Marissa came awake to the sounds of the shutters lifting for the night and the feel of hands stroking over her stomach, her breasts, her neck. She was on her side, with Butch tucked in tight against her back... and his hard planes of muscle were rocking in an erotic rhythm.

His erection was hot and it was searching her out, probing at the crease of her buttocks, wanting in. She reached behind and dug her fingers into his flank, urging him on, and he took the cue. Wordlessly, he rolled on top of her back, his body pushing her facefirst into the pillows. She shoved them out of the way so she could breathe as he split her legs open with his knees.

She moaned. Which evidently woke him up.

He jerked back as if he'd punched his arms into the bed. "Marissa... I... ah, I didn't mean to..."

When he retreated, she rose onto her knees, trying to keep contact with him. "Don't stop."

There was a moment of pause. "You must be sore."

"Not at all. Come back on me. Please."

His voice went all gravel and rasp. "Jesus... I'd hoped you'd want to do this again. And I'll go easy, I swear."

God, that rough sound was nice first thing in the evening.

His broad hand smoothed down her spine, and his mouth brushed the top of her hip, then her tailbone, then went lower, to the skin of her bottom. "You look so beautiful like this. I want to have you like this."

Her eyes flared. "You can do that?"

"Oh, yeah. I'll go deeper. You want to try?"

"Yes..."

He pulled her hips up farther and settled her weight on all fours, the bed creaking while he repositioned their bodies. As he came in behind her, she looked through her legs. All she saw was his thick thighs and his heavy, hanging sack and his straining arousal. Her core went utterly wet, as if her body knew exactly what was coming.

His chest eased down over her back, and one of his hands appeared beside her head, planting into the mattress as a fist. His forearm flexed and the veins in it thickened as he leaned to the side and brought the head of his erection to the tender skin between her legs. With a little teasing brush, he worked himself back and forth along the outside of her and she knew he was looking at her sex while he did it.

Going by the way he started to shake, he really liked what he saw.

"Marissa... I want to¡ª" He cut himself off with an indistinct curse.

"What?" She twisted a little so she could look up at him around her shoulder.

As he stared down at her, his eyes had that hard, intense gleam he seemed to get when he was serious about sex, but there was something else in them, a glowing need that had nothing to do with their bodies. Instead of explaining himself, he planted his other hand into the bed, eased onto her back and pushed his hips in tight without penetrating her. With a gasp, she dropped her head and watched his arousal shoot straight up through her legs. The tip stretched almost to her belly button.

God, now she knew why he liked to look. Because... yes, she liked the sight of him all aroused, too.

"What were you going to say?" she groaned.

"Baby..." His breath was hot on her neck, his voice a dark, driving demand in her ear. "Ah, shit, I can't ask you like this."

His mouth locked onto her shoulder, his teeth pressing into her skin. As she cried out, her elbows went lax, but he caught her before she fell into the mattress, holding her up with an arm between her breasts.

"Ask me..." she panted.

"I would... if I could stop this... but oh, God..."

He pulled back, then entered her, going just as deep as he'd said he would, the powerful surge making her arch her back and call out his name. He started in with that rhythm that drove her wild, but he was still gentle, moving with so much less power than she sensed he could.

She was loving the feel of him, that fullness, that stretching and gliding back, when it dawned on her that they were going to go to work on his body within the hour.

What if this was their last time?

Tears pooled. Matted her lashes. Blinded her. And when he twisted her chin around so he could kiss her, he saw them.

"Don't think about it," he whispered against her mouth. "Stay with me in this moment. Stay right here with me."

Remember this moment. Remember him here...

He pulled out, turned her over, and joined them face-to-face, brushing at her cheeks and kissing her as he kept up with the sex. They peaked at the same time, the pleasure so great, his head went loose on his neck as if he couldn't hold it up any longer.

Afterward, he rolled onto his side and gathered her against his chest. As she listened to the thumping of his heart, she prayed the thing was as strong as it sounded.

"What were you going to say?" she whispered in the dimness.

"Will you be my wife?"

She lifted her head. His hazel eyes were dead serious and she had the feeling he was thinking the same thing she was: Why hadn't they been mated sooner?

The single word left her on a sigh. "Yes..."

He kissed her softly. "I want to do it both ways. Your way and in a Catholic church. Would that be all right?"

She touched the cross he wore. "Absolutely."

"I wish there was time to¡ª"

The alarm clock started to go off. With a vicious move, he slapped it into silence.

"I guess we need to get up," she said, moving away a little.

She didn't get far. He pulled her back down to the bed, pinned her with his body, and slipped his hand between her legs.

"Butch¡ª"

He kissed her full on and then said against her mouth, "Once more for you. Once more, Marissa."

His gliding, talented fingers left her liquid, her skin and bones melting into him as his mouth went to her breast and he pulled her nipple between his lips. He drove her quickly out of control until she was flushed and gasping, arching into him, enthralled.

Urgent, electric pressure built up and then snapped free in a blaze of current. With loving attention, he helped her ride out the orgasm as she skipped like a flat stone over water, hitting the surface of the pleasure and flying again, only to land and ricochet once more.

The whole time he was above her, watching her with hazel eyes that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

He was going to die tonight. She knew it with total certainty.

John sat in the back of the empty classroom, taking up space in the far corner at his regular, by-his-lonesome table. Training usually started at four, but Zsadist had sent out an e-mail saying classes would begin three hours later tonight. Which was fine. John had had the chance to watch Wrath in action longer.

As the clock ticked closer to seven, the other trainees filed in. Blaylock was last. He was still moving slowly, but he was talking more easily with the guys, kind of like he was getting used to himself. He took a seat up front, shuffling his long legs around to fit.

Abruptly, John realized someone was missing. Where was Lash? Good God... what if he'd died? But no¡ªsomebody would have passed that news along.

Down in front, Blaylock laughed at one of the other trainees, then bent over to put his backpack on the floor. As he came back to level, his eyes met John's across the room.

John flushed and looked away.

"Hey, John," Blaylock said, "you want to come sit with me?"

The whole class went quiet. John glanced up.

"View's better from here." Blaylock nodded to the blackboard.

Silence followed. The kind where the Jeopardy! theme plays in everyone's head.

Not knowing what else to do, John grabbed his books, walked down the aisle, and slid into the empty seat. As he parked it, conversation sprang up again while more books landed on the tables and papers rustled.

The clock overhead clicked, the hands showing seven on the dot. As there was still no Zsadist, the talk got even louder in the room, the guys yanking around in earnest now.

John ran his pen in circles on a blank page, feeling awkward as all get-out and wondering what the hell he was doing up front. Maybe it was a practical joke on him? Shit, he should have stayed¡ª

"Thank you," Blaylock said quietly. "For throwing down for me yesterday."

Whoa... maybe this wasn't a joke.

John surreptitiously slid his notebook over so Blaylock could see it. Then he wrote, I didn't mean to take it that far.

"I know. And you won't have to do it again. I mean, I can handle him."

John eyed his classmate. No doubt, he wrote.

From over on the left, one of the guys started humming the Star Trek theme, for God only knew what reason. Others chimed in. Someone lit off with a William Shatner: "I don't know... why I have to... talk like this, Spock..."

In the midst of the chaos, the sound of heavy boots coming down the hall drifted into the room. God, it was like there was an army out in the corridor. With a frown, John looked up to see Wrath walking past the door to the classroom. Then Butch and Marissa went by next. Then Vishous.

What were they all so grim about? he wondered.

Blaylock cleared his throat. "So, John, you want to hang with me and Qhuinn tonight? We were going to chill at my house. Bang some beers. Nothing special."

John whipped his head around, then tried to camo his surprise. But wow. First time any of them had suggested meeting up after class.

Cool, John wrote as Zsadist finally came in and shut the door.

Downtown at the Caldwell police station, Van Dean smiled at the badge in front of him, making sure his face was showing a whole lot of No Big Deal. "I'm an old friend of Brian O'Neal's, that's who I am."

Homicide detective Jos¨¦ de la Cruz measured him with smart brown eyes. "What did you say your name is?"

"Bob. Bobby O'Connor. I grew up in Southie with Brian. He moved away. I did, too. Then I came back east recently and someone told me he was working as a cop in Caldwell so I figured I'd drop by. But when I call the CPD main line? No Brian O'Neal. And all I got was the he-doesn't-work-here runaround."

"What makes you think showing up in person will change the answer?"

"I was hoping someone could tell me what happened to him. I called his parents in Southie. His father said he hadn't talked to Brian in a long time, but last he knew his son was still working as a cop. Look, man, I've got no ulterior motive here. I just want some answers."

De la Cruz took a long drink out of his black coffee mug. "O'Neal was put on administrative leave back in July. He did not return to the force."

"That's it?"

"Why don't you give me a telephone number? If I remember anything else, I'll call you."

"Sure thing." Van recited some random numbers, which De la Cruz wrote down. "Thanks, and I'd appreciate a call. Hey, you were his partner, right?"

The other man shook his head. "No. I wasn't."

"Oh, that's what the guy at Dispatch said."

De la Cruz picked up a file from his paper-ridden desk and opened it. "We're done here."

Van smiled a little. "Sure thing. Thanks again, detective."

He was almost out the door when De La Cruz said, "By the way, I know you're full of shit."

"Excuse me?"

"If you were a friend of his, you'd have asked for him by the name Butch. Now gitcha ass out of my office and pray that I'm too busy to follow up on you."

Shit. Busted. "Names change, detective."

"Not his. Good-bye, Bobby O'Connor. Or whoever you are."

Van left the office, knowing he was damn lucky you couldn't get arrested just for asking questions about someone. Because sure as hell, De la Cruz would have cuffed him if the guy could have.

Bullshit, those two hadn't been partners. Van had read about them in an article in the Caldwell Courier Journal. But it was obvious that if De la Cruz knew what had become of Brian... Butch... whatever O'Neal, the detective was a dead end on the info trail for Van. And then some.

Van beelined it out of the police station into a nasty March drizzle and jogged over to the minivan. Thanks to his legwork, he had a pretty clear idea of what had happened to O'Neal in the last nine months. Guy's last known address was a one-bedroom in a who-cares apartment building a couple blocks over. Manager had said that when the mail piled up and rent wasn't paid on time, they'd gone in there. The place had been full of furniture and stuff, but it had been clear no one had been keeping house for a while. What little food there was had rotted, and the cable and phone had been turned off for nonpayment. It was like O'Neal had just walked out one morning all business as usual... and never come back.

Because he'd fallen into the vampire world.

Must be kind of like joining the Lessening Society, Van thought as he fired up the Town & Country. Once you were in, you cut all your ties. And never went back.

Except the guy was still in Caldwell.

And that meant sooner or later, O'Neal was going to get popped, and Van wanted to be the one to do it. It was time for an inaugural kill and that ex-cop would fit the bill as well as anything else with a heartbeat would.

Just like Mr. X had said. Find the guy. Take him out.

As Van came up to a stoplight, he frowned, thinking that drive to murder probably should have bothered him. Except ever since he'd been inducted into the Society, he seemed to have lost some of his... humanity. And more was getting up to go every day. He didn't even miss his brother anymore.

That should have bothered him, too, right? But it didn't.

Because he could feel a dark kind of power growing inside of him, taking up the space left by his soul's departure. Every day he was getting more... powerful.