CHAPTER 1

I raised my face to the sky and drew in the heat of the day. It ran through me like a river, a caress filled with warmth and sympathy, as if the sun were aware of my reason for being in this clearing out in the middle of nowhere.

And maybe it was. It had witnessed me performing this ceremony far too many times in the past.

I closed my eyes and ignored the tears trickling down my cheeks. Rory’s death was once again my fault. If he hadn’t been in Brooklyn with me, he’d still be alive.

And if he hadn’t been there, that inner voice whispered, not only would it be you who was dead, but possibly Jackson and Sam as well.

I hated that inner voice, if only because all too often it was right.

Rory had died saving our asses, and I knew he wouldn’t be angry about that. He’d always had something of a hero complex, and had often said that if he had to go before his allotted one hundred years were up, he’d rather do it saving someone he loved.

And he and I did love each other; hell, I couldn’t physically survive without him, nor he without me. But we weren’t in love, thanks to the curse that haunted all phoenixes—a curse that was said to have come from a witch after a phoenix lover had left her with little more than the ashes of broken promises and dreams.

But it was a curse we could have ultimately lived with, if not for the fact that it came with one other kick in the teeth—that no matter whom we did fall in love with each lifetime, the relationship would end in ashes, just as the witch’s had.

As far as I was aware, no phoenix had ever found a way to break the curse. I certainly wouldn’t—not in this lifetime, at any rate. Sam might have gotten as far as talking to me of late, but I doubted it would ever progress beyond that. Not given what he saw as my complete betrayal of his trust—even if he now understood the reasons for it.

I drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, letting it wash the lingering wisps of regret and hurt from my mind. I needed to concentrate. The sun had almost reached its zenith, and that meant it was time to begin.

I stripped and placed my clothes on the loose white tunic I’d brought here for Rory, and then kicked off my shoes. The slight breeze teased my skin, its touch chasing goose bumps across my body despite the sunshine.

Within me, energy stirred, energy that was a part of me and yet separate. Rory’s soul, impatient for his rebirth. When phoenixes died—as Rory had in Brooklyn—their flesh became ashes that had to be called, and then retained, within the heat of a mate’s body. If for some reason that process didn’t happen, then there was no rebirth. And that, in turn, was a death sentence for the remaining partner, as phoenixes could only ever rise from their ashes through a spell performed by the mate.

And there was also a time restriction on rebirth. It had to be done within five days of death, or the life and the fire of those ashes would die, and the spirit and energy would be returned to the earth mother, never to be reborn.

It had been three days since Rory had passed. I was pushing it, time-wise—hence his impatience and, perhaps, a little fear. But I’d had no choice—the weather in Melbourne had been so bad, a fire would have struggled to remain alight. And while, as a phoenix, I could have kept the flames burning, I couldn’t afford to waste energy when I had no idea how much I’d need for the ceremony. Because no matter how long I’d been doing this, no rebirth was ever exactly the same.

I brushed stray strands of red-gold hair out of my eyes as I moved into the center of the clearing and toward the square stack of wood I’d already piled there. The dry grass was harsh and scratchy underfoot, and the scent of eucalyptus teased my nostrils.

It was a perfect day for resurrection.

I reached down to the inner fires and called them to my fingers. As flames began to dance and shimmer across their tips, I stopped on the west side of the bonfire and raised my hands to the sky. Sparks plumed upward, glittering like red-gold diamonds against the blue of the sky.

“By dragon’s light,” I intoned softly in a language so old only the gods or another phoenix would understand, “and the mother’s might, I beseech thee to protect all that surrounds me and the one I call from me.”

As the words of the spell rolled across the silence, the air began to shimmer and spark with the colors of all creation. It was the heat of the day and the power of the mother, of the earth itself, rising to answer the call of protection.

“Banish all that would do us wrong,” I continued. “Send them away, send them astray, never to pass this way. So mote it be.”

The sparks I’d sent skyward began to fall gently down, but they never reached the ground, caught instead in the gentle hands of the shimmering light.

I moved to the north section and repeated the spell. The shimmering net of sparks extended, and the hum of its power began to vibrate through my body. I echoed the process on the two remaining sides until the net had joined and my entire body pulsated to the tune of the power that now surrounded me.

I faced the bonfire and again raised my face to the sky, watching for the precise moment the sun reached the pinnacle of its arc. Heat, energy, and sparks ran around me, through me, a force wanting to be used, needing to be used.

Now, that inner voice said.

I called to my flames, then stepped into the center of the bonfire. As flesh gave way to spirit and I became nothing but a being of fire, the wood around me burst into flame. I held out my hands and raised the fire to greater heights, until it burned with a white-hot heat.

It felt like home.

Felt like rebirth.

“I beseech the dragon that gives life, and the mother that nurtures us all, to release the soul that resides within.”

The words were lost in the roar of the flames, but they were not unheard. The ground began to tremble, as if the earth itself were preparing for birth.

“Let the ashes of life be renewed; give him hope and bless him with love, and let him stand beside me once more. By the grace of the mother, and the will of the dragon, so mote it be.”

As the last word was said, power tore up my legs and through the rest of my body, the sheer force of it momentarily stretching my spirit to the upper limits of survivability. Specks of luminescent ash began to peel away from these overstretched strands, gently at first but rapidly increasing, until it became a storm of light and ash. As the heat of the flames, the force of the earth, and the brightness of the day reached a crescendo of power, the motes began to condense and find form, alternating between our three forms—fire, firebird, and flesh—until what the earth and the day held in their grip was the spirit I’d spent aeons with.

Rory.

I thanked the earth mother and the dragon in the sky for their generosity and the gift of life, and then reversed the spell, this time moving from south to west. The wall of energy and sparks shimmered briefly, then began to dissipate, the energy returning to the mother and the fiery sparks drifting skyward as they burned out and disappeared. Nothing was left but the bonfire and the fiery outline of the adult male curled up in a fetal position in the middle of it.

Weariness washed through me, and I all but fell to the ground. I sucked in several deep breaths to clear my head, then crossed my legs for the long wait ahead. Rory might now be reborn, but physically he was extremely weak. That was part of the reason I’d piled the bonfire so high—he would need the flames to fuel his body. He wouldn’t wake—wouldn’t even gain flesh—until the ashes in his soul had refueled enough on the heat of the fire to enable full functionality. And even then it would be days before he’d be back to his old self and fully mobile.

The afternoon passed slowly. I boosted the fire a couple of times and kept the heat at a white-hot level. It was close to four in the afternoon when his spirit form began to jerk and tremble, a sure sign that his inner fires had fully awoken. An hour later, he began to keen—a high-pitched sound so filled with pain that tears stung my eyes. Rebirth was never pleasant, but the pain was so much greater when we died before our time. I had no idea why, but figured it was the mother’s way of making us a little more careful about how we lived and, ultimately, how we died.

Dusk had begun to seep across the skies in fiery fingers of red and gold by the time his spirit gave way to flesh. By then the bonfire was little more than softly glowing coals, but they didn’t burn him. Which wasn’t to say that we, as spirits of fire, couldn’t be harmed by our element. The scars down my spine were evidence enough of that. But they’d come from a situation in which I’d been unable to either control or feed on fire; I’d been rescuing a child, in full view of a crowd of people. Vampires and werewolves might be out and proud—and had generally been accepted into human society far better than most of us had ever expected—but because there were still enough people who deemed them a threat to civilization, in need of erasing, the rest of us thought it better to remain in the shadows.

Who knew how society would react if people ever realized just how many of us were living among them?

Even though Rory was unconscious, the process of feeding during rebirth was automatic; the coals continued to fuel him, until the light within them was completely drained and nothing remained but cold ashes.

Only then did he stir.

Only then did he open his eyes and look at me.

“Emberly.” His voice was little more than a harsh whisper, but it was a sound so sweet it brought tears to my eyes. Because it meant everything had gone right; he was back, and whole, and life for the two of us could go on as it always had.

I smiled. “Welcome once again to the land of the living.”

“Not sure this can ever be called living. Not when every fucking piece of me is aching like shit.”

“That is the price you pay for getting yourself shot.”

He grunted and rolled onto his back. Ash plumed skyward, then rained back down, covering his flesh in a coat of fine gray. “Did you get the bastard who did it?”

“That depends.”

He raised a pale, red-gold eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“That I sent every ounce of flame I could muster, and every bit of energy I could demand from the mother, into the building the shot had come from. It exploded into pieces so small, they were little more than dust, so I undoubtedly got the shooter.”

“But it’s the bastard who ordered the kill we want.”

“Exactly.” I uncrossed my legs and pushed upright. Just for an instant, the clearing spun around me, a warning that Rory wasn’t the only weak one right now. “And I thought you might like a piece of that particular action.”

“You thought right.” He looked around. “Where are we?”

“Trawool. Or just outside of it, anyway.”

He blinked. “Where the fuck is that?”

I smiled and held out my hands. “It’s about fourteen kilometers out of Seymour and just over an hour from Melbourne. Ready?”

His fingers gripped mine and, after a deep breath, he nodded. I hauled him upright; ash flew around the two of us, catching in my throat and making me cough. He hissed, and his fingers tightened briefly on mine as he gathered his balance.

“It never gets any easier,” he muttered.

“No.”

I held on to him and waited. After several more minutes, he nodded. I released one hand but shifted the other to his elbow. Just because he thought he was stable didn’t mean he actually was.

“I wasn’t able to drive the car into the clearing—there’re too many trees,” I said. “But it’s parked as close as I could get.”

“I’ll make it.” He took a determined step forward, paused unsteadily for a moment, and then took another. He very much resembled a toddler taking his first steps, and, in many ways, it was an apt image. The two of us might have spent more years alive than either of us cared to remember, but each rebirth came with the cost of major muscle groups remembering how to function again. Sometimes it was almost instant—as had happened this time when it came to speech and arm movement—and other times it could take days. Hell, the last time I’d been reborn, it had taken close to two weeks for full function to return to my legs.

When we finally reached the edge of the small clearing, I quickly redressed, then picked up the soft tunic, shaking the dirt and leaves from it before helping him into it. Right now, his skin was so new that it was also ultrasensitive. Anything too tight or scratchy would rub him raw.

It was only half a dozen steps from there to the rental car, but by the time he’d climbed into the back of the station wagon, he was shaking and bathed in sweat.

Once he’d made himself comfortable on the thin mattress, I slammed the back door closed, then climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car up. “There’re protein bars and a couple of energy drinks in the backpack.”

He dragged the pack closer and opened it up. “Whatever did we do before modern food manufacturing?”

“Snacked on beef jerky and drank unrefined cows’ milk boosted with raw eggs.”

“Which is probably the reason I hate both with a passion today.” He tore open the protein bar and began munching on it. “Except, of course, when said milk is combined with either brandy or rum in the form of eggnog. How many days have I missed?”

I checked the mirror for oncoming cars, even though encountering any was unlikely on such an off-the-beaten track, then did a U-turn and headed down to the main road.

“Three. I had to wait for a hot enough day to perform the ceremony.”

He snorted softly. “If Melbourne can be relied on for anything, it’s weather that does not do what you want.”

“Yeah.” There were other reasons, of course, such as the Paranormal Investigations Team—a specialist squad of humans and supernaturals who worked outside the regular police force to solve crimes that involved paranormals—wanting a full and detailed debriefing before they’d let Jackson and me go. Then there was the problem of ensuring we weren’t being followed—one we solved by Jackson and me temporarily going our separate ways. He returned to the offices of Hellfire Investigations—the PI agency we jointly owned and ran—while I followed the example of so many of our enemies of late, using the stormwater system to get out of Melbourne unseen.

“What happened in Brooklyn after I was shot?” Rory said.

“Nothing. We just ran.” Or rather, left as quickly as any of us were able, given we were all more than a little broken and bloody by that time.

“And you haven’t heard from either Sam or Jackson since?”

“I talked to Jackson yesterday. I’m meeting him in Seymour tonight if he can get away without being followed.” I had no idea what Sam might be doing. He hadn’t exactly been communicative since I’d stepped back into his life. He might be one of PIT’s top investigators, he might be chasing the same damn things we were, but he’d generally dealt with me only when and where necessary.

“Is that wise?” Concern edged Rory’s voice.

“Probably not, but it’s not as if we have another option. There are still too many things we need to do.”

And far too many people we’d endanger if we did stop or disappear. Hell, my vanishing for three days was enough of a risk. I was just hoping Rinaldo—the vampire who was blackmailing us for any and all information on the Crimson Death virus, or red cloak virus, as it was more commonly known—would put our recent lack of action down to injury recovery.

Of course, both he and everyone else currently tailing us also wouldn’t have minded our finding the missing scientists who’d been working on a cure for the virus. Unfortunately, they’d been purposefully infected, brought under the control of the red cloak hive “queen,” and, right now, were who knows where, working on god knows what.

What we did know was that the infected generally fell into two categories—those who became crazy pseudo vampires leashed by the will of the “queen,” and the ones who, while they also gained vampirelike abilities, kept all mental facilities even though they were still bound to the hive and its leader. No one really understood why the virus affected some more than others, although the powers that be suspected it very much depended on which lot infected you. The scientists were apparently in this category—no surprise given the hive queen had wanted them working on the cure as much as the rest of us.

Of course, there was a third category, involving people like Sam who, though infected, had no attachment to the hive and did not fall under the will of its leader.

“What about Rinaldo?” Rory asked.

“Jackson’s been making the required nightly call.” I shrugged. “Hopefully, it’ll keep him off our backs.”

“If he’s as old as you suspect, then it probably won’t,” Rory said. The more he talked, the scratchier his voice became. “Those bastards see things in rather simple terms—that is, things they want, people they can use to get those things, and people who are in their way.”

We were currently sitting in that middle group with Rinaldo. I did not want to step into the latter group.

I glanced at the rearview mirror and saw Rory was struggling to keep his eyes open. “Don’t fight it; your body needs the rest.”

“You can’t carry me in, and the last thing we need is you breaking your back and having us both immobile.”

I grinned. “Your ass may be heavy, but I’ve carried it before and I can do so again. Stop being an idiot, and let your body do what it needs to.”

He didn’t reply, and, in a matter of seconds, he was asleep. I hit the main road and headed toward the small cabin I’d rented for the next week. It was a pretty but basic building, the interior little more than one large wood-clad room that held a bed, a kitchenette, and a sofa, with a bathroom tucked into one corner. But it was the open fire dominating the main room that had drawn me there. Rory needed both flame and food to continue his rehabilitation toward full mobility, which was why I’d not only lit the fire before I’d left but had also set up a bed right in front of it. No matter how long he slept, his body would automatically feed on the flames.

The moon was casting its silver light across the shadows by the time I pulled into the long driveway that led down to the half dozen cabins dotted along the banks of the Goulburn River. Ours was the very last one, situated around a slight bend in the river and out of the direct line of sight of the other five.

I reversed up to the front steps, then climbed out and unlocked the front door. A wave of heat hit me, and I closed my eyes, briefly drawing it into my body to ease a little of the tiredness. But this heat was not mine to enjoy.

I severed the connection and returned to the car, opened the rear door, then dragged the mattress—and Rory—closer. He muttered something unintelligible and half sat up, making my job a little easier. I swung his arm around my shoulder, then hauled him upright, being careful not to crack his head on the top of the wagon’s door.

He waved his free hand about randomly and said in a rather grand tone, “Onward and upward, my dear!”

I grinned, shifted my grip to his waist, and half carried, half guided him up the steps. His breath was little more than a wheeze by the time we made it inside, and we all but staggered over to the fire. I stripped him out of his tunic, then helped him down onto the mattress. I didn’t bother covering him, simply because having his entire body exposed to the flames would hasten the refeeding process.

“Thanks.” His eyes briefly fluttered open. “What time are you meeting Jackson?”

I threw some more logs on the fire, then glanced at the clock on the wall. “In twenty minutes.”

He grunted. “Bring back some coffee. And fries. And a big burger. Or two.”

Amusement ran through me. “Like that’s a surprise request.”

I generally hungered for chocolate and green tea after my rebirths, but Rory had always preferred the fattier foods—a preference that had become much easier to fulfill when fast foods had come into being. Although cheese, eggs, and milk were theoretically healthier, fries and burgers seemed to fuel him faster.

“How long are you planning to be away?” he mumbled.

“Not long.” Particularly as he was still in such a fragile state. “But shit does happen.”

Especially since I’d saved Sam’s life and subsequently become involved in the quest to stop his brother’s mad scheme to spread the red cloak virus. Not only was Luke one of the few infected who’d retained his sanity, but he also happened to be the “queen bee” of the red cloak hive and had intended to create an army with which he could rule the world. And while we’d managed to bring Luke down in the Brooklyn madness that had taken Rory’s life, I had no idea how much of his army remained or whether he’d had a second in command who could take over. He’d certainly had a witch on his payroll—one who’d been powerful enough to not only create a spell able to contain a phoenix’s fire, but also to call and control three hellhounds. That I’d survived the encounter had been due to luck more than determination and skill on my part.

“Shit does,” Rory said. “And hopefully, the next truckload will happen all over the bastard who ordered me killed.”

I chuckled softly and touched his arm. His skin still held an edge of coolness, which meant there was a way to go before he was up to full strength, despite appearances. “I won’t be long.”

He grunted. I waited until his breathing indicated he’d slipped into a deep sleep, then grabbed my coat and headed out. It didn’t take me all that long to reach Seymour. Although there were plenty of good-quality restaurants in the town, Jackson and I had decided to meet at McDonald’s, not only because it was easier but because I’d have to stop by there anyway to grab Rory’s food.

Once I’d parked, I climbed out and looked around. There weren’t many cars here; most customers were content to simply use the drive-through, if the long line was anything to go by. None of them seemed to be paying any attention to me, but that didn’t necessarily mean there wasn’t anyone out there watching my movements. The feeling wasn’t caused by paranoia so much as past experience, given the number of people who’d been following us of late.

I couldn’t see Jackson anywhere, so I headed inside. Aside from the couple eating at one of the corner tables, the only other people here were the staff.

My phone—an untraceable one we’d gotten from a friend of Rory’s who was heavily involved in the black market trade—beeped as I ordered a green tea, several burgers, and a bag of fries. I pulled the phone out of my pocket and glanced at the screen.

Be there in a few minutes, the message said. Order me an espresso. A large one.

Though there was no name on the text, it could only have come from Jackson as, aside from Rory, no one else had this number. Jackson’s phone had come from PIT, and though they claimed it was also untraceable, they meant to everyone but themselves.

And that was something of a problem. I trusted Sam, and I trusted his boss—the rather formidable Chief Inspector Henrietta Richmond—but that was about it. I was pretty sure PIT had at least one mole, and it didn’t matter whether that person belonged to the sindicati—the vampire equivalent of the Mafia—or was one of Rinaldo’s men; the last thing I needed was either group getting our current location or our new phone number. Not when Rory was in such a weak state, anyway.

I ordered Jackson’s coffee, then moved across to a table that overlooked the parking lot. I demolished my food in record time, needing to fuel my flesh as much as I’d need to refuel my spirit with flame sometime in the next twenty-four hours. As I started in on the fries, an old van drove into the parking area and stopped on the opposite side of the lot to my car. It was Jackson; of that I had no doubt. A few seconds later, he climbed out of the van, a lean, auburn-haired man who oozed heat and sexuality. Even from this distance, separated as we were by glass, I could feel it. It was a teasing but fiery river that ran delightfully across my senses, and it was something I’d never felt before. Not like this, anyway. Which maybe meant it was yet another side effect of allowing him to draw in my flames—to merge his spirit with mine—in an effort to burn the red cloak virus from his system. And we weren’t even sure if we’d achieved that.

PIT had recently taken blood samples, but it could be days—even weeks—before we knew the test results. I seriously doubted it would take that long, though, as there was currently no known cure for the red cloak virus. If my flames had burned it from Jackson’s system, it meant the virus was at least susceptible to heat.

Not that it’d help humanity all that much. Few races were capable of withstanding the high temperatures Jackson had.

I watched him walk toward the main door. If there was one thing literature and movies had gotten wrong when it came to the fae, it was their stature. They were neither small nor winged, and the only ones that were ethereal in any way were the air fae.

He made his way through the tables with a lightness and grace that belied said stature, his easy and delighted grin creasing the corners of his emerald eyes.

“Ah, Emberly.” His voice was little more than a murmur, but one that echoed deep within me. Another side effect of our merging was the ability to hear each other’s thoughts. Not all the time, and certainly not without some effort, but it was still there. And still developing, if that echo was any indication. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

“Let’s be honest here.” The amusement that ran through me bubbled over into my voice. “You’re an oversexed fire fae who hasn’t had much of the intimate stuff of late. You missed my body more than you missed me.”

“You wound me to the core with such a comment.” He rather dramatically slapped a hand against his chest, but the effect was somewhat spoiled by the laughter dancing in his eyes.

I rose. “Yeah, I can see the tears.”

“They are raining inside, trust me.” He caught my hand and tugged me closer. “Life in the office has been seriously boring these last three days without you.”

He wrapped his arms around me and held me tight. Not only was he delightfully muscular, but deliciously warm as well. Fire fae tended to run hotter than most humanoids, and although their core temperature was nowhere near as high as ours, they did make very compatible lovers.

But Jackson was also a perfect lover in one other respect: Fire fae didn’t do commitment, and Jackson was never going to want anything more than a good time from me—which was just as well, considering Sam was this lifetime’s heartbreaker.

“You spent years in that office flying solo,” I said, voice dry. “I’ve only been there a few weeks.”

“But in those few weeks, I have become so accustomed to your presence, I cannot imagine life without it.” His face grew suddenly serious. “And now, if you don’t mind, I desperately need to do something that I’ve been dreaming about for these last few days.”

And with that, he kissed me.

It was a long, slow, and extremely sensual exploration, and one that had my pulse racing and inner fires flaring. I controlled the latter, but only just—and that was instant cause for alarm. Control was something I’d learned from a very young age. That it threatened to break my restraints here—with this man—was something that hadn’t happened in the past and certainly shouldn’t be happening now.

I abruptly pulled away. His skin was almost translucent with heat, and alarm washed through me. The lack of control wasn’t mine, but rather his, somehow seeping through the link between us.

Jackson, I said, trying to put as much urgency as I could through our silent connection. Control it.

He blinked, then awareness of what was happening hit, and he cursed softly. The fiery color of his skin immediately dimmed, but I could still feel the heat burning deep within him. While fire fae generally couldn’t produce their own flame—they could only control fire that already existed, even if it was little more than a spark—Jackson had gained that ability when our spirits had merged.

But it was an ability he was still struggling with.

He cursed again and thrust a hand through his short hair. “Damn, I’ve spent the last few days practicing fire control, but it looks as if the results aren’t quite what I expected.”

I touched his arm lightly. “It takes a phoenix years to gain full control. You can’t expect similar results in a matter of days.”

He snorted. “I’m a fire fae. That should give me some sort of an advantage.”

“It will. But remember, while you’re able to control fire, it wasn’t an intimate part of your being until after we merged.” I squeezed his arm and sat back down. “You’re not used to having to control flames twenty-four/seven. Up until now, you’ve only had to exert control when fire was already present.”

He grunted and sat down opposite me. “It’s still fucking annoying. Especially if I now have to think about every little thing I do lest I set something on fire. Or someone.”

“Control will happen. But in the meantime, I can teach you how to leash it in more intimate moments.”

He took a sip of his coffee, then snagged a fry. “That sounds promising. Can we start now?”

I laughed. “Jackson, we’re in the middle of McDonald’s.”

“And I have a van parked outside.”

“I don’t think either the staff or the patrons would appreciate our doing the horizontal tango out in their parking lot.”

“Sadly true.” He paused, and that wicked gleam reappeared. “There might, however, be room enough to do a vertical tango.”

I threw a fry at him. “We haven’t the time.”

“It’s been more than three days since my last loving. Trust me, it won’t take long.”

“It’s a sad day when a fire fae admits to so little control.”

“Woman, you have no idea just how much control I’m exerting right now.” He snagged the fry from the table and munched on it. “How’s Rory doing?”

“He was reborn without incident and is currently recharging in front of a roaring fire.”

Jackson grunted. “How long will it take him to get back to normal?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Meaning, how long do I have to remain with him?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“It depends. Once he’s fully refueled, he’ll at least be capable of looking after himself even if he’s still physically weak. But right now, I can only leave him for small periods of time.”

“Small periods are better than nothing.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“You know that itchy feeling you get? The one that says we’re about to hit a truckload of trouble?”

“I get dreams, not itchy feelings.”

“Same, same, just a little more detailed.”

I smiled. There was a vast difference between getting prophetic dreams that always came true and simply feeling the approach of something ominous—and he knew it. “What is this premonition telling you?”

He hesitated. “Just that something bad is happening.”

“Happening? As in, right now?”

He nodded, his expression serious. “I don’t know what, I don’t know where, but whatever it is, it’s bad.”

“Until we get a little more detail, it’s hard to do anything about it.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed a hand across his jaw. “Why don’t we grab Rory’s food and get back—just in case he’s the reason for the bad sensations.”

“No one knows where he is, so I doubt it.”

Even so, I finished off my tea and quickly rose. The drive-through queue had tapered off by that time, so it didn’t take long to get Rory’s burgers as well as a couple extra for the two of us. I might have already eaten, but my stomach was still demanding more. It was just as well my metabolic rate ran far hotter than a human’s; otherwise, I’d have been the size of a house.

As we headed out, I added, “It might be worthwhile to leave the van—and your phone—here. I don’t want to risk anyone tracing us to the cabin.”

He nodded and jogged off to the van. I climbed into my car and drove over to pick him up, then swung back onto the road that would take us to Trawool and the cabin.

Jackson was silent the entire trip, but I could feel the tension in him. Whatever he was picking up, it was growing in intensity. I parked in front of the door again, then grabbed the bags of food and hurried up the steps.

The heat once again surged over me as I opened the door and stepped inside. Rory was not only unharmed but also awake.

“That was quick,” he said. Though he sounded brighter, I could still feel the tiredness—the weakness—in him. Refueling was not happening at any great speed, which was frustrating. Not that there was anything he could do about it—it was just the way things were playing out with this rebirth.

“That’s because I’m well aware how grouchy you get when you don’t get fed in a reasonable time frame.”

A smile tugged his lips. “Says the woman who once threatened to cinder me if I didn’t present chocolate immediately.”

“A statement any reasonable woman would understand.” I squatted down beside him, then unwrapped one of the burgers and handed it to him.

“Jackson didn’t appear?” He took a bite, then closed his eyes, his expression one of utter bliss.

“Jackson did,” Jackson said as he stepped into the room and closed the door. “Fuck, is it hot in here, or is it just me?”

“It’s hot.” I continued on to the small kitchen table, depositing the rest of the food on it before shrugging off my coat. “And I won’t object if you strip off.”

“I will,” Rory muttered. “Keep your pants on, mate.”

Jackson chuckled even as he stripped off his jacket, then began rolling up his sleeves. “Never fear, I have no intentions of giving you an inferiority complex when you’re still so new to the world.”

Rory snorted. “Dream on.”

Jackson pulled the chair away from the table and sat down, but his grin quickly faded as my phone rang. “Who’s got that number?”

Tension ran through me, especially after his recent comment about something feeling off. “No one but you and Rory.” I pulled the phone out of my pocket and glanced at the screen. The number was a familiar one. “It’s okay. It’s a rerouted call from the office.”

Jackson’s relief was palpable—and said plenty about the tension still riding him. “It’s probably one of our other clients, wondering why in the hell we’ve failed to give them progress reports in recent weeks.”

“Probably.” I hit the CALL ANSWER button, then placed it on speaker so he could hear it.

For several seconds, the only sound coming from the phone was whisper-soft breathing.

“Crank call,” Jackson muttered. “Hang up.”

“I wouldn’t advise that,” a pleasant and unfortunately familiar voice said, “because that might have dire consequences.”

Sparks danced across my fingers, and it was all I could do to control them and not melt the phone. And this time it had nothing to do with Jackson and everything to do with anger. And if I was being honest, more than a little fear.

“What do you want, Rinaldo?”

“You know what I want,” he replied, his tone urbane and ultrapolite. “And you have not been holding up your end of our bargain.”

“I’ve been calling you every fucking night,” Jackson growled.

“Yes, but your reports have been scant when it comes to information.”

“Hard to give what we haven’t got,” I bit back.

“If that were true—and it isn’t—then perhaps I might be inclined to forgive.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—”

“I told you what would happen if you failed to play by my rules, so you will now pay the promised price.” Rinaldo paused, and I could almost envision his cold smile. “Or rather, your precious friends now will.”