I stopped abruptly, my gaze locked on his and my stupid heart dancing about like a crazy thing. Just for an instant, the beautiful blue depths of his eyes warmed, and it would have been very easy to believe he was truly happy to see me. But the warmth disappeared all too quickly, cloaked by the shadows that seemed so much a part of him these days.

He uncrossed his legs and rose languidly from the chair, a big, lean man who exuded a dark sensuality—one that had somehow gained depth and power in even the brief time since I’d last seen him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” It came out a little huskier than I might have wished, but then, how could it not when every intake of breath was filled with his warm, woodsy scent? I was a being of fire, not stone.

Yet that same delicious scent now held an even deeper, more dangerous edge than before, and it was one that allured and repelled in equal amounts.

“I need to question you about last night’s events.” He stopped several feet away and shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. I had an odd feeling they were clenched and that he was fighting the desire to reach for me. Wishful thinking, surely. He and I were over, thanks to his refusal to believe that Rory was a necessity in my life; while my heart couldn’t move on, his obviously had. He’d made that more than clear during our recent meetings; hell, he’d drugged me, for god’s sake and, as a result, had restricted my ability to use my fire and had almost gotten me killed. Why would he do that if even the slightest bit of caring remained?

“Why?” I said. “I told the cops everything I saw last night. I can’t add anything else.”

“You might have told them everything you saw at the scene, but I doubt you told them everything you know.” His voice was as flat as ever, but much of the coldness that had been so evident in our recent meetings was absent. “I know you, Red. It wasn’t by chance that you were in that neighborhood.”

Was his use of my nickname just a slip of the tongue? Or was it, perhaps, an indication that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t as filled with hate for me as I’d presumed? I couldn’t help hoping it was the latter even if I suspected it was the former. We might not ever be what we once were, but I’d like to think we could at least be friends. “And why would you think that?”

“Intuition.” He waved a hand toward the doorway. “Shall we take this discussion to Portside?”

Portside was the small café not far away from my apartment building, and a place we’d retreated to several times in the past few weeks. I stepped to one side and motioned him forward. Something flashed in his eyes—amusement or annoyance, I wasn’t sure which. Then he strode past me and out into the crisp afternoon air. Once again he chose a table overlooking the marina but as far away from the other customers as possible. Not that there were many about at this hour; it was too late for the lunch diners and far too early for the dinner crowd.

I pulled out a chair and sat opposite him. Not only because it put as much distance between him and me as was possible on a round table but because the wind was behind my back rather than his, taking his scent away from me.

He picked up a menu and studied it for several seconds. Frustration swirled through me, but I knew from past experience that he wouldn’t be hurried. He would say what he’d come here to say in his own good time.

That he was even here was odd, given his vow to stay well away from me. It wasn’t as if he were just an ordinary, everyday PIT investigator; everything he’d said and done since we’d come into contact again led me to believe he was fairly high up in the organization. Surely if he’d wanted to avoid me, he could have.

Unless, of course, everyone else was out chasing mad humans infested with the red plague virus.

The waitress came over. After she’d taken our orders and retreated, he put the menu away and interlaced his fingers on the table. His gaze, when it met mine, was steady and determined. The dangerous darkness had, for the moment, retreated, even if it hadn’t gone too far. I could still sense it, deep within him; it was a thick knot of shadows that stained his soul but hadn’t consumed him. Not yet, anyway.

Whether those shadows were the aftermath of his having had to kill his own brother after Luke had been infected with the red plague virus and it had made him mad, a result of his job at PIT, or something else entirely, I couldn’t say. All I knew was that the darkness was to be feared.

And I hoped like hell that whatever it was, he didn’t let it win.

I leaned back in my chair and returned his gaze steadily. If he wanted answers, then he’d better ask his damn questions. Rory’s theory was all well and good, but Sam was holding just as many secrets these days as I was. I wasn’t about to volunteer information unless he returned the favor.

But what if it’s not just about truth? that annoying inner voice said. What if it’s our actions as much as our words in this lifetime that affect what happens in the next?

It was a somewhat depressing thought, if only because I doubted anyone could ever be totally honest in thought and deed his entire life. Everyone made mistakes. Everyone lied—sometimes for good reasons, sometimes for bad. It was the one truth that hadn’t changed, not in all the centuries of my life. If our happiness did depend on achieving such a high goal, then we truly were cursed.

“Why were you really in that neighborhood last night?” he said eventually. “I’ve done a background check on Hamberly, and he’s certainly not someone you’d normally associate with.”

“Maybe these days he is,” I replied evenly. “Maybe I’ve suddenly gained a hankering for paunchy, middle-aged men since you and I split.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Amusement briefly touched my lips. “What is this about, Sam? Why has PIT stepped into what should be a regular homicide investigation?”

“Because it’s not a regular homicide, and it’s not the first time this murderer has struck.”

I sat upright abruptly. “What?”

“Your reaction,” he all but drawled, “is something of a giveaway.”

It certainly was. But, damn it, if this wasn’t the first time the creature had struck, why hadn’t I dreamed about it before now? Generally, when the prophetic dreams hit, it was because a life hung in the balance—a life I could save if I so chose. That wasn’t an option here. And if it was the creature I was supposed to stop, why didn’t I see it when it first struck?

“How many others has this thing feasted on? And did it just take the liver and heart of those victims, or were other internal organs missing?”

“And just how,” Sam said, the shadows in his soul becoming a little more evident, “did you know this thing had a penchant for inner organs? There was very little evidence of such an invasion on Hamberly’s body.”

I hesitated, but it wasn’t really practical to hold back the truth in this particular case. Sam worked with PIT. They not only had vamps, weres, and shifters on their payroll, but all sorts of psi-gifted humans. If anyone could accept the reality of my dreams, it was he and PIT.

Even if, that inner voice whispered, he hadn’t been able to accept the reality of phoenixes.

Or rather, I amended silently, the reality that, as a phoenix, I could never be entirely faithful to the man I loved. Not if I wanted to spend an entire lifetime with him.

Of course, he hadn’t actually given me the chance to explain I had no choice but to be with Rory. And as much as I understood his anger, it still hurt that he’d chosen to wipe me from his heart rather than simply listen to my explanation.

“I want the truth, Red,” he said softly. “Not lies.”

You can’t handle the truth. The immortal movie line jumped onto my tongue and begged to be spoken, but I somehow kept it inside. Because the real truth was, anyone discovering the person they loved was apparently having an affair would have reacted the same way. Like it or not, our breakup was as much my fault as his, even if I’d spent a long time denying it.

“I saw the creature in a dream,” I said. “I saw it enter Hamberly’s house and watched as it began to dine on his body. I went there simply because I thought there was a chance I could stop it before it attacked anyone else.”

Sam studied me for a minute, his expression closed and his body still. He reminded me somewhat of a predator about to pounce; there was the same sense of coiled readiness about him.

And yet it wasn’t, in any way, aimed at me. Which was odd, considering that nearly every other time we’d met, he’d seemed too close to the edge; that at any second, the darkness within him could have reached out and killed me as easily as it would any villain.

Something had changed in the weeks since I’d last seen him. The darkness was still there; it was still very dangerous and very much to be feared, but it was—for the moment at least—controlled.

“And these prophetic dreams—this is how you knew I was in danger?”

I nodded. “I generally see events before they happen. Sometimes I interfere, but I’ve learned over the years it’s often better not to.”

“So why rescue my butt? We both would have been far better off if you hadn’t.”

There was an edge to his voice, a bitter anger so deep and desperate, it brought tears to my eyes. And again, it wasn’t aimed at me. Hell, if the blankness in his eyes was any indication, he wasn’t even seeing me right at this particular moment, but rather, something deep within.

Something that had changed him forever.

His brother, that internal voice whispered. But not the shooting.

Which made about as much sense as vampires suddenly gaining wings and flying.

“No matter how much I might have hated you at the time of our breakup,” I said softly, “I never wished you dead. I still don’t, even if you’ve been the world’s biggest bastard.”

He blinked and life returned to his eyes; life and darkness. “You can hardly expect tender treatment when so many lives have been put at risk thanks to this virus—especially when your behavior and dogged refusal to be sensible were hampering investigations.”

“You almost got both Jackson and me killed when you gave us the drug that restricted my abilities and made us obey your order not to pursue Morretti. Nothing we did justified that, Sam.”

“Almost getting you killed wasn’t our intention,” he bit back. “We simply meant to get you out of the way.”

“It might not have been your intention, but it certainly was the result.”

“As I said, unintended.” He paused. “Although we can hardly take all the blame—if you and Jackson had done as ordered and stepped away, you might not have fallen afoul of the sindicati.”

I snorted. “Nothing I did would have stopped them coming after me, and we both know it.”

Because they’d wanted the last of my boss’s notes—notes that I’d inadvertently lost when I’d run into the coffee table in the middle of the night, sending the pile of them scattering to all corners of the room.

But if I hadn’t, then the last of those notes would be in sindicati hands right now rather than in PIT’s, because the bastards had broken into my home and stolen the rest of them before any of us really realized what was going on.

“Perhaps.” Sam waved a hand, as if the matter were of no consequence. And I guess it wasn’t to him. “What was so different about Hamberly’s death that you decided to interfere?”

I shrugged. “In all honesty, I think it was simply that Hamberly was already dead. I’ve never had a dream in which I couldn’t change the outcome, not in all the centuries I’ve been alive. It had to mean I was there for the creature, not the victim.”

He leaned forward. Just for a moment, his scent spun around me, warm and enticing. But that still darkness was stronger with his closeness, and it instantly chilled the sparks of desire.

“Creature? Can you describe it?”

I hesitated. “It’s a shifter of some sort. It’s little more than shadow and ash, but it seems able to alternate between a cat, a bat, and a monstrous black dog with backward-facing feet.”

He blinked. “Seriously?”

I nodded. “The closer it got to its victim, the farther away the sound of its footsteps, so I suspect some sort of magic is involved. But I’ve never come across its like before, and I have no idea what it is or what it might be capable of.”

Sam scrubbed a hand across his jaw, his expression thoughtful. In the late-afternoon sunlight, his black hair gleamed with rich blue highlights, but his face was far leaner than it ever had been. It was almost as if every ounce of fat had been burned from his body, leaving only muscle and perfection.

“It certainly doesn’t sound like anything I’ve ever read about,” he said eventually. “Do you know if it has a human form?”

“It never took a human form when my dreams followed it, but that doesn’t mean it can’t.”

He grimaced. “And you can’t tell us anything else about it?”

The waitress came back with his coffee and my tea and carrot cake. I dumped the bag of green tea into the little pot, then picked up the spoon and scooped up some cake.

“Not really,” I said in between mouthfuls. “I did notice a really weird chemical smell when I examined Hamberly’s body, and I think the creature might have injected something into the wounds to dissolve Hamberly’s organs before it sucked them up.”

“Your sense of smell is damn good if you picked that up.”

I shrugged. “I’m not human, Sam. I don’t suffer the same sort of restrictions.”

“When you’re wearing flesh, you’re as human as anyone else. That much I do know.”

Our gazes locked and memories rose. Everything that we’d been, everything that we’d shared; all the love and the laughter, all the heat and desire. It was right there, hovering between us, a ghost that flaunted the magnitude of what we’d lost.

Fate, I decided, was a bitch. It didn’t need to bring this man back into my life. Didn’t need to remind me how far I’d fallen from love everlasting in this lifetime, because I was more than aware of it.

I pushed the remainder of my cake away, poured myself a cup of tea, and then leaned back. It gave me time to recover, to think.

“That’s true in some respects, not so much in others.” I shrugged and directed the conversation back to slightly safer waters. “So how many times has this thing struck?”

He contemplated me over his coffee cup for a moment, then took a sip and said, “Hamberly was his third victim. The first attack occurred in a morgue, and the second was a junkie who’d overdosed.”

I frowned. “So he’s restricting his actions to dead people? That really is weird.”

“The problem is, there’s no guarantee he’ll remain content with dead people.”

“He’s taken three now. With any other killer, that would be considered a pattern, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, but in this case, each victim has been progressively closer to life. The first had been dead a day, the second twelve hours, and Hamberly barely one hour. His actions are escalating, and we fear that the next time, he’ll actually kill his victim.”

It was certainly possible, given the fast-dropping timeline. “How often is it feasting?”

“They started nine days ago. There were five days between victim one and two, and four days between two and Hamberly.”

So he had, at most, three days to find this thing before it killed again. No wonder he’d come to me; if the other crime scenes had been as clean as the most recent, they were obviously desperate for clues.

Except that Hamberly’s house hadn’t been absent of clues. And I still had that hair sitting in my purse.

“Did it take only the heart and liver of the other two?” I asked. “Because it seems a lot of effort to go through just to get those.”

“Yes,” he said. “And there are plenty of creatures out there who would rather feast on offal than flesh.”

There were plenty of humans who preferred it, too, but I very much doubted we were dealing with anything human. “You’ve obviously found nothing at any of the crime scenes that would help.”

“No.” He contemplated me for a second. “Have you?”

I hesitated, but in truth I wanted this thing caught as much as he did, and it made sense to hand the hair over. Jackson’s source might be able to help us out, but Sam and PIT were far better placed to go after this thing. We had trouble enough coping with Rosen, the sindicati, and keeping our clients happy. We didn’t need anything else lumped onto our plate.

Though that wouldn’t stop me from going after this thing if I dreamed of it again.

I reached into my purse and pulled out the plastic bag that contained the hair. “I found this in a paw-print puddle.”

He plucked the bag from my fingertips and held it up to the sun. “It’s a black hair.”

“Whether it’s the creature’s or not, I can’t say. But Hamberly didn’t appear to have any pets, and while he obviously had a partner, she wasn’t there at the time.”

“No.” He tucked the plastic bag into his pocket. “Anything else?”

I shook my head. “The dream wasn’t really that helpful.”

“Are they ever?”

“Sometimes.” They’d certainly given plenty of details when I’d saved his life, just as they’d done when I’d plucked the little girl from the flames that had left my back scarred. But this creature—and this situation—was different from anything else I’d ever dreamed about.

“If you dream again, I want you to contact us,” he said.

It was an order rather than a request, and the inner bitch sparked to life. But I bit back the instinctive retort and took a sip of tea. He’d been extraordinarily talkative this afternoon—at least compared to other recent meetings—so maybe it was time to try to grab some much-needed information. The worst that could happen was he could tell me to go to hell, and I’d been told that more times than I cared to remember—and by men more bitter than him.

“I will,” I said eventually. “On the condition you answer some questions.”

A smile twisted his lips, but it held no warmth. Though I fully expected a rebuke, all he said was, “That would depend on the questions.”

“The first one is easy—has PIT released Radcliffe?”

“Yes. And before you ask, I have no intention of telling you what information we did or didn’t get out of him.”

I snorted. “Trust me, I’m well aware of that.”

“Then what is your second question?”

“Why is PIT still holding Jackson’s truck?”

“We’re not. It was taken to the impound yard yesterday and a letter sent.” He paused, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a USB. My heart sank. It was one of the USBs I’d hidden under the driver’s seat when the sindicati van had smashed Jackson’s truck into a tree in a well-planned, well-timed, and very successful attempt to kidnap me. I guess it had been naive to think that PIT wouldn’t search the truck. If one thing had become obvious since this whole mess had begun, it was that PIT was ruthlessly efficient. And sometimes, simply ruthless.

But, as he’d said, they were dealing with a virus capable of wiping out a good portion of both the human and nonhuman populations, so they could hardly be blamed if they occasionally resorted to heavy-handed methods.

I just wished they wouldn’t use them against me.

I opened my hand, and he dropped the USB into it. “Why am I getting this one back?”

“Because there’s nothing relating to Wilson’s research on it.”

“Meaning the others did have information?”

He simply gave me another of those cool smiles. “Anything else?”

I hesitated. There was one question I was burning to ask, even if it would be stupid to do so. I had to move on from this man and what might have been, I knew that, but Rory’s words had stirred something within me, and I just couldn’t let go. Seeking answers certainly couldn’t alter what had already happened in this lifetime, but it might well be the difference between heartbreak and happiness in all our future ones.

I opened my mouth to speak, but my throat suddenly felt drier than the Sahara, and the words refused to come out. I picked up my cup and took another sip. It didn’t really help the dryness, but I nevertheless managed to croak, “If I’d been honest from the very beginning about what I was and what that entailed, would it have made any difference?”

He leaned back in his chair, his expression closed and his eyes shuttered. The darkness within him was still, but it was not unthreatening. It rose around him like a cloak, making him suddenly appear more shadow than a man of flesh and blood.

I blinked and the shadows fled, making me wonder if it had been my imagination or some sort of prophetic glimmer. Was my subconscious self—the being that was spirit and fire—seeing more than the physical senses of my flesh counterpart? I had no idea, and that was frustrating.

Sam remained still and silent. Tension wound through me, but as much as I tried to relax, I couldn’t. I needed an answer; needed to know if disclosing the truth would have made any difference to us, or whether it would simply have killed all hope of any sort of relationship, leaving me without even memories to survive on.

Eventually he sighed and leaned forward. There was something in his eyes—a spark that spoke of sadness—that had my stomach plummeting.

“That is a question I’ve asked myself a hundred times since you came back into my life.” His voice, like his expression, was closed. Only that fading spark gave any hint there might be more happening behind the shutters than the stillness suggested.

I swallowed heavily and said, “And did you ever come up with an answer?”

In the deeper shadows that haunted his blue eyes, hunger flared. It spoke of need—not just the need for emotional closeness but for something much deeper, much darker. It was a caress of flame that promised so much and yet threatened even more. It was almost as if he were a man of two very different souls, one born of light and the other of darkness. The former was the man I’d fallen in love with; the latter the man he’d become. Right at this precise moment, the two seemed to be on equal ground, but whether the status quo would or even could remain was anyone’s guess. But his darker half had certainly come out to play during some of our previous meetings, and I had no desire to come into close contact with that part of him any more than necessary—even if some tiny, somewhat insane part of me desperately wanted to understand what was going on with him.

“Why does it matter now?” he said eventually. “Neither of us can change the past or what happened.”

“No,” I agreed even as I wondered if he would want to, given the chance. “But it might just affect my future. Or rather, how I approach relationships in the future.”

“I would hope that you’d approached them honestly.” His flat voice oddly hinted at anger. “We both know the damage anything else can cause.”

“And yet, such honesty can result in just as much harm,” I replied evenly. “They may not burn witches at the stake anymore, Sam, but that sort of mentality is still very much in existence.”

“But only in a very small portion of the human population. For the most part, people are accepting of nonhuman existence.”

I wasn’t sure about that, but it wasn’t something I was about to debate. “And would you have been accepting?”

“Of your being a phoenix? Totally.” But even as those words left his mouth, his gaze became fierce. It was anger and hurt and confusion all mixed in with that deeper darkness, and it made my heart race as much as it sent chills across my skin. “But of a phoenix’s need to be with another man? I don’t know. I’m not the man I was back then, but I’m also even less inclined to share. And that, basically, is what loving you will always mean. I’m not sure I’m capable of that, Red. I’m not sure I’ll ever be capable of it.”

He rose so abruptly, his chair flipped backward, the noise drawing the gazes of the few diners who were here. Sam stepped to one side, righted the chair, and tossed some cash on the table. His gaze, when it finally met mine again, was calm. The turmoil I’d glimpsed had been erased, replaced by the still, cold darkness. “Make sure you call us if you dream of the creature again.”

Us, not him. A bitter smile twisted my lips as I watched him walk away. I’d gotten my answers, but it really hadn’t helped my situation. Not in this lifetime, and not for any other lifetime. And if truth was fate’s ultimate lesson for us, then it certainly wasn’t making the discovery—or even the desire to chase it—any easier.

I sighed and gathered the bills Sam had dumped on the table. He’d left enough not only to pay for his coffee but for my tea and cake, so once I’d given the money to the waitress, I headed home.

The smell of meat cooking hit my nostrils the minute I opened the door. I took a deep breath, needing to erase Sam’s scent from my nostrils and memory.

“Smell’s lovely.” I dropped my purse on the nearest chair and walked into the kitchen. Rory stood by the stove, stirring what looked to be a meat sauce. “Lasagna?”

He nodded. “I wasn’t sure whether you’d be home tonight or not, so I thought I’d make something I could easily freeze.”

“Good idea.” I kissed him, then grabbed a spoon and scooped up some of the sauce. It was delicious—but then, he’d always been a better cook than me. I was okay at the basics, but he was more adventurous. More imaginative—in the kitchen and out.

“What happened with your creature chase?” he asked.

I leaned against the nearby counter and crossed my arms. “The best thing about it was the night ride through the street. That bike of yours can move.”

A grin split his lips. “Why do you think I bought it? It’s the next best thing to flying.” He paused. “So if the creature chase was a bust, what has you so uptight? Is Jackson okay?”

“Totally.” I gave him a quick update on everything that had happened, then added, “Jackson is with Rosen now, and I’m going back there.”

“So what’s stressing you out?” He paused again, his gaze narrowing. “Sam.”

I sighed. “Apparently, the attack I witnessed last night wasn’t the creature’s first. He wanted to know why I’d been there.”

“And did you tell him?”

I half smiled. “That whole truth theory of yours got me thinking. So yes, I did. Besides, it’s not like I’ve got the time or the desire to go after this thing.”

“Unless, of course, you dream of it again.”

“Exactly.” I shrugged. “Sam was surprisingly reserved today. I don’t know what was different, but something was.”

Rory gave me a long look. “Don’t go falling for him again, Em. It won’t end happily.”

I snorted. “I can’t fall for him again simply because I never fell out of love for him—”

“You know what I mean,” Rory cut in. “Just guard your heart and your hopes. I don’t want to be picking up the pieces twice in one lifetime.”

“You won’t. His behavior is really puzzling, that’s all. Today there were glimmers of the old Sam, and they just made me all the more curious as to what happened to him.”

“It’s probably better not to know.”

It probably was, but that wasn’t something that had often stopped me.

Rory switched the stove off, then tugged me close and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I know that look. You’re going to chase this, aren’t you?”

I hesitated. “It’s not like I actually can. Sam won’t tell me anything—hell, he only comes to question me because he has to—and I doubt if any of his old friends will talk to me, even if he has confided in them.”

“Which doesn’t mean you won’t go ask them.”

“If this was another time, another situation, then probably.” I sighed and rested my cheek against his chest. The steady beat of his heart was oddly reassuring. “But I’ve got an odd feeling Sam’s on the edge right now, and I really don’t want to do anything to tip him into complete imbalance.”

“Says the woman who declares she has no intention of getting hurt a second time.”

I pulled back a little. “He is this lifetime’s love, Rory. I can’t help caring.”

“I know.” He brushed a stray hair out of my eyes, his touch light. “Will you be back home later tonight?”

I shook my head. “As I said, Rosen needs guarding, and we need to keep out of sindicati sight until we figure out what we’re going to do about them.”

He frowned. “Wisdom suggests you do nothing but avoid them.”

“Or that we figure out a way to stop them from coming after us.”

“I really don’t think—”

I placed a finger on his lips, halting the rest of his words. “We may have no other choice. But we’re not about to do anything stupid, and we certainly won’t do anything without letting you know first.”

“Good. But if you get dead, expect a right tongue lashing when I resurrect you.”

I grinned, rose on my tippy toes, and kissed him. “I won’t get dead. I want to be alive long enough in this lifetime to complain about the wrinkles and gray hairs.”

He snorted. “Are you staying for dinner?”

I hesitated, then shook my head. “I might, however, be tempted by a quick recharge, because who knows when I’ll get back here.”

“Well,” he drawled, “how can I possibly resist such a sultry invitation?”

I pulled back and said, a mock note of haughtiness in my voice, “If you’re going to be like that—”

He laughed, pulled me close again, and swept me up into his arms. Sparks ignited where our bodies touched, tiny fireflies of anticipation that spun through the shadows as he headed for our special room. It was, technically, the third bedroom of our large apartment, but as soon as we’d bought the place, we’d completely stripped it of all fittings and installed the very best fireproofing money could buy.

He nudged the thick door open with his foot, then kicked it closed again once we were through. The room was completely empty, and pitch-black aside from the sparks that danced between us. He stopped in the middle, deposited me back onto my feet, and said, “Clothes on or off?”

I raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t as if our clothes would actually be harmed if we flamed. The magic that allowed us to shift from one form to another also took anything that was touching our skin—clothes, watches, etcetera—with it. “And isn’t that the ultimate in seduction talk.”

He laughed again, then flamed; his flesh and his clothes gone in an instant, and all that was left was the heat of his soul. I threw back my head, my nostrils flaring as I sucked in its fierceness. It surged through me, primal and hot, and ignited the fires deep within. It was a firestorm that ripped through every muscle, every cell, breaking them down and tearing them apart, until my flesh no longer existed and I was nothing but fire.

“Oh lord,” he murmured, “that feels so good.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I was too wrapped up in sensation. He was heat and energy, life and love, need and necessity, and I was lost to the glory of him. As our fires grew fiercer and fingers of flames reached for the ceiling and crawled across the walls, his essence began to flow across every corner of my soul, reaffirming the connection between us and assuring life went on.

He drew me close again, and we began to dance, entwine, the fiery threads of our beings wrapping around one another, tighter and tighter, intensifying the pleasure, heightening the need. Soon there was no separation—no him, no me, nothing more than a growing storm of ecstasy. And still the dance went on, burning ever brighter, until the threads of our beings were drawn so tightly together that they would surely snap. Then everything did, and I fell into a fiery pit of bliss.

Several minutes later, I took a deep, shuddering breath and came back into flesh form. I was still embraced in Rory’s fiery grip, but his flames quickly rolled back and he regained human form. He pressed his forehead lightly against mine. “Are you sure you won’t stay for dinner?”

“I can’t. The sindicati are probably watching my movements, and I really don’t want to do anything that would make them believe you’re anything more than a boarder.”

He frowned and pulled back. “Why would they think otherwise? It’s not like anyone saw me up at Hanging Rock.”

“No, but the fact you took out their sharpshooter is a good indication someone else was up there, and it’s easy enough to put two and two together.”

“Only if they know a whole lot more about phoenixes than what the myths would have everyone believe. And let’s face it—very few of those are actually based in truth.”

“I know, but—”

“Em,” he said gently, “I’ll be okay. As far as anyone is aware, I have nothing to do with either the search for the missing research and disks, or the ongoing investigation into the deaths of Baltimore and Wilson.”

“Maybe, but I have this really bad feeling that someone out there knows more about us than we think.” I touched a hand to his cheek, ignoring the heat that burned into my fingertips as my gaze searched his. “I really want you to be careful, Rory. No risky behavior.”

“I’m a fireman—risk comes with the job.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Em, relax.” He caught my hand, then dropped a kiss on my palm. “I’ll be careful. I won’t do anything untoward until all this is over. I won’t even risk dusk flights, if that’ll ease your fears.”

I smiled, but it felt tight. Uneasy. “It will. Thanks.”

He nodded. “Then you’d best go shower and leave. If you are being watched, the less time spent here, the better.”

I squeezed his hand, then pulled free and headed for the shower. Twenty minutes later, dressed in jeans and a thick sweater, I was out the door, Rory’s laptop in one hand, a hastily made roast beef sandwich in the other, and a carryall containing enough clothes and other essentials for the next few days slung over my shoulder.

I couldn’t see anyone following me and there didn’t seem to be any birds acting suspiciously above me, but I still headed back to the hotel via a very circular route and parked in a different lot. As the saying went, better safe than sorry.

Jackson glanced up as I walked into the room. “Ha! Just the person I wanted to see—look what I’ve bought for you.”

He held up a mousy brown wig and what looked suspiciously like a nurse’s outfit. I raised an eyebrow. “And why did you buy me these things? Or did you have a sudden desire for sexual dress-ups? Because if you did, your idea of a fantasy needs a little more work.”

He grinned. “Hey, anyone with any sense knows there’s nothing better than a sexy woman in a short, tight nurse’s uniform.” He tossed me the outfit. “Your hair means you’re too easily recognized, Em, and you can’t risk using either of your other forms at night.”

“Yes, but a nurse’s uniform? A wig and a coat would have done just fine.”

He grinned. “Maybe, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, with two major hospitals on either side of Grey Street, no one is going to glance suspiciously at a nurse.”

“What about Rosen?”

“He’ll be out of it for a couple of more hours. I dropped a little something in his coffee.”

My eyebrows rose again. “Was that wise, seeing as we have no idea what Hunt gave him?”

“Considering how belligerent he was being before I doped him, yes it was.” He glanced at his watch. “We’d better get moving if we want to make it to Grey Street on time.”

I quickly stripped and put on the uniform, all too aware of the hunger radiating from Jackson. He sighed wistfully when I finished. “That show was over far too quickly.”

I grinned as I slipped my shoes back on. Thankfully, I’d been wearing sneakers, which didn’t look too out of place with the uniform. “I do have to strip off again, remember.”

“And I fully intend to do more than merely watch, let me warn you.” He rose. “I’ve arranged another rental car for the evening.”

I grabbed my bag, slung it over my shoulder, and followed him out. Although it was the tail end of rush hour, it didn’t take us all that long to either pick up the new car or to get across to Grey Street. Finding parking was another matter entirely and, in the end, Jackson stopped just down from St Vincent’s Hospital and let me out.

“I’ll cruise around the block and meet you back here,” he said. “If the sindicati are at the fountain, don’t approach them without me.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You don’t think I can handle them?”

“No, I just don’t trust them.” His eyes glittered in the light coming from the car’s dash. “Remember, they might also have intended to use this meeting to get rid of Hunt and his partner, and they’d know it’d take more than one vamp to achieve that particular goal. If you do spot anyone suspicious, call me. I’ll dump the car and come a-running.”

“The whole point of my wearing a disguise was not to be recognized. Your running in kinda spoils that.”

“Yes, but—”

“Jackson,” I cut in, “I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, I know that.”

“Good, then quit worrying, and let me do my job.”

I slammed the door shut. As he took off, I grabbed my phone and headed over to the park, pretending to text as I crossed Clarendon Street and walked toward the beautiful old fountain. There were only three people near it—a young couple cuddling on one of the park seats opposite and an old man clutching a bottle sheathed in a brown paper bag as if his life depended on it. None of them immediately screamed sindicati, but maybe that was the whole point. I skirted the fountain, passing within a couple of feet of the old man as I walked over to the seat opposite the couple. He smelled of urine and stale, unwashed flesh; if it was a disguise, then it was a damn good one, because his odor swamped my senses and made me want to gag. Neither he nor the couple paid any attention to me, and there was no one else in the immediate area. I sat down, crossed my legs, and waited. Time ticked over slowly. People walked by, in groups or alone, most of them barely doing more than glancing absently at me as they strode past. If the sindicati or their representatives were here, then they were well hidden.

My phone beeped. I glanced down and saw it was a message from Jackson asking what was going on. My reply was simple. Nothing.

No one there? he responded.

A couple and a drunk.

A few seconds passed; then he sent back, Vampires?

Hard to tell. The old guy’s reek is killing my senses, and I’ve no reason to get closer to the couple to check.

Meaning it could be a bust. Do you want to come back to the car? I can’t find parking, but I’ll be back near the drop-off point in five minutes.

I was just about to reply when a shadow peeled away from a group of nearby trees and strolled toward the fountain. I kept my eyes down and watched him surreptitiously. He was big and muscular and walked with a slightly bow-legged strut. A man who exuded confidence, power, and danger. Even from this distance, it was obvious he was something more than human.

A werewolf just turned up, I sent. One who could almost be Hunt’s brother.

Once again, Jackson’s reply wasn’t immediate—no surprise, given he was driving—so I raised my phone and took several shots of the wolf as he was looking the other way. I also took some of the old man and the couple, just in case.

The werewolf drew closer. There was a tension in him, an odd tightness to the set of his shoulders and arms that spoke of a man ready for action—an impression backed up by the fact his gaze was never still. It swept over me briefly, settled on the couple for several seconds, and moved on to the old man. Judging us, I thought. Or rather, judging the threat we represented.

He was here for a reason, and while that reason might not be me, it still had tension rolling through me. I could definitely look after myself, but I’d really had my fill of fighting man-mountains today. Besides, since I hadn’t actually spotted him until he’d peeled away from the tree, it was very possible that he wasn’t here alone.

The phone beeped again. It could be someone from a rival pack, Jackson wrote back. Wolves have little compunction about getting rid of the opposition, especially if it gives them some sort of advantage.

The wolf skirted the fountain and came toward me. I kept my gaze down and typed a reply to Jackson, though every other sense was tingling with awareness. The wolf’s gaze was a weight I could feel—a heaviness that seemed to press down upon me. It was almost as if he were willing me to look up and spill all my secrets. But he was a werewolf, not a vampire, and wolves in general were not telepathic.

What sort of advantage would getting rid of Hunt give them, though? I sent back. He was little more than a thug for hire.

The wolf stalked past me. Surprisingly, the heat radiating off him was filled with anger—fierce, furious, and very dangerous anger. The hairs along the back of my neck rose.

I understand werewolf politics even less than I do vampire, Jackson wrote back. Just found parking in Clarendon Street, so I’m nearby if you need help.

Good, I replied. Don’t like the feel of this right now.

The werewolf had moved past me, and the sudden release from his regard made me feel lighter than air, even though the tension in me was increasing. I studied the wolf’s back as he moved toward the couple again. They paid him little attention, yet the closer he got to them, the angrier he seemed to become, until his whole body vibrated under the force of it.

Then, with little fanfare, he pulled a gun out of his pocket and shot them.