“Can’t I at least get my suitcase from out of my trunk?” Cora pleaded, wanting more than anything to change into normal clothing.

She stood, hopelessly, in the police station garage, next to the same black car that had brought her here.

Mace opened the passenger side door for her. “Your vehicle and everything inside it is considered evidence at the moment. I’m afraid it will take some time to clear it.”

She glanced longingly to her left, down the sidewalk that fronted the police station. A brief, ridiculous fantasy of making a run for it trickled through her mind.

She wouldn’t even make it a step.

Mace waited, seemingly patient, for her to get into the car. Something in his expression told her he knew the way of her thoughts and was somewhat amused.

As she settled in the car, she wrung her fingers nervously while Mace walked around the front and took the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life with the turn of the key. The sound was like an ominous prelude to an execution.

She wondered briefly where Trent was. He’d allowed Mace alone to escort her out of the police station while remaining behind with the human authorities.

In the small space of the car, sitting so close to Mace, Cora automatically reverted back to the mindset that kept her alive during her time with Edgar. She forced her lungs to work slow and even. She tilted her head down, and went as still as a possum. From the corner of her eye she saw Mace shoot her a sidelong glance before putting the car into drive.

“Put your seatbelt on,” he ordered.

She yanked the strap across her body and snapped it into place, then returned her hands to her lap just as he pulled onto the street. A moment of silence followed. She kept her eyes on her hands.

She felt the car speed up, slow down, stop, then speed up again, but never looked up, never glanced out the window.

After a long while of quiet driving, Mace said casually, “Are you trying to make me forget you’re there?”

Her chin jerked slightly, but she made no response.

“Believe me. Nothing could accomplish that.”

She swallowed, keeping her eyes downcast.

“Where did you learn to do that, anyway?”

Her heart stuttered, and silence crushed the space around them.

“Well, anyway, you don’t have to do that. I’m not a threat to you.”

He took the highway on-ramp, heading out of town. She prayed he would stop trying to engage her in conversation, but she wasn’t so lucky.

After another stretch of silence, he said, “Don’t you have questions about where we’re going? Why you’re with me? How long we’ve been watching you? You can ask me whatever you like.”

She was sick with curiosity, but she shook her head.

“It’s going to be a dull ride then, and we have a ways to go.”

He paused as if that should have been enough to entice her into asking. He obviously wanted to tell her, so why didn’t he just get on with it?

He sighed. “I have loads of questions for you, but I don’t want this to feel like an interrogation. You’re a witness, not a suspect. You’re no one’s captive.”

“Then let me go,” she heard herself reply, instantly regretting her desperate tone.

“She speaks,” he said on a chuckle. “And where would you go?”

She thought about that for a moment. There was only one place she could go, the large home she had shared with Winston. Thinking of him now sent a flurry of mixed emotions through her heart.

“You can’t go home,” Mason said, as if reading her mind. “Aside from the fact that assassins broke in with too much ease…specifically to murder you, I might add—”

“Why me? Weren’t they just looking for Winston?”

“They knew exactly where Winston would be. No, they were looking for you. Still might be. These people, whoever they are….well, it’s like they’re cleaning up their entire operation, or perhaps eliminating the competition. We’re not quite sure yet. Whatever the reason, they left no loose ends. None but you.” He shot her a look. “It was more than Winston and the Montgomerys. All our suspects were targeted, and then some. Entire families were executed, children included. You can’t go back there.”

He allowed her a moment to take that in.

“But aside from all that,” he continued, “Winston wrote you out of his will the moment you said ‘I do.’

Her head snapped up. He met her bemused expression with one of complete seriousness.

“That prenup you signed waved away any claim you might have had to Winston’s wealth. He had already prepared his will before the honeymoon was over. In case of his death, the money, the cars, the three homes? It all gets split between his blood relatives. You get nothing.”

A deep chasm of despair crashed in her chest. “You could be making that up.”

“You know I’m not. Not after all you’ve learned today about your rat-bastard husband.”

The venom with which Mason ended his sentence was shocking. Almost as shocking as the realization that she was now back where she’d started. Street urchin. Worse, actually—a street urchin who’d drawn the attention of the largest vampire organization known to man.

Tears billowed, quickly drenching her cheeks. Even if the vampires didn’t kill her, going back to the streets might. She was too different now. Not only did she look like a whale—street slang for a female of means—but now she knew, really knew, what it was like to live without fear, in a soft, safe bed, not having to sleep with one eye open. Not worrying every minute of every day where her next meal would come from or having to beg for coins while trying not to resort to more desperate acts like the ladies who lined up on corners at night.

Mason said nothing as she quietly sobbed.

“You must think I’m despicable,” she stammered.

“Why would I?”

“Because I’m crying more for losing the money than losing Winston.”

Mason laughed. “I think you’re a survivor. You married that bastard because you had no other prospects. You did it to get out of a terrible situation. Anyone would’ve done the same.”

She sniffed, a little taken aback. “I did care for him in the beginning.”

“Of course you did.”

His tone grated. “I did. He was sweet and generous at first. He didn’t make me feel inferior. I truly thought he loved me.” She buried her face in her hands. “I feel so stupid.”

Mason cursed. “Don’t cry. That shithead isn’t worth it.”

She worked to get control before Mason grew irritated with her. And though it was bound to happen eventually, she wanted to delay seeing Mason when he’d lost his patience. Vampires were unpredictable in the best of moods.

“Did you know him or something?” she asked. “The way you talk about him, it’s almost as if you hold a grudge.”

Mason pursed his lips, and his eyes narrowed on the road.

“Forget it. I don’t want to know. In fact, I want to know as little as possible about all of this.”

“I’m afraid that’s a fantasy, sweetheart. You already know more than enough.”

Anxiety crawled along her skin, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re under our protection until we say otherwise. I’m taking you to a safe house.”

A hard ball of dread pushed down on her stomach, making her nauseous. A safe house? A prison was more like it. He was going to drive her somewhere isolated and keep her there until…well, as long as he wanted.

He must have noticed her distress because he said, “You don’t need to fear me. I’ve been assigned to keep you safe. No harm will come to you as long as you’re in my charge.”

She just kept from rolling her eyes. A vampire’s idea of harm varied greatly from that of a human’s. Before his death, Edgar had sworn to his commanding officer he’d done nothing to harm her. The commander hadn’t even looked twice at the marks on her wrists and neck.

The scars were healed now. That was the miraculous thing about vampire bites. The evidence of them never lasted.

Mason transferred to the left lane to pass a slow-moving vehicle.

Cora turned her head to watch a graveyard of tree husks rush past. They were almost out of the upper class zone, St. Stamsworth, founded just after a devastating fire had toppled the original city. She’d heard this outer area used to be part of a national forest, boasting an array of wildlife and lush greenery. Whatever weaponry had been used during the first of the uprisings now kept any new growth from springing up out of the black-charred soil, even though Lake Tahoe still sat full as ever.

“Why were you offered vampire blood?” Mason drew her attention away from the scenery.

“Excuse me?”

“Back at the precinct, you said you’d never tasted vamp blood even when it was offered to you.”

“I, uh…” She didn’t want to talk about this with him. She often feared she’d somehow be blamed for Edgar’s death. “It was a long time ago. I don’t even remember the circumstances.”

Mason frowned. “We vampires have what you humans might call a fable. Long ago, two vampires befriended a human female, and took her under their protection. She grew to care for them both, but over time, the human fell in love with one of the vampires. However, she discovered that both the vampires felt the same for her. Wishing not to hurt the one she considered only a friend, she claimed no love for either. Late one night, in secret, she went to her beloved, and the other vampire caught the two together. He became so enraged he ripped both their throats out.”

Cora gasped. Why would he offer such a gruesome story? Was he threatening her? “Are you suggesting humans are deceitful or just confirming that vampires are ruthless?”

“I’m saying lies could get us both killed.”

She watched his profile for a moment, and then slumped back in the chair. Vampires were always too perceptive. Most of them were walking lie detectors. “It’s inconsequential, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

“It sounds very consequential.”

She cringed away from him.

“Oh, now don’t start that disappearing act again—”

Crunch.

A hard jolt shattered Cora’s equilibrium.

The car listed to the side. The world tilted. Her hair fell over her face, hovering there oddly, as if defying gravity. The seatbelt pulled tightly against her chest, nearly cutting off her air supply. And the world outside the car folded over on itself, the ground kaleidoscopeing in all directions. Her body jerked painfully, and agony speared her skull.

The car slid on its roof to a stop, but her body still felt like it was rolling. Muffled curses echoed through her brain. Warm liquid leaked into her eyes and blurred her vision. Where was Mace? Had he rolled the car on purpose? The driver seat was empty. Had he jumped out of the car, hoping the crash would kill her and end his babysitting stint?

“Cora?” Mason’s voice sounded from outside. The passenger side door creaked open and then was nearly ripped from its hinges.

She closed her eyes, expecting the final blow of death.

“Cora, are you alright? Can you move?”

“Mace, I don’t want to die.”

“I know, sweetheart. Tell me, can you move your arms and legs?”

“I think so.”

“I’m going to cut the seatbelt and pull you out. I’m sorry if I hurt you.” He didn’t wait for a response, and she tried not to cry out when he extracted her from the vehicle and laid her on the gravel. “Someone rammed us off the road,” he explained, looking around. “They kept driving, but they could be back any minute. Are you okay to walk?”

“I think gas leaked all over me,” she said instead of answering. She lifted her arm and wiped along her forehead. When she pulled her arm away, red coated her sleeve. She couldn’t make sense of it. Red gasoline? “Oh, goddess.”

“Shh. It’s not as bad as you think,” he said, but his eyes went tight with worry.

Something like a giggle escaped her. “Lies could get us both killed,” she mocked, then laughed harder. She stopped when pain and dizziness cut into her brain. The harsh bite of exhaust and burning rubber tortured her lungs, and she coughed violently.

Her vision wavered.

“Damn, you’re out of it.” Mace helped her sit up.

He cinched one arm under her legs, the other around her back, then carried her from the crash site, laying her back down a few yards away.

Kneeling next to her, he retrieved his phone from his pocket and tapped Trent’s name under his contacts. The line rang once, and then Trent answered, “You miss me already?”

“We have a problem.”

Trent went silent and waited for him to continue.

“Someone just side-swiped us off the road, a black SUV, tinted windows.”

“License plate?”

“I didn’t get a chance to write it down while I was death-rolling,” Mace snapped.

“Alright, untwist your panties. Is the girl okay?”

He glanced down at Cora. Her face was locked in a grimace, and blood gushed from her head wound. The sweet scent of it had his fangs descending; a purely unintentional, primal response.

“She’s alive, for now.”

Cora’s eyes shot wide as she caught sight of his fangs, and he cursed her inherent fear of his kind. The way her voice had sounded when she’d told him she didn’t want to die made him realize she’d assumed that was why he’d returned to the car. Not to help her, but to end her.

“I need to get her somewhere safe,” he said, loud enough for her benefit. “Our attackers could be doubling back to check their work.”

“I can have someone there in twenty minutes?”

“Not soon enough.”

The roar of a motorcycle drew his gaze. The biker slowed and eased off the road toward them, looking concerned. Blessed good Samaritans.

“Besides, my ride just showed up. I’ll be in touch.” He hung up.

“You guys need help?” The biker zeroed in on Cora’s wound. “I have some EMT training.” He dropped the kickstand with his foot and lumbered off the bike.

“Thanks, man.” Mace locked eyes with him. “But I’ll be taking the bike.”

The compulsion went to work instantly. The biker’s pupils expanded, eating away the brown of his irises. “Okay.”

“You’ll walk to the nearest town and call a cab to get you where you’re going. After four days, you’ll report the bike stolen, not before.”

“Okay,” the biker repeated. As soon as Mason released his stare, the man strolled away.

Mace turned back to Cora and lifted her off the ground.

She made a sound of complaint, pressing the heel of her palm to her head.

He settled her on the bike’s seat, making certain she wasn’t about to fall over. She glanced at the vehicle nervously.

He slipped in front of her. The engine still rumbled softly. He knew by its make that it was a fast piece of machinery, but he would take it a bit slow with Cora on the back.

“Put your arms around me and hold on tight.”

She hesitated.

He pulled her arms around his torso. The act caused her chest to press up against his back. “If I feel your grip loosen, I’ll cuff ‘em together, understand?”

“I-I don’t know how long I can hold on. Also, I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be doing all the work. Hold on for as long as you can. Keep talking if you have to.”

He heeled up the kickstand and eased the bike forward. Cora tensed, as he figured she would. Her grip around his torso became vice-like, and her legs squeezed his hips. Any other time, he would have enjoyed the way she clung to him. Who was he kidding? He still enjoyed it.

Instead of heading north, he crossed the median and went south. As he picked up speed, Cora buried her head in his back. Then he kicked it into high-gear, and she let out a squeal.

Soon enough, St. Stamsworth was several miles behind them. The setting sun sent shadows stretching across the road. Mace exited the highway, deciding it might be safer to maneuver through the back roads from now on. Now that he’d had a moment to think, he had to assume that the driver of the black SUV had somehow known he and Cora would be traveling the highway at that time. The bastard had appeared from nowhere—most definitely hadn’t been following them the whole way—which meant there was an informant.

Mace turned onto a gravelly road and eased off the gas a little. Here, a bit of green was fighting strong, creeping up from the black rocky ground along the roadside. A few sporadic trees sported buds along lucky branches.

Cora’s grip loosened a bit. “How are you doing back there?” He yelled over the din of the wind.

She made no response.

He turned the wheel and coasted into a wooded area, not stopping till he was far enough from the road that no one would see what he was about to do.

He toed down the kickstand and twisted around to look at Cora. Her eyes drooped, and blood coated her head all the way down her right side. He feared the damage she’d sustained was more significant than he’d originally concluded. Head wounds were tricky like that. He hoped he hadn’t waited too long to heal her with his blood, but he’d had to find a safe spot first.

He looped her arm around his neck and pulled her from the bike. Her body was limp, and she wasn’t staring at anything in particular. A black cloud of dread moved to the forefront of his mind.

“Cora?”

She mumbled something he couldn’t decipher.

He set her down, letting her lie back against the dried ground. A soft moan left her lips. Her features scrunched painfully. Then her eyelids cracked open; her pupils were pinpricks, unseeing. She was already deep in shock.

He lifted his wrist to his mouth and sank his fangs into the flesh. Then he moved his now bleeding wrist to her lips, allowing his blood to drizzle into her mouth. She flinched. With a languid touch, she tried to push his arm away.

After a moment, her vision seemed to clear and she met his gaze. Realization flashed over her. Fear replaced her previously zombified expression. She began to struggle, pushing harder against his arm and shoving her feet on the ground to move her body back.

Quelling the attempt to get away was akin to holding a bunny rabbit in place. The weight of his body pressed her into the soft turf. He reached up with his free hand and gripped the hair at her nape in his fist, tilting her head back to open her mouth wider. Instead, she clamped her mouth shut, clenching her teeth.

“You have to drink it,” he said. “It will heal you. I can’t risk taking you to a hospital.”

She made a noise of complaint, her eyes angry and boring into his. That look chased away his dread. Better angry than dead. But when she turned pleading, his heart squeezed.

“This will heal you, not turn you,” he explained. “Drink it. I won’t let you up until I’m satisfied you’ve had enough.” When she still didn’t open her mouth, he threatened, “I can stay here all night.” He tightened his grip on her nape.

She let out a whimper as her lips parted. He shoved his wrist between her teeth and felt the sting of her bite. And though she’d done it out of spite, the effect was a substantial amount of his blood gushing into her mouth. By reflex, she swallowed and then began to cough, trying to hack it back up.

“Don’t you dare spit that out!” he growled.

She stilled. Then after a moment of trembling hesitation, she swallowed more of his blood, only gagging a couple more times.

“There’s a girl.” He removed his wrist from her mouth, stifling a grin at the red marks on his skin that matched the pattern of her teeth.

Cora glared up at Mason, but exhaustion stole the memory of why she was so angry with him. Her head lolled, and she was confused by the sharp scent of dirt.

“I’m so tired,” she heard herself say.

“I know, sweetheart. Give me a little time to set us up with a room for the night. There’s a motel about a mile back.”

Her vision dimmed. Mason said something else, but she didn’t hear it. When she opened her eyes again, the sky had morphed into a white, splotchy ceiling. A tiny lamp in the corner of the room gave off a soft glow. Mace hovered over her, fumbling with the belt of her coat. Automatically, her hands flew out to slap him away.

He paused, but didn’t move from his position at the edge of the bed. “I drew you a bath. You look like you’re straight from a massacre.”

Using her elbows, she pushed to sit up. It took more effort than it should have.

The motel room was small, with only one bed. She’d consider that little nugget later. Her hand went to her forehead, which still throbbed.

“It’s healing, but it needs to be cleaned,” he informed her.

Healing? Her mind zeroed in on the word. “You forced me to drink your blood!”

“I did. And you don’t have to sound so disgusted. It’s considered a privilege among my kind.”

“How dare you—”

“I already told you, if there had been any other way, I wouldn’t have done it.”

“When did you tell me that?”

“When you were cussing me out all the way here.”

She tilted her head. She didn’t remember doing that. She wouldn’t have the nerve to do that.

He knelt before her and began undoing her coat belt again.

“Stop it!”

“The water is getting cold.” Foregoing the belt, he reached for her left foot and started undoing the ties that ran the length of the boot. His actions were clipped, and he seemed irritated with her.

Oh, goddess! What had she said to him in her stupor? It suddenly registered that she had a very strong, very unpredictable vampire on her hands…and he was undressing her.

In a demure tone, she said, “I can do that myself.”

“I’m sure you can,” he replied, slipping her boot off and setting it aside. Then he started in on the second one. Soon it joined the other on the floor. When he reached for her belt once more, she cringed away from him. He stilled, but only long enough to send her a look that said she wouldn’t win this battle.

She forced herself to calm.

He noted her capitulation and then resumed undoing the strap.

Her coat fell open, and a fiery blush entered her cheeks. Damn this outfit!

Without a word, he stood and held his hand out to her. She debated the probability of talking her way out of this. It wasn’t good. Hesitantly, she slipped her hand in his, and he helped her to her feet. In the next instant, her coat plopped on the ground.

Standing now in her expensive lingerie, she kept as still as possible, focusing on the floor. Mace paused for only a second before he went to work on the rest of her garments. The micro mini fluttered to join her coat. Desperately, she wrapped her arms around herself, protecting the partly see through bustier that barely covered her breasts.

Mace let out a deep sound. She couldn’t decide if it was a growl or a groan. Neither would bode well for her.

“Alright. I suppose you can keep the rest on, if you’re so inclined.” Again, he held his hand out for her, then led her into the bathroom. The tub was filled nearly to the top. Steam skimmed the surface.

“I don’t need your help for this,” she insisted.

“That cut is in an awkward place,” he said. “You can’t clean it properly by yourself. Besides, I owe this to you.”

She dared a quizzical glance at him.

“I promised you would come to no harm, and that promise was broken not fifteen minutes later.” His features contorted into an angry mask, but swiftly melted back toward repentance. “Please let me care for you.”

Figuring he would only persist in carrying out whatever he planned no matter her protests, she dipped one foot into the warm water, then the other, and sank down. The material of her outfit clung to her skin, but she was grateful for the small amount of modesty it offered.

A tingling sensation permeated over her skin. On the counter sat an opened container of bath salts and other products, one of which was probably responsible for the bouquet of floral-mint in the air.

Had Mace hat time to stop by a store? How long had she been unconscious?

Sitting on the wide, flat edge of the tub was an array of items: soap, shampoo, tweezers, a plastic cup, and a sponge.

Was she really about to get a sponge bath from a vampire?

The concept was irreconcilable in her mind.

He dipped the cup into the water. “Tilt your head back,” he commanded gently.

When she did, he drizzled the water over her forehead. There was a tiny sting, probably from where the liquid met her wound. He dampened the sponge next, running it over her face with an almost feather touch. Then he reached for the tweezers. She went tense.

“It’s for the glass,” he said. “My blood in your system has already sped the healing process. I need to remove any glass or your skin will heal over it.”

She relaxed a bit—well, as much as one could relax while being half-naked and bleeding in front of a vamp. She was the picture of a tasty meal to one such as he.

“Forgive me if this hurts.” His expression became serious, his brows furrowing as he methodically worked. With the tweezers, he pulled a glistening shard and dropped it into the now empty cup. It made a dull thud.

Cora counted twelve more dull thuds before Mace set the tweezers aside, dumped the glass in the trash, and then returned to rinsing the excess blood.

Next, he drizzled shampoo into his palm, lathered, then folded his fingers through her hair. She couldn’t help but close her eyes as he massaged her scalp, all the while thinking how surreal this was.

His hands moved to her shoulders, and he applied a slow gentle pressure with his thumbs. She had to suppress a groan. The warmth of his skin matched the temperature of the water, and for a second, she imagined him touching her lower.

She stiffened at the thought, and he paused.

“You alright?”

“Mm-hm,” she said, not trusting her voice. Her body remained tense, however, even as he continued rolling his thumbs between her shoulder blades.

What was wrong with her, conjuring up such a scene? Had rational thought been crippled by that accident?

And yet, she couldn’t stop sensual pictures from invading her brain.

An internal thrumming started a low beat inside her, steadily growing stronger. She cursed her body’s wayward response and fought to get it under control, clenching her muscles.

He must have assumed his actions were bothering her, because he stopped the massage and grabbed for the sponge again.

“Look at me,” he commanded in a light tone.

She did so without really meaning to meet his gaze, but his grey irises captured hers. A lump formed in her throat. Was it her imagination, or did he appear turned on?

To escape from his stare, she dropped her eyes to his mouth. Not a much better idea, but at least she didn’t feel like he had full access to her increasingly disturbing thoughts.

He curled his finger under her chin and moved her head to the side, then ran the soft sponge along the line of her jaw and down her neck. She closed her eyes and shuddered. Why did that feel so hedonic?

“Mason?” She sounded breathy and a little rough.

He froze.

“Please stop…I…” She didn’t know what kind of explanation she could give him. Her skin seemed hypersensitive to every nuance of his touch. Even the air, disturbed by the slightest of movements, seemed to brush her flesh like a caress. She shivered again. The thrumming that had started in her lower half was now a banging pulse that raced through her veins in a fiery rush. She needed to get her body under control.

“Right,” he said, his voice more guttural than before. “You should be able to finish up.” He handed her the sponge and stood. “There’s a night shirt for you to change into in a bag out there. I need to run out for a little bit. Don’t leave this room, and don’t open the door for anyone. I’ll leave my number by the phone if you need me for anything, but I shouldn’t be long.”

“Um, alright.”

He left, closing the bathroom door behind him. She didn’t fully relax till she heard the motel room door open and close.

A pent-up breath left her in a rush.