. Her delicate scent hung in the air, making his mouth water and his incisors ache. Other parts of his body ached, too. His cock was harder than granite, straining against his jeans as he imagined ripping the clothes from her body and thrusting into her, hard and deep, until she forgot her human boyfriend, forgot the danger she was in, forgot everything but him. Then he’d take her with his fangs. He’d pierce that perfect throat, marking her as his. And he’d rip the lungs out of any other man that dared touch her. He closed his eyes, his body wracked with a hunger more powerful than anything he’d ever felt. Hunger for Celia. It was more than bloodlust…it was a need so deep he knew he’d never be free of it again. It was a need that seemed to come from his very soul, if he could’ve laid claim to such a thing. But she wasn’t for him. He needed to get the hell out of here, and right now. He opened his eyes and froze. Celia had woken up, and she was looking right at him. Not since he was a human boy of six and the cook had caught him with his hand in the cookie jar had he felt so exposed—or so guilty.

Chapter Six The absinthe haze made everything glow, and Celia felt her body come alive as she stared at Evan. It was a dream, of course. One of the most intense things about taking absinthe was the dreams she had afterward, vivid, sensual dreams where she could shed the inhibitions that shackled her when she was awake. Before she’d fallen asleep, the absinthe had taken her where she needed to go. She’d been able to travel in spirit to the other realm, and had seen the dark Fae queen talking to the demons she was sending through the portal to the place in the mountains where Liz and Jack and so many of her people were fighting. She watched her and the Fae in her royal court take absinthe, chanting spells much like the ones the earthly Fae would chant on the night of the solstice, but with a difference. They called for the two worlds to be joined, for the veils between them to be thinned. And after the ritual, they’d talked over their plans. Their plans to overwhelm Earth, slaughtering most of the humans and penning the rest like cattle, to use as breeding stock to strengthen their dying race. She’d learned everything she needed to know. It had been hard this time for her spirit to return to her body, left cold and almost lifeless on the floor of Evan’s guest bedroom. Hard enough that she knew she shouldn’t take absinthe again for several months. Every time she did her spirit flew more readily from her body, traveling more easily to the other dimension, and returning more reluctantly. She shouldn’t take part in the solstice ritual this year. Of course, none of the Fae should. Which meant she didn’t have much time to convince them that she was right.

She’d come back to life slowly, her body deathly cold. As soon as she was able to move again she’d crawled into the big bed and lay shivering under the covers, knowing sleep would come as soon as she was a little warmer. She’d had a crazy urge to go to Evan, to climb into his even bigger bed and press herself against him. That would be sure to get her blood flowing again. Not that he’d ever take her up on such an invitation. He wouldn’t even take her blood; there was no way he’d be interested in her body. But there was no harm in fantasizing. Maybe she’d even dream about him tonight. She realized, suddenly, that she had no desire to dream about her boyfriend. And in that moment of clarity, she knew needed to break up with him. Danny deserved someone who fantasized about him, someone who wanted him with every fiber of her being. She tried one more time to think about him the way she thought about Evan. But in the absinthe afterglow, all the shoulds and ought-tos lost their power over her, and she finally gave in and let images of the vampire take over. Which is why she wasn’t surprised to find him in her dreams that night. He seemed surprised, though. He was staring at her almost apprehensively. She held out her hand towards him. “Why are you so far away?” Her absinthe dreams were the only time she ever truly felt free. It wasn’t real, after all. There were no shoulds and ought-tos, no self-doubt, no consequences. Evan took a step closer, and then another. “Celia,” he said, his voice husky with uncertainty. His eyes were yellow and his fangs gleamed briefly in the moonlight. Her body was thrumming with desire. Her blood seemed to flow thick and hot through her veins, and suddenly she couldn’t stand it anymore. She rose up onto her knees, holding out both hands now. He closed his eyes, and his throat muscles convulsed as he swallowed. “Celia…” Why was he hesitating like this? Was it possible that even dream Evan didn’t want her? The thought was like a splash of cold water, killing the joyful buzz in her veins.

She sank back on to the pillows. “It’s okay,” she said hopelessly. “Just…forget it.” Normally she would have been ashamed of the tears leaking out of her eyes, but what did it matter if she cried in her sleep? And then Evan was kneeling beside the bed, raising a shaking hand to brush the dampness from her cheeks. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Please tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.” His eyes were brown again, his fangs retracted. His palm against her skin was rough and cool, and his wonderful scent, like leather and tobacco and incense, filled her nostrils. In the safety of her dream, she could let herself feel how much she wanted him. She turned her head and pressed a kiss into the hollow of his palm. He went absolutely still. “What are you doing?” For a moment her hopelessness returned. But then, suddenly, she was angry. This was her dream, damn it! She shrugged away from him, scooting back towards the headboard of the bed. “I’m trying to seduce you. But since I can’t even convince my subconscious that you could actually want me, you might as well go back where you came from.” She glared at him defiantly, and for a second he stared back. Then, faster than she could take her next breath, Evan was on top of her. His broad chest and his arms on either side of her shoulders made a cage, his hard muscles straining against his black shirt. He thrust a powerful thigh between hers, spreading her legs with impatient force, and his yellow eyes, just inches from hers, were more animal than human. His lips curled back as his fangs burst from his gums. At the sound of his low, savage growl, the hairs on the back on her neck stood up. Then she felt his erection, long and thick and hard, pushing at her through the layers of his jeans and her pajamas. “I don’t know what your subconscious has to do with it, but you’re out of your mind if you think I don’t want you.” He thrust against her center, making her gasp, and she felt heat and moisture flooding her core. “I’m giving you one chance to come to your senses, Celia. One chance to send me away. But you have to do it now.”

She’d never seen so much power on such a tight leash. Her heart beat wildly, frantically, joyfully. “Why would I send you away?” she breathed. “This is what I want.” Even then, he hesitated. “You’re sure?” She wanted him so much she was trembling, the pounding of her heart making her whole body vibrate. “It’s just one night,” she whispered, wondering why her subconscious was taking so damn long. He went still. “One night,” he repeated. His eyes turned human again, and while a part of her missed that fierce animal visage, it was this face, these brown eyes, that she was falling in— No. No. Not even in a dream would she think such a thing about a vampire she’d just met, a vampire with a reputation that should strike fear into her heart, not this…other thing. But this would be her last absinthe dream for a long time, and she wanted to make the most of it. She reached up and traced the harsh planes of his face, and he closed his eyes as he leaned into the caress, clenching his jaw tight. “If it’s just one night, we should make it count,” he said roughly. “What do you want from me, Celia? This?” He rubbed his erection against her in slow, deliberate circles, the pressure making her ache with need. “Yes,” she gasped, closing her eyes as pleasure drenched her. She arched up against him, pressing her body to his, needing him closer. “I want everything— everything. I want—” She stopped, and then she let herself voice her most forbidden desire. “I want you to bite me.” He froze. “Jesus, Celia,” he said, and she wondered why his voice was shaking. “I…want that too. But if this one night is all we have, I can’t do that.” Disappointment flooded through her. “Why not?” “Because it might make a bond between us.” She opened her eyes and stared at him, bewildered. “But…you drink from women all the time. Do you have a bond with all of them?”

His nostrils flared. “No.” “Then why—” “Celia. I’m hanging on by a thread here, love. Stop talking.” “But I don’t—” He cut her off with a kiss. Once Evan’s mouth covered hers, it was impossible to think of anything else. It was impossible to think at all. He tasted like darkness, like sin, like hunger. His tongue stroked inside her mouth as he ground his hips against hers. She writhed against him, desperate to bring their bodies closer, and Evan broke the kiss and pulled back a few inches, looking down at her with yellow-tinged eyes. “I need to taste you.” “But I thought you said—” “Not that way, pet. Are you attached to these pajamas?” “I—” “Good.” He gripped the front of her cotton camisole and tore it in two. He looked down at her bare torso, and her nipples hardened under his gaze. All at once, his rough urgency transformed into something else. His sudden stillness made her still, too, and she held her breath as he lowered his head to press a kiss against her breastbone. Then he moved his lips softly, softly up the slope of one breast, taking the hard peak in his mouth and running his tongue over and around it, again and again, until she was arching her back to push herself closer. He covered the sensitized skin with his palm as he fastened his mouth on her other breast. Celia didn’t realize she’d slid her fingers into Evan’s short brown hair until she heard his low chuckle. “I’m not going anywhere, love.” Then she looked down and saw she was clutching his hair in a death grip.

Dream or not, she blushed crimson. Then, faster than a heartbeat, Evan rose to his knees above her and used the torn pieces of her camisole to bind her wrists to the slatted headboard. She stared up at him, panting, feeling an erotic rush like nothing she’d ever known. “Why did you do that?” “Because for the first time in my very long life, I feel the urge to tie a woman down.” “The first time? But…your club. All those chains and handcuffs and…things.” He shook his head. “I don’t use that shit. A lot of vampires do—we can be a possessive lot. But to tell you the truth, pet, I’ve never met a woman I wanted to hang on to that much.” He shucked off his jeans and pulled his shirt over his head, and then he was naked. Celia’s eyes went to the erection jutting from his hips, long and thick and hard, and her mouth went dry. “But you—” he paused and tugged off her pajama bottoms and panties before straddling her, his knees on either side of her hips, his erection just brushing her center. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t mind chaining you to my bed for a while. But since this is just a one night thing, we’ll settle for this,” he said, looking with satisfaction at her bound wrists. “What now?” she whispered, mesmerized by the sight of his big, naked body looming above her. “Now?” He smiled slowly, shifting back and pushing her legs apart so he could settle himself between them. “Now, beautiful woman, I’m going to have my way with you.” When he lowered his dark head and licked inside her, every nerve in her body ignited. Even in her absinthe dreams, nothing had ever felt this good. Between her bound wrists and Evan’s strong hands on her thighs, she was utterly at his mercy. And she’d never felt so safe.

His tongue flickered against her clitoris before delving deep into her channel, stroking her everywhere, until she felt truly well and truly devoured. The pleasure became so intense she tried to pull away, but he only drove her higher, his fingers gripping her hips as she writhed against his hands and mouth. Finally she fell apart, throwing her head back as she cried out. She was still shuddering with aftershocks as Evan rose above her again. His eyes were yellow at the edges, his expression fierce. “Are you ready for me?” “Yes! Oh, yes—” And then, thank God, he sank inside her. She couldn’t look away from him as he drove into her again and again. His arms were braced on either side of her shoulders, his muscles rigid, and the look in his eyes was as possessive as the thick erection invading her body with deep, relentless strokes. He seemed to know exactly when she was at the brink, because only then did he roar out his release as he emptied himself inside her, the pulse of his body making her climax harder than she ever had in her life. After a long, pleasure-drenched moment, Evan reached up with shaking hands to undo her wrists. Then he rolled onto his side and pulled her to him. He cradled her gently, his hand stroking her back as he murmured things into her hair, his voice ragged and indistinct. Celia pressed her cheek against the cool skin of his chest and listened for a heartbeat that wasn’t there, her body boneless and replete, every nerve sated. And yet there was still one other thing she wanted to share with him. She slid an arm around his neck and whispered into his ear. “Please, Evan—I want you to bite me.” He went still for a moment. Then he rolled onto his back, pulling her with him. “I can’t, sweetheart. Not if this night is all we have. Don’t ask me again.” “But it’s only a dream,” she said, unwilling to give up. Her longing to feel his fangs in her neck was turning into a primal hunger. “We can do anything we want in a dream. Please, Evan.” This time he was still for so long that she rose up on one elbow to look down at him.

His face was frozen, and she couldn’t read his expression. “What is it?” she asked. He met her eyes for just a moment. Then he gripped her upper arms lightly, shifting her away from him so she lay on her back. He pulled the covers up, tucking them around her, and then got out of bed. He kept his back to her as he put on his jeans and tee shirt, and only when he was dressed did he turn to look at her again. He sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze tracing over her face as if he were learning her by heart. The yellow was gone from his eyes, leaving them fathomless and full of a longing that bewildered her. “What is it?” she asked again, reaching up to cup his cheek in her hand. He closed his eyes. “Tomorrow morning, when you wake up, you’re going to realize this wasn’t a dream. If you’re smart, you’ll bury that realization down deep. You’ll get up and eat breakfast like tonight never happened. And I promise you I’ll never mention it, never let you know by word or look that I’m thinking of it. And eventually you’ll come to believe it really was a dream.” “It is a dream,” she said, utterly certain. There was no way any of this would have happened in real life. Men didn’t want her the way Evan had wanted her tonight. They didn’t rip her clothes off and make love to her with that kind of passion. Every boyfriend she’d ever had—not that there were many—had been attracted to her because of her mind, not her body. She didn’t have whatever it took to arouse passion in a human male, much less a vampire. “That’s right,” he agreed, leaning over her to press a quick, hard kiss to her lips. “It’s just a dream, Celia. And that’s all it will ever be.” He straightened up again and took a few steps back. “Tomorrow we have to talk about what you’re going to do next. How we’re going to save your life, which is a hell of a lot more important than…what didn’t happen between us tonight. In the afternoon, come find me in my office.” And with that, he was gone. His sudden departure was dreamlike, too, which only reinforced her certainty. So Celia decided to forget the parts she didn’t understand and think only about the

ecstasy that dream-Evan had brought her. She closed her eyes and ran her hands down her body, reliving every passion-filled moment. She fell asleep with a smile on her face. Waking up was an entirely different story.

Chapter Seven The first few seconds were lovely. Her body was sore, but in the best possible way. Celia stretched languidly, blinking in the bright sunlight that spilled through the windows. Then she noticed that she was naked. She hadn’t gone to bed naked. She rolled onto her side, frowning, and caught a glimpse of her right wrist. Then she looked at both her wrists. There were red marks on them, where— Oh, God. She sat bolt upright in bed, looking down at herself. There were finger-shaped bruises on her hips, where Evan had gripped her while he— Oh, God. In the first flood of realization, she retreated like a little girl, diving under the covers and curling up into a ball. If only she could hide there forever. But she couldn’t. She wasn’t a little girl, she was a grown woman. Which meant that she had to get up, get dressed, and deal with the absolute mess that her life had become in just seventy-two hours. She took a shower and put on some of the clothes Shank had bought for her. She chose jeans and a green cotton sweater, practical and nondescript. She was tying the laces of her sneakers when Shank tapped on the door and came in with a breakfast tray. He kept her company while she ate her toast and cereal and drank her coffee, and the fact that Shank didn’t seem to realize that she’d had mind-blowing sex with his boss the night before gave her some much-needed confidence. Her body had been

so imprinted by the event that she felt it must show to other people somehow, like a neon light. She was relieved to find out that it didn’t. Unfortunately, there was one person in the world who did know what had happened. And in spite of his oddly chivalrous offer to forget that fact, Celia didn’t know how she could ever look him in the face again. As Shank was leaving with her empty tray, she asked him to let her know when Evan was up and in his office for the day. As the door closed behind him, she sank down into the overstuffed armchair by the brick fireplace and closed her eyes. There were a hundred questions spinning in her head right now, and while the ones involving Evan Grant should have been at the very bottom of her priority list, they were the ones that kept floating to the top. Why had he made love to her like that? Was it just automatic for him to take a woman up on an offer of sex? But if that were the case, then why hadn’t he bitten her? She’d been more than willing—she’d practically begged him. Why had he said it might make a bond between them? And then, when he’d realized she thought it was a dream…why had he taken off so fast? And why had he offered her that out—the out of pretending it had never happened? She dropped her head into her hands and massaged her temples with her thumbs. In the end, none of these questions mattered—not when you held them up against the ones that did, like how she was going to convince the entire Fae nation to do away with a central part of their culture…not to mention save her own life. Which was why she was going to do exactly as Evan had suggested, and forget last night had ever happened. She wasn’t ready to deal with it, or what it might mean… and, obviously, neither was he. But one thing she had to do, and right now. She had to call Danny and break up with him. And she’d better give up on the idea of ever having great sex again. Because there was no way, absolutely none, that any man could ever make her feel the way Evan had last night.

Which just went to show exactly how screwed up her life was right now. *** Celia took a deep breath as she raised her hand to knock on Evan’s office door. She had a moment’s déjà vu as she remembered standing in this exact spot two nights ago, just as nervous as she was now—but for a completely different reason. She braced herself as she had that night, and knocked. “Come in.” After another deep breath, she opened the door. Evan was there, behind his desk, but she was aware of him more as a looming shape than a person, because she couldn’t look directly at him. She looked a little to his left, at the bookshelves behind his desk, while the feverish heat of extreme embarrassment turned her face red. “Agatha Christie,” she blurted. “What?” She kept her eyes on his bookshelves. “Agatha Christie novels. It looks like you have all of them.” “Yeah. She was a friend of my mother’s. They met during the first World War, when they worked together in hospital. They stayed friends all their lives. Those are all signed first editions.” His voice was cool and unembarrassed. He obviously wasn’t feeling any of the awkwardness that she was. It was strange to think about Evan’s mother—to remember that he’d once been a little boy, and then a young man. Her eyes flickered back to him briefly. “Did she ever know…what you are? Your mother, I mean.” He shook his head. “She believed I died in 1940, when my plane was shot down in the Battle of Britain.” Something clicked in her mind. “That’s who you remind me of,” she said, half to herself. This time when her eyes went to him she was able to keep them there.

“I remind you of someone, do I?” He was sitting back in his chair, apparently completely at ease. “A cousin of mine. He’s in the Air Force. You don’t look alike, not really, but you carry yourself like he does. Maybe it’s a pilot thing.” He shrugged. “I haven’t been a pilot for a long time.” “‘Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few,’” Celia quoted softly. Evan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything. “That’s what Winston Churchill said about the Battle of Britain. Isn’t it?” He shrugged. “Sounds like him.” “You were a hero.” “No. I was a bloke doing a job, just like everyone else in the war. Now, if you don’t mind—” “How did you become a vampire?” He stared at her. “Why all the questions, Celia?” Unspoken things hung in the air. The Big Thing they weren’t talking about—that they’d tacitly agreed never to talk about. Now that she was looking at him, and not at a spot to his left, she could read small signs of tension in him. Tension in his jaw, and in the muscles of his face. Tension in the hand that rested on his desk, curled into a fist. Was it possible that he was as affected by what had happened last night as she was? Doubtful. But it had affected him a little bit. Of that she was sure. She didn’t have the courage to bring up the Big Thing. But she could answer his question honestly. “I want to know more about you.” “No. You don’t.”

“Yes, I do.” He kept his eyes on her as he sat back in his chair, opening his fisted hand and drumming his fingers on the desk. “You want to know about me? Fine. I flew with the RAF in World War II. I got shot down, and when I lay dying in a field, my maker found me. He turned me, and a week later I was drinking from prostitutes in the East End.” Well, she’d asked for it. “Did you kill them?” His fingers stilled, and he slid both hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Some, yeah, until I figured out how to control myself. My maker didn’t teach me that. He enjoyed killing. He spent his time in the Underground, drinking from folk taking shelter during the Blitz. He killed every time, and that’s why the Green Fae tracked him down.” “They…killed him?” “Executed him, was what they called it. They were ready to do me, too, but Jack stopped them. He’d come over to Europe at the beginning of the war, to work with the Fae against the Nazis. He’d been watching me, he told them, and saw that I had tried on my own not to kill. He asked them to spare my life, and they did.” “That’s how you know Jack.” “Yeah. I haven’t killed a human since that day, but I’m no boy scout like Jack. Don’t go thinking I’m something I’m not, Faery girl. I’m not allied with your people. I learned how to drink without killing because it kept the Fae from killing me. But I don’t live on butcher blood like Jack. I drink from humans.” “Shank says you haven’t drunk from your girls since the night you saved my life.” That was coming a little closer to the Big Thing. For a second Evan looked at her, his eyes narrowing. Then he shook his head abruptly. “We’re done talking about me. It’s time to talk about you. I had a little chat with Hawk yesterday. He’s the bloke who was hired to kill you, in case you’ve forgotten. He offered you a deal, and you’re going to take it.” She frowned. “A deal? What kind of deal?”

As Evan relayed the substance of the conversation to Celia, he prayed that she wouldn’t be able to tell how close he was to vaulting over the desk and taking her. Taking her blood, taking her body. Taking. That was the problem, right there. He could take from Celia, but he had nothing to give back to her. She deserved a hero, like Jack. Not a selfish bastard like him. He hoped he’d made it clear to her that he was no hero, no matter how much she wanted to make him one. He thought he knew why she was so eager to paint him in that light. Some part of her—her subconscious, like she’d said last night—obviously wanted him. And now she was trying to whitewash him, so she wouldn’t have to feel dirty for fucking him. He hadn’t slept after he left her room last night. Images of Celia had tortured him. It had been bad enough when he thought she just wanted one night with him. But when he finally figured out she thought she was having a dream… That was when he knew he was in way too deep. It shouldn’t have mattered to him —but it did. He’d replayed last night over and over in his head. Her sweetness, her softness— her incredible responsiveness. His last lover had been a vampire, turned the year Queen Victoria ascended the throne. The sex had been decent but it had taken something close to brutality to satisfy the lady’s jaded senses and blunted desires. But Celia… His slightest touch had been enough to raise her heart rate. Hell, he’d raised goose bumps on her skin just by looking at her. And what she’d done to him… Fuck. “No way,” Celia said decisively. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand—convincing Celia to go along with Hawk’s proposal.

“This will save your life, pet. You need to take this deal.” That look of stubbornness was back on her face—a look he was starting to know all too well. “What would have happened to England in World War II if people had thought that way? If they’d put their own safety first? If they told themselves it didn’t matter what happened to anyone else, as long as they were all right?” He wished they’d never started on about the war. He didn’t need a reminder that his countrymen—and women—had truly been heroes during that horrific time. They ‘did their part’, as the saying went in those days—whether by signing up as soldiers or fighting on the home front. Celia thought he was part of that grand national heroism, but the truth was, he hadn’t been. He hadn’t joined the RAF because he loved England, or because he wanted to do his part in the war. He’d joined up because he loved to fly, and because he was young and reckless and cocky as hell, and addicted to the adrenaline rush he got when he went up against the Luftwaffe. It had been a selfish act on his part, a fact that had come home to him when his father had spoken so proudly at his memorial service. He’d slipped in to the back of the church, wanting one more glimpse of his parents before he turned to his new existence. Listening to that service had made him sure of one thing. He wasn’t worthy of the praise heaped on him, and he would never again let anyone believe he was something he wasn’t. The vampire who’d turned him had merely revealed his true nature. A purely selfish creature, putting himself and his own desires before everything else. The fact that Celia—and before her, Jack—insisted that he was more than that was mere folly on their part. “This isn’t a goddamned war, Celia.” “A war is exactly what it will be. A war against the demons that will pour through the portals that my people are helping to open. Do you think I’m going to let that happen without a fight?” “It’s not up to you to save the world. The world can take care of itself.” She had that mulish look again, her jaw set and a frown on her face. “I’m not trying to save the world. I’m just trying to do my part, like you did during—”

“Stop bringing up the fucking war. This is about you, Celia. And I won’t see you throw your life away on a fool’s errand.” “This isn’t about me. It’s about what has to be done. Believe me, I wish I didn’t know what I know. But I do know. And I have a job to do. A job no one else can do for me.” He grabbed on to that idea. “Maybe someone can. Maybe I can. If you’re so hell bent on getting this message across, let me do it. I’ll go to your clan leaders. I’ll go to the Fae courts in Prague, Nigeria, Kyoto—I’ll go everywhere.” “They’ll kill you. And even if they don’t, they won’t listen to you.” “They won’t listen to you, either.” “Maybe not. But I have to try. I’ve been thinking about it, and I think if I go before the clans next week, during the full moon meeting—I don’t think they would kill me then. Not on such a public stage. It would create outrage, and might draw more attention to what I have to say.” Evan knew when he was beaten. Looking at her sitting there, her face so beautiful and so determined, he knew he’d never talk Celia into putting her own life first. There was only one other argument that might convince her. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell her Hawk’s theory about the fate of the vampires if the demon portals closed. No. If she wasn’t willing to consider her own life, he didn’t want her considering his—or any other vampire’s. Which meant he had to resort to other means to stop her. “I’m sorry to do this, Celia.” She frowned. “Sorry to do what?” “I can’t allow you to leave the safety of this club. I can protect you here, but not if you leave. We’ll find another way for you to communicate with the Fae. I’ve already sent messengers to Canada. Maybe when Liz and Jack get back, we can—” She was staring at him like she couldn’t believe what he was saying. “What do you mean, you won’t allow me to leave? You’re keeping me here by force?”

“I’m not locking you in a dungeon, for Christ’s sake. I just think you shouldn’t rush out headlong into danger. If you’ll just wait until—” “I can’t wait! I have to stop the solstice ritual from taking place. Hundreds of thousands of Fae taking absinthe on the same night—it’s what the Dark Fae have been waiting for. The veils between the worlds will weaken and they’ll send demons through the portals. It will be more than the Green Fae can handle. You can’t keep me here, Evan!” “I can. And I will. At least until Jack and Liz get back from—” “You think I wouldn’t love to let them handle this? To hide in the background and let them save me—or let you save me? But I can’t. For one thing, Jack and Liz might not be able to come back. They’re fighting demons that are here in our world because of absinthe. They’re doing their part in this war, and I have to do mine.” “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, love,” he told her gently. “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear before, but I’m not letting you leave.” For a second she just stared at him. Then she leapt from her seat and ran for the door, only to find Evan there before her. She was no match for vampire speed and reflexes. She didn’t scream or cry or try to fight him. She just looked at him, breathing hard, and Evan found that that was more effective than anything else she could have done. Because when she looked at him like that, her chin up and her eyes flashing fire, all he wanted to do was kiss her. “If this is about money, don’t worry. I’ll still pay you what I promised.” That hurt, but of course he didn’t show it. He’d worked hard to convince her he was a mercenary bastard, so it would be pretty fucking hypocritical to resent her for thinking he was a mercenary bastard. “I took on a job, and I’m going to see it through,” was all he said. “I said I’d keep you safe, and that’s what I’m going to do.” “Why do you even care?” she asked, bitterly. “It’s not like I mean anything to you. Last night you…you wouldn’t even stay with me.” Her eyes dropped as she said that, and her face flooded with color.

She’d broken their unspoken agreement, and brought up what had happened between them. He knew he should ignore it. But instead he heard himself say, “I left you last night because you didn’t really want me there. I knew you’d regret being with me when you figured out it wasn’t a dream, and I thought I’d save us the awkward morningafter chat.” With her cheeks flushed like that, he couldn’t help remembering what she’d looked like in the throes of orgasm, crying out his name as her muscles clenched around him. He closed his eyes, fighting to keep his demon contained. “You’ve got a boyfriend, remember? I thought I was making things easier for you.” “I don’t have a boyfriend anymore. I broke up with him this morning.” His eyes snapped open. She looked back at him, her cheeks still pink and her green eyes full of uncertainty. Hope flooded through him, and he cursed himself for a fool. It didn’t matter if she was free or not—Celia Albright wasn’t for him. “The club is closed until further notice,” he said harshly. “I’ve had magical wards put on the windows and doors. If you try to leave, an alarm will sound. So don’t try to leave. Anything you need, any food you want, just ask Shank and he’ll get it for you. I know you’re pissed at me, so if you don’t feel like seeing me for a while, that’s okay.” Celia was still looking at him, but she didn’t look pissed. He wasn’t sure how to read her expression. Then she took a half step towards him and laid a hand on his cheek. “Evan—” He could have handled her anger better than this. He jerked away as if she’d burned him, opening the door and standing back so she could go through it. “Have a good night, Celia. I’ll let you know if I hear from Jack and Liz. And we have another twenty-four hours to take Hawk’s deal. I hope you’ll at least think it over. Your life is worth that much.” She looked at him for one more moment, and this time she did look pissed. Then she disappeared through the door.

Chapter Eight Celia’s mind was in turmoil. Her attempt to talk to Evan about last night—which had taken all her courage—had failed. It was obviously a one-off for him, something he had no desire to repeat or even remember. And why had she even tried? The man was keeping her prisoner, for God’s sake. She should be furious with him—and she was. Part of her was, anyway. But another part of her persisted in seeing something in Evan he couldn’t seem to see in himself. No matter what he said about his motives, she couldn’t think of any reason for his determination to save her other than the streak of decency, of goodness, that he hadn’t been able to stamp out of his character. He’d risked his own life the other night to save hers, and even though he was going against her wishes in keeping her trapped here, he was doing it to protect her. It wasn’t his fault that she’d decided her safety wasn’t the most important consideration right now. And that was the rub. She appreciated what Evan was trying to do, but his goals weren’t her goals anymore. Which meant she had to find a way to work around him. Back in her room upstairs, she started to pace across the beautiful wood floors, from the fireplace on one wall to the window on the other. One thing she was sure of. She was tired of feeling at the mercy of other people, whether it was her clan leaders, the people trying to kill her, or Evan—even though he was trying to help her. Even Jack and Liz. She wanted them back so much she could taste it, but she knew if they did come back, they’d take over. They were warriors, used to taking action and being in charge. Not that there was anything wrong with that. That was why Celia wanted them so much: so she could relax in the warm circle of their strength.

But she was afraid if they got pulled into this, they’d feel the same way Evan did. She was afraid they’d try to protect her no matter what, even if it meant putting everyone in the world at risk. Unless she could show them firsthand what she was talking about. If they could see what she had seen— Celia stopped pacing. God, that was it. That’s what she needed to do. She needed to show someone what she had seen. If she could… To bring another Faery along with her on the journey would require two rituals, two magic spells—the absinthe ritual and a spell of joining. It would also require a willing participant. And outside of Liz, she didn’t know how to find a Faery who would trust her that much—or one she could trust. Which meant she’d be taking a huge risk. Taking absinthe again would be a huge risk, too. There was a very real chance that she might not make it back from the dark realm this time. But it was a risk she was willing to take. She went upstairs to her room to make a phone call. *** The biggest weakness of the plan was her magic. Getting out of Evan’s club undetected depended on her ability to cast a difficult spell, and there was no guarantee there. But that, too, was a risk she was willing to take. She had an hour before she made her attempt. Sitting in the armchair, looking at the bed where she and Evan had been so passionately intimate, so closely bound for such a brief time, she was fighting the urge to go down to his office and see him one more time before she left. Whatever happened tonight, and after, it would probably be the last time she ever saw him. One way or another, the path her life took now probably wouldn’t include Evan.

And there were things she wanted to tell him. But the work she had to do now was more important than her desire to see Evan again, to tell him what was in her heart. Her plan would be touch-and-go as it was. No, she couldn’t see Evan again. But she could write to him. She found a pad of notepaper and a pen in the desk across the room, and she wrote him a letter. When she was done, she folded the single sheet of paper in half and wrote Evan’s name on it. Then she put it on her pillow and left the room, closing the door behind her. The spell to lock it from the outside was a relatively simple one, but she felt a rush of relief when it worked. She doubted that Evan would go anywhere near her room tonight, but if he did, he’d find the door locked and assume she was pouting or fuming or whatever and didn’t want to see him. Evan was still in his office, and Shank was asleep in one of the guestrooms. She went to the front door of the club and took a deep breath, ready to say the spell that she hoped would get her out of here. Then she let out the breath without saying a word. She looked at the door, and then she turned and looked back across the empty room, towards the hallway that lead to Evan’s office. She wanted to go to him so badly she could taste it. She wanted to let him protect her. She wanted to rely on someone else, someone stronger. Because she wasn’t strong, physically or magically. When it came right down to it, she was just an eighth-blood Fae and a second-rate spellcaster, and she was out of her league. She remembered her conversation with Evan earlier, about World War II. She’d sounded so brave and determined talking to him then, talking about doing her part like people had done during that time. She didn’t feel brave now. She felt young, and weak, and foolish. But young, weak, and foolish or not, she still had a job to do. She might fail, but that didn’t absolve her of her responsibility. So she took another deep breath and spoke the words of the spell, and when she was finished, she was a foot taller and two hundred pounds heavier. She was Shank. Or at least, she looked like Shank.

The spell had worked. She gave herself a few seconds to blink in astonishment at that fact—and at the fact that she was now a vampire linebacker. Yana had been right, after all. When it was important enough, the magic had been there for her. But would it be enough to fool Evan’s magical wards? There was only one way to find out. She unlocked the door, turned the knob, and walked out of Evan’s club. It was early evening, and shafts of the setting sun blinded her momentarily as she walked west. She turned left, and then right, and after a few more blocks and turnings she ducked into a doorway and let the glamour fade. She was herself again. After twenty minutes’ walk, she was knocking on the door of Jessica Greenwood’s brownstone. *** Evan had told Celia he’d understand if she didn’t want to see him for a while, but the sad truth was, he spent the entire night hoping—and trying not to hope—that she’d knock on his door. First the door of his office, for the several hours he spent there—and then, even more foolishly, the door of his bedroom. He’d knocked on her door once, when he was on his way upstairs. She hadn’t answered. He’d started to call out to her and then stopped himself. There was a limit to how pathetic he’d let himself be. His priority was protecting her, and he was doing that. Nothing else mattered. And that was why he didn’t realize she was gone until Jack Morgan and Liz Marlowe arrived at his club the next morning. Shank let them in when he saw it was Jack, and when Evan heard all the noise and came downstairs, he found the two vampires hanging onto a small dark-haired woman who was demanding to see Celia right goddamned now. It took the combined strength of both of them to hold her back. “I guess you got my message,” Evan said to Jack, who had his arm around his mate’s waist. “Yeah. Can Liz see Celia?”

Evan shrugged. “That’s up to Celia, not me. She’s upstairs, second door on the left.” Liz pulled away from Jack and crossed the room like a runaway locomotive. “That’s the girl you’re madly in love with?” Evan asked drily. Jack watched his mate until she disappeared up the stairs. “Yes,” he said. A few days ago, Evan would have felt nothing but contempt at the look on the other vampire’s face. Now, he could only pray the same look wouldn’t be on his own when he saw Celia again. “Tell me what the hell’s going on,” Jack said now, and Evan gave him a brief account of the last few days. He’d just about finished when they heard a loud crash from upstairs. They wasted no time in heading up there. They found Liz standing in the middle of the empty room, having kicked the door down to get inside. She whirled around to confront Evan. “Where the hell is she?” Evan advanced into the room, unable to believe Celia wasn’t there. He looked at the bed, his mind flashing back to the last time he’d seen it, and his eyes focused on the note she’d left on her pillow. In less than a second it was in his hands. Dear Evan, You’re a good man. I know you don’t want to believe it, but it’s true. Maybe you haven’t always done good things, but the courage and compassion and decency inside you is obvious to anyone who bothers to look. I believe we define ourselves by the decisions we make, which means we can redefine ourselves every single day. I believe with my whole heart that from this point forward you’ll make the right decisions. And I hope you won’t be angry with me for the decision I had to make, to do what I think is right. As much as I wish I

could, I can’t keep hiding here with you. I have to show someone else what I’ve seen. If I fail, I know you’ll work with Jack and Liz to fight against the Dark Fae, to keep the demons from coming through the veil. Thank you for everything, Evan. I wish you the best, now and always. And I want you to know that I don’t regret the night we made love. It was the best night of my life. Celia “She’s gone,” he said, looking down at the paper that trembled in his hand. “Gone where? Let me see that,” Liz demanded, crossing the room and reaching for the letter. Evan jerked it out of her reach with a growl, his fangs bursting from his gums. Liz sputtered at him while Jack came swiftly to her side. He whispered something to her that Evan couldn’t hear. It was clear from Jack’s expression that he’d guessed the truth about Evan’s feelings for Celia, but that didn’t seem to matter anymore. Liz stared at her mate for a second and then shrugged impatiently as she turned back to Evan. “Fine, whatever. Keep the damn letter. Just tell me what you meant by ‘she’s gone.’” Jack was the one who answered her, telling her what Evan had told him downstairs. “Oh, my God,” Liz said, her expression horrified as she put two and two together. “So she’s gone charging off somewhere to stop this from happening? On her own?” Evan felt punch-drunk, his mind and emotions in complete turmoil, but he forced himself to think clearly. “In the letter she said ‘I have to show someone else what I’ve seen.’ I think she went to one of the Fae, to try to convince them of the danger by taking them into trance with her.”

“That makes sense,” Liz said. She was pacing back and forth, her hands clenched into fists. “You said that Jessica was the one trying to bring her in. Jessica’s the Queen’s daughter, a powerful Fae…but not as inaccessible as the Queen. Celia might have gone to her. And if Jessica turns her over to the clan leaders—” “Even if she doesn’t, Celia is still risking her life. She told me she shouldn’t take absinthe again for a long time.” Evan squeezed her letter in his hand. “Do you know where Jessica lives?” he asked Liz. “Yes.” “Then what the fuck are we waiting for?” *** There were servants and bodyguards at Jessica’s townhouse, but they weren’t Green Fae warriors and they were no match for Jack and Evan, much less Liz, who was such a roaring tornado of fury that most of the people they encountered in the townhouse just got out of her way. “But they’ll call for backup,” Evan said to Jack, who nodded his agreement and went to guard the entrance. Evan and Liz went on up the stairs, looking into every room until they found the right one. For an instant they stood frozen in the doorway. Celia and Jessica were both in the big bedroom, lying on a Persian rug in front of the fireplace as if they’d simply fallen asleep. But the paraphernalia of the absinthe ritual was on a table beside them. In the next second Evan and Liz were kneeling beside the two women. Evan had never felt more powerless—or more terrified—as he took one of Celia’s hands in both of his. “Celia,” Liz said gently, laying a palm on her friend’s forehead. “Celia, can you hear me?” No response. Evan felt a sick weight in his gut as Liz turned with less gentleness to Jessica, gripping her shoulders as she called her name. The blonde girl stirred groggily, her eyes blinking open. Her whole body started to shake, her teeth chattering, and Liz took off her jacket and wrapped it around her.

“Elizabeth,” Jessica said, sounding and looking dazed. “We have to—we have to stop it. Celia was right. She was right.” Seeing Jessica shivering uncontrollably, Evan pulled Celia into his arms, cradling her against his chest. “Get me a blanket,” he growled at Liz. “I don’t have any body heat.” Liz shot him a swift glance and then nodded, going over to the bed across the room and grabbing the quilt from it. She handed it to Evan and crouched down between him and Jessica, who was sitting up on her own. “Why isn’t she waking up?” Jessica asked, frowning at Celia. Evan growled in response, and Liz laid a hand on his arm. “She shouldn’t have taken absinthe,” she said curtly. “There’s a chance she…” She trailed off without finishing the sentence, and Evan fought the urge to hold Celia too tightly as he growled again. He seemed to have lost the power of civilized speech, as if he’d become nothing more than an animal crouching over his fallen mate. Jessica’s eyes turned to him. “Why is this vampire here? What’s going on, Elizabeth?” “What’s going on is that Celia may have given her own life in a cause you were working against. Of course I know you were only following Mommy’s orders, but —” Jessica jerked her chin up. “That’s not fair. I honestly believed that—” “No one gives a fuck what you believe,” Evan rasped. Grateful that he could once again speak words, he turned to Liz. “Her heartbeat is slowing down. We need to do something now.” Liz took Celia’s free hand in hers. “Jack called me back, once—the last time I drank absinthe. But I don’t know how he did it.” She turned to Jessica again. “If you want to help, go downstairs and send Jack up here. And make sure we’re not disturbed. I’m sure your people have called the clan leaders, so tell them whatever you have to to keep them off our backs.” Jessica stared at Liz for a minute, and Liz glared back. Evan remembered that Jessica was a Fae princess—the Queen’s daughter. Would she take orders from

someone like Liz, a lowly sixteenth-blood Fae who’d dared to mate with a vampire? Apparently she would. Jessica nodded once and rose to her feet, striding out of the room without looking back. “Do you think we can trust her?” Evan asked Liz. Her face was twisted with worry as she held her friend’s hand, but at Evan’s words she almost smiled. “An hour ago, I might have asked the same question about you. You’ve got a reputation in this town, Evan Grant, and it’s not as a man who would go out of his way to protect a Faery women.” Evan looked down at Celia. “She’s not just any woman,” he muttered. There was silence between them for a minute, while they both watched Celia’s face and listened to her shallow breathing. Then Jack was there. “How is she?” “Not good,” Liz said, scrambling to her feet. “Jack—can you call her back the way you called me? What did you do the night you found me like this?” Jack frowned as he came to join them. “I drank from you, and took the absinthe into my body. That helped me find you. But I was only able to call you back because of the bond between us. Because we had claimed each other.” He glanced down at Celia’s still, pale form and then looked at Evan. “You haven’t claimed her,” he said. “Of course not,” Evan said, his voice sounding harsh. “Jesus. She deserves better than me, and you know it.” “But you love her.” Evan opened his mouth and closed it again. He looked down at the girl in his arms, and nodded once. Then he met Jack’s eyes again. Jack turned to his mate. “Liz. Do you trust me?” “Yes.” It was a simple answer, but the look that flashed between them was so intense and so intimate that Evan looked down again, fixing his eyes on Celia’s white face. He

heard Jack say softly, “As I do you, beloved. I need you to trust me now, with Celia’s life. I need to talk to Evan alone.” A beat went by. Then: “All right,” she said. She pressed her lips against Celia’s forehead and rose to her feet, and a few seconds later he and Jack were alone in the room with Celia. “How much do you love her?” Jack asked. “Would you be willing to bind yourself to her, if that could save her life?” Evan couldn’t answer right away. A rush of something went through him—a yearning so fierce he trembled with it. “Yes. But I can’t make that decision for Celia.” “You don’t have to. You can claim her, and you’ll be bound by that claim—but Celia won’t be. Not unless she claims you in return. But if you bind yourself to her willingly, the power of that claim will reach her. And it will give her a way home.” Evan didn’t hesitate. “I’ll do it.” Jack frowned. “Do you understand the consequences? You won’t be able to claim another woman while Celia lives.” His fear of losing her had hollowed him out, leaving nothing inside but truth. “I won’t want to.” Jack dragged a hand through his hair. “I’ve known a few vampires who made onesided claims. If she chooses not to claim you in return, it will cause you emotional and even physical pain. You’ll feel like—” “Jack. Don’t take this the wrong way, but get the hell out. I’d like some privacy.” Jack looked at him once more and nodded. Then he left the room, closing the door behind him. The claiming ritual was so simple that every vampire knew what to do—even a vampire like him, who never imagined in a million years that he’d ever want to claim a woman. To bind himself that way. He couldn’t bring himself to mark her throat—not while she was unconscious. He took her wrist, instead, as he whispered the words of the ritual.

“You’re mine.” They were words of possession, but unless Celia returned them, only he would be bound by them. That one phrase was a vampire’s promise to love, to be faithful and true, to protect his beloved with his body. His demon was already there, trembling with hunger and the bone-deep longing that Celia had woken in him. Cradling her hand in his, he pierced her milky skin with his fangs and fastened his mouth over the cut. He didn’t drink deep, but his system felt the shock of her blood like an electric current, igniting every nerve in his body. And he felt her spirit, so far away it was like glimpsing a star in a distant galaxy. He reached towards that star with everything in him. *** She was lost. She’d tried to follow Jessica back, but Jessica had flown ahead of her, leaving her behind. She wasn’t in the court of the Dark Fae, or anywhere she had been before. She was lost in a place of shadow and fog, as insubstantial as she was. She wondered how many years of wandering it would take before her thoughts, her memories, her very self faded away into nothing. You’re mine. The words echoed through her, and with them came a surge, a rush of sensation like nothing she’d ever experienced. Evan! She wanted to cry out to him, but she had no voice. She tried frantically to reach for him, but he was too far away. Come back to me. This time, she didn’t let her consciousness thrash around like a bird caught in a trap. She made herself still, utterly still, knowing he would call to her again. Celia, I love you.

Her heart soared. And then she felt her way towards him, step by step, following his voice like Ariadne’s thread in the labyrinth. Come back to me, beloved. Come back…come back… Her eyes fluttered open, and he was there. She was home. She knew he’d bitten her—the waves of pleasure still reverberated through her body, bringing her back to life as surely as his voice had. But his fangs were retracted now, his eyes human as he stared into hers. “Evan,” she whispered, reaching a trembling hand towards his face. She was cold, icy cold, but a delicious warmth crept through her, emanating from her wrist. He caught that wrist in his hand, kissing the marks he had made and intensifying the pleasure until she gasped. “You’re not bound by this,” he said, his voice sounding broken. “I’m sorry I had to do it, but it was the only way to get you back.” He kissed her wrist again, as if he couldn’t help himself. “But you’re still free, Celia. This doesn’t have to mean anything for you. You can forget it happened, you can—” “Does it mean something to you?” He went still. Then he nodded. “It means everything. It means I’m bound to you. But the truth is, I was bound to you from the moment you walked through my door. Claiming you—” he looked at her wrist again and smiled faintly. “Claiming you was just a technicality.” She remembered what Liz had told her about vampire claims. “But you won’t be able to claim another woman. You gave up your freedom to save me.” “I’m starting to think freedom’s overrated. But, sweetheart—the important thing to remember is that this doesn’t have to affect you. You can go on with your life like this never—” “Shut up.” To her surprise, he actually did. She reached for him again, trying to tug him down to her, and when she finally managed to get him close she pressed her lips to his.

The flicker of warmth inside her ignited into flame, and Evan groaned as he deepened the kiss. “How do I claim you back?” she asked, once she could tear herself away. “You don’t. I won’t let you do that, Celia.” “I’d like to see you stop me,” she said, her eyes narrowing. He smiled again as he framed her face in his hands. “How about this. Why don’t we save the world first, then talk about the claiming ritual?” His words brought the absinthe trance back. “Jessica believes me now. She saw what I saw.” “I know. She said so.” “But it’s still dangerous, what I have to do. Convincing Jessica was a big step, but it’s only the first one.” “I know that, too.” “I just…I don’t want you to think you have to be in this with me. Just because you —” “Celia. Shut up.” That made her smile. “I’m just saying that nothing’s certain. I don’t know what the future holds. But I know how I feel about you.” He shook his head. “You feel that way now because I pulled you back from that place. You’re weak and you’re vulnerable and you—” “I love you.” She’d never seen anyone look the way Evan did when she said those words to him. “I love you, too,” he said after a long minute. “That’s why I want to wait before we truly claim each other. We’ve only known each other a few days. We could…” he hesitated. “We could go on a date.” A bubble of laughter rose up inside her. “You’re asking me out on a date? With the Dark Fae threatening our world, and everything that’s already happened between us?”

He settled her more securely against him. “Yes. I am.” His voice became formal. “Will you dine with me one evening, Miss Albright?” She was warm all through now, wrapped in a quilt and nestled in Evan’s arms. The future was uncertain, and their work against the Dark Fae had only just begun. But right here, right now, she felt only joy. “Yes,” she said, smiling into her lover’s eyes. “I will.”

About the Author Chloe Hart spends a lot of time lying awake at night, thinking about vampires, demon hunters, and creatures that lurk in the darkness. During the day she writes about them. You can email her at [email protected].

The Blood and Absinthe series: Taming the Vampire, Book 1 Bound by the Vampire, Book 2