“No, no.” She waved a hand at him but made no move to get up. “There isn’t time. I must do what needs to be done.”

“What first?”

She tipped her head back against the chaise. “Daciana.”

“I would be happy to kill her for you, if that’s what you want.”

“I’m going to talk to her first. Give her the option of joining us.”

Octavian raised a brow. “You always surprise me.” He bent toward her, bringing his mouth to hers and kissing her softly. “I’ve missed you. If it makes me weak to say so, then so be it.”

She smiled against his lips, reaching up to clasp the back of his head. “I’ve missed you, too. No one takes care of me like you do.”

He straightened and offered her his arm. “Let’s go see Daciana, shall we? The sooner we get you through this and on the plane to St. Petersburg, the sooner you can have some time to sleep and recover.”

She took his arm, letting him pull her up. How had she ever gotten along without him? “You’re right. Let’s get this done.”

Daciana was being held in a small apartment in the lower level of the estate. It sat adjacent to the dungeon and, like the dungeon, was silver-lined to soundproof the space. Octavian unlocked the door and stepped aside to let Tatiana through.

Daciana leaped up from the chair where she’d sat reading. “I demand you let me out of here. Where’s my husband? I want to see Laurent this instant. What game are you playing?”

Tatiana took the chair across from her while Octavian stood in front of the door. “Sit, Daciana. We have much to discuss.”

Heat and stench. Those were the first things that leaked through the chaos in Aliza’s mind. She’d expected both from hell, but the heat was bearable and the stench smelled of dirty diapers and rotten fish, not sulfur and brimstone.

The noise in her head was horrible. Loud and jumbled, like she could hear everything. She blinked in the darkness. Shapes and a thin sliver of light formed as her eyes adjusted sharply.

She moved. Plastic crinkled beneath her. She stuck a hand out and hit metal. Hell was a Dumpster. Her fingers went to her neck. The gash that should have been there, left behind by that no-good, scum-sucking vampire, was gone.

She sat up and hit her head on more metal. It jumped from the impact, letting a brilliant flash of sunlight in. She really was in a Dumpster. But at least she wasn’t dead. How had she survived the attack? Didn’t matter. She had. And now she was going to hunt that bastard down, set him on fire, and take his kid. Lousy bloodsucker.

The very thought of blood made her gut clench in hunger. Dread filled her a split second later. There was only one reason the idea of blood would make her hungry. It was the same reason she could have survived the attack.

Her fingers went to her throat to find a pulse. She shoved her fingers harder against her neck, deeper into the flesh, searching, searching… but there was no pulse. Just like there was no breath in her lungs, no rise and fall of her chest. Her hands went to her mouth, her fingers running across her teeth. She moaned as she found the razor-sharp tips of brand-new fangs.

She slumped into the pile of trash supporting her. She hadn’t survived the attack. She’d been turned. Gagging on the knowledge, she pushed to her feet, shoved the Dumpster’s lid open, and hoisted herself over the side. She dropped to the concrete below, fell to her knees, and vomited. The last meal she’d eaten came up and her stomach instantly felt better. Mentally and emotionally, she could have vomited a dozen more times without feeling better.

A vampire. Her. Of all people.

She looked up and blinked hard. The sun bit into her eyes, making them water. The sun? How was she not a bonfire right now? Maybe she wasn’t a vampire. She hadn’t drunk his blood. A little from his bleeding broken nose had dripped into her mouth, but that wasn’t enough to turn her, was it? Or maybe being a witch had prevented her from fully turning. Maybe she was something else entirely.

She looked around, trying to place where she was. Still in Little Havana by the looks of it. Smelled like Little Havana. Rice and beans and garbage. The Dumpster was in the back of a restaurant. Made sense he’d used a Dumpster that would get emptied pretty frequently. She brushed herself off and got to her feet. Reopening the Dumpster, she rifled through the trash and found her bag and sunglasses.

Tossing the bag over her shoulder and the sunglasses onto her face, she walked to the end of the alley and looked both ways. A car drove down the street, but the driver paid her no attention.

One good thing about this neighborhood: freaks were either ignored or given a wide berth. With no real sense of direction, she started after the car. A few blocks went by and her body began to ache. Like she was hungry, but the gnawing feeling came from every muscle and every bone.

A stray dog scampered past. She could hear its heartbeat. Could feel it in her body as if it were her own heart beating. And beyond the stink of the street in its fur, she smelled blood.

She followed the animal down a new alley. “Here, doggy, doggy,” she called, reaching out for it and clicking her tongue.

The dog stopped, scratched at its ear, eyeing her as if trying to determine if she had food to offer.

“C’mon, you mangy mutt,” she singsonged, creeping closer. “Come and see what Aliza’s got for you.”

The dog came toward her, cautiously, tail wagging. Only a few feet separated them.

“That’s a boy,” she encouraged.