Sarah released Murhder’s palm. “Show me.”

The two of them ran off to the clinic and all but pile drove their way into the pocket lab the facility used for rudimentary testing. Ehlena, the nurse, was smiling over by a refrigerator with a biohazard marking on it.

Doc Jane pulled a sheet out of a printer that sat on the counter. “Here are the values.”

Sarah took the readings, and as she reviewed them, she had to remind herself that what was normal for vampires was not anything close to what she was used to.

“Okay,” she murmured to herself. “So the immune response is striking. Evolutionarily, that would make sense. Given the amount of change in the body during the transition, infection could easily occur through leaks in the digestive tract or from the lungs being flooded. And then the white blood cell count must return to normal—let me see if I can get Nate to give us one more sample. If the count is even lower, my theory may be correct. In which case … we could try and trick John’s body into believing it’s going through the change and stimulate his immune response in that way.”

Jane whistled under her breath as she leaned back against the counter by a microscope. “That could be catastrophic.”

“Are you aware of the growth hormone that triggers the transition?” Sarah tapped the sheet. “I’ll bet there’s a pituitary trigger. It’s the same for humans, except for us, HGH is secreted over time and allows for maturity to occur gradually. As you told me before, there is a similar mechanism for vampires, only it happens all at once. If we’re looking to juice up John’s immune system, we could synthetically trigger the change.”

“What if it works, though?” Jane rubbed her neck like it was stiff. “One thing I’ve learned about vampires is the normal rules of medicine don’t always apply. What if it kills him? Or deforms him?”

Sarah stared at the columns of numbers without seeing them. “Too bad we can’t somehow test it first—”

“I’ll do it.”

All three of them looked over to the door. Murhder was standing just inside the lab, his big body dwarfing the space between the jambs. His eyes were calm and steady, his face composed.

Like he hadn’t just volunteered to try out something that could put him in his grave. When he was perfectly healthy.

“What?” he said as Sarah and the two females continued to stare at him. “You need somebody to try it out, this transition thing. You’ve got to know whether it works and whether it’s safe, right? Before you use it on John. So I volunteer.”

Sarah cleared her throat. “This is a highly speculative theory. There are huge risks involved, and I’m not even sure I’m correct.”

“So.”

She put the sheet aside and went over to him. “Will you excuse us for a moment,” she said to no one in particular.

Out in the corridor, she made sure the door was closed behind them. “This is inherently dangerous.”

“I know.”

Looking up into his handsome face, she was struck by the need to protect him from her own idea. “I can’t let you do this—”

“You’re not making me do anything. And by the same token, you can’t prevent me from helping.”

“Murhder, I don’t want to be responsible for killing you. Bottom line. I can’t live with that—”

“You won’t remember it.” He reached out and touched her face. “My love … you will not remember it.”

Tears flooded her eyes, everything she had been holding back coming out all at once. As she collapsed against him, she cried for the loss that was coming, and the bravery he was showing, and the fact that of all the near misses she could have had in life, why … why did hers have to be true love?

Murhder held her until she was cried out, his hand making circles on her back, his body warming her even as she felt cold to the bone. When she finally eased back, he kissed her softly.

“Sarah, listen to me.” His eyes drifted away from her, so he was focusing over her shoulder, down the corridor toward the parking area. “When I came back to Caldwell, to ask the Brotherhood to help me find what turned out to be Nate … I knew that afterward, I wasn’t returning to where I’d been staying. I was very aware that this was the end of me, and I welcomed that. I haven’t had much of a life these past two decades, and it’s clear I don’t fit anywhere anymore. Living in an attic in an old house, talking to bats, watching humans live their lives around me? That’s all I have, and it’s all I can handle. Meeting you …” His stare came back to her. “Oh, Sarah. You have been the best thing that has ever happened to me. But as much as I want to fight for you, for us? The King and the Brotherhood won’t have it, and even though you and I could run, they’d find us. They’re like that. Hell, they found Ingridge. They can find anyone. You’re going to go back to the human world you’re from, and I’m not going back to that attic and rot.”

Wait, was he suggesting suicide? she thought with horror.

Before she could say anything, he gathered her hands, his thumbs stroking over her palms. “So let’s do this one thing together. Let’s you and I see if we can save John’s life. And if I die? I will be at peace that I went out on a good deed, and you won’t remember any of the pain. You’ll be free, too. This can be our thing, our mark on this world. Even if I’m gone, and you have no memories of us, if John lives? He’s proof that you and I existed.”

Sarah blinked away more tears. And it wasn’t enough. They spilled from her eyes and ran down her cheeks. For many couples, having a child was the way they cemented their love. She and Murhder would never have that immortality.

But if they saved John’s life? His children would be theirs, in a way.

“Don’t cry, my love,” he said in his accented voice. “This is a better ending than I could ever have had.”

It was a long time before she could speak.

Reaching up, she stroked his face and tried to remember each of his features with such clarity that maybe something of him would be left after they took her memories.

“Just so you know,” she said hoarsely. “You are exactly the male I think you are.”

Guns going off. Tight corners in alleyways. Lack of clarity in the chaos, death a consequence of bad decision making—

“Watch out, John!”

Up on the flat screen, his avatar got drilled in the head, animated blood going flying in a spray, the zombie who’d nailed him a good one heading off to stalk Blay and Qhuinn.

The former was in charge of payback, leveling his virtual weapon and drilling the animated corpse until it was so full of holes, the bitch could have drained pasta. And the death was lit: The surround sound speakers played a symphony of enhanced bullet discharges, all movie magic with a deep bass and a high, tinny treble.

As John sat back against the foot of the bed, he extended his legs on the carpet and thought that real-life gunfire sounded nothing like that. Hollow pops, dull and flat in the ear, were more what you’d hear if it was a handgun or a rifle. Shotguns were a little more dramatic, but again, nothing like what TV or the big screen portrayed.

Glancing over at his best friends, he reflected that when the three of them had started playing these kinds of video games, they hadn’t known about actual warfare. They had been pretrans in the training program, excited about the prospects of learning to fight, and getting out and engaging the enemy, and realizing their potential as males of worth.