CHAPTER 3

Jackson snorted. “I do so love dramatic statements, especially when the person behind them can’t back them up.”

“Which is a reasonable enough presumption, given you are not in possession of all the pertinent facts.” Once again, Frederick’s voice was annoyingly smug.

I had to clench my fists against the desire to batter his shield with flame. “How about getting to the point if you actually have one? We’ve got other things we need to be doing.”

“That is indeed true,” Frederick said, and then added in a flat tone, “We control the cloaks. If you don’t do as we want, they’ll swarm into this city and infect as many people as possible.”

“Luke was the only one who could control the cloaks,” Jackson said, “and he’s dead.”

“Luke is certainly dead,” the witch replied, “but the rest of that sentence doesn’t really apply. Luke, I’m afraid, was always destined to burn bright and die fast. He was neither a good strategist nor planner.”

With that, I had to agree. “None of which negates the fact that if the infected didn’t swarm when he died, they’re unlikely to do it now.”

“A statement that reveals just how little you truly understand about the virus.” Though I still couldn’t see him, it wasn’t hard to imagine the smug, satisfied smile tugging his lips. It was evident enough in his voice. “Not all of those infected were of the insane variety.”

“Which still doesn’t alter the fact Luke was the only one who could control any of them.”

“You forget there are various levels of infection. Those with the scythe marking on their cheeks would certainly have been either wiped out or reduced to mindless, inoperable flesh. But we’re talking about those who retained full brain function yet remained bound to the word of the hive.” He paused. “But not, of course, the ones who are infected but not connected, such as the PIT operatives.”

“And how would you know PIT has infected operatives?” Jackson asked.

“Come now, don’t pretend naïveté. I was Luke’s trusted servant for many, many months. I’m well aware of his connection to his brother and the other fae.”

It was a statement that made me frown. Luke had, by nature, been suspicious of everyone. He wouldn’t have trusted such a powerful witch unless he truly believed that power was his to command—and there was only one way he’d ever believe that.

“You’re one of the infected, aren’t you?” And the fact that this witch would go that far to achieve Rinaldo’s orders was chilling.

Jackson glanced at me sharply, but the only reaction from our unseen opponent was a sharpening of amusement.

“Yes, I am,” Frederick replied. “And because of that, I provide Rinaldo with the required connection to those who are like me.”

Meaning this witch was like Sam—infected but not bound to the hive? But if that was the case, how could he be the conduit through which Rinaldo could control the cloaks? As far as I was aware, Sam had no such connection. Though, in truth, it wasn’t like he’d tell me if he had. Hell, for all I knew, such a connection was the reason why he’d been so good at hunting down the scythe-marked cloaks.

And as much as I wanted to tell Rinaldo to prove his claim, we really couldn’t risk it. There were enough infected in this city already, and we didn’t even know the full extent of the spread. We dared not risk it by going any further—a fact Rinaldo was no doubt banking on.

“Let’s presume you’re telling the truth,” Jackson said. “Why drag us out here? Why couldn’t your boss have said all this when we were talking to him earlier?”

“Because he needed you to witness the results of disobedience. If he makes a threat, he will follow through.”

As he spoke, there was a shift in the tension surrounding us. Something was happening out there in the shadows that hugged the century-old trees. Jackson must have felt it, too, because his inner fires flared brighter, and flames were now flickering across his torso and hands. It was tempting to reach out and help him, to dampen his heat and, at the same time, refuel my own, but I resisted. There was really only one way he would find true control, and that was through practice.

“A message we’ve got,” I said, my voice sharp. “So what else does he want?”

Because it was hardly likely he’d dragged us into the city merely to emphasize his desire for the satchel notes.

“What he needs,” Frederick said, “is for you to go into Brooklyn and retrieve some information left there.”

“What sort of information?” Jackson asked.

“Research matter, of course.”

If there was research in Brooklyn, it could have only one source—the two missing scientists. And I really, really, hoped that Rinaldo wasn’t now in control of the pair of them. “Even if we can retrieve the material, what good will it do you? I’m betting neither you nor Rinaldo will be able to understand it.”

“We have no need to when we control the two men who have been working on finding a cure—or at least a vaccine—for this virus from the beginning.”

So much for hope. And while I had no idea why Luke had wanted Baltimore and Wilson, given he’d been intent on infecting the world rather than providing a cure, when it came to Rinaldo . . . I shivered. His intentions were undoubtedly very similar, but he was a far bigger threat than Luke would ever have been. Rinaldo was a calm, cool killer—the type who acted only after plenty of planning and forethought. Luke had a habit of lashing out when angry, and that, in many ways, had led to his downfall. We would not have that sort of break with Rinaldo.

“If you have the scientists, you don’t need anything else,” Jackson said, then silently added, And I don’t believe the bastard has them. I think it’s a bluff.

Possibly, but it’s not a bluff we can call, I said. If he has got them, how did he get them out of Brooklyn? The army and PIT were monitoring all the exits, both before and after the dry moat was created around it.

Meaning maybe the research matter he wants isn’t the notes, but the scientists themselves.

I doubt it. Even if they are there, Rinaldo knows PIT is monitoring our movements. He wouldn’t risk the scientists being taken from us.

“If we wish to start at the beginning yet again,” Frederick was saying, “that would of course be true. But we don’t, and until both the satchel notes and the notes De Luca hid are found, we require what was left in Brooklyn.”

“So order the damn cloaks in to get them,” I said.

“We would if we could, but things are not that simple. Besides, you forget that PIT has the entire area cordoned off.”

“As have you,” I said. “Or is that fiery, magic-enhanced wall that covers part of Brooklyn not yours?”

“That dome was created to keep the information secure until retrieval arrangements could be made.”

There was an odd edge to his voice that had me frowning. “You could have used a shield to hide your presence and walked in, so why didn’t you?”

“Because it didn’t suit us to.”

Which meant there was something else going on—something he wasn’t about to tell us. Air brushed past my neck, its touch cold and filled with threat. I briefly studied the shadows clinging to the trunks of the old trees, but I still couldn’t see anything.

I flexed my fingers. It was tempting, so damn tempting, to send a river of fire through those shadows and reveal whatever might be hiding there. It was even more tempting to smite Frederick’s shield with both flame and the mother’s energy, but a full assault on his barrier would not only drain me, but leave me vulnerable to whatever—whoever—was waiting out there in the darkness.

Something he was probably hoping for.

“I get why you’re using us to get into Brooklyn,” I said, “but since you’ve spent a great deal of time boasting what great strategists you and Rinaldo are, why haven’t you already got a line on the location of De Luca’s notes?”

“Because he was canny, and because Rinaldo couldn’t read him.”

Meaning Rinaldo wasn’t all-powerful; he still had his restrictions, and that at least meant we had some hope of beating the bastard.

“The notes we left at our office weren’t De Luca’s,” I said.

“No, but they’re a good start,” the witch said. “You have twenty-four hours to get into Brooklyn and get the research matter left there. We also wish to receive the satchel notes within that time frame. If you don’t succeed . . .”

He didn’t finish, but then, he didn’t need to. “Fine,” I ground out. “When and where do we meet again?”

“Your office will do. Call first—and don’t inform anyone else.”

He’d barely finished speaking when something sharp hit my neck. I swept a hand up and pulled something thin and metallic from my skin even as Jackson jerked violently, then said, “A dart? What the fuck?”

“I believe you’re already familiar with the N41A drug,” Frederick continued blithely. His voice was farther away. The bastard was leaving us. “It will achieve what my spell failed to. Don’t follow me, don’t use fire on me, and both of you stay where you are until I’ve left the area.”

Jackson tried to take a step, and failed. He swore and raised a hand, but his fire did little more than splutter across his fingertips. It certainly didn’t chase after Frederick, as he’d no doubt intended. N41A was the fast-acting drug used by PIT to restrict those with talents such as telekinesis and pyrokinesis. Sam had used it on us both when he’d dragged us down to PIT’s headquarters for questioning. And it had certainly worked—up to a point, anyway. It did restrict my flames, but only because I’d been so low in energy that I hadn’t dared risk returning to my natural fire form. Though I’d never actually witnessed an occurrence, I’d certainly heard enough tales of phoenixes’ lives being snuffed out simply because they’d risked such a shift.

That wasn’t the case now. I might be bone tired, but that wasn’t exhaustion. I flamed, becoming spirit rather than flesh, and instantly burned the drug from my system.

Jackson had grabbed the gun from his belt and was now firing in Frederick’s direction. The bullets pinged off the dome, protecting him in much the same manner as the flames had earlier.

Jackson cursed and shoved the gun back into its holster. “Go get the bastard for me. I’ll head back to the—” He broke the sentence off and frowned.

I instantly regained human form. “What?”

He hesitated, then waved a hand. “It’s probably nothing. Go, before the bastard gets away.”

I shifted back to spirit form and raced after Frederick, moving so fast, flames trailed behind me like a comet’s tail. But the night around me was gaining form and coming to life.

That presence I’d felt—the presence that had felt so wrong—was red cloaks. They surged out of the shadows, a howling mass of putrid, rotting flesh and hair. Some of them came at me—dove through me—and ran on, not seeming to care, their skin and hair and clothes on fire.

They weren’t after me. They were after Frederick.

There was a squeak of surprise from up ahead; then magic surged. An instant later, a howling wind hit us. It battered my flames, forcing me to slow, and sent the cloaks tumbling. Bits of flesh and blood and god knows what else went flying, and I realized then that they didn’t just smell rotten, they were rotting.

The wind got stronger, slowing me even further, until it felt like I was battering up against a solid but invisible wall. I swore and gave up the fight. I couldn’t feel Frederick’s presence anyway, even if the force of his magic continued to whip us. That he could do so from such a distance and on the run only emphasized his strength.

The cloaks were having no more luck against the wind than I was, but they nevertheless kept trying. Maybe they had no other option. Maybe Luke’s very last order had been one aimed at his so-called trusted lieutenant—and if that was the case, then maybe Rinaldo’s boast of controlling the cloaks was little more than hot air.

I called to the mother again. Her energy surged through me as sweetly as a kiss, then fanned outward, seeming to know what I wanted. As fingers of multicolored flame wrapped around each of the cloaks and incinerated them, a weaker source of fire washed across my senses.

I spun around. Jackson was running, at least a dozen cloaks on his tail. I swore again and sent the mother’s fire racing forward even as I followed her. As the cinders of the cloaks began to rain across the ground, Jackson spun around and pointed to the Nicholson Street side of the Royal Exhibition Building. “There’re other people in the park,” he said, shouting against the howling wind. “They’re also under attack.”

I altered direction and raced past the old fountain. The wind abruptly fell silent, and screams filled the void. As I neared the corner, I shifted back to human form. No matter how much I wanted to help whoever was being attacked, I wasn’t about to out myself. Far too many people already knew about my existence—any more, and we’d have to leave. I wasn’t ready to say good-bye to Melbourne just yet.

Around the corner, I discovered chaos.

There were a dozen red cloaks and five humans—three men and two women. Two of the men and one of the women were already down, their clothes torn and bodies bloodied. Several red cloaks knelt beside each of them, but they weren’t feeding. They were dragging their claws deep into their skin, cutting them open. Infecting them.

A shudder that was part fury, part horror, went through me, and fire exploded from my body—fire that was both mine and the mother’s. Flaming arrows that burned with all the colors of creation hit each of the cloaks, and as their ashes rained across the pavement, the remaining woman dropped to her knees and started crying. Her companion knelt beside her and placed an arm around her shoulders, but his gaze sought mine.

“I don’t know how you did that,” he said, his voice hoarse with pain, “but thank you.”

There were scratches on his face and arms, and bites down his legs. The woman he was comforting bore similar wounds. But they were both far better off than the three motionless figures beyond them, one of whom was little more than raw, bloody meat.

I shuddered again and dragged my attention back to the kneeling couple. “I’m afraid the danger isn’t over yet—there’re more vampires in the park.”

As if to emphasize my words, the sounds of snarling, of flesh smacking flesh, broke the sharp silence. Concern shot through me; Jackson, more than anyone, knew the danger of engaging in hand-to-hand battle with the cloaks, so why the hell was he doing so? The urge to go help him surged, but I resisted. I had to ensure these people were safe first.

The man’s gaze jumped past me, his expression a mix of pain, fear, and determination. “Then we’d better run—”

“No,” I cut in. PIT would be less than impressed if I allowed freshly infected people to go wandering off. “They’ve got the park ringed. You both need to shelter in the doorway over there.”

“But if they hit us there, we’ll be trapped,” the man said, eyeing the huge archway dubiously.

“No, because I’ll block it off with a wall of fire they won’t get through.”

The fear in his expression grew stronger, and this time it was aimed at me. “What are you?”

“Fire witch,” I said shortly. “Now go. And no matter what happens, don’t move from that doorway until I come to get you.”

He hesitated, his gaze briefly sweeping me. Then he nodded. “We won’t.”

As the two of them rose and staggered over to the doorway, I quickly checked the other three. One was dead, but the other two were still alive. For how much longer was anyone’s guess, because there was an awful lot of blood on the ground surrounding them . . .

I dragged my gaze away. The couple had reached the arched doorway, so I called to the mother again and raised the promised barrier. Pain immediately lanced through my brain, and for several seconds, the world faded in and out of existence. It was a very clear warning I was being drained to the point of exhaustion.

But until we were safe, until the cloaks were dealt with, I had no other option but to continue.

I bolted back to help Jackson. As I rounded the corner, I saw him, unhurt and standing. He was holding a silver knife in each hand that gleamed with an almost unearthly fire, and there were three bodies at his feet. Six others prowled around him rather than attacking en masse, which didn’t really make sense given they still had the weight of numbers on their side . . . The thought trailed off as my gaze rested on the scythe-free face of one of his opponents.

I’d seen him before.

These men weren’t cloaks. They were vampires.

But not any old vampires; these nine were from De Luca’s den, and they had sworn to kill us in revenge for their maker’s death. Obviously, our statement that we couldn’t actually claim that scalp hadn’t yet sunk into their thick skulls.

One of them spotted me and roared an order to attack. I unleashed more of the mother’s fire, and pain hit so hard that I stumbled and fell, sliding for several feet on hands and knees, skinning both before I came to a halt. I didn’t move; I couldn’t move. I just sucked in air, my whole body shaking with the force of it, fighting the cold lethargy assailing me, fighting the pain and the need to give in, to let go. To heed the siren call of the mother’s energy and become one with her.

True death lay that way, and it was one from which there would be no coming back.

Maybe one day I’d be so tired and worn by this world and the constant lifetimes of heartbreak that I would answer that call and fade away, but I wasn’t anywhere near that point just yet.

Besides, I needed to get back to Rory. Needed to be there for him.

A scuff of movement caught my attention, and I looked up. There was sweat in my eyes, and my vision was swimming in and out of focus, but the figure that approached was familiar enough—Jackson, not the vampires. Not the cloaks. Which was just as well; I had very little fire left and certainly couldn’t have even held a damn gun right then, let alone used it.

He dropped down beside me, and it was all I could do not to reach out, to grab all the fire that had been leashed within him by the drug, and draw it into my body.

“But that’s exactly what you need to do,” he said, placing one hand over mine. “You’re close to the edge of fading. Hell, you are fading. You need fire, Em, and right now, I’m your only source.”

I didn’t move; didn’t take. But his fingers were molten against the ice of mine, and they felt so damn good . . .

I licked my dry lips and somehow said, “I could kill you.”

“I’ll stop you before it ever gets that far.”

No, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Not if I got lost in the rapture of feeding, and that was a distinct possibility when I was so close to the edge.

“We can’t. Not here. Too dangerous.”

“The cloaks are gone, the vampires are either unconscious or dead, and there’s no one else around other than the people you saved. You have to do this, Em. Trust me. Please.”

There was a hint of desperation in his voice, and that, more than anything, smashed through my reluctance. I had to be closer to fading than I realized if he was that worried.

“Fine.” I entwined my fingers in his—an action that left my whole body shaking. I was close, so damn close. I clenched his fingers tighter, feeling the pulse of his heat and life against my skin, so warm and tempting. I took a shuddery breath and somehow said, “But if I start draining too much from you, hit me.”

“I would never—”

I raised my gaze to his. “It’ll break my concentration if I slip into a feeding rapture, and it might be your only chance of survival.”

He absorbed the information with barely a flicker of emotion. “Fine. Now feed.”

I closed my eyes, drew in another shuddery breath, then opened the floodgates and sucked in his fire. It was a molten river, rich with life and caring, and it washed through every part of me, chasing the ice from my veins and the weakness from my limbs. And oh, it felt good—so, so good—that rapture loomed altogether too fast. But as I reached the point of no return, something within me said, Enough. With a grunt of effort, I loosened my grip on his hand and thrust myself away from him. For several minutes, I didn’t move. I simply lay on the ground, staring up at the night sky as I gulped in air and fought the need to reach out and finish what I’d started.

“That,” Jackson said, his voice soft and edged with an oddly husky note, “was totally not what I’d been expecting.”

I looked at him. His eyes burned with desire, and he was practically radiating lust.

I blinked, caught between surprise and amusement. “You got off on that?”

“My god, you have no idea how much.” He shook his head, disbelief evident. “It felt as if I were communing with my element, drawing in a sense of strength and belonging. It felt amazing.”

Meaning it was just as well I’d maintained enough control to break the connection, because he might not have. But his words also had alarm bells ringing. Grace—the witch who’d given us the necklaces that had protected us against Frederick’s magic—had said that Jackson’s fate was now tied up with mine. I’d thought she meant it was our partnership and this case that tied our destinies together, but maybe not. Maybe she’d meant that by allowing him to merge with my spirit form, I’d become as essential to his existence as communing with his element.

And that, if true, was a consequence I wasn’t sure either of us was prepared for.

“Maybe not,” Jackson said, “but as you’re inclined to remind me, it’s a better option than being dead. Besides, it means I now have a whole new and very exciting means of enjoying your lusciousness.”

I laughed. “Trust you to put a sexual spin on it.”

“Something I can hardly help given that’s how the experience panned out for me.” He pushed upright, walked over, and offered me a hand. “Feel free to ask for a feed anytime you feel the need.”

I clasped his hand and allowed him to haul me upright. “You might have gotten your rocks off, but it really is a dangerous thing for me to do. I have killed people that way in the past.”

I might have done so under attack, as a last-ditch effort to save myself, but that was beside the point. I’d drained life from people before, and I’d undoubtedly do it again, especially if my reserves got too low and the rapture too great to ignore.

“It was fierce enough this time—I know, because I felt it.” He brushed a sweaty strand of hair from my eyes, his touch gentle. “But you didn’t. Maybe this connection between us means you can’t. Maybe in sharing your life force you really have made me something more than a dark fae, but something less than a phoenix.”

“That’s a whole lot of maybes.” And far too many to contemplate now—not when there was still so much to do, and people to save. I stepped away from his touch. “We need to call PIT and get some of their medics here.”

“The inspector is not going to be happy to learn the cloaks remain a threat.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Especially if Rinaldo really is in control of them.”

“I don’t think he is. Or, at least, he wasn’t in charge of this lot. They were chasing after Frederick, and Rinaldo certainly wouldn’t have ordered that. I think the attack on us was an afterthought.”

Jackson snorted. “If that’s true, how the hell did they get out of Brooklyn? We destroyed all their exit points, remember.”

“Brooklyn might have been Luke’s main base, but he had at least one pocket of cloaks stashed in a sewer junction under the city, remember.” A fact we’d become aware of when we were hunting for Grace’s missing coven friends. We’d not only found them far too late to save their lives, but had almost fallen afoul of the trap Luke and his not-so-tame witch had waiting for us there. “And if he’d had one such bolt-hole, what’s to say there aren’t more?”

“The fact that he would have had to find an inconspicuous way of feeding them.” Jackson brought up the inspector’s number, then hit the CALL button. “There were a hell of a lot of bones and bodies in that sewer tunnel, remember. He couldn’t feed multiple locations without someone realizing the neighborhood was missing not only all of its animal life, but many of its homeless, too.”

I didn’t reply as he began speaking to the inspector. Instead, I turned and made my way back to the people I’d saved. The wall of fire I’d created would have disappeared the minute my strength failed, but the couple I’d rescued was still there, crouched down in the shadows of the large old doors. Relief crossed both their faces when they saw me. The man rose, one hand tucked under his companion’s elbow to help her up. “It is done? Are we safe?”

I nodded. “We’ve called in medics. They’ll be here in—” I hesitated and glanced at Jackson. Though he wasn’t looking at me, he nevertheless held up a hand, fingers spread. “Five minutes.”

Which was damn fast. But maybe the inspector had ordered units on standby, just in case we needed help. And she’d undoubtedly want to contain this situation as fast as possible.

“Are our friends . . . ?” The woman’s voice trailed off.

I glanced over at them. That pool of blood was even bigger than before, but at least one of them still appeared to be breathing.

“I’m a doctor,” the man said. “I might be able to help them.”

I hesitated, and then nodded. In truth, there was nothing he could do to save them now, even if he did manage to keep them alive. The cloaks that had infected them were the mad kind, and that meant that, whether they lived or died, the three would become one of them. Death of the victim didn’t stop the progress of the virus, because the virus had been born out of experiments to uncover what made vampires all but immortal. They might not have uncovered that, but they’d obviously come close enough since the Crimson Death virus turned its victims in much the same manner as sharing the blood of a master vampire made mortals turn into vampires upon death.

But that was news PIT could break to them.

I stood beside the woman, comforting her as best I could as the doctor did his utmost to save his remaining companion.

PIT operatives appeared a few minutes later. One of them—a tall, slightly chubby-looking man with dark hair—approached me, and recognition stirred. He’d been one of the two men the inspector had sent to collect Jackson’s blood sample.

“Brad Harvey,” he said, saving me the embarrassment of not remembering his name. “Nice to see you again, Ms. Pearson. Shame it couldn’t be under better circumstances.”

“Yes.” I hesitated. “Has the inspector told you what happened?”

His gaze swept the young woman I was half supporting. “She did indeed. The threat has been neutralized?”

“For the moment.”

His gaze sharpened abruptly. “Meaning?”

“Simply that this situation may be a taste of what is to come.”

He relaxed a little. “Let’s worry about that when it happens. Now, young lady,” he added, returning his attention to the other woman, “why don’t you come with me? We’ve a medical unit approaching right now.”

As he spoke, the wail of approaching sirens cut across the night. He took the woman’s arm and led her gently—but firmly—away.

Another agent approached. “The inspector asked me to remind you about the meeting this evening.”

I nodded. “Are we free to go?”

“Yes—as soon as you make your report. A verbal one will do—I’ll relay the information back to base, where it’ll be written up.”

Which was an interesting way to do things, but at least it saved us the hassle of paperwork. I gave him a quick summary of everything that had happened, including both the attack and our meeting with Frederick. Rinaldo might not be pleased, but PIT needed to know the scientists might not only be out of Brooklyn, but in his hands. Once I finished, the agent nodded and said, “Thanks. You can go now.”

I stepped away, then hesitated and half turned around. “What’s going to happen to these people now?”

I knew what would happen, but I guess part of me was hoping I was wrong, that PIT would simply hold them somewhere in the hope that a cure could be found.

The agent shrugged. “It depends on what happens when they go through the change.”

“And if they’re not the sane ones?”

“Then we do what must be done.” His soft voice held little in the way of emotion, but I guess that was to be expected since he’d probably dealt with this sort of situation many times over. “When you are fighting a war, there will always be civilian casualties. It can’t be helped, no matter what we might otherwise wish.”

It wasn’t a war yet, I wanted to say, but the truth was, we were certainly on the brink of one. Because if this virus got out of control, then it would be as much a battle for supremacy and survival as any of the world wars.

I nodded and walked away. Jackson was standing guard over two of De Luca’s get. Both had been stripped, gagged, and roughly bound with their own clothes. They were also furious, if their attempts to get free and their muffled curses were anything to go by. Jackson stepped back as one jackknifed toward him; then he calmly placed a boot on the side of the vampire’s head and held him still.

“Where are the others?” I asked, looking around.

“You cindered five, and the remaining three have been hauled off by PIT. They’re coming back for these two.”

As he spoke, two men appeared out of the shadows. They gave Jackson a nod of thanks, hauled the vampires upright, and marched them out of the gardens.

“And we,” Jackson said, tucking my arm through his, “can now go.”

“Good, because I seriously need to sleep right now.”

“You’re not the only one,” he replied heavily.

It was a silent drive home. We stopped briefly at McDonald’s in Seymour to move the van and drop off the phone PIT had given us, then continued on. Dawn was beginning to unfurl pink and gold fingers across the night sky by the time we reached the cabin. I bounded up the steps with more energy than I really had and quickly unlocked the door. Rory didn’t look up or greet me, but only because he was still fast asleep by the fire. But he must have been awake sometime during the night, because there were protein bar wrappers scattered around him.

The relief that hit me was so fierce that my knees threatened to give way. Jackson stopped behind me and lightly touched my elbow, providing support. “You’re letting all the heat out, you know. And while I happen to think that wouldn’t be a bad thing given this place feels like a sauna, I’m thinking it’s deliberate.”

“You’re right—it is.” I forced my tired legs into action and walked over to Rory. He must have felt my presence, because he muttered something and reached for me. I caught his hand and let his fingers wrap around mine. I felt the urgency to connect, to renew, jump from his flesh to mine.

“How is he?” Jackson headed for the bathroom, stripping off as he did.

“On the road to recovery.” And already feeling much stronger. “You can take the bed if you’d like. I’ll lie here next to Rory and the fire.”

“I’ll grab a shower first.” He hesitated, a grin flashing. “And I’d better make it a very cold one, since the prospect of loving is very far away on the horizon for me right now.”

Meaning, I suspected, he’d sensed Rory’s need for me. It made me again wonder just what exactly I’d done when we’d briefly become one.

Once he’d stepped inside the bathroom and closed the door, I quickly stripped off and lay down beside Rory. He stirred slightly and wrapped an arm around me, pressing me closer still, so that my breasts were squashed against his chest and his body was firm and hot against mine. Desire stirred, but it was a languid thing. This was more about reaffirming us than anything else.

“Need,” he murmured. “Flame.”

I called to my fire but kept it under a tight leash of control. While we had a fully fireproofed room in our apartment for moments such as this, the cabin was all wood. If I wasn’t very careful, the whole place would ignite.

Rory threw his head back, a gasp of enjoyment escaping his lips. Then he, too, became flame, and the threads of our beings began to dance around each other, gently at first but growing ever more urgent, until there was no him, no me, just one being with two separate souls. But this first joining after a rebirth wasn’t about desire, even if that would always be present. It was a reconnection of both fire and flesh, and it was the flesh we now had to seek.

As we both shifted shape, his hand followed the line of my waist and hip, then gently caught my thigh and tugged it over his.

“May the gods be witness to our joining,” he murmured, and thrust inside me.

“And may fate be kind to us both,” I continued, as ever struggling to ignore the glory of his thrust and the need to move, to take the completion my body was beginning to crave. The ritual had to be completed before enjoyment could be had. “And allow us to continue our journey through the decades together.”

“As one,” he finished, his thrusts increasing in tempo.

“As one,” I echoed, and fell into bliss.

•   •   •

The sound of a door slamming shut had me jerking awake. I twisted around, my heart beating somewhere in the middle of my throat and flames shimmering across my fingertips.

“Sorry,” Jackson said, his wide grin suggesting he wasn’t at all. “I needed pizza, and you need to get your lazy but rather delightful ass up and ready.”

“Ready?” I stretched to ease some of the kinks out of my body. Sleeping on the floor was all well and good for youngsters, but I’d grown used to comfort.

“Soft is what you are,” Rory murmured. “And did someone mention pizza?”

“That would be me,” Jackson said. “Do you want it served, or are you feeling strong enough to join us at the table?”

“I’ll attempt the latter.” He paused and lightly slapped my rump. “If a certain redhead would move her lovely but lazy ass.”

I snorted, rolled to my feet, and walked over to my bag. “I’m going to have a shower. I’ll leave you two to catch up—but leave me some pizza, or there will be hell to pay.”

“Bossy, isn’t she?” Jackson commented.

“If you didn’t realize that by the time you invited her to become a partner in your business, you’ve only yourself to blame,” Rory commented.

I closed the door on their banter and stepped under the shower, letting it run for a very long time over my skin in an effort to wash away all the terror, fury, and helplessness of the last few days.

By the time I’d finished and had gotten dressed, a good half hour had passed.

“I was beginning to think you’d fallen down the plughole,” Jackson commented.

“Part of me wished I could.” I glanced at Rory. He was looking a whole lot stronger, even if tiredness was still evident in the way he was holding himself. “Did Jackson update you on last night’s events?”

“He did. I can’t say I’m all that happy about the two of you venturing into Brooklyn alone.”

“We won’t be alone,” Jackson said before I could. “You can bet PIT operatives will be along for the ride.”

He rose and walked across to the microwave, hitting the REHEAT button before moving across to the kettle. A few minutes later, he placed a plate of pizza and a large mug of green tea in front of me and then sat back down.

“I think I love you.” I picked up the nearest slice of pizza and bit into it. And almost groaned in delight. Damn, it was good.

“Which would be a shameful waste of your emotions,” Jackson said, amusement dancing about his lips.

I waved a hand. “Consider yourself appreciated, then.”

“I’d appreciate your appreciation in a more . . . tactile form,” he replied, his amusement growing.

“Please,” Rory said, “flirt on your own time. We have a serious discussion happening here, remember?”

I wrinkled my nose at him and picked up another slice of pizza. “Considering we have no idea what the cloaks might be doing in Brooklyn, do you really think PIT will risk sending people in with us?”

Especially when they were already stretched to the breaking point?

“I don’t think the inspector will have any other option,” Jackson said. “The government will want answers after the events there, and they’ll probably force military expertise on her.”

“But PIT, not the military, has governance over matters that deal with nonhumans.”

“Yes, but we’re dealing with a virus that has the potential to become a plague if not contained,” Jackson said. “The government will undoubtedly want to ensure it doesn’t move beyond Brooklyn.”

“And yet by sending in the military, they’re risking the exact opposite.”

“You’d have to presume they’ll be given orders to shoot the shit out of anything that moves.”

If that was the case, then it was just as well most of the criminal element as well as the homeless who had once called that place home had abandoned it long ago—or those who weren’t already infected had, anyway.

“The inspector didn’t mention the military when I spoke to her.”

“Why would she?” Jackson asked. “We’re only associates.”

“I know but—” I paused and shrugged. The reality was they could call in whomever they liked, and there wasn’t a damn thing we could do about it—even if we did think it was the stupidest idea ever.

Rory yawned hugely, then waved a hand in apology. “Sorry, it’s not the company . . . although the circular conversation is getting a little tiresome.”

I flicked the crusty edge of pizza at him. He batted it sideways, and it hit Jackson bang on the nose. “Charming.” He picked up the offending bit of crust and put it on his plate. “We’ll have to move soon if we want to arrive on time.”

My amusement faded as my gaze went to Rory. “Do you need anything before we leave?”

“Other than sleep, and for you to return safely? No.”

“And why am I not included in that wish for a safe return?” Jackson’s offended expression was somewhat offset by the amusement in his eyes.

Rory leaned across the table and patted his hand comfortingly. “When you become essential to my existence, you will.”

“That may yet be a possibility, you know.” Jackson rose and glanced my way. “I’ll meet you out in the car.”

He grabbed his coat and headed out. Rory raised his eyebrows. “What did he mean by that?”

“Long story, but it seems you were right when you said that in merging spirits, I might have made him more one of us than a dark fae.” I hesitated and half shrugged. “It’s very possible that his life force is somehow linked to mine. And if that’s the case, then he’s also linked to you.”

“Just as well I like the bastard, then.” He touched my cheek lightly. “Don’t worry about it. And be careful out there.”

“And you be careful here.” I rose, dropped a kiss on the top of his head, and followed Jackson outside.

It took us close to eighty minutes to get to Brooklyn. Two police officers waved us down as we approached the one remaining road in and out of the area. We showed them our PIT IDs, and after they’d spoken to someone via their com units, we were allowed to continue. Half a dozen black vehicles, which seemed to be the color of choice for PIT, lined one side of the blocked and guarded entrance. Jackson parked beside the last in the line, and we both climbed out.

A gray-suited woman with amber-flecked brown hair and a hawklike nose walked over to us. “The inspector is waiting for you. Please, follow me.”

I flexed my hands in an effort to release some of the tension, but it didn’t really help. Every time I’d entered Brooklyn, something had gone drastically wrong. I couldn’t help the feeling that this time would be no different.

The difference this time, Jackson said, is that Luke is dead.

That might be true, but it doesn’t mean the danger has lessened any.

If Rinaldo and Frederick are in charge of at least some of the cloaks, Jackson continued, they’d surely restrain any attack on us. They haven’t yet got what they want, remember.

I guess it all depends on whether Rinaldo believes we need another lesson in obedience.

True. Jackson’s mental tones were grim. He does seem the type.

That type being psychopathic?

He certainly fits the classic model of a psychopath.

He did. But he was also an old vampire and, as vampires aged, they tended to lose their more “human” emotions. Which basically meant we were dealing with one twisted and very dangerous individual.

Lucky us.

The inspector was talking on the phone as we arrived, so the gray-suited woman motioned us to wait and then walked away.

My gaze drifted past the inspector to a man standing several yards to her right, and something within me stilled.

Because that man was Sam.