Shadow Image

Roycraft-SImageShadow ImageJaye RoycraftImaJinn BooksCopyright © 2002 by Jeanette RoycraftVampire Romance. 82459 words long. enNoveltext/xml

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Shadow Image by Jaye Roycraft ----------------------------------Vampire Romance ImaJinn Books www.imajinnbooks.com Copyright ©2002 by Jeanette Roycraft

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Chapter One The mechanical ringing of the phone drowned out the tranquil chorus of crickets and bullfrogs. The first thing Shelby Cort did was to look at her watch. The second thing she did was frown. Nine-thirty. At this time of night the odds were better than even that it was bad news, not a social call. She picked up her cordless handset from the patio table. “Cort." “Sheriff, it's Rody. Sorry to bother you at home, but we got us a 10-79." She sighed. “Jason, just tell me what you've got." “'Notify coroner.’ Digger's found another body." Oh, God. She took a deep breath. No doubt about it. A dead body was always bad news. “Where are you?" “The Luslow place on Salt Lick Road." “How fresh is the body? Got an ID?" A typical cop laugh, dark and full of twisted things, floated through the phone connection. More than that, it was a patented Jason Rody laugh, biting, like a chill night breeze. “No, the bloom's off the cheek on this one. No ID yet. The body's still in the hole." Shelby sighed. “Okay. I'll be there soon, and I'll call up Marc to help out. Do me a favor, Rody." “What?" Jason Rody was not one of her favorite deps. It wasn't a secret that he didn't like female cops, though he was careful not to be overt in his prejudice. She could trust him in this, though. It was a small enough thing. “Call the office, get the home phone number for our new ME, and get him out there. He may as well get initiated. His name and number are right on top of my desk. Oh, and

make sure you give the good doctor directions to the Luslow's. He'll never find it otherwise." “Yeah, I got it." “Okay. Anything else, and you can hit me on the box." “Yep." She disconnected the call and drew another deep breath, her eyes focused on the ceiling as if searching for divine assistance. Not only did she have to deal with her second homicide of the summer, an unheard of state of affairs for a community as small as Shadow Bay, but she had to break in a new medical examiner. The doctor had been in town less than a week. He had stopped by her office two days earlier to introduce himself, but she had been out on the road tied up on a bad traffic accident, so she hadn't yet had the pleasure. She quickly chided herself. Now was not the time to speculate on the new doctor. Besides, he'd be another fifty-something, graying gent looking for a quiet place to hang out his shingle as he eased into retirement. The small town country doctors always were. She punched a preprogrammed number on her phone, not needing her call-up roster for Deputy Marc Montoya's home number. When he answered, she gave him what few details she knew and told him to report to the Luslow house. She changed into her uniform and in another few minutes was winding her SUV over the rolling hills and curving roads. It was a warm summer night, full of life. A fat, regal moon, attended by legions of faithful stars, lit the countryside, and the choir of nighttime insects performed in the limelight of the heavenly glow. But as soon as she turned onto Salt Lick Road, two miles east of Shadow Bay and already deep into northern Michigan woods, she saw the silent strobing of the red emergency lights far ahead of her. When she got closer she saw the yellow crime scene tape stretched across the front of the property, tied to trees at either end. The warm summer night was also full of death. She pulled up next to the squad car and ambulance already on the scene, exited her vehicle, and sought out Jason Rody. He was there with the privy digger, Lucius Moravich, the residents, Chester and Lattice Luslow, and the paramedics. Calling for an ambulance was standard procedure, but in this case it was more than obvious to all that the body was beyond saving. The paramedics stood patiently, their equipment on the ground, waiting for nothing more than to be released from the scene. She nodded to Rody. “Did you take your photos already?” she asked him. He nodded back, and there was something in the way he lifted his brows that told Shelby he knew what to do without being told. She didn't have time to spare on bruised egos. “Okay, let's see it." He strode across the back yard, and, flashlight in hand, she followed him to the edge of the woods that encroached on the rear of the property. Just a few feet into the woods was a mound of dirt. Beside the mound a dark hole gaped like a wound in the forest floor. She flashed her light into the cavity. About two feet down the head and shoulders of a corpse were visible, but dirt, decay, and the dark made it impossible to tell the age, sex or size of the body. Shelby had seen her share of dead bodies and had learned long ago how to don the skin of detachment necessary to do her job, but even so it was hard to feel nothing at all. Being buried in a privy hole was an undignified way to go. The rumble of a motorcycle carried on the night air and disrupted Shelby's thoughts. Even though it had been nearly two years since she had moved from Milwaukee to Shadow Bay, Shelby never failed to be surprised at how sound carried in the country as compared to the big city. One had to be careful even in whispering in the great outdoors. It was something to always keep in mind around citizens. She jogged across the yard and peered down the long gravel drive to the road. Great. Just what we need. A sightseer. A long-haired man on a red motorcycle rolled to a stop next to her SUV and cut his engine, returning the setting once more to the appropriate stillness of a death scene. Well, not for long. She did a half turn and signaled to Rody, who had followed at a more sedate pace. “Go down and tell Mr. Thrill Seeker to look elsewhere for his evening's entertainment. We don't need an audience. Then stay by the road until Marc gets

here and make sure the curious stay on the other side of the tape.” Shelby had learned long ago that many people ignored “do not cross” tape. Others thought it was meant for someone else, but not for them. She didn't know if it was ignorance, a lack of respect, or stupidity, and she didn't know which category this long-hair might fall into, but she couldn't take any risks with the integrity of a homicide scene. Rody nodded and strolled down the drive. She turned and started to head back to the yard when the sound of voices carried to her from below. She heard Rody's authoritative tones, but it was the unfamiliar voice that made her pause and listen. It was deeppitched yet silken, a strange combination of sounds that were at the same time human and animal. But behind the sound was an almost inorganic vibration, like far-off thunder on a hot summer night. It was a purr that rolled on the wind and didn't melt in the air, but sank into her bones and created shivers in the evening's heat—cold shivers that made her feel more uncomfortable than she already did. She threw off the feeling, believing it nothing more than the memory of the corpse in the hole, but as she watched the stranger glide up the long drive with Rody, she knew it was more than that. Rody was five foot ten, solidly built, and strode with the ease and confidence of a veteran cop, but the stranger topped Rody by at least four inches and moved with an unhurried grace that made the deputy look awkward by comparison. She sucked in a quick breath and almost choked on air that was so thick it was as though the humidity had suddenly increased enough to curl her hair. She stood and stared. His long hair was tied back behind his head, but at one temple the wind had loosened long locks that embraced the side of his face like tawny fingers. The features beneath the hair and a pair of gold wirerimmed glasses were surprisingly youthful and clean-cut. Her gaze floated downward over the brown leather jacket to the long, lean legs encased in snug blue jeans and motorcycle boots. In his left hand he carried a black leather bag. Rody and the stranger halted in front of her. The deputy spoke first. “Ah, Sheriff, this is Dr. De Chaux, the medical examiner." There was a heartbeat of hesitation on both sides before hands were extended. She couldn't see his eyes behind the tinted gray lenses of his glasses, but was he just as surprised to find a female sheriff as she was to see a young attractive doctor? She grasped his leather-encased hand. “Doctor. Shelby Cort." His grip was firm. “Sheriff. My pleasure, and please, call me Ric.” His head turned. “What have we got here?" She followed the direction of his attention to the yard behind them. “Our local privy digger, Lucius Moravich, unearthed a body in the course of his latest dig. The body's still in the hole. It looks like it's been there awhile." She felt the weight of his stare return to her before she turned her head and saw that he did indeed appear to be looking at her again. The force of his eyes, even shielded by the glasses, was an uncomfortable pressure she couldn't explain. She flicked her gaze downward to his black bag. She knew from experience that this was the doctor's “murder bag.” It would contain gloves, a waterproof oversuit, a camera, thermometer, instruments, syringes, and containers for holding samples. “You lost me already, Sheriff. ‘Privy digger?’” She raised her eyebrows, remembering that she herself had once been taken aback at Lucius’ passion in life. “He makes a little money at it, but mostly it's a hobby for Lucius. He gets permission from people who live in older homes to search their yards for filled-in privy holes." “Whatever for?" “In the old days, when people dug new privy holes, they used the old holes for depositing trash. Bottles, jars, cans, things that were broken or no longer needed. Lucius looks for antiques and unbroken bottles. Sometimes they're worth money. He shares a percentage of his profits with the residents, but mostly I think he does it for the fun. He never knows what he's going to find." A ghost of a smile tugged on one side of the doctor's very nice mouth. “I'd say this find was one for the books. Lead the way, Sheriff."

She had no trouble keeping up with the doctor. As tall as he was, his strides were slow and easy, as if he had all the time in the world to do his job. She almost laughed. Indeed, why hurry? The victim wasn't going anywhere. “Oh, this isn't the first body Digger's found. He unearthed one about six weeks ago. We were never able to identify the body, just bones really, and our former ME couldn't come up with a cause of death. Male, about five foot six—that's about all we could determine. The doctor estimated the body had been buried for twenty or so years. One guess is that it was a migrant worker. Before the orchards started using mechanical cherry pickers, they hired transient workers to do the picking. Just a guess, though. Technically the case is still open." “This body look that old to you?" She didn't hesitate. “Oh no. Definitely not." They arrived at the hole. The doctor peered down at the remains. “Still, I'd like to see your report on that last finding." “Sure thing. You need some help?" “No, I can manage. All I need is a shovel." Shelby flashed her light at the tools littering the ground. In addition to a thin, metal pole about six feet in length was a large shovel. “I'm sure Digger won't mind if you borrow his." The doctor pulled his leather gloves off, one finger at a time, stuffed them in his jacket pockets, and shrugged out of the jacket. He laid it over a nearby stump. “'Digger?’” Shelby couldn't help looking at the wide shoulders and lean torso revealed by the beige ribbed-knit shirt. When he pushed up the three-quarter length sleeves to above his elbows, exposing muscled forearms that belonged in a gym, she decided she'd better get back to work. Distractions like Ric De Chaux's body were the last thing she needed. “Would that be Mr. Moravich?" She had forgotten he had asked her a question. “Yeah. Everybody around here just calls him Digger. Holler if you need anything.” She started walking away before he could call her on her offer. Rody was striding toward her, brushing a hand across his dark crew cut. “Marc's here. He's down by the road. What do you want me to do?" Out of the corner of her eye she saw the doctor step over to the paramedics. She assumed he was releasing them from the scene. “Did you take statements from Digger and the Luslows?" “Sure did, Sheriff.” His eyes were steady, but once more she heard the unspoken reply behind his words. I know my job, lady. “Good.” Her tone, like his, was proper. The words that formed in her mind but never voiced told her that she had better conduct her own interviews as well. Rody's reports were known to be less than thorough. “Okay. I know it's a long shot, but canvas the other houses on the road. Get names of all the residents and find out if anyone's seen strangers in the woods around here. We don't have a time of death yet, but go back about a month. Take the west side of the road first. If I can spare Marc later, I'll send him to help you." It was Rody's turn to nod. Curt, but not overtly rude. Rody knew how to play the game. Shelby knew that going door-to-door wasn't a fun job, but it had to be done. She watched him saunter down to the road, sighed, and swung her gaze to Deputy Marc Montoya. She could see him leaning on one of the squad cars, talking to a few of the neighbors who had wandered over to find out what had happened. Marc had at one time been her favorite deputy, on-duty and off. Marc was attractive and intelligent, and she had wanted to trust

again, to be able to open herself to someone who understood the daily pressures a cop was under. But the relationship hadn't worked. He had wanted a one-room affair—the bedroom. As soon as that had become glaringly apparent, she had broken it off. Even if Marc had wanted more from her, she wasn't sure if she was ready to trust after all. The memory of the near-scandal in Milwaukee that had, in the end, cost her her job, was too fresh. Since she and Marc had stopped dating, she had worked hard to maintain their friendship—not an easy task. He displayed a lot of common sense and skill on the job, and she still valued his opinion. But it was all the things that were left unsaid, like with Jason Rody, that made every minute with him a burden to be shouldered. She would talk to Marc, but it would have to be later. She pulled out her cell phone and put in a call to the transfer company. It would be their job to transport the body to the mortuary. Her next priority was the Luslows. She didn't really trust Rody to have gotten a thorough statement, but more than that, she needed to show the couple support. They were both elderly, and Shelby knew that Lattice's health hadn't been the best lately. She glanced at the doctor. He had a portable lantern on the ground and was wearing the protective suit and gloves. It looked like he had the body out of the hole. Having all those lean muscles apparently didn't hurt any. Keeping one eye on the doctor, Shelby spoke in low tones to the Luslows, carefully weaving questions in with her reassurances. Yes, said Chester, they'd lived here nearly forty years. Yes, they were aware of the privy hole. Originally it had been covered by an outhouse. When the outhouse came down, the hole had been used for trash. No, they didn't use it anymore. No, he couldn't remember filling in the hole. They had just stopped using it. Besides, it hadn't been a deep or dangerous hole any longer. The trash and nature herself had filled most of it in so that it was more of a shallow pit than anything. No, they couldn't remember the last time they had actually checked the condition of the hole. Lattie used a cane now and didn't get around so easily, and there was just no reason to make trips to the far side of the yard. The hole had been a part of the past, of little importance. Until Lucius asked permission a few days ago to check it for long forgotten treasure, she thought. She tried a new line of questioning on the elderly couple. Had the Luslows seen anyone in their yard or in the woods behind their house this spring? Chester gave her the kind of snort that old people did so well. It was the kind of sound that implied you hadn't lived on this earth very long. “Well, sure, Sheriff. They're always folks in the woods. People looking for mushrooms, wildflowers, hunters, kids with their dogs, all sorts." Shelby ignored the mild censure. She asked about construction or repairs on the house. Had any workmen been out lately? “Well, let's see...” said Chester, rubbing his chin. His wife spoke up. “We had the roof repaired on the back porch. You know, with the winter we had and all the snow..." Chester interrupted. “The sheriff doesn't care about the snow, Lattie. Tuxbridge Construction came out to do the roof in May. We also had a new well put in. Weldon Pump and Well Service." Shelby made some notes in her memo book and glanced at the doctor. He was staring at her. At least she thought he was staring. With the dark glasses it was hard to be sure. How can he see what he's doing in the dark with those glasses? “Excuse me, folks." She strode over to the doctor. “Well? Got anything for me?" He shook his head. He had stripped off the protective suit and gloves and swept a hand over his head, trying to brush the loose hair out of his face. It flopped back. “Not yet. Have a look." She crouched and shone her light on the body, but the features were long past being recognizable. The doctor squatted next to her, too close for comfort. “Hasn't been here very long. With this heat, not more than two or three

weeks. No ID. Somebody was thorough and cleaned out all his pockets before dumping him in the hole. Male Caucasian, fairly young, five-seven, about one hundred thirty pounds. No visible trauma. Do you have some sort of transfer company to transport the body?" She nodded and looked at the doctor's face, but he was still gazing at the corpse. The doctor's skin looked dreadfully pallid by the light of the lantern and flashlights. Surely a medical examiner wouldn't be bothered by a sight like this? But if he was any more pale, he'd be green. Maybe it was just a trick of the lantern light. A drop of sweat gathered at one temple and crept down the side of his face. He didn't bother to wipe it away. She had to remind herself he had asked her a question. “Yeah. They should be here any minute now. Did you get everything you need?" Finally he looked at her. He might be white as a sail, but she felt her face flush. “The victim information, I mean." It bothered her that she couldn't see his eyes. Using dark glasses to hide their eyes was an old cop trick, but even cops didn't normally wear tinted lenses at night. She didn't like having the tables turned on her, not even by a citizen on her side of the law. She felt a trickle of sweat run down her spine, and she had the equally uncomfortable sensation that his eyes were likewise crawling down her body. “For now.” His throaty voice was soft, making his answer more a sound than words. He unfolded to his full height with the ease of one who had never known knee problems. Yet the doctor had an athlete's body. Either he didn't go in for sports, or he was lucky and had never been injured. Shelby was jealous. Her own knees ached like the devil when she squatted. She stood up and stepped back from the body, drawing a deep lung full of air with the realization that she had hardly breathed at all while hunkered down on the ground. “Good. You know the body'll go to Maritime. There's no mortuary in Shadow Bay. Maritime County has the closest facilities." He nodded, still gazing at her. She couldn't see behind the glinting gray lenses, but the goose bumps on her arms told her in no uncertain terms that his eyes were still on her. He cleared his throat. “So I've been told. It's no problem. It's what, a thirty mile drive?” His voice was still husky. “Thirty-five. Excuse me. I need to interview our friend Digger.” She strode to where Lucius waited patiently, glad to get away from the doctor's unnerving presence. Lucius was in his forties, but reminded Shelby of a kid who refused to grow up. He wore glasses, a Detroit Tigers baseball cap, and long hair that covered the back of his shirt collar. Hardly Indiana Jones, but she knew Digger was just as passionate about his digs and proud of his finds. “Okay, Lucius, tell me what happened tonight." “Well, when I talked to Chester he told me there was a hole by the woods. I didn't see no hole, but what looked like a newly filled hole. My probe showed soft ground, but I could tell something was in there, and it weren't no rocks or bottles." She nodded absently to encourage him further. “What time did you get here this evening?" “About eight-thirty. All I was gonna do today was locate the hole. I was gonna come back tomorrow morning to do the digging. But when the probe found something, I got curious.” Lucius shook his head. “I've found animal skeletons before, but I never thought to find no human corpse." “Then what did you do, Lucius?" “I went and told Chester, but he didn't believe me. He came to take a look-see for himself. When he saw I wasn't making up a

story, he called for you guys." She heard a car engine on the road below. “That should be the transfer boys. I'll be back.” She jogged down the driveway to direct them to the body. She greeted them as they drew a portable gurney from the rear of their hearse. “Hey, guys. The body's in the back yard. The new ME, Dr. De Chaux, is up there waiting." Not prone to small talk, they saluted as they extended the legs on the gurney and maneuvered it up the drive. Shelby stepped over to Marc Montoya, who was standing next to the red motorcycle. Marc was tall, muscular, and his dark hair was worn longer than that of any of her other deputies. Swept behind his ears, it fingered the collar of his uniform shirt. It was quite a bit cleaner-looking and neater than Digger's hair, but too long for regulations. Shelby forced herself to ignore how good he looked, and instead lodged a mental reminder to tell him later he would have to get it trimmed soon. He tilted his chin toward the house. “So who's dead?" She raised her brows. “It's a John Doe. Male, short and slight. Any local missings ring a bell with that?" “Nope." She sighed. “We'll check statewide. Someone'll match. The body isn't more than a month old." Mark nodded, then cocked his head at the motorcycle. “Whose bike?" “Our new ME, Dr. De Chaux." Mark laughed. “You're kidding. This is a Peugeot, at least forty years old, I figure. I've never seen one like it. Quite a restoration job." She peered at the bike. It had wide flared red fenders, a small gray leather seat, and gray and chrome trim. “Forty years old? Christ, the doctor isn't even that old." Marc snorted. “Really? Think he's ever seen a dead body before?" Of that she had no doubt. Shelby thought about the doctor's pale complexion and the sweat that had trailed down his face, and knew those had nothing to do with either lack of experience or squeamishness. In spite of the doctor's youth, there was a strange aura of age clinging to him. Maybe it was the confident stride or the coolness in his throaty voice, but Shelby had the distinct feeling that the doctor knew his business. “Yeah, I think he knows what he's doing." “I hear a ‘but’ in there. So what do you think of him?" She wrinkled her nose. “I don't know. He's...” She hesitated, unable to think of the right word. “...strange." Marc shrugged. “He works with dead bodies. What do you expect? As long as he knows his job. You going to be all right?" “Sure.” But she didn't feel the confidence of the assurance. An unsolved homicide would bring not only negative publicity, but pressure on her and her whole department. Cristallia County was a modest resort area, but fishing, boating, skiing, and the natural beauty of the land were drawing more and more seasonal and full-time residents. “Anything I can do to help?" “No. We don't exactly have a hot trail to follow. Unfortunately it's going to be up to Dr. De Chaux to come up with something for us to use." “De Chaux? French?"

She rolled a shoulder, trying to relax the tired kinks in her muscles. “I don't know. I suppose so." “Peugeot. French bike." She stared at the rearing lion logo on the bike's gas tank. Shelby fervently hoped that Doc French was up to helping her solve what she was sure the news media would quickly dub the “privy hole murder." **** Ricard De Chaux followed the red taillights of the hearse as it wove northward over the two-lane highway to the city of Maritime. In spite of his modest speed on the winding, hilly road, the warm wind buffeted him, whipping his hair behind him and stinging his face. He was used to riding the bike at night though, and neither the breeze nor the snaking road bothered him in the least. He had bigger problems to worry about. The last thing that Ric had expected when he had answered his phone this evening was to be called to a homicide. The small community of Cristallia County had had lots of enticements for an Undead creature like himself. He had been searching for a tiny, out of the way corner of the world to test the waters of human interaction. Shadow Bay was indeed small, but the big lure with the shiny hook had been the postcard tranquility of the town and the surrounding countryside. It wasn't the kind of tourist trap that drew huge crowds, yet the beauty of the forests, dunes, lakes and rivers attracted the well-to-do, and a variety of recreational activities kept the town alive. Ric wasn't quite ready to resign himself to spending Eternity in some forgotten backwater settlement on the verge of becoming a ghost town, but neither had he expected to be thrown into the human spotlight his very first week on the job. Not in so tiny a town. The population of Shadow Bay hovered around 420. The official Undead community had just increased from six to seven. And the newly dead numbered one. He had petitioned for the appointment of medical examiner mostly to keep his credentials up-to-date, but also to bring in a little extra money. He didn't need money himself, but it always befitted a good Overlord to have an emergency fund for his charges. Easy money, he had thought. No homicides, and only the occasional simple death-from-natural-causes of an elderly resident. It wasn't that he lacked the experience to deal with the uncommon. On the contrary. He had four lifetimes of knowledge, skill, and practice to draw from. No, the unpleasant surprise was only at being drawn into the glare of public scrutiny. It was the one thing that the Undead strove to avoid above all else. The second surprise in a small town of sportsmen and retirees was a tall, slim, very female sheriff with hair that vied with the scent of her blood for richness and intensity. At first he had thought her to be a brunette, but under the brilliance of the backyard floodlights he had seen that her hair was red—not a coppery tiger-red, but a deep auburn like the finest Bordeaux from his homeland. Her hair was pulled into a twist at the back of her head, but long bangs and strays at her temples framed features that were fine but not fragile, delicate but not dainty. Ric didn't often pursue human females. Given his own way, he wouldn't have anything to do with humans at all beyond that which was necessary for his survival. It wasn't that he had the typical vampiric disdain for creatures that the Undead considered as lesser beings. Quite the contrary. He saw humans as more than just victims. They were cohabitants of the Earth and the majority in number, if not in power and strength. No, his aversion to humans had more to do with his final days among their number and the memories those days still wrought. As a result, he had spent almost his entire existence away from mortals and the haunting images they triggered. But, safe as he had been in France, being buried forever with the dead and the Undead had been slowly killing him. His kind, like it or not, needed life to survive. And life meant humans. So, however reluctantly, he had accepted the fact not so very long ago that the only way to endure was to shed his alter ego le docteur la mort, Doctor Death, and venture back into the world of the living. And females, he had found, were the most difficult to deal with, as well as having the most to offer. The game of seduction was one he had relatively little experience with, yet to play a role based more on reality than fantasy was dangerous. Reality meant running the risk of revealing his true self, and with revelation came fear, hatred, and persecution. And whichever side of the coin he flipped—fantasy or reality—there was always the danger of stirring those memories from two centuries ago that were better left

undisturbed. The only problem with his self-imposed abstinence was that when he did meet a female who attracted him, the beast deep within him, so long denied, rose with a vengeance. When he had crouched beside the sheriff to view the corpse, it had been all he could do to keep his mind, if not his body, from reaching out to touch her. Loose strands of garnet-red hair were lifted by the breeze and wafted toward him, and the thin sheen of sweat on her face made her features glow with life, but those were nothing compared to the scent and beat of her blood. The heat of the evening air, as with perfume, enhanced the fragrance of her lifeblood and freed it, so that it not only filled his nostrils and throat with its unique tang of sweetness and purity, but crawled over his skin like a thing alive. He had quickly risen to try to distance himself from her, and she had backed away from him as well, seemingly as uncomfortable with him as he was with her. He hadn't been surprised at her reaction to him. As much as he tried to disguise what he was behind a mild manner and tinted glasses, perceptive humans who got too physically close to him usually felt something they couldn't identify, but which nevertheless made them feel uneasy. He was glad the sheriff had felt it. Perhaps it would discourage more contact than was absolutely necessary for the execution of their respective jobs. He didn't need the spider web he'd surely be venturing into if he became involved in a relationship with Shelby Cort. He was already courting far too much danger and trouble in dealing with this homicide. **** Seven hours later Ric was back home, his hair loose and his glasses off, slumped in a chair amongst the unpacked boxes like just another inanimate object requiring attention. He was tired, but his enervation was more from his disturbing finds than from the long hours. He had taken x-rays and performed chemical tests on the remaining soft tissue of the body. Luckily the x-rays showed a blunt trauma to the skull, a convincing and true enough cause of death for the official reports. Not so lucky was his second major finding. Chemical analysis showed that the body had been drained of blood at the time of death. Any other doctor might have been puzzled by this finding, but not Ric. Still, understanding made it no less easier to bear. He would have to call his adjutant, Judson Tuxbridge, and arrange for an emergency council meeting for the following evening. It would be far from the typical first meeting a new Overlord might expect, full of welcomes, introductions, and promises for the future. No, this was going to be a hell of a first meeting for the new Overlord of Cristallia County, for there was a very good chance that one of his new charges was not playing by the rules. For it was clear to Ric that the privy hole killer was, like himself, one of the Undead.

Chapter Two Ric knew a good second-in-command was a boon to an Overlord. The position was a combination of administrative assistant, Girl Friday, and sergeant at arms. The best were prompt, accurate, efficient, and above all, always backed their Overlord regardless of personal feelings. These were the true adjutants. The worst were no better than lackeys driven by baseness and greed. Such assistants often found themselves referred to as jackals by a local council's members. In a society where deception and dissimulation ruled all, to be labeled with such honest disregard was a true insult. Ric didn't yet know which category Judson Tuxbridge fell into. He had met the man only once during the past week, and though Ric had been favorably impressed, he knew better than to be swayed by a first impression. He had had lots of adjutants during his stint as Coterie Paramount in France, ruling all the Undead in the region of Champagne-Ardenne, but he hadn't trusted any of them. Trust was as dangerous to his kind as a kiss of silver. Alliances and vows of loyalty, sealed with toasts of blood in lead crystal goblets, were all well and good, but his survival, as well as that of his charges, depended solely on Ric's leadership. And leadership meant he had to establish his base of power right away. He called Tuxbridge. The sun was just readying its launch into the new day, but Ric knew that Judson Tuxbridge, like himself, was

a day vampire. He got an answering machine. It wasn't unexpected. Even a day vamp had to sleep sometime, and early morning was normally the time that Ric himself slept. Even so, the knowledge failed to take the edge off Ric's voice as he left his message. “Tuxbridge, it's De Chaux. If you listen to the news or read the paper you'll know what happened last night. Call me as soon as you get this message. I'm calling an emergency council meeting for tonight. Everyone attends—no exceptions.” He left his cell phone number then disconnected. Tuxbridge operated a construction company, so Ric anticipated getting the return call well before noon. Getting a few hours of sleep himself would be a good idea. He had reports to finish, his autopsy to complete, and he'd have to meet with the sheriff to relay his findings regarding the homicide. Lying to humans in one form or another was as natural to the Undead as taking their blood for sustenance. Whether it was outright lies or merely allowing humans to see what they wanted to see, whether for purposes of entertainment or survival, it was always the same. Like the lion and gazelle that share the savanna, humans and the Undead coexisted, but there was an order to things, and humans, when needed, were to be used. An Overlord's duties were simple. Protect his charges. Mediate disputes. Ensure that the needs of the vampire community were met. But more often than not the cause of a problem involved humans. Vampires lived in human society. They mimicked their prey, indulging in the latest fashions and embracing the latest trends. They did all this not to become human, not to aspire to human ideals or goals, but to perfect their disguise. With the passing of time, the masks became more real, the acting more believable. All in the name of survival. But occasionally a mask slipped. A smoke screen dissipated. A house of cards toppled. Sometimes reality stood cold and naked for all to see. At such times, humans invariably died. Ric didn't care for humans any more than any other vampire. Accidents happened. It was a fact of life ... and death. Youth. Carelessness. Bloodlust. The beast. The play was the thing, but sometimes the play went wrong, and when it did, scenery got trampled. Such things only mattered to Ric, or to any Overlord, if the resulting human death put either an individual vampire or the community as a whole at risk. At such times the one responsible received a correction. Not a sanction, no—that was reserved for the true sin—violence against one's brother. Feuds and power plays were not accidents, but acts of intent, and when directed at their own kind could not be forgiven by a slap on the hand. So the death of a mortal in itself was not a concern. Guiding the wayward offender, keeping a close eye, and offering ready counsel—that was usually all it took. Sometimes, though, a stronger correction was needed. Ric would wait and see. In any case, his responsibility was to himself and his six new wards, not the humans. Lying to the sheriff would indeed be easy. Ric had no doubt about where his loyalty lay. **** It was ten o'clock in the morning, a perfect seventy-five degrees with not a single cloud to mar the perfection of the blue sky, and Shelby Cort was in a foul mood. She had managed to steal two hours of sleep at home before returning to her office, and while she was thankful she had scored any shut-eye at all, it hadn't been nearly enough. She had had a mountain of reports to write, seemingly countless phone calls from media types as far away as Grand Rapids to juggle, teletypes to send out, and a follow-up investigation to coordinate. She had put in three calls to Dr. De Chaux and had gotten nothing but voice mail and his answering machine. She had called Judson Tuxbridge of Tuxbridge Construction and Tom Weldon of Weldon Pump and Well Service, the two companies that had done work recently at the Luslow house, and had had to leave messages for them as well. Were she and the reporters the only people in Shadow Bay awake at ten in the morning? Her phone rang. She sighed and reached for the receiver, hoping against hope it was one of the calls she was expecting, not another journalist. “Sheriff Cort." “Sheriff, it's Ric. I've got some information for you."

She was glad to finally hear from him, but was far from ready to be on a first name basis with this man. “Doctor. Can you come by my office?" “Be there in five minutes." Shelby was surprised when he indeed arrived a scant five minutes later. It was refreshing to have a man around who could be taken at his word. “Come on in, Doctor, and have a seat. Coffee?" He managed to mold himself gracefully to the small plastic chair. “No, thanks." She was surprised again. “You sure? Anyone else I know who'd been up all night would be drowning in the stuff by now." He smiled. “I'm used to being up late. I'm something of a night owl." She gave him the once-over, trying not to stare too blatantly. He did look annoyingly good for someone who had been without sleep. He wore neat khaki trousers, a pale-blue knit shirt that his lean, muscled body filled to perfection, and tan gloves. The lenses of his glasses were even darker than they had been the night before, making it obvious the glasses were the self-darkening type. She had the perverse hope that behind the gray lenses were circles and bags every bit as dark and puffy as hers. His hair was long, straight, and neatly tied at the nape of his neck. It was a deceptive color, and Shelby wasn't sure if she'd call it light brown or dark blond. If his eyes had been that color, she would have called them hazel, an illusory combination of brown, gold and gray. But while the hair looked like it belonged on a California beach, his skin looked just as pale in the daylight as it had at night. For the first time, though, she noticed a pit in his left cheek, just above his mouth. She supposed it was really a dimple, but she didn't feel like being generous. Other than that, his face was smooth and his mouth well-defined and full, but the flawlessness only made Shelby that much more aware of her own far-from-fresh freckled face. “Lucky you,” she said with as much dryness as she could muster. “You have a death certificate?" The fingers of his right hand tapped silently against her desktop. She stared at the long, slender fingers. The gloves looked to be of a soft, supple leather and fit his hands as snugly as a pair of latex gloves. “No. I haven't quite finished the autopsy, so I can't put my signature on it yet. But I can give you a cause of death. Blunt force head trauma. Your mechanism is subdural hematoma and your manner of death, I think it's safe to say, is homicide." At least there were no big surprises there. “And the victim?" “Well, on the plus side there was no animal predation and your weather's been fairly dry. On the negative side is the summer heat. Anyway, it's pretty much what I told you last night. Caucasian male, five-foot-seven, brown hair, between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five. Give me a little time and I'll have his age calculated to within a year. I put the time of death at three weeks ago, give or take. The body's a little beyond getting good fingerprints, but I might be able to get a partial for you. He's had his share of dental work, though, so dental records should nail it if you get a possible match." The doctor's cell phone rang. Better his than mine, she thought. She was tired of answering the phone. If the doctor was likewise fed up with ringing phones, he gave no indication, deftly unclipping his phone from his belt. “Excuse me, Sheriff.” He snapped the phone open. “De Chaux.” There was a pause of only several seconds. “Yeah, listen, I'm with the sheriff now. I'll have to call you back.” A handful of heartbeats passed, accompanied by an almost imperceptible twitch of his mouth. Shelby would have given much to have been able to see his eyes. The tail of one dark brow lifted above the top rim of his glasses. He spoke into the phone again. “Really. Do you know why?" She studied his face as he listened—the perfect opportunity to stare without seeming rude—but there was no further change of expression that she could see. “Go ahead then. I'm curious as well. I'll call you soon.” De Chaux disconnected the call. “Sorry." She smiled. “Hey, no apology needed. I'm sure you've been every bit as busy as I have the past twelve hours."

Her own phone rang, and she raised her hands as an acknowledgment of her statement. She picked it up. “Sheriff Cort.” She bent her head, concentrating on the call. “Mr. Tuxbridge, thanks for returning my call.” Finally. “Can you meet me at my office in, say, half an hour? It's about an incident that happened last night at the Luslow place on Salt Lick Road.” She glanced up at the doctor's face again. A small smile twisted the left side of his mouth, and the movement exposed a hidden smile line that joined the dimple. What did he find amusing? “Yeah, if you can, bring your records from the roofing job at the Luslow's. Thanks. Bye." She replaced the receiver. “That was Judson Tuxbridge. He runs a local construction company. He did some roofing work at the Luslow house not too long ago. It's a long shot, but I'll have to find out if he did the job by himself, and if so, if he saw anything. If he had a crew with him, I'll have to interview them as well." De Chaux nodded. “You have the report on that previous privy find?" “Oh, yeah.” She reached for a folder across her desk and handed it to the doctor. “Here's a copy of the reports." “I assume your previous ME sent the bones to Lansing and then on to Washington?" “I think so. I can check if you really need to know." He opened the folder and glanced quickly at the top page. “Don't bother just yet. I'm sure there's no connection.” He shut the folder and looked up at her. “Listen, I'll bet you haven't even had breakfast. What do you say we go out for something? At the very least you can get some real coffee." She shook her head. “I don't have the time." “Come on. You can get some sustenance, and we can talk." Shelby took a deep breath. It would be nice to get out of the office and away from the phones for a little while. And maybe, just maybe, she could worm some personal information out of Doc French. “Okay. Just a half hour, though. I have to be back for Judson Tuxbridge." She stopped briefly at her office assistant's desk. “Seline, I'm going to grab a bite across the street. If Judson Tuxbridge arrives before I get back, just have him wait." “Sure, Sheriff.” Seline's hooded eyes showed off more of her silver eye shadow than Shelby cared to see. Jason Rody had nicknamed her “Surly Seline the Goth Queen.” Shelby had admonished Rody when he used the slur in her presence, but she had to admit that Seline invited that nickname and worse with her garish eye shadow, white pancake makeup, and dark nail polish. They walked to the diner across the street. It was a favorite with her deputies and the other personnel who worked at the county building. They took a booth, and De Chaux waited while she sat down. Dropped like a rock is more like it, she thought. With an exhaustion that seeped all the way to her knee joints, she plopped onto her seat and listened to the soft whoosh of escaping air that accompanied the quick deflating of the bench's cushion. Even though she figured he outweighed her by a good eighty pounds, he slid noiselessly and effortlessly into the booth, like a tongue and groove joint that was made to fit perfectly together. She ordered eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee. It wasn't the healthiest breakfast, but she didn't care. She had too many things on her mind to worry about calories, cholesterol, and caffeine, and not even the thought of the redoubtable doctor ordering fresh fruit and yogurt and lowering his glasses to cast an accusing eye at her greasy platter made her think twice. She was actually surprised when the doctor shook his head in response to the waitress's offer to take his order. She raised her brows. “You're not going to have anything?" “I had a bite just before coming to your office." She tried to don her best professional interview face—interested but not too friendly, relaxed but alert. De Chaux didn't slouch against the padded back of the bench, but sat with a slight forward lean, his elbows balanced on the edge of the table and his leather-encased fingers steepled before his face. He didn't look tired or even uncomfortable, more like an attorney waiting in a courtroom, or like a big cat coiled and lying in ambush for its prey. Weren't the two one and the same?

She drew a deep breath and smiled. Okay. Question number one. “Are you a forensic pathologist?" He nodded. It wasn't much of an answer, but it gave her the opening she wanted. “You look too young to be a medical examiner, much less a forensic pathologist." He cocked his head. “I'm a little older than I look." She forged straight ahead. “You can't be that old. So why is a young guy like you working in a little town like Shadow Bay instead the big city?" “Money isn't important to me." “So what is?" He didn't answer right away, and again the hesitation gave her a chance to study him. She couldn't see where his eyes were focused, but she knew it was a spot far beyond her or the diner's window. He lowered his hands, and the fingers of his right hand beat a silent rhythm against the table. “I guess I want to steer my own ship, even if it's just a rowboat and not an ocean liner." The movement of his fingers fascinated her, and she wondered why he wore the gloves indoors. “Ah, I see. You don't want somebody at a hospital or clinic telling you what to do." Something flickered behind the lenses, and she got the impression he was now looking right at her. “Something like that." She hated dark glasses. She wanted nothing more than to rip those wire rims right off his face. “Why the dark glasses? How can you see with those at night?" “My eyes are sensitive to the light. I don't have a problem seeing at night." “Is that why you don't have a tan? You stay out of the light?" Her food arrived, and he merely nodded in response to her question. She felt a little strange eating when he wasn't so much as drinking coffee, but her hunger eclipsed her discomfort. Soon she was relishing not only the food, but the feeling that she was indulging while he was not. They were both silent for a few moments while she tackled her eggs. She tried something new to get him to open up. “One of my deputies tells me your bike is an antique Peugeot." “That's right, if you can call 1956 ‘antique.’ It's a hobby of mine. Are you interested in bikes?" “Not really. I'm from Milwaukee. If it isn't a Harley, it's foreign to me." “Well, my bike is hardly a Harley. It's just a bread and butter machine—simple on maintenance, light, manageable, and handy around a small town like this." She chewed on a bacon strip. “Funny. Somehow I would have pictured you on something ... bigger." She saw a brow peek over the top rim of his glasses in an acknowledgment of her mistaken expectation. She would indeed have to be careful in making assumptions about the doctor. She washed down a bite of toast with the last of her coffee. What did it matter anyway? She had already decided last night that she didn't want to get involved with him, and nothing had happened today to change her mind.

“Where are you from, Doc? You're not a born and bred Michigander any more than I am." He smiled generously. She smiled back. If he was going to acknowledge her errors, the least he could do was admit when she was right. He did. “I was born in Paris, actually, but I've been an American citizen for a long time. I moved here from Eidolon Lake in Michigan's Upper Peninsula." She laughed. “You don't look or sound anything like a Yooper.” She never could keep a straight face when she used the local slang for Michigan's Upper Peninsula—U.P.—natives. A small smile was his only answer—modest if he thought it was a compliment, diplomatic if he thought it was a subtle insult to his former neighbors. “What made you move down here?" A casual shrug told her before he even opened his mouth that he wasn't going to answer her question. “I needed a change. What about you? What brought you here?" She took a deep breath. “My uncle lived here his whole life. He was sheriff for a long time. When I decided to move here, he suggested I follow in his footsteps, and when I agreed, he campaigned heavily for me. It was because of him and what he had meant to the community that I got elected.” She looked down at her empty plate. Both smiles and tears always seemed to come when she thought about Uncle Barry, and she didn't really care to have the doctor see her all teary-eyed. “He passed away last year. I miss him a lot." “I'm sorry." His soft voice was an invitation to look at his face, but she resisted, glancing at her watch instead. “And I need to get back.” Appointment or no appointment, she was ready to leave. Somehow he had wheedled more information out of her than she had out of him, and the feeling was disquieting. She paid her bill, and in five minutes they were back at the county building. A pickup truck with “Tuxbridge Construction” painted on the side sat in the parking lot. “Looks like my appointment's already here,” she said. She was glad, for more than one reason. She could hopefully make some progress on the investigation, but more than that, it was a good excuse for cutting short her time with the doctor. Shelby couldn't nail it down, but he made her feel decidedly strange. Uncomfortable. It wasn't dislike, per se. He wasn't arrogant or annoying or in possession of what her grandmother used to call a “cornstarchy air.” It was an indefinable kind of discomfort that preyed upon her senses and her nerves like a current of cold air on a warm day, or a brush on the shoulder when no one else was near. It was an awareness that something wasn't normal. “You'll get back to me as soon as you're done with the autopsy? I'll need a copy of the death certificate." “Of course. It should be later today. Tomorrow morning at the latest.” The doctor stopped behind Judson's truck, one muscled arm possessively grasping the tailgate as though the vehicle were his. He was as still as a portion of the landscape, and if the sun was bothering him in any way, he made no show of it, not even bothering to push the lowered glasses higher on his nose. Shelby shivered, and she hoped she wasn't coming down with a fever and chills in the middle of a homicide investigation. She turned and headed for the entrance. “Okay. I'll talk to you later, then,” she threw over her shoulder. The doctor, still braced against the truck, waved in response with his free hand. Shelby wasted no time in turning her mind to Judson Tuxbridge. Hopefully he'd be able to provide her with some helpful information, and, if not, an interview with one of Shadow Bay's most handsome and eligible young bachelors couldn't be all bad. ****

Ric moved his bike to the edge of the parking lot and waited in the shade of a large basswood tree. He was pleased with his adjutant. Tuxbridge had returned his phone call before he had returned the sheriff's call, clearly knowing to whom he owed his allegiance. Little actions like that made an adjutant valuable, and a capable Overlord took note of such behavior. It was a good start to the relationship. Ric wasn't sure if he was pleased with his encounter with the sheriff or not. As tired as he could tell she was, she had been like an inquisitive ferret with every whisker bristling, trying to piece him together and fit him into one of the neat little boxes that cops love so much. He had suggested the breakfast break as a test. The ideal situation would be for him to simply avoid all contact with Shelby Cort, but it was becoming painfully clear that that option wasn't going to be viable. If communication was going to be inevitable, he needed to test both his control and her perception. For himself, he needed to know to what extent she would rouse his beast, and how much effort he would need to expend to quell it. As for her, he needed to know how she would react to his carefully dispensed revelations. If she could chew and swallow the tiny bites of truth flavored with falsehood and spiced with fantasy, he'd know how much was safe to reveal to her in the future. The results had been disturbing. He had watched her as she ate, and while the food itself was unappealing to him, the act of her indulging in a quick but guilty breakfast feast had aroused every one of his senses. Perfume and cosmetics did nothing to excite his kind, but thankfully she was free of such unappetizing cover-ups. She had the beginning of a good tan, rare for a redhead, and a spattering of dark freckles across the bridge of her nose. Blue-green eyes were as probing as any he'd ever seen. He'd watched her full mouth, pleasantly pink even without lipstick, and the muscles in her jaw and neck as she did justice to the meal. His own blood had been ignited just by the sight and scent of her, but when she started savoring the rich breakfast fare, his craving demanded satisfaction as well. He purposefully let the feeling build, knowing his limits, but putting them on trial nonetheless. He let her hunger feed his until he felt his blood begin to amp into the red zone. When she took her last bite and closed her eyes to relish the final swallow, he closed his eyes as well, thankful for the dark glasses. He felt everything she was feeling, but as was the way for the Demi Monde, the half-world existence of the Undead, what was true and right and normal for humans was either a perversion or reversal for the Undead. Her satisfaction meant his want, her pleasure his agony. Still, he had wanted to do it. If he and this female were going to coexist in this town, he needed to know exactly how he would react to her, and she to him. He had survived the encounter. His control, in the end, had prevailed unscathed. Still, future meetings with the sheriff would call for a great deal of prudence. He didn't care to test his control in too many experiments like the one just completed. **** Half an hour later, Judson Tuxbridge exited the county building and headed for his truck, his faded work shirt unbuttoned and revealing the white T-shirt underneath. Ric called his adjutant's cell phone number. “Tuxbridge." “Tux, it's Ric. I'm on the other side of the parking lot. Meet me at my house." Ric saw the man turn and spot him. “Lead the way, boss." Less than ten minutes later Ric pulled into the gravel driveway of his new house, a rambling white frame patchwork of add-ons. Bay windows adorned both the first and second stories of the original slender structure, but a long screened porch swelled to the side like middle-age spread, and a tall, narrow tower with a widow's walk extended skyward like a strange growth. Tux rocked his truck to a stop behind Ric's bike, and the two went inside. Tux traced a slow circle around the living room and ran a hand through unruly hair that was long and black. There was almost a look of pain in the puckered brow and curled lip. “I can't believe someone actually bought the Chicken Palace. If you ever want some quality work done on this monstrosity, give me a call."

Ric threw his glasses onto an end table. “Forget the house." One side of Tux's mouth curled up. “Forget the house, indeed. We have a star in our midst. The famous docteur la mort. When I read the memo announcing your transfer here, I thought it was someone's idea of a joke." Ric didn't care for being referred to as a joke, especially in his present state of mind. But he carefully kept his face blank. Some reputations, like that of his old friend Alek Dragovich, were crafted over time, built with blocks of ruthlessness and strength, brutality and power. Ric's, however, hadn't been manufactured. His alter ego, Doctor Death, had been a skin he had slipped into very naturally. In France he had been le docteur, and the persona had not only garnered him power, respect, and no small amount of awe, it had given him another veil to hide his true self behind. Most vamps in France had called him Doctor Death for his experiments long ago in trying to reanimate the dead. A few knew that the nickname also paid homage to Ric's unique vampiric gift—that of the Hand of Death. With his right hand, Ric could either injure or heal anything from plants to humans to vampires. It was a unique gift, and Ric had spent decades honing the power until it had become as sharp as one of his instruments. He had been bigger than life. He had been Death. It was no wonder even these small town vamps had heard of him. But this was Shadow Bay, not Paris. This was to be a new beginning. All the titles, masks, and cloaks had been left far behind on his native soil. Still, he was curious to know what Tux had heard. “What exactly have the rivers of rumor carried about Doctor Death? Surely no jokes, I trust." Rumors were liquid things. They flowed freely, taking form only briefly whenever they found a mouth to mold them. Tux's features, though, were far from being so yielding. His expression was rock hard, as if he resented the implication that he himself had participated in shaping the nuggets of half-truth and passing them along. “No jokes. I heard that you experimented with reanimating and communicating with the dead. Some say you've actually discovered the secrets of life and death. But I don't understand what one of the most powerful vampires in all of France is doing here. Surely you're not running away?" Running away. Ric wanted to laugh, but he kept his face impassive. He would keep the majority of his secrets, but he'd set Tux straight on a few things. “No. Just the opposite, in fact. I spent too many years buried with the dead. To surround myself with life is not running away.” The truth was that he hadn't just buried himself with the dead. He had hidden from the world. “Still, you have to admit that for an ex-Paramount to want to become an Overlord in a place like this ... well, you have to admit it's strange." “From your point of view, perhaps. Not mine. I just ask one thing. No more references to Doctor Death. Le docteur la mort does not exist here. Understand? Now, to business. We have problems." Tux quirked an eyebrow. “The sheriff's privy hole murder. But what does that have to do with us?" His gaze met his adjutant's. “What the sheriff doesn't know is that the body was drained of blood at the time of death." Tuxbridge was almost tall enough to look Ric eye-to-eye. A height of six feet was rare for any vampire of Ric's age, and he knew that Tux was almost as old as he was. A touch of defiance stopping just short of challenge lit Tux's green eyes. “So you think it's one of us?" “Either one of our group or a rogue. I'll need your help to find out who it is." Ric knew Tux's job wasn't an easy one. An adjutant was often caught in the middle between individual council members and the local Overlord. Most hedged their bets by playing both sides. “I still don't see what the big deal is. It's a human crime—nothing to do with us. No enforcer's going to come knocking on our door. And besides, we have you to make sure the sheriff doesn't learn the truth."

It wasn't what Ric wanted to hear. He needed to both exert his authority and let his second-in-command know that resistance to his position would not be tolerated. At the same time, he needed Tux. A lot. He couldn't afford to alienate his adjutant. Ric allowed the influence of his gaze to snare Tux's mind and hold it—not harshly, but enough for Tux to feel his power. “I'm surprised at you, my friend. This isn't Paris or London or New Orleans. You know as well as I do that in a small town like this we can't drain our victims to the point of death and litter the countryside with bodies. I'm not worried about one or two indiscretions. What I am concerned with is one of us making a habit of it and bringing too much attention to all of us. Understand?" Tux's green eyes were steady. “I understand. Your new children may not." “With your help they will." “Tell me what you want to do." Ric released the other man's mind, dropped onto one of the easy chairs, and leaned his head back. He was already tired, and displays of power, even mild ones, were always enervating. “Sit down, my friend." Tux took the companion easy chair and waited. “I want a meeting, but not here. As you can see, this place isn't ready yet." Tux scratched at a spot behind his left ear. “Well, it'll have to be tonight. You and I are the only diurnal vamps in the group. But it'll have to be late. There are some who have night jobs." “Night jobs? What kind of night jobs are there around here?" “Ormie's a security guard at the casino just outside Maritime. Come to think of it, Ormie works until four in the morning. Eva's a stripper at a roadhouse called the Diamond Stud out on Firelake Road. It's about ten miles east of town off County Road D. Appropriate, huh? Nobody ever forgets where the Diamond Stud is. Classy joint. Strip shows, Karaoke, even male exotic dancing one night a week." The Undead were immune to such mortal ailments as headaches, but even so, Ric could swear his temples were throbbing with pain. It must be the lack of sleep. He slowly tilted his head forward and fastened his gaze again on his adjutant. “Tell Ormie and Eva to leave work early or call in sick if they have to. Two o'clock. Everyone attends." Tux didn't seem the least bit intimidated by the stare. He cocked his head in a kind of sideways nod. “You're the boss." Ric ignored the irreverence. “Where can we meet?" “I'm sure Dory won't mind us using his house." Dory? He didn't recall anyone named “Dory” on the roster of the Cristallia County Council. “Who are you talking about?" “Darius Kreech. We all call him ‘Dory’ because of all the doors in his house. His living room, dining room, and kitchen each have six doors. Each downstairs room has at least one outside exit." Ric rubbed his temple with the heel of his hand. Maybe he had sat too long in the sunshine while waiting for the sheriff to finish with Tux. “Dare I ask why?" Tuxbridge shrugged in a lazy roll of one shoulder. “Some will tell you it's because Dory is afraid of a fire, but Dory himself will only tell you that he likes collecting doors. His address and directions to his house are in the files I already gave you." “All right. Two o'clock, then, at Dory's house.” Ric leaned forward in his chair and balanced his elbows on his thighs. “You know these people better than anyone. Tell me, do you think a member of this menagerie is our vamp with the poor table manners?"

Tux shook his head slowly, the mane of black hair barely disturbed by the motion, but Ric had the feeling that the gesture was more of an admission of uncertainty than a vote of confidence in his brethren. “We've been without an Overlord for several years now. The absence has bred laxity, no doubt, but they know how to act and how to survive. Still, I don't think I could rule out any of the group." Ric sighed. “What about the rogues?" I gave you the list of the ones I know about last week. I can't vouch for the accuracy of the addresses, and I don't know how many others are in the area that I'm not aware of." “Of the ones on your list, are you acquainted with any?" “A couple." None of it was of much help, but Ric strove to keep his breathing steady. It would accomplish nothing to lose control and take out his frustrations on Tuxbridge. “Tell me about yourself, Tux. Where are you from?” Now was as good a time as any to learn more about his adjutant. Tux smiled. “I'm from ‘God's Country'—that is, if I still believed in a God. The Upper Peninsula. My father was a Frenchman. Did you know that?" Ric shook his head. Tux's grin spread. “Unlike yourself, he was typical of the courouers de bois, the French fur traders, jovial and happy-go-lucky. It was a period of great romance, but also of hardship. The traders were fettered by laws as harsh and biting as the jaws of their steel traps, but my father and his cronies were notorious in their disregard of the decrees. They cared only for one thing, and that was the hunt. By the time I was born, markets were overstocked, prices fell, and the decline of the fur trade had begun. My father died, as did I, but I passed to the Other Side, and he did not. Still, all in all, I feel a kinship to him to this day. He enjoyed the hunt, and so do I." “When I lived in Eidolon Lake I heard about the fur traders. There were old men in town who loved nothing better than to relate the legends of the fur traders, miners, and lumberman, and of the ghost towns that are all that's now left of them." Tux pulled a matchbook out of his pocket and lit a match. “Have you ever heard the French legend of the feu follet?" “The will-o'-the-wisp. The friar's lantern. Of course. Strange, glowing orbs of light that flit through the woods, luring weary travelers not to safety, but to their deaths in a marshy bog or down a steep ravine." “Umm. A phenomena the scientists have dubbed ignis fatuus, the phosphorescent light caused by spontaneous combustion of gases emitted by rotting organic matter. But when I lived near what is now L'Anse it was myself and my brothers carrying lights in the forest to lure the humans to their doom. We fed well, and if we killed our victims, it didn't matter. The missing were always blamed on the feu follet. It was great sport. I miss those days.” Tux stared at the flickering flame. “Not enough to go around killing humans, I hope." Tux blew out the match. “Of course not. We're more civilized now, and even we French no longer flaunt authority, do we?" One side of Ric's mouth twisted downward. “Civilized, yes.” He looked at his watch and sighed. “I have to finish the autopsy. We'll talk more tonight. Two o'clock. Be early." Tux nodded as he drew a long breath. The gesture summed up Ric's own feelings. It was going to be a long day, and an even longer night. ****

Shelby arrived home at nine o'clock in the evening, dead to the world except for the tireless little gremlins who kept her and her headache alive with the merciless pounding of tiny hammers against her temple. A familiar greeting welcomed her. “Hello, baby." She smiled in spite of her exhaustion and throbbing head. “Hi, Flash. Did you miss me?" “Hello, lover. Lover boy. Lover boy." “I wish.” She opened the door of the cage, and the blue and white budgie hopped onto the lowered door and then onto her finger. She brought Flash to her face, and the tiny beak stretched out to peck at her nose in a bird-kiss. “Go on, now. I'm too tired to play." She raised her hand with a jerk, and the bird took off, flapping noisily around the room. Flash had been named after the first partner she'd had as a patrol officer in Milwaukee eight years ago. At first Flash had been exciting to work with. He had loved nothing more than to chase stolen cars through the streets and alleys of Milwaukee's north side, and hardly an evening had gone by that Shelby and Flash didn't engage some hapless slug in a foot or car pursuit. She had even dated Flash for a while, but his nickname was just as appropriate in the bedroom as it had been on the streets. Gradually Shelby began to see Flash as conceited and unsafe, and she was glad for the next squad change in which he was paired with a guy dubbed “Crash” for his propensity for getting into squad accidents. Flash and Crash. It was a match made in heaven. Suddenly she was angry with herself. It must be the exhaustion, because she knew better than to think about her ex-partner Flash. He made her think of the next cop she had dated, Curt Van Allen, and Curt had been the ultimate heartbreaker. V. A., as everyone had called him, had been on the early shift with her. Tall, with blue eyes, blond hair, and a body sculpted to perfection by hours in the gym, he had caught her eye from day one. And the attraction had been mutual. Maybe it was his air of authority that had made her think he was responsible. Maybe it was his smooth words, so coated with sincerity. But when he had told her he loved her, she had believed him. Not in a million years would she have guessed that V. A., as full of charm as his file was full of merit arrests, would be the one to destroy her life so thoroughly. Betrayal. Gossip. The harassment suit. Lies. No! She had vowed long ago not to waste any more tears, thoughts, or time on Curt Van Allen. She forced the memories aside, and swept the room with her gaze, searching for some distraction. The phone. The red message light was blinking. Well, the calls could wait a few moments longer. She needed to relax, and she wasn't quite ready to trade the painful recollections of the past for the pressures of the present. She shook her head, raised her hands with her palms facing the phone, and slipped into the sanctuary of her bedroom. The world could wait. She dropped the heavy Sam Browne belt onto the floor with a thud. Her sweaty uniform shirt was next to hit the floor, followed by an even sweatier white T-shirt. The brown uniform trousers topped the pile. Shelby took a cool shower, pulled on cotton shorts and a baggy T-shirt, and poured herself an iced tea. The red light on her phone caught her eye again. She sighed and played back her messages. One was from a reporter from the Harbor-Bay Light, the small, weekly newspaper that covered Shadow Bay and neighboring Snoshoe Harbor, and one was from a reporter from the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel who had obviously found out she used to work for the Milwaukee Police Department. Christ! What's next? USA Today? Requests at home for interviews were bad enough, but the last message was a lengthy tirade from one of Cristallia County's District Commissioners. "Young lady, I know you're not a native of these parts, so let me remind you that our number one industry is tourism, and that the bulk of the dollars generated through that tourism comes during the summer months. I hold you and your department personally responsible for solving this atrocious crime and seeing that nothing like this happens again in our community. There were those who thought we were taking a risk electing you, and others who thought your experience and skills outweighed your youth and unfamiliarity with the area. I certainly hope that the trust put in you was not misplaced." Shelby closed her eyes for a long moment, but instead of relaxation, all she felt was the persistent pounding in her head, as though some evil taskmaster was hammering out a beat for her racing thoughts to follow. She put Flash back in his cage, picked up her

iced tea, and went outside to the rear deck to stretch out on her padded chaise lounge. It wasn't unusual for Milwaukee to record fifteen homicides in a single summer month, but it was unheard of for Shadow Bay to have a single homicide in a decade. She was used to responsibility, and the fact that she had been a female put into a position of command at a fairly young age had put her into the spotlight years ago. She was used to it, but that didn't make it easier to bear. She took a long swallow of her cold drink, then leaned her head back and stared at the dazzling display above. Even after two years she was still amazed at how different the night sky looked in the country as opposed to the city. With the tall trees, taller buildings, and artificial lights of Milwaukee, the sky at night had always been a small patch of gray, populated by the moon and a handful of only the brightest stars. Out here the sky itself was a city of stars against a vast landscape of black shadow and shape. But instead of calming her as it usually did, the sight overwhelmed her, making her feel small and insignificant. She longed for someone to listen to her, to rub the tension from her neck and shoulders, but there was no one. She seldom indulged in regrets and “what ifs,” but tonight the lack of sleep, headache, and memory of the angry phone message fought and won out against her fortitude. She closed her eyes and let the silent tears trickle down her face. What did it matter? There was no one to see her. **** Ric arrived at Dory Kreech's house well in advance of the scheduled meeting time. He had managed three hours of sleep after finishing the autopsy, all the reports, and a visit to the sheriff. The body had been identified late in the afternoon via dental records. The victim turned out to be a young man named Kyle Carver from La Pointe, two hundred miles to the south, who had been unemployed and in and out of trouble with the law. Ric was glad the body had been identified so quickly. It would be shipped back to the family now for burial instead of to Washington for further scrutiny, and the secret of his death would be buried with him. The body would be no more of a problem, but Ric still had two very big problems remaining. The sheriff and the killer. The sheriff would go on digging, and the killer would go on killing. One of them had to be stopped. Ric looked again at the house before him. “House” was kind. The sprawling abode could easily vie with and beat out the Chicken Palace for the title of Architectural Nightmare of Cristallia County. As Ric eased his bike all the way to the end of the driveway he was able to see the side and rear of the building. Doors and windows sprouted all over the structure like eyes on a potato, and they were all open, spilling light out into the night like water through a sieve. The ground floor had both conventional doors and patios with sliding doors on each side of the house. The upper story had a door with a small deck on both the front and the side, and a larger deck to the rear with a staircase that descended to the ground. Ric pulled the band from his hair and shook his head. The breeze caught the long strands and styled them into the type of tempestuous array that a mother would frown upon, but Ric didn't care. There was no pretense of the mild-mannered human here, no glasses and no khakis. He wore his leather jacket, worn jeans, and motorcycle boots. A slightly built man, as unassuming as the house was eccentric, stood in the rectangle of light formed by one of the side doors. He had limp, shoulder-length, dark blond hair that any woman, and even a good many men, would have lightened to a more flattering shade. “You must be the Doctor. I'm Dory Kreech. Welcome to the Deanery." “Ric De Chaux. The Deanery?" “That's what it was before I bought it and made a few modifications. Come on in. I heard you bought the Chicken Palace. A great house, yours is. Not enough doors, but still a great house." “Hmm. Do you know why everyone calls it the ‘Chicken Palace?’” “Sure. The name dates all the way back to the Second World War. See, the upstairs wasn't finished, and the owner couldn't get any more materials because of the war. The family slept up there in the cold, sometimes in zero temperatures. Finally they declared the place a ‘farm’ and obtained enough cedar for a ‘chicken coop’ which they promptly used quite illegally to finish off the upstairs.

The government would allow materials for something like a farm, which they felt was useful, but not for a kid's bedroom. Humans, huh? Go figure." Humans, indeed. Dory led them into his living room, where extra chairs had obviously been squeezed in amongst a rustic sofa and matching armchair. “Make yourself at home, Doc. You don't mind if I call you that, do you?" “No." “I know who you are. We all do. Le docteur la mort. Doctor Death. You're quite famous, you know. We're honored to have you here." Famous? How diplomatic that you don't call me notorious. Ric slid his gaze from the furnishings to the smaller man. “Are you? What else do you know about me?" Dory smiled. “I know that you worked for the Coterie as a Paramount and that you even made a bid for Patriarch." And you've probably heard two percent truth and ninety-eight percent rumor, Mr. Kreech. Still, rumor and reputation could often be used to the good. “Hmm. I suggest you forget everything you've heard, Mr. Kreech.” No doubt you'll not only remember everything you've heard, but I'm sure you'll spread it around to everyone who hasn't heard the rumors. “Uh, sure, Doc." Dory retreated to the open frame of one of his precious doors, and Ric had a moment to himself. Patriarch. His mind's eye took him back in time in a blink. Paris, 1935 La directrice herself had summoned him. He strode the long hallways of the Directorate building, and reminders of his defeat followed him down the corridors like a shadow. “I heard it was a landslide decision." “He'll never be nominated for Directorate status." “Nikolena's golden boy looks a little tarnished." He held his head high and ignored the whispered slurs. Moments later he knelt beside the only one who mattered, and she didn't berate him. “Mon homme doré. My golden boy. They are all fools! Evrard Verkist may have defeated you, but he was only the more popular choice, not the better choice. Mark my words. The Brotherhood will be ill served by his leadership." He raised his eyes to her, but her hands touched him more than her gaze did. Her small fingers stroked his hair, slowly, gently, so as not to catch her many rings in the long strands. “The outcome is of no consequence to me, madame. Evrard is welcome to the job. You know I only made the bid because you, Drago, and Philippe all wished it." “There are other high-ranking Brotherhood positions available." “I'm not interested." She dragged her fingertips down his face and across his lips. “I can take you anytime I wish, my pet.” The sharp tip of one fingernail scored a line down his neck. “I can transfer you to my retinue on a temporary basis, you know. A temporary assignment that will last indefinitely."

She had the power and the right to do with him as she pleased, but still he pled his case. “No. Madame, if I mean anything to you, allow me to retain my old position as Paramount." Both her small hands rose to cup his face, and she considered his fate. In the end, he had had his way. But he always remembered her final words to him on that day. "You can't run from your destiny forever, my golden boy. And don't think you can escape my will forever." The sound of a vehicle in the drive ended his reflection, and he looked out the closest window. It was Tuxbridge, but as soon as Tux glided in through the nearest door, the rumble of another car engine echoed in the night. Ric glanced at his watch and then questioned Tux with the lift of one brow. It was barely one-thirty. Tux shrugged. “I told everybody not to be late. More than that, though, I think they're just curious. You're a celebrity as far as these vamps are concerned. The great Doctor Death." “So I've heard,” Ric replied, not bothering to disguise the dryness in his voice. Wonderful. Being an Undead superstar was not something he either aspired to or welcomed, but maybe there would be a way he could use it to his advantage. A little respect and awe might go a long way. Tux moved closer to Ric's side as the first of the vamps swept into the house. Another point in his new adjutant's favor. Tux was showing his support of his new Overlord to the others in a way that was subtle, yet would not be missed. The newcomer was a female, tall and slender, with long blond hair fashioned into a wild display that Ric presumed was neither windblown nor unintentional. “Eva Hazard,” said Tux. “Eva, Ricard De Chaux, our new boss." The stripper, of course. The abundance of pale flesh bared by the skimpy shorts and narrow tube top was the first thing that male eyes took notice of, and such exhibitionism might indicate an openness of character, but Ric also noted the carefully applied makeup and her appraising stare. If she felt any awe or respect, it was well hidden. She raked her gaze up and down the length of his body in what he imagined was a mockery of the typical male look sent her way. “Uh-uh-uh. Well, aren't you the one. Too bad your blood is as dead as it is red or I'd be tempted to sign you up for my drop dead gorgeous club.” The words were as soft and drawn out as her long limbs. She reached out one thin finger and ran the tip of a long nail down his neck to the portion of chest bared by several unfastened buttons. Her eyes were pale, their color shifting from blue to lilac to aqua. Ric snared her wrist and pulled her hand away from him. “'Drop dead’ had better be a figure of speech, Miss Hazard." “Hmm. Is that the only kind of figure you're interested in, Doctor?" “No, but I prefer even a figure of speech to any you may flatter yourself to possess,” Ric replied, his voice still as dry as the corpse he had examined. Eva smiled a smug little cat-grin, as if she was pleased to have a boss who could give as good as he got, but before either could say more, the next vamp strolled in. Tux whispered in Ric's ear. “Ormie Kessler." The casino security guard. Ormie reminded Ric of a large bulldog, stocky and muscular. His short hair was dark and spiky, and his features were just as standoffish. “Well, well. Doctor Death. We're mighty honored to have you in our little community.” He took a seat next to Eva and wrapped an arm around her slender shoulders. “Did you know, Eva, my love, that the Doc here was almost made Patriarch?"

Ric knew the reference for the insult it was. Ric had been nominated for Patriarch in 1935, but the Directorate voting had been a landslide in his opponent's favor. The only one who had backed Ric had been his alliance partner, Alek Dragovich. It was said that his old friend had met the True Death, but Ric didn't want to believe it. He liked to think instead that Drago was still walking the earth somewhere, sowing chaos in his wake. Ormie looked at Ric. “Well, the country's loss is our gain. Welcome, Doc." The last two vampires arrived. Lyle Livingston was as slender as Eva, and Zada Sinclair was nearly as burly as Ormie was. Lyle and Zada sat together on the opposite side of the room from Eva and Ormie, a fact not lost on Ric. Ormie stared at Lyle with a none-too-brotherly look. “If you ever need any help with this sorry little group, Doc, just let me know. I'm always happy to help out." It was indeed an uninspiring little group, and the best Ric could think of was that at least they didn't appear to go out of their way to bring attention to themselves. Except Eva, of course. It was a little hard for a stripper to be inconspicuous. But there were no augmented fangs that Ric could see, no outlandish outfits, and no garish makeup. Ormie had several tattoos on the bulging forearms and biceps revealed by a skintight T-shirt, and long, lean Lyle had a pierced nose, but those things were far from unusual in today's society. Also missing were the glassy sheen to the hair and the intense eye color that normally marked the most powerful of vampires. Tuxbridge came the closest in that regard with his bright emerald eyes and shiny black hair. As soon as they were all settled, Ric stood and began. “You all know who I am. Most of you know my background. I was a Paramount in France for a long time, and, yes, I did make a bid for Patriarch many years ago, but wasn't chosen. I do want you all to know I'm here in this small community of my own accord, not because of any sanction inflicted by either the Directorate or current Patriarch. This is a small group, and we are informal here, so no titles are necessary. Call me Ric." He paused and let his gaze pan the room. Six pairs of eyes in turn followed his every move. Whether it was due to respect, disdain or curiosity, Ric didn't care—as long as he had their attention. “This isn't the kind of first council meeting I had anticipated. I know you didn't have much notice and that some of you missed work tonight, but it was necessary. As I'm sure many of you know by now, a body was found last night by the local privy hole digger out on Salt Lick Road. The body was that of a twenty-seven-yearold man who was killed about three weeks ago. What the sheriff doesn't know—what no one knows except myself, the killer, and now you—is that the man died at the hands of the Undead." Ric paused again to gauge the reaction to his words. Eyes shifted from side to side, but there was no guilty admission, and no one person seemed to attract all eyes. Gradually, everybody's gaze settled back on Ric. “I'm the new ME for the County Coroner's Office, but don't let that fool you. My first and foremost duty is to neither the human living nor the human dead, but to the Undead of this county. It's not my intention to turn him or her over to human authorities. My duty is to protect everyone in this room. But I must know who it is, if only to make sure the killer doesn't endanger all of us by continuing in his or her ways. Therefore, if you committed the deed, or know who did, I expect you to contact me privately by tomorrow night. We will meet, the manner will be handled swiftly and confidentially, and that will be the end of it." Ormie spoke up. “What makes you think it was one of us? There are lots of rogues in the area, not to mention those just passing through. Hell, the casino alone draws people from as far away as Detroit and beyond." Ric met Ormie's dark gaze. “I'm aware of all that. I have limited control over the rogues and none at all over the tourists and transients. What I do have control over is this group, so that's where I must start." Ormie apparently wasn't satisfied. “And if no one speaks up?" “If no one comes forward, I'll arrange for a private meeting with each one of you, and you will submit to a reading. And before you start complaining about the indignity of having your every private thought laid bare, let me remind you that this isn't some human democracy in action here. I'm your master, and I'll do whatever is necessary for the greater good. And if any of you, now or ever, entertain any notion of resisting me or hiding anything from me, you can forget about it. My removal from France and my posting here has nothing to do with a lack of power. If you doubt it, I will be only too happy to have le docteur la mort correct you."

There was absolute silence, and even Ormie Kessler didn't so much as open his mouth again. Yes, a little bit of reputation can go a long way. “Any more questions?” He allowed his gaze to bore through each of his six charges in turn. The silence continued. Good. Normally a council meeting, especially an introductory one like this, would last at least an hour, with welcomes, introductions, and a formal statement of goals followed by a ceremony of vows sealed with blood. But Ric was exhausted, and he wanted nothing more than to go home and get some deep, restful sleep. “Cards with my address and phone number are on the table there. My cell phone is always with me, so that's the best way to reach me quickly. I'll be contacting each of you privately during the upcoming week. Our next regular meeting, barring any more emergencies, will probably be in two weeks, hopefully at my house. Tux will contact you and let you know. This meeting is adjourned, but I'll be here for a while if any of you want to talk privately." No one apparently wanted to be seen by the others staying to talk to the new Overlord, however, and they all quickly filtered out of the living room through the various exits. Only Tux stayed behind, and, of course, Dory. Ric's extraordinary hearing, sharper than that of the average vamp, picked up a few stray comments from the driveway. “Hey, Ormie. Don't turn your back on His Majesty. He may just devour you." “Advice you yourself should take, Lyle." Ric listened with amusement and waited until Ormie, Lyle, Eva, and Zada all melted into the surrounding countryside. “Thanks for the use of your house, Dory." Dory beamed with pleasure, as though the hideous building was some sort of mongrel pet he had taught to perform a fancy trick. “Any time, Doc." Ric turned to his adjutant and leaned close. “A word outside, Tux, if you will." “Sure." They both left by the nearest open door. “Good night, Dory." Dory waved. “'Night, Doc, Jud." Ric and Tux moved to the far side of the latter's truck, and Tux spoke first. “I don't think you made a whole lot of friends in there just now. Except maybe Dory. He looked positively star-struck. But the others..." “I'm not here to make friends. I'll protect them, and whether they like me or not, I'll be a trustworthy and righteous leader. But I expect the same loyalty in return, and I'll not tolerate disobedience or resistance." “And if one of us should disappoint you?" Ric sank his gaze deep into Tux's eyes. In the moonlight the green eyes glinted like pools of water, bottomless and dark. It was easy to see that Judson Tuxbridge was the most intelligent and powerful vampire of the group. Whether or not he was the most clever was yet to be seen. “I would mourn that fact very deeply, Tux. Very deeply." Tuxbridge nodded slowly. “I understand.” He turned his face away from the scrutiny. “You know, something occurred to me. Digger's already found two bodies—this one and the bones discovered earlier in the year. Who knows how many humans have already been drained, dispatched and buried around the county? It's fine to uncover whoever's responsible for the poor feeding habits and convince them to clean up their act, but the unearthing of all these past victims is just as damaging to us, if not more so. Don't you think it would be a good idea for one of us to, shall we say, ‘compel’ Digger to give up his hobby? At least until we find the truth."

An excellent idea. Why didn't I think of it? Because he had been experiencing some serious sleep deprivation lately. “I think that would be a very good idea. Leave it to me. I'll see that Lucius Moravich doesn't so much as go sniffing around any more privy holes.” Ric headed for his bike. “I'll keep in touch." Tuxbridge gave him a small smile and disappeared into the darkness of his truck cab. Ten minutes later Ric was home, and ten minutes after that he was in his bed in the cellar of the Chicken Palace. A final notion came to him before sleep scattered the remnants of his thoughts. Was Judson Tuxbridge simply performing the role of a good adjutant in looking out for the welfare of the group, or had he suggested calling off Digger's endeavors for a more personal reason? A cunning second-in-command was a bonus, but just how much of the jackal lie behind those green eyes?

Chapter Three Ric awoke the next day feeling, if not quite at peace with the world, at least better than he had in the past few days. Shadow Bay was, after all supposed to be a new beginning for him. In France as a Paramount he had held rule over hundreds of vampires, and since his contact with humans had been limited, he had not been forced to move often. Here, though, it was another story. His exposure to human scrutiny was much greater in a small town, and his plan was to stay not more than five years in any one place. His youthful features were part of the problem. It was hard to look forty and beyond when he barely looked thirty. He had spent only three years in Eidolon Lake in the Upper Peninsula. It had been a good place to establish credentials without a lot of questions asked, but it had been time for the next step. Eidolon Lake barely sustained a population of two hundred souls, most of them elderly. There was little to recommend the town, other than stories about the past that were livelier than the current residents. Living in Eidolon Lake hadn't been much different from the hours spent in the catacombs under Paris. The next step had been Shadow Bay. Yes, Shadow Bay was to be a new beginning in more ways than one. Ric had come to believe that it was a good thing to be forced to move every so often. It kept a creature like himself who was stagnant by nature from becoming dormant to the point of death—the True Death—something that came to his kind with much more ease and frequency than humans would guess. It had been a long time since Ric had lived and interacted so closely with humans. So much of his existence had been spent avoiding interaction with humans... He cut the thought short. No more escaping. Last night, surrounded by his own kind, had been easy. Today he would have to deal with the privy digger, Lucius Moravich, and the sheriff. It wouldn't—or at least shouldn't—be difficult, but it put him in an unaccustomed state of unease. He debated the best way to deter Digger from engaging in his favorite pastime. He could talk to the man himself and compel him to stop his digging. Compelling humans was an easy enough task for most vampires, but there were intangibles involved. Some humans had a measure of resistance to the imposition of another's will, and the power of such commands faded at unpredictable rates. Unless a vampire had experience with a particular subject, such coercion involved too many variables and volatility. It would be safer to talk to the sheriff and use logic and common sense instead of mind tricks. Besides, it would give him an excuse to see Shelby Cort again. He told himself it would give him the opportunity to ask questions about the investigation. If he were to be truthful, though, he'd have to admit that the allure of her rich, red hair and even richer blood was too powerful an enticement to ignore, in spite of the dangers of such a meeting. Ric called her office several times during the afternoon but was told each time that she was either in a meeting, on the phone, or had just stepped out. His patience held. He had plenty to do to keep himself busy until he could snare a moment of the sheriff's time. He made a trip to Maritime to finish preparing Kyle Carver's body for shipment to La Pointe. On the way home, he stopped

at the county building on an impulse. He was just about to go inside and ask to see the sheriff when she walked out the front entrance. She was in street clothes, and he almost didn't recognize her. It was the first time he had seen her in anything but her uniform. She wore tight jeans, a sleeveless black top, and carried a huge nylon bag over one shoulder. Her hair was loose, straight and swung just past those marvelous hard-working shoulders. Her eyes were cast down at the pavement as she strode the short distance to her vehicle, and with his vampiric gift of celerity he was in front of her in a heartbeat. He thought she'd see him at the last second, but when it became clear to him that she didn't, he raised a restraining arm. She still plowed into him. “Oh, God!” The words flew out of her mouth like startled birds. “You scared me, Doc. I didn't see you coming." With his extended arm, he caught the heavy bag as it started to slip from her shoulder and lowered it effortlessly to the ground. “My fault. I should have said something. Long day, huh?" She was staring at him, her mouth hanging open as though she were out of breath and couldn't get enough air. He realized the impact had bounced his glasses halfway down his nose and that she could see a portion of his eyes. He pushed the glasses back into place as if out of habit. “Yeah, it was. Listen, I'm sorry I didn't get back to you. I know you left a couple messages, and I really was going to call you..." “It's okay, really. But I would like to talk to you. You're off duty?" “I'm never off duty,” she mumbled as she bent down to pick up her bag. “Yeah, cops and doctors. I know how it is." She rose slowly, still staring at him. “Sorry. I guess you do." “Is there someplace we can go to talk? Are you hungry?" She brushed a long strand of red hair out of her face. “Ah, no. I had a sandwich delivered to the office earlier. Unless you want to eat,” she added quickly. “No. I'm not hungry just now." “Listen, I really need to run a quick errand. If you don't mind tagging along, we can talk at my place." It wasn't exactly what he had planned, but he supposed it was better to speak in private than in some public place. A human audience, even for so innocuous a meeting, was not something he relished. He smiled. “I'm practically a stranger, and you're inviting me to your house?" “Why, Doctor, I didn't think you had a smile in you.” She smiled back, a slow grin that lit her face with a mischievous blush in the evening sun's glow. “You look innocent enough to me. Besides, I've got a semi-auto, a twelve-gauge, a hunting rifle, and a collection of knives that would put Davy Crockett to shame. I think I'll be safe." His smile turned inward. Little did she know that he was without a doubt the most dangerous man in all of Cristallia County she could invite inside her home. He quickly amended his assessment. The second most dangerous. There was a vamp out there who had no compunction against killing humans. “Follow me, then,” she said. “I'm just going to stop at the Fresh Mart on the highway." **** Am I crazy? Shelby wondered. What am I doing inviting this guy home with me? She opened the door of the SUV, hefted her bag onto the front passenger seat, and climbed in. When she started the engine and music from the stereo came on, her concerns

seemed silly. It was a business meeting, nothing more, and besides, with his clean-shaven, youthful good looks, he was the type of man any woman could bring home to Daddy. And if he wore dark glasses all the time and had a voice that resonated through her like the purr of a very big cat, so what? She thought about his eyes as she swung onto the highway. When she had crashed into him and his glasses had slipped, she had thought to get her first glimpse of his eyes. In truth, she hadn't seen much. The low sun behind him had silhouetted his features, and all she had seen were dark brows and dark lashes that ringed light eyes. They had been beautiful, but cold, almost predatory. She shook her head and pulled into the Fresh Mart lot. There you go again, being silly. She brushed aside the intuition that had served her well during her ten years as a cop. Shelby parked and stepped over to the red bike that had pulled into the space alongside hers. “Are you coming in?" “As long as I'm here, why not?" She watched him swing his jeans-encased leg gracefully over the bike as he dismounted, and she felt a flush come to her face as her gaze followed the length of his lean body upward. She suddenly wished she was the one who had dark glasses to hide behind. Instead, she spun around, headed for the entrance to the store, and sucked in a deep, calming breath. His boots made little sound on the asphalt behind her, yet she knew he was right on her heels. Her face still felt on fire, and she knew the flush wasn't going away. Maybe I've just been without a man in my bed too long. They all look good. As soon as the thought formed, she knew it was a lie. She worked around men all day long, and even resident hunk Deputy Marc Montoya didn't make her feel like this. “Ah, I'll meet you at the register,” she said without turning, again aware that he was close enough to her back to hear her with ease. “Certainly." The long, drawn out word vibrated against her ear, and a shiver ran down her body, tickling places deep inside her. The utterance had a stronger than usual French accent behind it, and it was but one more reminder that for all his pale, unsullied looks, he was anything but the boy next door. She wandered through the store, trying to concentrate on the items she needed, but her eyes kept looking up and down the aisles for him instead of at the shelves. This is getting out of hand. But she found her items and stood in the express checkout line, and before she had waited more than a few seconds Ric materialized behind her. She turned and looked first at him, then lowered her gaze to the hands that held furniture polish and bathroom cleaner. She raised a questioning brow to the dark glasses. His head dipped slightly, and she got the impression he was questioning her purchase of milk, birdseed, and ice cream in the same manner. “Don't tell me you live on that,” he whispered. She felt warm again and tried to look anyplace but at his face. “I don't cook at home much. It's just me, and since I work such long hours I usually run out for a quick meal during the day or have something delivered. And what about you? You're no cook either?" He smiled, and the long smile line hooked to the dimple appeared. “Something we have in common, then. But I find I must be a housekeeper whether I like it or not. The Chicken Palace needs a lot of cleaning before it's truly habitable." “'The Chicken Palace?’” He cocked his head to the side. “Apparently that's what the locals call the monstrosity I bought." “I haven't heard that one." “Long story. I'll tell you some time." The light moment felt good, and before she knew it they were back in the parking lot. “I don't live far—just up the highway and a block east." He put his purchases into one of the saddlebags over the rear fender and mounted the bike with the same grace he had displayed

before. “Lead the way." Five minutes later they were at her house and she was balancing her duty bag on one arm and her grocery bag on the other on the way to the front door. He matched her stride for stride. “Here, let me help you with that." “I'm fine, but if you could get the door I'd appreciate it.” She held her keys in her right hand and waited until she felt him hold out his hand just below hers. He still had on his leather cycle gloves, but it was easy to see that his large hand and long fingers dwarfed hers. He raised his hand, almost cupping hers, and she dropped the keys like they were red-hot. “It's the key right next to the car key." He stepped in front of her, turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open, then stood aside so she could enter first. She stepped inside and threw an invitation over her shoulder. “Come on in and make yourself at home. I'll just be a minute in the kitchen.” She turned her head just enough to make sure he followed her into the living room. She continued through to the dining room and kitchen and heard Flash greet her guest. “Hello, lover. Lover boy. Pretty boy." She felt her face flush with embarrassment again. Never was she more glad that she hadn't taught the bird anything really racy or obscene. She put the milk and ice cream away and returned to the living room, where Ric and Flash were eyeing each other critically. Ric had taken off his leather jacket, revealing a gray rib-knit shirt the same color as those damn glasses. “You'll have to excuse Flash's limited vocabulary." “Flash?"S She stepped to the other side of Flash's cage, not wanting to get too close to Ric. “Named after one of my ex-partners. Want something cold?" “No.” He ruined her plans by moving closer to her. “Here.” He held out one closed fist. She automatically extended her hand to meet his. Her fingers brushed his, and their touch, even through the layer of leather, seemed to suck all the oxygen from the room. He opened his hand and pressed something cold and hard into her palm. She forced her gaze from his face to her hand. My keys. She found the breath to laugh. “Oh, thanks. I forgot about these. Sit down, please." “Lover boy.” Flash sat on his perch and bobbed his head up and down. Ric laughed, too, a rich, throaty sound. He turned and was at her sofa in two long strides. He made himself comfortable at one end, and she sat in the middle of the long sofa, curling her legs beneath her and leaving a good three feet between them. “Listen, Doc, this is going to sound really strange..." “Call me Ric. My patients call me Doc." She had resisted using his first name, but she couldn't very well refuse his invitation to use it now. After all, they were practically sitting side by side in her living room. “Ah, okay, Ric.” His name tasted odd on her tongue, like some exotic new food, and the distance between them seemed to shrink. “This is going to sound strange—call it a cop phobia, pet peeve, whatever you want— but do you mind taking off those glasses? I really hate talking to dark glasses." One side of his mouth twisted in what looked to be more wry self-deprecation than amusement. “Regretfully, I'm not only sensitive to the light, I'm blind as a bat."

Such a thing was hard to imagine, but she couldn't very well push the issue. “I didn't know. Sorry. What did you want to talk about?" He ran the fingers of his right hand along the armrest. “How's the investigation going? Anything?" She couldn't help a sigh of frustration, and she let her head fall to the sofa's cushioned back. “It's going, but no, nothing. The canvass, the interviews, the scene—nothing.” She looked up at him sharply. Was he here to give her some good news? “Please, tell me you found something on the body I can use." His lips parted, and it seemed a long time before he answered. “No, sorry. I've got clothing samples, fingernail samples, even scrapings from the bottoms of his shoes. I haven't run every test yet on every sample, but like you, nothing yet. But the ID should help." “Yeah, the ID should help. By tomorrow we'll have a slate of photos of Kyle Carver and hopefully his life story. The paper and TV news channels will run it all. If we're lucky, even if he was here temporarily or just passing through, someone will remember having seen him." “I do have one suggestion for you." She leaned toward him. “Sure." “Your privy digger, Lucius Moravich. It occurs to me that he may be in some danger." “Danger? How?" “Well, he's already unearthed two bodies. If your murder suspect has disposed of other victims in a similar manner, he might not like the idea of Digger doing all this jabbing and poking around. Digger might find another body, and the killer wouldn't like that. If I were the killer...” He paused and adjusted the glasses. “I'd put a stop to Lucius Moravich." What Ric said made good sense. She wished she had thought of it. “I see your point. But I can't very well force him to stop. It's his passion. And I can't put an around-the-clock guard on him." “You can at least talk to him. Make him understand the danger. If he has any common sense at all, he'll quit on his own." She rubbed her head. “You're right. I'll talk to him tomorrow. Any other suggestions?" “Just one.” His voice had dropped to a breathy whisper. “I think the local sheriff needs to go to bed ... and get caught up on some needed sleep.." The phone rang. The doctor's cell phone. “Excuse me.” He unclipped the phone and answered it. “De Chaux. Yeah. No, I'm with the sheriff.... anything yet? No ... no ... We need to talk. Meet me at my place in a half hour. Yeah. Later." She blinked, and when she opened her eyes, he was standing, jacket in hand. “I have to go. Duty calls." She unfolded herself from the sofa, envious once again of limbs and joints that seemed a whole lot better oiled that hers were. After a twelve-hour workday, every muscle in her body protested even the simple act of uncoiling and rising from the sofa. She walked him to the front door, suddenly feeling awkward, as if they had been on a date. He stopped just inside the door, standing so close she once again found it hard to breathe. She was tall for a woman, about five-nine without heels, but she had to look up nearly half a foot to see his eyes. Correction. Those damned glasses. “You'll call me if you find anything?” she asked. One side of his mouth lifted. The side with the dimple. “Only if you promise to return my messages."

She looked up at the ceiling. “Of course. I'm really sorry about today. I was going to call, and then..." He cut her off. “Hey, I'm only teasing. You already apologized. You're swamped, and I know that. I'll talk to you later.” With that he was out the door and down to the driveway. She drew a slow, deep breath and watched as he put his jacket on and backed the bike to the road. When he was out of sight she made a beeline to the kitchen and her new half-gallon of butter pecan ice cream. “Pretty boy. Pretty boy." “Shut up, Flash." She scooped three huge spoonfuls of ice cream into a bowl, took it out to the deck, and plopped on her chaise. A second later she was leaning back on the soft cushion, her eyes closed, and the spoon jammed into her mouth. What had just happened? Their meeting had been nothing but business, all business. There hadn't been one personal word spoken beyond the explanation of her bird's name. So why had their meeting felt so personal? She wondered if he had been as aware of her as she had been of him. If he hadn't gotten his phone call, what would have happened? Would he have politely left? Would she have kicked him out? Or ... She shuddered with cold as she felt the melted ice cream slide down her throat. She really had no idea what she would have done. **** The Chicken Palace, with its windowed tower, greeted him moments later. Ric took shelter first in the second-story bedroom, though in fact the room was used only for dressing and storage, not sleeping. The glasses and gloves came off first, followed by the gray shirt. He freed his hair, grabbed a clean black shirt, and ascended to the tower room. It always felt good to divest himself of the trappings of his daytime persona, but tonight neither that nor the peace and privacy of the tower room could dispel his anxieties. Tux was due to arrive in twenty minutes. It wouldn't be nearly enough time to assimilate everything that had just happened with Shelby Cort. He had almost forgotten what it was like to interact with a beautiful human female in such a way. His contact with humans had been so limited for so long that with Shelby he had felt awkward and unsure of himself. It was a seriously disquieting feeling for a being who prided himself on power and control. Experiencing her had been as much a feast for the senses as a scenic ride on his bike, but a hundred times more arousing. Her hair against her black top had glinted in the evening sun like rubies against velvet, and when he had stood close to her, her fresh, rich scent had gone far to set free two hundred years of urges corralled by abstinence and restraint. But the one thing that had stirred his desire more than any other had been the warmth and life-based energy of the touch of her hand, brief and innocent though the contact had been. And it hadn't only been his desire he had felt. He had sensed her reaction to him all too easily, and he still marveled at it. Her pulse had quickened, her breath had become labored, and the heat had washed from her to him in veritable waves. All that, yet he hadn't unleashed a single manipulative device to try to seduce her. He hadn't utilized the power of his eyes or his mind at all, and not a thing in their conversation had been the least bit provocative or personal. It had been all business. It was almost enough to make him sorry he couldn't help her in her investigation. He was glad all around that Tux had called when he did. He wasn't sure how much more temptation his untested body could have withstood, and if he had given in, he wasn't sure how she would have responded. Even with the desire plain in her every pore, she was still the sheriff, and he had no wish to be on the business end of a shotgun, harmless though they were to him. He sighed. The dead were much easier to deal with than either the living or the Undead. Tux knocked on his door five minutes later. “So how's the sheriff's investigation going?” he asked as he swept through the door. “It's going nowhere, and I'll make sure it continues to go nowhere. Lucius Moravich should be taken care of. The sheriff's going to have a talk with him, but if she doesn't convince him to stop digging, I'll have a little heart-to-heart with him."

Tux paced the room, running one hand uselessly through his unruly hair. “Uh, listen. Talking about Digger got me to thinking about someone. Last summer a vamp came through here. I don't know if you'd call him a rogue. Our old Overlord was gone by then, and we weren't having regular meetings anyway, but..." “Quit stalling and get on with it. What about him?" “Well, he was a day vamp, and he wanted some work, so I took him with me on some of my jobs. He knew his way around a toolbox. Anyway, after a while he started taking jobs on his own, using me for a reference. He had access to a lot of yards around here. I think he even did some work with me last fall at the Luslow place." Ric wasn't sure if he welcomed the sudden revelation or not. Something smelled like tainted blood—pleasing at first sight but downright nasty when you got close. “Why didn't you tell me this last night?" Tux lifted a hand in a gesture of doubt. “It didn't occur to me to single him out. We've had lots of rogues come through here during the past year. It wasn't until I got to thinking that whoever did this had to know the back yards to know the holes were there..." Ric interrupted with some urgency. “You didn't mention this to the sheriff yesterday, did you?" Tux made a face. “No, of course not. Besides, I didn't think about him until today." Ric sighed. “Okay. Tell me about him." “He went by the name of Joel Branduff. About my size and apparent age, short dark hair and blue eyes. I haven't seen him since December or January. He complained about not liking the winter here. When he dropped out of sight I assumed he moved on." “Yeah, well, maybe he's like the summer people. He goes south for the winter and shows up for the fair weather." One of Tux's brows quirked, and he shook his head slowly. “I don't know. I get wind of most of the rogues that come through, and I haven't heard about him returning." “Got an address on him?" “I know where he used to live. It was vacant for a long time after he left. I haven't been by there recently." “Who else in our group knew this Branduff?" Tux shrugged. “Most if not all. Eva used to take him with her to the roadhouse. He got off on seducing the strippers." “Come on, let's go." “Where?" Ric was already at the door. “Branduff's old house. If he has returned, he could be there. If not, maybe we'll find something useful." He exited the front entrance, leaving Tux to close the door behind him, but pulled up short when he saw what was in the driveway. Tux's momentum pushed Ric down the final four steps of the porch. Ric landed gracefully on the ground without so much as a loss of balance. To his body, at any rate. Sitting in the drive was a rusty, baby blue Plymouth Fury that was almost as old as his bike was. “Is this snow tank yours?" Tux lovingly patted the hood of the car. “I use it mostly in the winter, but I didn't think it was a good idea for my truck to be seen too often in front of your house." Ric raised his brows. “And this eyesore is any less noticeable?" “It's a whole lot less conspicuous than that Frenchie red putter of yours. Didn't three years in Eidolon Lake teach you anything

about blending in with the locals?" “Get in the car.” Ric slid into the front passenger seat. A long, fluffy foxtail hung from the rearview mirror. He knew Tuxbridge was right, but that didn't make it any easier. A sudden longing for the familiar comfort of France swept over him. Just as quickly, the feeling left him. This land, these people, are my destiny now. Tux drove, and in moments they were on a back road about a mile off the highway. Trees encroached all the way to the edge of the road, and the few homes that existed were umbrellaed from the world by the canopies of tall ashes and hickories. Tux eased the car to a stop in front of a “For Sale” sign that hugged the narrow gravel shoulder. The house itself was set back from the road, dark and visible only as a shadow among the trees. “Doesn't look like anyone's here,” said Tux, his voice barely audible above the uneven rumble of the snow boat's idling engine. “He wouldn't advertise his presence even if he were here. Pull farther down the road and park on the shoulder." Tuxbridge complied, and soon they were loping back to the house, themselves like shadows of the night. **** As soon as Shelby finished her ice cream she reluctantly went back inside and turned on the handie-talkie she always carried with her off duty. She really wanted nothing more than to unwind with a warm shower, cuddly bathrobe, and favorite video before getting the much needed sleep that Ric had recommended, but listening to the calls was a habit she felt important to continue— especially now with the homicide. Besides, maybe it would help keep her mind off Ric. So instead of the shower and video she settled for cleaning Flash's cage. She imagined there were worse ways to unwind than talking to a parakeet and listening to police calls, but right now she couldn't think of any. After forty-five minutes, though, she was ready to reach for the radio and call it a night. Then she heard her available squad get dispatched to a possible entry in progress. The address was only about a half mile from her house. All feelings of fatigue now gone, Shelby tuned the radio to a side channel. “Unit One to dispatch." “Go ahead, One." “Read me the entire complaint for that entry." “Sure. ‘Anonymous female caller says check house at address on Dead Creek Drive for possible entry. House is supposed to be vacant, and caller saw lights inside.’ Sorry, Sheriff, that's all there is. She wouldn't leave her name or number." “Thanks. Okay, tell Rody to continue and that I'll also be responding. The house is just down the road from me." “Ten-four, One." Shelby grabbed the radio and her duty belt and slammed the front door behind her. As she approached the address in question two minutes later, she cut the lights on the SUV and rolled slowly past the house with the “For Sale” sign in front. She knew the building had been vacant for a number of months and that there was a good chance it was just kids fooling around, but she also knew not to assume anything. Working in the worst parts of a big city had taught Shelby that it was often the most innocuous and ordinary of calls that were the most dangerous. She spotted a car on the shoulder up ahead and pulled to a stop behind it, close enough to read the plate, but no closer. It was an old blue beater, and she didn't recognize the car as belonging to any of her neighbors. She went on the side channel again. “Run this plate for me—Zero Zero Seven John George John. I'm twenty-three at the entry." “Ten-four, Sheriff." A moment later the radio crackled. “You should have a 1968 Plymouth four-door. It lists to Judson Tuxbridge, 3489 Mill Road,

Shadow Bay. No wants." “Ten-four, thanks.” Judson Tuxbridge? Mill Road was about three miles away. What was he doing here? She turned the lights and the high beams of the SUV onto the Plymouth. She exited cautiously and approached the auto slowly, shining her flashlight into the interior step by step. It was unoccupied. She got back into her vehicle, cut the lights again, and did a U turn on the road. She pulled ahead slowly and parked about fifty yards from the driveway to the vacant house. She knew that when responding to a call with any expectation of danger it was never a good idea to pull up directly in front of a target location. She proceeded on foot, both her flashlight and gun in hand. Maybe Judson Tuxbridge was interested in purchasing the house as a fixer-upper, but that gave him no right to be inside the building. Another thought came to Shelby. Tuxbridge had had prior access to the back yard where the latest victim's body had been unearthed. She hadn't really considered him a suspect, but this was a strange coincidence. Crime of any kind was rare in Shadow Bay, and suddenly Judson Tuxbridge seemed to have a connection not only to the homicide scene, but an entry. Very strange. Where was Rody? As she approached the rear door, she saw that it was ajar. She crept closer and listened. A unique, familiar voice wafted across the stillness. She couldn't catch the individual words, but the throaty whisper with the slightly foreign lilt was unmistakable, Ric De Chaux. Was this what his earlier phone call had been about? But why? Normally, she'd wait for Rody as backup, even for Tuxbridge, but she trusted the doctor. She stepped back away from the door and took cover behind a small shed. “Police! Come on out!"

Chapter Four The frame building sat crouched in silence and age, not stately and proud, but neglected and cheerless. A shutter hung loose, a window was cracked, and a fresh paint job was long overdue. Ric took in the sad front façade from the foundation to the gutters. “For someone who knew carpentry, Branduff didn't put much stake in this place, did he?" “No. It's a shame, too. The place has possibilities." Ric smiled. He suspected that no shingled horror still standing was beyond Tux's optimism. “You take the left side, I'll take the right. Look for a door or window we don't have to break." Tux nodded, and they each went their separate ways around the house, meeting at the rear. “Everything's locked,” whispered Tux. “Well, we tried. On to Plan B.” Ric leaned his shoulder against the back door and pushed. The wood was no match for vampiric strength. It was the frame that splintered and gave, however, not the door. Dory Kreech would be proud. Doors in years past had been made to last. The rear door led to a small mud room and the kitchen, and the musty odor of age and abandon immediately stung Ric's nostrils. Underneath the staleness, though, Ric could detect the unmistakable scent of the Undead, the peculiar odor of corrupted flesh that only another vampire or a dhampir, which was the offspring of a vampire and a human, would be able to sense. Some vampires found the scent of their own kind highly disagreeable, but to Ric, who had spent so many decades among the dead and the Undead, the smell was familiar, and if not pleasant, tolerable. Ric could see perfectly well in the dark, but he turned on a small pocket flashlight anyway. It couldn't hurt, and it might help with details otherwise missed. He turned to his adjutant. “I'll take this floor and the upstairs. You check the basement." Tux nodded and disappeared down the cellar stairs. Ric opened the kitchen cupboards and flashed the narrow beam deep into their far corners. The Undead had no use for kitchens in the human way, but many took advantage of the room for storage. Nothing had been left behind in any of the cabinets, however. Ric moved from the kitchen to the dining and living rooms, silent as a cat. The dining room was empty, but the living room contained an old sofa and a small wooden table and chairs. Ric went upstairs

and checked the three bedrooms and even the attic. The scent of the Undead was fainter up there. It stood to reason. Vampires tended to sleep in the dark of basements and cellars, not second story rooms. Upstairs rooms were rarely used, other than for storage. Ric sighed in frustration. There's nothing here. He descended to the living room and met Tux there. “Anything?” asked Ric. “Well, there is some dirt and a number of cardboard boxes down there. Clothes, shoes, blankets, stuff like that." Ric resisted the temptation to shake his head. It didn't do to display too much uncertainty in front of others of his kind, especially minions. Still, he couldn't deny what Tux himself no doubt sensed. “There's vampire spoor here, that's for sure, but it's faint. Hard to tell, though, if it's a month old or three months old. I'll have a look downstairs." He never got the chance. His lowered head snapped up like an animal snatching an unfamiliar scent off the wind. Tux's relaxed stance became rigid, and Ric knew he caught it, too. “We're in trouble,” Ric whispered, staring back toward the kitchen. “Open one of those front windows and get out of here. I'll take care of the problem." Tux didn't argue, but did as Ric bade. In seconds he was gone, the creak of the window the only evidence of his flowing over the sill like smoke out of a burning building. “Police! Come on out!" The voice was familiar, as was the new scent that assailed Ric from the rear of the house. Shelby Cort. **** Only the steady chirping of the crickets, like a rapid heartbeat, answered her. “Ric? Come on out the back door." A tall figure appeared in the doorway and stepped outside. Long, straight hair draped well past broad shoulders. It didn't look like Ric, but somehow she knew it was. “Ric? God, what are you doing here?" “You can put the gun away, Sheriff. I won't bite." She exhaled a long breath she hadn't realized she was holding and was suddenly aware of her heart pumping furiously in her chest. The excitement and danger, of course. She holstered the gun and keyed her mic. “Unit One to Three, you can cancel. Baseless complaint." He moved toward her in that smooth gait that appeared so boneless, like water flowing over rocks. He stepped into a patch of bright moonlight, and her breath caught all over again. The damn glasses were gone, and she couldn't tear her gaze from his eyes. His brows were as dark as his black shirt, but his eyes were as pale as the moonlight. Slightly hooded and encircled by thick, black lashes, they held a kind of feline detachment from the world, an aloofness that was both chilling and rapacious. Yet they were amazing in their striking beauty. She almost forgot to ask her questions. “Where's Judson Tuxbridge? He's here with you, isn't he?" His gaze on her was steady, and he didn't blink. “What makes you think that?" “His car's on the road." He did blink at that. It almost scared her to think she was so aware of his slightest movement.

“I would imagine Tuxbridge is heading back to his car about now." “Just what were the two of you doing here, anyway?" “He wanted to see the place. He's thinking about buying it. He wanted a second opinion." She shook her head. “So why break in after dark? Why not make an appointment with the realtor during the day?" Ric shrugged, a sensuous rolling of one shoulder, but his eyes were as steady as stone. “He was anxious. He just saw the place for sale today. We didn't think there was any harm in looking." “Why did he take off in such a hurry?" “I don't know. You'll have to ask him." She smiled, but she knew it wasn't a pretty one. It was the expression she used on suspects when she knew she was being lied to. “Come on, Doc. It's a crime—trespassing at the very least. The fact it's vacant doesn't matter. You know better." “You're right. It was unthinking and foolish. My apologies." She sighed and started walking down the driveway toward the road. He mirrored her steps beside her. Something wasn't right. Shelby felt it in her gut. Another thought came to her. “I didn't even realize you knew Judson Tuxbridge. You never said anything to that effect during the times I mentioned his name." “I called him about doing some work on the Chicken Palace. We found we had some things in common, that's all. It didn't occur to me to mention that I knew him. In a small town like this, everybody knows everybody, isn't that right?" They both got into the SUV and Shelby started the vehicle up and swung around to look for the blue Plymouth. It was indeed gone. “I guess I'll have to give you a ride home. Well, Jud's no kid. He knows better, too. I'll have to have a little talk with him tomorrow." “Listen, Shelby. I feel really badly about this, and I'm sure Tuxbridge does, too." She glanced over at the man beside her. The long, thick hair hid a good portion of his profile, but she saw the straight nose, strong jaw, and deep-set eyes. The SUV was a roomy vehicle, but Ric seemed to fill it to the point she felt crowded. It wasn't simply his six-foot-plus size. There seemed to be an aura around him that pressed her like flesh against flesh. It was discomfiting, but not unpleasant. Still, she buzzed her window down so she could breathe. “Hey, it's not the end of the world. We've all done some pretty stupid things. No one was hurt. That's the main thing." “Still, I'm in a position of responsibility..." “Ric...” She flicked her gaze toward him again, and when he turned his head to meet her eyes, she had to snap her head back to the road lest she run the vehicle into a ditch. Those eyes. Which reminds me. “What happened to the sacred glasses? I thought you were blind without them." “I usually wear contacts at night." She nodded and tried to take a deep breath, feeling like she was taking a plunge down a deep well. “Listen, if you really want to make amends, take me out to dinner, and we'll call it square.” She had tried to inject a teasing tone into her statement. That way, in case he wasn't interested, she could pretend the appeal was a joke. But instilling both a smile upon her face and a lightness to her voice wasn't easy when she felt starved for oxygen. She didn't exactly choke on the request, but she had the horrible feeling that the words had come out like knots on a rope, stiff and tight. “I think letting me off with dinner would be a light sentence. I think I owe you more hard time than that."

She swallowed and choked, coughing uncontrollably. She managed to pull over to the side of the road and skidded the vehicle to a quick stop on the gravel shoulder. Ric pulled a bottle of water from her cup holder, twisted off the cap, and held it up to her. “Here, take a sip, but slowly." She did as the doctor ordered, but even in the midst of her coughing fit, the only thing she was aware of was his hand cradling the back of her head. It seemed like every individual hair was bristling with static electricity, while her scalp prickled with chilling darts that spread like goose bumps across her skin. His hand was so large it easily spanned the back of her head from ear to ear. Her coughing subsided, and when he lowered his hand, he did so in a long caress of her hair to below her shoulder. She really shouldn't be allowing such liberties. She barely knew him, and yet what could she say? He had been helping her, and his touch had been innocent enough. Besides, hadn't she been the one to ask him to dinner? She had invited any liberties he took. “Are you all right?” His voice was barely more than a whisper, low and resonant. “Yeah. Sorry, I guess I swallowed wrong.” She put the vehicle in gear and continued down the road. They rode in silence the rest of the way, and Shelby tried to focus on nothing more complicated than breathing. It took all her concentration. When she pulled up in front of Ric's house, he finally spoke again. “Shut off the engine, Shelby." She did. He turned to her. “What time should I pick you up tomorrow?" She clicked on the dome lamp, even though she was afraid his sensitivity to the light might bother him. She just had to get a good look at those beguiling eyes. To her surprise, he didn't blink, but gazed at her with an intensity that sent a shiver racing down her body all the way to her toes. His eyes were incredible. Black pupils floated in a sea of amber. There was a stillness to them, as if he was waiting, and could wait, for a very long time. Hunt. The word popped into her mind. They were eyes that could shadow a target without giving anything away. “What time?” he repeated in a whisper. “Ah, barring any emergencies, seven should be good." “Good.” He turned off the dome light and leaned in toward her. His lips grazed hers lightly, tentatively, not nearly as bold and sure as his eyes had been. The strange combination of self-assurance and uncertainty unleashed an arousal that coursed from her lips to points lower. The sensation didn't sink all the way to her toes this time, but halted halfway down her body and coiled in tight bands. His lips were full and soft, and she parted her own to encourage him. He deepened the kiss, and she squirmed in her seat, trying, somehow, to give him more access to her. Her left hand slid behind his head and burrowed into his thick hair, and she was vaguely aware of the cool smoothness of the heavy strands. His mouth worked on hers, pulling away then settling again at a new angle, as if he were trying to find the sweetest possible spot. It felt good. Too good. What was she doing? I can't do this. When he dipped his head and started burning her throat with an arc of questing kisses, she lowered her hand to his shoulder and pushed him away. “We definitely have to slow down here,” she whispered. She had no air in her lungs for a plea any louder. He leaned back. “Look at me, Shelby." She stared at his eyes again, feeling truly caught this time by their power.

“After you leave here, you will forget you saw me tonight. You will not remember seeing me at either the vacant house or here in your vehicle. You will also forget seeing Judson Tuxbridge's car at the vacant house. You responded to the break-in, but checked the house and found no one. Do you understand?" His voice was so strange. She somehow ceased to hear him with her ears, but heard his words echoing in her mind. She couldn't disobey him. “Shelby, do you understand me? Nod your head if you do." She nodded. “Good. I'm going to get out now. When you get back home, you will not remember seeing me or talking to me, but when I call you tomorrow, you will agree to have dinner with me. Understand?" “I understand." He bent forward and pressed a soft kiss against her cheek. “Until tomorrow, then, my sweet.” He opened his door, slid out, and was gone in an instant. She started up the engine and headed home. God, I'm tired! These long days were killing her. She glanced at the clock display on the dash. The fact that she had just wasted forty-five minutes on a false alarm didn't make her feel any better. **** Ric shut the front door quietly behind him and let out a long breath. The evening hadn't exactly gone as planned. His first thought when Shelby had appeared at the vacant house was to bluff his way through, but she had asked too many questions. When he learned that she knew Tux had been there as well, the decision to compel her to forget she had seen him came easily. He didn't want her questioning Tux, and he didn't want her having second thoughts about why they had been there or how he and Tux had become such close acquaintances so quickly. He didn't mind a little danger when it came to Shelby Cort, but he wanted the peril to be hers, not his. He ascended to the tower room, phone in hand, sat down, and loosed a rumble of laughter into the night. Who was he kidding? His physical reaction to her, and hers to him, was a far greater danger than being caught in the middle of a criminal act. And the attraction was not something he could “compel” away, even if he wanted to. No, when he had kissed her and she had returned the kiss in spades, it had been all natural. He scoffed again at his own thoughts. As if anything about him or his existence was natural. But it had occurred without the added inducement of any seductive or manipulative power on his part, vampiric or otherwise. No, she was the one seducing him, as if he were the innocent, not her. Tomorrow night would tell the story. It was foolhardy to pursue her, but he couldn't help himself. He was a creature ruled by passions, not logic, and all his decades at playing the cool, controlled le docteur la mort hadn't changed his basic nature. He had to see her again. But before pleasure there was still business to take care of. He called his adjutant on the phone. “Tuxbridge." “It's me. A close call tonight, my friend, wasn't it?" “What happened?" “She knew that blue snow boat was yours, so I had to compel her to forget she saw either me or your car there. Even with my explanations I could tell she wasn't buying what I was telling her. However, if something happens and she does ask you about it, the story I gave her was that you were interested in buying the place and wanted my opinion."

A sigh preceded Tux's words. “You should stay away from her, Ric. She's no fool." “No, she's no fool." “Don't you be." “Don't worry about that." Tux changed the subject. “Have you heard from any of the group yet?" “No. If no one contacts me tonight, I want a private meeting with Eva first. Set it up for two nights from now." “What about tomorrow?" “I have plans for tomorrow.” Plans, my friend, that don't include the rest of the Undead population of Cristallia County. **** Late the following morning Shelby sat in her office with her door closed, something she rarely did. It had been a hectic morning what with the follow-ups on the investigation and requests by the local media for stories and updates. Not all the phone calls had been friendly requests, though. Reporters had slung barbed questions at her, local merchants were demanding reassurances, and more than one district commissioner hadn't been shy about telling her what he would do if he were in her shoes. She knew she was doing all that was possible. Citizens just didn't understand how law enforcement worked. They expected miracles. Right at this particular moment, however, she found it difficult to worry about the calls or the paper. She'd had the most vivid dream last night, and she couldn't help thinking about it. She had been back in the big city. It hadn't been Milwaukee or even Chicago—it was simply a maze of unrecognizable alleys, dead ends, and unfamiliar buildings. She had been running, out of breath, chased by some unknown presence. That alone wasn't a unique dream for her. As a cop she often had dreams in which she was pursued. This dream was different in that it hadn't merely been a chase. It had become a hunt. She had felt like prey—not so much like a victim being stalked by a human predator, but like an animal being run to ground by a more powerful beast. Pinpricks of neon green all around her, the glowing nocturnal eyes, like mirrors flashing in the night to try to capture her essence... A soft knock brought her head up. She could see Marc through the panel of glass next to the door. She motioned for him to enter. He did, closing the door behind him with a soft click. His brows butted against each other. “You okay?" “Sure." He sat down. “You look tired." “I am. Aren't we all?" He nodded toward the newspaper on her desk. “Yeah, but you're the one with the eyes of the county on you." She picked up her coffee mug, took a sip, and shrugged. “We're doing everything we can. But it would be nice if something would break." “It will." She merely nodded, wishing she had his optimism. “So, ah...” Marc cleared his throat. “What's with you and the Frenchie sawbones?" She set her mug down and straightened her back. “What are you talking about?"

“Well, you've been seen all over town with him." “Not that it's any of your business, but I still don't know what you're talking about." Marc's dark brows crept upward, lining his forehead. “You were seen in the diner together..." “That was business.” She had never been able to get used to the one thing that was so prevalent in small towns and so foreign to her with her big city upbringing. Here everyone knew everyone else's business. All the time. “...and you were seen in the grocery store together last night." “That was also business." “So what did he end up having to do with the entry call at the house on Dead Creek Drive?" Now she was confused. She shook her head. “Nothing." “Rody said he saw the two of you in your vehicle after you left the vacant house." “Well, Rody's wrong. Not the first time." Marc cocked his head. “Rody seemed pretty sure. He was responding to the call and was almost there when he said you cancelled him. He stayed in the area anyway in case you needed help. He said he got a good look as you drove past him." She hadn't remembered seeing Rody's unit. Leave it to Jason Rody to start some story about her. Gossip. How she hated it! “It's one of Jason's rumors, Marc. And there's nothing going on with the doctor. Even if there was, it's nobody's business but mine. You lost the right a long time ago to have any say in my personal life when you decided I wasn't anything more important than another notch on your belt. I still have a lot of respect for your skills, but don't dictate to me." Marc's look of concern hardened into the “cop look,” an impassive, none-too-friendly guise usually reserved for slugs and suspects. “I'm not dictating. I'm telling you, as a friend, that I have a bad feeling about Doc French. It's not something I can explain. Just be careful around him." It's easy enough to explain. It's called jealousy. “I'm always careful. Is there anything else you wanted?" “No." “Then if you'll excuse me, I've got things to do." Marc rose without a word and left the office, shutting the door on the way out a good deal harder than he had coming in. Shelby sighed, but it erupted as more of a growl. How ironic life could be. She had left her last job to get away from the pressures of a big city department with high-profile incidents and had found herself under a bigger microscope in Cristallia County than she had ever been in Milwaukee. And if she thought small town men were any different from their city counterparts, she had been wrong there, too. For every Curt Van Allen in Milwaukee there was a Marc Montoya in Shadow Bay. And as for Deputy Jason Rody, she'd definitely have to have a talk with him. If Marc had heard the rumor of her and the doctor in her vehicle last night, then there was no doubt all the deputies, as well as half the office, had heard it, too. Gossip and rumors were the most destructive forces on earth. She had zero tolerance for both and would put a stop to this new crop immediately. Her phone rang. “Sheriff Cort.” Her voice sounded hard to her own ears, but she didn't care. Jason and Marc had done their best to try to steer her onto paths of their own making. She was ready to push back. There was a short pause before the caller replied.

“Good morning, Shelby. It's Ric." Her small world just got smaller. Speak of the devil. “Doctor. What can I do for you?” She picked up her mug. “I could use a relaxing evening. From the sound of your voice, you could too. I also think you could use something inside you other than milk and ice cream." What? Her mug slipped in her grip, and she almost dropped it. Coffee sloshed over the rim onto her desk. “Damn it all!" “I would have gotten the message with a simple ‘no, thanks.’” “No! Sorry, I didn't mean ... I just spilled coffee all over my desk." “Allow me to take you out to dinner tonight. Nothing too fancy." Dinner with Doc French. Well, if everyone was going to talk about her and Ric, maybe she should really give them something to talk about. “Sure, Ric. How about seven?" “Seven's fine. I'll pick you up. And don't worry about wearing leather and boots. I have a car." “Don't tell me it's a Renault. I'd be terribly disappointed if you were to stop surprising me." Soft laughter floated over the phone line. “Oh, I don't think there's any danger of that. No, it's not a Renault. Listen, I know you're busy so I'll let you go. Seven, then." “See you then. Bye." God, what have I just done? Damn Marc Montoya and all men! In some perverse desire to strike back at Marc, she had just violated her number-one rule of dating. She no longer got involved with coworkers. She furiously yanked tissues out of the box at the corner of her desk and sopped up the puddle of spilled coffee, but the memories of the past were not so easily contained. Don't get involved with coworkers. Would having had such a rule in Milwaukee have saved her? Could anything have saved her from Curt Van Allen? She doubted it. He had been like a force of nature, unstoppable in his ability to beguile her into his bed. She had thought she was in his heart as well. As a member of the force, he had been one of her idols. She had trusted him. But he had betrayed that trust when he made the most private moments of their relationship fodder for squad car conversation. Gossip. Lies. When she had discovered that he had been indiscreet about their affair, she had struck back with a sexual harassment complaint. The Internal Affairs Division quickly got involved, and somehow the media got wind of the whole ugly mess. She had stuck it out with the Milwaukee Police Department for a few more years, not wanting to give up, not wanting the Curt Van Allens of the world to win, but in the end the stress had been too much to bear. She had never been able to regain the respect and credibility among her peers that she needed to do the job. Shadow Bay was to have been her new start. Marc Montoya had stood as a symbol of new hope as well. She had so badly wanted to give love a second chance. Small town values were different. Marc would be different—innocent of all the big city guile and so-called sophistication. But it had been she who was the innocent. She knew better now. Or did she? Hadn't she just accepted a date? Shelby wasn't quite sure why she had agreed to go out with Ric. Would she have consented to dinner if Marc hadn't angered her so just a moment before? Well, Marc wasn't going to run her life. She reached for the phone and started to punch in Ric's number. She would just cancel the date. Any excuse would do. She slammed the receiver down before the first ring completed. No. She would not give in to her fears. Ric wasn't a coworker. And this was just dinner, nothing more. It would be a relaxing evening, and, as Ric had said, she needed one badly.

**** Shelby actually managed to get through the afternoon without spending every moment thinking about Ric De Chaux. The county was being flooded with photos of Kyle Carver, the homicide victim, and spots on the evening news had been arranged with the local television stations. She actually was beginning to think that things were looking up with the case when she stepped into the small supply closet to get a new pen. She overheard a voice from the hallway. She was out of the speaker's sight, but she recognized the voice easily. Jason Rody. “If Cameron Ford was still sheriff, you can bet we wouldn't be under this microscope." The voice faded as Rody moved away down the hall, but she caught one more scrap. “...Cam knew how to deal with the media, that's for sure.” Marc Montoya. It was just as she had suspected. She was new to Shadow Bay, and she was a female. She had been in law enforcement for ten years, and nothing had changed from day one. Rules and regulations officially prohibited sexual discrimination, but it existed. She had experienced it enough times in Milwaukee, and it was no different here. It was just past five when Shelby stopped at Seline's desk to tell her that she'd be leaving for the evening. The clerk tossed her head, swinging her long, dark hair over her shoulder. Seline wore a black sleeveless top that accentuated pale arms that were almost as white as her face. “Cutting out early, huh?" “It's been a long week." Seline nodded, the silver glitter on her eyelids winking as her head bobbed up and down. “I understand. Well, enjoy your evening." Shelby smiled. Maybe Seline did understand, just a little. “I'll try. Hit me on the box if you need me." **** Shelby debated long and hard on what to wear. She never liked to dress too sexy on a first date. On the other hand, she wanted to look good. In the end she decided on a white camisole, a short black and white lace floral skirt, and, for modesty's sake, a black sweater. It was curve-hugging, not baggy, but it was still something to cover her bare shoulders. She carefully applied a moderate amount of makeup and topped the outfit off with her ruby pendant. Promptly at seven she heard a car in the driveway and looked out. A clean, shiny, forest green SUV rolled to a stop, and Ric eased out of the vehicle with the poise and elegance of a gymnast. She opened the front door and tried to maintain a casual attitude in the face of black trousers and an ivory shirt open at the neck that looked like pure silk. “Hi." “Good evening, Shelby." Never did three whispered words sound so good. They drizzled over her like icing, making her feel sticky and sweet and good enough to eat. He looked eminently edible himself. He wore his hair pulled back, his gold rim glasses sat on his nose, and a narrow gold chain hung around his neck. He looked so delicious that she didn't even care that he once again wore the hated dark glasses. “Come on in. I'm all set. I just have to grab my bag." Ric stepped into the living room, and Flash started chattering. “Pretty boy, pretty boy!" Ten-four on that, Flash. She picked up a black shoulder purse that was more kin to a backpack than an evening bag. Not the sexiest accessory, but she needed enough room for her cell phone, pager, sunglasses, wallet and badge, not to mention essentials like lipstick and a comb.

“Let's go,” she said to Ric, then to the bird, “Behave yourself while I'm gone, Flash." A long squawk followed them out the door. Ric said he wasn't familiar yet with what the town had to offer in the way of food and let her pick the restaurant. She wanted to get away from Shadow Bay's prying eyes, but on the other hand she didn't want to be too far away in case of an emergency. She settled on a country inn that was about ten miles up the highway into the next county. Tourist season was in high gear, and the inn had its share of summer people and “fudgies,” a sometimes affectionate, sometimes derisive, moniker the locals had dubbed years ago on vacationers who came to northern Michigan and purchased copious amounts of fudge. There were a few families in the inn, but most of the patrons were older couples. The hostess and waitresses were all young, however, and Shelby wasn't blind to the fact that every one of them turned their heads to follow Ric's progress as they were led through the dining room and seated. Even a good many of the mothers with kids and more mature women flicked surreptitious glances Ric's way. Shelby knew without a doubt that even in a room full of people their own age, Ric would stand out. If she ever had any doubts about the power of his presence, they were gone now. “Listen, Shelby, I'm on a pretty strict diet, so I can't eat restaurant food, but don't let that stop you from enjoying whatever you want to have." “You don't eat meat?” she ventured. She herself had spent a number of years experimenting with vegetarianism, and it had indeed been difficult to eat out. “No, I don't eat meat. But as I said, don't let that stop you." She didn't. She ordered a combo of steak and shrimp. She didn't eat out very often, and she planned to make the most of this outing, in every respect. “Ric, do you want to hear something funny?” Her fingers played with her napkin. “Sure." “There's already gossip going around the department that you and I are an item. Somebody saw us in the diner together, and someone even took note of us in the grocery store." One side of his mouth lifted. “Self-fulfilling prophecy. You heard the rumor, and lo and behold, here we are together." Shelby felt her skin flush. “I just don't like people speculating on my personal life. Especially people I have to work with. Doesn't it bother you?" “No. The foolish notions of ... people ... don't concern me." She was quiet for a moment, twisting a corner of the napkin around her finger. He didn't think the idea of the two of them was a “foolish notion,” did he? He was the one who had asked her to dinner. “I've been here two years now, but I can't get used to everyone knowing everyone else's business. In the city you're lucky to even know your next door neighbor's name." He tilted his head. “Look at it this way. Surely so many eyes and ears on alert is an aid to crime prevention." “You're right. Let's talk about something else. So how did a young guy like you from France end up in a place like Eidolon Lake? When people talk about the ends of the earth, Eidolon Lake has got to be one of them. Do you have relatives there?" He shook his head. “I don't think anyone's got relatives in Eidolon Lake. No, I needed a job, and I was willing to travel just about anywhere. I was particularly looking for the quiet of a small community, but you're right—Eidolon Lake was too remote, even for me. Shadow Bay is much more full of ... life." “What is it that you're hoping to find here? Peace and quiet?"

“That's a good part of it, yes. What about you? What brought you to Shadow Bay?" She cocked her head and one shoulder in unison. “The same thing that brought you, I guess. I was tired of the city. Too many crowds, too much violence, too much of everything except...” She caught herself. Love. But she couldn't say it. “...that which makes life worthwhile." Her dinner arrived, but Shelby found herself more interested in watching the subtle movements that transformed Ric's features from moment to moment. The small, almost secret smiles that lifted only one side of his mouth, the dimple that popped in and out like a moon on a cloudy night, the eyes that shifted, barely discernible, behind the gray lenses. He leaned forward, so close that if she did likewise, they could kiss. “And what makes life worthwhile for you, Shelby?" She hesitated, chewing slowly on her bite of steak to stall for time. It was a pretty intimate question, really, and one she wasn't sure she felt comfortable going into depth on at this stage of their relationship. Relationship. Does one date constitute a “relationship?" Jason Rody and Marc Montoya would think so. Hell, they already thought she had an affair going with the doctor. Still she hesitated. Maybe she didn't want to reveal what was truly important to her and find out that Ric's own genuine desires were vastly different. In any case, she wasn't ready to open herself to this man. Not yet. “What's the matter, Shelby? What are you afraid of?” He had lowered his voice, and his words throbbed like a heartbeat. Another question that was far too intimate. If ten years as a cop hadn't made her reluctant to allow any vulnerability to surface in front of strangers, then her handful of failed relationships had. And yet wasn't this man, so different from anyone she had ever met, worth a risk? She finished chewing on both her bite of steak and her thoughts, and she came to a decision. She slowly reached out her right hand, grasped Ric's glasses by the top and bottom rim of one lens, and gently tugged. If she was going to reveal herself, he would, too. He made no move to stop her. She pulled the glasses off and laid them carefully on the table. She stared. His eyes were as unusual as the man. They were amber, ringed by black lashes so thick it looked like he wore eyeliner. He was regarding her steadily, not blinking, and waves of chills, one lapping another, washed over her and through her. They were beautiful eyes, but as cold and unrevealing as the gray lenses. They made demands on her, but told her nothing about him. If his eyesight was so poor he couldn't see her, she couldn't tell, for the focus of his gaze seemed so sharp as to penetrate her very mind. “What are you so afraid of, Shelby?” he repeated, his voice as soft as the eyes were hard. The words seemed to flow through the breech his gaze had made, straight into the depths of her being. “Loss of control,” she whispered. With a strange, sinking feeling she realized she had just lost the thing she most feared losing. She fought against his invasion, shaking her head and tearing her sight from him. “Loss of control. Yeah. Sorry, it's a cop thing, I guess. No cop likes to lose control." “I understand. Believe it or not, I feel the same way. But surely you have more ... personal desires as well?" She was not going to be trapped again. She lowered her eyes and dug back into her meal. “Sure,” she said in between bites. “Don't you?" “Oh, most assuredly." It seemed a strange phrase from someone surely no older than she, but one that was strangely provocative. She ignored the invitation of his voice to look at his eyes again and kept her gaze lowered. For a change he wasn't wearing the ever-present leather gloves, and she stared at his hands. His fingers were long and slender, and his nails were shiny, almost as if he wore nail gloss. The fingertips of his right hand thrummed a steady, silent beat against the table. Her mind filled in the missing sound. Da-dum. Pause. Da-dum. Just like a heartbeat.

“I've made you uncomfortable. My apologies,” he said. That hint of innocence again. When he backed off, he was more irresistible than when he came on strong. This time she did look up, and she studied not only his eyes, but the face she could now see as a whole. “No, it's okay. It's just that there're some topics, with some people, I'd rather not be flippant or casual about." One side of his mouth curled up in that half-smile of his. “Do I detect a compliment buried deep in there somewhere?" She returned his smile. “Yeah, I guess so." “I think I'm flattered." “Hmm.” Her gaze dropped to his mouth, so perfect in its shape and so sensuous in the fullness of his lips. The lopsided tilt to his smile, however, saved his face from the staleness of total perfection. A cold piece of art, no matter how flawlessly rendered, was the last thing she wanted. She raised her eyes to his again. “Do I take it that you enjoy flattery?" “No more so than the next person." “Can you stand some more?" His smile widened, evening out his mouth a little. “I'm at your mercy. Fire away." “You have incredible eyes." “So I've been told." She dropped her gaze to her plate, feeling stupid. “Silly me. I suppose only about a million women have told you that." “Not quite a million." She braved a peek up at him through lowered lashes. There was no snugness or arrogance on his face. There was a quiet confidence, but it seemed to be a natural part of him, not something put on. “Not too many young, nice-looking women in Eidolon Lake, were there?" He shook his head and laughed. “No. Shall I follow that up with some flattery of my own?" God! For someone just out of the back woods, this guy is as smooth as silk. But was he as real as he appeared? “Go ahead.” Flattery was just flattery, but it had been ages since she had heard any that was sincere. “It's been a long, long time since I've met a woman as ... rich as you are." She laughed. “Rich? I'm far from rich." “I didn't mean wealth as in money, but as in beauty and strength." She had never experienced French charm before. It was like a drug, giving her an instant high. She gave him her sweetest smile as a thank you, taking it for what it was and not assuming any real truth. But it was a nice thing to hear nonetheless. Dinner ended too soon, and when he made no suggestion to go elsewhere, she made none either. He drove them back to her house, and she was quiet for most of the short drive, remembering why she detested first dates so much. She hated women who did nothing but tease and yank a man's chain, and yet she felt that's all she had done tonight. She hadn't really found out much of anything about Ric De Chaux, and she was sure he hadn't learned anything about her except that she was as much a shameless flirt as the next woman.

As much as she might be tempted to invite him into her house, she wouldn't. She had already given him a false picture of herself, but more importantly, she had no clear image of him other than that of a charming foreigner. The ride, like the dinner, was over quickly, and Ric pulled into her driveway and put the vehicle in park. “Ah, listen. I had a good time tonight. I needed a night out, and it was nice to relax. But it's been a long day, and I really need to catch up on some sleep." He took his glasses off and tossed them up onto the dash, then gazed into her eyes, tilting her face back to his with one hand when she tried to look away. “You try to deny your feelings, Shelby. Not only that, you try to bury them deep. But I can feel them, so don't worry about thinking you can ever mislead me. You can't." His hand moved to the back of her head and pulled her to him. She wanted to stop him, but his eyes were so arresting. And she did so want to kiss him. One kiss couldn't hurt. When his mouth took hers, all thoughts burst from her mind in an explosion of heat and softness. Nothing was left in her consciousness but wild feelings, all centered on what he was doing to her. There was no teasing or playfulness, but an insistence as pressing as his lips against hers. His mouth wasn't hard or hurried, but soft and slow, as if he had all night and was wholly confident of reaching his goal in the end. When his mouth released hers, she had enough time to draw air into her lungs, but not to think. Before she could fully catch her breath, though, his mouth captured her lower lip, and he drew on her, sucking gently. The feelings he evoked ate at her precious control, methodically destroying her will. Her hands moved to the back of his head, and she tugged at the tie that bound his hair. In a heartbeat his long hair was free, and the heavy strands slid forward and curtained their faces from the world. She tangled her fingers in hair which was as sleek and cool as spun glass. His hands pushed her sweater off her shoulders, then both his mouth and hands dipped lower on her body—his lips to her neck and his fingers to her waist. A part of her knew she shouldn't be doing this, but that part could do nothing more than sit on the sidelines and be a spectator. His long fingers splayed over her rib cage, moving languidly to cup the undersides of her breasts. She sucked in a sharp breath and threw her head back, exposing even more of her neck to lips and a tongue that seemed insistent in finding the sweetest spot to stop and linger. A roar thundered in her ears, first a living, breathing sound, like the cry of some great beast. When his mouth paused low on her neck, the roaring transformed again. This time the sound had a steady rhythm to it, like primitive music, like the blood rushing through her veins. The roaring took on a tinny, mechanical sound, repetitive and resolute. “Ric...” she breathed. “Ric, hold on. It's my phone." He released her, but slowly. She hiked her sweater back up, dug her cell phone out of her bag and flipped it open. “Cort.” What she heard quite effectively ruined the evening. She sighed. “Where?” She repeated the address out loud when she heard it. “Okay, I'll be there in ten minutes." She disconnected the call and looked at Ric, who had put his glasses back on. “I have to go. Somebody just tried to kill Lucius Moravich."

Chapter Five Ric grabbed her arm before she could slide out of the vehicle. If what he believed to be true was in fact the case, he needed firsthand information on the nature of Digger's injuries and who the suspect might be. “I'm going along,” he said. “That is, if you can stand more rumors. One look at how we're dressed and it won't take people long to put two and two together.” He was going along in any case, regardless of her answer. If need be, he'd simply compel her.

“All right. I can't worry about gossip now. You're a doctor, and Digger might need your help. Follow me—it isn't far." He nodded and watched as she swiveled out of her seat and hurried up the driveway as quickly as her high heels would allow. She had fully aroused him, but the threat of danger was better than a splash of cold water to cool him down. He tied his hair back once again, then backed the SUV down to the road to give Shelby room. When Shelby pulled out of her drive, he swung around to follow at a discreet distance. Secrets. Shelby had been right about small towns. There were precious few secrets to be kept. If he had wanted nothing more than anonymity, New Orleans would have been vastly preferable to Shadow Bay. In the case of New Orleans, though, or any metropolis for that matter, the crowds that ensured anonymity also were the very thing he yearned to avoid. Hordes of humans. With their mindless mob mentality, hordes of humans could be more foolish, unthinking and cruel in their collective power than any individual member of the Undead. When he had dismissed her worry over the gossip, he had spoken truly enough. With the power of his mind over humans, he had little to fret over. Yet he would have to be careful. The low profile he had originally intended to maintain was rapidly becoming an impossibility. The quicker he found out who was responsible for the murder, the better. The sun was just now teasing the horizon, setting the sky aglow with banners of red, orange, and pink. If this evening's attacker was one of the Undead, he was most likely a diurnal vampire. So far, the only day vamps in the area were himself, Judson Tuxbridge, and the mysterious Joel Branduff. Of course, there could be any number of other as yet undiscovered local rogues. Five minutes later Shelby pulled into the drive of an old house that, like so many others, sat on the edge of a huge wooded area. He parked on the road so as not to block her in, grabbed his doctor's bag from the back seat, and followed Shelby to the back yard. Thankfully it was a small group that huddled in the yard—one deputy, one resident, and the victim, Lucius Moravich. The deputy approached Shelby immediately upon seeing her and filled her in quickly on the incident. If the deputy wondered about either Shelby's outfit or the fact that she and Ric arrived at the same time, his expression didn't show it. Ric went to Lucius, knowing his heightened vampiric senses would be able to pick up Shelby's conversation with the deputy regardless of how hushed their tones were. Ric feigned complete attention to the victim while listening to the deputy. “I'm Dr. De Chaux, Lucius. Did you request medical attention?" Lucius shook his head. “I remember you from the other night, Doc. No, I'm fine. I told the officer I didn't need no ambulance." The deputy was telling Shelby that Lucius had described his attacker as a large man with dark hair, but that he hadn't gotten a good look at his face. “Where are you injured?” Ric asked Lucius, restraining his urge to immediately look beneath Digger's long, scraggly hair for a neck wound. Instead, he pulled on a pair of latex gloves. He didn't need the protection, but in this day and age it was standard procedure for officers and medical personnel whenever blood was present. If Ric didn't wear the gloves, it would be noticed. “It's just a scratch under my ear.” Digger held his hair back, and Ric took a look. Blood had run down the man's neck to stain his collar. There was a laceration, but two puncture wounds as well. Ric tore open a packet containing an antiseptic wipe and wondered how much the deputy had really seen under the blood. “Hold still, Mr. Moravich. I'm going to clean the wound. It may sting a little." Ric listened as the deputy described the victim's wound as a one-and-a-half inch laceration. Good. The fewer police reports floating around describing puncture wounds on necks, the better. Ric cleaned the wound and covered it with an adhesive bandage. “You're a lucky man. No stitches needed.” Luckier than you know. If the vampire hadn't somehow been frightened off, you'd be dead right now, Mr. Privy Digger. “I told you, Doc. It was nothing." Shelby approached the two of them, looking first at him and then at Lucius. “You got it bandaged already. That was fast." “It was very minor. He won't need stitches,” Ric explained.

The sheriff was still looking at Lucius, shaking her head. “Digger, what are you doing still poking around back yards? I told you to stop your digging." “I wasn't digging, Sheriff. I was just scouting." Ric and Shelby both glanced at the shovel nestled in the grass a few feet away. Shelby let out a long sigh that was obviously intended to relay her disapproval to Digger. Ric had the feeling the man wouldn't respond to any hints less subtle than a whack over the head with the tool in question. “Gee, Sheriff, I was only carrying the shovel for protection." The sheriff seemed to agree that the time for subtlety was past. “I don't care. Listen, Digger. You could have been killed tonight. No more digging, no more scouting, no more wandering the woods, and no more poking around yards, day or night. Got it?" Lucius doffed his baseball cap, ran a grimy hand through hair that looked even grimier, and stared at a spot near the tip of one worn suede boot. “I got it." Shelby sighed again, apparently not believing a word of Digger's assurance. She turned toward Ric, stepping close, as if for a private comment. Her scent, released by the warmth of the summer heat and the events of the evening, washed over him, but her words were all business. “This was minor, but it could have been very serious. I'm going to be here a while. I want to interview Lucius and the homeowner in detail, and I'm going to have my deputy search every inch of this yard. I don't see any need for you to hang around.” She was careful not to meet his eyes. Was she regretting what had happened in his vehicle such a short time ago? Well, he was not going to allow the brush off. He would know everything the police knew about what had transpired here tonight. One way or another. He cocked his head casually and put the fingers of one hand to his glasses, as if to adjust them. If she shook her head, he'd take the glasses off and let his eyes convince her in the traditional way of the Undead. “I've got nothing but time on my hands. I promise I'll stay out of your way. I might even be able to help." There was no head shake, but her gaze darted to her deputy, and when she spoke, her voice was a harsh whisper. “If you stay without a clear reason for doing so, it'll be just so much fodder for the rumor mill." “I can stand it if you can." Her eyes focused once more on him. “Ric, I can't deal with this right now." Enough is enough. He lifted his glasses, perched them on top of his head, and allowed the power of his eyes to capture her attention. “You will let me remain.” It was more than a suggestion, but as soon as he felt her mind acquiesce to his command, he felt a strange response in his own mind. Not triumph, as he might have expected, but regret. And shame. Regret and shame. Two words not normally found in the vampire's dictionary. Even so, the shame was relatively easy for him to understand. He was so much more powerful than this female, but more than that, he had two centuries of experience to draw on as opposed to her two plus decades of life. Manipulating her should be a breeze, and yet within two days he had resorted to compulsion twice. Harder to comprehend was the regret. Somehow he found himself taking no satisfaction in turning her will to his. It was one more reminder that his familiarity and understanding of humans had been sorely lacking. “Okay. You can stay." He let the glasses drop down. “I have a little more medical advice to give Lucius." She nodded and joined her deputy to give him instructions. Ric stepped over to Lucius Moravich, took him by the arm, and steered him toward the far edge of the yard. He casually took off the glasses again and hooked them by one bow to the opening of his shirt. “You've lost a little blood, Lucius. When you go home tonight, treat yourself to a juicy hamburger or a big steak. Keep that wound covered for a few days. Oh, and Lucius...” He turned slightly so that he could look Digger right in the eye. “When you

do look at the wound, you will see only a scratch. It was only a scratch. And one last thing. Take the sheriff's advice and stay out of the woods, with or without the shovel. Do you understand?" “Yeah. I understand.” Digger's eyes were very round and very dark. And he was very susceptible to suggestion. “Good man. I think the sheriff has some more questions for you." Everyone retired to the comfort and light of the homeowner's living room except the deputy, who remained outside to search the yard with his flashlight. Shelby questioned Lucius and the homeowner, Mr. Vickers, separately. The sheriff and her deputy were no novices. Ric had noticed the deputy standing between Lucius Moravich and Dan Vickers in the yard, preventing them from speaking to one another. Now, in the house, Shelby kept the two men apart. Ric was of some use, after all, keeping one man company while the other was being interviewed. After an hour, however, he said his good night to Shelby, satisfied that he had learned all there was to learn about what had happened earlier. There hadn't been much to the story. Digger's assailant had approached him from behind, unseen and unheard until Digger felt strong hands on him, one covering his mouth and the other across his chest, pinning his arm down. Apparently a neighbor's dog, a huge black shepherd, had wandered from his own yard into Mr. Vickers'. Dan Vickers had a large compost pile at the rear of his yard that always contained egg shells, corn cobs, table scraps, and other organic goodies that were irresistible not only to every wild critter of the woods, but every dog in the neighborhood. “General,” drawn by the aroma of fresh garbage, had started barking at the men. When the back door of the house had opened, the assailant had fled. Lucius had only seen a blur of dark clothes and dark hair. He estimated that his attacker had been at least six feet tall and well built, but he hadn't seen enough of the man's face to look at mug shots or direct an artist to come up with a sketch. As he pulled up to the Chicken Palace later, Ric was grateful that he had no visitors, welcome or otherwise, waiting for him. He needed to think. Think. Ric prided himself on the fact that he still had the capacity for rational thought. Most vampires, in passing to the Other Side, found all their human traits perverted. Thinking became nothing more than brooding or sulking—dark, glum, and ruled solely by emotions like jealousy, mistrust, lust, and anger. Through some fluke in his transformation, Ric had retained the ability to control the heat of his passions with logic's cool clarity. He knew it was one of the reasons he had been both a successful leader among the Undead and a successful doctor. As he entered the house, a flag of truth, normally buried as deep as his human memories, rose and unfurled, and his conscience whispered, Liar. Your pride and joy is a lie. It wasn't your transformation, it was your life as a human that dictated your eternity. It was those final months of horror and loss that killed all emotion, deadened all passion. Ric, in an uncharacteristic sweat, stripped off the silk shirt and trousers, the glasses, and the gold jewelry, and raced up to the tower room, slamming the door behind him. He knew from experience that when his mind allowed truth to taunt him, the tortuous memories would follow, and he would remember and relive the emotion and passion of his human days. He opened the tower window, gripped the sill with both hands, and drew deep breaths of the warm night air, focusing all his concentration on his breathing. Slow and steady ... slow and steady. It didn't work. The physical intimacy he had shared with Shelby earlier in the evening, however brief, had released the beast. The beast was that part of him that was pure, unadulterated one hundred percent vampire. It was the part of him that hungered, lusted, and ensured survival. It was his strength, his power, his lethal beauty. It was also that part of him which overran control, logic, and reason. The beast was necessary, for without it, he would die the True Death, but it wasn't always welcome. With the loss of control, the floodgates holding back the memories were battered and torn. The first memory seeped through. Paris, 1793 The fever that swept the land was worse than the plague. He could understand disease, even the most virulent and deadly, but the fever that turned so many individuals into but one tiny portion of a collective creature, just as mindless but so much more powerful,

was beyond his comprehension. This creature, the mob, was indiscriminating, relentless, and insatiable in its hunger for blood. He had been told that his little sister, with as much sunshine in her disposition as in her hair, was first in line for the guillotine. His two younger brothers, Adrien and Gerrard, had been next, followed by their mother, so gentle and quiet, yet so unforgettable in her beauty and grace. His father, le comte de Chaux, was the last to go and witnessed all those who went before. Ricard had told himself over and over in the years to follow that he had been lucky not to have seen what his father saw on that final day. Lucky, too, in that had he been there, he would have been helpless to do anything other than fill the empty spot between Gerrard and his mother—the spot reserved for the eldest son of le comte. Yet as much of a nightmare as all that was, it hadn't been the worst... Ric loosed an anguished scream into the night, so high-pitched that only other inhuman creatures could hear it. He raked his hands through his hair, but trying to maul the memories was as difficult as trying to deny the beast. He lost all track of time as he fought the images, driving them at last back into the darkest recesses of his mind. One day. That one day, so long ago, was the reason he had shunned human society for the two hundred plus years of his existence. It was the reason he had cultivated his cold, scientific demeanor. Human contact for others of his kind meant sustenance and entertainment. For him, though, humans meant only pain. Their presence either stirred a desire to avenge himself for the death of his family, or threatened to beguile him into caring for a creature he could never hold onto. Shelby, with her unadorned beauty, strength, and fighting spirit, had seduced him thoroughly, stirring both his beast within and the image of the man he pretended to be. She was as dangerous to him as an entire mob would be. A ringing sound vied with the voices in his head for attention, and after a few seconds he realized it was his phone. He reached for the tower room extension. “De Chaux.” His voice emerged somewhere between a rasp and a growl. “Tuxbridge. I just got a call from the sheriff. She wants to see me again, first thing tomorrow morning. You'd better know what this is about." Ric shook his head, trying to focus on the present. “Ah, the privy digger was attacked this evening. He gave a description of the suspect as tall, well-built, and with dark hair." “So? That fits a lot of people in Shadow Bay. Why is she singling me out?" Ric clawed at his hair, sweeping it back out of his face. “I don't know. Digger was bitten by one of us, but the sheriff doesn't know that. There won't be anything about puncture wounds in the police report, and Digger himself will think he was only scratched, nothing more." “Well, she's got some reason for wanting to see me,” Tux hissed. “Just go to the interview and play it cool. She doesn't have proof of anything." “Are you so sure of that? You'd better make sure." “I'll take care of the sheriff, don't you worry." It was only after he hung up the phone that he realized Tux hadn't actually denied responsibility for the attack. Either he presumed a great deal on Ric's faith in him, or he was, in fact, the assailant. **** Ric took a cold shower to cool both his body and his mind. There would be little relaxation, though, during the rest of the night. Every member of the Cristallia County's Undead Council called him on the phone. No one took personal responsibility for the death of the La Pointe man, but each was only too happy to bestow the credit on one of their brethren.

The two females blamed each other. Zada Sinclair told Ric that Eva Hazard was a hooker who lived for nothing but blood, sex, and games, all in equal measure. Eva, in turn, called Zada a cow with fangs who wouldn't know how to handle a man properly if she had all eternity. Ormie Kessler stated that in his humble opinion Lyle Livingston was the culprit. Lyle, he said, favored boys over girls, not that he, Ormie, saw anything wrong in that. “But Lyle was trailer trash in life, and, well, Doc, you know the old saying,” Ormie said. “A noclass human makes a no-class vamp." Everyone else blamed Ormie. Dory Kreech prefaced his “two cents,” as he modestly phrased it, with a disclaimer, saying he didn't want to get anyone in trouble, and of course he had no proof of anything, but he felt it was his duty to pass along his thoughts to the new Overlord. Dory then proceeded to yammer nonstop on how, as was plain to everyone, Ormie Kessler had let his job go to his head. Ormie thought of himself as a real police officer, not some casino rent-a-cop, Dory whispered. Ormie flashed his badge and biceps almost as much as Eva flashed her butt and boobs. Ormie's security job only added to the power trip of being a vampire. Now he not only had fangs, but a uniform and a gun. Ormie's swaggering braggadocio was clearly a cover-up for his inability to handle his power. Dory wound up his summation almost an hour later. “Besides, Doc,” he affirmed, not in the least out of breath, “Ormie hangs around with that bloodsucking slut Eva Hazard, and we all know what she does." Ric could almost see Dory sitting at the phone, his head nodding sagely and his free hand stroking his chin. “Thank you, Dr. Kreech,” Ric responded dryly. “Your input is invaluable." Dory seemed to take no note of the sarcasm, but purred in delight. “Oh, any time, Doc. I'm always happy to help out." Five minutes later, right on cue, Lyle Livingston called. “Hey, boss. You said to call if we had any..." Ric's patience was wearing thin. “Yes, Lyle. Who's number one on your hit parade?" Lyle hesitated in confusion. “Well, I certainly don't know who did it..." None of the group, with the exception of Tux, would provide enough wattage to light a closet. Ric's voice lowered with annoyance. “Of course not. Who do you want to tell me about?" “Ormie's got a chip on his shoulder big enough to use as a dumbbell. Dumbbell, yeah.” Lyle gave a small laugh at his joke. “Always has had it. He thinks he's better than the rest of us. He even challenged Jud for the position of adjutant last year. Ormie never wanted the responsibility—he only wanted the prestige of the title. Fact is, he's always wanted to go his own way. He's never wanted to be part of the melting pot with humans—never wanted to be middle-of-the-road or majority or mainstream. Ormie does what Ormie wants to do. And don't let his job fool you. He doesn't do it to fit in. He does it for the games and the power it affords him." “Thanks, Lyle. Your insight is very helpful." Lyle grunted. “Oh, and one more thing, boss. Ormie's been around here longer'n anyone ‘sides Jud. If anyone knows every hole in the woods, it's Ormie." Ric hung up the phone with a long sigh. It wasn't unusual for vampires to back stab. In fact, it was to be expected. Friendship and loyalty were simply not vampiric traits. Still, in a group this small he somehow had expected more cohesiveness. He hadn't mentioned the new attack to any of the callers. He would do that when he met with each of them in person. That way, he could look into their eyes and gauge their reaction, something he couldn't do over the phone. He had meetings with Eva Hazard and Ormie Kessler lined up for tomorrow night. On the surface, they seemed the most likely two in the group to get into trouble. The interviews were separately scheduled and would be one-on-one. He had learned long before observing Shelby Cort's interview method that such conferences were more reliable when done privately. Group discussion and the sharing of thoughts and comments tainted any statement made in such a setting.

Ric, wearing a pair of black shorts and a black robe, sat on his front porch and listened to the music of the night. Crickets sang, and somewhere nearby bullfrogs added a counterpoint to the buzz of the insects. He thought about the evening, but this time it was the attack that occupied his mind, not his time alone with Shelby Cort. He wasn't ready just yet to deal with the run-wild emotions that thoughts of Shelby set loose. The attack on Digger had occurred at sunset. Most nocturnal vampires could function at dusk and dawn with the aid of dark glasses and cover-ups, but it was Digger's description of his attacker more than the time of occurrence that narrowed the field of suspects. “Tall, dark, and well-built” effectively eliminated Ormie—short and stocky, Dory—short and slight, and Lyle—tall and thin. Blond Eva was definitely out, and Zada, even with her height and corresponding bulk, would only be mistaken for a man by a long stretch of the imagination. Judson Tuxbridge was the only match—Tux and the mysterious Joel Branduff, whose existence had not yet been corroborated by others in the group. It was well within Ric's rights as Overlord to satisfy himself by any means necessary of his adjutant's loyalty and motives. Tux might not like being questioned, but he could raise no legitimate objection. Tomorrow Ric would not only make sure Tux wasn't one of Shelby's suspects, but he'd do his own investigation into the mindset of his right-hand vamp.

Chapter Six Shelby was on her fourth cup of coffee, and it wasn't even nine o'clock yet. It seemed like her coffee consumption rose in direct proportion to her ever-diminishing hours of sleep. Yesterday had been another long day. It was close to midnight when she had finally been able to go home, and yet falling asleep hadn't been easy. For one thing, she wasn't used to conducting three-hour-long investigations in high heels. By the time she had kicked off the offending footwear, she had at least two blisters to vie with aching leg muscles for the title of sorest body part. But thoughts of Ric De Chaux and the way he had kissed her were better than the most powerful drug to make her forget about her aches and pains. The dinner date had been more mild flirting than anything else, and she really hadn't found out a whole lot more about the man, but it didn't matter. When she was with him, his presence seemed to drown everything else out. It wasn't just his accented voice that vibrated and purred like some animal, or even his extraordinary looks, but an aura that seemed to constantly press against her while at the same time pushing the rest of the world out. It was an energy, an unseen force, that surrounded her and penetrated her, like a chill breeze that sends shivers deep. This energy made her hot, not cold, but sank just as deep, into her mind as well as her body. He was a paradox to her, seeming both new and old to the world, at once a babe and an elder, like a very old soul reincarnated in a fresh, young body. On one hand he was all shyness and innocence, hiding his youth and good looks behind dark glasses, but at other times he was as seasoned as any sage, no secret unknown, no question unanswerable. He was in control, yet seemed always only a heartbeat away from an unleashed passion. What he did to her body was no puzzle at all. She wanted him. Period. Maybe it was the exotic amber eyes and thick, tawny hair, or maybe it was the long, lean body that exuded such power and grace. Perhaps it was just the strange feeling she got when he looked at her, or the way she felt when he touched her that wasn't strange at all, but made her feel as though she had known him for years instead of days. This morning had been no different. Her mind held the memory of his words, and her lips held the imprint of his kiss, as if they had just been together but a moment before. She gulped down more of her coffee, hoping the added caffeine would put a stop to her uncharacteristic fantasizing. And a fantasy was all it could be. She had made a mistake in letting his good-night kiss last night get out of hand. She didn't dare allow it to happen again. Besides, this daydreaming wasn't like her, and right now she didn't have time for it, pleasant though it was. All the added caffeine did was make her lightheaded. Just in time for Judson Tuxbridge's interview. Great. When he walked in five

minutes later, she shook her head to clear it and took a slow, cleansing breath. She invited him into her office, but left the door open. She wasn't sure if it was his six-foot frame or handsome features surrounded by waves of shiny, black hair, but his presence seemed to fill a room in exactly the same way that Ric's did. Maybe it was her. Maybe her unusual feelings were trumpeting the initiation of a new phase in her life as she approached the big three-oh. The big three-oh without a man in my life. When Jud left a half hour later, Shelby exited her office and watched him glide past the desks on his way to the hall. Every female clerk in the room—young and old, married and single—turned her head to follow his progress. Shelby could almost hear the sounds of feminine swooning in the dead silence of the moment. No, it wasn't her. There was definitely something about Judson Tuxbridge. The interview, with its charged atmosphere, had been uncomfortable. It also had been fruitless as far as the investigation went. She had asked him where he had been last evening, and when she did, it was as if the air was suddenly sucked out of the room. The simple act of breathing became difficult, and her dizziness increased. “Are you going to read me my rights, Sheriff?” Jud had asked softly. “No. You're not in custody, Mr. Tuxbridge." His green eyes glittered at her. “But I'm a suspect for something that happened last night?" She gave him one of her very practiced cop smiles. “Lucius Moravich was attacked. It could have been serious, but the subject was apparently scared off. You match the description Lucius gave." Jud smiled back at her, but his cat-green gaze drifted over her with a look that was at the same time detached and watchful—in short, a good imitation of what she called the “cop look.” She didn't like it directed at her. “Can't be much of a match, Sheriff, or you'd arrest me. But then it wouldn't be a match, because I didn't do it." Jud had stated he had been home all evening, but he hadn't had any visitors who could corroborate his story. Still, he was right— she had no proof. Digger's description had been too general. The day went downhill from there. During the day shift, Marc Montoya gave her long, sideways glances that were none too friendly. Was he still upset over their conversation of the day before and her reluctance to follow his advice concerning Ric? When the early shift deputies came on duty at four in the afternoon, Shelby imagined that every whisper and laugh shared among the boys was at her expense. Maybe it was the gossip about her and Ric that made her paranoid. Maybe it was the memories of Milwaukee. Whatever the reason, she was used to being the target of conversation at work. It came with the territory of being a high-ranking female in a workplace full of men, but today it bothered her more than usual. The media and district commissioners were still keeping the pressure on, citizens like Dan Vickers were complaining about a lack of protection, and other citizens like Jud Tuxbridge were taking offense at being questioned. When Jason Rody and Marc Montoya sent furtive glances her way, she could almost guess their thoughts. It was as if they thought it was okay to have a female sheriff as long as nothing happened in Cristallia County, but now that there was a major crime to be solved, they wished for a man who could take charge. I'm just tired, she thought. She couldn't wait for the day to end, and the only thing that bolstered her during her final few hours of work was the thought that she had the next two days off. That and the hope that Ric would call. **** Shelby really needed someone to be in her corner right about now, and it seemed like the only one who was willing to support her was a man she hadn't even known five days ago. When her phone rang just before five o'clock, it was one call she was happy to take. Ric asked about the case before anything else, though, and she was vaguely disappointed, answering him with a brevity that

bordered on curtness. “What's wrong, Shelby?" “Nothing. I'm fine,” she replied automatically. No, you're not fine. “No, I'm just ... I don't know ... tired, frustrated, angry..." “Let me pick you up after you get off duty. You can tell me everything that's happened." His words were like buoys that lifted her shoulders and her spirits. “Pick me up at my house at six. Casual, though, this time. My feet are still killing me from last night." “You got it. See you then." Shelby truly loved her job, but she was never so glad to leave the county building as she was this day. She took a quick shower at home and dressed in a white tank top that had black and red beads along the neckline, then added her gold chain with the ruby teardrop pendant as a finishing touch. The white showed off a modest tan that she wished were darker, and the body-hugging material showed off other assets that she also wished were more ample. She seldom dressed for men, but she couldn't help hoping that Ric would like what he saw in spite of her slenderness. Her doorbell rang promptly at six, and she silently thanked God for someone she could count on to be true to his word. When she opened the door, she decided she wouldn't need dinner tonight. Ric looked good enough to eat. He wore jeans, boots, and a butter-colored mesh knit shirt that conformed to his torso like a latex glove on a hand. The mesh weave was loose enough for her to be able to tell he wasn't wearing anything underneath, and she felt a wave of heat wash over her at the image her mind conjured at the thought of his bare chest. When she got around to raising her eyes to his face, she saw he was wearing different glasses than before. These were darker, true sunglasses, not the self-darkening pair he had previously worn. She fervently hoped that he was wearing his contacts, because she had every intention of getting him to lose the glasses at some point in the evening. His hair was tied back, as usual, but she wasn't worried. That, too, could be easily remedied. “I've got the bike. I hope you don't mind." She looked past him to the shiny red cycle perched at the top of the driveway. “It doesn't look big enough to hold two." “It's big enough. Besides, it's been almost two years since I lost a passenger." She stared at him. One corner of his mouth curled. “It's a joke, Shelby. I've been riding for years. I wouldn't let anything happen to you." Doc French telling jokes. Her life was taking more and more left turns by the moment. She walked with Ric to the bike and looked dubiously at the machine with its modest leather seat. It didn't look large enough to hold two people, and she didn't relish bouncing along on the luggage rack that was mounted over the flared rear fender. Ric straddled the cycle and started it. “Trust me,” he said, turning his head toward her. The rumble of the engine was nothing compared to the purr of his voice. “Get on." She swung her leg over the bike, and her feet found the passenger foot pegs. Almost as quickly her hands found their way around his waist, and when Ric reached the road and opened the throttle, her grip tightened automatically. He didn't push the bike above forty-five miles per hour, but the ride was exhilarating nonetheless. The balmy air whipped at her, stinging her skin and whipping her hair across her eyes, but more powerful than the rush of air was the feel of Ric's hard body against hers, as hot as the wind. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to the thick mass of his hair held in place at the back of his neck. His hair felt cool and smooth against her skin. Everything else felt wonderfully warm. In ten minutes that passed much too quickly, they were at the lakefront. There were a few families and a number of kids, but the

small park was by no means crowded. Shelby and Ric sat on a bench at the edge of the sandy beach. The evening sun glimmered off the gently rolling waves of Lake Michigan, sending gold sparks to dance on the crests. Ric laid his arm along the top of the bench just behind her shoulders. “So tell me what happened today to make you so upset." As glad as Shelby was to have someone to talk to, and as close as she had become to Ric in the past few days, it was still hard to open up. It was a long time habit to keep her feelings to herself. Revealing too much made her feel vulnerable, and vulnerability was the one feeling she hated as much as losing control. She took a deep breath. “It's just the pressures of the job. And this homicide. Small towns aren't used to this kind of thing happening. The public doesn't understand the work involved. All they know is TV, where all it takes is an hour to solve a case. Cops are supposed to be miracle workers." “And doctors." She looked at him. He took off the sunglasses, tossed them to the far end of his side of the bench, and scooted closer to her. The hand that had rested along the back of the seat rose to smooth her windblown hair, and those unusual amber eyes ringed by black seemed to fasten onto hers like buttons slipping into holes. She felt caught, unable to look away. “Yeah, doctors, too. I think that's why I can talk to you about this. Not many people would understand." He nodded. “So no progress at all? What about the assault on Lucius Moravich?" She stared into his beautiful eyes. She felt like telling him everything. “I talked to Judson Tuxbridge again. He fit the description of the assailant. Jud said he was home all evening." “So he's not a suspect?" “Suspect or not, I've got no proof. I can't even do a lineup. Digger said he didn't get a look at the man's face." “Are you going to question Jud again?" “Not unless some additional evidence pops up." Ric looked away and gazed out over the water, his hand slipping back down to grip the wooden bench. She expected him to squint at the low sun, but he didn't. He didn't even blink. His eyes panned the horizon slowly, and Shelby was reminded of stories she had heard from elderly residents of Shadow Bay who saw mirages over Lake Michigan. Some swore they could see the traffic and harbor lights of the Wisconsin shoreline. Others claimed to see shapes on the horizon. All insisted the images were real, not illusory. What vision were Ric's golden eyes seeing now? His eyes shifted back to hers. “Do these rumors about you and me bother you?" The personal question startled her. He seemed like two different men. As the doctor, he was all business. When the glasses came off, though, a very warm man seemed to emerge from the dark shadow of the cool, confident doctor. “Yeah. I don't like rumors." “I don't either. I've been the target of a few myself." She scrunched her brows together. She so badly wanted to learn more about him. “Is that why you left Eidolon Lake?" He smiled. “No.” He stroked her hair again, and his gaze dropped to her neckline, where she wore her ruby pendant. His fingertips grazed her cheek, and he turned his hand to run the pad of his thumb down her neck to the base of her throat. He rubbed the ruby between his thumb and forefinger then caught the gold chain between his fingers and followed it to the nape of her neck. She couldn't breathe, and the sudden pounding of her heart drowned out the shouts and screams of the playful children.

Ric lifted his head, and his eyes found hers. “Do you want me to stop calling you?” His words washed over her as softly and insistently as the lapping of the water on the beach. “No. I think I need you in my life right now.” She reached behind his head, stripped the band out of his hair, and pulled a thick strand to her face possessively. “Don't stop." “Stop what? Calling you or touching you?” His voice was little more than a whisper. “Either. Both." She tugged on his hair until he leaned forward and obliged her with a kiss that was so long and deep that she thought of another Michigan water myth—that of the bottomless lake. Bottomless. That was exactly what it felt like. He was pulling her farther and farther down into a dark abyss with no bottom, no end. By the time he broke the kiss, she was shaking. He drew her into his arms, and she laid her head against his chest, content to hold on to something strong and firm. “You're tired,” he whispered. “Just tired. Everything'll look better when you've had some sleep." She nodded, rubbing her cheek against his mesh shirt. “I can sleep late tomorrow. I have the next two days off. “Spend tomorrow evening with me. Get caught up on sleep, run errands or whatever you need to do, then spend the rest of the day with me." She shifted her position, curling herself so that she was half on his lap and half on the bench, but so that she could see his face. She played with his hair. It was so long that it hung halfway down his upper arm, past the bottom of his short sleeves. “I'd like that. There's a Moonlight Madness sale downtown tomorrow night. Have you ever been to one?" He shook his head, letting out a shaky breath that was almost as quivery as she felt. She wasn't used to making strong men quivery. She decided she liked the feeling. She singled out a thin strand of hair so light as to be blond and wrapped it around her finger. “Enough about me and my problems. I want to know more about you. Do you still have family in France?" “No.” His voice was so soft she could barely hear it. “They all died a long time ago." “I'm sorry. I've lost family, too.” She knew from her experience as a cop that it was one thing to be around dead strangers, but quite another thing when the loss was that of a friend or family member. She fished around for a change of subject. “So how come a good-looking guy like you isn't married? Eidolon Lake aside, I'm sure you've known lots of pretty girls in your life." “My profession proves an obstacle, as I'm sure yours does for you." She would never have thought so five days ago, but maybe she had a few things in common with Ric after all. “Never been married? Or engaged?" Another hushed “no” was his only answer. She sat quietly in his embrace and watched the ripples and swells of the lake. It was a soothing sight, and she would have been content to nestle in his lap all evening. A whisper brought her out of her daze. "Hunger." She stirred in his arms. “What?" He cleared his throat. “You hungry?"

“No." He rose from the bench easily, holding her then setting her on her feet. “Let's go." “Where?” In spite of the attraction and intimacy she felt with him right now, she wasn't sure she was ready for Ric to take her home with him. “Just for a ride. Don't you trust me?” He grabbed his sunglasses and the tie to hold back his hair. She smiled. Trust wasn't a thing as easily embraced as a comforting moment on a park bench. He took her on a half-hour ride along the back roads of Cristallia County, not racing, but taking the many turns and inclines in a leisurely fashion. Shelby was just happy for the excuse to hold on to Ric so tightly, and when he pulled into her driveway, she felt strangely disappointed. She wasn't ready for more, yet she longed to be with him. He shut off the engine, but she didn't move. After a moment, he slid off the bike, taking her with him. He escorted her the short distance to her front door. Holding her close, he said, “Look, you're exhausted. If I did anymore right now you'd hate me later on. Come on, admit it. You would." She looked up at him. “Hate you. Yeah." He kissed her, and she fell again into that murky, dark pool, sinking deeper and deeper until he released her. “I'll call you tomorrow afternoon. We'll do whatever you want. I'm game for Moonlight Madness.” When he smiled at her with the dark glasses in place, he no longer looked like the warm man. The shadow of the doctor was back, and the smile took on a cold cast. She shivered, and was glad for once that she couldn't see his eyes. **** Ric made it back home, but he was shaking by the time he arrived. He went inside just long enough to take off his shirt and glasses before returning to the front yard. He needed space and air to breathe, and not even the wide open windows of the tower room or the screened porch could afford him what he needed right now—to be part of the night, free and unrestrained. He had once again been on the verge of losing his control with Shelby Cort. He thought that the increased exposure to her would accustom him to handling his baser instincts, but it didn't seem to work that way. If anything, she aroused him more and more each time they met. It was old fashioned physical arousal, but it was also the bloodlust. He wondered which was more agonizing in its denial. But this last meeting had been necessary. He'd needed to know what she had wanted with Judson Tuxbridge, and if she considered him a suspect in either the killing of Kyle Carver or the attack on Lucius Moravich. Tux appeared to be safe. She had no evidence to pursue him further. Ric had seen no need to compel her again. Besides, it seemed that the times he had compelled her in the past had only created more problems than they solved. Be truthful with yourself. The thought came from what passed for vampire conscience—the tiny voice that reminded the Undead that, while it was standard procedure to lie to and deceive both humans and other vampires, survival depended on being truthful to oneself. If he were to tell the truth, he would admit he saw Shelby because he wanted her. Every other reason was just an excuse. The memory of her pressed tightly against him on the bike and of her coiled in his lap like a contented cat stirred him all over again. And when he remembered the sight of her ruby pendant clinging to the base of her neck like a drop of blood, uncontrollable hunger seized him. He needed to feed. It had been too many days since he had had fresh blood. It was still early. He had time to go out in search of a source before Eva or Ormie arrived for their one-on-one meetings. With urgency now, Ric ran inside to put his shirt back on. When he pulled the front door open to leave again, a stranger stood before him. Driven by his hunger, Ric would have thought the arrival of a stranger on his doorstep to be pure providence. Except for one thing.

It wasn't alive.

Chapter Seven “I hear you've been looking for me,” stated the stranger. The creature was almost as tall as Ric, and his jeans and sleeveless shirt displayed the kind of exaggerated muscular physique found in only a gym or a prison. But Ric didn't concern himself with either the man's height or bulk. He did take note, though, of black hair as shiny as a raven's wing, cobalt blue eyes that glowed with an inhuman fire, and pale skin that gleamed like frosted glass. These were the telltale signs of vampiric age and strength, and meant more than all the muscles of the vamp's formidable body. Ric knew three things immediately—that this being was at least two hundred years old, that by Tux's description he was the elusive Joel Branduff, and that Ric, in his present state of hunger, was at a distinct disadvantage. Branduff couldn't have appeared at a worse time. Ric's self-control, command over his vampiric attributes, and cool dispassion were all like disobedient children— unresponsive and running wild. Even so, he was of no mind to make things easy for this creature. He resisted the impulse to show his teeth to the stranger. Fang-baring was as much a juvenile display among the Undead as mooning and flashing was among humans. “Looking for you? Don't play games with me. I don't even know you." “Don't you? Come, now. Who's playing the games?" The unruly child named Patience was joining his brothers in waywardness. “Who are you, and what do you want?” Ric's question was almost a growl, relaying more by its tone than in the words. Challenge. Warning. Ric hoped the stranger would heed the message. A life-and-death struggle with another vamp during the first week on the job was not something that looked good on an Overlord's performance evaluation. “I'm Branduff, as I'm sure you've guessed. A little bat whispered in my ear that you've been searching for me, even going so far as to invade my old haunt on Dead Creek Drive. I know who you are—the famous ex-Paramount Doctor Death. Well, you don't look like much to me, and I know you no longer have fiends in high places, as they say. I also don't fancy you hunting me down like some damn enforcer when I haven't broken any of our laws." Ric smiled, a cold sneer that stopped just short of a full-blown snarl. The bloodlust was racing through his veins, and he could feel the heat and abandon building in his body by the moment. “If you hadn't decided to play the role of maverick bad-boy, I wouldn't have had to go looking for you." “The decision to avoid your silly little council meetings is a personal choice, not a crime." “I didn't say it was a crime. But when I need to talk to all the Undead in the county and you decide instead to play hide-and-seek, you bring the consequences down on your own head. So don't blame me for your displeasure in being hunted." Branduff spread his arms wide. “Well, I'm here now, Your Grace. What do you want with me?" Normally Ric wouldn't respond in kind to such insolence, but his beast, urged on by the bloodlust, wasn't about to allow such disrespect to go unpunished. “Tell me, Mr. Branduff, are you a hotspur by nature, or just stupid?” Before the creature could answer, Ric grabbed him by the neck and hauled him off his feet. Branduff's neck was thick, but Ric's fingers were like talons, digging deep into muscle. “If you know Doctor Death, my friend, you know what I can do. This hand can heal, but it kills just as easily, and if you have any doubts about the power of the Hand of Death, I'll be only too glad to give you a demonstration." Though held fast, the man didn't squirm, and he made no sound of surrender. His words were strained, but clear enough as he said, “Yes, I know what you can do, De Chaux, and you don't scare me. I came here of my own free will. Unhand me, and I'll tell

you what you want to know." Ric threw the man's body across the yard. Branduff hit the ground hard, but rolled to his feet. Just as quickly, Ric flew to the edge of the yard and pulled a small sumac out of the ground by its roots. A demonstration of the Hand of Death was in order. He held the shrub as he spoke, turning it so that it held Branduff's attention. “A body was unearthed earlier this week in the old privy hole of a house on Salt Lick Road. The body was drained of blood. I don't give a damn about the human. What I do care about is protecting our kind against evidence the human law enforcers might find that would put us all at risk. And I care about ensuring that this doesn't happen again.” By the time Ric finished speaking, all the leaves on the sumac had darkened and withered, and the flower clusters were as hard and brown as pine cones. He dropped the dead plant to the ground and crushed it under his boot. “Did you do this thing?" Branduff stared at the dead tree and then spit on the ground. “Your little side show is meaningless. You can't kill me like that. Even if you could, it's forbidden." That was true enough. It was forbidden for the Undead to prey on each other with deadly force. Beings of such power, with no morality or conscience, needed something to balance the scale in order to prevent the mass destruction of vampirekind. That balance started with members of the hierarchy like himself—Paramounts and Overlords—and extended to the network of enforcers throughout the world. If an Overlord were to engage in a deadly battle, a high-ranking enforcer would be sent to investigate. Perhaps even the Directorate would get involved. It was not a pleasant thought. True, Branduff was a rogue. Perhaps Ric could kill him and get away with it, but such thinking was pure arrogance. How many humans committed murder thinking the same thing, only to find themselves in prison down the road? Perhaps Branduff traveled with a rogue pack. No, killing was too risky. Still, it didn't hurt to bluff. “Oh, I think I could send you to the True Death easily enough, but it would be much more satisfying to just render you insensible— to turn you into the vampire equivalent of a vegetable. I ask you again—did you do it, Mr. Branduff?" “I did, and it was as poor a feast as I've ever had. He was small and scrawny, and his blood was poisoned by enough drugs to fill a pharmacy." “Why did you kill him? You're no child to be dropping your food and making a mess." Branduff shrugged. “I had nothing to do with it. The human was stoned. He fell and hit his head. But I wasn't about to let a fresh body go to waste, so I took advantage of the free meal. All I did was feed from him and put him in the hole." “How did you know about the hole?" A nod to the woods. “I did construction here last year. I know a lot of yards quite intimately." Ric sighed as his blood slowly cooled. Everything Branduff was saying did seem to fit with what Ric knew. The victim had received a blunt trauma force to the head, and Tuxbridge had mentioned that Branduff had helped him do construction work in the area. “No sanctions this time, but one—stay out of my county and do your dining elsewhere. If there's anymore trouble in Shadow Bay or Snoshoe Harbor, I'll come looking for you. That's a promise from le docteur la mort. Now get out of here." Branduff smiled, showing lots of teeth. “Glad to. This place stinks of chickens." Ric's simmering blood flared at the slur, and he wanted nothing more than to truly wring Branduff's neck, just like killing a chicken, but his control somehow pieced itself together enough to stay his hand. He waited, the weapon in question fisted at his right side, and watched Joel Branduff glide down the driveway to the road. Ric stood his ground long enough to make sure the man drove off, then retreated inside. He grabbed his phone and called Tux. “Tuxbridge."

“It's Ric. Joel Branduff was just here. He found out I'd been looking for him, and he confessed to burying Kyle Carver. Apparently Branduff didn't like the idea of my tracking him." There was a slight hesitation. “He confessed? Good. What else did he say?" “He said that he didn't kill the human, but that the man fell and hit his head. Branduff claims he merely took advantage of the situation to feed, then hid the body in the privy hole he knew about from his stint as a construction worker last year." “Do you believe him?" “I have no reason not to. It won't do anything to put a halt to the sheriff's investigation, but with no new evidence or leads, the investigation should die a natural death. Tux, do me a favor. Cancel my interviews with Eva Hazard and Ormie Kessler for tonight. And I don't want any meetings tomorrow night, either." “All right, if you're sure about this." Ric was in no mood to have his orders questioned. “Just do it, Tux." “Done.” Tux's reply was curt. Ric hung up and let loose with a string of profanities in French so long it could reach from the Chicken Palace to downtown Shadow Bay and back again. He often reverted to his native language under stress, but all the zuts and merdes in the world couldn't ease the frustration he had felt since arriving home after dropping Shelby off. The confrontation with Branduff had been a disaster, there had been something in Tux's voice that Ric hadn't liked, and he didn't know what he was going to do about Shelby. And hunger still gnawed at him with sharp teeth, shredding every competing thought so that only one was left. He needed to feed. An hour later he returned home from his foraging expedition. Shirtless again, he ascended to the tower, but instead of cloistering himself in the tiny tower room, he climbed all the way up to the widow's walk. It was a small perch, but the expanse of the outdoors and the height of his roost gave him a sense of freedom and sovereignty that, however temporary, was a welcome feeling. He had fed. He wasn't satisfied, but at least he had been able to take the edge off his craving. Unlike the younger members of the Cristallia County Council, who needed human blood and frequent feedings, Ric was able to sustain himself largely on animal blood. Even for him, though, there was nothing as totally gratifying and enjoyable as human blood. It wasn't so much the fluid itself as a nourishing elixir, but the experience. It was the stealing of the animating force, the life essence, the energy and passion of a being with a heart and a spirit. It was the one thing that mortals possessed that the Undead, with all their power, immunity, and immortality lacked—the élan vital, the divine spark. And no animal could provide that particular spark. Only the human spark lit a soul, and it was the taking of the soul-spark that was so sweet. Ric, in his decades of seeking escape from the pain of his human memories, had very effectively catacombed himself among the dead and Undead. But the one thing he had never been able to run away from was the acknowledgment that he needed the one thing he feared—human contact and human blood. Even now he didn't like to admit it, but he was no different from Joel Branduff, Eva Hazard, or Ormie Kessler. He needed and craved the lifeblood of humans. He had managed to deny himself again tonight, limiting his feeding to animal blood, but his self-congratulation was hollow. The day was coming, and coming swiftly, when he would need to feed long and deep, like his brethren, from a human. Images of Shelby's garnet-colored hair, glittering in the sun with red highlights, pulsed through his mind, teasing and tormenting him. Red sparks. The red spark of life. He pushed the image away, but it was immediately replaced by the vision of a teardrop ruby against flawless skin. The facets of the ruby winked at him over and over, like a red strobe light, until all he saw was blood on her neck. He squatted at the edge of the roof, gripping the short railing, and cried out into the dark. But the wind had shifted with the coming of a front, and the breeze blended the sound with the existing night music and carried it away. The air cooled, the breeze stiffened, and the buffeting chill felt good on his face and chest. The wind by turns streamed his hair behind him and whipped it across his face, but he wasn't bothered. The unstable atmosphere and the threat of a storm suited his mood, and he sucked in deep breaths of

the tumultuous night air, watching the swaying branches of nearby trees dip and swing like long-limbed dancers. Low, hoary clouds, paler than the sky but darker than the moon, lumbered over the bay and headed east, extinguishing the stars from view. Ric rose, stepped over the railing, and dropped lightly to the roof below. He traversed the slope until he came to the juncture of the base of the tower and the second story roof. He nestled into the pocket created by the angled surfaces, closed his eyes, and opened all his other senses. The air had grown heavy, almost oppressive, and he could taste the rain on his skin long moments before it actually started falling. He could go to Shelby now. She was tired and vulnerable, her will weakened by the events of the week. And her desire for him was as great as his for her. She would not refuse him. He could make love to her all night long, hard and fast to start, then over and over again, slowly and sensuously, until they were both sated and content to lie still. He could even reach deep into her mind and compel her to think of the experience as nothing more than an erotic bedtime fantasy. She would wake in the morning and think only that she had just had the most fantastic dream of her life. The downpour started in earnest, pounding the roof with rivets of rain that stung like biting insects. Ric didn't care. The water bullets felt good, cooling both his mind and body. No, he wouldn't visit Shelby tonight. Creating a nighttime fantasy for her would be easy—too easy. He hadn't waited this long for a female like Shelby to be merely part of a dream. If he was going to have her, he would have all of her, and she would have more than a vision that disappeared with the daylight. He just had to be patient a little longer. He opened his eyes, blinking against the rainwater streaming down his face. Swords of silver lightning thrust at the ground, followed by bellows of angry thunder that seemed to mock all the lowly inhabitants of earth, himself included. He didn't cower from the storm's fury, but laughed as he dropped down to the porch roof and then the ground. He was le docteur la mort, and he had survived for more than two hundred years, dodging the treacherous machinations of mortals and immortals alike. He hadn't ascended the hierarchy to the Directorate, but he was nevertheless one of the most powerful vampires in the world. He had mastered the power of life and death, and he wouldn't let a cocky rogue like Joel Branduff or a lone human like Shelby Cort defeat him. His hair was plastered to his face, shoulders, and back, and his jeans were soaked clear through to his skin. The wet, sandy soil sucked at his boots, but he felt better than he had in a long, long time. It was only hours later, after he had showered and changed that his mind was able to focus on more than just Shelby Cort. Joel Branduff rose to mind, and what formed weren't pretty thoughts. Ric wanted to kick himself for how he had bungled the confrontation with Branduff. If he hadn't been so hungry and his beast so roused, he would have interrogated Branduff thoroughly instead of simply wanting to exert his dominance over the other vampire. There were so many questions he should have asked. Branduff may not have answered all of them, but he should have at least asked if Branduff was the one who had attacked Lucius Moravich. And regarding the La Pointe man who had died, he should have asked how and where Joel had met the man, and what the two of them were doing when the man “fell.” And he hadn't done anything to verify Branduff's story. He should have demanded Branduff's submission to Ric's mind. There were very few vampires strong enough to hide the truth when Ric's insistence demanded it, and he doubted very much that Joel Branduff was one of those few. Other questions plagued him as well. Where was Branduff now living? If he wanted another face-to-face meeting, how would he go about locating the man? And who had tipped Branduff off that he had been searching for him? The meaningless show of force in demonstrating the Hand of Death by killing the plant had been too high a price to pay. He hadn't gotten anything in return except for a canned story that was in all probability nothing but lies. Ric finally fell asleep just before dawn, his final thought that the next evening would be a better one. After all, anything involving Shelby Cort and Moonlight Madness had to be a good thing. **** He woke late that morning, and his first waking thought was a repeat of his final thought before falling asleep. Shelby. He called her house and was not surprised when he got her answering machine. He was sure that she had lots of errands to get caught up on. He left a message asking her to call him as soon as she got in. He busied himself with paperwork at his office and saw a couple of new patients with minor ailments, but his eyes were never far from the clock. When three o'clock came and went, he called her home number again, but got nothing more than the same recorded welcome on her machine. He left a second message, but didn't wait

for a return call. As soon as he hung up, he called the sheriff's office. “Cristallia County Sheriff's Department. This is Seline. How may I direct your call?" He hated feeding the rumor mill, but it couldn't be helped. “Is Sheriff Cort in? This is Dr. De Chaux." “I'm sorry, Doctor. She's out on the road. Can I leave a message for her?" Out on the road? Something new must have happened, and whatever it was, it couldn't be good. “Have her call me at my office when she gets in.” He left his number. It was nearly two hours later when Shelby called him. He had just about been ready to head home. “Oh, God, Ric, I'm so sorry! It's been a wild day. We got our first really good lead. A bartender at an out-of-town sleaze joint recognized our victim from a photo on TV. He says the guy was a regular for a couple of weeks, but even so probably wouldn't have remembered him except that the guy made a big scene with one of the strippers. We've been trying to track her down all day, but so far no luck." Ric's blood ran cold. Stripper? He had to find out more. “Strip joints in Shadow Bay? I didn't think such places existed here." “It's a place called the Diamond Stud on Firelake Road. We have a name and address on the stripper, but she's not answering the door. She's supposed to work tonight. We're sitting on her house now. If she leaves, we'll get her." The Diamond Stud. A stripper. It was too much of a coincidence. “Who is she, Shelby? Is there any way I can help?" There was a slight hesitation on the other end. “Ah, Ric, I'm sorry, but I can't give out her name. She hasn't been charged with anything yet. We don't even know for sure if she's involved with the murder. Oh, and I'm going to have to cancel our date for tonight. If this girl surfaces, I'll be busy with interviews. If not ... well, I'm beat. I got called in early this morning, and..." “Hey, it's okay. You don't have to apologize. I understand." “Maybe we can get together tomorrow. The Moonlight Madness sale continues all week." “I'll call you tomorrow afternoon, then. Good luck on the case." Ric hung up the phone on the lie, giving it a feeling of finality. If Shelby's investigation hadn't involved his brethren, he would have sincerely bidden her all the luck in the world. But if his suspicions were true, her success would mean disaster to the Cristallia County Council. He wasted no time in hanging his “closed” sign in the window and locking the office. By the time he hit the highway, urgency drove him to open the throttle on the cycle all the way. French profanities burst forth and were lost on the wind—not because the speed limit on the road restrained his velocity, but because the bike itself did. The old Peugeot had a top speed of seventy miles per hour in its prime, but nowadays he couldn't get the little engine to push the bike past sixty. Still, he was home in less than ten minutes. Surrounded by the peace and privacy of the Chicken Palace, he called his adjutant. “Tuxbridge." “Listen, my friend—we have problems. Big problems. The sheriff is looking for one of the strippers from the Diamond Stud in connection with the murder, and I'm afraid it's Eva. If it is, the cops have a plant on her house now. When she comes out tonight to go to work, they're going to take her in for questioning. I hate to think about all the possible consequences of such an event." “I thought you were going to take care of the sheriff, once and for all.” Tux's voice was low with antagonism and warning, and Ric got the distinct impression that Tux was more upset with his Overlord than by the news itself. “I can't control her every future thought. This is something new and couldn't have been anticipated."

“So what do you propose to do now, boss?” Tux's final word had a definite edge of sarcasm to it. Ric would address that later. “What kind of neighborhood does Eva live in? Secluded, or lots of neighbors?" “Pretty secluded. None of the group is daring enough, or should I say brainless enough, to live in the middle of town, not even dear Eva.” Tux's opinion of his brothers and sisters seemed no higher than Ric's. Ric sighed. “I'll call and leave her a message warning her, but I don't think we should depend on just that. Do you know what time she leaves for work?" “Around nine-thirty." “We should go past her house before then and confirm that the squad car is there." “And if it is, what are we going to do?" Ric didn't know, but he wasn't going to admit that to Tux. “Come by my house well before dark. We'll coordinate our plans." “I'll be there by eight. Want me to drive by Eva's on the way?" “No. I'll slide by myself.” It was important that he take the initiative and assert his leadership. “And one way or another I'll be having that little heart-to-heart with Eva that I've been postponing." “All right. Keep me informed." Ric hung up and pulled the file on Eva that Tux had given him two weeks ago. He memorized Eva's address and studied the simplified map Tux had drawn showing the easiest route to Eva's house from the highway. He closed the file, left the house, and got into his SUV, grateful for the tinted windows that were a custom modification and just a little darker than the law allowed. When he had picked up Shelby in the SUV for their dinner date he had feared she would complain about the dark tint just like she complained about his glasses, but she hadn't. No doubt when he had started to kiss her in the SUV following their date she had been as thankful for the cloaking tint as he had been. Five minutes later he cruised past Eva's house. There was no marked squad car sitting on the road, but there was a white car with tinted windows even darker than Ric's parked across from Eva's. Ric smiled. Cops were almost as practiced at the art of deception as the Undead were. He headed home, his smile still in place. Vampires loved nothing better than a game.

Chapter Eight Shelby's decision to cancel the date with Ric hadn't been a quick or easy one. She had really been looking forward to tonight, not just because she was coming to love the way her body felt in his presence, all jazzed up as though she had received a double dose of adrenaline and aphrodisiac, but because he was the only one around not anxious to judge her. Publicly Cristallia County was turning a benign face to Shelby. The latest issue of the local paper, the Harbor-Bay Light, had just arrived in her mailbox tube. There wasn't a single article anywhere in the weekly paper about either the murder or the investigation. Deputy Marc Montoya's voice, when he had awakened her at eight-thirty in the morning to relay the information about the bartender and the stripper, had been professional and neutral. When she had arrived at the county building an hour later, citizens, employees, and deputies alike had greeted her with bland faces and tepid smiles. If that had been all Shelby was exposed to, she would have felt like she was an accepted member of the Shadow Bay family. But privately she felt the censure as acutely as if it had been in-her-face. In the wake of her arrival at work, heads turned and whispers flowed. Surreptitious glances slid her way when people thought she was unaware. And behind the closed door of her office her

detractors gave full voice to their discontent with angry phone calls and venomous letters. The chairman of the Association of Downtown Businesses called for the third day in a row to ask what measures Shelby was taking to ensure the safety of the Moonlight Madness shoppers. When she replied that, as usual, one squad would be monitoring the downtown area, the chairman muttered that they never had these worries in past years and hung up. Small-town politics had always been hard for Shelby to understand. The closest she had come to understanding them was the realization that the residents, as well as the merchants, hated both change and anything they saw that threatened the status quo. The unwritten, unspoken implication seemed clear. She was a female, she was an outsider, and she was not competent to run an investigation of this importance. This new lead had been a godsend. She'd sent Marc Montoya to pick up the stripper, Eva Hazard, and another day shift deputy to pick up the bartender and bring him in for a full, signed statement. But the excitement of the lead had quickly waned. Eva hadn't answered her door, and Marc hadn't been able to determine if she was even home. Shelby ultimately had sent Marc back to the stripper's house in an undercover car. The other deputy had delivered the bartender, Ernie Raco, but he was a less than desirable witness. A record check on Raco revealed not only a number of moving violations on his driving record, but a citation issued three years earlier for serving a minor and arrests prior to that for disorderly conduct and vandalism. Raco was forty, a heavy smoker with a Fu Manchu mustache and a receding hairline. Shelby had monitored his interview. Raco admitted that he routinely had drinks during his shift when a patron would buy him one. His identification of Kyle Carver as the man who had created a scene with Eva seemed positive, but Raco wasn't sure who else, if anyone, had noticed the disturbance. It meant trying to identify and track down as many employees and regulars as possible and interviewing all of them. At three in the afternoon Shelby had driven Jason Rody out to Eva's to try another door knock. Failing success with that, she left Jason as relief for Marc and drove Marc back to the office. Marc didn't say one word to her on the short drive. So different from a year ago. After her uncle had died, Shelby had turned to Marc for support, but it had been the beginning of the end of their relationship. Marc hadn't minded offering her a sympathetic ear or a shoulder to cry on as long as they were in bed and other body parts were involved as well. But his caring hadn't extended past the bedroom door. When they had arrived back at the county building, Seline had handed her a handful of phone messages. “Anything urgent in here?" Seline's eyes had darted around the room before she answered. “Dr. De Chaux called for you. He wants you to call him at his office." “Thanks, Seline." Seline's dark eyes brimmed with understanding. Surly Seline the Goth Queen obviously knew what it was like to be ridiculed. She was the only one in the office who had looked at Shelby lately with something other than a pasted-on smile, a tacked-on look of tolerance, or an ill-disguised air of condescension. Marc had heard the exchange, and the look on his face could substitute for the building's air conditioning. Shelby had debated for over an hour on whether or not she should break the late date with Ric. He was quickly becoming her daily fix. A dose of the doctor seemed to be all she needed for an all-purpose, feel-good high. A spoonful of Doc French's patented, aged-to-perfection sagacity, a booster shot of his strength, and an eyeful of one of his shy smiles were all she needed to banish her blues. And what his body did to hers should be banned as an addictive drug. But today's workday was far from over, and she still had hopes that Eva Hazard could be located for questioning. She didn't dare count on a late date with so much going on at work. So it was with much regret that she returned his call and cancelled their Moonlight Madness date for tonight. Ric seemed to take it well, understanding that in both their professions, work emergencies took precedence over personal concerns. In fact, he was rather sweet about the whole thing, not only wishing her luck, but offering

to help. If only my own staff was so eager to work with me and not against me... **** Ric called Eva's home number to leave her a warning message. As expected, he got an answering machine. “Hi ... this is Eva. Sorry, but I don't come out to play until after the sun goes down. But if you absolutely can't wait ‘til then, leave a message." Ric groaned. He supposed there was no real harm in the recording, but if any of his charges were inclined to trouble, it was no doubt Eva. “Eva, this is Ric De Chaux. Listen carefully. There's an unmarked police vehicle parked outside your house—a white four-door with tinted windows. They want to pick you up for questioning regarding Kyle Carver's murder. Apparently one of the bartenders at the Diamond Stud told the sheriff he had seen you in some kind of altercation with Carver before he died. Don't leave the house or answer the door until you talk to me. Call me at home as soon as you get this message." Ric hung up the phone in disgust, but he was more upset with himself than with Eva. Eva was Eva, and her behavior today was probably no different than it was decades ago. But he had been remiss in his duty. He should have had a private meeting with her days ago. Instead, he had postponed his session with her to take his pleasure with Shelby. He considered his options with Eva, and none of them were overly appealing. He could compel the deputy at Eva's house to report that he was unable to make contact with Eva, but Shelby would just keep sending deputies to the house until one was successful. He couldn't keep Eva in her house indefinitely, and even if he got her out of the house and to work without the deputy being aware, they would eventually track her down at the Diamond Stud. It would be dangerous in any case to try to compel the deputy on the road. It was a secluded area, but passersby and neighbors were still a risk. Ric knew his appearance was unique, and anyone happening to see him would not likely forget him. He was afraid that the best option was the riskiest of all—to let Eva go downtown and be questioned, and to trust that she would give the right answers and be able to compel her interviewers to believe she was telling the truth. However, Eva's statement would likely be written down. Someone who hadn't been compelled might read the statement in the future and not be convinced that Eva had no involvement in the murder. But by far the biggest peril was the immediate one—that something would go wrong and Eva be taken into custody. If she were unable to escape before dawn, chances were good that she'd perish in the daylight. Eva was not created from the unique diurnal vampire strain that enabled Ric and Tux to tolerate the light. Worse, he had the strange feeling that Eva would find the danger to be just another wickedly exciting game. After all, her name was Hazard—a moniker that Ric was certain she wasn't born with. When Tuxbridge arrived two hours later and heard the plan, he wasn't amused. “You want Eva to do what?" Ric stared at his adjutant with unblinking eyes. “If you have a better idea, I'm listening." Tux's stare was just as steady. “It should have never gotten this far." “I agree. This county was without an Overlord for far too long. The young ones have been behaving like spoiled, willful children, doing as they please without worrying about the consequences. Well, the consequences are here now, and we have to deal with them." Tux's green eyes glowed. “That's out of line, Ric, and you know it. The rogue already confessed to sticking the body in the privy hole, and there's no proof that any of us, including Eva, has done anything wrong." “And neither is any of this my fault, as you seem to suggest. Once again, if you have a better idea, I'll listen. If not, we do things my way."

But Tux, for all his snorting and hoof pounding, had nothing to offer. Instead, they discussed Eva's merits—not those that Ric imagined that human males took quick note of—but her vampiric attributes of command and manipulation. Tux admitted, albeit somewhat grudgingly, that appearance aside, Eva had all the tools to be as cunning and crafty as any vamp around. Remembering Eva's mystic eyes, Ric thought it likely that she could stare a human to death as easily as any male vampire. She called on the phone a few minutes later, and Ric answered on the first ring. “De Chaux." “Eva Hazard here, Doc, reporting as ordered.” The kittenish voice was teasing even in this situation. “Eva, is the white car still parked across the road?" “It sure is. Want me to go out and dazzle him? I can have him forgetting his mother's name in one minute and his pants off in two." Ric served no deity except Mistress Death, but he prayed for patience anyway. “No. Just listen to me for a minute, will you? The bartender at the Diamond Stud told the sheriff he saw you in some kind of argument with Kyle Carver, the man who was killed. We need to make this go away, Eva, but subtly, understand? If we do something to the deputy outside your house, they'll just send someone else." “I can do subtle, Chief. I can do it any way you want it." He sighed. “Then pay attention. Let them take you in for questioning. As for whatever happened in the bar with Carver, answer as truthfully as you can without implicating yourself in a crime. We don't know how many witnesses they have who saw what you did, and even if we did, we can't compel all of them. Just make sure, of course, that you deny any knowledge of the murder. When you're finished with your statement, go ahead and compel anyone present to believe you told the truth and that you know nothing more. Understand?" “This is child's play, but don't treat me like a child. I know what I have to do." Somehow that didn't do much to reassure Ric. “Tux and I will be right outside the building in the parking lot. We'll make sure you're out of there well before dawn. If something should go wrong and they take you into custody, use your phone call to call me. Don't try to handle things on your own." “Aye, aye, Chief. Can I get dressed now?" “Just follow your normal routine. I'll see you after your interview." “Ooow. I can't wait." He hung up, resisting the urge to slam the receiver down. One side of Tuxbridge's mouth twisted down. “I don't think you made a fan, boss." “I'm not here to start a fan club. We're going to need a vehicle for our wait in the parking lot. The sheriff knows my SUV, and she knows both your truck and your Plymouth. Any ideas?" “I'm sure Dory will be only too happy to lend us his wheels for a few hours." “Let me guess. It's not a coupe, is it?" Tux smiled for the first time all evening. “No, it's a van, actually. Front doors, sliding panel doors, a rear door, and a moon roof." “Excellent. Let's go." Forty-five minutes later Ric and Tux were comfortably ensconced in Dory's van in the county building's parking lot. The full-size van was almost as big as Dory's house, and featured almost as many doors. There was also a bed in the rear, as well as two TV

screens and a premium sound system. The windows were all tinted and adorned with both blinds and curtains of the roomdarkening type. Dory had been gracious in lending his van, but he had begged to be allowed to come along on the outing. Ric would have let him come except for the fact that he didn't think he could stand several hours of Dory's nonstop fawning and chattering. Tux, on the other hand, wasn't one to babble. Ric would have enjoyed several hours of quiet, but felt it was an opportunity to glean information from his adjutant that shouldn't be wasted. “Tux, tell me more about the group. Why do they live here? Surely it would be easier for them in the anonymity of a big city." “It would. Especially for Eva, who can be, shall we say, precocious. You know, I think this is the first time you've asked me about your new children in any context other than as suspects in your little murder investigation." Once again Ric felt a subtle but definite challenge in Tux's attitude. When this whole affair was over, he'd have to have a face-toface with Tuxbridge that involved more than mild words. This wasn't the time or place, though. “It's hard to find time for social pleasantries when murder hits this close to home. But you didn't answer my question,” Ric said softly. “What are they doing here?" “They're not a litter of newborns you can generalize about. Each has his own reasons for being here. Dory has family ties in the area that date back two centuries. Lyle and Zada are wanderers. They share a trailer home and keep a low profile. They've only been here a year, and by this time next year I suspect they'll be gone." “And Eva?" “Ah, darling Eva. You may think her behavior outrageous, but considering the setting and job in which she works, her manners and actions fit right in.” Tux shrugged. “And you have to remember that with the exception of yours truly, all the vamps in the council come out only at night. In a community like this not a lot of people are out after the sun goes down. So, in a way, the vamps are safer here than they'd be in a big city that has a lively night life and more opportunities for human contact." Ric could appreciate Tux's position. As adjutant, Tux had to try to please both the Overlord and the members of the group. It was often a game in itself, playing both sides against the middle. Ric wondered how many of Tux's words just now were merely moves in the game. Two hours later Ric saw Shelby exit the county building and head for her vehicle. She carried her duty bag on her right shoulder, and her left hand was massaging her neck. Her walk was slow, almost as if she were dragging herself across the parking lot. She tilted her head to the side, flung her loose hair behind her shoulder, and rubbed her neck again. Reason told Ric she was just tired, but the movements were so innocently seductive that he felt his own desire manifest itself in both his thoughts and his body's physical reaction. He wanted nothing more than to forget Tux and Eva and follow Shelby home. A vision of everything he could do to relieve her stress, cramped muscles, and any other problem she had was so sudden and so vivid that he had his hand on the van's door handle before his control doused the image and stayed his hand. No. He musn't make a critical error now. His top priority was Eva, not Shelby, and Tux was eyeing him with a piercing stare that would miss nothing. “You know, Ric, there are some in the group who say you're as cold as your namesake, Doctor Death, but I see that when it comes to certain mortals, you're not cold at all." Ric reined in his beast, but a soft growl was nonetheless evident in the undertone of his measured words. “Be very careful, my friend. That's a vein you don't want to open." Tux only smiled and shifted his gaze to the scene out the window, quiet now following Shelby's departure. Fifteen minutes later Eva swept out of the building's entrance, her long legs as pale as her blond hair in the glare of the overhead lights. Ric opened the van's door and signaled to her. She tossed her head in acknowledgment, but took her time parading across the lot to the van. She feathered her fingers through her hair, ran her hands down the front of her skintight tank top, and even halted

once to adjust the strap on one high-heeled shoe. Ric wasn't sure if the movements were designed to irritate him, or simply a natural reaction of being freed from the confines of an odious human facility. A building with bars was no more popular with the Undead than with anyone else. Eva made it to the van at last, and with a graceful leap settled into the rear of the vehicle in spite of her tight miniskirt. Ric held on to his patience. “Tux, drive us to my place. You can return the van to Dory after that. I'll drive Eva home when I'm finished with her.” He turned back to Eva. “Everything went all right?" Eva smiled and smoothed her skirt, which was already stretched tight and needed no attending. Eva's hands didn't stop with the material, though, but continued up and down her thighs. “Of course, Chief. I told you it was child's play. They don't know any more now than they did a couple hours ago, but they're all going to go home with big smiles on their faces. All but the sheriff, that is. She's nothing but a..." “Eva.” There was enough warning wrapped around the single word that even the most obtuse vamp couldn't miss it. Eva froze for a second, then slid her gaze towards Tux. “Sorry. I forgot that you ... like her.” Eva's smile widened, showing straight white teeth and dainty pointed fangs. Ric felt like grinding his own teeth, but he restrained himself, turning his attention instead to the road. He would wait for the privacy of his home to question Eva further. Moments later, Tux pulled the van in front of the Chicken Palace, and Ric told Eva to wait for him by his front door. He waited until she was at his door, then turned to Tux. “I'll talk to you later." “Listen, Ric, I don't want to tell you how to do your job, but make sure you know where your allegiance lies. Defending the sheriff in front of one of the group isn't going to sit well. And don't underestimate Eva. She's no fool. None of us are." “Don't worry, my friend. I don't underestimate any of you.” He stepped from the van, closed the door, and slapped it, indicating Tux should take off. Ric sighed, glided to the porch, and invited Eva inside. **** An hour later Ric was alone again. He had questioned Eva, taken her home, and was now, for the first time all night, able to relax. He would analyze the interview with Eva more thoroughly in the days to come. For now it was enough to know that she was not a suspect in the eyes of the police. He took a shower, and as his body loosened up under the pelting of the warm water, his mind relaxed as well, letting go of his thoughts of the none-too-enchanting Eva Hazard. No female vampire had ever appealed to him, and Eva, with her primping and strutting, downright disgusted him. Coming to Shelby's defense in front of her had been a mistake, though—Tux had been right about that. Eva, repellent as she was, was one of his kind. He was accountable for her welfare. He had no responsibility to Shelby. Still, he couldn't deny the feelings that had prompted him to silence Eva's attack on Shelby. Nor could he deny what he felt at this moment—an insane desire to surround himself with the one thing he had shunned throughout his existence. Life. He craved the stuff of life—blood—but it was more than that. He hungered for life itself, with all the hope and promise of each new day. It was God-given strength he yearned for, not unholy powers granted by some Devil. He ached for the kind of pleasure a man felt, not the carnal delight that fed the beast. He wanted nothing more than to have Shelby's body encase his in an explosion of heat. The image was as seductive as any power his kind possessed, and he couldn't shake it. He wanted to be born again into the world of the living, where everything was peaceful and right—where he wasn't a damned creature robbed of his soul. Where his sister's smile still beamed at him from the center of a cloud of golden curls. He exited the shower, dressed quickly in jeans and a clean shirt, and glanced at the clock. It was after one in the morning. Too late

for her to still be up. He didn't care. Not bothering to tie his hair back or don his glasses, he left the house, mounted his bike, and headed for Shelby's. **** Shelby was floating, not dreaming, but not awake, either. It was a pleasant halfway point to deep sleep, a place of blessed nothingness. Except for that annoying chime. She waited for it to go away, but it sounded again and again, pulling her into wakefulness. The doorbell. She groaned, turning to stare at the glowing numbers on her bedside clock. One-fifteen. She groaned again. She had only been in bed an hour. What emergency demanded her attention now? She rolled out of bed, reached for the light switch by touch, and squinted at her reflection in the mirror. She wore a brushed cotton tank and shorts set. This better be good, whatever it is. She grabbed a robe from the foot of her bed and struggled to find the arm holes. The bell ding-donged again. “I'm coming, I'm coming,” she muttered, turning on more lights on her way to the front door. She peered through the peephole. It was Ric. And he didn't look his usual self. She unlocked the door and pulled it open. “Ric! What are you doing here? It's after one." “I know. I couldn't sleep. I saw the light and thought you were still up." Something wasn't right. He wasn't wearing his glasses, and his hair, normally so neat, was loose and wind-whipped. She shook her head. “Umm, no. The light over the sink in the kitchen is always on. What's wrong?" “Invite me in." It was a plea, not an order, and Shelby couldn't refuse him. She held the door wide and cocked her head in invitation, wrapping the robe more securely around her and tying the belt. Ric stepped into the foyer. With his hair well past his shoulders and his motorcycle boots boosting his already tall frame, everything about him looked long and lean. He towered over her, and though she felt short by comparison, she wasn't intimidated by his size. Just the opposite—he was a mountain she wanted to climb. “Make yourself at home in the kitchen. You're welcome to whatever you can find. I'm just going to put some clothes on.” Without waiting for an answer she turned and padded back to the bedroom, trying not to run, and shut the door behind her. Her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears she could barely hear herself think. Luckily there wasn't much thinking to be done. She wanted him, and he was here. She wasn't naive. She knew that whatever was bothering him, he didn't come here in the middle of the night to talk. But it was all right—because she didn't feel like talking either. The memories of Curt Van Allen and Marc Montoya still haunted her, but Ric was different. She just knew it. It was something she felt as deeply and as naturally as her cop instincts. He wasn't like other men. Ever since she'd arrived home from her late evening interview with Eva Hazard she'd only been able to think about one thing, and it hadn't been the investigation. It was her wish that she was with Ric De Chaux, leisurely strolling the sidewalks, enjoying the Moonlight Madness Sale and each other's company, not sitting home with no one for company except a parakeet with a limited vocabulary. She quickly stripped off her pajamas and pulled on a pair of white cotton shorts and a black tank top. In the adjoining bathroom she combed her hair and scrubbed her face clean. She didn't bother with makeup. The combination of her modest tan and her notso-modest enthusiasm lent more than enough color to her features. Besides, silly, if he didn't like the way you look, he wouldn't be here. On that profound note she opened the door to the hall and hurried back to the living room. It was empty. So was the kitchen. Where was he? She looked out a front window to see if his bike was still there, and it was. And Ric was straddling the motorcycle. She couldn't

see his face, but his head appeared bowed, and strands of long hair lifted by the breeze swirled around his head. Shelby muttered curses under her breath and ran out of the house, ignoring the stones on the driveway that bit into her bare feet. “Dammit, Ric! What kind of game are you playing?" He lifted his head and met her gaze. “I'm not playing any games. I made a mistake coming here, that's all. I can't talk about what's wrong. Not tonight, anyway." “Well, I don't do one-night stands, so if that's all this is, you can just put the bike into gear and head back to the Chicken Coop." “Chicken Palace." A smile escaped in spite of her wrath, but she tried to suppress it. “I'm serious. I don't play these games." His face was pale in the moonlight, but his eyes gleamed with life and emotion. “I'm serious, too. I can't make you a lot of promises, but I promise this. If you want me back again after tonight, I'll be back." “Then get off the damn bike." He did as she ordered, swinging his leg over the bike to dismount, but as soon as he straightened to his full height, he swung her into his arms. Her hands automatically circled his neck for support. “What do you think you're doing? Put me down." He carried her easily toward the door. “You're hanging on pretty tightly for someone who protests so much. You don't have shoes on. Your feet'll get cut." “I'm not a child." “Shut up." She did. At first she felt silly being carried, but he was clearly intent on playing the gentleman, so she let him. Besides, she had never been carried by a man before, and she found she quite liked it. His chest was hard, but not uncomfortable, and she swore she could feel his heart beating against her. He opened the door with his left hand, cradling her in just one arm, and maneuvered her over the threshold. There was no clumsiness in his movements, and she marveled at his strength. Ric was tall and lean, not bulky with a weight lifter's muscles, yet he supported her as if she were a two-pound doll instead of a hundred-plus pound woman. Once inside, though, he carried her to the sofa in front of the fireplace, not her bedroom. He sat down, holding her on his lap. She lifted her hands to smooth the hair away from his face. “The bedroom is the other way,” she said softly. “I know. I want both of us to make sure this is what we want." She stared into his amber eyes, so beautiful, yet so strange. They gazed at her with the wonder of a child seeing something for the first time. Yet there was also a pain riding the golden depths that made Shelby think that his eyes should belong to someone very old, not young. “Just a minute. I'm going to light the candles.” During the summer she filled her fireplace with numerous white pillared candles on a wrought iron holder. She slid off his lap, lit the candles with long fireplace matches, then crawled back onto his lap, straddling his hips. “There. We have our own Moonlight Madness now. Just a little bit late." “Shelby..." She thought he was going to say more, but instead he slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her forward until his mouth

could reach hers. His lips were soft, but this kiss held more urgency than his previous kisses, and when he parted his lips to deepen the contact, she moaned into his mouth. His touch was like the lighting of a fuse, and her whole body exploded in reaction. A throbbing low in her body kept time to the pounding of her heart, and she felt like she was sitting in the middle of the fireplace, flickering flames all around her, threatening to consume her. His hands skimmed up over her breasts to her neck, and she in turn tugged at the hem of his own shirt, eager to feel bare skin. He helped her, pulling the shirt over his head in one fluid motion. Faced with an embarrassment of riches, she didn't know which part of him to explore first. She fanned her fingers over washboard abdominal muscles up across his rib cage and pectorals. She laid her cheek over his heart, listened to its strong, steady beat, and buried her fingers in his hair, pulling it over her face. He smelled clean and fresh, like mint soap, and she wanted to stay like this forever. His hands were just as busy, though, burrowing under her top to circle her waist, then stretching down to hold her hips and cup her bottom. The pressure of his hands urged her to straddle him higher on his body. She shifted her weight, and he fell to the side so that his head leaned against one padded armrest. She found herself sitting on him, her legs twined around his waist like paper over candy. He did the unwrapping, though, grabbing the hem of her top and pulling it over her head. His hot gaze traveled the length of her before he tugged on her hair, pulling her down to him. She let the weight of her torso press against his. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the candle flames, like stars in the night, but when her mouth met his, it was like finding the center of her own personal heavenly body. A wave of heat washed over her, and she felt her body melt onto his. She started to squirm, rubbing against him, wanting more, wanting all of him. But she twisted too much and rolled off the edge of the sofa, hitting the floor with a thump and a playful shriek. He didn't fall on top of her, and when she opened her eyes he was sitting next to her on the rug. He reached over and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “So is this what you want? Truly?" She sat up and reached for a strand of his own hair, rolling it between her fingers. Cool and glossy, it felt like a doll's hair, real, but not real. Maybe it was the candlelight, but his skin gleamed with a pale translucence that looked as strange as the amber eyes that glowed like embers. “You. You're what I want." He rose gracefully, like a plume of smoke unfurling, then reached down for her hand and lifted her to her feet. “The bedroom, then. Your sofa is a little bit confining." She leaned against him, curling her arms around his neck. When he bent his head forward, her lips pounced on his lightly, like a kitten with a toy. “Are you going to carry me again?” she whispered, smiling. She kissed him again, a little deeper. He groaned and took control of the kiss away from her. Her response to his naked torso pressed to hers had been immediate, but the kiss sent a new wave of heat and yearning to a point low in her body. The intensity robbed the strength from her legs, and she twined one bare leg around him for support, rubbing her leg against the jeans he still wore. With a little hop, she brought her other leg up. He caught her bottom in his hands to keep her from falling, and between the pressure of his hands and the clinch of her legs straddling his hips, she was in no danger of being dislodged. He was already hard against her, and when she gave a half-moan, half-laugh, he boosted her even higher, giving her an opportunity to cinch her legs around him even tighter. “You expect me to carry you like this?” His husky laughter loosened his grip on her, and she found herself sliding, bottom first, to the floor. Not one to go quietly, she hung on to what she could, and brought him down on top of her. They each rolled over, Ric quick to gather his feet beneath him and hop to a stand. “Sorry, you'll have to walk this time.” He gallantly reached for her hand to ease the indignity of an awkward rise from the floor. He pulled her to her feet and, not letting go of her hand, let her lead the way to the bedroom. The sheets on the bed sat poised, rumpled and twisted, like some modern sculpture, and the blanket was thrown to the foot of the bed in silent invitation. She shrugged one shoulder. “You woke me up."

“Are you sorry?" “No." He flipped the light switch off, but enough moonlight streamed through the bedroom window to illuminate his body. “My eyes can do without the bright lights.” He sat on the edge of the bed and removed his jeans and boots slowly and provocatively, almost like he was doing a strip show just for her. She curled on the bed next to him, fascinated by the ease in which he performed the simple act. His body was an overall pale skin tone. There were no tan lines at his neckline or on his arms to mar the perfection. He wasn't white or delicate looking, but like an artistic ideal of the male figure, wrought in alabaster, smooth and hard. When he finished, she took her shorts and panties off as well, although with a great deal of nervous fumbling. As her eyesight adjusted to the dark even more, she stared at him even as his gaze burned into her, but she had no time for uneasiness in being naked before him. In one smooth movement he drew her down to the bed, his hands and mouth taking immediate possession of her. She stole her hands over his skin as well, feeling the hard muscles of his chest and shoulders contract and relax under her touch. She marveled that she had the power to move this man who was so strong, so sure of himself. She wasn't sure yet if she had staked a claim to his thoughts and feelings, but his body responded to her as if she were Mata Hari, not a workaholic, conservative, redheaded Midwest cop. He dragged his mouth up and down her face and throat, and with each kiss he pressed against her she felt his hot breath, felt the vibration of incomprehensible French words dance along her skin. She buried her hands in the long strands of his heavy hair and turned her head so that his lips would meet hers. The feel of his full, soft mouth, so at odds with his hard body, sent that sinking sexual rush through her body that she only felt when she was truly aroused. Maybe it was the innocence of his mouth, in such contrast to the rest of him, that captivated her. It was as if he had never made love before. His kisses were slow, almost tentative, seeming to seek to draw out not only herself, but him. She opened her mouth in response, wanting more of him and wanting to give him more. But when she ran her tongue over his teeth, he pulled back and lowered his head. She tried to steady her breathing, concentrating on the fistfuls of hair she still clutched. Cool and smooth, the strands were the perfect extension of his body. When his mouth teased the skin of one breast, her hands stilled, and she threw her head back, concentrating solely on the sensations he was conjuring with the magic of his mouth. His tongue painted a path around her nipple, circles and swirls that wound the tension in her body tighter and tighter. She arched up to him, and it seemed like the night itself took hold of her. Her mind told her that it was only his mouth and hands that touched her, but her body knew better. It was as though a window had opened, giving her access to the sounds and sensations of a dark realm never before experienced. His lips nudged her, then suckled her gently while currents of energy pressed against her and cooled the trails of liquid heat his tongue had blazed. The alternate sensations of hot and cold sent shudders up and down her body. When he drew away from her with a nip of his teeth a tiny portion of her tension eased, but the heavy air that filled the room thrummed against her and coiled the ache tighter than before. Her body flexed and trembled with the ebb and flow of pleasure, and when he at last took the nipple deep into his mouth and drew on it, the air left her lungs, suspending her in a moment of pure desire that was as much sweetness as torment, as much craving as having. Even as her breath deserted her, her mind filled with a low purr that was more feeling than sound, as if thousands of whiskers brushed along her skin. Just when she thought she could stand no more, he released her, and his strange eyes glowed at her, reminding her of a cat in the dark. It was as though every bit of moonlight that strayed into the room was caught and trapped in his eyes, and when they flicked up and down her body, she shuddered and sucked in a deep breath. His gaze devoured her inch by inch, already taking her, already making her his. He twisted a long handful of hair from either side of her head around the fingers of each hand and tugged gently, bringing her mouth up to his. She was lost now in pure want, a feeling of both being desired and desiring another. No man had ever made her feel like this. His long hair slid forward and curtained the world from her sight, but her other senses more than made up for the lack. She felt his cool fingers rush down her sides like flowing water, only to pool at the small of her back. He pressed her to him, and she felt him hard against her. His whole body was taut and rock-hard with the tension of desire, and she knew he was as eager and ready for her as she was for him. She had been ready for him her entire life. No, she thought. Not my entire life. It had to be now, in this place, with this one man. Shadow Bay, and Ric, and now, this minute.

“Ric..." His hands moved lower still, and she opened herself to him, bringing her legs up and over his in an embrace of her own. He cupped her bottom, and she felt the length of him slide back and forth along her, gauging her readiness. She answered him by digging her nails hard into his back, and he drove into her in one long thrust. She felt every inch of him, and when he began a slow, powerful rhythm within her, he filled her completely, seeming to drive not only straight into her but outward in every direction, as though he were taking over her entire body and mind. She was a vessel he poured himself into, not simply filling her, but pervading and charging every corner and crevice of her being, even those parts of her she had always kept locked and hidden from the world. An instant of vulnerability gripped her as the overpowering energy flooded her and threatened to drown her, but she held on, tightened her hold on him, and urged him to even greater speed and power. She was unprepared for the result. The intensity of sensation captured her mind and destroyed all thought. She saw nothing but wild pinwheels of color, felt nothing except him inside her, deeper than she ever thought possible. She heard sounds and realized she had given them voice, cries and moans that were as out of control as everything else her beleaguered senses relayed to her. She felt herself climax, over and over, unable to control her release. He held her and rocked against her, his thrusts accelerating in a relentless rhythm, until, finally, as spent as she was, his release came with a final, hard drive. His weight came down on her, and he burrowed his head in the crook of her neck. His breath, coming in hard gasps, fanned her heated skin. His mouth pressed against her neck, and she felt his teeth rake against her skin. She fought for air, not realizing until now how fast and ragged her own breathing was. “Ric,” she whispered. “I can't breathe." He paused, then pulled out of her and rolled to the side. Her body straightened, and she stretched out her legs. But her mind was still reeling to Earth, and it took a few moments for her thought processes and normal sensory perception to return to her. It was Ric's voice, husky and almost unintelligible, that broke the silence. “You should get some sleep." Such a mild statement after such incredible lovemaking disappointed her, but even more upsetting was the sudden worry that he would just up and go home. “You're not leaving, are you?” Her heart started to pound again, not from excitement this time, but fear. He turned toward her, leaning on one elbow, but she couldn't see his face. His tangled hair fell forward, throwing his features into black shadow. “No. Not until I have to—or until you want me to leave." Right now she couldn't imagine ever wanting him to leave. “Ric, I know you came here with something on your mind—something other than this, I mean.” She reached out a hand and stroked his arm with her fingertips. “You said you didn't want to discuss it, but I want you to know that you can talk to me anytime, about anything. There've been lots of times when I needed an ear, and nobody wanted to listen." “Like this week?" How did he know? “Do your many talents include mind reading?" The question was asked in jest, but when he raked a hand through his hair and moonlight from the window illuminated a faint smile, Shelby shivered. She believed him capable of anything, even mind reading. But that was impossible. **** She awoke, rolled over, and saw that it was still dark out. A glance at her bedside clock told her that, tired as she was, she had slept less than three hours. She just wasn't used to having a man in her bed. Today was an off day for her, and she had no plans to work unless called in. Spending all day in bed with Ric would be fine with her. She slowly turned around so that she faced Ric again. He was gazing at her with hooded eyes. “You have to go to work?"

She shook her head. “Not today." “You must think me terribly selfish. Your one day off, and here I am monopolizing your time." She pretended to frown. “And here I thought you had special powers. I guess you're not a mind reader after all, because I wasn't thinking that at all." He flashed teeth that shone even in the dark, a very different smile from the small sardonic grin he had given her earlier. “No special powers? I think I'm insulted." She leaned over and kissed him, almost sorry she was spoiling the beautiful sight of the serious doctor engaging in a rare dimplepopping smile. Almost. He returned the kiss, and more. With the memory of what they had done only hours before so fresh in her mind, her desire flared immediately. When he released her mouth to caress her neck, she whispered in his ear. “You don't have to be insulted. Your powers are alive and well." Ric's response was a reverberation low in his throat that sounded like a half-groan, half-growl. He laid a track of fire down the length of her neck, adding to the ache she already felt with every kiss planted and every stroke of his tongue. His breath on her moist skin sent prickles of hot and cold skittering along her limbs, and she twisted to face him more fully, wanting to give him more access to her body. Then, suddenly, amongst the soft, wet heat, she felt his teeth on her neck, sharp and hard. “Ric, don't.” She rolled away from him. “Please, don't do anything the uniform shirt won't hide." He was breathing heavily, his face again hidden by the curtain of long hair. He was quiet, and the silence confused her. “Did you hear me?" He drew a long, deep lung full of air, and his breathing appeared to steady. “I heard you. I should leave. I underestimated my reaction to you. For me to stay would be ... dangerous." She knew it. It was too good to be true. “Dangerous? What are you talking about?" In one fluid movement, he was off the bed and reaching for his briefs. “It's better after all if you don't get in too deep with me. I'm not what you think." Shelby scrambled to pull on her shorts. “No games, please. Just stay and talk to me,” she pleaded, yanking open a dresser drawer and pulling out a T-shirt. If she was going to have to run after him, she didn't want to do it naked. His jeans on, he simply stood in the shadows of her bedroom. She pressed on, encouraged by his hesitancy. “All right. No more sex. Just talk to me in the living room. What can that hurt?" “More than you know, but very well. We'll talk." He led her back to the living room, where the long-burning candles were still flickering in the fireplace. He stretched out on the sofa and held out his hand to her. She took it and joined him, nestling her back against his chest. She faced away from him so she could stare at the candlelight. But when he slowly wound his arms around her, all she could look at were the muscles of his strong forearms and the long fingers of his large hands. “What's all this about being dangerous and not who I think you are?" “Never mind what I said. It's been a long time since I've been in this situation, that's all." “And you're scared? So am I." ****

Scared? Ric thought. Confused and in agony was closer to the truth. He had hungered for a taste of life. And he had indeed savored it, if only for a few moments. Being inside Shelby had made him feel like the young Ricard De Chaux, eldest son of le comte, privileged, wealthy, and on top of the world. In his innocence, he thought that would be enough. It wasn't. For those few moments, he had been alive, and it had been glorious. But his climax had been like the drop of the guillotine's blade. Life was given, and life was taken away. Though he still held her loosely, the reality of what he was returned in full force. Blood. It was always the blood. It was still taking nearly all his control to refrain from satisfying his hunger for her blood. Following their lovemaking, his bloodlust had risen to nearly an unbearable level. He should have just taken her and compelled her later to forget it had ever happened. But something had made him hesitate, just nipping at her instead, giving her time to react and roll away from him. His control, surely, had fought against the lust, making his moves tentative, but why? Why did he try so hard with this mortal to manage his baser instincts? What could he hope to gain? Thus far the results had been disastrous. Not only had his satisfaction been denied, but he had upset Shelby and put her on her guard. And he had committed the unforgivable sin of revealing too much about his true nature with his utterances about being dangerous and not what she thought he was. He could barely concentrate now on what she was saying. “Sorry, my sweet, what did you say?" “Just that it's been a long time for me, too." He tried to gather his thoughts. “You said before that you had no one to listen to you. What about family and friends?" “I don't have a lot of friends. Women don't understand me, and I think I intimidate most men." “What about the people you work with? Surely they appreciate what you do." She laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. “I think a few of the guys have a grudging respect for me, but there's more prejudice than anything else. They don't think a female should be sheriff. If I'm soft, then they think I'm weak and can't cut it. If I'm tough on them, then I'm a bitch. I can't win during the best of times.” She shook her head. “And a week like this one ... everyone's calling for my head on a platter." “I haven't seen anything in the paper or on the news." “No, of course not. This is a tourist area. Homicide investigations and controversy are not tourist-friendly. Everyone smiles to my face. The knives are all in the back." “What about your family?" She was silent, twisting slightly in his embrace, almost as if she was trying to escape from the question. He didn't push her. Finally, after about two minutes, she spoke. Her voice was so soft that he wasn't sure he would have been able to hear her without his heightened vampiric senses. “My parents were killed three years ago. It was one of the reasons I moved here. Partly, I guess, to get away from the city and the memories, and partly because my uncle was here. After my folks died, Uncle Barry became the most important person in my life." “You told me your uncle died last year." She nodded. “So now ... well, the only relatives left are scattered around the country." They were both quiet after that. He stared at the wavering pinpricks of light in the fireplace and considered her words. Her parents had been killed. Not simply died, but had been killed. Just like his own family. He felt an uncharacteristic connection to this woman that made him glad for his earlier restraint, hard as it had been. Shelby cleared her throat and twisted on his lap so that she could see him. “Umm, I'm not looking for you or anybody else to feel sorry for me. Maybe it came out like that, but that's not what I want."

Even in the low light he could see that her eyes gleamed with emotion. He stroked her hair with his fingertips, afraid that if he touched her skin, his hard won control would crumble. “Don't worry. Dispensing pity has never been part of my bedside manner." Her brows scrunched together in a questioning look, then she smiled. “You're purring again, but this time it's coming from your crotch. You do have a unique bedside manner, Doctor. I agree—much nicer than pity." “Excuse me.” He moved his legs, dislodging her from his lap, and reached deep inside his jeans pocket for the pager that was indeed vibrating its waiting message. He had no trouble reading the number even in the near dark. It was Tux's phone number. In his hurry to reach Shelby's house, Ric had left his cell phone at home. He let out a long sigh and looked up at her. His responsibilities as Overlord were never far away. “I need to use your phone." She cocked her head toward the kitchen. “On the counter. It's cordless. Take it into the bedroom if you like." He did, and in a few moments returned to the living room. Shelby was in the kitchen, a tall glass of water in her hand. “You have to go, don't you? No call at night can be good news." He replaced the phone on the counter. “It's not an emergency. I can stay a little while longer." “I'm dying of thirst. You want something?" “Give me the rest of that water. You go blow out those candles. We could both use some more sleep." She smiled, handed him the glass, and ran back to the living room on silent bare feet while he emptied the glass into the sink and rinsed it out. Tux hadn't been happy. He was worried about Eva, but more than that, he sounded more than a little put out with Ric.Well, Judson Tuxbridge and the problems of the Cristallia County Council could wait a few more hours. Ric had more important matters to attend to, and they involved a very warm, willing female and a queen-size bed.

Chapter Nine Ric left Shelby's house three hours later. In spite of his good intentions, more of that time had been spent making love than sleeping. His movements had all been slow and easy, designed to help him keep a firm grip on the leash that held the vampiric beast inside him. It had worked, but it hadn't been easy. The more leisurely his kisses, the more his mouth and hands had lingered, the more frenzied she had become, and in the end it was her passion, as much as his own, that nearly undid him. He had promised to call later that evening to try to arrange another Moonlight Madness date, and she had seemed disappointed at the prospect of having to wait a whole sixteen hours to see him again. It was a notion that both amused and awed him—that a mortal female could react so strongly to him without either the dark lure of the truth of what he really was, or the dressed up fantasy of the vampire mirror, which would show her the ideal of all she wanted. But frustrated as she may have been, she knew as well as he did that they both needed to catch up on much needed sleep. Besides, he had business to attend to—the pressing business of the Undead which never went away. As soon as he got home he called Tux and told him to come to the Chicken Palace. Tuxbridge arrived fifteen minutes later, and it was obvious from the moment he swept in the door that he had risen on the wrong side of the coffin. His hair was as rumpled as his shirt, and there was both lightning in his flashing eyes and thunder in the low rumble of his voice. He didn't bother with so much as a token pleasantry. “Where were you all night? I tried your home phone and your cell phone a dozen times each." Gloves-off was fine by Ric. He had felt this confrontation building for several days now, and the bloodlust that had risen with Shelby screamed for satisfaction. “By what right, my friend, do you question my whereabouts?" “When I feel your actions endanger all of us, I have more than enough right."

“Explain yourself." Tux circled Ric slowly. “You've been with the sheriff tonight. I saw your face when we were in the van and you watched her walk across the parking lot." “So?" “So you weren't just discussing the case with her. Her scent is all over you, so strong I'm surprised not to see her in this room." “What I do or don't do with mortals is none of your business." “If I thought you were influencing her to put a halt to the investigation, I wouldn't care. Tell me that's all you were doing, and I'll say no more." Ric stared at his adjutant without a blink. “Of course that's what I was doing. After last night she's mine. She'll do whatever I want. If I had something to hide from you, don't you think I would have showered and changed before I called you to come over here?" Tux hesitated. “Perhaps. I wouldn't think you, of all the Undead, would be so imprudent as to parade an ill-advised mortal liaison in front of your second, but foolish decisions are made all the time, aren't they? I'm just making a point that needed to be made." “Then consider it made. Move on to something important." “Eva. I'd like to know what happened with her." “Sit down, then. We'll talk." Only after Tux settled into a large easy chair did Ric do likewise. “Eva told the police that Kyle Carver had been a regular at the Diamond Stud for the two weeks preceding his death. She told them he was taken with her right from the start, giving her big tips, trying to buy her drinks, things like that. Then she said he started hanging around after the bar closed, wanting a date. Eva apparently doesn't mind such sport under normal circumstances, but she said she had no desire at all for Carver. She called him a ‘pitiful excuse for a mortal, so full of alcohol and drugs that he had all the appeal of rotten food.’ Her words to me, of course, not the police. I don't know why she didn't volunteer this information to me days ago." “I would imagine she was scared. She didn't know you—didn't know what you'd do to her. Your reputation is pretty fearsome, you know." Ric took note of the mild sarcasm in Tux's voice. “That's no excuse for disobedience. Everyone in the council would be wise to remember that. Even you, my friend. I would hate to think that you were nothing more than a jackal." “I forget nothing. What else did Eva say?" “She said she went so far as to ask the owner to evict Carver from the premises and have him arrested for trespassing if he returned. The owner wouldn't do it, though. Apparently Carver was too good a customer. The disturbance that the bartender told the police about happened one night when Carver got more drunk than usual and started taunting Eva during her act, even getting up on stage with her. She claims that was the last night she saw him. Did you know that any of this had happened to Eva?" Tux straightened. “Are you accusing me of withholding information?" “I'm simply asking a question. I want to know why I didn't hear of any of this before last night." “Eva often talks about her exploits at the Diamond Stud, both her conquests and her complaints. But she never names those involved. They're not people to her—they're either food or entertainment or, in the case of Carver, a nuisance. When she talks about them she just refers to them as ‘the pretty mortal’ or ‘the stupid human.’ So even if Eva had told me about a man harassing her, I wouldn't have connected him with the human who was killed."

Ric was silent for a moment as he digested what he had heard. Perhaps Eva and Tux were telling the truth, but he wouldn't bet money on it. When backed into a corner, any vampire, himself included, was much more likely to spin a web of illusion than to bare all. It didn't matter anyway. Truth wasn't the most important thing here. Keeping everyone safe was. If the best armor against discovery was a pack of lies, so be it. As long as Eva crafted her story so that no human could contradict her, that was all that counted. As for Tux, now was not yet the time for a full-blown confrontation. His bloodlust would have to wait a little longer for satisfaction. “The investigators will probably spend today trying to verify Eva's statement. Just in case someone challenges her story, we should have a plan of action ready." Tux studied him critically, his eyes like precision instruments weighing every word Ric said. “I totally agree. What do you have in mind?" “We should move her out of her house and have her stay with one of the others. If the authorities should come looking for her again, it'll give us more time to react if they can't find her." Tux raised his brows and nodded. “A good idea. But she can't stay with me. I'm already being looked upon with suspicion myself." “And I don't want her here. She can't stay in a small trailer with Lyle and Zada, even if they got along. What about Ormie? Eva appears to be on friendly terms with him." Tux nodded again, even more emphatically. “Ormie's our only choice. I'm sure he'll agree to it, but we'll have to wait until dark to move her. Let's hope she's safe from the sheriff until then." “I'll make sure she is." Tux's eyes slitted. “Yeah, you do that. What about Eva's job?" “I think it would be best if she called in sick for a few days. Do you agree?" “Agreed." Ric stood. “That should do it, then. I'll take care of everything tonight and keep you posted." Tux stood and stepped toward Ric, crossing the invisible boundary that defined a vamp's private space. “Just two more things, Boss. First, I don't like being called a jackal. Secondly, the sheriff's scent is all over you like pollen. But I don't smell her blood. Are you really using her, or are you using me?" He was right up in Ric's face, so close that Ric could see the dark flecks in the glowing green eyes. It was a challenge too blatant to ignore. He grabbed Tux by the neck and sank his nails deep into the thick muscle. “I'll exploit her as I wish, and it's none of your business how. I'll utilize you, too, my friend, any way I see fit. You're mine. But if you cease to be useful, I can dispose of you in any number of ways." Tux didn't flinch. “You don't scare me. You can't hurt me, and you know it. The way I hear it, you have even fewer friends in the Directorate than you used to, now that your buddy Alek Dragovich is dead. There isn't an enforcer around who would back you if you did anything to me." Maybe it was his own lust, or maybe it was the delight that Tux had taken in mentioning Drago's death that irritated Ric, but Ric wasted no time in tightening his grip. “Don't you know? Le docteur la Mort has his own enforcer, and he's called the Hand of Death. Let me introduce you to him.” Ric summoned his power, gratified that his aggression finally had an outlet. He felt the killing energy begin to flow down his arm to the hand that squeezed Tux's neck, and in a release that satisfied even his demanding bloodlust, he discharged the energy from his fingertips. He immediately felt Tux's body go lax. The span of power of the Hand of Death ranged from bringing calm to sapping strength to leaching all life from whatever it touched. He dare not send Tuxbridge to the True Death, of course, but a few moments of feeling all his strength desert him might make him think twice about challenging Doctor Death again.

His adjutant's body became a dead weight in his grip, but Ric didn't care. He held up the more than two hundred pounds easily. He closed his eyes and allowed his beast to revel not only in the pure pleasure of besting a challenger, but in the almost carnal release of feeling the killing current flow through him. He opened his eyes reluctantly. Enough was enough. “If you still have the power of speech, tell me you've had enough. If not, any sign of submission will do." Tux's mouth opened, but no words dribbled out. His now-dull eyes cast their gaze to the floor. Ric dropped the body where it had stood, and the muscular six-foot mass crumpled like a fallen warrior on the field of battle. Ric felt a pang of regret at the sight of such a strong vampire, one he had hoped to be an ally, brought so low, but Tuxbridge had been the one to bring the challenge. All Ric had done was answer it. He drew a deep breath, bringing his passions under control, but his voice remained low with warning. “Your strength should return in a few minutes. You said you don't forget anything, but you obviously forgot what I said to you a few days ago. I told you I don't like to be disappointed by those around me. In the future, feel free to give me your ideas and opinions, but don't ever threaten me or challenge me again. Understand?" After a moment, Tux's head lolled to the side in what Ric took as a nod of assent. “Good. As soon as you can stand, get out of my house." Twenty minutes later Tuxbridge staggered to his feet and shuffled out the door without a word. Ric let out a long, ragged sigh. He sorely missed the boredom of Eidolon Lake. **** Ric managed a few hours of sleep blissfully uninterrupted by phone calls or visitors. He woke, and when he ascended from his cellar lair, all the problems from last night came flooding back to him. Eva. Tux. And Shelby. One predicament at a time. He resisted calling Shelby, not wanting to wake her in case she was sleeping late. So after he showered and dressed, he drove his SUV past Eva's house. Everything looked as it should, and there were no squad cars, unmarked or otherwise, sitting on her street. He then drove to his office and saw a couple of patients before closing the office at five. He went past Eva's again on the way home. Everything was quiet. Glad as he was for the uneventful afternoon, a strange feeling prevented him from relaxing. The quiet seemed almost unnatural— like the calm before a storm. Once home, he stood in the tower room with both the window and his senses wide open. He listened, filtering the sounds that came to him on the warm afternoon wind. The buzzing and chirping of birds and insects. The howl of a neighbor's dog. The engine and wheel noise of the occasional passing auto. He closed his eyes and reached out with senses that stretched beyond the realm of human awareness. He tasted the breeze on his skin, feeling for energies and vibrations that were foreign or abnormal. His nostrils flared, like an animal testing the wind, but nothing out of the ordinary came to him. There was only the fragrance of nearby flowers and the sickening smell of barbecue from a yard down the road. His own human taste buds long forgotten, he found it hard to understand how mortals could find scorched, dead meat so appetizing. Perhaps his unease was merely apprehension. He called Shelby's house and was glad when she answered on the second ring. For once it seemed there was no police emergency calling her away. She sounded happy to hear from him, and when he asked about the case, her tone was upbeat even though she had no progress to report. He told her he had a few evening errands to run and would call her around ten o'clock about getting together to stroll the lakefront for the Moonlight Madness event. He hung up, then called Eva and Ormie and left messages on their machines. After the sun went down, each called him back. Ormie was glad to put up Eva for a few days, and Eva made no objection to either staying with Ormie or missing a few days of work. He then called Tux to report on the events of the evening, but got no answer. He left a message. It was just as well. After last night, he had no desire to cross verbal swords with Tux. At ten, as promised, he called Shelby back. “How about if I pick you up at ten-thirty? Nothing fancy. I'll bring the bike."

“And what if I want to buy something big and bulky at the sale? A lot of the local artists are going to be set up. What if I want to buy some artwork? Your little saddlebags leave a lot to be desired." “Buy whatever catches your fancy. I'm sure the vendor will be only too happy to hold your purchase for you until you can pick it up tomorrow." A cheerful laugh floated over the phone line. “What's so funny?” he asked. “Most men wouldn't have answered like that. They would have said something like...” She lowered her voice. “'Uh, that's just incentive for you to keep your money in your purse, little lady.’” He laughed with her. “I don't think I'd ever say that." “Thank heaven for that!” There was a pause. “Hold on a minute. There's somebody at my door." “Shelby...” But she was gone. Ten at night was a strange time for visitors. He had a bad feeling that another emergency was about to pounce. He strained to hear, but could only make out faint female voices in the background. She came back on the line a couple minutes later. “Listen, Ric, that was my neighbor, and I'll have to call you back. She says she sees strange lights in the woods behind her house and wants me to check it out. I'm sure it's just kids, but she's elderly and she'd feel better if I could reassure her." Strange lights in the woods? The feu follet. Judson Tuxbridge's game of long ago to lure humans deep into the woods to meet their doom. “Shelby, no! Don't go into the woods!" “I'll call you right back. Don't worry—I'll be careful." “Shelby, listen to me!” Only a dial tone answered him. He hit redial on his phone immediately, but he only got her answering machine. “Shelby, if you can hear me, don't go into the woods. It's dangerous. Just wait ‘til I get there.” A long string of French profanities followed the silence on her end of the line. He slammed the phone down, grabbed his keys, and ran out the door. He took the SUV, since it was much faster than the old Peugeot. Even the newer SUV, though, responded sluggishly to his inhuman reflexes. Tires screeched and pebbles flew, but his mind was on Tux and what had happened last night. He should have stuck with his initial instinct—to control his temper and not get into a horn-locking battle with his adjutant. But what was done was done, and it was clear that Tux saw his opportunity not only to eliminate a perceived threat, but to strike back at Ric through someone he suspected Ric was involved with. It wasn't unusual for vampires to play against each other using human pawns, but it wasn't something Ric was used to. Five minutes later he was at Shelby's house. He gunned the vehicle to the top of the driveway and jumped out, running to the back of the house where the black seam of the night woods met the paler stretch of yard. He ran into the woods, but came to a quick halt as the ground fell away from him into a steep ravine. He scanned the darkness that lay ahead, but there were no lights that he could see, not even pinpricks or faint glows. The woods were most likely filled with numerous such embankments and twisting ravines. Even with his extraordinary eyesight, a light at the bottom of a ravine could be hidden from view by the hilly topography. He'd have to rely on his hearing and sense of smell. The unmistakable scent of the Undead, as well as Shelby's fragrance of life—if she were still alive—would lead him, as well as any sounds of a struggle. But it had been more than five minutes. They could be anywhere. A creature with inhuman speed could cover a tremendous amount of ground in five minutes. “Shelby!” He called out as loudly as he could and opened his senses to their maximum. If she was nearby and made any sound at all, he'd hear her. Only the night's black stillness answered. He ran hunched over, knees bent, low to the ground, hurtling fallen

trees with the ease of a beast born of the forest. He had no trouble seeing in the dark, and he wasn't bothered by the thin limbs of new growth that whipped at him incessantly. “Shelby! Answer me!” The thick carpet of fallen leaves muffled his steps, but he didn't care if someone heard him. He wanted to be heard. He wanted to confront Tuxbridge once and for all. He stopped again to listen. There. To his right. A rustle. The snap of a branch. He turned toward the sounds and ran. The musty spoor of the Undead hung in the air, but it was hard to track among the ever-present decay in the woods. Rotted logs, dead leaves, and the occasional animal carcass all sent teasing odors into the air to confuse his senses. A thin scream tore the great stillness. A human scream. It was followed by a small cry, then silence. But he had a fix on the sounds now, and he sprinted on noiselessly. He could smell Shelby now, but it wasn't the familiar fragrance of her skin or hair. It was the scent of her blood that stung his nostrils—sharp, sweet, and exposed to the night air. He increased his speed, able to see them, the tiny outline of a predator and its quarry that quickly grew larger in his sight. A vampire crouched over a slim figure, feeding on his prey. Ric didn't slow, but slammed into the beast, dislodging him from his victim. Both vampires reeled to the ground, twisting and sliding on the slick, rotted leaves. He grabbed his opponent from behind and cinched one arm around his neck in a chokehold. With his other hand he pressed his palm flat against the man's forehead. “The Hand of Death, Tux. You're going to feel its full power this time." But the vampire was tall, strong, and full of the energy of fresh blood. He bent forward, pulled Ric off balance, and flipped Ric over his head. By the time Ric rolled to his feet, the vampire had a broken branch in hand, its pointed end sharp and jagged. Dark hair curtained his features in shadow, allowing Ric to see nothing of the man's face but blazing eyes that mimicked the glowing orbs of the mysterious feu follet. Tux was no fool. He knew that the sturdy branch would not only keep Ric and his deadly hand at bay, but provide a killing weapon in itself. A wooden stake through the heart was a time-honored and very effective way to kill a vampire. Tux flew at him with the branch leveled like a lance, and Ric barely had time to spin his body, grab the branch, and deflect the blow off to the side. Both men clutched the branch, but Tux, with his nourished vigor, had the advantage of strength. Tux rotated his body and swung the branch, slamming Ric into the trunk of a huge tree. Ric lost his grip and lurched to the ground, and the point of the branch speared his left arm, just missing his chest. Ric cried out, scrambling to regain his feet. Tux yanked the wood from Ric's flesh and aimed again. Ric grabbed the branch and pulled, and Tux's momentum carried him right into Ric's arms. This time he wasted no time on proclamations but hung onto Tux and pressed the hand of his uninjured arm over Tux's heart, letting the killing power flow. Ric didn't try to regulate the current, but allowed it to surge unchecked. A gurgle rattled in the throat of the doomed vampire, but the sound died at the same time the body slumped in his arms. Ric didn't let go, but held the body and lowered it to the ground. He stared into the open eyes that no longer glowed. It wasn't Judson Tuxbridge.

Chapter Ten It was the rogue, Joel Branduff. The tall, sturdy body and dark wavy hair had fooled Ric in the dark. Ric rifled through the vampire's pockets quickly, stuffing the sparse contents into his own pockets. Sunlight would burn the body tomorrow, igniting the clothing as well, but Ric wanted to take no chances. He hurried back to Shelby. A thin line of blood trickled down her neck, but when he placed a hand on her chest, he detected a rapid rise and fall. He checked her pulse. It, too, was quickened, but not racing. The blood loss wasn't life threatening. Ric estimated that Branduff had only started feeding just before Ric had caught sight of them. Another moment longer, though, and Shelby would have needed a transfusion. Any longer than that, and he would have killed her. As it was, she would recover, but she still needed replacement body fluids, and fast.

He tapped her cheek with the back of his hand. “Shelby. Can you hear me?" She groaned, and her eyelids fluttered as she tried to focus her eyes in the dark. Good. She wasn't unconscious. “Everything's going to be all right. Rest now. Sleep.” He made it a compelling command. What he had to do right now would be easier if she wasn't awake. He gently picked her up and carried her through the woods as swiftly as was safe, then loaded her into the SUV and drove her to his office. He hooked her up to an intravenous saline solution and cleaned the wound. He also looked at his own arm injury, but it was already starting to heal. When he finished, he took her to his house, where he made her as comfortable as he could on his sofa. He'd allow her to rest for a couple more hours. The time was not so much for her benefit, but because he needed time to think. And there was a lot to think about. He had just committed the worst sin an Undead creature could. He had killed another of his kind. He hadn't hesitated, and he hadn't thought about it—he had just done it. He didn't feel remorse for his actions for one moment, nor did he have a conscience to wash him in guilt, but he had to consider the possible consequences. According to hierarchy law, there was no justification for what he had done, no defense that wouldn't crumble before the justice of even the most lenient enforcer. It hadn't been self-defense. Ric had pursued and attacked Branduff. And deadly force in defense of a human was only justified under vampiric law if the human involved was a blood-bound servant. Shelby held no such position. Ric was part of the infrastructure that was in place specifically to prevent such acts of violence from happening. For him, a ranking member of the hierarchy, to commit such an act was worse than if a rogue or an ordinary council member had done it. Ric was in a position of both authority and responsibility. It was like a cop going bad and killing those he had sworn to protect. It was unthinkable. It was the ultimate betrayal of trust. If his crime should come to light, he would be forced to submit to the judgment of an enforcer. Because he was an Overlord, someone with high standing in the hierarchy would probably be sent—perhaps the head of the Midwest Region. Ric was a minor Overlord, true, but because of his elevated past position as Coterie Paramount, maybe even the Directorate would get involved. He would certainly be sanctioned. He would lose his title as Overlord and most likely be banned from ever holding any future position in the hierarchy. He longed for the help and counsel of his old friend Alek Dragovich. Ric and Drago had shared an alliance since 1875, and while most alliances were nothing more than political maneuverings, he considered Drago a friend. Drago had kept his word and backed Ric in his ill-fated bid for Patriarch, and he had never done anything to compromise Ric personally or professionally. Drago had been the uncontested, undisputed master of the creative solution. He would have found some loophole, some ploy in the bag of tricks labeled “The Drago Way” that would have salvaged the situation. But doing things “The Drago Way” was what had ultimately sent his friend to the True Death. Ric had never mourned the passing of his friend as much as he did now. No, he no longer had his friend Alek Dragovich, l’ enforcier, to back him in the Directorate, and while he knew well the directress who oversaw North America, he wouldn't beg her help in this or anything. There had been a major shakeup in the Brotherhood hierarchy following Drago's death. The old Patriarch had been cowardly, power-hungry, and corrupt, and Ric was happy to see him deposed, but he was unfamiliar with both the new Patriarch and the Patriarch's new chief enforcer, Revelin Scott. Ric had heard that Scott had previously worked for the Circle in England and had the backing of the directress, but that was all he knew. Against all this Ric weighed his chances of being found out in his crime. Branduff had been a rogue. There were no witnesses to what he had done, and no evidence of the body would remain. However, just because Branduff was a rogue didn't mean he was unknown to the vampire community. He wasn't on the formal roster of the Cristallia County Council, but he was known by Tux, Eva, and perhaps others in the group. Had Branduff acted alone? If Branduff had been the one to put Kyle Carver in the privy hole, he had a motive for wanting the sheriff out of the way. But if Branduff had been lying... Ric had to face the fact that there was a possibility he'd be found out. If Branduff had not been acting alone, there were any number of vamps who would question the rogue's disappearance and come to suspect Ric. Even if Branduff's associates couldn't prove anything, they could call the Midwest Region office and demand an investigation. It was not a happy state of affairs. He glanced at Shelby. His life was suddenly a mess, and he hadn't even begun to think about

Shelby or what he was going to do with her. He sighed and studied her. She was still sleeping peacefully, unaware that she had been marked by one vampire and was now in the hands of another who not only considered her fate, but would determine it. The way he saw it he had three choices. He could finish what Branduff started and kill Shelby. He could try to compel her to forget that this whole night had ever happened, or he could tell her the truth about everything. The first option was clearly out. The second involved a high amount of risk. Shelby was a strong woman with a strong will. Repressing her memories might work for a time, but there was always the chance that she would recall part of the experience in the future. The consequences of such an occurrence were impossible to predict. The third option was the riskiest of all. Not only that, it was the option with the widest range of possible outcomes. Serious mortalvampire liaisons were not unheard of, but they weren't matches made in heaven. Most didn't endure, and those that ended quickly usually ended badly. There was a very small segment of the human population, however, that was invited to share the Demi Monde and flourished. These were the select few who became servants to the Undead. Most were lovers, some merely handled household and financial affairs, but to all the relationship was a lifelong commitment and unbreakable except by death. Every such human pledged to live and, if need be, die for his or her vampire. Ric wondered if Shelby, with such an important career of her own, could make such a commitment. He thought of a fourth option. He could bring her over to the Other Side. It was another unappealing idea. It would mean they could no longer be lovers, for the allure of life had to be present in at least one partner for any kind of sexual desire to exist. But he was getting way ahead of himself. First was convincing Shelby of the truth. Many humans could not accept the existence of vampires, even when offered proof. After acceptance was the problem of embracing the truth. Would Shelby be repulsed by what he was? Disgusted? And even if she could accept him, how would he feel about that? These were things he had never pondered before. Having no love for humans, he had kept himself isolated from them as much as possible. Did he really want to tie himself to a mortal he had known for less than two weeks? He thought about when he had made love to her the night before. She had delighted his body and made him feel the pleasure of being alive that he had denied himself for a long, long time. More than that, he had felt something he hadn't thought possible with a mortal—a true kinship. He sighed again. None of his questions were going to be answered this way. Action, once again, was preferable to thought. He glided to the sofa and bent down on one knee. “Shelby, hear me now.” He skimmed her face with the tip of one finger, bringing it to rest at last against her temple. “Wake up now, Shelby. You've rested enough." A soft moan escaped her lips, and she stirred. He got up, returned to his chair and waited. **** A voice intruded into Shelby's sleep. Maybe if she ignored it, it would go away. She tried to turn over and settle into a new position, but she couldn't. Her bed didn't feel right. She opened her eyes and squinted, though the light in the room was soft and low. She didn't recognize anything except Ric. Why was he all the way across the room? “Ric? Where am I?" “You're at my house. How do you feel?" Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton candy. She brought one hand up to her face to make sure it was still there. “Tired. Kind of woozy. How long have I been here?" “A little over two hours." “What happened?" “Don't try to get up just yet. You lost some blood. Not enough to need a transfusion, but I did take you to my office to give you an

IV. You'll be all right." She didn't feel all right, but he was the doctor. Still, he hadn't exactly answered the question. “But what happened?" “What do you remember?" She drew a long, shuddering breath. “Lights. I remember the lights in the woods. Strange lights—not like a flashlight or lantern— but like something alive. A glowing shape that pulsed and floated..." “Go on. What else?" “Um ... well, I followed the light, but it was always just out of reach. Just when I was going to give up, I saw a man. I thought it was Judson Tuxbridge, but it wasn't." “Then what?" She shook her head. Everything else was as fuzzy as her head. “I don't know. I don't remember anything else. Just a dream." “About what?" “Floating. Like I was dying. Horrible, but wonderful at the same time. I can't describe it. What happened? Who found me?" “I did. I found you in the woods. You'd been bitten." Bitten? “I don't recall any animals. All I remember is the man." He didn't say anything more, but sat staring at her with a strange blank look on his face. Why was he sitting so far away? She tried to sit up, and the world spun. “Ric, please.” She closed her eyes, hoping it would help. When she opened them he was at her side on the sofa, supporting her in a sitting position. “No more for now. You need to rest." She pushed away from him a little to show she could sit up on her own. “No. I'm the sheriff, and I need to know what happened." “And I'm your doctor, and you're not up to talking about this just yet." He was beginning to aggravate her. “Ric, I'm serious." “So am I." She huffed, but she had a feeling that she wouldn't win this argument. She didn't. He cupped her chin and turned her face toward his. “Get some more sleep now." She looked into his beautiful eyes. They seemed to glow at her, like there was some kind of light behind them. They reminded her of the strange lights in the woods. Suddenly she couldn't keep her eyes open. **** "Shelby." She heard Ric's voice in her dream. She knew it was him. No one else had such a mesmerizing voice—low, resonant, and with that faint accent that made her want to listen to him all the more just so she could put a finger on it.

"Shelby, wake up." “French, of course." "Shelby!" Her eyes popped open. He was crouched on the floor next to the sofa. “Did I just say something?" He smiled at her. “Talking in your sleep. You must be feeling better." His dimple was in all its glory. Motivation enough to get up. She sat up straight, and he handed her a glass of water. “Drink up." She took the glass and downed the water. She looked at him, holding out the empty glass. “All right. I've been good. Now tell me about this bandage on my neck and what happened to me." Ric drew a deep breath and took the glass from her. “As I said, you were bitten. On the neck. If that suggests something to you, it should. The man who attacked you was one of the Undead." Undead? It took a moment for what he said to sink in, and then it dawned on her what he meant. “You mean someone like Surly Seline the Goth Queen. Somebody who's into all that Goth stuff, right?" “No. I don't mean a human playing at being a vampire. I mean a creature that exists on the blood of the living but that is not itself alive. Call it a vampire if you like. The term is accurate enough." She closed her eyes. She was in no mood for jokes, especially not bad ones. “That's not even funny." “It's not supposed to be." This was getting worse and worse. She thought she could be serious about Ric, but it was becoming glaringly evident that he wasn't all there. How did he ever become a doctor with so many screws loose? “Okay, let's start over. Just tell me what happened in the woods. No embellishments." “A vampire attacked you and was draining your blood when I found you. I stopped him and carried you out of the woods." Right. “So when I was talking to you on the phone, how'd you know I'd be in trouble if I went into the woods? How did you know who this man was? What did you do to him, and where is he now? And if he was superhuman, how did you overcome him?” Her gaze challenged his with the confidence that he couldn't dream up plausible answers in a million years. He turned away from her and stepped across the room to his easy chair, but the extra distance didn't make her feel any more comfortable. When he raised his eyes to hers again, the space between them seemed to vanish. She brought her hands to her open neckline, touched the bandage on her neck, and fumbled with the buttons on her shirt. She pulled the edges of cloth together and fastened the top two buttons, but the intensity of his gaze on her neck and chest made her feel downright naked. “Well? Do you have any answers?" The glow of his eyes never dimmed. “I'm willing to provide whatever proof you require that I speak the truth. And it is the truth. If you persist in disbelieving me or in thinking that I'm crazy, we aren't going to get anywhere." She broke the eye contact, searching the room for some normalcy she could cling to. Large leather chairs crouched like fourlegged beasts waiting to spring. Shadows huddled in the corners of the room. The mouth of the fireplace gaped like a hungry maw. Nothing was familiar except his voice, and when the sound of it, like a purr, touched her again, his words beckoned her with a seduction she had no defense against. “Just listen and let me finish before you say anything."

She sat still, giving no answer. “The shining of the lights is a very old north woods trick to lure innocent people to their death. When you mentioned the lights on the phone I knew you were in trouble. I came as quickly as I could and searched the woods behind your house. I heard you cry out. That's how I found you.” He paused. She didn't want to hear more, but she couldn't help herself. It was like watching a disaster unfold on TV. “Go on." “I interrupted the creature while he was feeding, so he wasn't too happy. He tried to kill me, so in your defense, and in my own, I eliminated the threat. He'll never be found or heard from again." “So you killed this vampire." “His human self had already died long ago. I merely sent him to his True Death." “Don't split hairs. You killed him." He sighed. “I killed him." Murder. Now this was something she was familiar with. “You're a vampire killer, then, like one of those guys in the movies who goes around with stakes and crucifixes." “No.” His voice was very soft. “Then ... how did you kill him? You're a big, strong guy, but wouldn't he have some kind of supernatural strength?" “I have his strength and more." No. It was the Curt Van Allen nightmare and the cop nightmare all rolled into one. Not only had her trust been betrayed, she was being hunted by creatures more terrifying than any her dreams had conjured. She stared at him, willing herself to wake up. “If you're saying what I think you're saying, I don't believe you. I've seen you in broad daylight." He stood, reached down, and with one hand lifted the huge, upholstered chair he had been sitting on. “You're strong. I'll give you that much." He stepped over to the lamp and turned it off. The room fell into a very black and uneasy gloom. She started to panic, and in her mind's eye she saw strange lights all around her, luring her to her death. “Ric, what are you doing?" “Hold up some fingers. However many you want." She gave him one finger—the finger. “One finger and one message received. Can you tell how many fingers I'm holding up?" She couldn't see a thing in the dark. “Okay, so your eyesight is better than mine. Now turn the light on." He did. “I see that the cynical cop requires proof absolute. Very well.” He got up, glided from the room, and returned a moment later with a large knife and a towel. He rolled his sleeve up. Was he mad? “Ric..." He ignored her and drew the blade across his forearm, slowly enough that she could see the metal slicing deep into his flesh. He held the towel under his arm, and it reddened quickly with blood. A brief wince altered his features, but the muscles she saw

working in his face and neck afterward indicated that he controlled a pain greater than he had shown. “I'm immune to human ailments, Shelby, but I'm not a machine. I do feel physical pain. But watch my arm." She stared, unable to tear her gaze away even if she had wanted to. The blood stopped flowing, and he wiped the remaining trail of red from his arm with a corner of the towel. The severed flesh knitted together before her eyes, forming a rosy seam across his pale skin. She gaped, transfixed, and in another few minutes all redness was gone. “Come closer and look at it." She flicked her gaze to his face. He looked so real. Yet how could any of this be real? He closed the distance between them himself, appearing right beside her in the blink of an eye. “Go ahead,” he whispered. “Look at it. Touch it.” He held his arm before her, flexing it. She saw the hard muscles, the tendons, and the veins, but no cut, no scar, no discoloration. There was nothing at all to indicate he had been wounded in the least—nothing except a blood-soaked hand towel. “Well? Are you convinced or shall I have you shoot me with your service weapon?" She studied his features again, only inches away this time, and the glossy hair, pale skin, and strange eyes took on a new importance. No longer was he just strikingly handsome. He was scary. Vampire or no, something was definitely not normal, and with dawning certainty came a new dread. “What are you going to do to me?" Something twitched in his face. “You doubt me after what I did for you just now?" She refused to feel guilt for either her skepticism or her suspicions. “I doubt everything right now. How do I know you didn't save my life for some purpose of your own?” As the words tumbled out of her mouth her options, or rather lack thereof, raced through her mind. Even if she considered him a foe, could she realistically do anything about it? Arresting him was out of the question. What proof did she have of any crime? People were already questioning her. No one would believe this. And if she did try to oppose him, she had no doubt he had the ability to stop her in any number of ways. The lines in his face hardened, as if he had read her thoughts. “You'll just have to trust me, as I'll have to trust you." “I don't see that I have much choice." “Shelby, I don't want to coerce you into anything." “But you will if you have to." He drew a deep breath. “Believe it or not, I've put myself in a very precarious position by what I've done tonight. The others of my kind, should they learn of it, would condemn me." “Others? How many others like you are there around here?" He shook his head. “I can't talk about that." “So what happens now? You didn't answer my question. What are you going to do with me? If I wanted to go home right now, would you let me?" “You're in danger. What happened to you tonight was no random act. I won't stop you if you want to leave, but I don't advise it." Advice from a vampire. Part of her wanted to flee from all this madness and forget that any of it had ever happened. But a larger part of her—the part that had been a cop for nearly a decade—wanted more answers. She closed her eyes. Was that all she wanted? Just the night before she had been consumed with desire for this man. Were any of those feelings still present? She

cracked her eyelids and peered at him. She had no idea how she felt. Perhaps if she knew he truly wished her no harm ... but how could she trust him? He had asked for her trust, but it would take more than mere asking. “Why am I in danger? Does it have something to do with my relationship with you?" His eyebrows rose. “That may be part of it. Someone wants to strike at me by hurting you." “But you think there's more to it than that." “I've already told you a lot of things I shouldn't have. But some things must remain with me, at least for now." So he didn't trust her anymore than she trusted him. Suddenly she was very tired. “If you're not going to talk to me, take me home." He rose with a lightness and grace that belied a six-foot-plus frame. Now she understood why he had never displayed any fatigue or clumsiness in his movements. He held out a hand to her, but all she did was stare at it. There were smudges of dried blood still on his arm. She ignored his offer and stood up on her own, but she was immediately sorry. A wave of dizziness rocked her, and she felt herself falling back to the sofa. He caught her before she could try to stop him, and in that moment she felt at home in his embrace, not only safe, but as if she belonged. But with the restoration of her strength and balance came the reality of what held her. She shuddered. “I'm all right. Let go of me." He released her, but stayed close to her as he escorted her out to his vehicle. The drive back to her house was a quiet one as she tried to make sense of everything that had happened. Ric pulled the SUV into her driveway and cut the engine, but made no move to exit. And in spite of her feelings, she couldn't quite bring herself to jump out and run for the house. “Ric, how much danger am I really in? Tell me the truth.” She was careful to stare out the windshield and not at his eyes. All she wanted right now was information, not to be drawn into whatever game he was playing. “I can't be sure. Maybe I eliminated the threat. Maybe all I did was tweak the Devil's nose. But you'd be a lot better off with me nearby." She wasn't so sure about that. “Not a good idea. I need to do some serious thinking. It's not every day that your lover admits he's a bloodsucking monster." “What you need is sleep and rest. I don't want you to go in to work tomorrow." “I have to.” The three words stiffened her resolve. “Good Night, Ric.” She opened the door, slid off the leather seat, and strode to her front door. He was there waiting for her. “Dammit, Ric...” Her hard-won determination took flight, leaving quivers of frustration in its wake. She suddenly realized that he was only allowing her the illusion of being in control. She had no doubt he could force her to do anything he wanted. But what did he want? “Why did you save my life?" He stood very close to her, bracing one arm against her door just inches from her head. “I told you—I'm not a machine, and I'm not some kind of zombie animated from the dead. I do feel, but my emotions aren't the same as yours. I'm a reversal of everything that humanity deems good and right. I want you to hear that from me just in case you have any illusions about what I am. But the feelings I do have are very strong, and my desires are even stronger. How I felt last night is something I don't think I could explain to you, but know that it meant just as much to me in my own way as it meant to you in yours." At his mention of strong desires and his reference to last night, her body responded with a mind of its own, wanting nothing more than to experience again the ecstasy they had shared. A now-familiar ache swiftly knotted and urged her to press her body against his. She yearned to feel his mouth on hers, craved the release only he could bring to the tightness she felt building with every second she stood there. But she resisted. Her self-control, as fragile as it was, was more important.

She stared past his shoulder at a light that shone down the road. “Well, maybe someday you can explain to me exactly what you feel, but in the meantime, I need some time to myself." “Shelby.” He whispered her name slowly, as though it were a part of her body to be caressed. She shifted her eyes to meet his gaze. “You've been through a lot, and you're very tired. You should sleep now.” His voice, low and resonant, became a tangible part of him, filling her senses, raising goose bumps on her skin, and sinking into her mind. The last thing she remembered seeing was his eyes, glowing like those of some night predator. And her final thought was that the illusion that this night was some kind of dream was gone. It was all real. And the reality was a thousand times more terrifying than the nightmare.

Chapter Eleven Shelby turned her head and squinted at her bedside clock, groaning when she realized it was ten o'clock in the morning. Late for work was her first thought, but as she rolled out of bed and padded to the bathroom the events of last night came trickling back to her. The attack in the woods. She peered at the bathroom mirror and saw the reflection of the bandage on her neck. By a vampire. She wet a washcloth and scrubbed the sleep from her eyes. Ric. Ric was one of them. Was he here? She was wearing a cotton nightshirt, but she didn't remember getting undressed or going to bed. She made her way to the kitchen. The message light on her answering machine was blinking furiously. She ignored it and looked around. “Ric?" The only response was a burst of chatter from Flash. She took a peek out the glass doors leading to the backyard patio. The sun was shining, and flags of shade created by the tall basswood branches waved over the lawn. She stepped into the living room and stared at the fireplace, trying not to remember the time she and Ric had spent in front of the candles just two nights ago. Next she opened the front door and looked out. No SUV sat in the driveway. Had he spent the night with her, watching over her? She had no way to know. Returning to Flash's cage, she bent her head to stare at the tiny beady eye directed her way. “Hi, baby." Flash cocked his head. “Hello, baby." “You see anything of a tall, rotten vampire around here last night?" The little white head bobbed up and down. “Pretty boy, pretty boy." “Is that a ten-four, Flash?" “Ten-four, ten-four." She sighed and hit the play button on the answering machine. There was a message from the neighbor who had first alerted her to the lights in the woods, a call from Seline wondering if the schedule had been changed, and one from Marc asking when she would be in. There were no messages from Ric. She fingered the small white square on her neck. If not for the bandage, she could have believed that all of it had truly been some kind of wild dream. As it was, she started her damage control. She called Seline first and told the girl that she had felt sick last

night and ended up oversleeping. She promised she'd be in after lunch. Next she called her neighbor and reassured the woman that the lights had been nothing but some teenagers playing in the woods. She hung up the phone, started a pot of coffee, and cleaned out Flash's cage. But the more she strove for normality, the more she realized how altered her life had become. She didn't know what to make of Ric's declarations and demonstrations. He was a doctor and had access to many different kinds of drugs. Perhaps she had been under the influence of something. Whatever had really happened, Ric had betrayed her. She had been disappointed by men before, but never like this. She had given him her body, but it had been so much more than that. She had leaned on him for support, and he had not only let her topple, he had pulled the rug out from underneath her. **** Ric woke after spending the afternoon sleeping. He ascended to the tower room and threw open the window. Perhaps it was the nearly three hundred and sixty degree view he had of his property, or perhaps it was the height that gave him a feeling of power, but the tiny room, for all its confinement, was quickly becoming his favorite spot to reflect. He had been up all night and all morning in an attempt to safeguard Shelby from further harm. While she slept he had alternated between patrolling the outside grounds of her house and watching over her in her bedroom. He hadn't pondered all his new problems as much as he had simply wondered how he could have come to care so quickly for a human. Now, though, as the events of last night moved farther away, they came into sharper focus, and the enormity of what he had done cut into him. He had killed a vampire. He had given a mortal information that could potentially be harmful to him and his kind. He had violated the trust of his position. It was a rocky path he had chosen last night, and if he stayed on it, it would get no smoother. How could he possibly guard her twenty-four hours a day? He couldn't. He needed sleep, and he had a job and responsibilities. And Shelby wasn't likely to make things easy for him. Ric stood just outside of a shaft of late afternoon sun and felt the gentle breeze warm his skin. Guarding her implied there was a threat still out there, but he had no idea what form the threat would take. Had Branduff acted alone? If not, who else was part of the conspiracy to make Shelby disappear? Disaster control, even if he wanted to do it, would be hard. He could compel Shelby to forget the past eighteen hours, but that wouldn't remove the threat against her. And if what he had told her about someone wanting to strike out at him by hurting her was true, he would still be in danger. Disaster. Ever since he moved to Shadow Bay and met Shelby Cort, disaster had filled his existence. His cell phone rang. He reached for it, expecting it to be Shelby. “De Chaux." It was Tux. “Ric, I heard from some of the council members last night. This whole thing with Eva has them spooked. Have you heard any news of the investigation?” The words were stated matter-of-factly, as if the nasty confrontation between Ric and Tux had never happened. Ric was careful to keep his words just as neutral. “No. I haven't talked to the sheriff since yesterday. Eva's with Ormie, isn't she?" “Yeah. Listen, Ric, the group wants a meeting. They're all edgy. They need reassuring." “All right. Tomorrow night at my house. Set it up." “Okay.” There was a pause. “Did you want anything else, Tux?" “No. I'll see you tomorrow." Though there was nothing overt in Tux's words or voice, there was something about the conversation that worried Ric. If Tux was

indeed associated with Branduff, he was perfectly capable of making mischief during the day. Ric called Shelby's home number and got her answering machine. “Shelby, pick up.” He paused and heard nothing but silence. “Shelby, pick up the phone and let me know you're all right.” More silence. With a French oath he tapped in another phone number, hoping she had ignored his advice and gone in to work. “Cristallia County Sheriff's Department. How can I help you?" “This is Dr. De Chaux. Is Sheriff Cort in?" “I'm sorry, Doctor. You just missed her. She's left for the day." “How long ago?" “Just a minute ago." “Thanks." He was out of the tower and on his bike before another minute passed. He pulled into Shelby's driveway just before she did. Shelby exited her vehicle slowly, staring at him. “What are you doing here? I was hoping you were nothing more than a bad dream." Glad as he was to see her in one piece, her unappreciative attitude grated on him. He had saved her life, and even if she couldn't swallow anything else that had happened last night, she should at least be grateful for that. “I'm flattered you don't consider me a full-blown nightmare." She didn't stop at his bike but continued marching toward her door. “Don't feel flattered. That's exactly what you are." He followed her to the door. “We need to talk." She turned to face him. She was wearing sunglasses, but if the flinty lines around her mouth were any indication, her blue-green eyes would be throwing sparks. “Are you going to answer my questions and be truthful with me?" “You must know there are some things I can't tell you, and if I swore to be one hundred percent truthful, that itself would be a lie." “Then there's no point in talking, and we're certainly not doing anything else." He took her by the arm. She tried to shake him off, but he held her firmly. “Listen, Shelby, you are still very much in danger, and ignoring the threat isn't going to make it go away. Talk to me. I can't make promises, but I can help you." She stopped struggling against his hold, but the tension in her arm served as silent opposition to his plea. “Do I have a choice?" “Not if you want to live." “Well, unless you plan on knocking down my door and dragging me inside, you can let go of me." He did, and she turned around to unlock the door. When she opened it and swept inside she neither looked back nor held the door for him, but he braced it before it slammed into his face and followed her inside. “I guess I don't have to worry about offering you anything, do I?" “No." She threw her sunglasses and keys onto the kitchen counter. “Good. I'm going to change clothes. Do you know how to fix a

drink? My kind, not yours." He allowed himself a small smile. It had been a long time since he had done such a mundane human thing. “I think I can manage." “Then make yourself useful and make me something cold and wet. Check the cabinet on the far left.” Her bedroom door slammed a moment later. He opened the cupboard she had indicated. Several bottles, most with unbroken seals, were pushed to one side. He pulled the nearest one out. Even sitting in the cabinet the bottle had a fine layer of dust over it. Clearly Shelby wasn't much of a drinker. He glanced at the labels on the various bottles, then opened her refrigerator. His smile grew. She appeared ten minutes later wearing denim cutoffs and a white tank top. He schooled his features to his most serious doctor look and held out a glass tumbler brimming with the concoction he had prepared. She stared at it, crossed her arms over her chest, then raised her gaze to his. “What's this? Vampire humor?" He cocked his head and allowed a smile to break through. “You could say that, although to get the proper dark red color I really should have used some Chambord or raspberry liqueur, but your kitchen is, ah, somewhat limited to say the least. Come on. Drink it. It's innocent enough, I promise." She took the glass from his hand, but studied the drink suspiciously. “You promise? This from someone who just told me to expect a pack of lies." His smile faded, and he despaired of even trying to hold this conversation. She wouldn't understand him under the best of circumstances, and in her present mood, all she wanted to do was oppose every view he presented. Still, he tried. “I didn't say that. I told you I couldn't guarantee one hundred percent truthfulness." She dunked a finger in the drink and sucked at it before the liquid could drip off. “Hmm. Same difference." He sighed. “Does that black-and-white cop mind of yours ever register shades of gray?" She frowned at him and took a swallow of the drink. Her face immediately scrunched up. “Whoa! Is what you have to tell me so bad that the drink had to be this strong? What's in here besides cranberry juice, anyway?" “Just vodka. Come and sit down." She flashed him another dirty look before curling up in the overstuffed easy chair next to the fireplace. The message that she wanted her own space was loud and clear. She took another swallow of the drink with a grimace, then set it down on an end table. “So if you're really what you say you are, how can you walk around in daylight?" He stretched out on the sofa. “Different strains of vampirism produce different gifts. I can tolerate sunlight but I prefer the night, of course. I usually sleep for about a third of the daylight hours." “Guess it's a good thing you keep doctor's hours. Still, pretty convenient for masquerading as a human." “All of us must masquerade as human if we want to survive. Most have to do it without tolerance to light. But tell me that humans don't do the same thing, pretending to be someone they aren't." She ignored that. “So are there a lot of you?" “In a rural area like this, no. Most of us prefer the anonymity of a large city." She took another sip of her drink, eyeing him over the rim of the glass. “But not you. Why not?" He raised his brows. She had asked him more or less the same question several days ago, and he had given her a vague answer about wanting to steer his own ship, allowing her to draw her own conclusions. He was blunt this time. “Simple. I don't like

humans." She nearly choked on her last mouthful of vampire cocktail. “You don't like humans. What the hell does that mean? I thought we were a rather indispensable link in your food chain." “You are." “So ... we're good enough to provide a meal but not to hang out with? Is that what you're trying to tell me?" “Something like that. Let's just say I prefer the company of my own kind. At least with them, deception and betrayal are no surprise." She took two more sips of her drink and seemed to consider his statement. Then she put the glass down with a clink and a slosh, and when she replied, her anger was sharper than before. “Then two nights ago was just some grand scheme to seduce me so you could feed on me?" “I haven't fed on you. You have no wounds other than the ones you received last night." “Then what was it? What do you want from me?" “I've asked myself the same question. I don't have a satisfactory answer for either one of us. Not yet." She looked down and played with her glass, turning it on the crystal coaster and idly tapping it against the coaster's lip with a tinkle and a ring. Moisture gleamed in her eyes, and he was afraid the tumbler, contents and all, would become a sacrifice to be ceremoniously flung into the fireplace's gaping mouth. But she took a deep breath, blinked, and seemed to bring her emotions under control. She glanced up at him. “Okay, I'll ask easier questions. Were you here last night after I fell asleep?" He nodded. “You knew this ... vampire that attacked me. Right?" “We had met." She frowned again, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the answer itself or its brevity. Like it or not, he couldn't give out information about the council. Not even about a rogue like Branduff. “And his attack was more than just a quick snack? There are others as well who want me dead? “Yes to the first. As for others wanting you dead, I can't be certain." “But you think so." “Yes." “And you don't know why. Or you know, but you don't want to tell me." He merely stared at her. She was right. He couldn't be sure of anything, and even if he was, he couldn't tell her. When he was silent, she continued. “You're not helping me understand all this. If you hate humans and prefer your own, why did you kill a vampire to save me?" “The vampire that attacked you was a particularly nasty creature. He'd been warned."

She took two more swallows of her drink. “Well, remind me never to get on your bad side. But that doesn't exactly answer my question." “Come over here.” He swung his legs off the sofa to make room for her. “No." He sighed. “I'm not what you would call a nice person, and I never will be. My brethren call me Doctor Death. But I'm not going to hurt you. I can better explain my feelings if I don't have half a room separating us." “Oh, I have no doubt that seduction works better up close and personal. I'll stay right here if you don't mind." He wanted to laugh. If she thought this was seduction, she was a true innocent. All he was trying to do was restore some measure of trust. She was right about one thing, though. In the absence of dipping into his bag of vampiric tricks, physical proximity would make it easier to achieve his goal. But before he could overcome her misgivings, he had to overcome her stubbornness. “You're afraid of me. That's smart. Fear keeps us alive." His ploy worked. She rocked forward, propelling herself out of the easy chair and toward the sofa. She landed at the far end, and folded her unsteady legs beneath her like a newborn foal. “I'm not scared of you. Okay. Explain this to me." “I don't hate you. Quite the opposite. But it's something you have to feel, not hear. Come closer." She stared at him, and he could see the animosity drain from her gaze. His body tightened in anticipation of her touch, warm and soft, and he strove to remain patient. She sucked at her lower lip, and he closed his eyes for fear he'd lose all control. He felt the cushions dip, and when he opened his eyes, she was coiled on the couch just inches from him. Her heat flooded over him like the outset of a fever, and he started to sweat. “Touch me,” he whispered. She reached out a hand toward him, but when she made contact with his face, it was just the tips of her short fingernails that skated across his cheek. “Touch me, Shelby. I'm the same man I was before last night.” He snaked his hand around her forearm and slid his fingers forward until his hand covered hers. He applied enough pressure for her to flatten her palm against his skin, but she immediately pulled her hand back as though he would burn her. He let go of her and waited, his body screaming in protest to the commands his mind was issuing for restraint. After what seemed endless moments, she touched him of her own accord, one fingertip catching a bead of sweat at his temple and smudging it down his face. “Words cannot express what I am about to say." He chuckled softly and closed his eyes. “Then don't say anything. Don't try to make sense of this. Just feel.” Just relax. The compelling command was meant only to ease her confusion, but she leaned against him and laid her cheek on his chest. He slipped his arms around her, and in a few minutes she was more than relaxed—she was asleep. **** Shelby struggled to peel her eyes open. It was dark, but she didn't need any light to taste the cotton in her mouth or feel the tops spinning in her head. For the second time today she awoke in her bed with no idea how she got there. She rolled over and was thankful to see she was alone. She felt decidedly unromantic at the moment. She sat up, and the walls seemed to sway and close in on her at odd angles. She eased out of bed and took a few steps, feeling like she was walking through a fun house at a carnival. A stop in the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face did wonders for clearing her eyesight and banishing the fuzzies from her mouth, but she feared nothing would help her whirling head feel better. She walked into the kitchen and saw that the sliding doors were open. “Ric?"

He materialized from the shadows and loomed tall before her on the rear patio, silhouetted by the light of the moon. “Feel better?" She stepped outside. “Better? No. Remind me to never again have you fix me a drink, especially no more vampire cocktails." “And here I thought I did so well in recalling how to do such a mundane human task." She stared at him. His remark was an unnecessary reminder of what he was. “Oh, there's definitely nothing wrong with your skill in mimicking human ways. I'm just not much of a drinker." “If you're feeling up to it, go put on some shoes. I'll take you for a ride." You've already taken me for a ride. This was sure to be much more than that. She stared at him. The breeze wafted long strands of hair and, silvered by the moonlight, they swirled in tendrils across his face. His gaze reached for hers like beacons through the mist. He was as magnetic a male specimen as always, but what did he really want from her? “Shelby, if we're going to trust each other, now is a good time to start. If I wanted to abduct you and whisk you away into the night, I could have done it long before now. And keep in mind that my life is just as much in your hands as yours is in mine. I'm entrusting you with a great deal. Come on. Both of us could use a little fun." She closed her eyes and opened her senses to the night. The cool air played with her, ruffling her hair, dancing along her skin, and teasing her with far-off sounds. She had worked the night shift for years in Milwaukee, but never had the darkness beckoned her like it did now. It was more intoxicating than her drink had been. She opened her eyes and looked at him. “All right. I'll meet you out front." He nodded, and she stepped back inside, closing and locking the patio doors. She changed into jeans, tugged on a pair of leather boots, and grabbed a lightweight jacket from the front closet. By the time she shut the front door behind her, he was straddling the idling bike. She wasn't sure if it was his words or the seduction of the night, but for the first time in two nights she felt logic and caution step aside for adventure and longing. Most cops had a thirst for excitement, and ten years ago she had been no different. Years of experience had taught her that both physical and emotional survival depended on caution, not daring, but the yearning for the rush that risk brought was still within her. She swung her leg over the bike without hesitation. Suddenly that yearning burst forth as though a straitjacket had just been torn from her mind and body. She threw her head back and shook it like a frolicking foal experiencing the wonders of life for the first time. There was danger, certainly, but what had heretofore been unknown and forbidden unfurled before her like a highway whose destinations were countless but all within reach. She had only to take it. She rubbed her hands up and down Ric's back, feeling the contours of his hard body and the smoothness of the long hair that tangled in her fingers. Was this what he felt all the time? The ecstasy of a world filled with so many possibilities, and the freedom and eternal life to explore all of them? “You'd better hold on to more than my hair, or your butt's going to land on the driveway when I open the throttle." She laughed and skimmed her hands along his waist until she could lock her hands together. The motion brought her cheek against his hair, and her body reacted as it always had, tightening into a coil of pleasure that wanted nothing more than to wind around him. “I have an idea. Let's go to Le Phare." He turned his head, still idling the bike. “French. It means ‘lighthouse.’ Is this a town, or an actual structure?" “Both. The town is just a crossroads. Le Phare Road dead-ends at Lake Michigan. The lighthouse is right there. It's about fifteen miles north. Take the highway, then I'll tell you where to turn." His reply was to put the bike in gear and go. She said nothing more, but gave him her trust. At least for now. She pressed her torso against his, shadowing his every move, leaning when he leaned, tensing when he tensed, relaxing when he relaxed. Ten minutes later she let go of him with her left hand, tapped his side, then pointed at the approaching intersection. He nodded, slowed the bike, and turned onto Le Phare Road. They passed through the town, whose biggest claim to fame was that someone in years past had decided the crossroads was important enough to merit a stop sign, and before she knew it she saw reflectors on a guardrail proclaim the end of the road. One overhead street lamp illuminated the dead-end, which was wide enough to allow for a

turnaround and space for cars to park. Beyond the guardrail pale drifts of sand stretched to meet the water, which rolled and glittered darkly in the moonlight like a living entity. The sand's smoothness was marred only by deposits of driftwood and by pockets of shadow created by the footsteps of a never-ending trickle of tourists. Just to the north the white lighthouse stood silent and steadfast like a tireless sentinel. There was only one other vehicle parked at the guardrail, but no occupants were visible through the van's windows. Either they had roamed far up or down the beach or they were enjoying each other's company in the van's cozy depths. Shelby thought the latter more likely. Ric cut the engine and waited. She was reluctant to let go of him, but the sand promised far more comfort than the bike did, so she swung off her perch. Drawn by the ageless lure of the deep, she headed for the water. She was glad for both the boots and the jacket. The heels made walking through the sand laborious, but at least she wouldn't go home with sand in her shoes. And the breeze, though light, was chill. Still, the brisk air felt good and made her feel alive. “So how old are you?" It took until they reached the water's edge before he answered. “I don't grow old. It would be more accurate to ask when I was born. The answer is 1767." She stopped just short of the wet sand and stared at the parade of waves that pounced on the shore, took their bite of sand, then retreated, only to be replaced by the next voracious breaker. “Why do you hate humans so much?" “I was born about fifty miles outside Paris. My father was a comte, the equivalent of a British earl. I was the eldest son, the heir. I had two younger brothers and a sister." Born into a family of nobility? Heir to a title? That was a bad thing? She was obviously missing something. Ric started wandering north along the water's edge, idly tracing the scalloped line that separated the wet sand from the dry. “Do you know anything about French history?" A tiny light bulb flickered in the vast black hole that was her knowledge of world history. “The French Revolution." He grunted. “Ah. The French Revolution. An event so momentous it shaped the centuries that followed, yet so few today know anything of it." “I'm sorry, Ric. Memorizing dates and battles and names of leaders I couldn't pronounce didn't have much meaning for me when I was a teenager." A sad smile lifted a corner of his mouth. “No, I suppose not. But don't apologize. I spent decades trying to understand the Revolution, and I have yet to make sense of the madness." “Tell me what happened to you and your family." “Me? I was born the luckiest man alive. I was born in France. We were the richest and most powerful nation on the Continent. Our monarchs had been the envy of all other rulers. French taste in everything from architecture to manners was copied by the rest of the Western world. French became the language of educated people worldwide. We had the best highway system in Europe, our merchant marine had over five thousand ships, and it was French writers who spurred the Age of Enlightenment.” The words, though boastful, were spoken with a bitterness that made Shelby refrain from commenting. Ric slowed his pace even more and gazed alternately at the dark water and the wet sand. “I knew nothing of revolution. The only thing my father complained about was that the power of the nobility was being stripped away by the monarchy, and the only thing he worried about was losing his tax-free status. I didn't care about any of that. Like you, as a teenager I had other things on my mind than fretting about the order of things. I was tall, strong, arrogant, and more of a handful than my brothers and sister combined. My father solved the problem by shipping me abroad to be educated. At first I rebelled at learning English and Latin. Was French not the language of the world?"

She smiled, though Ric couldn't see it. It was hard to think of him as being arrogant and rebellious. She wondered what he looked like back then and tried to picture him in tight breeches. It was a delicious image, but when he started talking again the melancholy in his voice made her forget about fashion and good looks. “But gradually I became interested in my studies, medicine in particular. One could lose nobility by practicing forbidden occupations, but luckily medicine was exempted from the list of prohibited pursuits. As if that mattered, in the end. When I began to hear derisive remarks about the weakness of Louis XVI, France's financial woes, and the discontent among the classes I dismissed it all as nothing more than the babbling of jealous classmates who wished that they, too, were French. By the time I started to pay attention to the rumors in earnest, the Third Estate, the lower class, had declared itself the National Assembly and ended the absolutism of the monarchy." “I don't understand." “The Ancien Régime had a very structured class system. There were three estates—the First Estate, Second Estate, and Third Estate, for the clergy, the nobility, and the peasants. Anyway, it was the beginning of the end of everything I had ever known. I wanted to return home, but my father insisted I stay out of the country. The next thing I heard, the Revolutionaries had stormed the Bastille, and the violence had begun. Many aristocrats started fleeing France, and since my father wouldn't let me come home, I begged him to join me in Austria. But he was proud and stubborn, and didn't wish to either lose his land or be thought of as craven. Perhaps it was the reassurances my father gave me, or perhaps it was just the distance from the events that were shaping France, but I still didn't realize how serious things had become at home. It wasn't until Robespierre created the Committee of Public Safety and a call to arms went out to the Parisian mobs that I started to make my way home in spite of my father's protests. But it was too late. The violence had spread like a disease, and the revolution devoured itself. The royalists were the first to feed the appetite of the machine, but the fever and the paranoia raged, and no one was exempt. The mob wanted blood, and that of a moderate ran just as red as that of a royalist. In the end everyone from Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette to Robespierre himself was sacrificed to the Revolution. Robespierre wanted egalite. Well, he got it." “You said you were too late." Ric stopped and stared at the water, but Shelby knew it wasn't the waves, the moonlight, or even the horizon his eyes saw. “Among the thousands lost to the guillotine were my mother, father, two brothers, and sister. Had I but started my journey a little earlier, I would have joined them." “I'm sorry, Ric,” she said softly, wishing she could say something more. He turned toward her, his eyes blinking as though he suddenly remembered she was with him. “It was a long time ago. You're cold." “A little.” She sat down on a tuft of grass, her back against a mound of sand. She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. He dropped down beside her but left room between his body and hers. “What about you, though? How did you become ... what you are?” She still found the word hard to say. “The Undead have always had a large presence in Paris. Back then they called themselves the Fourth Estate, mocking the class structure of the Old Regime. The Reign of Terror was a very real fear for those of the Fourth Estate. Decapitation sends a vampire to the True Death as effectively as it does humans. Even more so, though, the Revolution proved a great source of amusement. Outside of war, it wasn't often that mortals rivaled the Undead in possessing such an insatiable thirst for blood." She shivered, and he put his arm around her at last. “In any case, the Fourth Estate was highly organized, and its members had the advantage of being more cagey, cautious, and cunning than the most secretive of radicals. They had an elaborate underground railroad in place to ostensibly smuggle émigrés out of the country. Of course, those they promised to help were transported not to safety but to an isolated chateau where they became either food or new additions to swell the ranks of the Undead. I was the epitome of the ideal candidate for turning—I had no family left to search for me, and I was educated and strong."

“Did they give you a choice?" Ric laughed. “The Undead gave me a choice in the same way that Robespierre gave citizens their freedom. With a little pressure on the neck. The human body must die before it can be reborn. I was a prize catch, so I was given over to Damiane. She was the most powerful female vampire in all of France.” The laughter slid from his voice like waves receding from the beach. “You don't want to hear this." “Yes, I do. Please." “She kept me as her lover for two years before she turned me.” He looked away to the horizon and snorted softly. “'Lover’ is too respectable a title for what I was. I was a pet, a plaything. She took blood from me a little at a time—not enough to kill me, just enough to debilitate me and break me to her will. Once I was weakened enough by loss of blood, the rest was easy for Damiane. When she found out I was interested in medicine, she seduced me with the promise of the secret of life and death. After that I didn't fight her any more, and when that happened she lost interest in me and turned me. I died and was reborn a child of the Fourth Estate. I stayed with Damiane for almost twenty years after that, not as a lover, but as an apprentice. I learned more from her in those few years than most vampires learn in a century of apprenticeship." Shelby felt a brief unreasonable jealousy toward an inhuman creature that had existed over two hundred years ago. “And did she give you the secret to life and death?" He turned toward her, that sad smile of his still in place. “Many men, both human and Undead, have spent lifetimes trying to unlock those secrets. I was one who tried. Many have mastered the death portion. None have mastered the life part." “You don't consider what you are the secret of eternal life?" “Some might. I'm not arrogant enough to believe that. I'm not alive, for one thing." She shivered at the thought. “You sure have me fooled. What do you call it, then?" “It's a force that animates the body and simulates life. There have been many names given to the phenomena over the centuries. Some say it's a kind of negative energy, a type of antilife. It's been referred to as everything from a gift to a disease. Some think of it as a mere transition between life and death. Many legends believe that it's a spirit—often an evil spirit—that continues to animate the body. It's been called a punishment, a damnation, a demonic infestation, and a curse. Some say we're simply shadows with no corporeal body; others say we don't exist at all except in the minds of humans who have a void in their lives that needs to be filled. Damiane calls it ... called it ‘the Golden Gift.’ She called me her ‘golden boy.’” “What do you call it?" He shook his head. “I don't have a name for it. It's not a condition or a disease you can grow in a laboratory and stick a label on. I don't know how to explain it to you, Shelby, any more than I can explain how you make me feel. I've studied the dead and the Undead for over two hundred years, and I still don't know what it is.” He twisted his body toward her. “Come here,” he whispered. She knew he was asking for her acceptance. Strangely enough, accepting him for what he was wasn't the hardest part. What made her hesitate was the specter of her own “golden boy"—and the issue of trust. “What scares you? That I'm not alive?” Ric's voice was probing, but he made no move. “No. The golden boy,” she whispered. “That I was Damiane's lover?" She closed her eyes. “No. My own golden boy. His name was Curt Van Allen.” She told Ric everything—details of the affair she had never confided to anyone else.

“It turned out I wasn't the only female on the force Curt had had affairs with. He got his kicks telling his squad partners all the juicy details. I guess he figured there was no harm in it. There's an unwritten code that says ‘what's shared in the squad car stays in the squad car.’ But someone ignored the code and repeated the story.” She snorted. “Gossip spread through the department quicker than if the affair had been posted on the roll call board. I filed a complaint against Curt, partly for myself and partly to prevent Curt from doing the same thing to more gullible females. He did a good job of tarnishing the notion of ‘the golden boy.’” He stroked her face with the back of one hand. “Well, I won't tell you my kind doesn't gossip. We do. But we also know the value of being discreet. It's what keeps us alive. I'm not going to betray your trust." She let go of her knees, unfolded her body, and crawled into his lap, shivering even as he draped his arms around her shoulders and let them slide down her back. It was in small part the chill lake breeze and his words, but more than anything else it was her body's reaction to his. He pulled her tighter. He shook his head, and she felt his lips caress her hair as the wind had moments before. Shudders ran down her body unrestrained as she tried to entwine her legs with his. “Just hold me, Ric." He was one contradiction after another, like the reflection of a mirror in a mirror, endless, yet beckoning her further and further. His strength made her feel safe, yet the danger made her feel raw and alive. His wisdom and worldliness calmed her fears, yet his vulnerability made her feel needed. He couldn't explain the rationale of his being, yet the very fact that he existed gave her the best feeling of all—that she wasn't alone. And the one thing she was sure of was that he was no shadow. **** Ric left her the next morning after following her to the county building. He had argued with her that calling in sick and spending the day with him was the only way he could ensure her safety. She had fired back that he was crazy if he thought she could just take time off from work in the middle of a pending homicide investigation. He implored her to stay in the building and not to go outside alone for any reason, no matter how innocent or simple the errand. She got defensive and regaled him with the fact that she had carried a service weapon for almost ten years, had received some of the best tactical training in the country when she was in Milwaukee, and had been in a command position for the last four years. He reminded her that her weapon would do no good against his kind and asked when her tactical training had included a scenario with a bloodsucking vampire. That was when her growl of frustration ended the conversation, followed by a slam of the front door just in case he missed her meaning. Luckily, all the quarrelling had occurred after they had finished making love for the second time. Actually, it had been three times last night if he included their lovemaking on the beach. The feel of her trembling warm body next to his had again come dangerously close to unleashing his bloodlust, but in the end discipline and restraint had prevailed. He had done it. Not only had he managed to take his pleasure and grant hers without losing control, but he had coaxed her faith in him to return. It had involved revealing more about himself and his past than he would have cared to, but short of dazzling her with vampiric tricks, he had seen no other way. He hadn't told her the story of his life as a human to inspire pity or sympathy, but the account had definitely forged a connection with her own history of loss. He sighed as he turned the bike for home. He would feed, grab some sleep, and then plan for tonight. He had partially solved the problem of what to do with Shelby. But he still had six nasty vamps to deal with tonight, and he didn't have a clue as to where to start.

Chapter Twelve When Ric woke just before noon the first thing he did was call Shelby at work. Her reply to his inquiry was only slightly less stinging than her parting salvos of earlier in the morning. “Listen, Ric, I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine. I'm also busy. Stop being so paranoid." He spent some time at his office doing paperwork, but when his only appointment called to cancel, he put the closed sign in the

window and locked up. He drove his SUV to the county building and sat in the parking lot until Shelby came out at five carrying her duty bag. He honked once, and she walked over to where he was parked. She came to the driver's side, and he buzzed down the window. She dropped the bag on the pavement with a thud. “I can't believe you're sitting here. How long have you been waiting?" He cocked his head. “A couple hours." Her hair was pinned up, but stray locks had escaped their confines and floated around her face. She swept a hand at her bangs, but the hair flopped back. “What if I had gotten tied up with something?" He smiled. “I'm good at waiting. I've had lots of practice. Besides, the time wasn't wasted.” He had been thinking about tonight, not her, but he didn't tell her that. She returned his smile. “So what are you planning now? Are you going to follow me home?" He nodded. “I can stay a few hours or take you to dinner if you like. I have business to attend to later, though." “Oh, I see. You don't mind being a bodyguard as long as it's convenient to your schedule." “Shelby, you're not taking this seriously." Her smile disappeared, and she gazed across the parking lot, swiping again at her hair. More strands were pulled loose. She looked back at him. “Not taking this seriously? Excuse me, but I think I'm doing a pretty good job of coping with being attacked by one bloodsucker and wined, dined, and romanced by another." Hard truths had aftershocks. He knew this well from experience. In spite of everything that had happened last night, her world was still rocking. “Can we not talk about this in the middle of the parking lot?" She picked up her bag. “That's the first reasonable thing you've said so far. Follow me, then. I don't see that I have much choice." Once at her home, she let him in, but she greeted Flash with a “hi, baby” before she said anything to him. He waited, knowing how hard the past forty-eight hours had been for her. They hadn't been much easier for him. She turned to him at last. “If you're serious about dinner, that would be nice. I don't have anything here to fix. I haven't exactly had time for grocery shopping the past couple days." “Change your clothes, and I'll take you wherever you want to go. Want me to fix you a drink in the meantime?" She finally cracked a smile. “No, thanks." A half hour later she came into the living room wearing snug black pants and a sweater in a pale green-blue that reminded him of her eyes. Her hair was as loose as her outfit was tight. He wanted nothing more than to make love to her again but, though he had the time before his meeting, he knew it wouldn't be a good idea. He needed to stay cool, with his wits intact and his beast firmly under control. At her request, he took her to a small café in Snoshoe Harbor that overlooked the bay. They had a corner table near the window, and there were no other customers sitting nearby. Still, she leaned forward over the table and, doing proper justice to the darkest secret in the world, whispered, “So I understand why you hate the people who killed your family in the Revolution, but why do you prefer your kind over us? Aren't you all just as terrible, if not more so, in the things you do?" “Yes, but that's our nature. It's expected. My kind don't parade terror in the guise of justice and call it a virtue." She shook her head. “I don't remember a whole lot of what I learned about the Revolution, but a king who cared nothing for the common man couldn't have been a good leader."

And the debate was on. Watching Shelby eat and listening to her opinions proved a pleasant diversion that took his mind off other issues weighing on him. But he eventually looked at his watch and knew he'd have to take her home and leave her. He was silent as he drove her home, considering his options. They were as few and poor as beggars on a frigid night. He couldn't cancel the meeting. He definitely couldn't take her with him. He had no one nearby strong enough or trustworthy enough to leave her with. He supposed he could dazzle her into a stupor and lock her in his cellar, but he had no doubt that if he did that she would never forgive him, no matter how safe it kept her. All he could do was hope she listened to his advice. He didn't know whether to groan or laugh. She had never listened to his advice before. He had little hope she'd start now. Still, once he got her home, he tried. “Shelby, I'll be gone for a few hours, no longer. It's business that can't be put off. I'll come right back as soon as I'm finished. Don't go out of your house for anything. Not to take the garbage out, not to investigate lights in the woods—not for anything. Do you understand?" She spun around and crossed her arms over her chest. “No, I don't. You won't answer half my questions. You order me around like a child. You want me to hole up in my own house like some kind of prisoner. And you think I'm going to understand? You're right about one thing. You don't understand humans." “I care about you, Shelby. I don't understand that, either. But do as I say." She turned away from him, as though she wanted to make up her mind without having him being able to read her face. He could easily compel her. Or he could simply kiss her. If past experience was a guide, a few physical intimacies were a more powerful inducement for her than all the words in the world. But this was a decision he wanted her to make on her own. It was the only kind of decision that would have any conviction behind it. She faced him again and dropped her arms. “All right. But only for tonight. I can't live like this night after night. When you come back we're having a serious talk. Not about the past, but about the future." “Agreed.” How much he could—and would—tell her was something he'd think about later. For now all that mattered was her compliance with his orders. “I have to go. I'll be back as soon as I can. Come here." She stepped up to him, a small sign of faith. He accepted it, smoothing her hair back before he bent his head to take the warmth of her lips. Her mouth opened under his, and he felt a trust and need in her body that far outreached her contrary words. He kissed her more intensely than he had intended, wanting to draw even more from her. She purred deep in her throat. Ordinarily such a response would only spur him on, but the sound reminded him that now was not the time. He broke the kiss and leaned back. “I have to go. Be good." She drew a shuddering breath and nodded. “I'll be here." By the time Ric got back to the Chicken Palace the sun was flirting with the horizon, and a slash of color spread across the evening sky, highlighting the edges of western clouds. He changed his clothes. For the first time since he had moved to Shadow Bay, he dressed in the traditional outfit he had worn as the Paramount le docteur la mort in France. Part of the outfit was influenced by the black and white Beau Brummell elegance of the early nineteenth century, and part of it was simply Ric's taste for somber simplicity over the flash and excess that many vamps preferred. He wore black trousers, a black waistcoat, a white shirt, and added a white waterfall cravat similar to those popular long ago with everyone from stage-coachmen to ruffians, but frowned upon by Beau as being too extreme. Ric completed the set with knee-high black boots and a heavy gold ring that depicted a lion's skull surrounded by a flowing mane. Some of the younger council members might not appreciate the significance of the outfit, but he hoped it would remind most of his age, rank, and power. Tux was the first to arrive, as usual. He raised an eyebrow at Ric's traditional garb, but said nothing except that everyone had been contacted and would arrive soon and that Ormie would be bringing Eva. They waited in silence. Lyle and Zada arrived together in a nondescript pickup truck, followed by Dory in his van. Ric stood at the

enclosed porch's open front door and watched as Dory closed first the vehicle's moon roof, then the passenger and driver's side windows. Gray clouds had overrun the sky and scudded eastward. Even in the doorway Ric could feel the stiff breeze ruffle his cravat and wrap his hair around his throat in a mimicry of the neckpiece. He stepped aside for Dory to enter and acknowledged Dory's “evening, boss” with a silent nod. No other headlights were visible moving along the road. Ric closed the door, followed Dory into the living room, and paced back and forth before his fireplace. Tux sat in one of the easy chairs, Lyle and Zada sat next to each other on the sofa, and Dory pulled a wooden chair to a spot right next to the porch's door. All of them eyed Ric with a curiosity that held more cold disdain than respect, but their gazes moved to Tux after that. It was as if they all looked to Tuxbridge for their cue. There was no small talk. Ric glanced at the mantel clock. Fifteen minutes had passed since Dory's arrival. Ric stopped and looked at Tux. “Where are Ormie and Eva, my friend?" Tux's features were bland, but his green eyes were like a cat's. “They're on their way. Ormie warned me they might be a little late. Nothing to worry about." Lightning flashed through the windows, brighter than the glow from the table lamps, and a low rumble of thunder thudded like heavy footsteps. Dory nervously turned and peered out the window. Was it true he was deathly afraid of fire? He couldn't be any closer to the door if he tried. Ric looked again at the others, but they paid no attention to either the approaching storm or Dory. Their gazes shifted between Tux and himself. Ric began to sweat beneath the layers of formal clothing. Something was in the air, and he didn't think it had anything to do with the weather. Suddenly he didn't want to wait any longer. If the group should turn on him, he much preferred to take on four than six. “Let's begin anyway. Something's on your mind, Tux. What is it?" Tuxbridge leaned back in his chair. “All the members of the council came to me two days ago. They're worried." “About what?" “About you, Ric. Your loyalty." It was what he had feared, but who was really behind the doubts? The others didn't worry Ric, but Tux did. “You were very careful in your answer, my friend. You didn't say, ‘they question your loyalty’ or ‘we question your loyalty.’ Which is it?" “The latter, if you must know. I think there's a good basis for our alarm." Ric amended his previous thought. It was worse than he feared. His adjutant had chosen sides, and it was against him. “What basis is that?" Lightning again filled the windows with sheets of blinding brilliance. “You have a conflict of interest in this murder investigation. We ... I want to know precisely where you stand. To whom your first loyalty lies.” Thunder punctuated the sentence with a growl and a crash. Ric's gaze panned the room. Lyle and Zada sat as silent and attentive as jurors. Dory continued to stare out the window, as if he were on lookout duty. “I should think my loyalty is clear. I covered up evidence that the murder suspect is one of the Undead. That evidence shall remain hidden from human authorities. My first and only priority is the safety of us all." Tux remained seated. It was a good sign, showing that perhaps Tuxbridge wasn't quite ready for a confrontation of more than words. “And yet when we've repeatedly asked you to make sure the sheriff and the privy digger are no threat to us, you've done very little. The digger still digs, and the sheriff continues to question myself and Eva. Not only that, but it's very clear to us that you have an interest in the human female that has nothing to do with group concern, but your own personal gratification. I ask you point blank, Overlord, would you defend this human at the expense of one of us?" It was precisely what Ric had done in the woods, and yet Tux had cleverly worded his question to be hypothetical. Did Tux already know the truth? “I don't deny I've taken my pleasure with her. I did it to gain her trust, so she wouldn't be a threat to us.

And she isn't." Tux gave him a parody of a grin that showed sharp teeth. It reminded Ric of a steel trap with its deadly tines. “You didn't answer my question, Ric. Would you protect her against one of us?" The windows flashed silver, rattled with the accompanying clap, and blurred with the onslaught of the downpour. “No, of course not." “You're a liar." The room became charged with as much electricity as was manifest in the storm. The scent of vampire spoor soured like the odor of sweat. Lyle, Zada, and even Dory were all staring at him, the weight of their gazes adding to the heaviness in the air. Ric lowered his voice, and it came out as thick as the air. “To make an accusation like that without proof is a direct challenge to my authority. Is that what you really want to do, Tuxbridge? Challenge me?" “I want proof that you're telling the truth. If you refuse that proof, then yes, I challenge you. We all do." It was hard to breathe. Ric forced himself to draw a slow, deep breath. “Proof? What proof do you want?" Tux pulled out his cell phone. “Ormie and Eva need to witness this.” He pressed a number. “Ormie? We need you now.” There was a slight pause. “Good.” He disconnected the call. “They'll be here in a minute." The rain beat against the windows like a million tiny fists pounding to demand entrance. Gusts of wind added their force to the assault, whistling with their efforts to pierce the defenses of the old house. It was all very wrong, but there was nothing Ric could do. Nothing had happened yet to justify a response of violence. Twin headlight beams speared the darkness and driving rain and crawled up the driveway. The blurred lights stopped, then were extinguished. Dory rose, but Ric was swifter and got to the door first. Eva ran toward him like a ghost out of the shadows, her pale hair and skin visible through the veils of darkness and rain. “Stand back, Mr. High-and-mighty Overlord!” she yelled over the storm. “Sorry we're late, but since we've been designated the refreshment committee we thought we should stop and pick up something tasty for the meeting." Eva burst through the doorway, the rainwater streaming off her hair and skin to add splashes of water to the wet footprints on the floor. Ormie followed close behind. “Young, sweet, tender, and so fresh it's still wriggling. Just the way you like them. Right, boss?” Ormie swept into the living room and came to a halt, dripping double the volume of water on the floor that Eva did. For Ormie held a second being tightly against his body with one muscular arm wrapped around the human's throat and the other around her waist. “Be very careful, boss. One wrong move and your dinner won't be so fresh, because I'll kill it here and now." Ric kept his features neutral, but his gut clenched with the realization that his biggest fear had come true. Shelby Cort stared at Ric with rounded eyes that seconded Ormie's plea for caution.

Chapter Thirteen Ric stepped back. “Are you crazy? What's the meaning of bringing the sheriff here like this?" Tux moved to stand side by side with Ormie. Ric could see in Shelby's widening eyes the recognition and dawning disbelief that one of the town's most handsome, eligible bachelors was, like Ric, a card-carrying member of the Undead. It was Tux who spoke. “Ormie did it on my orders. This is the proof we want. We asked you over and over to take care of the

sheriff, but you said you saw no threat and did nothing but bed her. Well, she's a threat now, isn't she? It's simple, Ric. You're either on our side, or you're not. Kill her now, and we'll know you're on our side. Refuse, and we know you're not." He looked at her eyes, still as round and unblinking as a doll's. He wasn't sure if it was fear and horror that filled them, or shock that emptied them. A wide strip of duct tape covered her mouth. “Are you mad? Killing a sheriff? Do you know the kind of heat this will bring down?" Tux shrugged his wide shoulders. “She'll go missing, but you can be sure her body won't be found in any privy hole or anywhere else. It'll bring heat, yes, but it'll take the heat off Kyle Carver and all of us." “And it'll be focused right on me. I've been seen with her socially." Tux snickered. “Gee, Ric, that's too bad. Maybe you'll have to move away from Shadow Bay.” The rest of the group laughed. “My loyalty is to the council. I told you that before. What you're asking me to do is insane, but if it's the only proof you'll accept, so be it. She means nothing to me.” He unbuttoned the waistcoat, threw it on a nearby chair, and went to work on the cravat, expertly untying it by feel alone. It joined the pile, followed by his white shirt. “I have no desire to get blood all over my clothes.” He stepped over to Ormie. “Give her to me." Ormie looked to Tux, and Tux nodded. Ormie let go of Shelby, and though Ric could see she tried to keep her feet under her, she looked anything but steady. He caught her, scooped her into his arms, and stepped to the sofa. “Move." Lyle and Zada scattered like roaches. Ric laid her down on the sofa and leaned over her. He carefully peeled the tape from her mouth. “I'm sorry, Shelby. You shouldn't have gotten in the way." “Don't do this, Ric. You don't have to do this,” she whispered. “Relax, my sweet, and enjoy. The pain will be over very quickly." “No!” She sat up and struggled in his arms, pushing against his chest. He grabbed her arms and held her still. “Don't fight it.” He made it a compelling command. Almost instantly the tension drained from her arms. He dragged his mouth down her neck, reveling in skin that was warm and wet and tasted delicious. It was what he had wanted to do since the first night he had met her. He just never imagined he would be doing it under these circumstances. His lips found a spot where her blood pulsed just beneath the surface, and he sank his eyeteeth into her even as he moved his fingertips to rest against her temple. Her body tensed, then relaxed as he drew from her. Slowly, slowly, he reminded himself, shuddering with his efforts, but she soon went completely limp in his embrace. He lowered her gently to the cushions and covered her body with the throw that draped over the sofa's back. But with the end of that moment so ended all gentleness. He was fully roused now, but far from satisfied. The fresh blood carried no fulfillment, but rage—rage that he had been forced to this—and a thirst that had nothing to do with blood but an unrelenting desire for answers and revenge. His body snapped from the sinuous repose of feeding to the head-up attentiveness of the hunt. Someone would pay for this, and pay dearly. “This is my house, my meeting, and I am Overlord. Now that you have your proof that I'm on your side, we do things my way. I want answers, and I'll accept no more lies, silence, or denials. Which one of you really killed Kyle Carver, and who put him in the hole?" All six vamps looked at each other, as if they were contestants on To Tell the Truth and were deciding which of them would stand up and admit to being the real privy hole killer. “Well? Tell me!"

After a moment more of squirming and shifting, Zada stepped forward. Her previous I'm-nothing-but-a-piece-of-furniture attitude was gone, and anger now accompanied her lady wrestler build. “I killed him. I was at the Diamond Stud that night. Eva likes to taunt me and brag about how easy it is to pick up men there, even without dazzling them. She used to invite me to the Diamond Stud all the time, just to goad me. She knew I'd either be laughed at or ignored. Well, that night I decided to prove her wrong ... so I went. But I just sat in the truck in the parking lot. When this drunken human came out of the building I figured he'd be an easy enough mark, even for me. But he called me names and told me to go back to the rock I crawled out from. It made me mad to think Eva was right. I decided to show them all, starting with that good-for-nothing human." Eva stood next to Ormie, her head thrown back and her hands resting defiantly on her skinny hips. Zada matched stares with Eva, and Ric got the impression that Zada, too, would have tossed her head if she had had locks long enough to make the effect work. Ric broke the silence. “Go on, Zada. What happened then?" She shifted her gaze to him. “I dazzled him into submission, told him to get into the truck, and I drove. But with all the alcohol and drugs my suggestions lost their power, and he started to argue and fight. I stopped the truck on a secluded road, dragged him out, and knocked his head against the hood. You can bet he wasn't any more trouble after that. But after I drained him I didn't know what to do with him. I didn't want to leave the body where it would be found." “So she brought him to me,” Tux said. Ric looked across the room at him. “You see, Ric, ever since our last Overlord left, I've been the one to take care of everybody. Me. Anytime someone had a problem or made a mistake, I was the one they came to for help. I know the backyards and woods around Shadow Bay from my construction work. There's nothing more convenient than an existing hole in the ground. Most old privy holes were filled in years ago, but once in a while I come across one still open or still collecting trash. I knew old Mr. Luslow had a hole in the woods behind his house long forgotten, so I stuck the body in it and covered it up. It never occurred to me that somebody would decide to make a hobby of digging up old privy holes." “So you were the one who attacked Lucius Moravich.” There was little doubt in Ric's mind. Tux shrugged. “I asked you to take care of him. You didn't. He kept poking around. So once again I figured it was up to me to keep the group safe. I've been putting bodies in holes around here for a long time. I violated none of our laws, I kept our people safe, and no one was ever the wiser. Until the privy digger started digging and you showed up. But it's all right, because I still haven't broken our law. There's nothing you can do to me." There was plenty Ric was going to do to him. But not all his questions were answered. “And what part did the rogue Joel Branduff play in all this? Why did he confess to me that he had put Carver in the privy hole?" Tux laughed. “You still haven't figured it out, have you? Joel's my brother. My real blood-brother from birth. We almost looked like twins, but we were never much alike. I crossed first and decided early on I would try to mainstream with humans. Joel was younger, but he crossed about ten years after I did, kicking and screaming like an infant leaving the comfort of its mother's womb. He never did try to fit in. He's gone his own way from the beginning, but we stayed in touch over the years. He comes and goes around here, but when I called him and told him I needed help, he was happy to oblige. We figured if he ‘confessed’ to you, you'd drop the matter and let us be. But you and the sheriff kept stirring the muck in the pond. We decided she needed to be stopped.” Tux's laughter died on his final word. Ric was suddenly very aware of the silence that blanketed the room. The only noise was the steady rain tattooing the roof. Zada had once again melted against the wall to stand next to Lyle. Eva and Ormie stood side by side. Dory still sat near the door. And Shelby lay on the sofa, unmoved from the position Ric had put her in. “Joel was going to take care of her, but something went wrong. The sheriff, up until now, was still alive, but I haven't heard from Joel. And he doesn't answer his phone."

This time it was Ric's turn to roll a shoulder. “You said yourself he comes and goes. He left." Tux shook his head. “No. He wouldn't have left without telling me. What happened to him, Ric?" “What makes you think I had anything to do with his leaving?" “Because you're the only one strong enough to make him change his mind. And because you've been much too friendly with the sheriff. I'll ask you again. What happened to my brother?" Ric looked around the room. He didn't think a single one of the group would support him against Tux. Six against one was not good odds. Still, he had never backed down from another vamp in his life, and he wasn't going to start now. “This is my territory. I'm in charge, not you. Not your brother. He challenged me. Since I'm here and he's not, you figure it out, my friend.” Ric did nothing to stop the mocking sarcasm in the final two words. Tux's eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open. His upper lip curled to reveal modest but sharp fangs. The silent challenge gave Ric a second's warning, but there was no time to do more than know the fury was coming. “You bastard!" Two hundred fifty pounds of rage slammed into Ric, knocking him backward into the fireplace. The fire screen twisted and buckled under the momentum of their bodies, and the back of Ric's head hit hard against the bricks bordering the hearth's maw. An explosion of pain shot through Ric, and, unable to keep his footing, he fell, the metal screen beneath cutting his bare back. Tux's body was on top of him, scrambling for a position of dominance. “Damn you! Did you send him to the True Death? Did you?" Ric fought on instinct, trying to lay a hand on Tux, but Tux had taken the previous lesson on the Hand of Death to heart. He wisely gripped both of Ric's wrists, keeping Ric's hands far from his body. Every time Ric tried to twist or roll the metal gouged his back. “I warned him, just like I warned you,” Ric snarled between gritted teeth. “He reaped what he sowed." A bellow of anguish interrupted Tux's concentration long enough for Ric to twist his arms and break Tux's hold. Ric rolled and was on his feet in an instant. “Help me, you fools!” cried Tux. “He can't fight all of us." Ric kept his focus on Tux, but he didn't ignore the others, noting their positions with darts of his eyes. Tux was by far the most dangerous, though, and demanded the bulk of Ric's attention. “I can, and I will. Listen, all of you! Fight me, and I promise you'll lose. And if you think you're free from sanction, think again. Tuxbridge is nothing but a jackal out for himself." Tux ran a hand through his disheveled hair and shook his head. “You know that's not true. His Highness has only been here days. I've been here for you for years." The circle of vamps drew tighter, closing Ric in. Ormie opened his mouth for the first time. “Tux is right. He's been here for us. You, Doctor Death, have done nothing for us since you swept into town riding your high-and-mighty reputation." Tux nodded, clearly happy that his group was behind him. “He killed my brother. The law's on our side for that. Let's take him. Just watch his hands." They all pounced at once. Eva leaped onto his back, wrapping her long arms around his neck like a clinging vine. Tux and Ormie rushed him head-on, trying again to grab his wrists. But with the exception of Tux, Ric could tell they weren't used to fighting. Even Ormie, for all his muscles, wasn't coordinated in his efforts. Ric leaned forward and flipped the lightweight Eva over his head and into Ormie's arms. As awkward as the group was, though, they were persistent. Zada replaced Eva in jumping on his back, and her weight took Ric down to one knee. Tux and Lyle tried to snag one of his arms, and Eva and Ormie snatched the other. Dory was nowhere in sight. The tugging on his arms actually pulled Ric back to his feet, and he immediately backpedaled until he was

able to slam Zada into the wall. The impact not only knocked her loose, but jerked the others off balance, freeing Ric's arms. Ric spun and seized Ormie from behind in a chokehold, quickly pressing his right hand against Ormie's temple. Ric let his power flow, and Ormie became a dead weight in his arms within seconds. Ric shoved the flaccid body into Tux, and both vamps went down in a heap. “Stop it, all of you! Enough of this bloody comedy." Ric and those still on their feet whirled to face the strange voice with the British accent. A man stood just inside the door, rainwater dripping from his shaggy hair to darken a gold and brown paisley shirt. The man was one of the Undead all right—there was no mistaking either the vampire scent or the inorganic ice-blue eyes. With the barest shadow of a smile flitting across his face, Dory stood behind the stranger. “Who the hell are you?” asked Ric and Tux simultaneously. “Revelin Scott." A gasp from behind Ric accompanied a rather bored once-over from the newcomer, who couldn't have been taller than five-ten or heavier than a hundred and fifty pounds dripping wet, which he was. Even if the name hadn't been familiar to Ric, the Anthony Hopkins eyes told him that in spite of Scott's appearance, this was no vamp to trifle with. Ric heard a reverent whisper from Lyle. “It's the P.E." “What's a P.E.?” asked Eva. Zada kicked her in the shin. “The Patriarchal Enforcer, stupid." Scott smiled, but it was a tired effort that barely managed to lift the corners of his mouth. “It's nice to know some of you have heard of me.” He gave Eva a look that would scratch glass. “Quite right. I'm the Patriarch's chief enforcer. And you...” Scott turned to Ric and once again dragged his eyes from Ric's black boots to his bare chest and then to his long hair. “You can only be Doctor Death." “Ricard De Chaux.” Ric was at a loss for further words. This was his nightmare come true. Not the mutiny of a handful of inept council members, but the appearance of a vampire so elevated in the hierarchy that it could mean only one thing—sanction. And it would be no mere slap on the wrist. But he wouldn't fight Scott. To do so would mean certain death. The True Death. “I'm sure you're all wondering how I came to be here,” said Scott, idly unpeeling the wet polyester sleeves from his skin. “You can thank your mate Dorsey Kreech here for that." “That's Dory, sir. No ‘s,'” whispered Dory, tapping Scott on the shoulder. “Dory, yeah. He called the Midwest office saying there was trouble in Cristallia County. When I heard the famous Doctor Death was involved, I decided to handle the investigation personally." “Under different circumstances I might say I'm honored, Scott,” said Ric. Scott cocked his head in acknowledgement. “As might I, Doctor." “He killed a vampire—Joel Branduff, Tux's brother,” said Eva, pointing a long white finger tipped in blood red polish at Ric. Scott exhaled a long breath. “Someone please tell the chit to shut up. She's not only ignorant, she's annoying. When I start my questioning, it won't be with a little girl barely out of her nappies." Eva's face flamed a color to match her fingernails. “I am not a little girl!" “Shut up,” hissed Zada. “Don't talk unless he asks you a question."

Scott turned to Tux. “I take it you're the adjutant, Judson Tuxbridge?" Tux nodded. “All right. I'll talk to De Chaux and Tuxbridge. The rest of you can clear out. Go wait in your vehicles until you're called for.” Scott nodded toward Ormie, who lay in a heap on the floor, still paralyzed by the touch of the Hand of Death. “And take him with you." Dory took one of Ormie's arms, and Eva took the other. Together they dragged Ormie out the door. In a moment the front door slammed, and Ric was alone with Tux and Scott. Scott sank into one of the easy chairs, and Ric sat protectively on the arm of the sofa closest to Shelby's head. Tux took the other easy chair. Scott's cool blue gaze ran the length of Shelby's body. “Who's the human?" “His lover." “The local sheriff." Both answers stepped on each other. “One at a time, please, gents. Tuxbridge, you claim to be the injured party here, I believe. I'll let you have first say. Doctor, if you'll wait, I'll give you last word.” Scott looked at Tux. “Is this true? You believe that De Chaux killed your brother?" “Yes." “You have proof?" “No. Just that Joel told me that he'd take care of the sheriff. Make her disappear. She'd been questioning us too closely regarding a murder investigation. De Chaux had said he'd take care of her. That was a joke. His idea of taking care of her was keeping her warm in bed. But Joel was the one who disappeared, and up until a few minutes ago, the sheriff was alive and well. Joel would never just leave. I haven't been able to reach him by phone for two days now." “So that's what this little row was about tonight?" “My brother is dead, Mr. Scott. Truly dead. I can feel it. We're not just brethren. He was my human blood brother. We grew up together. We've been together on both sides. You know what it's like to wear a ring on your finger your whole life? You don't feel it, but you know it's there. But the minute you take it off you're aware that something's different. Something's missing. Something's wrong. Well, two nights ago I felt that ring slip off." Scott sat silent for a moment, his head down, as if he were considering. Ric might have laughed at the sight of such a youthful face pondering such a weighty issue had his own features not been so similarly untouched by age. He gazed down at Shelby. Her head was tilted slightly to the side, her expression frozen in that moment of realized loss when a person knows they will perish in but a moment. What had he said to her? That vampires don't grow old. They simply cease to exist. As obsessed as he had been with life and death over the years, he had never really pondered the ending of his own existence. It scared him. He knew he had no soul to either linger on earth or to join the spirits of his long-departed family. He was a damned creature. If anything, he would pay the price of his damnation for all eternity in a place much worse than Midexistence. Ric studied Tux with new eyes. When he had killed Branduff he had had no idea that the rogue was related to Tuxbridge. Would the knowledge have changed his decision to dispatch the vamp to the True Death? He wasn't sure. All he knew now was that Tux was feeling everything that Ric had felt more than two centuries ago when his family was sent to the guillotine. Whatever the consequence, Ric could no longer hide the truth. Tux deserved to know what had happened. He felt Scott's eyes on him. “Well, Doctor? Did you commit this alleged deed?" Ric looked down at Shelby and glided the pads of his fingers over her hair. It was still damp. “Joel Branduff was a rogue. I had no idea he was Tux's brother. I should have made the connection, though. Branduff lured the sheriff into the woods with the feu

follet—the same trick of the light that Tux had told me he had used years ago. Branduff would have killed her. I couldn't let that happen. She's come to mean much to me in just a short time. When I tried to stop Branduff, he turned on me. I killed him, yes." “And who did this girl tonight?" “I did." Scott shook his head. “You're not making any bloody sense, Doctor. Are you telling me that you yourself just committed the same act that was so heinous to you that you killed one of your own kind for it just two nights ago?" Ric eased off the sofa and kneeled on the floor in front of Shelby, touching her face. “No." Ric heard the floor creak behind him and wouldn't have been surprised if Tux tried to come at him again, but the lightness of the step told him it was Scott, not Tux. “Then what the hell are you telling me, Doc?" Ric turned around and slumped to the floor, his back against the sofa. “I don't know how much you know about me, Scott, but I have a power called the Hand of Death. I can release energy through my hand that kills. I can kill living things, and I can send the Undead to their True Death. But it's a controllable power. Fine-tuned through the years, you might say. I can momentarily stun, or I can temporarily paralyze, like I did to Ormie just now. I can also feign death in humans. Shelby isn't dead. I didn't feed from her enough to kill her." “You damn, deceitful son-of-a-bitch!” Tux flew across the room. Ric bounded to his feet. But Scott was quicker still, blocking Tux's path. “No! He answers to me—not you. Me!" Scott was at least three inches shorter and a hundred pounds lighter than Tux, but there was no mistaking the power that sizzled and sparked through the room like Roman candles. It licked Ric's bare skin like hot flames and made the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. The odor of the spoor in the room changed, and Ric could taste the power on his tongue, sharp and metallic, like vampire blood, deadly and noxious. Tux must have felt it, too, for he pulled up without so much as a show of teeth. Ric met Tux's gaze. Even with all the energy filling the room in as great a storm as raged outdoors, Ric could feel what Tux was feeling. Whether Tux knew how Ric felt was probably something he would never know. Scott was still facing Tux. “Justice will be done, mate. I promise you that. Leave us now, and tell the others I'll be out in a few moments to give them instructions." “Justice is all I ask. My brother shouldn't have died." After one last exchange of glances, Tux turned and left. With the sound of the door closing, the level of power in the room subsided abruptly. Scott heaved a long sigh. “Well, Doc, it's a fine bloody mess you've gotten yourself into." “No argument there. But before you deal with me, I have to bring her around. Leaving her in this state indefinitely is too dangerous. Oh, don't worry. I'll put her to sleep right away. She won't even know you're here." The enforcer rose again. “Then do what you have to do. I'll be in the next room.” Scott quickly disappeared through the arch to the dining room. Ric crouched beside the sofa and leaned over Shelby, placing two fingers along her temple. He could still feel the life within her, and if the council members had been less focused on their own concerns and more centered on what was happening around them, they would have sensed that her blood was still warm. He let the healing power flow from his fingertips. The reverse energy of the

Hand of Death had been a much harder beast to tame and harness than its partner. Chaos and destruction were always easier than creation, and Ric could not bring life from final death under any circumstances. But he could heal vampires injured in certain ways, and he could bring humans out of comas. His touch now was light, for no more was needed. “Come back now, my sweet. Your number hasn't been called yet, though mine has." She moaned, and her head turned toward the sound of his voice even before her eyes opened. “Ric?" “I'm here. You're safe." She blinked and squinted up at him. “What happened? I thought you were killing me." He shook his head and smiled. “That's what it was supposed to look like. But everything's all right now.” The lie flowed as freely as the rest of his assurances. “Rest now. There's nothing to worry about.” He strengthened the command with the power of his kind, and her eyes drifted closed again. Ric was strangely at peace. He stood up. Whatever happened to him now, whatever his fate, this human deserved to live. “It's done, Scott. We can continue now.” The words were whispered, but Ric knew that wherever Scott might be in the house, he'd hear them. Scott materialized a second later and stood framed by the arch. “You disappoint me, Doc. No other vamp I know would have admitted to offing a brother. I don't think I would have. Drago told me once that you have integrity. Well, it might amuse Drago, and humans might value action like this, but it was a bloody stupid thing for you to do. Tell me, do you really care so little for your existence that you would hold it out for destruction like a sacrificial lamb?" Ric would have smiled at the memory of his friend Drago had not the situation been so serious. “I didn't realize it until a few days ago, but for centuries I've been exactly my namesake. I've been as dead as the remains I've studied.” He cocked his head in Shelby's direction. “This female has taught me what it's like to be part of the world again, and that means taking risks." Scott shook his head and sank into one of the easy chairs. “You lost the plot, mate, that's for sure. All for a skirt." “You may believe me foolish, Scott, but I'm not careless, and I'm not unthinking. I know what I've done, and I was Paramount long enough to know what the sanction is in a case like this. I'm tired. I would appreciate your skipping the lecture and the hand slaps and getting down to le fond du problPme. That's the heart of the matter in case your French is a little rusty." Scott didn't look amused. Ric didn't care. “You said I don't know you, Doc. Well, you don't know me either, do you?" “Just what I heard in the story of Drago's death." “Which I fancy wasn't much compared to what you heard about Drago. That suits me fine, but let me tell you something. I was a soldier with Wellington against Napoleon. I know how to follow orders, and I'm bloody good at it. I also don't much like Frenchies. But over the past couple years I've learned to be ... creative in the execution of my duties. Maybe it was Drago's tutelage. Maybe I feel compelled to carry on his tradition in his absence. Who knows? However, I'm just as comfortable throwing the book as bending it, so if that's the way you want it, that's fine by me." He paused and took a deep breath. “You committed the ultimate sin. You sent a brother to the True Death without just cause. You've confessed to the deed, so there's no question of guilt. For a council member lesser sanctions apply, but with greater position comes greater price. You are hereby removed of all rank and responsibility within the Cristallia County Council. If you ever again apply for ranking, should you live that long, you'll have to petition the Directorate. You are banned from initiating contact with Judson Tuxbridge or any of the other council members. Am I understood, Doctor?" “You are."

“Good.” As quickly as he had made himself comfortable, Scott was at the front door. “I'll leave you to see to your female. I hope she was worth it. You said you thought hard about this. Take a piece of advice, Doc, and do some more hard thinking on what's really important to you. Oh, and one more thing. The others won't go Scot-free. You can believe that. Physical violence against an Overlord is an offense carrying sanction. Just the same, I think you and your female will keep your health a lot longer if the two of you get as far as possible from Shadow Bay as quickly as you can. Even with sanctions, I can't guarantee your safety, and I sure as hell can't do anything about hers." At that Scott was gone before Ric could reply. He looked out the nearest window. Liquid sheets of rain still blurred the view of the night. Shelby was still alive. And he was ... well, if not alive, at least not truly dead. But it was far from over. He didn't really know or trust Revelin Scott. The rank of Patriarchal Enforcer was second in the Brotherhood only to that of Patriarch itself. Many even thought that the P.E. was l’ éminence grise, the shadowy figure of power that was the true force behind the Patriarch. Ric had no doubt that behind the shaggy hair and dimples was indeed a power not to be underestimated. Certainly Ric didn't trust Tuxbridge. There might be more of the rogue in Tux than Tux himself would admit. He might just think that sanctions were well worth exacting revenge on Ric. And Shelby was a bigger problem than ever. She hadn't seen Revelin Scott, but she had certainly recognized Tux, Eva, and perhaps some of the others. And being abducted was surely not going to sit well with a sheriff. How far could he trust her? He could compel her to forget the past few hours, but if he did, would he ever know how much she trusted him? Do some thinking about what's really important to you. What did he want? Surely not power. The position of Paramount he had given up in France had been one of both power and prestige. And after the last Patriarch, Evrard Verkist, had been ousted by Drago and Revelin Scott not even two years ago, la directrice had come to Ric and offered him the title. It had been his great pleasure to turn her down. Now he wasn't even Overlord to a half dozen country vamps. He knelt on the floor in front of Shelby. What he had told Scott was the truth—he hadn't felt alive until he had met her. But how was he going to keep her? Would she come with him if he left? Would she give up a career and the only kind of life she had ever known to embark on a whole new lifestyle with a creature that fed on blood and killed with the touch of a hand? **** "Wake up, my sweet." The words were like pleasant background music to accompany Shelby's journey through the mist. "Shelby..." The voice became louder, more insistent, until it sounded right in her ear. Her eyes popped open. “Welcome back." She stared, feeling as weak and groggy as she had the night she had been attacked in the woods. The last clear memory she had was that she thought she was going to die, yet the vision before her could hardly qualify as angelic. Not unless angels nowadays were dressing in black trousers and high leather boots. Maybe this is a special corner of heaven reserved for female cops. She blinked, and wakefulness pulled her back to earth with a disagreeable jolt. “Ric.” She glanced around the room. The rain had stopped, and silence framed the empty room. A lamp and end table were overturned, and the fireplace screen lay bent and twisted on its side like a wounded beast. “What happened to everybody?" “Gone. It's just us." That drew her gaze back to his. “My God. Judson Tuxbridge? And Eva Hazard? They're both..."

“...like me, yes." “But what happened? This place looks like a battlefield, and you look like the last man standing." He smiled, but it was as bleak as the surroundings. “I guess I am. For now, anyway.” He stood up and extended his hand to her. “Come on. I'll take you home." She looked at the long fingers curled upward like an inverted spider. No matter how good he looked, she couldn't forget the memories of the evening—of being abducted from her house. Of having her will subjugated to that of another being. Of thinking she was going to die at the hands of someone she had given her trust to. The moment of death was something she had felt only once before in her life, when, during a physical struggle with a suspect, the man had put his hand on her holstered weapon and was attempting to draw it and use it against her. But in that instance she had been able to fight back. Tonight, she had been helpless. A moment of certainty, of inevitability, had held her tightly in its grasp. She saw her whole life in that drop of time, sealed and suspended like a thing over and done with. The moment had hung before her, and while it seemed to stretch into eternity, there hadn't been time for fear or regrets or sadness. But now the moment had passed, unfulfilled, and she had time once again for anger and questions. “No. Not until you tell me what's going on." He took a long breath and stared at the fireplace. She bit at her lip, impatient, but realized with a sudden dawning that conversation with a vampire was like interrogating a suspect. It was an art form unto itself. She had to be patient and persistent and remember that he wasn't intentionally trying to ignore her or avoid her question. She hoped. Her patience was rewarded. He turned back to her. “I was stripped." She stared at his chest and laughed in spite of herself. “I should say so.” The pale skin of his lean torso glowed like a marble statue, naked and pure. A deep stillness seemed to pervade him, but it was more like a vessel emptying than filling. More than ever she was reminded of a sculpture, perfect and cold. The laugh died on her lips. “I was stripped of my rank. I'm no longer Overlord. And I can't stay here any longer." “Stripped? Why? For not killing me?" “No. For killing the vampire who attacked you in the woods." “Which you did to save me." He nodded. “So, let me get this straight. You saved my life not just once, but twice, and as a result you lose everything?" “Not everything. I was retired ‘with grace.’ The hierarchy doesn't have a retirement policy. ‘Retirement’ from an elevated position is normally nothing more than a euphemism for the final journey to Hell." Even with the blanket Ric had draped over her, she suddenly shivered with cold. “Take me home." ****

Shelby was quiet on the drive home. Thoughts were streaming through her head so fast that if the drive had been five hundred miles instead of five miles she still wouldn't have had enough time to make sense of them all. But one thought kept returning. Ric had saved her life twice, and he had sacrificed himself to do it. No man had ever risked anything for her—not in Milwaukee, and certainly not in Shadow Bay. This man had risked everything. Ric parked his SUV behind her house and exited the vehicle when she did. He was clearly intending to stay, though whether it was to protect her or simply be with her, she wasn't sure. In any case, she certainly wasn't going to ask him to leave. A new thought came to her as she reached the front door. She put her back against the door and looked up at him. He was standing close, but his head was up, as if he were an animal testing the wind. “How do we know it's safe? What if someone's here waiting for us?” she whispered. He bent his head and his gaze found hers. “It's safe. I would be able to sense were it not. The Undead give off a very recognizable scent to others of their kind." She nodded and turned, unlocking the door. As she stepped into the house, she realized she was questioning fewer and fewer of his statements. “Ric, remind me never to become too complacent around you." “That's something, my sweet, that I don't think you'll ever have to worry about." She smiled, but a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over her. Now that she was home, the desire for certain creature comforts was all she wanted to concern herself with. Leaving Ric to his own worries, she shrugged out of her clothes without her usual care, leaving them in a pile on the bedroom floor, and started running a hot shower. She stood under the pelting heat and blanked her mind, concentrating instead on the warmth and cleansing power of the water. It sealed her from the world, and for a few moments she was more than happy for the privacy. But she couldn't lock herself away forever any more than she could numb her mind from all the disasters of the past few days. When she stepped out of the shower, the first cold thought hit her. Ric had said something about leaving. And she didn't remember him saying anything about wanting her to come with him. She pulled on a clean tank top and drawstring pants and sat down on the bed, her legs having little strength left to support her. He came into the room a moment later. As usual, he made no sound, but even with her eyes closed she sensed him. She felt the mattress dip with his weight, and she opened her eyes. He had changed clothes before leaving his house, and he wore a white T-shirt and black sweatpants. But somewhere between her living room and bedroom he had lost the shirt. He was holding out a sandwich to her. “You lost some blood. You should eat." She smiled. She wasn't particularly hungry, and had she been, his half-naked body was more appealing than what he held in his hand. But she did as he said and ate about two-thirds of the ham and cheese sandwich. When she was done, she stretched out on the bed, and Ric joined her. “Why, Ric? Of all the men that have come in and out of my life, why you? Why did I have to get involved with a vampire?” There. It was said. She didn't really expect him to be able to answer such a question, but it made her feel good that she had at least been able to at last voice the words aloud. He was silent for only a moment. “Vampires are basically static beings. We don't grow, and we don't age. We're nothing more than reflections of humans. When humans interact with vampires the things they see reflected in us often result in personal disaster. In change. That's what we feed on—the changes we force the living to make. I never guessed when I met you that you'd be the one to bring disaster to me. To force me to change." It was Shelby's turn to be silent. Was there any future at all for two beings whose opposite natures seemed predestined to bring ruin to each other? Her mind cast around for something positive in what he had said. Change.

She reached out and stroked his arm, feeling his hard muscles. “But, sometimes change is necessary. It doesn't always mean destruction and chaos. Maybe our meeting was meant to force us to face our fears ... to force decisions on how we want to be— with ourselves and in relation to one another." “I've spent most of my existence avoiding just such a thing, but perhaps you're right. It was time to change." But his voice carried no hope, no joy. She took a deep breath. Now was as good a time as any to get specific. “You said before that you were leaving." He lay on his back, one hand across his abdomen and the other behind his head. His long hair spilled over the bedding like another cover, and his gaze appeared focused on an invisible spot on the ceiling. She wanted to wrap herself in that glorious mane, wanted to press the length of her body to his, but her statement hung between them. “I have no choice. I no longer have any authority here. If I stay, it will mean certain war between myself and all the others, with the human population caught in the middle." Still he made no mention of wanting to take her with him. Her throat tightened, but she forced her questions out. “If you leave, will I be safe? Will they leave me alone?" He shook his head, though his gaze never wavered from its focal point on the ceiling. “No. You're more of a danger to them now than ever. You know who and what they are. It would be far too easy for them to just make you disappear." She tried to swallow, but the constriction in her throat made swallowing just as hard as talking. It was just as well. She had no idea what to say. She thought about giving up her life here. What did she really have? Now that Uncle Barry was gone, she had no family here, and certainly no close friends. But she had a career she loved, and if she sometimes lacked the respect of her peers, it was a job she had worked very, very hard to get. Still, she had started over before. She could do it. But to do it alone again? What good was all the change if she didn't have Ric? “So...” She cleared her throat and tried again. “You would advise me to resign my job and move?" Finally he turned toward her and propped himself up on one elbow. “Forget this place and move as far away from here as you can." “I don't want to lose you.” The six words were all she could get out. Ric's amber eyes stared at her, unblinking. They were such strange eyes, more animal than human. The beast in them should have made the primate in her shiver in fear, but all she saw was their exotic beauty. “You haven't had a chance to experience—to truly know—what I am. I'm nothing but a shadow image of a mortal man. What is natural and right for me is what is destructive in your world. You've only seen the face I present to the human world—that of the good doctor—but if you knew all the things I'm capable of, you'd fear me. For instance, when you looked into my eyes just now I could feel your thoughts. Your desire for me is strong, and desire in a human is like a telephone wire. You were thinking I remind you of a wild beast in a zoo, but one you don't need bars to get close to." She could feel the skin of her face flame with heat. It was indeed very close to what she had been thinking. “I don't think of you as an animal." “You should. Does it not frighten you that I can feel what's in your mind?" “Fear. Maybe that's what I need. I've buried my fears for so long. I thought I needed to in order to stay strong, but maybe I can learn from my fears." He smiled and turned on his back again, drawing her to his side. “I saved your life. You feel gratitude. And you're tired. Tomorrow your cynical, practical self will return, and you'll realize there are easier ways of getting in touch with yourself than sleeping with a monster."

**** Ric woke suddenly, unsure at first what it was that had touched his senses. He heard it again. It was his own name, carried softly by the night. He looked at Shelby. She faced away from him, still wearing the top and pants, but her back was bowed and pressed against his side. He bent forward and put his mouth against her ear. “Shelby." “Umm.” She brushed at the side of her head, as if something was tickling her, and he caught her wrist. “Shelby, get up. Someone's outside." She twisted toward him, her eyes open and searching the darkness. “Now what? I thought it was over." How he wished anything could be that simple. “No, but I didn't think it would start up again this soon." She huffed. “That what would start? The war you were talking about?" He nodded. “It's Tux. I don't know how many more are with him. Shelby, I can't confront Tux and watch over you at the same time." She stared at him, her eyes round and gleaming in the moonlight filtering through the curtained windows. The fears that she seemed so happy to embrace only a couple hours before filled her eyes and overflowed across her face. Fear was as easy to read as desire. He knew she was worried about him even before she answered him. “Go. Do what you have to do." “I'll have to kill him." “As I said..." “Stay in the house. Do you have any silver knives?" She looked away and knotted her brows. “There might be some packed away with my set of silver flatwear." “Go look for one. If anyone comes toward you, aim for the heart and call out. I'll hear you." She hesitated. “Aren't I safe inside? I thought vampires couldn't cross a threshold unless invited." He would have smiled at her naiveté had the situation been less urgent. “Vampire lore, probably tied to the notion that the devil couldn't go where he wasn't welcome. A threshold might stop a very young vampire, but not one with any age and power. Hurry now." He started to slide from the bed, but she caught his arm. “Ric. Make sure you come back. I don't want to lose you." He pulled her to him and kissed her on the mouth. He took his time, refusing to let the situation rush him. Tuxbridge could wait. He heard his name being called again, and he couldn't help smiling. It broke the kiss. “What's so funny?” Shelby whispered as she stroked a finger down his face. “Our guest doesn't appreciate being left waiting." “Then he shouldn't have come." He touched the corner of her mouth with the pad of his thumb. “I'll tell him so. In the meantime do as I said."

Still wearing his sweatpants, Ric quickly pulled his shoes on and left the house by the rear patio doors. Tux was standing across the yard at the edge of the tree line. It was the time of the night that Ric didn't like—the hours just before dawn when the moon had set, the air was damp, and dew covered everything with a cold, wet film. “Already violating your sanction, Tux? I'm sure Revelin Scott told you to stay away from me." Tux laughed. “His sanctions don't mean anything to me. Dear, departed Alek Dragovich could have sanctioned me, and I wouldn't care. I also don't care if you know the truth about me now, because it no longer matters. Either I'll die the True Death, or you will." “I'm listening. This is about your brother.” Ric knew Tux was as willing to die to avenge his brother, as Ric was willing to do the same for Shelby. “You're French. Have you ever heard of la société du feu follet?" “No." “I thought not. We've guarded our secrets carefully. The society originated in France and came to America with the fur traders and adventurers. The legends have spread from the bayou to the north woods, but it was the children's version that I told you before. There used to be many of us in Michigan, but with Joel gone, I'm the last.” Tux spread his arms wide, as if he deserved a curtain call and spotlight. Ric remained silent. He had never heard of the society that Tux referred to, but that didn't surprise him. The Undead were by nature isolated creatures, distrusting and disagreeable. They were as deceitful with their own kind as with humans, and yet Ric knew that vampires loved nothing better than to form their little cloak-and-dagger alliances and secret societies. They weren't formed for friendship, but to establish dominance. Those with power well tested in private advanced and survived. If they were lucky, those failing to establish dominance found a master to serve or apprentice with. The weakest, and those unable or unwilling to spend eternity in servitude, perished. In their own way, the Undead of Cristallia County had recognized strength in Tux and had gravitated to him. It was no wonder they had aligned themselves with Tux over him. “Tell me more about this society.” The longer Ric could keep him talking, the more time Shelby had to prepare, and the longer he had to plan. “There are no lanterns, no torches, no flashlights. Didn't you even wonder what my brother used to lure the sheriff into the woods? He used himself. The feu, the fire, was within him, as it is within me. It was our gift in crossing. When you humiliated me by using the Hand of Death on me, I could have fought back, but the time wasn't right to reveal myself. I didn't know yet if I could trust you. So don't think you can best me as easily as you did that night. The feu is powerful, Ric. You're going to have to come to me to lay a hand on me, but I can hurt you from a distance." Tux held out his right arm and cupped his hand palm up. Ric saw the flesh take on a pink glow, as though a powerful beam of light were being pressed against his hand from the other side, and a luminescence started to shine from between the fingers. Greenish orbs of phosphorescent light rose from his palm and started to drift toward Ric. He changed position, gliding to his left, but the light shifted course and followed him. Ric knew little about the feu follet other than it meant something that was elusive and misleading. Did the dancing light that wafted toward him have the heat and deadly burning capacity of real fire, or was Ric just meant to believe so? He didn't particularly want to find out the hard way. He moved again, and the orbs followed, but before they could reach him, they unraveled into feathery streamers of radiance that dissipated on the breeze like smoke. When Ric looked again at Tux, the creature was standing twenty-five feet deep into the woods. “I won't follow you, Tux. You're not going to lure me into the woods like some unsuspecting traveler." “No? Then you can't defeat me, can you? Well, whether you know it or not you are unsuspecting. You have no idea what I can do. If you want to just stand there and let yourself be destroyed, that's all right with me.” Tux raised both arms, and this time two

balls of light rose and floated toward Ric. They pulsed like beating hearts of brightness before dissolving into a shimmering mist that rolled over the ground like fog. Ric moved around the yard, staying just ahead of the light. It's an illusion. It's just a trick to misdirect the eye. Ric said the words to himself over and over, but he couldn't quite bring himself to believe them. Finally, as swift as Ric's vampiric speed was, the dancing light was quicker. The feu overtook him, and it was like standing in a shower except that instead of drops of water, thousands of twinkling lights poured over him. It effectively blinded him, and under the caress of brilliance, he shivered with a fear that was unknown to him. If he couldn't see his enemy, he was helpless. He closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. It's just a deception. And it doesn't burn. He concentrated on letting his own power flow outward, and when he opened his eyes, the lights were gone and so was Tux. Ric ran to the patio door. “Shelby!" “I'm here. I'm okay." He peeked inside and saw her with not only a knife, but also a shotgun and her service weapon. He nodded toward her arsenal. “Those'll be like throwing a dart at an elephant." She smiled grimly. “Maybe so, but they make me feel better just the same." “I think it's only Tux. If the knife is silver, it's your best choice." Laughter floated toward Ric from the edge of the woods, just as the feu follet had. “No, I didn't go after her, Ric, but I could have. I could have killed her before you could have torn yourself from the feu's embrace. So you see, you will have to come after me to stop me." Tux was right. He couldn't just stay on the defensive, yet neither could he afford to be lured away from the house. He would have to lean on more of his other strengths. The Hand of Death, as big a hook as it was, needed a line to help catch its prey. “No, there you're wrong, Tux. If I come after you, it'll be to run you down, not to be enticed like a child who knows no better." Laughter drifted through the air like the feu... Ric's gaze sought that of the creature across the yard, and he locked in the compelling power that could bridge the distance between them. “You will no longer use the feu follet against me, Tuxbridge. You will come to me, and we will fight this guerre B l'outrance, d'égal B égal, fight to the finish, equal to equal." Ric reeled his opponent in, step-by-step, until Tux was halfway across the yard. Ric had time for a brief instant of satisfaction before he felt his control crack and the night explode in a reign of terror. Tux broke eye contact and flung the dancing fire at Ric's head. This time the lights didn't float, but blew at Ric like a firestorm, blinding him with a brilliance that was more like flashes of lightning than a glowing ground fog. Ric spun, but the movement only caused him to lose his sense of where he was. Too late, he felt himself being grabbed from behind by hands that were thrust under his own arms and then pressed against the back of his neck. Tux was nearly as tall as he was, and broader and heavier by about fifty pounds. As physically powerful as any vampire Ric had met, Tux had the strength and leverage to lock in the hold securely. It forced Ric's arms up and rendered the Hand of Death useless. “Equal? You never treated me as an equal, Ric, not from day one. I was just an errand boy, no better in your eyes than a jackal. I could've lived with that, but not what you did to my brother. You killed my brother over a mortal, damn you!" Though the hold was painful and left him immobile, it was far from deadly. What could Tux hope to accomplish except to humiliate him? If Ric had known the answer, he wouldn't have asked the question.

Tux let go with his left arm, and Ric tried to twist and break the hold. Before he could, though, he felt a knife blade pierce his side. Pain more blinding than the feu follet washed over him, and he cried out. It was silver. Nothing but silver could burn with such a white-hot intensity. “Let go of him, you bastard!" Tux released his hold, and Ric fell to his knees. Through the silver haze of pain he could see Shelby about twenty feet away, the pistol she held in a two-handed grip pointed right at Tux's heart. “That won't stop him, Shelby. Get out of here, now!" But she held her ground, and Tux's laugh was as biting as a second knife thrust. “By all means, stay, Sheriff. When I'm done with the doctor, I'll have you." Ric heard the gun go off, over and over. The ringing sound was deafening, but he knew the bite of the weapon wouldn't match its bark. Still, Tux screamed, staggered backward, and toppled over Ric. “Shelby, get in the car and leave, now. Bullets will slow him down, but they won't stop him." “Not even silver? I thought you said..." Tux's shrieks drowned out the rest of her statement. He was writhing on the ground, and Ric realized that the knife was lying just a couple feet away. Even in his pain, Tux saw where Ric's gaze fell, and Tux tried to reach toward the knife. Ric didn't have to beat him to it. He only had to lay his hand against Tux's body. Both men stretched for their targets, but Ric was quicker. Tux's wounds, like Ric's, were bleeding freely and showing no signs of closing and healing. It was the mark of a silver wound. “I'm sorry, my friend. I would not have ended it like this. But at least you'll be with your family.” Ric held his hand over Tux's heart, felt the blood flow, and let his own power surge against it. In a moment Tux's screams faded as his body died the True Death. Ric collapsed on top of the body, fearing he, too, would join Tuxbridge in whatever nasty corner of Hell was reserved for the Undead. But he felt warm hands and heard a welcome voice and knew he wasn't in Hell yet. “Ric! Don't be dead, please." He moaned. The voice was wonderful, but it wasn't making sense. He had already died, hadn't he? “Ric, tell me what to do. How can I help?" “There's only one thing that can help him, Miss, and that's fresh blood.” The voice came from behind Shelby. She whirled, raising her gun to the new target. Ric pushed himself to a kneeling position. “No, Shelby, don't! Don't shoot him." “Don't worry, Doc, she's no threat to me. Are you, Miss? Put the gun down.” Revelin Scott's voice was mild, yet Ric, even in his present state, could feel the energy in the air and the power of command behind the even words. Shelby seemed frozen, unsure what to do, but after a few seconds she lowered the gun, letting it dangle at her side. She offered no resistance when Scott took the weapon from her. “I'm going to talk to the good doctor, yeah? You can help all of us by ringing somebody on your mobile so that half the cops in the county don't rush here in response to those gunshots." Ric rose to his feet, his hand still pressed to his side, but the wound continued to bleed. He wasn't surprised to see Scott, nor was it a shocker that the enforcer showed up only after the fight was over. Ric had spent enough time around Drago and other enforcers to know that their motto was “mop, don't meddle.” Their job was to issue sanctions and punish those responsible for violating vampire law, not to take sides or interfere in a dispute.

Ric waited with as much patience as his pain would allow for Scott's pronouncement. There was no point in trying to defend or explain his actions. Scott was no jury—he was cop, judge, and executioner—all in one neat killing machine. Rather like Robespierre. The thought prompted Ric to look at Revelin Scott with none-too-friendly eyes. It was the reason so many enforcers were hated. It was strange that Ric had never thought of Drago in that light, especially since l'enforcier had had more than his share of enemies. But Ric had never been in the position of having his own head on the chopping block. Had this been his inescapable fate all along, merely delayed by two hundred years? Shelby had gone into the house to make the phone call. Scott stared at Ric with the weary patience a parent shows a tiresome child. Ric's feeling of dislike for the enforcer sharpened, whetted by both the look and the pain of his wound. It was as though his very bloodstream had caught fire and was pumping burning agony to every fiber of his being. “You're very quiet, Doc. Is the pain that bad?" If Ric were in the throes of True Death staring Hell and Damnation in the face, he wouldn't admit it to another vamp. “No. There's just nothing to say, is there? He shouldn't have died. I don't apologize for or regret what I did, but Tux shouldn't have died. He was strong, and he did his best for this community, human and Undead alike." Scott sighed. “I knew when I sanctioned him he wouldn't obey my order to stay away from you." “But there wasn't anything you could do, right? The system always fails to accomplish the very thing it sets out to do, doesn't it?" “I don't make the rules, mate. But I notice that for all your high-and-mighty ideals, the Hand of Death is unflinching and unerring." Ric's patience was at an end. “Enough of this. If you're going to sanction me further, do it." “Just two. You have forty-eight hours to leave Shadow Bay." The blood that flowed so fiery a moment ago now ran cold. Shelby. Shelby was the second sanction. She clearly knew too much. “And the girl?" An even smile, showing straight teeth and matching dimples, made the youthful face look even more so. Until one looked at the pale blue eyes. “Technically I should order her terminated or turned, but enough lives have been lost already so that she could live. I leave it to you to ensure she's no threat to us." Had he heard right? Maybe the pain of the silver was making him delusional. “And the second sanction?" Scott continued as if he hadn't heard the question. “Besides, I saw how Drago felt about his Gypsy girl before he died. He wouldn't have killed her had Nikolena herself ordered it. I suspect you feel the same way about this sheriff of yours." “The second sanction, Scott. What is it?" Revelin Scott smiled again. “You're to return to Paris." “That's a sanction?" “That's what I was instructed to tell you. I just follow orders, mate." Paris. It could only mean one thing. The day of reckoning had come. **** Scott stayed just long enough to make sure Ric took what blood he needed from Shelby in order to heal, and no more. An hour later, Shelby had received an IV at Ric's office to replace the lost fluid in her body, Scott was gone, and she and Ric were back at

her house. They were on her sofa in front of the fireplace, Ric stretched out and her body a shadow to his, touching him body part for body part. She felt well and truly drained—tired, lethargic and weak—but her thoughts raced with an energy all their own. “So is it over?" He sighed. “You don't know how complex a question that is. But I have one for you first. How in the world did you come to have silver ammunition?" She smiled. “Uncle Barry. He was with the Cristallia County Sheriff's Department in one capacity or another for twenty-five years. For his silver anniversary the Department gave him a silver watch. The men he worked with gave him a clip full of cartridges with silver bullets. Kind of a Lone Ranger thing, I think. Anyway, when he died I inherited his gun and the famous silver clip. It meant a lot to me at the time. It means even more now. I think Uncle Barry is somewhere in cop heaven laughing his wings off." She took a deep breath and repeated her question. “Ric, is it over?” Physically, she had wormed her body as close to his as she could, but his thoughts and desires still felt miles away. From one corner of her mind a voice cried out that she could never feel close to a being so totally alien to her. Another part of her told her to get up and run so as not to hear the answer. But at her center, she knew she had to hear him say it. Maybe it was the cop part of her that refereed all the other voices, but she had to know the answers. All of them. He leaned his head forward and whispered into her hair. “A great deal has ended, yes. Shadow Bay is no longer to be home to either of us. I am under orders to leave. I cannot disobey. And while you have no one forcing you to move, I truly believe it would be your death if you stay. The Undead who will still be here after I'm gone will fear you too much to let you live." She shivered at the feel of his mouth so close. “Fear me? I should be the one fearing them." “You know their secret, my sweet. Knowledge is a powerful weapon." “I don't feel very powerful right now.” And that is so much the truth. Her physical fatigue was nothing compared to the loss of control that suddenly washed over her. Ric's arms were wrapped around her, and she held onto those lean, muscled limbs as though they were a handhold that would prevent her from being swept overboard into a sea of uncertainty and despair, but she felt little comfort. He still hadn't said anything about wanting her to come with him. Well, if he wouldn't say it, she would. “You don't want me to come with you." He was quiet for a moment, and she felt her heart pound harder with every second that filled the silence. Then she heard his voice in her ear, no louder than a sigh. “I want you more than anything in this world. I could plant seeds in your mind that would grow into the thoughts I want you to have. I could show you every fantasy you've ever had and make them come true. But it's the vampire lie. The fact is that most mortal-vampire relationships don't last. The ugly truth, my sweet, is sacrifice and risk. The disaster is the reality, not the fantasy. To survive, you must make of it what you can. As must I." “And face our fears." “Yes, my sweet, and face our fears." She twisted in his embrace and gazed into the amber eyes. Perhaps they were indeed dark windows to a house of horrors. After all, he was her biggest fear, and she his. But all she saw was the strength of a being who would always protect her. And the hunger of a heart that would always need her. “So where are we going, Doctor?" A slow grin spread across his face, and the weight of two centuries seemed to lift from his features. “Think you could make do in Paris?" She leaned forward to press her smile against his. She had just enough time to breathe four words into his mouth before his kiss took her breath away. “Ten-four, lover boy."

Epilogue The small community of Shadow Bay didn't like change. The resignation of the sheriff, and the disappearance of Judson Tuxbridge and the new medical examiner, caused a brief ripple of gossip. But the placid surface of the town quickly restored itself, glittering peaceful and bright on the Lake Michigan shore. The murder of Kyle Carver was never solved, the town elected a new sheriff, and Lucius Moravich retired from his archaeological digs. The house known as the Chicken Palace was purchased by local resident Dory Kreech, who was rumored to be Seline Swanson's new boyfriend. Some laughed at the sight of the Goth Queen with the unimposing young man, but Seline's coworkers saw only a happiness in Seline so complete that not even a cruel remark by Deputy Jason Rody could darken her mood. Just outside of Paris, a redheaded woman waited in a chateau that legend held had been many things over the years, including a converted Russian palace. The uncertainty of what the future held waited with her, but stronger still was the belief in her love, and the knowledge that her lover would return to her soon. In Paris the Directress Nikolena sat in her opulent office and entertained a man who was the Directorate rumor mill's top candidate for the dubious title of New Prized Pet. It certainly seemed obvious to all who paid attention to such things that not since Alek Dragovich had an enforcer been invited to spend so much time behind Nikolena's closed doors. Inside the office, an observer would have indeed heard Nikolena lavish praise on the young man. “You've returned the prodigal son to me, Revelin. No more will he wallow in the extravagance of secreting himself from the world, of wasting his power in such an insignificant place. You've done well by me once again." The man kneeled and kissed the tiny jeweled hand. “Madam, it is my honor but to serve." “And whom do you serve?" “Only you, Madam, only you." She smiled a Nikolena smile that had as many meanings as she had years on the earth. A red light winked on the console on her desk. “Ah, my revered guest is here. Leave me now, dear boy, through the back way. You've done well." The shaggy-haired man bowed and left, and a moment later, a tall vampire strode into the office. He was dressed in black and white elegance. But his tawny hair, worn long and loose, put the elaborate waterfall cravat to shame, and his glowing amber eyes outshone his gold jewelry. “Damiane." “Ah, Ricard, my golden boy. You remember my name of old. Welcome home, my love, welcome home."

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