Of all the answers I’d expected, that certainly wasn’t one of them. “You felt it?” I said. “You’re psychic?”

He shrugged. “I’ve never been tested, but sometimes I see things. Feel things.”

“And you felt this creature?” I couldn’t help the slight edge of excitement in my voice; Denny Rosen had just handed us a means of finding this thing … if we were to go after it.

“And we’re not, remember?” Jackson murmured.

I made a face at him but didn’t comment as Rosen said, “Yes, I did.” He paused and rubbed his arms. “It felt old. Evil. James was already dead, and it would have killed me had I stayed. I had to get out. I just had to.”

And no one could blame him for that. “Is there anything you can tell us about the creature? Something that might help us locate it?”

“No.” He hesitated, frowning. “Well, maybe. When I sense things, I sometimes get hit with multiple images. It’s like there’s a movie projector set on high speed inside my head, and I get flashes of images or information about whatever person or event I’m seeing. This time it showed me the creature changing from a cat to a bat to this massive doglike thing with needle-fine canines, but the first image was human.”

I glanced sharply at Jackson. He simply rolled his eyes, his expression somewhat resigned. “Can you describe him?”

“Her, not him,” Denny corrected. His gaze returned to the world outside his windows again. “She was tall, thin to the point of being gangly, with dark hair and strange red eyes.”

“Bloodshot or actually red?” I asked.

He hesitated again. “Hard to say. That particular image was weirdly upside-down.”

“And there were no other distinguishing marks?” Jackson said.

“No, but she held a cleaver in one hand. You know, the sort butchers use to cut up meat.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips as he glanced at us. “I used to go out with one, so I recognized it.”

“Was her human form old or young?” I asked. “I know you said she felt old, but did she look it?”

He hesitated. “She looked preserved, if that makes any sense. It was almost as if her skin were stretched too tight over her bones, with very little room for wrinkles. But old? Not really.”

So we were looking for a middle-aged, plastic-looking woman with weird red eyes and a cleaver in her hand? That should be simple.

“Mr. Rosen,” Jackson said, “you need to tell the police—”

“No,” he cut in. “Definitely not.”

“But surely you want to catch this thing, before it dines on anyone else?” Jackson said.

“That is not my concern. Trust me, I know how police treat psychics. I’m not going there again.”

“PIT is different.” Jackson gave me a somewhat wry glance even as he said it, undoubtedly because of the way they’d treated us when we’d been in their hands.

“I don’t care. Besides, I have a race to get ready for and no desire to be hampered by endless rounds of questions.”

I guess he couldn’t be blamed for his stance; the police could be somewhat skeptical when it came to psi talents, even in this day and age. But it was also frustrating when the information he held might just help PIT track down this thing.

Of course, I could always pass it on. But Sam was the only contact I had, and while part of me was more than a little happy at the prospect of talking to him again, the other, somewhat saner, part was remembering Rory’s warning and taking heed.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else you can tell us about this woman?”

He hesitated again. “She will take another victim soon, and this time that person will be living rather than dead.”

Alarm ran through me. “Why are you so certain of this?”

He shrugged. “If you’re psychic yourself, then you know there’s no accounting or controlling the information that comes through your visions. I just saw that this is something of a pattern for it—it starts off with the older dead, then works up to younger, sweeter flesh.”

The alarm got stronger. “Meaning it’s likely to go after children?”

“Eventually, yes.”

And he didn’t want to help us—or rather, the police—stop it? It took every ounce of strength I had not to punch him for such an uncaring attitude—even if this sort of reluctance was something I’d seen time and again in my lifetimes as a cop.

But maybe this escalation was the reason why I’d been shown the creature on its third kill rather than the first. If I wanted to—if I could find the thing—I could stop it before it started dining on the living.

Rosen glanced at his watch, then said, “Is that all? Because I have a meeting to get to, and I need to shower and change first.”

“It is for now.” I rose, then hesitated. “You said before that your father was in danger of losing the whole kit and caboodle—just how much do you know about your father’s gambling problem?”

“Enough.” His gaze narrowed slightly. “Why? What has this got to do with anything?”

I hesitated again, glancing at Jackson. He shook his head slightly, an indication that we shouldn’t mention the attempt on Denny Rosen Sr.’s life.

“Because,” I said, thinking fast, “we suspect his gambling problem might be related to the missing notes.”

“I doubt he’s the reason the notes are missing,” Denny said. “The stuff he’s selling is only minor—information on new pain meds and other drugs that can be easily sold on the black market. I doubt he’d risk anything major. He’s not that much of a fool.”

I wasn’t so sure about that—especially if either Radcliffe or the sindicati were regularly taking him for drugged-up “discussions.”

“Is Marcus Radcliffe the only person he owes money to?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like he actually confides in me or anything.” He paused. “But he did mention a warehouse in Laverton North once. I got the impression it scared him.”

Laverton was a big suburb, but a warehouse in Laverton North just happened to be the place I was supposed to be taken the first time I’d been kidnapped. Coincidences happened, but I doubted this was one of them.

“He didn’t say why?” Jackson asked.

Denny shook his head. “No. But he has a morbid fear of vampires, and I suspect that’s who was involved in the game.”

Jackson rose and got out his wallet. “Well, thanks for your help, Mr. Rosen. And if you remember anything else—or sense this creature again—please contact us.”

“If I sense that creature again, I’ll be running.” But he nevertheless accepted the business card Jackson handed him.

With that, we left.

“Well, that was all very interesting,” I said once we were back in the car. “And he doesn’t seem like much of a gadabout to me.”

“The definition of a gadabout is a habitual pleasure seeker. Junior is a playboy millionaire who doesn’t work and who flits from one lover to another.”

“He seems pretty serious about his cycling.”

“Yeah, but not on a professional level. He keeps with the amateur ranks. He has the potential to go further, but not the dedication, according to the gossip rags.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’ve really checked into him.”

“I always make it a habit to check the backgrounds of my clients. It often reveals all sorts of pertinent information.”

“I’m guessing they don’t know about these checks.”

“Not unless I need them to. Unfortunately, Denny Rosen Junior didn’t actually give us any useful information to track the creature with.”

I grinned. “I wasn’t intending—”

“Perhaps not,” he cut in, “but you were certainly thinking about it.”

“And that is something else that needs answering,” I said. “Why the hell are you suddenly catching my thoughts?”

“I’m not catching your thoughts. At least, not all of them.” He frowned as he checked the rearview mirror, then pulled out. “And certainly not on a conscious level. I just seem to occasionally know what you’re thinking. And you’re obviously catching bits and pieces of my thoughts, too.”

I wrinkled my nose. “As you said, not directly. It’s not telepathy or anything like that. But it is weird.”

“Yeah, especially since neither of us are telepathic.”

I shifted in my seat to look at him. “Could it have something to do with my allowing you to siphon my heat to heal yourself?”

“I’ve never heard of anyone ever doing that before, so I can’t say.” His gaze met mine. “You’re the one with all the various life experiences—have you ever done anything like that before?”

“No. But as I said, I figured it was the only chance we had of burning the red plague virus from your body. Which it obviously did, because you haven’t turned into a psycho pseudo vampire.”

“No, but I just might go psycho if I don’t get some loving soon.”

I grinned and patted his leg. “There, there, you’ll survive.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” His expression was woebegone, but amusement gleamed in his bright eyes. “A Fae can live only so long without sex.”

“Lack of sex won’t make you fade. It’s lack of fire that does that, remember?”

“It’s all one and the same—fire, sex, it’s all about the heat.”

“As the saying goes, all good things come to those who wait.” I contemplated the road ahead for a second. “I guess it’s entirely possible that, given just how deep that connection went—”

“Deep is underdescribing it,” he cut in, amused. “I was flame, for fuck’s sake. There was no separation between either of our beings—just fire and heat.”

And it had felt incredible—without, in any way, being sexual in nature. “Which means it’s entirely possible we’ve somehow hotwired an informal connection between us. But I have no idea how, or if it’ll get stronger or weaker with time.”

“It could be very handy if it got stronger—especially if we keep getting ourselves into tight situations.” He braked lightly as the traffic signal ahead went red. “I don’t suppose there’s anyone you could ask? An older, wiser phoenix or mentor?”

A smile twisted my lips. “Not really. Not given how old I am.”

He gave me a somewhat speculative look. “Just how old are you?”

“A lady never tells.”

It was primly said, and he grinned. “So, no parents or anything?”

“I have them. I just haven’t seen them for centuries.”

“So phoenixes, like Fae, don’t go into that whole warm fuzzy family-unit thing, then?”

“Oh, we do. But it becomes harder once children reach maturity and find their soul partners. It’s very difficult for two pairings to share the one territory—even if one of those pairings includes a child of your own.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “Safety, mostly. Our coloring makes us more conspicuous, especially back when the world was not so populated.”

“I would have thought there’d be safety in numbers. Or at least, that was what wolves discovered over the centuries.”

“Werewolves naturally pack, and territories are generally handed down through the generations. We can’t do that, because we’re reborn into adulthood every one hundred years. People tend to notice things like that.”

He glanced in the rearview mirror and accelerated again as the light went green. “Meaning either you or your children have to move on?”

“Yes. Hanging around past one lifetime is safer these days than it used to be, but even so, Rory and I will probably have to establish ourselves elsewhere in a rebirth or so.” Maybe once the world became aware that vamps and werewolves weren’t the only nonhumans out there—and actually accepted us—that might change. But right now, when some parts of society were still forming nighttime hunting parties, it was simply easier to move.

“That must be hard—building a life, then being forced to abandon it.”

I shrugged again. “It’s safer than getting dead before your time. I’ve done that a few times, and it’s rather unpleasant.”

“I’m guessing it would be.” A smile touched his lips. He flicked on the blinker and glanced in the rearview mirror as he turned right. “So how many children have you and Rory actually had?”

“Five. We are not an overly fertile race. Generally a pairing only breeds when another dies.”

“Really?” He shook his head. “Given all the other curses you lot have, that almost seems the worst.”

“Trust me, it’s not. Besides, it’s something of a necessity that our numbers remain small. As I’ve said, it’s hard to conceal what we are.” I glanced at him. “Are there any little Jackson Millers running around out there?”

“Sadly, no, but I’m hoping to find me a delicious Fae lady and remedy that soon. I’d hate to think the Fae gene pool would miss out on the fabulousness that lies in my DNA.”

I snorted softly and punched him lightly in the arm. He chuckled, but his gaze went to the rearview mirror again, and my curiosity stirred. “Have we got a problem?”

“We might. Black car, three back.”

I flicked down the vanity mirror and checked it out. “The BMW?”

“That’s the one. It’s been following us since we left Denny Rosen’s.”

“And you don’t think it’s a coincidence?”

“No, I don’t.” He contemplated the mirror for a moment, then added, “But I believe we need to find out whether it’s sindicati or Radcliffe’s goons in that car before we go anywhere near the hotel.”

“I believe you could be right. What’s the plan?”

“That we have a cozy little chat somewhere we’re not likely to be seen or overheard.”

A smile touched my lips. “I’m gathering you know such a place?”

“I do indeed.” He swung left, then accelerated hard, gaining some distance between the BMW and us without totally losing him. “There’s a cul-de-sac at the rear of some factories two turns ahead. I’ll brake, jump out, and you can slide across and take over driving duties.”

“They’re just going to reverse out the minute they realize what we’re up to.”

“Oh, they’ll certainly try.” His wide grin flashed, filled with anticipation. “When I give you the word, call up some of the mother’s lovely flame.”

He meant the earth mother; she was the heat that could be found deep in the earth, the energy that gave life to the world around us. I raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. Jackson kept to the speed limit, making no attempt to lose the car behind us. We turned left into a street that was all trees, concrete buildings, and thick shadows.

“Okay,” he said, unclipping his seat belt, “get ready.”

I undid my own belt and gripped the dash hard to steady myself as he swung sharply right. Once in the much smaller lane, he braked, threw the shift into park, and was out the door in one smooth motion. I scrambled over the center console with a whole lot less elegance and got the car moving again—but much slower, because the headlights were now shining on the tall, graffiti-littered wall dead ahead.

The night behind me lit up as the BMW swung into the lane. I continued on as far as I could, then braked. I couldn’t see Jackson in the rearview thanks to the brightness of the headlights behind me and had no idea what he intended. It was, I thought, slightly irritating that the connection between us seemed to flare at times of its own choosing rather than when it would be truly useful.

I pulled on the hand brake and got out of the car. The thick walls of the buildings that towered on either side of us filled the lane with thick shadows. The night air was cool and filled with the aroma of rotting rubbish, undoubtedly thanks to the huge Dumpsters that lined the right side of the lane.

The BMW stopped, but the people didn’t turn off the lights, didn’t get out, and kept the motor running. I crossed my arms and waited. There was no sign of Jackson or any hint as to what he was up to.

But he was here. I could feel him—a sharp, familiar warmth hovering near the end of the lane.

The semi-standoff remained. My tension increased as the minutes ticked by, and it was all I could do to remain still. For all intents and purposes, I was a sitting duck, and it was only the knowledge that the sindicati—if that was who was in the car—still needed me that had me staying put.

“Where is Jackson Miller?”

The question came out of nowhere, and I jumped, my heart racing a mile a minute and sparks glittering across my fingertips. Then I realized the voice had a tinny tone; they were using a speaker of some kind.

“He’s not here,” I said. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

“He was in the car when you left Elwood. What happened to him?”

“I dropped him off a street or so ago, so who knows.” I shrugged. “Why were you following us?”

They didn’t answer. Instead, the doors opened and four men got out. As they did, Jackson yelled, “Now!”

A bin slid into the lane, blocking the BMW’s exit. A second quickly followed. I raised a hand and flung fire; not at the men or the car but rather in a ring around them, creating a wall of flame that prevented them from attacking and threw them into deeper shadows. Or perhaps they were shadowing, indicating they were vampires, as Jackson had guessed.

But those flames were not enough. I reached to the force of the world, to the mother herself, and felt the trembling in the ground underneath me as she responded. Her energy surged through me, powerful and wild and difficult to contain. I held on to her fiercely, weaving her flames into a net that surrounded the car and forced shadows to flee. These weren’t ordinary flames; these were the flames of the mother herself, and she burned with a fire that danced with the colors of all creation.

And her light was the only way I could force vampires out of shadow.

But I couldn’t hold on to her indefinitely, because there was always a cost in calling to such power. We needed to question these vamps and get the hell out of here, before my strength was drained too far.

The vamps, however, had other ideas.

The two at the front stepped away from the doors, raised several weapons, and simply fired. So much for their not wanting me dead.

I flung myself down, even as I flung more energy into the flames between us. Incandescent fingers broke away from the main body of fire, capturing the bullets and melting long before they got anywhere near me.

I rolled to my feet and walked closer to the flames. Their energy pulled at me even as the heat washed over me, enticing and delicious. “Gentlemen, please put down your weapons. As you’ve just witnessed, it’s useless trying to shoot us.”

They didn’t even glance at one another, but as one, they lowered their weapons. They were all tall and slender with very little in the way of fat—a common trait among vampires. It was almost as if the effort of turning from human to vampire burned every ounce of fat from their body, leaving them with little more than bone, muscle, and flesh. And a diet consisting of only blood certainly wouldn’t put much of that lost weight back on.

The heat radiating off the mother’s wall had to be uncomfortable, but none of them were showing any emotion, not even anger. But then, if they were indeed sindicati—and I suspected they were—then they would be familiar with these flames, as I’d used them against the organization before.

“Who are you?” I repeated. “And why are you following us?”

“I suspect you are well aware of who we are.” The driver’s reply was polite and without inflection. If he was at all annoyed by the turn of events, he wasn’t showing it. “Just as you are undoubtedly aware of what we seek.”

“The trouble is, we haven’t actually got what you want.” A glimpse of movement had me glancing past the flames. It was Jackson, walking between the remaining bins and the ring of fire, his face aglow with heat as he made his way back to my side.

“That would indeed be a shame,” the driver replied, “because the possibility of possession is all that is currently keeping you alive.”

A grim smile touched my lips. “How about you send a little message back to those who control you. Attempt to kill me, and your asses are ash. And I don’t care if I have to burn half the damn city down to do it.”

He stared at me for several seconds, judging whether I meant it, his dark gaze contemplative. Then he glanced at the fires that burned all around us, and a small smile touched his lips.

“You are obviously capable of such a feat, but the reply is not one that will please our people.”

“Right now, I’m not particularly caring. Stop following us, and don’t consider hurting or kidnapping anyone I know. Otherwise, I will follow through with the threat.”

He nodded once, the movement small and oddly regal. “I will deliver the message, as you wish. You do, however, need to release us.”

I glanced at Jackson. He nodded, looking relaxed despite the flickers of fire that danced across his fingertips.

I drew in a deep, somewhat shuddery breath, then released the energy—but not all of it. I kept hold of the flames that burned between the vampires and us, not trusting that they wouldn’t attack if given the slightest chance.

“The Dumpsters you can move yourself,” I said.

Again a slight smile touched his lips. He glanced at the two men behind him, and instantly they moved. In very little time—and with very little effort—they rolled the large metal bins back out of the way.

The driver’s gaze met mine a final time. “We may yet meet again.”

“I would suggest we don’t,” I said. “Not if you value your life.”

His slight smile grew. I had an odd feeling that he rather respected my actions, which was weird, considering my actions had stopped him from completing his task and—if everything I’d heard about the sindicati was true—would result in his being penalized.

He got into the car and they reversed out of the lane, disappearing into the night. When I was sure it was safe, I released my hold on the remaining flames; they shimmered brighter for several seconds, then dissipated, returning to the air and the earth itself.

Weakness washed through me, and I grabbed at the nearest bin to steady myself. I got Jackson instead.

“Whoa,” he said. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “It’s the price I pay for using the mother’s flames. It’ll pass as soon as I eat.”

“Are we talking food or fire?” Jackson asked. “Because there’s a lovely little furnace that runs night and day next to our office.”

I took a deep breath and released it slowly. My limbs felt steadier, but the weakness remained, making my head spin a little. “Definitely the latter.”

“Then that’s where we’ll go next.”

“That might not be safe—”

Jackson waved my concerns aside. “The sindicati and whoever else will be watching the front of our building, because there is no rear entrance or windows. They will not, however, be watching the blacksmith’s, and I just happen to have a key to both their front and rear doors.”

“And just how did you get that?” I swung around and walked to the car. Jackson hovered close, obviously ready to catch me if I stumbled or fell.

“I pay them a weekly retainer. It comes from my personal accounts, not the business’s, never fear.”

“I wasn’t.” I nodded my thanks as he opened the door and ushered me into the seat. “But I am worried about leaving Rosen alone for that long. I don’t think he can be trusted.”

“The man might be a gambler, but he isn’t a fool.” Jackson slammed the door shut, then ran around to the driver’s side and got in. “So, what do you want—furnace or hotel?”

What I wanted was sex and sleep, though not necessarily in that order. But the former was dangerous when my reserves were low; though I’d never yet lost control and drained anyone of all their heat during sex—thereby killing them—I certainly didn’t want Jackson to be the first.

“Furnace. We don’t have to be there long.”

“Done deal.” He threw the car into reverse and headed out of the lane. The BMW was nowhere in sight, and neither of us spotted it during the trip across to West Melbourne.

We parked in the shadows of several old elms one street over from ours and made our way back to the blacksmith’s. Jackson paused near the fence, his gaze scanning the night, then nodded and unlatched the gate. It opened without a squeak. The double-story brick building loomed above us, a big sturdy structure that had an odd, almost Victorian elegance about it. A double roller door dominated the left side of the building, while there were several bricked-up arched windows on the right.

“How often do you have to use this place?” I hunkered down in the shadows as Jackson moved across to the lock.

He shrugged. “At least once a week.”

I was silent while he sorted through his keys, then opened the lock. The door went up as quietly as the gate. Heat washed over me, an enticing dance of energy that called like a siren to me.

Jackson caught my hand and led me forward. Ahead, the heat of the coals glowed, casting orange shadows across the vast space. Aside from the old-fashioned brick furnace, there were several tables, cabinets holding all sorts of tools, and metal projects in various states of completion.

“Do you just draw the energy in,” I asked as we wove our way through the room toward the fire, “or do you have to meld with it?”

“We don’t meld with flames; not in the same way a phoenix does, anyway.” He glanced at me. In the orange light of this place, his eyes burned with both fire and desire.

He wanted me. Here. Now.

Excitement surged, but all I said was, “Does that mean you simply draw in its power?”

“To give it a new-age term, we commune with it. It’s an intense and very satisfying experience.”

“Sexually satisfying?”

His grin flashed. “No. Which is why I generally need a willing partner afterward.”

“Ha,” I said. “That explains those nights you came back hornier than a six-peckered tomcat.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression bemused. “Is there even such a creature?”

“Well, if there was, he would be horny.”

Jackson laughed, the sound warm and rich in the vast space. “Undoubtedly.”

He made a motion with his hand and, in the furnace ahead, flames leapt to life. Their heat ran across my senses, and, deep inside, the part of me that was spirit and fire reached out, quickly drawing it in. The closer we got, the stronger the pull, the more I fed. It was a glorious feeling.

We stopped next to the furnace. I closed my eyes and opened my arms, drawing the heat and the power of the flames into my body. It felt like I was glowing. Felt like I was a part of them, even though I was still flesh and blood.

“Better?” Jackson’s breath whispered past my ear. He was standing so close to my spine that I could feel the tension thrumming through him.

I nodded and eased my grip on the flames, still drawing them in but not so completely that I was unaware of anything else.

“You look so beautiful right now.” His lips briefly brushed the nape of my neck, and a shiver of delight ran through me. “So alluring.”

He kissed my neck again, the touch featherlight, teasing. I closed my eyes and clenched my fingers against the need to reach for him. If I did, this would be over far too quickly; his need was every bit as fierce as mine under the light of these flames.

He slid his hands down my waist, then caught the hem of my sweater and lifted it over my head. The T-shirt soon followed, and both were tossed onto the nearby table.

“Glorious,” he murmured as he slid his hands up my belly and cupped my breasts through the silk of my bra. He kissed between my shoulder blades, then lightly bit my shoulder as his clever fingers began to caress and pinch my nipples. Tremors ran through me, thick with delight, and I leaned back against him. The heat of his body burned into my spine, as delightful as the force of the flames in front of us. Despite the layer of clothes still between us, I could feel his erection, thick and hard with desire as he pressed against my butt.

He continued to tease, kissing and nipping and pinching, playing me as easily as any master did his instrument.

Then his caress moved down, his nails skimming my ribs and my hips before moving across to my belly. Slowly, surely, he undid my jeans, then slid one hand past the silk of my panties. He touched my clit and delight shot through me. I groaned, my body arching into his touch, wanting, needing, so much more.

He chuckled softly, then withdrew his touch and stepped back. I tried to turn, to take control, but he stopped me.

“Don’t move,” was all he said. His voice was husky, edged with desire and hunger.

I closed my eyes and waited. My bra soon joined my shirt and sweater on the table, and, a heartbeat later, his tongue touched up my spine, tasting, teasing. I shivered again, lost in sensation, as he slowly made his way up the ruined landscape of my back. Then his hands gripped the waist of my jeans and pushed them down my legs. As I kicked free of my clothes, he quickly stripped, denying me the pleasure of watching. Not that it mattered. This was his fire, his rules. My turn would come later.

His touch returned to my skin, sliding up my thighs, then around my waist as he pressed me close again. His cock slid between my legs, teasing me when all I wanted him to do was thrust so very deep inside of me.

Which was the one thing he didn’t do, of course.

He continued to play me, teasing and arousing, bringing me close to the edge, then backing away. And he did it time and again, until my entire body was feverish and shaking, and all I wanted, all I could think about, was being taken—consumed—by him.

Then, finally, with a soft growl filled with desperation, he swung me around and kissed me hard. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed so close, it would have been hard for anyone watching to tell where his skin ended and mine began. Desire and heat burned around us, until the air itself seemed to be on fire. I drew it in, letting it feed my soul even as it ramped up my desire.

He slid his hands down my back and cupped my butt, lifting me with little effort. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me across to the table and placed me on the hard surface. A heartbeat later, he was in me. It felt like heaven, and for several seconds, neither of us moved; we just enjoyed the sensations and the heat that came with this simple joining of flesh.

Then the fiery need that burned between us became too great to ignore, and he grabbed my hips, holding me tight as he thrust deeper and harder. He paused again, as if to control himself, then resumed at a slower pace, his movements belying the urgency that trembled through us both. Flames flickered across my skin and leapt to his, until it seemed as if we were two beings of fire rather than a Fae and a phoenix. He bent down and caught one nipple between his teeth. Pleasure shot through me, and I gasped and threw back my head. He repeated the process, again and again, until my nipples ached as fiercely as the rest of me, and it was all I could do to keep hold of the desire that threatened to burn out of control.

His grip on my hips suddenly tightened, and his movements became more urgent, until my whole body shook with the intensity of them and it felt as if I were about to shatter into a million different pieces.

Then my control crumbled, and everything did shatter as my orgasm swept through me, intense and violent. A heartbeat later, he groaned, the sound one of ecstasy as his body stiffened against mine and he came.

For several minutes neither of us moved. Then he took a deep, somewhat shuddering breath and shifted his hands, cupping my cheeks as he kissed me sweetly.

“I think we both needed that,” he said eventually.

“That,” I said, my own breathing still very shaky, “is an undeniable truth.”

He laughed, dropped another kiss on my lips, then released me and stepped back. I jumped off the table, grabbed my clothes, and quickly dressed. He did the same, then snuffed out the flames in the furnace, leaving them little more than glowing coals once more. We retreated, locking the door behind us, then made our way back to the car. It was well after midnight, but despite the hour, a good number of cars were still on the roads. None of them appeared to be following us, however, and we made it back to the underground parking lot near the hotel in good time.

“I,” Jackson announced casually, as we walked through the near-deserted streets to the hotel, “am still very hungry.”

“You,” I replied, in the same offhand tone, “are apparently insatiable.”

He laughed. “That is also an undeniable truth. Unfortunately for me, I’ve a feeling Rosen’s presence will hamper my intentions.”

I glanced at him, eyebrows raised. “I thought Fae were exhibitionists?”

“Oh, we are, but I’ve a feeling you phoenixes are not. At least, not to the same extent.”

“You’d be surprised. However,” I added as a gleam of anticipation sparked in his emerald eyes, “I really don’t think Rosen would appreciate our creating a little noise. And I actually don’t think it would be wise to be so unguarded when someone apparently wants him dead.”

“All too true.” He grimaced. “You want first watch or second?”

“Second. I need a shower and sleep, in that order. I didn’t exactly get much sleep last night thanks to that damn dream and creature, and it’s been a long day.”

The elevator opened as we neared it. Jackson punched the button for our floor. Then, as the doors closed, he said, “I’ll do a search for the place Rosen mentioned—Wirraway, wasn’t it?”

I nodded. “And if we can’t find anything, then our next step has to be that warehouse in Laverton North.”

Jackson pressed a hand against my back, lightly guiding me forward as the elevator stopped and the doors opened. “As I said before, I don’t think your ex is going to be too happy if we do that. And I’m not even sure I’ll be able to, given the drug-induced order he gave us to stop chasing Morretti and go nowhere near that warehouse.”

“The drug’s influence will be voided by now.” I kept my voice low, not wanting to wake anyone in the nearby rooms. “And even if it had been capable of such long-term behavior restrictions, the fires of our merging would have burned it from your system.”

“None of which negates the fact that things could get ugly if he discovers we’ve gone against his orders.”

I stopped beside our door and gave him an amused look. “And this worries you?”

“Anyone with any sense would be worried by PIT’s presence in their lives.” He opened the door, then stepped back and waved an arm, ushering me in first. “But their ugly is more than likely to hit you first, given your connection with the man. I just want to make sure you’re ready for it.”

“I am.” I glanced around the room but couldn’t see Rosen anywhere. Maybe he’d gone back to bed. Or maybe, as I’d suspected earlier, he’d run.

“Are you?” Jackson said. “Because I’m not so sure of that.”

I glanced over my shoulder as I made my way toward the second bedroom. “And why would you think that?”

“Because you still love him—”

“Yeah, I do,” I cut in. “But my heart can’t be broken twice in one lifetime. He’s already done that, so I’m safe.”

And if I said that often enough, maybe I’d believe it. The only trouble was, while it was true no one had ever heard of a phoenix getting her heart broken more than once in a lifetime, it didn’t mean it couldn’t happen. And Rory was certainly worried about the prospect.

Rosen wasn’t in the room. I knew he wouldn’t be found in any other room, either, but I nevertheless swung around and headed for the larger bedroom, checking it before moving toward the main bathroom.

“The heart is not a practical organ,” Jackson commented. “It doesn’t think. It only feels.”

I snorted. “Such sage comments from a man whose race shuns deeper emotions.”

“True.” He frowned, watching me for a moment. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Rosen.” I swung around and faced him. “He’s gone.”