He took her into his arms, and felt as if life and fire swept through him. He lifted her chin and felt the fierce trembling in his own limbs, and in hers.

Then his mouth was on hers. The taste of her lips was achingly sweet. He reveled in the quivering length of her, from the infinite seduction of her mouth to the curved pressure of her body, so compellingly pressed to his own. She was slender; she was strong. There were seconds when it seemed she did no more than accept his lips, the yearning pressure of his mouth, as if she tested, determined and then gave. Her lips parted to his, and the return of his touch was filled with an exotic invitation and quest. She returned his hunger, his passion, the length of her tongue hot, liquid, erotic, against his own. He felt unleashed. His hand slid down the endless grace of her back, his fingers curved over the delicate sculpture of her face, teased over the soft texture of her flesh, brushed over the back of her neck. He felt her fingers playing at his own nape, molding his shoulders, seducing the nerve endings along his back. His thumb and forefinger found her chin, lifting her head, his lips parting from hers at last. His breath was ragged, but his eyes searched hers, asking in silence what had been left unsaid before.

She touched his face in return, as if she, too, in turn needed more than what her eyes could take in, needed to feel, to know, the rising pulse between them giving answer to his unspoken question. Mistrust there might be, but it was nothing against their passion and the rising red tide of the night.

He lifted her against him. There was nothing soft, timid or weak about her, and yet her weight seemed as nothing.

No question of where to go: her room. He walked with her through the door. The queen-size bed waited, pale sheets steeped in the red moonlight. They were dressed alike in Montresse House robes, robes that fell open easily, baring flesh that seemed to burn with the color of the night.

Her hands were on him, each stroke of her fingers eliciting more than desire, more than hunger. He was anxious to know every part of her, insane to feel the explosion of release that racked his body. The agony was unbearable, the temptation greater. He found her mouth again, drowned in the sweetness of it, burned to ever greater heights with the wicked return of desire. His hands fell upon her flesh, stroked and teased. His lips found the length of her, lingered, aroused, burned, trailed to her waist, followed the curve of her hips. With every inch of his flesh, he felt her slightest movement, the rise and fall of her breasts with every breath she took, the arch of her hips against him, the brush of her fingers against him, tempting and taunting. Her lips were against his shoulders, his collarbone, his throat....

He moved against her, growing more heedless with urgency and desperation. Her hands slipped between them, creating a line of wanton flames down his chest, to his waist, back again, circling around him. He groaned, moved against her, lips, tongue, body, hands, knowing her, exploring her. Down. Finding the heart of life and fire and desire. Teasing at first, then losing himself in the honeyed sweetness of desperate arousal and desire, his hands on her hips, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her body writhing wildly, words escaping her at last, sounds making no sense, saying all...

And then they rolled and she rose above him, straddling him. The red light cast an eerie glow over the lithe grace and angelic perfection of her. Her eyes were in shadow, yet he saw them still, filled with both strength and vulnerability. He had never wanted anyone so much in all his years, never needed anyone so much. She hovered for a split second of red-swept time; then he caught her hips, drawing her down on him, thrust deeply into her at last, felt the fierce rocking that ripped through them both. He couldn't stop touching her, hands finding her face again, drawing her down, locking his mouth to hers, feeling the maddened rush of pure pleasure through his veins, the wet frenzy of the kiss, the wildfire of their bodies, one and not one, every movement goading him higher. He rolled her beneath him, and sank, drowned, died inside.

God, yes, he would die for her. If only...

His climax shot through him with something far more than the usual pleasure and release. Sex, something so natural, a human need, an instinct, could be beautiful or basic, motivated by love or simple lust.

But never had it been like this.

Her body tensed like a bowstring beneath his, her breath expelled with a soft cry that seemed to echo through him. He eased himself to her side, loathe to part in any way. He held her against him, feeling the thunder of his own heart, the pulsing in his veins, begin to slow. In the aftermath, he drifted on a sea of warm pleasure, and visions shot through his mind, visions of years gone by, of affairs that came and went in the flicker of a night, of love known, love lost, and the crucial distinction between having sex and making love.

At his side, she was silent and unmoving.

As sanity returned to him, he wondered what thoughts filled her mind now, certain she, too, had drifted into introspection after the explosion that had raged between them.

Time passed, their bodies cooled.

The red moon bathed the room.

At last she sighed, inched every so slightly closer to him.

Time to speak. He moistened his lips, then lost himself in the feel of her against him, flesh against flesh.

The hell with it.

He didn't speak, just took her into his arms again. Felt the flicker of her tongue against his lips, against his chest, against...

Hunger rose again in a rapid burst of flame. The night faded to the intimacy of nothing more than the two of them together. Once again the world trembled and rocked and exploded.

Once more she lay against him, silent.

In that red splendor, the night passed. Somewhere along the line, near dawn, he knew she slept. He allowed himself to rest, to sleep, as well.

Visions haunted his dreams. Visions of time long past. Visions...of time to come. Visions so vibrant he woke with a start. She was still asleep at his side, curled so sweetly against him. He rose carefully, planning a quick escape, since she probably didn't want anyone else to know what had passed between them.

He didn't move quickly.

He watched her as she slept.

Then, angry with himself, he forced himself to turn away. It was impossible to become so infatuated in an evening, he told himself, that he could just stand there, savoring the experience of watching her sleep.

He forced himself to move, leaving by the balcony door, slipping back into his room. He was tired, but too restless to sleep. After showering again and dressing casually, he slipped downstairs. He could hear soft music and a quiet drone of conversation from the kitchen.

He evaded human contact, though, letting himself out and heading for the street.

New Orleans was the same and yet not the same. Some areas had been so devastated that they would never be the same. Other blocks had hardly changed at all.

The city was a lot like him.

Jessica awoke in a slow daze, swimming in a strange comfort as the day began to seep into her consciousness. She didn't want to rise. She wanted to bask in the sensations that still filled her, not so much erotic now as just...satisfying. A sense of...warmth, being held, belonging, security...

Warmth, comfort, pleasure, pure happiness in the presence of another.

Then she started up.

She was alone.

She exhaled. It was so much easier to think when he wasn't with her. Had she lost her mind?

She jumped out of bed, looking at the time. She was known for sleeping late, so that didn't mean much. But...

Where was Bryan MacAllistair?

Discreetly gone, she knew, and she inhaled deeply. Did it matter? Did she care? She was certainly well over twenty-one, she mused dryly. She could make love to anyone she chose.

Still...

What the hell was he doing here? What was he really after?

And just who the hell was he really?

With that question ringing in her mind, she headed for the shower. Was he sleeping now? What should she do? Where should she go from here?

She needed to stop worrying about their relationship and the erotic turn it had taken. She had far more important things to worry about. Mary, certainly. The toughs in the parking lot. The color of the sky, the things that had happened in Transylvania.

Bryan MacAllistair.

It all kept coming back to him.

Sean observed Cal Hodges, the taller and skinnier of the two youths arrested the night before. Usually, when seated alone in an interrogation room, a suspect was restless. This one was just sitting.

Almost as if he were in a trance.

Sean had watched one of his detectives question the man a few minutes earlier, but so far he'd gotten nothing but a few shrugs, followed by a sly smile and a warning that they'd better not touch him or he would claim police brutality.

The detective now stood behind the one-way mirror with Sean, and lifted his hands helplessly. "He doesn't deny anything, he doesn't admit anything. Even when I tell him his friend is turning on him-that Niles will cut a deal with the D.A.-he just shrugs."

"When is his lawyer due?"

"Any minute."

"Has he actually said he won't talk without his lawyer?" Sean asked.

"Nope."

"I'll take a stab at him," Sean said.

He walked in and took a seat across from the man. Barely into his twenties, Sean thought. Cal gave him a sly look. He had hazel eyes that seemed almost yellow and snakelike. They were ordinary eyes, Sean thought grimly. It was the man's attitude that made his eyes seem so alien.

"Why were you prowling around the hospital?" Sean demanded.

"Who said I was?"

"A nurse who saw you."

Cal smiled in self-satisfaction and shook his head. "She couldn't identify me."

Sean leaned very close to him. He'd seen to it there were no recorders in the room. "Are you working for someone, Cal?"

The man's smile deepened. "I was working for me. Pretty broad, that psychologist, huh, Lieutenant? Great tits." He leaned closer to Sean. "What I could have done to her with just a few minutes more."

Sean controlled the urge to slug the man. He knew that was what the perp wanted. He leaned back, smiling himself, speaking softly. "You're no vampire, kid. You're just a punk. And you're being used."

Something in his words seemed to have gotten to the guy. Cal blinked; his mouth worked. Then, angrily, he shook his head. "The time of power is coming," he said.

"Too bad you won't be around for it," Sean said casually.

"Oh? You going to shoot me, cop?"

"Hell, no. I wouldn't waste the bullet. You're too stupid to be trusted by anyone with any real power."

"Fuck you."

Sean rose. There was a tap on the door. He was sure the defense attorney had arrived. "Good luck, punk," Sean said pleasantly. He paused before exiting. "You get scared and want to talk, tell the guards to call me. I think that, eventually, you will, and when you do..."

He opened the door. The attorney handling the case was a terribly thin young woman who always made Sean think of a rat run ragged on a treadmill, at a loss as how to get off.

"Morning, Counselor," he said.

"Lieutenant, if you've-"

"Trust me. I haven't violated your client's rights in any way. Good day."

He let her enter the room and started back to his office, thoughful. There was something...lacking about the young man. Intelligence? No, the guy wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but what he seemed to lack was...

Substance.

He reached his office and sat wearily, then was immediately distracted by Bobby Munro, who walked in on him, shaking his head.

"You're not going to like this, Lieutenant. Not one bit."

Sean started to rise. Another visitor was standing behind Bobby. Inwardly, he groaned, ready to chew Bobby out for having left the door open. Too late now.

Bryan MacAllistair heard the news as he did.

"Morning," Jessica said, showered and dressed, ready to face the day.

Gareth, pouring himself a cup of coffee, grunted. He looked at her worriedly, then offered her the cup.

She smiled and accepted it. "You," he said, pointing at her, shaking his head.

"What?"

"You've got to learn to be careful, missy, that's all I've got to say."

He stared at her firmly for a long moment, got another cup and filled it with coffee for himself. "Stuff to do to this house," he said, shaking his head. "As if time and nature weren't enough." Tsking, he turned away. "Now I have to worry about you more and more."

"Hey, I can take care of myself."

"Don't care what you say. I'll be watching your back." He started out determinedly.

"Gareth," she called.

He looked back.

"Thank you."

He smiled.

Stacey had been reading the morning paper. Now she stared at Jessica, a question in her eyes.

Jessica's fingers trembled slightly. She wondered if she looked different. "Good morning, Stace," she said. She noticed there were plates on the counter, covered with plastic wrap; Stacey had made pancakes and bacon.

"Good morning," Stacey said, still staring at her. "Well?"

"Well?"

"You were attacked last night," Stacey said. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh," Jessica said. After the night she had spent, she hadn't been thinking about the attack at all. So that was why Gareth had acted so strangely. They both knew what had happened in the hospital parking lot.

"It wasn't anything, really. Just a pair of idiots wearing really bad vampire fangs."

Stacey shook her head. "Gareth is all kinds of worried. He's going to spend the day prowling around making sure this place is tight."

"They were a pair of idiots. Seriously. It was nothing."

Stacey pointed a finger at her. "Don't try to tell me that. I've known you awhile now, and when I heard about the attack on the radio, I recognized one of the names. You tried to help that Cal kid."

Jessica shook her head. "He didn't attack me because of who I am-I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"But I heard they were prowling around the hospital. Were they after Mary?"

Jessica was uneasy that Stacey's thoughts seemed to follow her own. "Who knows?"

Stacey leaned forward, whispering, "Are you being targeted? Does it have something to do with that party?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Those parties go on all over the place. Let's drop it, okay? So-our guest is out?" Jessica asked.

"Yes. And I'm rather insulted. He doesn't seem interested in tasting our delicious breakfasts," she said, grinning quickly to show it didn't really bother her. "I get the impression he loves to roam the streets when it's early-before everyone else is out."

Jessica shrugged, then yawned and stretched.

"What are your plans for the day?" Stacey asked.

"I'm going to finish up Maggie's bathing suit," Jessica said. "I promised I'd have it done as soon as I came back from Romania. Then, I don't know. I might drive out to Sean and Maggie's again."

"Again?"

"I went there last night for coffee." She hesitated. "With Bryan."

"Oh?" Stacey dropped the paper. "After he rescued you? But...he had a lecture last night."

Jessica shrugged. "Sean and I went to hear him."

"And you didn't invite me?"

"It was a spur-of-the-moment thing."

"And?"

Jessica sipped her coffee. "He's good. He really knows his stuff."

"Did you see Bobby there?"

"Bobby-your Bobby?"

"Well, I don't think he's actuallymy Bobby," Stacey said with a smile. "But, yeah, Bobby Munro."

"I saw him at the station, but he said he was working an off-duty job. I didn't see him at the lecture. Did he go?"

"Yeah, he said he happened to be in the area when he was done working. He's been doing a lot of parties and weddings, even funerals, lately. I hope he's saving up for a ring-or at least a fast trip to Vegas."

"Hey, he loves you. It's obvious. Still, it's strange that he wound up at the lecture and didn't call you to join him. Plus he must not have had to work more than about an hour."

"That's about it. Can you believe it? You wind up going, my boyfriend goes-and no one invites me."

"I would have invited you if there had been time."

"Never mind, I'll get there on my own one of these days, and I won't invite any of you."

"He's here for the semester," Jessica said. "So you'll have plenty of chances. The hall was absolutely overflowing-that's probably why we didn't see Bobby and he didn't see us. There were tons of students, of course, but plenty of other people were there, too. It's such a cool topic, and I guess the word that he's an incredible speaker has gotten around."

"You think some of your crazies were there?"

"Don't call them crazies. And I don't know. I'm just musing aloud. They would have been interested, though. He talks about the differences between deep-rooted beliefs and the way something becomes trendy at a certain point in time, like these vampire parties."

Stacey leaned toward her. "What do you think he knows that he doesn't say?"

"I don't know," Jessica murmured, sitting back. She hesitated. "He wants my help, though."

"Your help? Doing what?" Stacey asked.

"He thinks there's going to be a party here, like the one in Transylvania. He thinks I might hear about the details through my practice."

"Well?" Stacey said.

Jessica lifted a hand evasively. "It's against the law for me to reveal anything a patient tells me in confidence."

"You're nervous, aren't you?"

Jessica nodded. "It's like knowing something is going to happen,knowing it, but being powerless to stop it."

"Yeah," Stacey muttered. "I've been wondering what's going on with all this-with Bryan MacAllistair. Bobby saw him when he was there before, at the police station, leaving Sean's office."

"What does Bobby think?"

Stacey opened her mouth to speak, but Jessica frowned in warning, suddenly aware that they were not alone.

Bryan MacAllistair was back.

She stared at him, at first thinking of nothing but the night just past. How could she explain her behavior? In today's society, she knew she needed no explanation, but in her heart, she did. That thought raced through her mind, along with the fear that he hadn't felt what she had, that for him it hadn't been unique, something once in a lifetime, not just sex.

Because she'd felt as if they'd been made to be together, something neither heaven nor hell could stop.

She felt an awkward moment coming up.

But it wasn't awkward. It was worse. Far worse.

She saw the darkness, the gravity, in his rugged features, in his eyes.

"Mary is dead," he said.