Temptation

Book VI in the Shadow Dweller Series

by

J.C. Wilder

ISBN 1-55316-102-5

Published by LTDBooks

www.ltdbooks.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's
imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events,
or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2002 J. C. Wilder

Artwork copyright © 2002 Emily Black

Published in Canada by LTDBooks, 200 North Service Road West, Unit 1, Suite 301, Oakville, ON
L6M 2Y1

All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent
of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law.

National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data

Wilder, J. C. 1965-

Temptation [electronic resource] : book VI of the Shadow dwellers series / J. C. Wilder.

(Shadow dwellers series ; 6)

ISBN 1-55316-102-5 (electronic) ISBN 1-55316-897-6 (REB 1100 1200)

I. Title. II. Series: Wilder, J. C., 1965- Shadow dwellers series ; 6

PS3623.I45T45 2002 813'.6 C2002-902495-1

 Dedication

To Molly Bolden-your friendship

means more to me than you'll ever know.

Acknowledgments

Dano-For always coming to my rescue when I really need you. You are a true friend, or a sucker for
punishment and I won't speculate on which it is!

Beth, Donna, Carol, Rosemary and Bonnee-Thank you for being there and constantly pushing me to
improve. You guys are the best!

Laura Adlam and Christine Nowicki of LTDBooks.com-For helping me turn my dreams into reality.

And a huge thanks goes out the Westerville Division of Police, specifically to Detective D. Dietz,
Corporal K. Featherling, Officer A. Moran, Officer D. Staysniak and Sergeant M. Tussey. You guys are
always so willing to share your knowledge and talent even when I ask the silliest of questions-I thank you
from the bottom of my heart.

Any mistakes I've made or liberties I've taken are completely my own.

"The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it."

~ Oscar Wilde

Prologue
Los Angeles, California

February

Vivian Carrington was the last remaining mourner in the cemetery. The rain falling from leaden skies had
pasted her black Chanel suit to her body. Her hair was flat and her makeup long gone. Her high-heeled
Stuart Weitzman shoes sank into the saturated earth as she approached the newly constructed
mausoleum for her best friend, Melanie Reynolds.

The last few days had been a nightmare beyond compare. When word had come of the boating accident
that had ended Mel's life along with that of her husband and five others in her entourage, Vivian had been
enjoying her requisite two-martini lunch with her assistant, Pamela. She remembered running though the
posh Manhattan restaurant, her cell phone clutched to her ear as she prayed she would make it to the
ladies room before her liquid lunch made an encore appearance.

Ever since that horrible afternoon, she'd been coasting on adrenaline and espresso while trying to
oversee the myriad of details that accompanied the funeral of an international movie star. The seating,
flowers, service, music and public memorials all had to be attended to as well as security and police
escorts for the dignitaries who wished to pay their last respects.

In the end, police barricades had held back the crowds as dozens of white limousines carried funeral
attendees to the services and ultimately to the cemetery. As the cars passed, thousands of mourners had
lined the streets, tossing flowers as the matching pearl-pink hearses drove by.

Lavish to the extreme, Mel would have loved every second of it.

Vivian stepped into the dubious shelter of the narrow entrance of the rose-colored marble mausoleum.
The cramped interior was lit by dozens of white candles in brass holders, their glow dancing across the
matching bronze caskets laid side by side on a low dais. An undertaker was inside the mausoleum
arranging the floral tributes before sealing the entrance for all eternity.

Dizziness assailed her and she reached for the cool marble to steady herself. The scent of rain and too
many flowers hung heavy in the chilly air. Her throat tightened as the distinct perfume of carnations
swirled around her.

Regaining her composure, Vivian tossed an irritated glance at a sprawling arrangement of the offending
blooms. Why did people insist upon sending carnations to funerals? Because they were cheap? She
despised carnations and there was no way she'd allow her friends to journey into the hereafter with
wilting carnations sealed in the darkness with their mortal remains.

"These arrangements are to go on top of the coffins." She pointed to matching arrangements of
multi-colored roses, lilies and baby's breath. "And leave those outside." She nodded at the towering
arrangement of carnations. "No carnations are to be sealed in here."

The undertaker nodded, then did as she bid before making a hasty exit with an armload of the offending
blooms. She turned her face away as the fragrant flowers were carried past. All of her life she'd
associated carnations with funerals, especially her mother's. At nine years old, to be surrounded by
hundreds of carnations, she'd felt as if she were suffocating in their sweetness. Now she couldn't bear to
be near them.

Left alone, she stepped to Mel's coffin, her fingertips grazed the chilly metal and a shudder ran through
her.

"What am I going to do without you?" she whispered.

The hushed sound of falling rain was her only answer as a cool breeze swept through the entrance and
caught her words only to swirl them among the petals of the arrangements covering the coffins. The
candle flames flickered then stilled as the breeze faded.

The last time she'd spoken to Mel had been only a week ago. They'd been making plans for Jennifer's
birthday, an all-girl weekend at an exclusive resort spa in Mexico. Three decadent days of massages,
facials and pedicures, not to mention a case of champagne and a vast selection of taste-tempting morsels
prepared by a five-star chef to pacify their appetites.
 Now Mel was gone and Jen's birthday had passed with nary a celebration. Today, they should've been
all together in Mexico, swapping stories and tall tales all the while indulging themselves in a way only
women in celebration could accomplish.

But this year there was no party for Jennifer. No joined laughter, no cocktails and all night gab sessions
under sticky facemasks. No painting each other's toenails as they shared their most intimate secrets.

No more Melanie.

Vivian loved all of her friends. They'd become her family since she had very little left of her own. But she
and Mel had been especially close, like the sister each had been denied.

Since Mel had married Ray a few years ago, Vivian had become aware of the emptiness of her life. She
had two pathetic ex-husbands, neither of which she had any contact with now, and scads of friends.
Though only a few were really there for her. She had money, piles of it, more than any one person would
ever need. Consequently, she would never have to worry about making a living.

Only once in her life had she held a paying job and that was back in college almost twenty-five years
ago. Her trust fund had covered her education, but she'd enjoyed the novelty of actually working for
money. She smiled as she remembered the thrill of depositing her pitiful check into the bank, keeping only
twenty dollars for the ensuing week. Back then, she'd lived the life of a struggling college student. At
school, surrounded by new friends, no one had known or cared that she was cursed with the Carrington
millions.

Now it was all she had left. The money.

Vivian plucked a blood red rose from an arrangement near the entrance of the mausoleum. She lived in a
sprawling penthouse in New York City-she owned the entire building, of course- and she donated the
majority of her time to various charities in and around the city. Not that she actually worked with the
people she strove to help. Most of the time she was on the phones, soliciting donations from the multitude
of companies that dealt with Carrington International. She took great pleasure in helping those less
fortunate, but every night she was alone in her apartment. No man in her life, not even a cat to keep her
company.

This didn't mean she was celibate as she wasn't at all. Her lovers were like her. Sleek, sophisticated and
knew the score. They were welcome to stay the night, taking pleasure in her body as she took pleasure in
theirs. But they had to leave early the next morning. As long as they amused her, they were welcome to
share her bed and certain parts of her life. But the moment she detected any sentimentality they were
kicked from her bed and her life post haste.

Only a few months ago Mel had teased her, saying that she was more like a man than a woman in her
dealings with the opposite sex. Silently, Vivian acknowledged the truth of her friend's statement. She
lifted the rose to her nose and inhaled the sweet fragrance. When had that happened? She hadn't always
felt that men were a means to an end. True her father had been a difficult man to deal with, but her view
of men wasn't completely warped. Scott, her father's assistant, had been kind to her and allowed her to
tag after him while he'd ran errands for her father. He'd even taught her how to balance a checkbook and
write a check.

A handy piece of knowledge if ever there was one, writing a check that is. Much to her ex- husbands'
delight, she'd learned that lesson well. It had become obvious after the weddings that they'd only been
interested in the Carrington millions and the lofty vice presidencies that had accompanied marriage to the
Carrington heiress.

Once Vivian had caught onto her father's schemes, she'd put an end to those unfortunate arrangements.

All of her life she'd been choked to death by the money and the men who'd wanted to control her and it.
In reality, they hadn't given a damn about her, they'd only wanted the cash; she'd simply been the icing on
the cake. The great Bradford Carrington's daughter and the keys to the kingdom were a package deal.

After Bradford's betrayal, she'd set out to be as cold and heartless as the men surrounding her, taking
lovers when it suited her and casting them aside with little thought to their feelings. It wasn't about them; it
was about her and her pleasure. Rather than allowing them to take what they wanted from her, she'd
turned the tables on them, determined to never allow anyone to use her again.

Finally though, she and Bradford had forged an uneasy peace after her second divorce that had existed
until his death six years ago. Then his vast estate had been divided with she receiving the lion's share as
his only blood relative and the rest going to his second wife, Felicity, and her four children. Vivian knew
they eyed her portion of the wealth with great avarice, not understanding why one woman should have so
much when they had to split their share five ways. Other than Stephan, the oldest brother and Vice
Chairman of Carrington International, she rarely dealt with them and that was how she meant to keep it.

Now she had two great pleasures in life and one was spending her considerable wealth, donating great
portions of it to charities she knew would've set her father's teeth on edge. She enjoyed the image of him
forever twisting and turning in his grave.

Her other hobby was men and she'd known a great many of them over the years. There was a time
she'd changed lovers the way some people changed hairstyles. Dozens of men. All ages, shapes and
sizes. Nameless, faceless men who'd satisfied her physically but were never allowed to touch her
ice-encrusted heart. Of late she hadn't taken a lover though several had interested her. She didn't know
what had initiated her sudden disinterest in men but she didn't feel the need to take them into her bed or
her life anymore. Consequently, she'd almost become a recluse.

But had she done herself a disservice by not allowing intimacy in her life? Who would mourn her ultimate
passing? Her friend Shai would, as would Jennifer and Erihn. Some professional acquaintances would
make an appearance in the hopes of being named in her will...but other than that, who would mourn her?

No one...

Vivian shuddered as a trickle of foreboding whispered along her spine. She was staring forty-four down
and Mel's death had brought home the fragility of life with a terrifying sureness. Now, as she stood by her
best friend's coffin, the rest of her empty life before her, what was she going to do with it? Yes, she'd
accomplished a great deal for others with her money. She'd set up foundations to help the homeless and
the poor, but what had she done for herself other than indulge in emotionless relationships and shopping
binges?

Nothing...

Her shoulders slumped. She'd become everything she'd despised in college, a Caligula-like creation of
money and power, wielding credit cards and Gucci bags with a vengeance. A shallow, pleasure-seeking
creature who mocked the idealistic young woman she'd once been. The woman who'd wanted to make a
difference in the world with her bare hands was no more.
 Vivian ran her fingers over the chilly bronze. Even though Mel had been considered Hollywood royalty,
she'd lived in the real world for the most part. She'd worked and clawed her way to the upper echelons
of the studio system. She'd received dozens of marriage proposals from men far more powerful than Ray,
but she'd never given them a second thought. She'd married for love and never compromised her beliefs,
opting to remain firmly connected to her roots and her family back in New York.

Did Mel ever know how blessed she'd been in life?

Yes...

And what about Vivian? What was next for her? Did she continue on as she had been, seeking pleasure
wherever it suited her? How many pairs of Fendi shoes did one woman need? What had happened to
the idealistic college girl she'd been? When had it gone so terribly wrong?

Vivian straightened. She was healthy, intelligent and resourceful, and maybe it was time to finally answer
those questions.

"I'll miss you every day of my life, Mel." She gave a watery laugh. "In fact, I don't know what I'll do
without you. Thank you for the friendship, the late night phone calls and all of our times together both
good and bad. I'll never forget you as long as I live." She laid the rose on the foot of Mel's coffin before
she turned away.

Outside the rain had stopped and the sun was struggling to peek through the thick bank of clouds. Vivian
straightened her ruined jacket and walked toward the sleek white limousine; eager to begin the journey of
discovering the woman she was meant to be.

Chapter 1
New Orleans, Louisiana

February

With his bare feet propped on the edge of his desk, Sinjin leaned back in his chair, ignoring the sore
muscles that screamed in protest as he squirmed into a more comfortable position. Resting his head
against the back of his chair, he closed his eyes and allowed the comforting silence of his office to sink
into the very pores of his skin.

For the first time in months his club, Chat Noir, was quiet. Not since he'd opened the place in late
December had he closed at such an early hour. Who would have dreamed he'd be closed on the final
night of Mardi Gras? This should have been the biggest moneymaking night of the year and, instead of
working the bar as he usually did, he sat alone in his office savoring a solitary drink.

The Chat Noir was probably the only business on Bourbon Street to have its lights out, the windows
shuttered and the doors barred to the masses streaming down the street. Then again, having dead bodies
and broken furniture strewn through his club was liable to have an adverse effect on business. Humans
didn't like to party in a place where Death had paid a visit.
 He opened his eyes and reached for the black demitasse cup sitting on his desk. Next to it was a black
stoneware carafe perched on a coffee cup warmer. On the base, a small red light glowed, indicating the
warmer was functioning. He lifted the cup to his nose and inhaled the aroma of warmed were-blood. The
scent shot a shiver of awareness through his nervous system and set his mouth to watering.

For a vampire, blood in any form or temperature was acceptable sustenance. Warmed blood was
preferred, body temperature was best, but in a pinch, chilled or frozen would work as well. Unless it was
the blood of a were-animal such as a werewolf or were-cat, then only warm would do. Drinking it cold
would be like drinking the finest French champagne at room temperature. The true flavor would be
spoiled.

Sinjin took a drink of the coveted liquid, enjoying the warmth that shafted through his body. Spicy and
sensual, the blood had a distinctive bite, not unlike that of fine Scotch whiskey. Heat streaked down his
throat and spread through his abdomen, sending tendrils of fire to his extremities until even his toes felt the
warmth. As his body absorbed the liquid, a heady sense of well being pervaded his senses.

Were-blood, in small quantities, sharpened the senses and exhilarated the drinker. Consume too much,
though, and feelings of euphoria would leave the drinker feeling super- human and prone to acts of
idiocy.

Needless to say, were-blood was a coveted drink among vampires and, due to its unusual affects upon
their nervous systems; it wasn't unheard of to find a were-blood addict. Very similar to alcoholism in
humans, constant craving and tremors from going too long without a drink were all symptoms of the
addiction.

Even for addicts used to the effects of the drink, imbibing too much in one sitting was dangerous. The
active minerals and hormones in the blood would begin to cloud the mind and dull the senses. After only
eight to ten ounces, unconsciousness could result, leaving a vampire easy prey to those who wished him
ill.

Nowadays, there were many who wished them ill.

Sinjin opened a desk drawer and located a small remote control. He pushed the red button and the
sound of motors and sliding metal rebounded through the room as steel blinds descended over the
windows. A similar sheet of steel fortified his office door. The sounds from the partially open window
overlooking Bourbon Street faded as the blind slid into place, a metallic "snick" sounding when the latch
engaged. He dropped the remote in the drawer and pushed it shut. He was completely secure in his lair,
the room unreachable from the outside by sunlight or any living creature.

He dropped his feet from the desk and straightened, reaching for the carafe to refill his glass. None of
this would have been necessary if it weren't for Mikhail and his misplaced desire to lead the Council of
Elders, the ruling body of the preternaturals. It was all because of his devious plans that the
preternaturals, Sinjin included, had to live under a veil of constant, rigorous vigilance. Always on the
lookout for someone who wished to see them dead, always looking over their shoulders and jumping at
shadows.

In the past few years, Mikhail's battle for supremacy over Alexandre Saint-Juste, the current head of the
Council, had cost the lives of hundreds of preternatural beings and a few humans as well. Some had been
innocent, mere bystanders in the madness, while others had willingly joined Mikhail's army, lured by false
promises and his charismatic personality.
Sinjin replaced the carafe. With every drink, the bite of the liquid decreased. Soon he'd have to
discontinue his personal cocktail hour or wake with a thick head. That was a risk he couldn't take as
danger might lurk in any corner. Hell, it had arrived with a vengeance in his club.

Last night the battle had reached a new crescendo, resulting in a handful of deaths, including Cassiopeia,
Mikhail's right hand fiend. Sinjin was convinced that Cass had broken their pact and was betraying
Mikhail rather than acting on his behalf. He didn't know this for sure and, since she was now dead, he'd
probably never have the answer to that question, unless he found Miles and the diary.

The book the entire preternatural world now sought was once again missing, last seen with Miles as he
made good his escape during the fracas last night. The diary contained a day-to-day chronology of
Mikhail's late wife, Elsabeth, and varying bits of information she'd gleaned about the origins of the
Shadow Dwellers. As he'd never seen the book, he wasn't sure how useful the information was. For all
he knew, it contained recipes for stain removal and Irish potato soup. Only a select few who'd possessed
the book had an inkling of what it contained, and most of them were now dead.

Cass' revenant consort, Miles, had stolen the diary and they had used the information to concoct a
serum to create a super-vampire, a mindless warrior that sought and destroyed as directed by the
controller. But something had gone terribly wrong and the serum had resulted in the deaths of the handful
of vampires who'd been selected as guinea pigs. Some had been ignorant of Cass' dark plans; they'd only
wanted a better life for themselves. Others had been driven by their own greed for financial gain or
increased vampiric abilities. All had lost their lives for their unfortunate decision. Sunni was the only one
to escape.

From what he'd seen, the diary spelled doom for everyone as long as it remained in the wrong hands. If
the recipe for the serum had actually come from the pages of the diary, what other diabolical secrets lay
within?

Where was the diary now? Once word got out that Miles had escaped with the book, everyone would
be looking for him and not all who sought the tome would be willing to turn it over to Alexandre where it
belonged.

Would Miles take it to Mikhail or would he venture out on this own as it appeared Cass had attempted?
In either case, more would die unless the book was recovered and placed into the safekeeping of the
Council.

Sinjin set the cup on his desk. His finger inadvertently brushed a pile of receipts and they slid to the side
to reveal a small oval frame. His gaze locked on the hand-painted portrait, his heart giving a queer little
jerk as familiar pale blue eyes seemed to bore into his soul.

Painted at the turn of the twentieth century, Bliss had sat for the portrait only under duress. She'd
acquiesced when he'd gotten on his knees and begged her, albeit in jest, that if she did not sit for the
painter, he would expire on the spot. Every evening for several weeks she'd dressed in a pale pink dress,
drawn her hair back into a loose roll and sat for the painter, all the while glowering at Sinjin who'd
hovered in the background, making faces at his beloved to encourage her soft smile.

The artist had captured the inner essence of the young woman. Her eyes were alight with laughter and
love, her soft lips curved in a tenderhearted smile as she'd teased with her lover over the painter's
shoulder.

But it'd ended far too soon. Mortianna, her mother, had driven a wedge between them that even love
couldn't scale. Bliss had left him and they didn't speak for many years. Through mutual friends they'd kept
track of one another until he'd run into her one cold evening in Edinburgh. They'd spent the night at an
inn, sitting by a fire, talking until the wee hours of the morning. From that night on, they'd resumed a
tentative friendship, risking her mother's wrath and his life.

Several times a year Bliss had come to visit him in Scotland until her death late last summer, another
victim of Mikhail's machinations. Her final journey to the Highlands had been in a rose-strewn coffin. On
a moonlit night in late autumn, her friends had laid her to rest in a field of heather.

Sinjin picked up the portrait and ran his finger over her glass-covered cheek. The were-blood almost
deceived him into believing he could feel her skin beneath his fingertip. His gut twisted in an anguish that
never seemed to end. Would the pain of his loss ever fade to a manageable level? Would he ever be able
to look at this portrait and not want to lie down and cry like a child?

Someday...

When they'd rekindled their relationship, it had been a close friendship only. Other than a chaste peck on
the lips or a hug from time to time, their love had been purely spiritual. Both of them had wanted more,
they'd admitted to each other. But they'd also known that should word ever get back to Mortianna, they
both would be in danger and it was too much to risk the wrath of the most powerful witch in the world.
In the end, all their precautions had been for naught.

Since her death, how many times had he wished they'd had one more night, just one more where he
could've held her and loved her as they'd desired? But it wasn't to be. She was gone and he was left
behind, destined to be alone for the remaining years of his life.

Eternity had never looked so bleak.

Sinjin realized it was time to lay his love to rest in his heart as he'd laid her body to rest in the ground.
His logical mind knew it, but his heart was having the most difficulty.

"I loved ye more than anyone in the world." His traced the blonde sweep of her hair with his gaze.
"Ne'er had I looked upon a beauty such as ye, and ye stole my breath along with my heart."

He retrieved his cup and downed the contents, enjoying the increasingly muzzy sensation that swirled
about his head and dulled his senses. The only time he could bear to remember the past and think about
what he'd lost was when he was drinking. Sober, the pain was far too much to bear.

"But now ye're gone and I'm left here among the living. Wasn't meant to be I guess." His voice was raw
as he set down the empty cup to clutch the frame with both hands. "As long as I live, ne'er will I love
another as I did ye for ye'll always hold my heart. I'll not let another woman touch it."

He cleared his throat. "Mayhap in another life I will see ye once more and we'll walk under the moon
and share our hopes and dreams as we used to. I look forward to that time. Good-bye Bliss, my love,
my friend."

As he crossed the room, he barely noticed when he banged his shin on a low table by the couch. Sliding
his fingers under the frame of a painting hung near the sealed door, he felt for a small latch. Finding it, the
watercolor swung away to reveal a wall safe. Punching numbers into the keypad, the lock released and
the safe door swung open.
Sinjin ignored the stacks of gold coins, some loose and some contained in clear rolls, the bundles of
yellowing packets of papers and several small boxes as he shifted things to make room for the portrait.

He gazed at her face one last time as if to memorize every line, even though he knew her face as well as
his own. As he slid the painting into the niche he'd created behind some old ledgers, a tear slid down his
cheek. Shutting the door, he moved the watercolor back into place, sealing her in darkness along with his
memories.

New York, NY

No...it can't be. She couldnot be this lucky...

Elena Vasquez set the wooden lid on the desk, her gaze glued to the contents of the box now partially
revealed. Midnight blue velvet shrouded the item in the box, but the cloth was rumpled as if it had been
hastily replaced. Bunched on one side, the top layer failed to hide its secrets completely. Through a gap
in the fabric, the corner of a book was visible.

Heart pounding, she pulled the book and its velvet shroud from the box and set it on the desk next to the
lid. The velvet slid away as if the book itself could no longer bear to be confined. Her breath caught as
the worn brown leather cover was revealed in the dim light from the desk lamp.

She pulled a small flashlight from her pants pocket, then hunched over the book to inspect the binding.
Without touching the cover, she noted the gatherings before turning it to open the back cover to study the
endsheet construction.

It was probably Venetian in origin, and at least several hundred years old. She flipped through the pages,
scanning the cramped writing and ink drawings. She could tell from the even edges that all of the pages
appeared to be intact. She closed the book. The edges of the cover and the pages were worn as if they'd
been well used over the centuries yet competently maintained.

The leather was scarred but not outrageously so and, judging from the dull gleam and supple leather of
the cover, someone had known what he or she was doing with regard to the proper care of antique
books. Contents notwithstanding, the value of the book was minimal as there was no illumination, no
rubification and the binding wasn't gilt.

She flicked the light off as she straightened, tucking the flashlight back into the pocket of her form-fitting
cargo pants, careful to run her finger over the Velcro flap to secure it. Nothing was worse than attempting
a graceful exit only to have something fall out of her pockets and create a racket. It took only one stunt
like that to end a career and quite possibly a life.

Right now, she was trying to save her life, not end it.

If this book was the famed diary of Elsabeth, it was much, much more than just any antique book and its
value went well beyond monetary. To some, this book possessed destructive powers of untold
dimensions. It held the knowledge to annihilate the life of every preternatural who walked the earth.

To others, those like her; this book offered a second chance at life. A normal, mortal life. The life she
craved to return to. To both sides of the battle, its value was priceless.
 Her fingertips ached to stroke the leather without the protective barrier of her calfskin gloves. Any
well-schooled burglar, and she had learned at the knee of the best, knew lesson one was to keep all
gloves and clothing in place to enable a clean getaway. Even though she knew it was foolish to the
extreme, she removed her glove and gave in to her temptation.

An unfamiliar trickle of ice moved up her arm as she brushed bare fingers over the cover. The hairs on
the back of her neck stood at attention as a low growl formed in her chest. Startled, she withdrew her
hand, her eyes darting around the room, looking for any new threat to her safety.

Lifting her head, she scented the air. The myriad of aromas, tangled to the human perception, were
sharp. Each one was distinct to her werewolf senses. Wood, leather, paper, dust, human sweat, stale
coffee, cigarette smoke, burnt wood from the fireplace and the sharp tang of gun solvent. Underlying it all
was the scent of evil, a scent of which she was very familiar.

Reassured that all was as it should be, Elena sank into the wide seat of the desk chair, her gaze returning
to the book. The age was right, now to check the contents. She had to know if this was the diary before
she did anything stupid like steal a Venetian book of erotica or treatises on the rights of man.

Opening the cover, she randomly selected a page, relieved to see it written in English.

Late this eve my child and I stole from our home to pay a visit to Arianwen, the local wise
woman. I told her of the changes I'd seen overcome Manfred and the fears I have for my son.
Everyday Manfred grows more irrational as he pursues the dark path. I feel the darkness closing
in upon us.

I love my son Niall, he's all that I hold dear and I fear for his safety. Each hour that passes he
becomes more aware of the world around him and as he does, my fear increases as well. How
long until Manfred discovers my shameful secret, the curse I have brought upon my house, my
son, my heart?

I long to take my son and disappear into the darkness but Arianwen cautions me against that.
She said Niall has a great destiny to fulfill and Manfred is a key. As his mother, it is my duty to see
my son through it.

For him and only him, I bide my time.

Elena allowed the cover to close. Her heart leapt into her throat as the knowledge sank in. The book
was genuine, or a copy at least. Elsabeth, the author of the diary, was the first and only wife of Mikhail,
the vampire who currently waged war upon the Council of Elders.

Manfred was Mikhail's human name and Niall was Elsabeth and Mikhail's son. The current wild rumor
among the preternaturals was that Renault, the oh-so-reclusive werecat, was actually their son. Wouldn't
that add quite the twist in the ongoing dramas?

She picked up the diary. Contained in this book was the key to the secrets of the Shadow Dwellers. It
was hard to believe that this little diary had caused the death of so many in the pursuit of its knowledge.
Now it was in her hands. Many wouldn't think twice of killing her to possess it, not that she was afraid;
she'd never run from a fight in her life.

The other preternaturals, the vampires, revenants, were-cats and witches, never did understand what
was really important in life. In the past ten years, they'd constantly gotten themselves into a tangle over
one thing or another and almost all of it added up to nothing. That was the main reason why the
werewolves refused to join the society of the Shadow Dwellers. In Elena's opinion, the theatrics were a
bit much and the majority of her fellow wolves agreed with her.

Regardless of how she felt about the Shadow Dwellers, possession of the book brought forth the
question of what to do with it. Seeing as the wolves weren't part of the current brouhaha, a smart wolf
would turn and walk away from the diary and the problems it presented. However, with things being as
they were, in its current hands, the book would surely mean the destruction of many. Being the relatively
moral creature that she was, when it suited her that is, Elena wouldn't abide needless death. Even though
vampires were already dead, they were alive in some sense and she wouldn't be a party to their
destruction.

Now the were-cats were another matter.

A slow smile curved her mouth. The destruction of the were-cats, skittish creatures that they were,
wouldn't break her heart. They were a prissy bunch to begin with and they gave all the were-creatures a
bad name. As far as she and the other werewolves were concerned, putting them all on a boat to
Timbuktu and then sinking it was a perfect solution.

Her smile faded. No, that wasn't true. She didn't wish the were-cats ill. She glanced at the unconscious
man lying on the floor a few feet from the door. Unlike some, she went out of her way to avoid hurting
people, innocent people at least. The man on the floor was anything but innocent; his soul was awash
with the blood of his gullible victims.

Miles lay on the Persian carpet like so much discarded clothing. A revenant and a demon of the first
water; a man who walked in the darkness and took great delight in torturing people with his intellect and
physical strength. This time, he'd lost the battle. That would teach him to threaten someone who could
fight back on his terms.

Anyway, it was his own fault he'd ended up in such an undignified position. The damn fool wouldn't have
a huge knot on his head if he'd stayed in bed where he should have been at five a.m. She'd kept his house
under surveillance for two weeks in order to learn his schedule, the patterns of his life. On this very night,
the one she'd decided to make entry to his house, what did this foolish man decide to do? Get up early.
He'd not done that before, not even once. Consequently, she'd had to conk him over the head to prevent
him from interrupting her work.

"Men. Just goes to show you can't trust them," she muttered.

A moan came from Miles and he stirred ever so slightly, signaling that it was time to vacate the premises.
She carefully rewrapped the book in its velvet shroud before tucking it into the carved box and securing
the lid.

Whatever she ultimately decided to do with this artifact, she wasn't about to leave it behind. In the
current unholy war being waged between the preternaturals and the rogue Mikhail, Miles had sided with
the vampire and, in their hands, this book would only lead to the destruction of more lives.

She rose from her seat and tucked the box into the bottom of her small leather backpack. On top of the
box she placed the other items of value she'd opted to liberate from the unconscious man, taking care
that nothing would get damaged in transit.

Slipping on the pack, she turned off the desk lamp, her acute werewolf senses kicking in as her night
vision took over. Stepping over Miles, Elena made her exit, her pack filled with the Paul Revere silver
teapot she'd been engaged to procure, and the future of the preternatural world on her shoulders. In her
possession, she might be able to use the knowledge the diary contained to resurrect a life.

Her own.

Chapter 2
New Orleans, Louisiana

Early May

Sinjin didn't know her name nor where she was from, as they'd never spoken. All he knew was that she
drank chardonnay, had a passion for Cajun food and she had the most beautiful legs he'd ever seen.

For the past week, his mystery woman had come into the Chat Noir around the same time every
evening. She'd be carrying a backpack full of books and she'd take the last table on the left near the
windows. She'd order either wine or coffee, and she'd pour over her books and make copious notes as
she ate her dirty rice or shrimp étouffée. He'd never seen her speak to anyone other than her server and
when the few brave men who dared to approach her did attempt to speak to her, she'd freeze them with
a cool look and a polite shake of her dark head.

She was elegant, beautiful, and remote. And he wanted her.

Sinjin didn't even realize he was watching for her until Julius, his head bartender, interrupted his musing.

"Are you waiting for someone, boss?" he asked.

Sinjin picked up the bar towel and wiped down the already spotless bar. "Nay. Why do ye ask?"

"You keep looking at the door, then back to your watch." Julius opened the cooler and retrieved a case
of beer, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. "I just thought you were looking for someone." He
carried the case into the other public room of the Chat Noir that functioned as a nightclub.

Was he waiting for his mystery woman? Sinjin rinsed out the cloth and tossed it in the laundry bin. There
wasn't much else to do, it was a slow night at the Chat due to an unseasonable cold spell that kept
people in their homes. Only the tourists were haunting Bourbon Street in this weather. Was his mystery
woman a tourist?

There was no doubt in his mind that he'd grown enamored of her from afar. He'd noticed her the first
time she'd come to the Chat. She'd arrived at precisely eleven in the evening and she'd been dressed all in
black. That in itself wasn't unusual for his clientele, but her outfit had been concealing rather than
revealing. Black turtleneck, long black skirt and black boots, her only adornment a simple gold necklace.
A gold clip had tamed her dark hair and her dark eyes shadowed behind black-framed glasses.

Since that night she'd come in, claim the corner table as her own, unpack her backpack and make
herself at home. After she'd work for several hours, her toes tapping to the hot jazz playing in the club,
she'd pack up, leave a generous tip and vanish into the night. According to his waitress Tracey, the
woman rarely indulged in idle conversation. She was polite, well-spoken and did not encourage
interaction other than ordering.

Maybe she was shy?

Sinjin pulled the plug on the sinks as he began the process of closing down the restaurant bar, his
movements methodical and mindless. He'd done this so many times it was rote. After he straightened the
coffee area, and replenished the filters, against his will he glanced at the open doors that led out to
Bourbon Street.

No mystery woman.

He glanced at his watch. It was ten after eleven. Maybe she wasn't coming tonight? He wiped down the
front of the espresso machine, trying to ignore the curiously empty pit in his stomach.

He scowled and dropped the dish towel in the sink. Why was he getting so tangled over the appearance
of one woman? Women were plentiful at the Chat. Tall ones, short ones, thin ones, fat ones; anything a
man could want for a long night's entertainment.

He dropped into a crouch to root for packages of napkins and coffee stirrers. In the nightclub he heard
the unmistakable sounds of the band beginning their second set, much to the delight of a small but
enthusiastic crowd.

It had been several weeks since he'd last had a woman. The Chat had been wildly busy and along with
the house he'd just bought and was renovating, he'd been too occupied to consider entertaining women in
his bed.

Could that be what was wrong with him? It was simply an overabundance of testosterone that could be
easily taken care of. He broke open a paper-wrapped package of napkins to restock the holder. An
evening of romping in bed with a beautiful blonde and her bountiful D cups would straighten him right out.
Then he could quit obsessing over a strange woman with skin like cream and hair as dark as night.

Maybe then he would quit wondering what she'd taste like. Dark temptation? Sheer innocence? Would
she laugh in bed or was she one of those serious ones who turned out the lights and jumped under the
covers lest he see any inch of pale flesh that wasn't completely taut and toned? Maybe she...

Disgusted with the direction his thoughts had taken, he crumpled the brown paper and tossed it into the
trash. He turned to grab another package as a flash of black near the doorway caught his eye. His
muscles tightened as he recognized her.

His mystery woman had arrived.

She stood by Tracey, towering over the petite, redheaded waitress by several inches. She was dressed
in slim black pants and a black turtleneck with some sort of shawl the color of pink roses draped over
her head and shoulders. Her black bag was in place as were her glasses.
 A low throb of excitement ignited in his gut as he released a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.
Tracey ushered the woman to her usual spot in the corner of the restaurant. The woman gave the
waitress a bright smile and said something that caused her to nod in response before turning away to
approach him.

"I have an order," Tracey said. "Do you want me to get it from the club since you're closing up?"

"Nay, I'll get it." Sinjin closed the box of stirrers and tucked it under the bar. "I'm not done closing."

Her brow arched. "Uh huh." Tracey's smile was slow. "I need a glass of the chardonnay for the lady."

"Coming right up." Sinjin selected a wine glass from the overhead rack, not sure he liked the glint in her
eye.

"She's becoming quite a regular."

"Who?" he asked, deliberately being obtuse. He uncorked the bottle and filled the glass.

"You know who as well as I do." Tracey slid off the stool. "Oh my, I forgot to put her food order in."
She fluttered her lashes as she gave him a teasing smile. "You'll just have to take her drink to her."

Sinjin chuckled as his saucy waitress slipped into the kitchen. Tracey was popular with the clients as well
as the staff. Her big heart and wicked sense of humor made her a fun working companion. She loved
nothing more than to dabble in other people's love lives. If this worked out, he would have to thank her
later.

He picked up the glass and walked toward his mystery woman. She sat at her table, head down as she
read the open book in front of her. Even white teeth dug into her lower lip and he wondered what she
was reading to cause her to bite her lip like that.

Slender fingers toyed with an errant curl as her other hand lightly tapped an ink pen against her
notebook. Her low-heeled sandal hung from a red-painted toe as she wiggled her foot to the beat of an
old Miles Davis song. She'd removed the shawl to drape it over the chair next to her. Beneath her
turtleneck, he noticed she wasn't wearing a bra. Heat coiled in his gut. Her nipples were clearly outlined
by the thin fabric and he was struck by a desire to pull her from the chair and taste them.

Stifling a curse, he walked past her toward the waitress stand. He couldn't walk up to her with a raging
erection. Even if he was wearing the small bar apron, his jeans and the square of white cotton wouldn't
hide what was happening below his waist.

With great effort, he managed to chill his heated blood by mentally reviewing his dry goods order for the
morning. Nothing could calm him faster than a contemplation of cake flour and baking soda.

When his body was under control again, he approached her. "Yer wine," he said. Watch her have the
voice of a teenybopper. No one with this exterior package could be graced with a sexy voice as well.

Her head popped up and a pair of eyes the color of midnight behind her glasses impaled him. Deep and
rich, they reminded him of the velvet night sky in his beloved Highlands.

"Thank you very much." She flashed him a quick, impersonal smile. "This is much appreciated."
 No, she definitely did not have the voice of a child. Low and sexy, her voice was that of a siren. It spoke
of many nights in smoke-filled clubs listening to jazz to be followed with long hours on wrinkled sheets,
limbs entwined, voice straining as she took her pleasure.

Heat pooled in his groin as his cock strained against the fly of his jeans. Sinjin loved nothing more than a
seduction and the blinding rush brought on by sexual temptation. The quest to discover what a woman
desired sexually was one that he relished. And when he did, how he set about ruining her for other men...

"Can I have my wine now?"

He blinked, the cloud of desire fading as he looked into her quizzical gaze. He'd been ruminating about
getting her into bed while holding her wine hostage. Now that was smooth.

He set the glass in front of her. "Can I get ye anything else?"

"No, thank you. I have everything I need." She dropped her head and returned her attention to her
book, effectively dismissing him.

Sinjin gritted his teeth as he stalked to the bar. In his entire life he couldn't remember anyone ever
dismissing him as she had. Never. It wasn't that women always found him irresistible, but they certainly
didn't blow him off like that. He assumed his usual position behind the bar. Well, that was that.

Ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut, he recorked the bottle of wine and returned it to the cooler.

"Did you make any headway?"

He turned to see Tracey, an organic green salad in her hand and an expectant smile on her face. "Don't
ask," he muttered.

Her eyes widened. "Youstruck out?" She glanced over her shoulder at the object of their conversation.
"She must be made of stone."

He couldn't prevent the grin that crossed his face. That was Tracey, loyal to the last. He glanced at the
woman as his waitress delivered her salad. Her smile was brief but it lit her whole face and once again he
felt an almost physical pull.

She might be made of stone, but water could breach her hardened exterior. It would just take time.

Vivian raised her head from the book she'd been studying. It was getting late and she was wearing
down. The music was fabulous, the wine divine, but it was time to call it a night and head back to her
hotel before she fell asleep on the table.

She slid the bookmark in between the pages and closed the book. Doing research for Erihn, her
romance writer friend, was more interesting than she'd thought it would be. Who'd have thought she'd
enjoy reading about voodoo, voodun and witchcraft?

She opened her backpack and slid the book inside along with her notepad and pens. Erihn could do her
own research, but she'd thought she was doing Vivian a favor in giving her something to keep busy. Ever
since Mel's death, all of the girls were watching her as if she were some sort of lab experiment gone
awry. Vivian knew the last few months her behavior had been somewhat frantic, jumping from place to
place and activity to activity. But she'd been desperate to find balance in a world gone awry.

The last few months she'd spent isolated in a variety of unfamiliar cities, exploring them and hoping, in
turn, they'd help her rediscover herself. Right now she wasn't sure if any of it had succeeded. She'd
enjoyed soaking up the atmosphere in each of the cities she'd visited, but she didn't know any more
about what she wanted from life than she'd known the day she'd stood by Mel's coffin saying her final
good-bye.

Vivian picked up her new shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. Earlier in the day, she'd gone on
a mini-shopping spree at a local mall, adding the soft cashmere wrap to her meager stash of accessories.
When she'd decided to go on this trip, she'd planned it with minimalism in mind. Several outfits, very little
jewelry, her journal, cell phone and some books were all that she traveled with. Luckily she'd had sense
to bring her credit cards, as they'd come in handy today. Until now she'd paid cash for pretty much
everything, but her afternoon purchases would have completely exhausted her cash reserve.

She zipped her pack shut and dropped it on the floor beside her feet. All she had to do was settle her
tab and she could be on her way. She glanced around the room for her waitress, but the only other
person in attendance was the scowling bartender behind the bar.

She rose from her seat and swung her pack onto her back. He'd been smiling when she'd arrived. What
had happened to paint that horrible scowl on such a handsome face? He really was quite good looking.
He was big, and seemed impressively tall. A white T-shirt strained over his well-defined chest,
showcasing his musculature. His profile was proud and chiseled with a high forehead, squared chin and
masculine cheekbones. Even his irritated expression couldn't detract from his dark good looks.

Tall, dark and good-looking were her usual type, tall, dark and surly was not.

"Excuse me," she said to him.

The bartender turned and she received the full force of his green-eyed gaze. She shivered and drew the
shawl tighter around her shoulders as a spark of sexual awareness ignited in her gut. This, she didnot
need right now.

"I would like to settle my bill please."

"Aye. I'll find Tracey for ye."

"Thank you." Vivian climbed onto a barstool as he came out from behind the bar, turning into what she
assumed was the kitchen. She couldn't resist sneaking a peek at his backside as he walked away.

Broad shoulders tapered to a perfect vee at his narrow waist, drawing her gaze down to his delicious,
jean-clad backside. Surly he may be, but he had a grade A prime butt. Her fingers itched to grab that
firm flesh and squeeze.

Okay, so maybe tall dark and surly was a nice package that warranted a second look. Or a touch... or a
bite...

She exhaled noisily as she loosened the shawl. Was it suddenly warm in here? Maybe she should've
skipped that last glass of wine. No, wine never made her this warm before. Could it be that menopause
had finally caught up to her?
 Hopefully that was the problem as the last thing she needed on her journey of rediscovery was yet
another meaningless affair. True, it had been a long time since she'd taken a man into her bed, almost six
months. Since losing her virginity, this was the longest dry spell she'd ever had.

The bartender returned with a slip of paper in his hand. A man that looked like him probably had women
dripping off of him at every turn. The last thing she needed was another good-time boy. He might have a
face that could tempt a saint, but she wasn't breaking her streak of celibacy for a one-night stand with a
cocktail slinging Lothario, even if he was built for a long, hard ride. She swallowed. She was here to find
herself, not carve another notch on her bedpost, no matter how tempting he was.

"Here ye are." He laid the slip on the bar before her.

"Thank you." She fumbled for her fanny pack, silently cursing suddenly thick fingers.

"What brings ye to our fair city?"

"I came here to find myself." What thedevil made her say that? Inwardly she groaned as she pulled out a
pair of twenties, and forced a merry laugh. "I mean-"

"Were ye lost?"

Vivian raised her head, her gaze meeting his and a curious sense of homecoming swept through her.
Why did she suddenly feel as if she could tell this man anything and he'd understand her? She shook that
thought away. What foolishness was this?

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Did ye wake up one morning to realize that ye was absent from yer own life?" He braced his muscular
forearms on the bar and leaned toward her. "Or was it insidious? A piece of ye slipping away bit by bit
until only a shadow remained in yer place?"

Her throat tightened. How could this stranger know what was going on inside of her? His green eyes
were kind, as if he too knew exactly what she was going through.

She cleared her throat. "I looked around one day and realized that I'd become a stranger in my own life.
I was going through the motions, but no longer participating in my existence. I came here to reclaim my
life and hopefully a piece of myself in the process."

Feeling raw and not believing she'd just spoken so boldly and truthfully to a complete stranger, she
slipped from the stool, wanting only the freedom of the New Orleans night to hide her pain. As she
neared the door, she heard him speak.

"So did I."

Vivian turned, her gaze locked on his handsome face. She saw her pain mirrored in his eyes. Her heart
gave a queer little jerk and she stepped over the threshold and into the darkness.

Heart pounding, she moved quickly up the street, people and storefronts blurred before her eyes. How
had he zeroed in so quickly on her secret pain? She shivered. And what had possessed her to say any of
that in the first place? She wasn't the type of person to encourage intimacies unless she was well
acquainted with someone first. In the past few months, not one person had gotten as much information
out of her as a stranger in a bar had in a few moments.

Spying a narrow, dimly lit side street, she moved toward it as a sob caught in her throat. She was in
danger of falling apart on a public street and that she couldn't have. As she turned the corner, the crowds
were nonexistent and she could pull herself together without being observed by passersby.

Leaning against the wall, she gulped the cool night air, willing herself to calm. Why was she falling apart?
A few insightful words from a complete stranger and she was a sobbing mess. This was unacceptable
behavior for the daughter of Bradford Carrington.

When she felt her emotions were a little more under control, she pushed away from the wall. Continuing
in the general direction of her hotel, Vivian walked, head down.

Maybe it was a mistake to come to Louisiana. Maybe she should've gone back to New York after all.
She could do the research there as well as here, and she could resume her charitable activities as well.
She wouldn't be able to visit some of the historic places that only New Orleans could afford her research,
but she could probably get photos of the stuff she needed.

Who are you running from?

Vivian scowled and kicked a crumpled paper cup out of her way. That was a good question. Was she
running from herself? Her past? Her future? Or was she running from a sexy bartender who was too
perceptive for his own good?

She slowed, suddenly weary of everything and everyone in her life. The urge to go back to her hotel and
climb into bed for a week was strong and appealing. Maybe she could-

"Hey!"

Vivian turned at the shout. The bartender from the Chat Noir stood at the corner of Bourbon Street
waving to get her attention. She frowned. Had she forgotten something? She took a step toward him
when someone grabbed her from behind and knocked her to the ground. She put up her hands to
prevent her face from hitting the brick sidewalk as hands tugged at her waist. But before she could even
comprehend what was happening, her fanny pack was cut from her body and she heard the sound of
running feet.

She scowled and lunged to her feet in time to see a retreating figure with her fanny pack tucked under
one arm like a football. Her blood boiled. How dare someone steal her pack? No way was some little
prick going to get away with pilfering from Vivian Carrington.

She ran after the thief, her open-toed sandals impeding her gait. After a few yards her body naturally fell
into a familiar rhythm and she thanked her lucky stars that she'd started jogging several years ago. The
sensation of the heavy backpack bouncing on her back threw her off a bit but she was keeping up at
least.

The thief glanced over his shoulder, his surprise at seeing her obvious when he staggered, giving her a
few precious seconds to gain ground. As he passed a trashcan, his arm snaked out to tumble it over,
forcing Vivian to jump or end up in a heap of smelly trash.

A stitch hit her in the side and she scowled. She wouldn't be able to keep the pace much longer. She
didn't usually jog at such an accelerated speed and it was killing her.

She heard the sound of running feet behind her and she glanced back, half afraid that her thief had an
accomplice. It was the bartender. Vivian wished she could stop running just to watch him for a moment.
Beautiful and fluid, he moved well, a man at home in his own skin and aware of his own abilities. He was
something to behold.

Without warning, an old brick on the sidewalk shifted under her foot and a sharp pain ripped through her
ankle, causing her to fall face down. It happened so fast she could barely comprehend that one minute
she was running and the next she was lying in the middle of the walk, her palms scraped and bleeding.
She looked up in time to see the thief disappear around the corner a half a block ahead.

"Damn!" She smacked the flat of her hand against the sidewalk.

The bartender stopped beside her. "Are ye okay?"

"He stole my purse," she said.

"Aye, I saw him."

"I need it back. All my credit cards, my drivers license, my money is in there."

"Nay, it's not worth getting hurt o'er. All of that stuff is easily replaced." He dropped into a crouch
beside her, and she was irritated to note that he wasn't even breathing hard. She felt like she'd been run
over by a truck.

"Easy for you to say, you still have your wallet." Well aware that she sounded waspish, she
acknowledged his truth with a nod. "You're right, through. It is all easily replaced."

Strong fingers curled around her arm and assisted her to her feet. A tingle of awareness raced through
her limbs and her head felt strangely light. Disturbed, she stepped away, trying not to wince as pain raced
up her leg.

"Are ye hurt?"

"I twisted my ankle." She held up her hands, trying to see the damage in the poor lighting. "I think I
scraped my palms a bit."

His expression turned concerned as he noticed her abraded skin. "We need to get ye cleaned up. Let's
go back to the Chat-"

She shook her head. "I'd rather go to my hotel. I suddenly feel the need to lie down."

He nodded. "Where are ye staying?"

Vivian snorted. "How do I know I can trust you? Maybe you're a serial killer or something."

He tipped his head back and laughed, the unrestrained sound sent a tendril of heat down her spine. Oh,
how she was a sucker for a man with a good laugh. His head dropped, a smile still curving those tempting
lips. "I can assure ye ye'll be safe wi' me."
 Tall, dark and surly was gone and left in his place was Prince Charming. With that sexy accent she was
in serious trouble.

Vivian couldn't prevent an answering smile. "Okay Mr. I'm-Not-A-Serial-Killer, my name is Vivian."

"Damien St. James at yer service. My friends call me Sinjin."

He was way too attractive for her peace of mind and she needed to keep him at a distance or she might
do something foolish like end up in bed with him. "Thank you for coming to my rescue, Mr. St. James."

The glint in his eyes told her that he'd caught her subtle hint. "My pleasure."

Vivian started on her way, leaving him to follow, but her sore ankle hampered her progress. Sinjin
stayed close to her side as they walked and she was very aware of the warmth of his big body. There
was something comforting about walking down an unfamiliar street with a big solid guy beside you.
Something safe. She stumbled and he put his hand on her elbow. When she'd regained her balance, she
pulled away and he made no objection.

Only once did he touch her again, when she'd lurched over the curb as they crossed the street to the
hotel. His strong arm slipped around her waist, anchoring her to his side.

Anticipation sizzled across her skin as they approached the rickety circular doors and she was torn
between needing to shove him away and inviting him upstairs into her bed. She shook her head. Talk
about confused.

Vivian shivered as they stepped into the warmth and spotty light of the lobby. A large dark stain marred
the nondescript carpeting near the door. The scattered chairs in the lobby looked worn as if they were on
the verge of giving up. The only thing in the room that looked healthy were the plants. Her escort looked
around the shabby space, his brow rose.

"Yer're stayinghere ?"

Her chin came up. "Yes. Is there a problem?"

"Nae, no problem."

She looked at her rescuer, trying to ignore the traitorous clamoring of her pulse. "Thank you again, Mr.
St. James."

"I-"

"Ms. Carrington, are you all right?" The night bellman appeared. His perpetually sagging pants and
sweat-stained shirt looked even more unkempt than usually this evening. He held a half-eaten sandwich in
one hand.

"I'm fine thank you," she said.

"Is thisgentleman bothering you, Ms. Carrington?" he asked. "Do I need to contact the authorities?"

"No, actually he came to my rescue."

 The man gave Sinjin a narrow look then shrugged, taking a huge bite out of his sandwich as he turned
away to resume his post near the small television.

"I hope ye suffer nae ill effects from this eve's adventures," he said.

"I second that sentiment." Vivian smiled faintly, feeling aches in all of her muscles. "I don't know how to
thank you."

"Come back to the Chat tomorrow ev'ning. 'Twill be thanks enough."

Vivian blinked. She liked the Chat, the food was good, the music was excellent and the scenery was
getting better with each visit. She knew she should reject his advance and make immediate arrangements
to return to New York, but she couldn't bring herself to say no, not yet.

She nodded. "Tomorrow evening it is."

He flashed her a heart-stopping smile, then captured her hand and raised it to his lips. "I look forward to
it."

His breath was warm on her skin as his mouth touched her, centering over her middle knuckle. His
tongue caressed her skin and her breath rushed from her lungs as he suckled her knuckle. For a moment,
she wished it were another part of her body, not her hand upon which he lavished such attention.

When he released her, his expression self-satisfied as if he could read her mind and the lecherous
thoughts that lived there. "Until tomorrow, Ms. Carrington."

Vivian's heart thudded in her chest as he exited the hotel. Whether she wanted it or not, she had a feeling
she was in for the ride of her life...if she was lucky.

"She's in New Orleans."

Anthony Greer grimaced at the sound of the whispery voice over his cell phone. Several months ago,
when he'd accepted the job to kill a woman, he'd enjoyed the cloak and dagger aspect of not meeting his
employer. Now, after multiple false leads that had sent him tearing all over the United States, he wanted
nothing more than to tell his employer to fuck off. They could have their money back. Putting up with this
horseshit wasn't worth fifty thousand.

"How do you know this?" he asked.

"She used her credit cards to shop this afternoon." A soft chuckle sounded from the other end of the
phone. "How...predictable."

Anthony straightened. This was much more concrete than a gut feeling or a possible sighting. "What part
of New Orleans is she in?"

"She made purchases in the French Quarter. I have someone scanning for use of her credit cards again,
so keep your phone close as I'll call you the moment something comes up."

"I'll be waiting."
His employer chuckled. "How did I know you'd say that? Don't fail me, Anthony. I'm counting on you to
make me rich." The phone clicked in his ear as the connection was dropped.

He tossed the phone onto the seat beside him, anticipation humming through his system. Out of habit, he
reached into his jacket to feel the Sig Sauer snug in his shoulder holster before he reached low to feel the
Baby Glock strapped to his ankle. He was ready to rock and roll.

Anthony was driving toward I-59 and that would take him to I-10, which would lead him directly to the
city. Within seven hours, he'd be in New Orleans, enjoying the nightlife on Bourbon St. as he tracked one
Vivian Carrington, the woman who was going to make him a very rich man.

Chapter 3
When Sinjin had invited Vivian back to the Chat tonight, he'd never envisioned the chaos that would
erupt before she could arrive.

Thanks to four inch spiked heels, his hostess had fallen in the kitchen and twisted her ankle. Sinjin had
been unable to reach any of his other employees to replace her. Due to upcoming college exams, he'd
been running lean for the past few weeks and tonight was destined to be the worst of them all. Already
down a waitress because she'd called in earlier, the hostess was now out along with the busboy who'd
accompanied her to the hospital. The lines to get into the restaurant and the club were equally long and it
was only eight o'clock.

"Tracey, order up!"

Sinjin added a fresh bowl of pretzel mix to her laden tray when she appeared. Clad in a black cotton
dress that looked as if it had been painted to her lovely curves and a red silk choker that all of his female
employees wore, Tracey gave him a huge smile, showing off her sharp canines. "You should be happy
tonight, boss. The crowds are going to be wicked."

"I could use a wee bit less wickedness and a few more hands. Grab Julius and send him ov'r, will ye?"
Sinjin grabbed a pair of cocktail glasses and began washing them in the small sink. "I'm running out of
Killian's and I need him to restock the coolers."

"Gotcha." Tracey threw a glance over her shoulder at the crowded entrance before she met his gaze.
"She isn't here yet. Even with this crush, no one could sneak in with you watching the door like a hawk,
even a skinny woman like her."

"She's nae skinny."

"Yes she is. She has nothing for a man to hold onto. I personally think it's that touch- me-not exterior she
exudes. It draws men like flies."

"Men do appreciate a challenge," he acknowledged. Sinjin thought of Vivian's slim curves. She may not
be very big but she had more than enough for a man to hold. "Curves or nae, she intrigues me."
 "Well, well, isn't this a switch? Usually you're the one that does the flustering." Hefting the tray, she
turned away humming "What A Difference A Day Makes" as she walked into the churning crowd.

Sinjin busied himself mixing drinks, his movements automatic as he made a pitcher of blue margaritas.
Since coming to New Orleans, he'd indulged in a variety of strictly physical relationships, but no one had
attracted him on a psychological level until now. He didn't know what it was about Vivian that drew him.
She was beautiful, but beautiful women were plentiful. No, it was more than that. It was something
deeper, more basic, a gut level attraction that he felt when he looked at her and it was all he could do to
not reach out and touch her.

It was also obvious to him that she was either running from or running to something. Was she in some
kind of trouble?

Julius appeared with two cases of beer just as Sinjin finished the margarita order. He helped the tall man
restock the cooler before slipping out from behind the bar. Moving easily through the crowd, he nodded
at several women who greeted him, not pausing for a conversation as he would have done in the past.

The restaurant was filled to capacity with more waiting for tables. Crowds of at least thirty people were
clustered in the doorway and, in the small waiting area, most with cocktail glasses in their hands. All in all,
tonight would be a financial success for the Chat and that was good news. Thanks to Mardi Gras, the
restaurant had shown its first profits within months of opening and he was determined it stay that way.

With the doors wide open to Bourbon Street, Sinjin caught a whiff of the heady night breeze. The cool
spell had broken and, even though it was early in the year, the air was already heavy with humidity and
the faint scent of ozone. A storm was coming. He lifted his head to scent the air. The mingled aromas of
sea, too many people in a confined place and spilled liquor swirled through his senses.

There was nothing like New Orleans in early May.

May.

What day was it? He frowned. The biweekly alcohol delivery had occurred this afternoon; he'd found
the invoices on his desk when he'd arrived. That would make it Thursday, the first of May. He stepped
into a quiet corner behind some tall potted plants, which were used to camouflage the bathroom doors.

Bliss.

He closed his eyes as an echo of pain moved through his chest. It was six months today that he'd buried
her in the Highlands. And that very next day, he'd left his beloved home without looking back.

Every day he missed her more, but slowly he'd embarked on pulling his life back together. Reassembling
some normality and moving on. It hadn't been easy, but necessary. In the past few months he'd even
begun dating, if it could be called dating. A flurry of faceless women had made their way through his bed
and he'd taken great physical pleasure in all of them.

But he allowed none to touch his heart.

And that was exactly how he wanted it. Loving and losing once was painful enough and he had no desire
to indulge again. He was content with the physical solace the myriad of ladies offered him. The rest of his
life was filled with his business, renovating his home, his friends and the war that loomed in the
preternatural world. He didn't need or want anything else distracting him.
Vivian.

The odor of food, liquor and perfume faded into the background as her scent wrapped itself around his
senses. His blood stirred. A sensual blend of ginger, vanilla and warm woman, he looked over in time to
see her entering the Chat.

Dressed in a sleeveless red silk blouse, short black skirt and high heels, he sized up her stocking-clad
limbs with pure male appreciation. Long, slim and toned, she had legs that looked a mile long and he
wanted to kiss every inch of them. His groin tightened at the image of those fabulous legs draped over his
shoulders as he paid proper homage to her beautiful curves. He could only hope his jeans were sturdy
this evening as he had a feeling the zipper was going to be tested to its limits.

The overhead light cast fingers of blue light through her dark hair. Twisted high on the back of her head
in a careless knot, it exposed the slender curve of her throat. He licked his lips.

Yes, he definitely wanted to get to know Ms. Vivian Carrington better.

He stepped out from behind the plants and her gaze moved over him. He caught the wariness that
lingered in her eyes even as her lips curved into a smile.

"I'm glad ye came," he said.

"So am I."

"How are yer palms?"

"Much better as is my ankle."

He cast an appreciative glance at her slim ankles. "I didna figure ye'd wear those shoes if yer ankle was
still bothering ye."

"You're right about that. A sore ankle and these stilts would equal a disaster." She glanced around the
crowded room. "This looks like the place to be this evening."

He nodded. "I got lucky. A few months ago I booked a new jazz trio for the club. It just so happens that
a local station put them on heavy rotation and now people are arriving in droves to see their first set." He
grinned. "I expect the next two weeks to be completely insane around here."

"That's good for business."

"Aye, and I couldna be more pleased." Sinjin saw Julius wave at him and he took Vivian's arm and
steered her toward the bar, trying not to notice how warm and fragrant her skin was. "We've also had a
few wee calamities. My hostess twisted her ankle and a bus boy took her to the hospital. To top if off
one of my waitresses called in sick. So on my most crowded night so far, I'm short three people."

"Sounds like you have your hands full." She started to pull away. "Maybe I should come back another
time?"

"Nae, please don't go. I'd like ye to stay and enjoy yerself, maybe catch the show and have a bit of
dinner wi' me."
She laughed as she slid onto a barstool. "Is this how you treat all of your customers who suffer a
mugging?"

He shook his head. "Just the special ones."

"You're smooth, Mr. St. James." He caught the gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. "Very smooth."

"I aim to please." He stepped behind the bar. "Did ye make a police report about yer purse?"

"Yes and all of my cards have been reported as stolen and the replacements are on their way."

"Good."

"Excuse me, Sinjin," Julius said. "We're low on rum and I need to run downstairs for some more."

He nodded. "I'll take over for now." He turned toward Vivian. "Can I get ye a drink?"

"Chardonnay?"

"Kendall Jackson?"

"Lovely, thank you."

Sinjin poured her a glass of wine then handed it to her. Their fingers brushed, sending a lightning bolt of
warmth up his arm. He was well acquainted with what lust felt like, the fiery temptation coupled with a
rush of anticipation. This wasn't just lust; it was more, much more.

He gave her a heated look before he was pulled back to the business of bartending. How much time
passed he didn't know as orders kept piling up with customers. A dropped tray of food caused a minor
calamity as his employees scrambled to clean it up and repair the damage in record time. He barely
managed to snatch a word with Vivian from time to time though he was aware of her presence every
second.

When the band started their first set at nine, the crowd in the bar had thinned and he could take his first
breather. Turning toward her end of the bar, he found her seat vacant, only a half- empty wineglass in her
place.

Vivian had grown bored with the television in the bar. A newsflash had disturbed her mellow frame of
mind. Some poor woman had been killed, her throat slit while she'd been shopping at a local mall. The
televised image was a bloodstain on the tiled floor, her packages around where she'd landed. Moments
later they flashed the victim's photo, curly dark hair, dark eyes and a smile from ear to ear.

When this woman had left her house that morning, had she had an inkling that she'd never return? Was
there anyone to mourn her passing?

Vivian turned away from her troubling thoughts to watch Sinjin work. With a neat white apron around
his slim waist and a perpetual smile on his face, he worked efficiently as he poured drinks, brewed coffee
and directed his staff with a nod of his head or a slight hand gesture. Even short-staffed, the Chat was
relatively well ordered. The major clog seemed to be the absence of the hostess. There was a definite
delay between tables being cleared and prepped and the customers being seated.

Vivian glanced at Sinjin, finding him elbow deep in orders and they were still piling higher. Customers
stood two deep around the bar, money in hand as they waited for their cocktails. Since it didn't look as if
she'd have any time soon with him, she might as well make herself useful.

She slid off her stool, leaving her unfinished wine on the bar. After tucking her backpack behind the bar
and out of the way so no one would trip over it, she approached a harried looking Tracey.

"I'm here to help." She picked up a handful of menus. "Where do I start?"

Tracey gave her an up and down look, taking in the silk blouse and Prada heels. "You'regoing to act as
hostess?"

"Think I can't?" Vivian gave her an arched look. Telling Vivian Carrington that she couldn't do something
was akin to tossing a match in a haystack, someone was going to get scorched.

"I think you'll get dirty," Tracey shot back.

"Well, we'll see about that." Vivian edged the waitress away from the hostess stand. Two sheets of
paper lay on the podium-style stand. One was a layout of the restaurant seating and it was covered in
plastic with X's over the occupied tables. The other was a handwritten sheet of parties waiting to be
seated, time of arrival and number in the party neatly listed.

Glancing over the dining area, she saw that a table set for four had just been prepped. She ran her finger
down the list and located the first small group waiting for seating. Drawing upon her considerable
restaurant experience as a diner, she picked up three menus. "Caldwell, party of three."

As they stepped forward, she marked them off the list and x-ed the table on the layout before escorting
them to their table. After they were seated, she presented them with menus and a promise that their
waitress would arrive shortly. Thrilled that she'd seated her first party, she returned to the hostess stand
with a brilliant smile on her face.

"That went well enough, didn't it?" She held her hands toward Tracey. "See, no dirt either."

The waitress rolled her eyes. "You forgot the silverware."

Vivian scowled as Tracey walked off to take their drink orders. Well, live and learn. As another table
was cleared, Vivian consulted her list and this time she didn't forget the silverware.

The evening passed quickly as she led group after group to their respective tables. She fielded
complaints and compliments alike and, luckily, the latter far outweighed the former. After the first hour,
she really got into the swing of life at the Chat and time passed quickly.

Three hours later with every minute spent in her favorite Prada heels, she would have killed for a pair of
house slippers. Along with her aching feet, she'd acquired a whole new appreciation for the food service
industry. Before it would never have occurred to her the labor involved in preparing and serving the lavish
presentations she called dinner. Now, she knew how much work went into every morsel and it was a
lesson she would not soon forget.
 The four waitresses worked as a well-ordered team, efficiently taking care of patrons and giving Vivian a
hand when she bungled things, such as when she tried to seat ten people at a table set for four. Within
seconds, the waitresses had rearranged the tables to accommodate the party and Tracey had only
smirked once.

As the restaurant crowd thinned around midnight, Vivian sank gratefully into a chair in her favorite
corner. Tipping her head back, she closed her eyes. Never in her life had she been so exhausted. But it
had been fun, surprisingly fun actually. She didn't realize before tonight how introverted she'd become.
Now, thrust into the middle of a busy restaurant and forced to talk with the customers, she'd forgotten
how much she enjoyed dealing with the public. A social creature by nature, she'd allowed herself to
become secluded behind a wall of privilege.

"Ye've certainly earned this."

The sound of Sinjin's sexy voice brought her head up. He laid a silver-domed plate on the table and it
was all she could do to not swoon as he removed the lid and the mouth-watering aroma of pulled pork
rose in the steam.

"Oh, pure heaven. Thank you so much." She forced herself to sit up as she reached for the fork.

"Thank ye. After ye jumped in to lend a hand, things certainly ran smoother."

Vivian grinned. "It was fun." She waved at the other empty chair. "Will you join me?"

"I'd love to."

She took a bite of the tender barbequed pork and couldn't prevent a groan of delight as the meat literally
melted on her tongue. She swallowed. "Aren't you going to eat as well?" she asked as she scooped
another bite with crusty sourdough bread.

"No, I've already eaten."

A young Latino boy approached them and handed Sinjin a small black coffee cup. His dark eyes
widened when he saw Vivian and he gave her a shy smile before leaving as silently as he'd arrived.

Vivian sighed as the taste and texture of perfectly seasoned pork delighted her palate. Silent, she dug
into her food, aware that Sinjin watched her, yet unable to stop herself from gulping down her food like a
common farmhand. She'd never gone hungry in her life, but she'd never felt as ravenous either. Just goes
to show that hard work was good for a body.

"Do ye need a job?"

She laughed as she picked up her tall glass of sweet tea, pleased to find it wasn't the syrupy concoction
that most southerners seemed fond of. "How did you guess?"

"Since ye were robbed, I thought maybe you could use a short-term job. My hostess won't be back for
a few days and that leaves me short handed at a critical time."

Now full, Vivian kicked off her shoes and wiggled her cramped toes. "What would the pay be?"

"Well, we pay more than minimum wage and tips are some of the best in the city or so I'm told."
"Any perks I should know of?"

"Well," a smile curved his mouth, igniting a pit of warmth in her stomach. "We have a few that ye won't
find anywhere else in the city."

"Such as?"

"Ye'll get to spend time with me."

She ran her fingertip around the top of her tea glass. "You think a great deal of yourself, don't you, Mr.
St. James?"

He shrugged. "It has been said before." He reached down and captured her foot, raising it to rest in his
lap. "How about nightly foot rubs?"

Vivian closed her eyes and groaned as he kneaded the balls of her feet, zeroing in on the aches and
soothing them with his big hands. A shiver of pure delight ran through her body. Against the lace of her
bra, her nipples hardened as she relaxed into her chair. She didn't care that she was sprawled in a very
unladylike fashion, her foot in his lap, her legs askew, probably showing an indecent amount of thigh in
public no less. Granted, the restaurant was empty and the club was filled to capacity, but someone
walking through could see them.

As he finished his massage on one foot, she opened her eyes. "Do you think you can get me an interview
with the manager?"

Sinjin chuckled as he captured her other foot and continued the exquisite torture, eliciting another moan
of relief. "I'm pretty sure I can arrange something. I have an in with the boss."

"I'll bet you do."

His strong hands rubbed her ankle, making her more aware of her body than ever. Her legs felt as limp
as noodles as he massaged the back of her calf, the very sensation of his palms against her stockings
stirred feeling between her thighs, and she could feel herself grow moist. Vivian shifted in her chair, more
aware then ever of the subtle friction of her bra against her aroused nipples. She knew he desired her and
she wanted him as well. The question wasn't about desire, as they seemed to possess that in spades. The
question was what she needed in life and a romp with a man who was only out for a good time wasn't on
her agenda.

Been there, done that.

She forced herself to sit upright, removing her feet from his lap. His small apron did little to hide the
impressive bulge beneath it. No doubt about it, what she was feeling was mutual. But a dead end was still
a dead end, no matter how long the street was.

"I should be getting back." She winced as she pushed her feet into the torturous shoes. The massage had
been lovely, but within minutes her feet would be hurting again.

"Shall I walk ye back to the hotel?" Sinjin rose as she did, crowding her. The heat radiated off him. His
height and obvious strength were impressive as he towered over her.
 "No, thanks." She stepped away and forced a carefree laugh. "I will need a cab, please. I don't think I
can walk that far this evening."

He smiled. "A cab it is then."

Vivian retrieved her bag, her gaze once more drawn to the television as they replayed a snippet of the
mall murder scene. Marked by yellow crime scene tape, the spill of blood was stark against the pale
marble and the whole scene had a surreal feel to it. What made one human want to destroy another in
such a violent fashion?

"Yer ride is here."

Vivian turned away from the disturbing scene on the television.

"When will I see ye again?" Sinjin asked. He slipped her hand into the crook of his arm as he escorted
her outside.

"Tomorrow, I'll be here at five to give you a hand."

"Ye decided to take the job?" he said.

"I did. In exchange for dinner each day plus a percentage of the tips."

He nodded. "I think we can work something out."

She flashed him a quick smile as she slipped into the cab. "Except this time I'll be wearing more
comfortable shoes."

Sinjin shut the door then leaned in the open window. His lips brushed her cheek, sending a jolt of heat
through her system. "Take good care of her, she's very special," he said to the cabbie.

Raising a hand to her tingling cheek, the cab slid away from the curb and Vivian couldn't prevent the
delighted chuckle that erupted. She'd done it! Her purse had been stolen but she wasn't destitute, not yet.
She didn't have to call Stephan and have him wire her money as she'd landed a job. Granted, she
wouldn't get rich but she'd manage. Her shabby little hotel was certainly cheap, which was why she'd
picked it. For a woman used to suites in the finest hotels in the world, her little dive away from home was
quite the come down.

She grinned. She could get along just fine without her trust funds and with every day that passed, she
was closer to discovering the woman she was meant to be.

"What do you mean, you don't have the diary?" Mikhail clenched the arm of his chair and felt the glossy
wood fracture in his grip.

Miles stood before him, ramrod straight and expressionless. "It was stolen from my home."

"Which raises the question as to why you didn't return the diary to me immediately, but we'll address that
later." The vampire forced himself to release his grip on the chair. Silently he cursed his blindness and
physical frailty. He felt the fear and distaste he aroused in Miles, but he wanted tosee the revenant's face.
 For now, until he was healed, he would have to rely on his instincts and he didn't like what they were
telling him now.

"How will you go about rectifying this situation?" he asked.

"I have a lead on the perpetrator. There have been a series of burglaries in the area. The profile fits this
crime as well. It is my belief that the burglar who stole the book is the same person. The authorities are
working under the theory it's a professional."

Mikhail made a sound of impatience. "Why would a cat burglar steal a book? It has no monetary value
outside of those who realize what it contains."

"Exactly. This person knew exactly what the book is or they wouldn't have taken it."

Mikhail rubbed his chin, running his finger over the now-familiar pattern of the scar tissue. Disgusted, he
dropped his hand. Would he never get used to his disfigurement? "So it's one of us?"

"It would appear so."

That certainly added a new wrinkle to the puzzle. If the diary were now in the hands of another
preternatural, the question became what would they do with it? It would stand to reason that, if they were
loyal to him, they'd have contacted him already to sell the diary. If they were loyal to Alexandre would
the turn it over to him? Did that mean he had the book already?

If Mikhail were really lucky, the book would have fallen into the hands of one of those who stood
undecided in the battle, a witch or a werewolf. Neither line had declared their allegiance, though the
witches seemed to be leaning toward Alexandre and his ilk.

"And you have a plan for tracking this person down?"

"It is already in the works."

"And I will have the diary back when?"

"One week."

But, could he be trusted? Miles had come to him voluntarily, granted; but he'd disobeyed orders to
return the book. Obviously the revenant had other plans, but what exactly were they?

"That would be acceptable." Mikhail rose from his chair. "In order to speed you along in your quest, I'll
have one of my most trusted people aid you."

He heard the scrape of Miles' feet on the floor. "That isn't necessary-"

"But I insist." The vampire smiled and he knew it wasn't pleasant. "Gerald, you will aid Miles in his
reconnaissance mission."

"Yes Master." Mikhail felt the air move across his skin as Gerald bowed. "We will not fail you."

Mikhail's gaze shifted to where Miles stood, a tall dim shadow among shadows and felt the anger
emanating from the revenant. Before Cass' death, Miles had enjoyed an almost equal relationship with his
former companion. Now he was but another drone who'd have to work his way up the ranks of
Mikhail's army. They both knew it and it grated on the revenant. Mikhail was sure it gave him many hours
of unease. While he enjoyed Miles' discomfort, it also made him an uneasy ally at best.

"Miles, I would recommend, in order for you to have continued good health, that you do not fail me
again."

"Yes, sir."

"Master," Mikhail prompted.

"Yes...Master."

The tension was evident in Miles' voice and Mikhail could barely prevent a gleeful grin. Oh, how he was
enjoying this. He finally had the bastard right where he wanted him.

"You're dismissed."

Mikhail sank into his chair to listen as the two men left the room, the door closing behind them. Satisfied
that he was alone, he tipped his head back and gave a bark of laughter, not caring if anyone else heard
him or not.

Slowly but surely, things were falling into place. His army was being reassembled and the diary would be
returned to it's rightful owner, him. Once Miles had proved his allegiance, Mikhail would decide his fate
and things could move forward. Soon he would lead the council and all would be as it should.

Chapter 4
From behind the bar, Sinjin watched Vivian as she expertly wove her way through the crowds to escort
a party to their table. She was dressed as the other waitresses, a white shirt, black skirt and the requisite
red silk choker around her slim throat. She'd pulled her wealth of dark curls into an elegant twist. Gone
were her torturous heels and in their place she wore a pair of black flats.

After a few missteps at the beginning of her shift, she'd picked things up quickly. She'd tried to enter the
kitchen through the exit door and proceeded to knock a tray of deserts out of a waiter's hand. She'd also
mixed up the decaf with regular coffee for one patron. Other than those minor problems, she was doing a
good job and things were certainly smoother than they'd been the night before. She also certainly made
the environment more scenic.

One of the men she'd just seated leaned close to whisper something to her. She laughed, tilting her head
back she exposed her pale throat to Sinjin's gaze. Hunger ignited in his gut as she patted the man on the
shoulder before she walked away, a smile still gracing her mouth.

"She's good." Tracey's voice startled him.

"Oh yeah?" He feigned indifference by opening the cooler door and taking a quick inventory.
"She seems to have an uncanny instinct for knowing when a table needs something and she doesn't
hesitate to jump in. Under normal circumstances I would guess she'd done this before, but I doubt it."

"Why do ye say that?"

"She comes from money. Her mannerisms and every inch of her body just screams it. Do you see those
shoes she's wearing?"

Sinjin looked at her feet as Vivian walked to the hostess stand. "Aye."

"A minimum of five hundred bucks and that price is discounted." Tracey leaned over the bar and
snagged a bottle of hot sauce. "We have a little princess on our hands."

Sinjin's gaze followed Vivian as she led another party to their table, a middle-aged couple who looked
as though they'd stumbled through the looking glass and straight into wonderland. The woman clutched
an ugly, oversized purse to her chest as she glanced around the room. Then she spoke to Vivian, leaning
as if she didn't want anyone else hearing what she said. Vivian gave her a reassuring smile and patted her
on the arm before turning away and walking toward Sinjin. He cast an admiring glance over her long,
supple limbs and easy walk.

Princess or not, she was one beautiful package.

"Do we have milk?" she asked.

Sinjin blinked. "Milk?" What kind of person came to a New Orleans jazz bar and restaurant and
ordered milk?

"Yeah, you know, the stuff that comes from cows."

Tracey rolled her eyes at Sinjin before she walked into the kitchen.

Vivian grinned. "I don't think she likes me."

Sinjin shot a glance at the swinging door, wondering what was going on with Tracey. She was normally
very outgoing and friendly with all the staff, but she certainly wasn't with Vivian. "I'll talk to her."

"Don't bother, we'll work something out." Vivian walked away. "I'll get the milk from the kitchen."

Sinjin shook his head and retrieved a beer for a waiting customer. As long as he lived, he would never
understand women. Mortal or preternatural, they were conflicting masses of illogical emotions. If women
could be more like men-

A prickle of energy moved over his skin, alerting him to the presence of another preternatural. Scanning
the crowd in search of the source of the disturbance, he noted the majority of the crowd was human.
There were a few vampires mixed in with twenty or so revenants and a small number of witches. As most
of them had been here for a while, none could have been the source of the disturbance.

The skin at the base of his neck tingled and he turned to see a woman standing several feet away. She
was small, not much over five feet five, give or take an inch. Her slim curves were covered in black
leather from head to toe.
 Her long black hair was scraped back into a tight braid that was carelessly tossed over her right
shoulder. Her dark brown eyes watched him as a rush of energy moved across his skin before settling
into a low vibration.

A female werewolf.

"I need to speak to you, alone," she said.

What would a werewolf want with him? They were notoriously standoffish and had a tendency to avoid
everything except the most superficial contact with other preternaturals. Having one walk into the Chat
and ask to speak to him was akin to the second coming.

"What do ye want to speak about?"

"An issue of great importance, to your people at least."

What could a werewolf have to say that would interest a vampire? Or did she have another, more
nefarious reason for wanting to get him alone?

"We can speak here, she-wolf." He pointed to the stool at the end of the bar. Separated by the server
area, it was as secluded as it could be considering they were in the midst of a crowded bar.

"No, we can't."

Her gaze shifted to over his shoulder and he glanced back to see several revenants had noted the wolf's
arrival. As he watched, one of the revenants nudged a vampire and brought their attention to the woman.
One of the revenants edged closer to their end of the bar. Her arrival was attracting an undue amount of
attention, thus making a private conversation impossible here.

"We'll go upstairs." Sinjin led her to the doorway and the steps that led to the second floor. He opened
the door, then stepped to the side to allow her to precede him. "Ladies first."

Her gaze sharpened, her nostrils flared as she caught the dare. Was she afraid of being led into a trap?
Probably. If he'd ventured into unfamiliar, possibly hostile territory, he'd be on guard as well.

With a slight nod, the werewolf stepped past him and headed up the steps, her spine straight, head up
and shoulders back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vivian as she exited the kitchen, a glass of milk
in one hand. Their gazes met and she smiled until she caught sight of the leather-clad woman preceding
him. Her brow arched as her expression cooled. She looked away.

He was tempted to tell her that the woman only wanted to talk to him. But what would he say? A
werewolf needed a private moment with him? Sorry, dear, undead business calls?

Sinjin followed the she-wolf up the steps. He'd talk to Vivian tonight and make his intentions clear,
leaving her without a doubt that he wanted her and there was no reason to be annoyed that she'd seen
him talking with another woman. It had only been 48 hours since he'd first spoken to her, but he couldn't
get her out of his mind and he wasn't sure he really wanted to. Disturbed by the direction of his thoughts,
he slammed the door a little harder than he meant to.

"Can I offer ye a drink?" he asked, ignoring the woman's speculative glance.

"No, thank you."

Sinjin gestured toward the comfortable couch, then waited while she perched herself on the edge, her
spine as straight as a ruler.

"How about yer name then?" He chose the armchair across from her.

Her smile was faint. "My name is Elena Vasquez."

Ah, now his interest was piqued.

"Ye are related to Eduardo Vasquez?"

"He was my father." He caught the tension in her words and, if it was possible, she sat even straighter.
Much more of this and she'd break in half with the tension.

The Vasquez family, the majority of whom were revenants, was rumored to have dabbled in the dark
magical arts and made their living by indulging in fits of burglary. But they weren't common burglars, they
were unique because, according to rumor, they stole only upon request. Usually they stole collectable art
or jewels. They selected only the most difficult jobs for they offered the highest level of danger.

Eduardo Vasquez, the family patriarch, had been killed several years ago when he was found in bed with
the wife of a dignitary of a small foreign country. The story held that while robbing her of her diamonds,
he'd taken one look at her sleeping face and had fallen in love. They'd carried on an affair for several
months before Eduardo was caught and summarily beheaded by the royal executioner.

As a further insult to the proud family, the two children were kidnapped by the royal guards and turned
into werewolves against their will. Now, fully grown, the Vasquez children were never seen in the
company of another preternatural. In fact, the son was known in the Shadow Dweller realm asEl
Verdugo , Spanish for the executioner. He was a mercenary who was known to take great pleasure in
hunting rogue preternaturals and killing them for sport. Not exactly someone Sinjin wanted to get to
know better.

"I see you've heard of my family."

He met her guarded gaze and inclined his head slightly. "I was sorry to hear of your father's untimely
end."

Her eyes darkened and she leapt to her feet. "It's all lies." She spun away and paced to a window. "He
wasn't killed for the love of a treacherous woman." The scorn was evident in her voice. "He was
murdered."

It was obvious the death of her father was still a very sore subject. Exacerbated, no doubt, by her
treatment at the hands of the guard. While he felt for her obvious pain, he seriously doubted that she'd
come here to speak of her father or her current circumstances.

"What exactly did you come here to speak with me about, Ms. Vasquez?"

Visibly she forced her emotions back under control. Her leather-clad fist clenched then unclenched
several times before she returned to her previous seat, her eyes hot. "Please call me Elena."
"Only if ye'll call me Sinjin."

She nodded her acquiescence. "I did not come here to discuss ancient history." She crossed her legs
before she continued. "I've come across something I think you might be interested in."

"And that would be?"

"The diary that everyone seeks."

Sinjin couldn't control his surprise. Half of the preternatural world was looking for the book and it had
ended up in the hands of awerewolf ? What madness was this? He forced himself to remain still, but he
was too late. Judging from the flash of triumph in her dark eyes, he'd already given himself away.

He cleared his throat. "I might be interested in seeing the book. Is it in yer possession?"

"Not on me, but it is in a secured place."

"May I ask how ye know about the diary?"

"Everyone knows about it." She gave him a mocking smile. "Even those of us who choose not to
participate in the workings of the council are aware of the book's existence and what it contains."

Oh, the efficiency of the preternatural grapevine. Western Union had nothing on the gossipy undead.
Before they went any further, he needed to determine if she had the real thing and for that he needed to
see it. The sooner the better.

Prior to Eduardo's death, the Vasquez name had been shady at best. Now, after the scandal and his
son's change in vocation, they weren't exactly considered leading citizens even among the werewolves.
Could the beautiful Elena be trusted?

"What would I have to do to get a look at the book in order to judge its authenticity?"

She shook her head. "If you're asking me to take you to it, sorry, won't happen. I don't know you. How
do I know that you won't try to take it from me?"

Sinjin shrugged. "My reputation speaks for itself or ye wouldn't have come to me."

Her gaze slid away.

His eyes narrowed. "But why come to me and not Alexandre? He's the head of the council, not I. I'm
not even a member."

"True, but you are the Chronicler of the Shadow Dwellers-"

"Was the Chronicler, I no longer hold the position."

"It doesn't matter." She leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees. "Of anyone, the book is most
valuable to you as an artifact, rather than an instrument of war. You know more about the history of the
preternaturals than most have forgotten."
 That much was true. He'd acted as the Chronicler for almost two hundred years, spending the vast
majority of his time hunched over ledgers as he researched their origins and journaled their current
events. That time of his life was over and he had no intentions of going back, but that didn't mean he
wasn't intrigued by the possibility of having the diary at his fingertips. Being the history fanatic he was, he
would give his eyeteeth for an hour alone with it.

"Have ye looked at this book?"

She sat back, her expression disturbed. "Some."

"And ye know it's authentic?"

She nodded. "I have no doubts whatsoever."

"I'd like to see it before we talk any further."

"Well," she bit her lower lip as she chose her words. "I'll bring you several photographs of the pages,
ones that you'll be able to read and judge their authenticity." Her gaze met his. "Will that be suitable?"

He ground his teeth. Half the preternatural world was looking for this book and this woman was playing
coy. Didn't she understand that lives were at stake? He wanted to shake her until she realized just how
important the diary was. Judging from her closed expression, he had a feeling that pushing her would
accomplish nothing at all.

"Aye, this will be acceptable. How soon can this be completed?"

She rose from her seat. "I will return tomorrow evening with the photos. Will midnight be satisfactory?"

No,he wanted to yell. But in this situation, he had no say and, for now, he could only play by her rules.
Sinjin stood. Wolves, while being pack animals, hated to be crowded by anyone other than their own
kind. He deliberately stepped close, towering over her as he held out his hand. It was a test of sorts.
Would she take his hand or would she spurn him?

Her eyes narrowed, her nostrils flared slightly, then she took his hand for one firm shake. She
immediately stepped away and toward the door.

He smiled. "I look forward to it."

Vivian's attention automatically shifted to the stairway door as she exited the kitchen. For the past
forty-five minutes, she hadn't been able to keep her attention focused on her work, ever since that
leather-clad wench had led Sinjin upstairs. Who was she? Was she important to him?

What does it matter, Viv? You're not interested in a one-night stand with a good- time boy and
that's all it would be, another one-night stand.

With a solid thwack, she dropped a handful of laminated menus into the bin. Even though Sinjin was the
first man that had interested her on more than a physical level in a very long time, she was through selling
herself for a few minutes of closeness with another human being. It was time to get her mind, and body,
back where it belonged.
 She wove her way through the tables, happy to see that everyone had what they needed for a good
dining experience. There was nothing worse than going out for dinner and receiving bad service. That
was worse than mediocre food. She was surprised to find that she was really enjoying her stint as a
hostess here at the Chat. She might not have very many marketable talents, but she'd always known how
to throw one hell of a party. Her friends had said she'd been born knowing how to make people feel at
home.

Vivian resumed her position at the hostess stand, glad to see that the waiting area was empty and most
of the crowd around the bar had moved into the nightclub. The moment the band started their set, the
crowds had run for the nightclub and that was fine with her. It would give her a moment's rest. Maybe
she'd slip behind the bar and indulge in a small glass of wine.

As she stepped toward the bar, the door leading to the steps opened and the leather- clad woman
exited. The other woman's color was high and her eyes sparkled, whether from desire or anger, Vivian
wasn't really sure. One thing she did know, with Sinjin it could go either way.

The woman stalked by, sparing nary a glance for anyone around her. Vivian couldn't help but admire her
sleek form and confident walk. She sucked in her stomach. This woman probably worked out daily to
get that toned physique and, at forty-four, Vivian knew she didn't look anywhere near as good as the
other woman did. She let her stomach out as the other woman exited the Chat. Nothing like a close-up
look at the body of a twenty-year-old to make a forty- four-year-old feel like hell.

"Vivian, can you grab me a piece of cheesecake with cherries?"

Bonnee, one of the newer waitresses rushed past her, a harried expression on her face.

"Sure thing."

Vivian turned toward the kitchen and, before she could take two steps, slammed straight into Sinjin. She
put her hands up and they landed on his chest. Through his cotton shirt, his skin felt warm and hard
beneath her palms. Her stomach clenched.

"How's it going?"

His accent trickled down her spine, igniting a shudder of desire, threatening to turn her insides to mush.
Suddenly nervous, she licked her lips and moved away. He didn't look as if he'd been tussling with a
lover above stairs. His hair was neat; his clothing in order, but there was an odd, almost victorious glint in
his eyes.

Not that it was any of her business.

"Very well actually. Full house again."

"I'm sure it's because word has traveled about the Chat's beautiful new hostess and it's bringing them in
droves."

"I seriously doubt that." She moved to step around him. No way was she going to let him flirt with her
after tangling with leather-girl for the past forty-five minutes. Not that she was counting, of course.

"How are ye this evening?" he asked, falling into step beside her.
Damn, he was following her.

"Fine, and you?" she asked, keeping her tone light and impersonal.

"Excellent. I trust ye slept well?"

"Very well, thank you." Vivian slipped through the swinging door and into the aromatic chaos of the Chat
kitchen. "And you?"

"I was a wee bit...restless."

"That's too bad." She strove to keep her tone bland. "Have you tried warm milk?"

He chuckled. "I can think of much more interesting things to do in bed than drink warm milk."

She shivered at his velvety tone. "Oh, do you read in bed as well?" Her voice came out sounding
breathless.

"Among other things." He gave her a heated smile and her insides fluttered. Hastily she turned away to
open the dessert case.

"You knit? Who would've guessed?"

"Well, I can think of things to do with scarves, but none of them have to do with knitting."

Vivian's hand shook and she almost dropped the cheesecake as an image of him tied to her bed flashed
in her mind. She scowled and let the door slam shut. Why was she getting so tied up in knots over him?
She was a woman of the world, much older and experienced than he was. She'd taken lovers when
Sinjin was still wearing short pants. Just because he was wickedly handsome and built for sin didn't mean
she couldn't handle him with her hands tied behind her back.

Tied...

"Come back to my place for a drink," he said.

She shook her head. "I don't think that's such a good idea." She moved to the next cooler, which
contained the toppings, whipped cream and other dessert condiments.

"Why not?" he asked, moving with her.

"I'm an employee-"

"Ye and I both know that ye're a temporary employee and this is a lark. Ye need this job as much as I
need to drill a hole in my head. Admit it, at least to yerself, why ye're working here."

She was enjoying the completely new perspective working at the Chat was giving her...

Liar. She was working here because he was too handsome for words and she wanted him in her bed.

"I-"
"Mr. St. James," one of the club bartenders approached and gave her an apologetic smile. "We have a
problem backstage that requires your attention."

"I'll be right there, Tom." Sinjin brushed his finger along her jaw, his touch raising gooseflesh along her
arms. "Think about it, get back to me later."

Vivian's gaze followed his retreating back, very aware of the quizzical gazes of the other employees. She
opened the cooler door and stared blindly at the array of condiments.

"Everything okay?" Tracey approached.

"Great, thanks."

"I saw you talking to Sinjin, I just wanted to make sure." Her smile was secretive. "Also, you're a little
flushed, you might want to stick your head in the cooler for a few seconds."

Vivian's hands flew to her warm cheeks as Tracy turned away, whistling "What A Difference A Day
Makes."

Damn. She dropped her hands and stared blindly at the array of plastic containers. This wouldn't do at
all. No, not at all. She smoothed her hands over her skirt and straightened, once again under control. She
reached into the cooler only to realize that she'd forgotten what she was reaching for.

Chapter 5
Vivian was waiting for him.

Sinjin's heart raced as he went through the motions of closing up. In the past he'd wanted many different
women, but never with the all-consuming rush that Vivian ignited within him. Only Bliss had inspired such
a depth of feeling that was close to what he felt now.

He waited for the familiar pain to strike, instead, a mellow, almost wistful feeling whispered over his
nerves. He mentally shook himself. Why was he comparing Vivian to Bliss? Bliss was the love of his life;
Vivian was a woman he wanted to seduce. Hell, she was practically a stranger. Sooner or later they
would part ways and, if he had it his way, they'd part with smiles on their faces. That's all it was, lust.
Emotions weren't going to play a role in this relationship. He wouldn't allow it.

He turned off the lights in the nightclub, casting the cavernous room into darkness with the exception of a
single light on the stage. Vivian was a beautiful woman who knew the score. There was no danger in him
losing another piece of his already fractured heart.

Removing his apron, he tossed it into the laundry bag as he entered the restaurant. Vivian stood framed
in the doorway leading to Bourbon St. A soft breeze blew the tendrils that had escaped from her once
neat twist. She was still dressed in her work outfit, but she'd changed into a pair of tennis shoes and her
backpack was strapped on her back.
"Are ye ready?" he asked.

She turned, her smile wary, but she nodded.

He flicked off the restaurant lights and picked up a set of keys from the bar. After setting the alarm, he
ushered her outside to where a white carriage waited.

"For us?" she asked.

"I was keeping yer tired feet in mind," he grinned.

She laughed as the driver opened the miniscule door for them. "I changed shoes tonight so my feet don't
hurt nearly as bad as they did last night." She slid her pack off and set it on the floor of the carriage.

Sinjin settled into the soft leather seat beside her, aware of the warmth of her skin. He slid an arm
around her shoulders, anchoring her to his side as they set off down the dim street. Beneath his arm she
felt tense and he had the feeling if she could, she would've pulled away from him. Why was she so
reticent to have him near her?

"No footrub this evening?" he asked.

"No, not this evening."

Most of the crowds had dissipated, leaving only a few die-hard partiers on the street corners as they
savored the last few drops of their cocktails. As the carriage turned off Bourbon, the sounds faded until
the only sound was the clop of horse hooves and the rustle of the breeze.

"So, how did you end up owning the Chat?" she asked, breaking the silence.

Judging from the rushed, breathless tone of her voice, she'd practiced that question in her mind for hours.
No, she wasn't nervous, not at all.

"I came to New Orleans last November. I didna have a purpose in mind other than to explore. I'd heard
so much about this city and I have friends here so it seemed as good a place as any to live. " They passed
a local haunted house and he pointed to the lit attic window where the ghost supposedly lived. Slowly, he
could feel her relaxing into his one-armed embrace.

"One evening I was walking along Bourbon and came across the Chat. It was run down and ragged, but
appeared to be drawing a medium sized crowd. I went inside and caught the show and decided I liked
the ambiance of the place. Due to the location I knew with some work, it could be a real money maker."
He laughed. "I met with the owner the next night and found out that he was going to put it up for sale and
move to Florida with his new wife."

"No kidding?"

"No kidding. Less than a week later, I was the new owner."

Vivian gave a low laugh. "That's what I call good timing."

"Aye. I've not regretted it."

"It's a lovely place, you should be very proud."

"Thank ye."

"And what place gave you the accent?"

"Scotland. I lived there for many, many years though I was born in England."

She chuckled, a soft breathy sound that went straight to his gut. "You aren't old enough to live anywhere
for many, many years."

Little did she know...

"How old do ye think I am?" he asked.

Vivian turned her head and their gazes met and hers was speculative. "Well, you look like you're in your
mid-twenties. However, I would say you're thirty-ish."

It was his turn to laugh. "So ye say."

"Am I close?"

"Nay."

"Well I can't be that far off."

He shrugged. "Age is a state of mind."

Vivian gave an indelicate snort. "That is something only the young would say."

"As if ye're ancient."

"Older than you."

"I doubt that."

"How old do you think I am?" Her tone was challenging.

It was his turn to contemplate her lovely face. "Well, ye're older than I'd originally thought ye were. Ye
have these wonderful laugh lines here." He brushed his lips over the corner of her eye where the telltale
lines resided. "I'd pegged ye for yer late twenties. But I've come to discover that ye have a wisdom that
far surpasses that of a twenty year old.

"Ye're verra sure of yourself and yer place in the world and that only comes with living life. Very few
twenty year olds have that much confidence in themselves."

She cleared her throat and he had the distinct impression that his words had disturbed her on some level.
"And your final verdict is?"

"Thirty eight."
"Not hardly," she snickered.

In the darkness, her eyes sparkled with amusement. Those laugh lines told the world that this was a
woman who'd laughed a great deal in her life, but there was an equal measure of sadness lurking in the
depths of her gaze as well.

"How close am I?" he challenged.

"I'm forty-four."

He shook his head. "Ye dinna look forty-four."

She rolled her eyes. "Trust me, I look forty-four."

"Ye're beautiful no matter yer age."

"Sinjin-"

"But ye know that, don't ye? Ye know that ye're beautiful." He reached for her hand, his fingers curling
around her wrist. "Men have told ye this all yer life, but it never mattered to ye, did it?"

"Don't-"

She licked her lips nervously.

He pulled her closer, the heat of her skin sinking into his, warming him from the inside out. The scent of
her perfume and the night air swirled about them in a dizzying combination. His thumb detected the mad
beating of her heart as he lazily stroked her wrist.

"How can I not?" He released her wrist to stroke the line of her jaw and throat as his head dipped and
his mouth grazed hers.

"Please don't," her voice broke and he could feel her trembling.

He pulled back, caught by the pain and fear he heard in her voice. Had a man hurt her? Why was she
was so afraid to let him touch her? At the restaurant, she'd been quick to toss a comeback in his face,
now she could barely look him in the eyes.

He slid his hand under her chin, forcing her face up until their gazes met. "I'll not hurt ye," he whispered.

Her eyes gleamed with unspoken pain. "How do you know I won't hurt you?"

Could she hurt him? No, he wouldn't allow it. He was the master of this situation and he would make
sure neither of them were hurt.

He shrugged as he stroked the delicate line of her jaw, marveling over her soft skin. "I'm not afraid."

"How can you take that chance? When is enough enough?" A tear spilled over her dark lashes.

When was enough enough? At what point did he decide to never allow another woman to touch his
heart as Bliss had?
 "When ye can no longer breathe without wanting to cry. When every word ye utter becomes nonsense
and ye only want to walk away from yer life. That is when enough is enough." He released her chin and
pulled her into his arms. For a moment he thought she'd resist, then she leaned into him, her body
naturally relaxing against his, her cheek against his chest. "That's when ye get off yer backside and make
a change for the better."

She responded with a watery sounding sniff. He luxuriated in the feeling of her in his arms. He never was
one to want to cuddle with a woman. He enjoyed sitting on the couch, maybe holding hands and
exchanging a few kisses. He'd never felt the need to wrap himself around her like a blanket, but strangely,
with Vivian, it felt comfortable.

"Are ye feeling better?" he asked.

She tipped her head back. "Aye."

"Ye're mocking me, woman." He fixed his expression into one he hoped was ferocious.

She smiled. "Yes, I did. What are you going to do about it?"

Before he could think twice, he dipped his head and touched his lips to hers. He felt her jolt of surprise
and her body stiffened. Willing her to open for him, he nibbled at her lower lip and held his breath as he
waited for her response. Would she refuse him?

Her lips parted beneath his, her taste overwhelming as he sank into her warmth.

Yes...

He nipped at her tongue, eliciting a sound of surprise from her. Heat spiraled through his body as her
hands landed on his waist, her palms scorched his flesh. His pants felt too tight and she was so hot
against him, he couldn't think straight. He'd wanted her from the moment he first saw her and he'd spent
long tormented hours in his dark sleep as he dreamed of touching her with impunity.

With a low groan, his tongue slid deep as he possessed her mouth the way he'd dreamed...

He was startled when she pushed out of his arms. She leaned against the side of the carriage. Her chest
heaved with every breath and his gaze dipped lower. Her nipples showed clearly through the white shirt.
She was as aroused as he, so why had she stopped?

"I have to go." She shoved to her feet as the carriage pulled to a stop in front of her hotel. Before the
driver could come around, she grabbed her bag and wrenched the door open before literally vaulting
from the rig. "Thank you for the ride." She gave a hurried wave to the driver and rushed into the bright
lobby.

Blood raged through Sinjin's veins as he watched her disappear, too shaken from their explosive kiss to
think of anything coherent to say to her. He closed his eyes, wondering if he'd gone too far too fast and
had made a big mistake in touching her at all.

Sinjin's touch was assured, magical. The way he zeroed in on the areas where she needed to be
touched. It was as if they'd made love hundreds of times before. Each movement of his fingers at
the juncture of her thighs elicited a rush of pleasure as he stroked her needy flesh.

She spread her thighs, silently entreating him to bring her to fulfillment. That sexy, enigmatic
smile curved his sensual lips; his dark eyes gleamed as he lowered his head, his lips brushing her
curls as his fingers worked their magic.

"Come for me," he commanded.

She closed her eyes, giving herself to the heat he aroused in her. Her hips shifted as his tongue
breached her core-

Vivian sat up, her travel alarm clock buzzing in her ear. Heart pounding, she scowled at the device as
she smacked the "off" button with her left hand. The clock fell silent and she fell against her pillows. As
she moved, she became aware that it was her own right hand buried in her damp, needy flesh, not
Sinjin's.

With a growl, she pulled her hand away, her body almost immediately launching a protest. Her orgasm
had been so close, she could almost taste it, taste him.

Damn, now he'd invaded her sleep.

Feeling tired and annoyed, she rolled from the bed. Stretching, her eye caught the blinking red light on
the phone. A message waited for her. Her stepbrother no doubt as it was time for her biweekly check-in
with him. She headed for the bathroom. She'd call him later, if she felt like it, that is.

Men!

She flicked on the light in the shabby but clean bathroom. All of her life she'd had to deal with autocratic
men who wanted only to possess her for her pretty face or even prettier money.

Was that why she'd run from Sinjin last night? Because he'd told her she was beautiful? He was right
when he'd said men had told her she was beautiful and it meant nothing to her. She couldn't take credit
for good genes.

Sinjin didn't appear to need money and he didn't know anything about hers, so that wasn't a factor. Or
had she run because, for the first time since Marc, a man had actually reached inside her heart and forced
her to feel something other than mild disdain for the male of the species?

She scowled as she picked up her toothbrush and attacked her teeth with a vengeance. Her pale face
was reflected in the mirror. Dark bags had taken root under her eyes and she looked every day of her
age. No way would Sinjin dare think of kissing her looking like this. A grin curved her mouth as she
rinsed her toothbrush. Maybe that was the answer. If she became unattractive in his eyes, he wouldn't
think twice about wanting to kiss her. If he didn't touch her, there was no way he could hurt her. Then
again, she could just be upfront about why she didn't want to get into a relationship with him.

She'd always been very upfront with the people in her life, especially her lovers, and she'd had no reason
to be otherwise. She stared hard at the mirror image of herself. She would just tell him that she wasn't
interested in taking him as her lover; it wasn't in her best interest.

Liar.
 She walked away from the mirror to turn on the shower. It didn't matter what she wanted, getting into a
relationship wasn't what she needed to be doing now. She pulled off her oversized sleepshirt and tossed
it on the vanity, her movements jerky.

But it would certainly take the edge off your sexual frustration.

"That is theold Vivian," she muttered as she striped off her panties. "Not the new and improved one. I no
longer use people to get what I want in life."

You're not using him if it's what he wants as well.

"Shut up." She stepped into the shower, sliding the glass door shut behind her, enclosing herself in a
cocoon of steam.

Grabbing the small bottle of shampoo, she began scrubbing her hair; the scent of Sinjin swirled around
her. Dismayed, she picked up the bottle she'd grabbed at the store yesterday afternoon. Reading the
label, she noticed it wasn't her usual brand but the bottles were almost exactly the same. She shook her
head and set it back on the edge of the tub.

Vivian stuck her head back under the showerhead to rinse her hair, the bubbles sliding along her skin in
rivers of white foam. Grabbing her soap, she lathered up, the scent of orange and ginger mingled with the
masculine scent of Sinjin's shampoo.

Now she was really surrounded by him.

She couldn't prevent the laugh that bubbled up from her chest. Her nipples hardened as she rubbed the
thick lather over her breasts before moving to her stomach then lower to her thighs.

She knew well the signs of arousal. Vivian was a woman who was well in tune with her body and its
needs. Thanks to months on the road and a lack of interest in sex, she'd not indulged in a single sexual
episode, not even touching herself. Consequently she felt ready to explode.

Thanks to him...

She closed her eyes. What would one little orgasm hurt? She certainly needed it now more than ever
before.

Her fingers slid through soapy curls to delve into the sensitive flesh it protected. She leaned against the
tiled wall as her strokes grew bolder. Circling her aroused flesh, her breathing grew strained as tension
spiraled higher. She cried out as a powerful orgasm washed over her body.

Legs wobbly, she sank to the floor of the shower, warm water raining down on her head. Her body
hummed with satisfaction, happy to know that her brain was still alive at least. As her pulse slowed and
her breathing returned to normal, she realized that she wanted more, much more.

Thanks to Sinjin.
 Chapter 6
Sinjin barely resisted the urge to reach over the bar and throttle Brent Draven, the New Orleans
detective who'd been flirting with Vivian for the past hour. Shortly after the Chat had reopened under
Sinjin's command, Brent had developed the habit of stopping in once or twice a week for dinner and a
single beer before heading home.

The detective was now on his third beer.

Vivian approached the end of the bar where Brent sat. She gave the detective a big smile as she slid her
empty water glass over the bar to Julius for a refill.

Dressed in the requisite Chat uniform, on her feet were the torturous high heels that showed her long legs
to their best advantage. Her skin glowed with radiant health and Sinjin knew well why that was. He'd
sensed the subtle change in the sexual energy that emanated from her skin. During the daylight hours,
she'd had some sort of powerful sexual release and it had stirred her energy to a peak. Was there
another man?

Vivian tipped her head back and gave a delighted laugh, the sound sending ripples of pure sensation
down his spine. The dark-haired detective certainly seemed interested in his lovely hostess. His gaze was
fastened on her face as he spoke, the signs of his arousal there for all to see. No, this wouldn't do at all.
There was no room for the detective in their relationship.

Sinjin hung a dishtowel over the rack and approached the twosome.

"My brother, Michael, should be able to help you out." Brent said. "He works in Vice and he's well
acquainted with the more esoteric side of New Orleans."

"That would be fabulous." Vivian laid a hand on his arm and gave it a friendly squeeze. "I'm really in dire
straits for this information. People seem to be reluctant to talk much about this area of voodoo. Can you
give me his number?"

"Sure." Brent leaned toward her and Sinjin was annoyed to see that Vivian didn't step away as she had
with him the previous night. "Can I give you my number as well?" He put his hand over hers, his thumb
stroking her soft skin.

"Well-"

Sinjin stepped up to the bar. "Vivian, can ye please grab a fresh bottle of disinfectant from the supply
closet?" His voice came out a little harsher than he'd intended.

"Sure thing." Her expression was startled, almost guilty as she stepped away from the detective.

Both men watched her disappear into the kitchen before they faced one another, their gazes clashing.

"Draven."

"St. James." He lifted his beer in a mock salute.

"Flirting with my employees again?"

Brent's brow rose, his surprise evident. He shrugged. "It's never bothered you in the past."

Sinjin was well aware of the detective's sexual prowess with several of his waitresses. Even with the scar
that marred his temple and cheek, Brent Draven was very popular with his female employees. Tracey
said it gave him a sexy, dangerous look that attracted the girls like crazy. One thing was for sure, the
detective was right, it had never bothered him before.

"Well it does this time."

Brent set his bottle down on the bar. "I think this is a decision that the lady needs to make for herself."

"What lady, what decision?" Vivian reappeared with a spray bottle, which she handed to Sinjin.

Brent leaned back, his smile welcoming as he gave her a bold glance. "Just talking about a mutual
friend."

Did his gaze linger on her breasts? Sinjin wanted to reach across the bar and thump the detective over
the head with his own beer bottle.

"Okay then." Vivian picked up her refilled glass. "Please don't forget to leave your brother's number for
me, Brent. I really appreciate it." She flashed him a smile, practically ignoring Sinjin before she walked
back to her station.

The detective followed her with his gaze. "She's a beautiful woman. She strikes me as a woman worth
fighting for."

"Aye, that she is."

"And I'm leaving the choice up to her." Brent turned and picked up his bottle, raising it in Sinjin's
direction again, his expression mocking. "May the bestman ...win."

Vivian swiped the credit card through the machine, then punched in the amount of the bill. She was tired
but it was a good tired. It was almost one-thirty a.m. and the bar was still full, but the restaurant was
almost empty. There were only two tables of customers and the waitress had been called into the
nightclub to lend a hand so Viv had agreed to play waitress for them. They were almost ready for their
check and she still had to break down the hostess stand, then she was done for the night. Maybe, if she
was lucky, she could be in bed by three and up by noon to begin the great voodoo research caper.

The machine beeped and Vivian glanced down.

TRANSMISSION ERROR

She hit the "clear" button. The screen flashed.

PLEASE RUN CARD THROUGH AGAIN

She swiped the card again and keyed the amount before hitting "enter" to send it off.
DIALING

"Well work this time, darn it," she muttered.

A newspaper lay beside the register and she picked it up to toss in the trash when the headline caught
her eye.

SLASHER STRIKES AGAIN

She frowned and scanned the article, noting the reference to the woman who'd been found dead at the
mall. Judging from the article, this murder had occurred in the French Quarter, just eight blocks away
from the Chat. The body had been dumped into a dumpster and lay undiscovered for over twenty-four
hours. The newspaper mentioned the murders had occurred within a few hours of each other. Were they
connected?

So far the NOPD had opted to remain virtually silent, only stating that an investigation was underway
and they couldn't comment until it was complete.

Vivian folded the paper and dropped it in the trash. Outside on Bourbon Street, the crowds still
gathered. Some walked to unknown destinations while others loitered in small groups, talking and
laughing with friends. It would be easy to kill someone here in the heart of the French Quarter. Many of
the side streets were narrow and some were poorly lit once you got away from the center of the district.
New Orleans was a city of nooks and crannies and there were secrets hidden within its depths.

Dangers aside, there was an energy to the city like nothing else she'd ever felt. She loved New York and
it would always be home for her, but New Orleans felt very comfortable like a long-lost friend. Possibly
comfortable enough to put down roots and stay awhile.

She smiled as the thought took hold. For the first time, it felt as if her journey was almost over. Maybe
she should buy a cute little house in the Vieux Carré and have beignets and chicory coffee in the
mornings. There was so much to see and experience here-

And don't forget Sinjin...

She bit her lip. Yes, there was him as well. What was she going to do about her growing attraction to the
handsome bartender? As she told him last night, she was far too old for him. He needed someone
younger, less jaded by life and armed with better thighs.

The machine dinged again and the printer spewed out a receipt. She reached for the paper when the hair
on the back of her neck prickled as if someone had breathed on it.

Curious, she glanced around the restaurant, looking for the source of her unease. The occupants of both
of her tables were finishing their drinks, but none were looking for her. She glanced at the bar. Julius was
chatting with a lovely blonde and several others lingered over their drinks. Sinjin was nowhere to be seen.

Vivian tore off the receipt and tucked it into the leather binder along with a pen. Strolling toward the
table, she glanced out the large glass windows that looked out onto the bustling street, trying to discover
what was giving her the heebie-jeebies. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary.

She reached the table and presented the bill with a wide smile before retreating to an unoccupied corner
of the restaurant to peer out the windows again.
 The street was well lit and the crowds continued moving to and fro. No one was paying the slightest bit
of attention to her or the brightly lit windows of the Chat. Directly across the street was an empty
storefront currently under renovation. The windows were covered in heavy brown paper and the light
above the doorway was out.

Bonnee had mentioned it was going to be a coffee and pastry shop. When Vivian had come into work
before dark, she'd seen activity as the workers finished for the day, but now it looked quiet. Her gaze
narrowed as a sudden shift in the shadows drew her attention back to the darkened doorway.

Or was it?

She stepped behind a large potted fern, using the abundance of greenery to block some of the interior
lighting thus enabling her to see across the street better. There, in the shadows of the doorway, stood a
figure staring at the open front doors of the Chat Noir. She frowned. Why would someone stand in the
darkness and stare at a restaurant? Was it a friend of Sinjin's? Foe?

"Miss?"

Vivian jumped and had to bat a huge leaf out of her face as one of her customers approached.

"I'm sorry," she forced a laugh. "I thought someone had dropped some napkins back here." She stepped
from her hiding spot.

"We'd like our check, please," the woman said.

"Sure, just a few seconds." Vivian hustled over to the register to compile their bill before presenting it to
the table. Keeping an eye on them, she stepped into her previous spot and peered at the doorway of the
soon-to-be coffee shop.

The spectator was gone.

Sinjin glanced at the door for the hundredth time. Where was Elena? It was almost one-thirty and she'd
yet to make an appearance. He picked up a case of beer as Vivian breezed by, face forward, a receipt in
her hands as she headed for the last occupied table. The scent of her perfume lingered in the air behind
her.

Before Draven had left, he'd seen the two of them, heads together as he'd handed her a slip of paper. It
grated to not know exactly what was written on it. Had the detective slid her his phone number along
with that of his brother? He transferred the bottles of beer into the cooler. Over his dead body would she
get involved with a man like Draven.

A rush of energy across his skin heralded the arrival of Elena. He allowed the cooler door to swing shut
as he turned to see her approaching the bar.

Black leather pants clung to her slender muscular limbs with a duster-style leather coat sweeping behind
her. A creamy buckskin vest, the low neckline showing off the shadowed valley of her breasts,
completed her outfit. At another time he would have appreciated her appearance and contemplated how
to get her into bed. But now he felt nothing other than mild interest when he looked at her.
Instead his gaze flicked to Vivian. She stood by the credit card machine; her narrowed gaze definitely
hostile as she followed Elena's progress through the waiting area toward the bar.

This woman, a woman he hadn't even bedded yet, hell, he'd barely kissed her, had ruined him for every
other woman on the planet. A vague sense of panic propelled him from behind the bar. "Elena."

A quizzical smile graced her face, her brow raised as she glanced down. "For me?"

He looked to see the empty case dangling from his fingertips. He grinned and set it on one of the stools.
"Not unless ye want to go to work."

She cocked her hip, placing her hand on the slim curve and drawing his attention to her body. "As much
pleasure as I'm sure it would be to workunder you, I'll have to pass."

As far as making a pass went, that was pretty good, he had to give her that. His smile was big. "Yer
loss."

"Mmm." She opened her coat to let him see a manila envelope in one of the roomy interior pockets.
"Shall we adjourn upstairs and discuss business?"

"Aye. After ye."

She nodded and walked toward the steps and Sinjin couldn't resist a backward glance at Vivian. Still
standing at the credit card machine, a receipt in her hand, she stared out the front window, her expression
perturbed.

He followed her gaze into the street and noticed nothing amiss. The usual crowds traversed the
sidewalks, cups in hand as they enjoyed the evening in New Orleans.

"Vivian," he called.

She looked at him, then past him, her eyes narrowing the moment she caught sight of Elena heading for
the steps.

"Wait for me, I'll escort ye to yer hotel," he said.

"Sure you won't be too busy?" Sarcasm laced her voice.

Sinjin saw that Elena waited for him at the bottom of the steps, her expression amused. "I think you're in
trouble, tiger," she said.

He ignored her. "I'll fit ye in," he said to Vivian.

Elena chuckled and Sinjin could feel Vivian's eyes boring holes into his back. An imp caused him to
place his hand at the small of the werewolf's back as they moved up the steps.

The woman leaned toward him. "You are in so far over your head and you don't even know it yet, do
you?"

"What are ye going on about?"

"Your girlfriend. She won't be too happy with you, my friend."

Habit made him reply, "Nay, she's not my girlfriend."

"What is she then?" Elena moved away from him as they entered the familiar clutter of his office.
"Another in a long line of flings?"

He rolled his shoulders, suddenly uncomfortable. "Ye make it sound as if I go through women left and
right," he muttered.

"You did when you first arrived in New Orleans." Elena removed her coat, revealing smooth shoulders
and muscular arms. On her left arm she had a tattoo of a heart pierced with a dagger.

"Ye've been listening to stories, I take it?" He swept a stack of invoices, payroll receipts and catalogs
into the top drawer of his desk.

"As you have about my family." She withdrew the envelope from her coat pocket. "I needed to know
more about the man I might be doing business with. So I made a few subtle inquiries about your
character and standing in the preternatural community."

Sinjin sat behind his desk, trying not to show his irritation. He would have done the same thing if he'd
been in her position, so why did it annoy him so much that she'd enquired about him? "Did ye find out
anything interesting?"

"You're well-respected by most. Your word is your bond and you can be trusted." She tossed the
envelope on the desk between them. "Some also believe that you're crazy as a loon. Living in the wilds of
northern Scotland, alone for most of the time. Some say that you went voluntarily, while others believe
that your friends forced you into hiding."

He knew what the preternatural community thought of him and it didn't faze him one bit. He made the
choices he made because they were right at the time. He would make no excuses nor would he respond
to her statement.

"You also went through women like a madman when you first came to New Orleans after losing the love
of your life."

"Ye're verra thorough." He reached for the envelope.

"It's understandable." Her fingers closed over his, halting him. Their gazes met and he saw pain in the
depths of her dark brown eyes. "Your reaction. It's only normal to want to experience the thrill life has to
offer after the death of one so close to you, to revel in your ability to just be." Elena released him and
stepped away as if her revelations had made her uncomfortable.

Somewhere in the depths of her past she'd experienced the loss of her heart's desire, as had he. Silently
he acknowledged the shared bond of pain between them as he withdrew the pages and laid them out on
the desk. Ruthlessly he forced his attention back to the task at hand.

There were four pages of photographs that were printed from a computer onto photo quality paper.
Each one showed a different page of what appeared to be an old book. Sinjin reached into his desk and
pulled out a magnifying glass. Turning his lamp onto the highest setting, he selected one to study.
 The handwriting was old-fashioned, probably middle eighteen hundreds. If the book was genuine, it was
one of the copies as the original had probably disintegrated years ago. The pages were well preserved,
the writing black, but beginning to fade around the edges. As he scanned the text, one word caught his
eye.

Niall.

He stopped to read the sentence.

My son, Niall was born two days ago. He is such a healthy boy and he sleeps well already.
Manfred shows little interest in his child. Instead, he eyes him with great distrust and I fear for the
child's life.

Sinjin sat back. There was no doubt that this book was the diary. Very few knew that the were-cat
Renault was Mikhail's biological son. Certainly, none would have known it when this copy of the diary
was crafted in the eighteen hundreds as the preternatural world had believed Mikhail's son to be dead.
Renault's parentage had only been revealed eighteen months earlier.

He set down the page and selected the next. This one was written in a different language, one that he
didn't immediately recognize.

"The diary contains several different languages, some I don't know." Elena drifted closer to stand by him.
"I haven't read all of it, but there doesn't seem to be any order to it. She goes from writing about her
child's early life to her own childhood, her marriage, then history of the preternaturals, then back to her
child again." She raised her hands, then dropped them, her frustration evident.

Interesting. What exactly was the werewolf trying to glean from the pages of the diary?

Sinjin scanned the other pages, noting each was written in a different tongue. One was ancient Scots
while the last was French. Why would Elsapeth have written the diary in so many languages? Or had the
scribe who'd copied the book taken the liberty of changing the languages from the original?

He set down the magnifying glass. "I'd say the book appears to be genuine." He caught the look of relief
on her face before she masked it behind a haughty expression.

"Of course it is, I already told you that."

He ignored her blustering. "How much money do ye want for the book?"

"Money?" Her voice was shrill. "Money doesn't interest me where this book is concerned."

"Then what do ye want if it isn't money?"

"Oh, I want something." Her gaze impaled him. "I want you to find out how to reverse werewolfism."

He couldn't have been more surprised if she'd walked up and slapped him across the face. She wanted
what from him?

He must have said it out loud as she repeated herself.

"Let me get this straight." He rose from his chair. "Ye want me to find a way to reverse a werewolf back
to a human?"

She nodded. "And you have to do it now, first, before you delve into anything else in the diary."

"I'm assuming this is for ye?"

Elena stood across the desk from him, her expression tight and she appeared to be unwilling to answer.

"Ye realize the preternatural world is in an uproar and thousands of lives are at risk. Even now, Mikhail
is plotting his next battle. We need this book and the information it contains to hold him at bay."

"As if I care about the preternaturals," she sneered. "The werewolves have never joined leagues with the
likes of you and we never will."

"This isn't about alliances, it's about lives."

"And what is the cost of my life?" she snarled. "What was the cost of my life when it was destroyed and
I had no say in what happened?" Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. "I was but a child when I was
violated by one of the unnaturals. I never wanted this curse and I want it reversed." Her hand trembled as
she pointed at the pages on his desk. "That book may hold the key to reversing this curse."

"Aye. It may. Ye realize that even if it does, yer life will never be the same." Sinjin rose and moved
around the desk. "Ye're irrevocably changed as ye've walked and lived in the shadows alongside us.
Even if the werewolves refuse to join us, ye are still one with the shadows."

She shook her head and backed away, holding out her hand as if to keep him away from her. "No, I can
change back." Her voice broke. "I have to."

"I only wish it were true."

She wavered as he pulled her into a loose hug, resisting at first, holding her body tense in his embrace.

"I can," she whispered against his chest.

He stroked her back and heard her choke back a sob. "I'll research yer quest but I can't guarantee
anything. I need to help the largest number of people as quickly as possible, but it will take time." His
heart ached for the child she'd been and the tormented woman she'd grown into.

Elena tipped back her head, her face streaked with tears. "You're nice," she sniffed. "For a vampire."

He laughed and dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. A movement in the corner near the door caught
his attention. He glimpsed Vivian's shocked face before she spun around and tore back down the steps,
trying to keep quiet, but his keen hearing noted her agitated rush.

"Now you're in for it." Elena pushed out of his arms.

"Aye, sure looks like it."

"How much do you think she heard?"

"Verra little." He hoped. Hearing Elena tell him he was nice for a vampire probably wouldn't earn him
points with Vivian, not that she would believe it.

"I'll bring the diary here tomorrow evening." She grabbed her coat and slid it on. "Promise me that you
will do everything in your power to find the answers I need."

"Aye, I promise."

"Now, go find your woman and mend some fences. I think you've tormented her enough." She gave him
a sad little smile. "You would have made a good werewolf."

Sinjin laughed outright. "Perish the thought."

Anthony watched through the windows of the Chat Noir as Vivian closed up for the night. Imagine his
surprise to find the head of Carrington International working as a hostess in a French Quarter nightclub.
The photos he'd received didn't do this woman justice. Killing such a lovely creature was a shame, but
the money she'd bring would more than make up for it.

He reached into his light jacket and fingered the reassuring weight of the Sig Sauer snug in its holster.
Soon, Vivian Carrington would be dead and he'd be a very rich man.

He settled himself farther into the doorway to wait, his mind feverishly planning what to do with his
newfound fortune.

Chapter 7
Vivian seethed as she retrieved her bag and linen duster-style jacket from the employee break room.
How dare that wretch kiss her, then turn around and have another woman in his arms barely twenty-four
hours later. Vivian Carrington did not share her toys with anyone. Not now. Not ever.

Cad.

She slid on the jacket and stalked to the front door. Sinjin was yet another example of what was wrong
with most men. They were fickle, turning their attentions to any available woman, no, make that any
woman, who happened to flit by. She should know as she'd done the exact same thing several times
herself. While she'd never indulged in an affair with a married or involved man, on several occasions she'd
discovered after the fact that they'd deceived her. One man, an oil company executive, had been married
with a Park Avenue mistress. Both of whom he'd neglected to disclose to Vivian. He'd turned intosuch a
cliché.

Men. They weren't to be trusted.

 A large crowd of people blocked her exit via the main doors. Annoyed, she turned toward the back of
the restaurant. Behind the coffee stand, there was a small door that led to Bourbon Street. Flipping the
lock, she slipped out the door and into the rowdy atmosphere before locking the door behind her.

She needed some space away from the handsome bar owner. Now was as good a time as any to
contemplate her next move. Did she stay or go? Her research would be completed in another week and
once she sent off the materials she'd gathered, she'd be a free woman. She felt a pang in the area of her
heart at the idea of leaving New Orleans. In the short time she'd been in residence, she'd grown to love
the atmosphere and people who inhabited the city, one resident in particular.

You're in deep, my dear...

"No, I'm not," she muttered. "I'm just horny." She wove her way around drunken partygoers then turned
the corner and moved away from the crowds, her agitated gait eating the sidewalk as she progressed
north toward her hotel. "All I need is space to figure out what the hell is going on in my own head and-"

A sudden resistance halted her as something or someone grabbed her backpack and swung her
sideways. Before she could scream in protest, she was slammed sideways into a brick wall as hands
ripped at her bag.

"I want the book," a voice growled in her ear.

Vivian struggled against her tormentor. "What book?" She was shoved against the wall, face first, a hand
pinning her neck as someone tore the bag from her back.

"You know exactly what book, whore."

"No, actually I don't." Adrenaline and annoyance flooded her system. This was the second time in a
week she'd been manhandled in this city and she was tired of it. Maybe it wasn't a good place to buy a
house. Who knew the crime rate would be so high?

"It isn't here." Another voice spoke.

Unceremoniously, she was yanked around to face her captors. She got the impression of height and
menace as the one that held her hostage grabbed her by the throat. She reached for his wrist, her nails
digging into his skin, but he didn't seem to notice the damage she was inflicting.

"Where is it?"

The fingers tightened, threatening to cut off her air supply.

Her eyes grew wide as black spots danced before her eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about,"
she gasped.

The other figure came closer and this one was much smaller than the first. "This isn't the right woman."
His voice was tinged with the flavor of the South. "She's nothing but a fucking waitress."

The tall dark-haired man looked at the smaller one, then back to her. His eyes narrowed and Vivian's
heart leapt into her throat. "We don't need her then." He released her and shoved her toward the shorter
one. "Kill her, but do it quietly. We don't want her found anytime soon." He turned and walked back
toward the lights of Bourbon Street.

"No." She rubbed her raw throat. "Please don't hurt me."

The man shrugged. "I'm sorry, beautiful. Tall, dark and brutal speaks and I must do as he bids."

His eyes glittered in the darkness and Vivian had the distinct impression that he truly was sorry he had to
hurt her. But not sorry enough to walk away and leave her alone.

"I beg you, please, don't kill me," she gasped. "I have money, I can pay you."

He hesitated, then glanced in the direction the other man had gone. Indecision was written on his face
when he turned back to her. He raised his hand and contemplated her fate as he ran a slim finger down
her cheek. She struggled not to shudder beneath his impersonal touch.

"You're far too beautiful to kill." His fingers tightened on her throat and she gasped. "There are so many
other things that can be done with you." He raised his other hand and brought it down in a sharp blow to
the jaw and she knew no more.

"What do you mean, she left?"

Tracey set down a tray of dirty glasses on the bar and started unloading them near the sink. "I mean she
left. I saw her sneak out the back door about fifteen minutes ago."

"I told her to wait," Sinjin grumbled. "Why dinna women e'er listen?"

"Well, maybe if men would quit telling us what to do and ask us what we really want, we might actually
listen." Tracy picked up the tray and continued to the kitchen.

Sinjin rolled his eyes. Only the female mind could conceive something as illogical as that. He tucked the
portfolio containing the photos under his arm as he headed for the door. "Julius, I'm out of here. Have a
good evening."

The bartender waved in response, deep in conversation with a redhead and a curvaceous blonde. Sinjin
grinned. Looked like his head bartender was in for an interesting evening.

He exited the restaurant and walked up Bourbon at a fast clip. He wanted to catch Vivian before she
reached her hotel or else he wouldn't get another chance until the next evening. He had a feeling she
wouldn't answer her phone if he tried to call.

Women. Who understood them?

For the past six months, the women he'd tangled with were beautiful on the outside with very little
upstairs. Let's face it. He'd only wanted to lose himself physically in the majority of them.

Other than annoyance that she'd left without him, he wasn't sure what he felt for Vivian. He desired her.
She was a beautiful woman and he'd have to be blind to miss the interested looks she'd received since
she'd begun working at the Chat. Male eyes, both young and old, seemed to gravitate toward her as
she'd walked about the bar. Even more important than her obvious charms, he genuinely liked her. She
had intelligence and a quick wit and she wasn't afraid to speak her mind.

If he was going to be completely honest with himself, that was what attracted him. It had nothing to do
with her fabulous legs or wicked laugh. It was her confidence and bearing. Vivian was the type of woman
who would be at home in almost any situation. So, they had issues to work out between them, but they
could accomplish it. They were two mature adults who-

The flashing strobes of emergency vehicles caught his eye as he turned the corner. A large crowd had
formed, blocking his view of the incident then he saw Detective Draven ordering the crowd to part. The
mass shifted reluctantly as several uniformed officers stepped in to encourage them. As the gurney moved
into view, Sinjin saw the woman strapped to it.

He slowed to a stop, his heart in his throat.

Dark hair, white shirt, black skirt, duster and a narrow band of red silk around her throat were all he
could see as her face was turned away from him. He ran the forty or so yards separating them,
shouldering mortals aside as he reached the crowd. As he neared, Vivian was loaded into the ambulance
with Draven following, a battered backpack in his hand.

"Dra-"

"Where do you think you're going?" A loud voice jerked his attention away from the activity inside the
ambulance. A police officer stood next to him, his face mere inches from Sinjin's. "I told you people to
break it up, there is nothing to see here."

"I just need-"

"Look buddy, I asked nicely." The officer placed his hand over the butt of his holstered gun. "Keep
moving, don't make me arrest you. I'm getting off in a hour and I don't want to process the paperwork."

Out of the corner of his eye Sinjin saw the doors shut and the ambulance pull away. While he realized
the officer was only doing his job, it took a great deal of restraint to keep from lashing out. Sinjin ground
his teeth as he gave the officer a curt nod and turned away.

He dodged the remaining stragglers and began to run in the direction of his house, already calculating
how long it would take to reach Vivian's side.

"You're a lucky young woman."

Vivian gave a raspy chuckle. "I don't feel very lucky or very young right now."

The emergency room doctor patted her on the shoulder. "Well, you're alive and that's what counts. Your
headache will fade as will your bruises in a few days."

"Do I have a concussion?"

"Possibly a very slight one. Your CAT scan came back normal, so I don't think we have anything to
worry about."
"Maybeyou don't." She forced a smile.

"We're about ready to release you, all I have to do is sign on the dotted line. In the mean time there's a
Detective Draven hovering outside the door. Can I admit him?"

"Please, and thank you for taking such good care of me."

"You're welcome. I hope to not see you again under such circumstances." The doctor gave her a wink
then exited.

Vivian let her head drop to the pillow. Every inch of her body ached, her head the most. What had
happened on the street? One minute she'd been walking to the hotel and the next she'd been pushed
around.

The curtain was whisked aside and Brent stepped into the cubicle. His gaze was assessing as he scanned
her from head to toe before finally settling on her face. "How are you feeling?"

"How do I look?" she countered.

"Battered," he acknowledged.

"That's pretty much how I feel."

His expression turned serious. "Feel up to answering a few questions?"

"Personal or professional type questions?"

"Professional."

She gave a tentative nod. "I don't know what I can tell you. It's a little fuzzy now."

"What time did you leave the club?"

"I think it was around two."

"And you left alone?"

"Yes. I was supposed to wait for Sinjin, but..."

She stopped, not wanting to go into why she hadn't waited for him. She'd sound like a complete ninny if
she told him the truth.

"But what?"

She pleated the sheet with her fingers, her gaze fixed on the nervous motions. "I didn't want to. I
changed my mind, so I left."

Brent made a note in his book. He didn't say anything, but she had the feeling she'd disappointed him in
some way.

"Then what happened?" he asked.

"I was walking back to the hotel and someone grabbed me and shoved me against the wall. He pulled
my backpack off and went through it." She frowned. "I think there were two of them."

"You think?"

"I remember two different voices, one had a slight southern accent." She looked up at him. "How can I
remember that and nothing else?"

"Just take it slow." Brent laid his hand on her arm. "Vivian, two days ago you made a theft report that
your purse was stolen. Do you think this incident could be related?"

She frowned and shook her head, stopping when the pain sent a warning jolt. "I don't see how they
could be. I mean, they happened in the same general area, but that time the guy just grabbed my bag and
ran. He never tried to hurt me."

"Have you ever thought that maybe someone might be stalking you?"

She gave a startled bark of laughter then covered her mouth when she saw he looked very somber. She
cleared her throat and schooled her features into a more serious expression. "Why would someone do
that?"

"You're beautiful and you're very wealthy."

"You've been doing your homework." She waved his words away. "I'm hardly a public figure.
Ninety-nine percent of the people on the streets have probably never heard of Carrington International."

"How well do you know Damien St. James?"

She frowned. "What does he have to do with this?"

"It's just a question." He folded the notebook shut and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

Vivian shrugged, not wanting to talk about Sinjin, especially not with Brent. "I barely know him at all.
We just met a few days ago."

He leaned over her. "Do you trust him?"

"Why are you asking this?"

"I want your gut reaction. Do you trust him?"

Yes.

She gave a tentative nod.

"Vivian, there are a lot of things in the world that we don't understand. New Orleans is a very old city,
steeped in myths dealing with the supernatural realm. We have residents and visitors who believe they're
paranormal beings and they actually live that lifestyle."

She frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"We have a group who believes themselves to be vampires."

Her eyes widened. "You mean, like a game?"

"No, they really believe they're vampires. They only leave their homes at night and they drink blood.
Most of them don't appear to hunt for their meals as one would expect but, for all intents and purposes,
they live the lives of vampires."

She rubbed her forehead. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to understand that down here, things aren't always what they seem to be on the
surface."

She made a sound of annoyance. "I get hit over the head and you're going on about a few misguided
people? What does this have to do with Sinjin?"

"All the evidence points to Sinjin being-"

The curtain flew open and the object of their speculation appeared, his expression tense. "Are you
okay?" He stepped into the cubbyhole, completely ignoring the detective.

She felt the absurd urge to lay her head on his shoulder. But Vivian Carrington never showed weakness,
not in public and certainly not in front of a man. She bit her lip, wincing as she hit a sore spot. As tears
filled her eyes, she raised her hand to shield herself from their gazes.

Footsteps approached and the bedrails were lowered. Within seconds, she was wrapped in Sinjin's
arms, his scent surrounding her like a warm, familiar blanket. She closed her eyes and leaned into him,
sliding her arms around his waist, content to be still for a few moments.

Composure regained, she released him and he moved back just a bit, his gaze moving over her face.

"It's okay, I'll get ye out of here."

"Thanks," she whispered.

"I'll get ye checked out and we'll be out of here in minutes." He released her.

"I need to-" she looked to her left and Draven was gone. "Where did he go?"

"He left when I arrived." Sinjin backed out of the curtained area. "Just rest, I'll be back in a few minutes."

Vivian leaned her head back against the pillows and closed her eyes. The nurse had given her some pain
pills just before the detective had arrived and they were kicking in with a vengeance. She frowned. Now
what had Draven been talking about? Something about vampires? She gave a weak chuckle.

What nonsense.
 Chapter 8
"You could have taken me back to the hotel," Vivian said as he unlocked the front door to his house.

"There's no one there to keep an eye on ye." Sinjin tucked the portfolio containing the diary pages under
his arm as he pushed the door open. "Ye'll be comfortable here and completely safe."

She walked around him and entered the house. "I'm not sure I feel safe anywhere at this point." She
tipped her head back to take in the newly restored ceiling and he caught her slight wince as she rubbed
the back of her neck. "This is lovely."

"Thank ye. I'm working on restoring it. The yards are still a complete disaster, but most of the inside is
livable as long as ye stay in this wing of the house."

She looked down the long narrow hall that was next on his list of renovations. Moonlight shone through
the windows, illuminating the scaffolding that had been moved there earlier last week. "Looks like a big
job to me."

He gave a chuckle. "Dinna worry, yer quarters on the second floor are quite habitable."

"At this point, all I need is a bed-pillows and sheets are even optional."

"I think I can do better than that."

He led her up the steps and down the hall to his bedroom. He never used it for its intended purposes as
it was too dangerous for a vampire to enter the dark sleep where anyone could easily gain access. In
order to keep up appearances, he'd made the renovation of the bedroom and spacious bathroom as one
of the first jobs he'd undertaken.

"Bedroom is here and the bathroom is through here." He flicked on the lights as he walked through the
rooms. "Everything ye'll need is in the closet."

He turned in time to see her catch sight of her battered appearance in the mirror. Her hair was tangled
and a bruise marred her chin with several more on her throat. Exhaustion lined her eyes, making them
appear red and puffy with shadows underneath.

"I'll have some of yer things brought over from the hotel so ye'll have them in the morning."

Her dark gaze met his and he saw the gratitude reflected in their depths. "Thank you, Sinjin. You've
been a good friend to me."

He stepped forward and slid his hand behind her neck, angling her head down as he pressed a kiss to
her forehead. Throat tight, he released her and left her in peace to clean up.

His thoughts were jumbled as he walked to the library. When was the last time a woman had thanked
him for being her friend? He and Bliss had been friends, best friends in fact, but what woman had he been
friends with since her?

He dropped the portfolio on the desk. Placing his palms flat on the highly polished mahogany, he
stretched his back, silently willing his tense muscles to release. Friends or not, he couldn't remember the
last time he'd been so frightened as when he'd seen her strapped to the gurney and the EMTs taking her
away. Judging from the marks around her neck, she'd come close to dying this evening.

He straightened. He was tired, though it would be several hours before he would be forced to seek his
rest. He wouldn't be able to protect her when he was encased in his dark slumber and she couldn't stay
here alone. He'd have to contact someone who could walk about in the day to keep an eye on her, just
until he was sure she'd be safe.

With his keen senses, he heard the shower come on. Images of her standing naked in his shower
surfaced. Her slender limbs glistening as soap and hot water poured over her baby-soft skin...

His cock stirred to life, straining against his jeans. He glanced down at the taut fabric. It seemed like ever
since he'd met her, he'd had a constant hard on. He was as bad as any perpetually horny
seventeen-year-old male. So much for his control. He didn't have time for the distraction, not now at
least.

He picked up the portfolio and carried it to the closet, opening the door. A large safe occupied most of
the small space. With a few flicks of his wrist, he opened the safe and secured the precious documents.
His first task was to inform Alexandre and the Council that he had found the diary. No doubt he'd be
charged with trying to decipher the text as soon as possible.

He located his cell phone in the top desk drawer. As he dialed, he caught the faint scent of his shampoo.
He groaned. Of course she was using his shampoo, what other choice did she have? He could well
imagine the streams of white bubbles running down her luscious curves as she rinsed her hair. Her skin
slick with soap, her nipples hard-

Alexandre's voice mail interrupted his daydream. At the shrill beep, he left a message. "It's me, give me a
call."

He flipped the phone closed and broke the connection before tossing it onto the desk. What secrets
would the diary yield? He reached over and pushed the power button on his computer. The bottom line
was that Mikhail had to be defeated and the preternatural world united under one leader. But could the
current council pull off that feat?

He turned to his computer and opened his email program. The odds were stacked against them. They
currently had the largest share of the preternatural world on their side, but Mikhail's followers were
willing to die in order to win the war. Nothing was more dangerous than a radical armed with misguided
information.

In the bathroom, he heard the shower stop as his incoming email scrolled across the screen. He saw
several emails from Lily, his assistant with the chronicles. Should he read them now or see to it that
Vivian was settled for the night? He had a lot to accomplish before he sought his own bed but he wanted
to see her, just to make sure she was comfortable before he sat down to work.

Sure...that's it...

He ignored the taunting voice in his head as he left the library and approached the bedroom. He tapped
on the polished door.

."Come in." Her voice was muffled.

He opened the door and entered. She'd turned off the lights save one small Tiffany lap in the corner.
Vivian lay bundled under a pile of blankets and all he could see were her brilliant sapphire eyes.

"Are ye cold?" he asked.

"A little." Through the blankets, she shivered even though the room was comfortable. Shock no doubt.

"Would ye like me to light a fire?"

She pushed down the blankets and peered at the white marble fireplace. "Yes, please."

"I've always loved the scent of burning wood. It reminds me of home." He dropped into a crouch before
the fireplace and reached for the matches.

"Did you have a lot of fireplaces in your childhood home?"

Sinjin grinned at the thought of his sprawling castle, Aisling Crioch, secreted in a secluded valley in the
Highlands. "Ye could say that. The house has no central heating so to stay warm, all I have are fireplaces
and coal stoves."

"Sounds drafty."

The tinder caught and within seconds the bark on the logs began to scorch. "Aye, 'tis in spots. The house
is very old and made of stone so, no matter what I do, some parts of the house remain as cold as a grave
all year 'round."

"I don't think I'd like that."

He rose. "Ye'd love the Highlands. 'Tis the most beautiful place in the world with miles and miles of
rolling green, rocks, mountains and cows."

"You miss it."

"Aye."

"Why don't you go back?"

"It isn't time."

Vivian looked thoughtful, then nodded. "I can understand that."

He sat on the edge of the bed. "Is there anything else I can get for ye?"

She shook her head.

"I'll leave ye in peace then."

A look of panic came over her face, stopping him. Her gaze darted around the room as if she expected
masked attackers to leap at her from the dim corners.

"Would ye prefer I stay a while?"

In that moment, she seemed to gather herself and the haughty look he remembered from when he first
met her was back. "No, thank you."

"Maybe right now I'm the one needing assurances that ye're all right." He chuckled at how quickly she
scooted over, allowing him room in the broad bed. He stretched out beside her, sliding an arm around
her shoulders. "Do ye want to talk about it?"

She burrowed her head into his shoulder. "It was horrible. I was walking along and he just grabbed me
and shoved me into the wall." She shuddered. "I don't want to talk about it. Why don't you tell me a story
instead?"

"A story? What kind?"

"A love story, something sweet."

An image of Bliss drifted through his mind and he pushed it away. "Dinna ken much about love stories."

She chuckled, her voice rough from the abuse her throat had received. "I don't believe you."

"Well, 'tis true. My reputation is greatly exaggerated I'm afraid." He felt her shiver. "Still cold?"

She gave a jerky nod.

He pulled her closer and tucked her into his side. A thick layer of blankets separated them as he rubbed
on her back and arm, trying to warm her. "I've loved but one woman. The moment I saw her, I knew she
was the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with." He felt her relax against him. "There was never
any doubt in her mind nor mine."

"Tell me about her."

Sinjin knew he couldn't tell her the complete truth; Vivian's mortal mind wouldn't be able to accept their
story so he'd have to fudge the truth a bit. "Well, she was tiny, blonde and not so fierce as ye."

"I'm not fierce-"

"Ye can be. Bliss was fragile, yet strong as steel in her own way. She was a bit timid when I first met her
and she had an overpowering mother who'd dominated her but after we met, Bliss finally got away from
her and we spent all of our time together. We shared a love for hiking and the ocean. We went to the
opera and for long carriage rides just holding hands and talking. I couldn't imagine ever being with anyone
else as long as I lived."

"Then what happened?"

"Her mother stepped in. Said that if Bliss didn't leave me, she would see to it that I was destroyed. Her
mother was a very powerful woman and many feared her. While I won't say that I was afraid of her, I
was certainly smart enough to be wary of what she could do." He took a deep breath as the remembered
pain lanced his heart. "Bliss was so loyal and protective, and she was torn over what was happening. It
was destroying her and, one day, she left."

"Just like that?"

"Aye, just like that."

"Were you heartbroken?"

"I swore to never love another."

"What happened to her?"

"Time passed and we rekindled the relationship as friends. Her mother never knew about it, of course.
Then, last year, Bliss was killed in a kidnap attempt." Vivian made a noise of sympathy. "Someone was
trying to kidnap the son of a mutual friend and Bliss died saving him."

"Then her death wasn't in vain."

Sinjin paused. He'd never looked at it that way. Max was indeed safe and Bliss had paid the ultimate
price for his life by giving hers. Yes, she'd succeeded. Bliss had loved little Max and she'd have been
devastated if anything had happened to him. Silent, he gave Vivian a hug.

"What happened to her mother?"

"Died about six weeks after her daughter."

"How sad is that?" Vivian sighed. "Don't you know any good stories?"

"Aye."

"Why don't you tell one of them instead?"

Her voice was growing slurred with sleep.

"Because it's time for ye to rest."

"Not tired..."

He chuckled. She was like a two-year-old fighting sleep and getting cranky. "Hush now."

She was silent for a moment, then spoke again. "There were two of them. One big guy and a little guy."

He rubbed her shoulder, not saying anything as he silently willed her to speak and get everything off her
chest. It would enable her to sleep better if she told someone of her traumatic experience.

"They were looking for a book and they must have thought I was someone else." She rubbed her face
against him like a sleepy cat. "I don't even have a diary."

Diary?

"They told ye they were looking for a diary?"

"Yes, but one said I was the wrong woman." She shuddered. "I keep thinking about her out there
somewhere and she has these thugs looking for her and she probably doesn't even know it yet." Her
voice trailed off as she drifted into sleep.

This was no random mugging. They were looking for Elena and had mistaken Vivian for the werewolf.
They were roughly the same build and long dark hair, though Vivian was taller. In the dark they would
look similar enough that they could be mistaken for one another. Was it Miles? Did he know Elena had
the diary and he'd returned to claim it?

Whatever the answer he had to find out fast. Vivian had almost lost her life over the book and her
relationship with him had placed her right on the front lines. The only way to keep her safe would be to
get her away from him and New Orleans.

He closed his eyes, savoring the sensation of Vivian by his side and knowing that, for her own good, it
had to be the last time.

"Did you get the diary?"

Miles gripped the phone, his knuckles white as Mikhail's voice grated in his ear. "No, not yet. We've
found the woman and expect to have it in our hands within twenty-four hours."

Mikhail chuckled. "See to it. I have work to accomplish and this little snag is impeding my progress."

The click on the line announced the broken connection. Miles barely controlled his rage as he replaced
the receiver. His current lowly position in the hierarchy of Mikhail's army grated on his nerves. This was
what he got for trusting a woman. Silently he cursed Cass and her treacherous ways. She'd paid the
ultimate price with her life, but she'd left him in an untenable situation. He'd have to claw his way to the
top of the heap again. Then he would make Mikhail pay for brushing him off so lightly.

The rustle of sheets brought his attention to the prostitute in his bed. Her dark hair was tangled about her
head, her dusky limbs tied to the posts of the bed, leaving her nude and spread- eagled. Needle tracks
marked her arms, leaving them bruised and reddened from her drug habit.

She was a nasty, sad piece of work. If it weren't for her resemblance to Cass, he never would have
gotten near her. Nude, he set the phone on the floor and stalked to the bed. The whore was slowly
coming around, her head moving as she moaned softly.

He wrapped a meaty hand around his cock, jerking on his semi-erect flesh as he imagined the woman on
the bed wasn't a twenty-dollar whore, but Cass with her perfumed limbs and heated gaze. He closed his
eyes as the memory of her sultry laugh wrapped around him, energizing him. His erection surged in his
hand and he panted as his movements increased.

Just as release neared, he climbed onto the bed and rammed himself into the prostitute's damp flesh. His
fingers curled around her slender throat as he pounded into her again and again.

"Cass..."

Beneath him, he could feel the woman struggle, but she made nary a sound as his fingers tightened. Her
neck snapped as his release washed over him.
 Chapter 9
The first thing Vivian heard upon awakening was a moan.

She lay silent for a moment, trying to place the noise. The room was quiet and the scent of wood smoke
lingered in the air. Wondering what time it was, she moved and the moan echoed again. This time she
realized it came from her own throat.

She stilled. It hurt to move, even breathe. Remaining still, she took stock of her injuries. Her head
throbbed, but her throat hurt worse. It was as bad as the time she'd had tonsillitis in grade school.
Combined with her headache, it was worse than any hangover she'd ever experienced in her life. Her
right side was sore where she must have landed on it and her elbow was tight and hot.

But the most pressing problem was that she needed to go to the bathroom. Just the thought of attempting
to get out of bed made her stomach roll dangerously.

"Pills," she moaned. "I need drugs."

"So you're awake."

Vivian's eyes flew open and she sat up at the sound of a strange voice. A young woman sat by the
window and Vivian thought for a second it might be her friend, Shai. Then pain shot through her skull and
she grabbed her head, praying it wouldn't come apart. She heard a soft mewling sound, like that of a
kitten, and she was astonished to realize it came from her.

"There now, take it easy." The voice was soothing as were the cool hands that helped her lean back
against the abundance of pillows that miraculously appeared stacked behind her.

Vivian felt the bed dip as the woman sat down beside her.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

"My name is Maeve. I'm a friend of Sinjin's."

Another one of his women no doubt.

Hesitant, Vivian opened her eyes, blinking at the intrusion of sunlight. For a second, all she could see
was a feminine figure clad in black. Around her head was a coronet of gold like the paintings of religious
figures from the medieval period.

Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the intrusion of light and the stranger beside her took form. Her
resemblance to Shai was breathtaking. Her hair was deep auburn, the shade women strived to achieve
by coloring but usually failed miserably. Long and loose, it caught the sunlight and exploded into flames of
silk on her shoulders.

Her eyes were the same shade of emerald, and they were the oldest eyes she'd ever seen. Deep in their
mesmerizing depths resided a wealth of knowledge and life, and from her appearance, not all of it was
good. She had the look of a warrior, her body well-toned, her arms rippled with muscles. Dressed in
black pants, black tank top and a small silver pentagram on a chain around her neck, she looked ready
to do battle.

"Have you looked your fill?" her tone was amused.

Vivian blinked. It wasn't often someone took her by surprise but this woman had managed it. "I'm sorry,
I don't mean to stare."

She smiled. "It's not every day you find a stranger in your bedroom."

"It's not that. You resemble a friend of mine."

"Shai Jordan?"

Vivian gaped. "You know Shai?"

"I do. 'Tis a small world we reside in, Vivian." Maeve said. "I've met most of your circle. Erihn, Shai,
Jennifer, and I've heard stories of you." Her eyes gleamed with amusement.

Vivian gave a throaty chuckle, then winced in pain. "I'll bet you have. But she was another woman."

The smile slid from Maeve's face, her expression now sober. "That's too bad. I'd always thought I would
enjoy meeting that Vivian. She sounded like a lot of fun. I hope she isn't completely gone."

Vivian gave her a wobbly smile. "Well, maybe not all of her is vanquished." She glanced around the
room, noting the open door and the gloom of the hallway. She shivered.

Maeve gave her an understanding smile. "Don't worry, Vivian, you're safe here."

"I don't feel very safe." To her dismay, she felt her lip tremble.

Maeve laid a hand on her arm and a strange sense of calm invaded her. It was as if a mild pain
medication had been released within her system. Vivian could feel her body relax as her pain faded to a
more manageable level. "No one would dare trespass here. Sinjin will see to that." She removed her hand
and the odd, floaty sensation remained in place of the pain. "Now, let's get you cleaned up and I'll fix you
some breakfast."

Numb, Vivian nodded, strangely willing to follow wherever this magical woman wanted to take her.

The sun was warm on her skin as Vivian lay in a comfortable lounge chair in the overgrown courtyard.
Beside her on a small table was a glass vase filled with a bright arrangement of flowers from Detective
Draven. She smiled. What a nice man he was. Handsome, charismatic and she could tell he would be
good in bed. He knew how to make a woman feel like the center of the universe when he talked to her.
With his concentration focused on her, nothing else existed but the two of them. Too bad she wasn't
attracted to him. Her smile faded. A nice, uncomplicated relationship was preferable to the emotional
tangle Sinjin had placed on her shoulders.

She sighed and looked around the wildly overgrown courtyard that Sinjin called home. Crumbling brick
paths were weed choked, the flowerbeds resembled a wilderness with only a few roses gone wild. In the
center was a dilapidated fountain. Moss grew thick over what she suspected was a young woman,
though she looked as if she were bundled for winter weather in her voluminous green pelt. The basin was
filled with thick, stagnant water and wisps of weeds.

Maeve had said that the house had been empty for almost seventy years and the locals believed it
haunted. She'd shown Vivian clippings of old newspaper reports of bodies being found in house during
the last forty years. Almost all were victims of drugs or gang brutality. The house and spacious grounds
were scarred by the violence that had inhabited it for so long.

But Sinjin was working to change that. He'd concentrated on restoring the inside of the house. Preferring
to do the bulk of the work himself, he'd completed most of the south wing, which included the front
entrance. Luckily for them it also included the kitchen.

It was good to have a task in life. What was hers? Before Mel's death, she would have said her task
was to raise funds for various charities and play with her friends. Looking back, it wasn't a terribly
fulfilling existence.

Since Mel's death, all she'd done was travel and avoid life. Now, sitting in a courtyard in New Orleans,
she was forced face to face with it. It was time to make hard decisions and one of them was to reconcile
her past and that included her relationship with Marc.

Marcus Hendricks III, a blue-blooded name for a second-year medical student with eyes like hot
chocolate and a smile that curled her toes. She'd been only nineteen years old and studying social work
with a minor in history. They'd been blissfully happy, living together in their tiny rented space as they'd
made their way through school, determined to make a difference in the world in their own way.

Then had come the summons for her to return home and her dream had abruptly ended. Vivian never
did find out exactly what had happened to spark her father's command. Had her father found out about
his daughter's love affair? Bradford Carrington had been a controlling man who'd wanted to rule his
daughter's life as he did his company. With a firm hand and strict discipline. His then-current wife and her
children, Vivian's stepbrothers and sisters, had danced to his tune. Only Vivian had stood up to him.

She hadn't wanted to leave sunny California, her friends, her classes and her lover to return to Boston. In
fact, the same day she'd received his tersely worded summons, dictated through his assistant Scott no
doubt, she'd called him and refused to return home. He'd immediately threatened to cut her off without a
cent.

And that incident had sparked a defining moment in her life. She'd never been without money. She didn't
know who she'd be without her millions and prestigious family name behind her. Even though she'd taken
a job and was, for the most part, supporting herself, in the back of her mind she'd always known that she
could fall back on her trust fund should she fail. As much as she'd hated the shackles it had imposed on
her life, the money was also as much a part of her as were her arms and her legs. But how could she bear
to leave the man she loved with every breath in her body?

Within hours, the decision had been plucked from her fingertips. The evening had been rain-soaked and
Marc had been late leaving the hospital. A sharp bend in the road had hidden a three-car accident and
he'd died instantly, his car plunging into the sea, his body was never recovered.

Even now she wondered if she'd have made the right decision should the fates have allowed her that
choice. Would she have chosen Marc or would she have stayed with the security of her families money?
Now, even twenty-five years later, she wasn't sure which she would've chosen. She'd loved Marc, of
that there was no doubt in her mind, but would she have walked away from her legacy and lived on love
alone?

That was the question that haunted her in the dark of night.

Numb with loss, she'd left college and California to return home to Boston. For a short while, her father
had seemed to recognize her need for mourning. He'd kept a respectful distance and made few demands.
But after a year he'd begun shoving potential husbands down her throat. All of them well-bred young
stallions with names like Richard, Emerson or Gregory and pedigrees that any well-reared Boston
socialite would be thrilled to hook.

At first she'd been angry with her father, rejecting every stud he'd paraded past as if she were a brood
mare. Until James Longford, an enterprising young lawyer with kind green eyes. A kind and gentle man
who'd seemed to understand her pain and was content to take it slow, never pressing for more than she'd
been ready to give.

Encouraged by his gentleness, she'd begun spending time with him and found she enjoyed his solicitous
behavior and wry sense of humor. After a few months, they'd spent most of their waking time together,
taking long walks, going to galleries and sailing in calm weather. He'd come from a boisterous New
England family, which Vivian took to like a duck to water. Her own family was both physically and
emotionally distant, very different from the animated Longfords. Just when she'd thought that maybe she
could love James and they could have a future together, that dream had also fractured.

One afternoon she'd returned early from a friend's baby shower. The house had been quiet and, as she'd
made her way to her suite of rooms, she'd overheard her father and James speaking in the library.
Wanting to surprise them, she'd tiptoed to the door in time to overhear them discussing the amount of
money and a Vice Presidency in the Carrington Empire that James would receive once an engagement
ring sat upon Vivian's finger.

Aghast, Vivian had peered through the door and held her breath as she'd waited for James to toss the
insulting bribe back in her father's face. Instead she'd witnessed the exchange of a fat envelope as
Bradford had paid James to ask for her hand in marriage. Rage had blurred her vision and she'd scarcely
been able to control her anger.

She'd slipped from the doorway and called her father's service requesting that he be paged to the office,
knowing James would remain behind to await her arrival as they'd planned. After her father had left,
she'd plastered a smile on her face and joined her treacherous boyfriend in the library. Within minutes
she'd had him naked and willing on her father's antique desk, she'd screwed his brains out for the first and
only time.

Afterward she'd climbed off him, cleaned herself with his silk Hermes tie then withdrew the envelope
from his jacket and threw the cash at him, telling him that was the last he'd ever get from her and she
hoped the fuck was worth what he'd been paid.

She knew now that, in that moment, the last vestiges of the Vivian Marc had known and loved had died
on a desk in Bradford's library. She'd walked out of her father's house and never returned. Upon
reaching her majority, she'd inherited various trusts from her grandparents- more money than God, Marc
used to say-and she hadn't needed her father's support any longer.

That was also the moment she'd turned away from the woman she should have become.
 Suddenly weary, Vivian let her head drop to the lounger, her eyes drifted closed. After that it became
nothing more than a string of men, one after another, and two failed marriages. For years she'd drifted on
a cloud of meaningless relationships, cocooned by her money and emotionally unavailable to everyone
around her.

Until Mel.

Vivian grinned. They'd met at a New York television station where she'd worked as a cue-card girl.
Polar opposites, even now Viv couldn't say what it was that had drawn them together. Mel had grown up
in a very blue-collar existence with a big family and dreams of becoming a star in Hollywood and she'd
succeeded with a vengeance only to lose everything in an accident.

What had Vivian succeeded in accomplishing? In college, she and Marc had believed they could save
the world. In the end she hadn't been able to save herself let alone him.

Death was one of the few absolutes in life. So what did she want to accomplish before her death?

Saving the world might be out of the question, but what about a smaller, more obtainable goal?
Something strictly for herself.

She wanted a relationship with a man who didn't know or care about her money. Someone who would
love her and not look down on her for being human and making mistakes now and then, someone like-

Sinjin.

She opened her eyes, taking in the dazzling blue of the sky above. Contentment spread through her limbs
as the rightness of the situation sank into her bones and every cell of her being.

Exactly. That was what she wanted.

But the problem with being human was that they could die at any minute. She didn't want to end up on
her deathbed with her last thoughts being filled only with regrets. It was time to quit wasting the time she
had and, rather than running from her life, it was time to embrace it.

Chapter 10
Sinjin exited the confines of his basement lair just seconds after the sun faded from the western sky. As
he left the untouched wing of the house, he heard laughter coming from the open windows of the kitchen.
Heading in that direction, he cut through the courtyard, his eyes widening as he saw the transformation
that had taken place.

The herb bed nearest the kitchen door showed signs of recent work. The dead plants had been removed
and in its place were green plants that appeared to be healthy. Stunted from being covered with brittle,
dead vegetation, the small shoots appeared to be strong and sturdy.

Who would have thought that something would have grown under all that mess? He knew Maeve had a
hand in this and she'd probably given them a helping touch with her magic.
 Even though he didn't need to cook, the kitchen was probably his favorite room in the house. It was
spacious with a generous food preparation area complete with bar and island. On the other side of the
room was a large fireplace with a cozy conversation nook filled with a loveseat and overstuffed chair.

Through the window, he spied Maeve as she stood at the stove, wiping it down with a dishcloth. Across
the room sat Vivian, curled near the fireplace in the loveseat. For the first time since he'd met her, her hair
was unbound. Soft dark curls surrounded her face and brushed the shoulders of her dark blue dress. A
small bruise marred her chin with several more on her throat. Other than those marks she appeared to be
in good health. Legs under her, she laughed at something Maeve was saying, a glass of red wine in her
hand.

"You really will have to meet Quinn. He's such a stitch." Maeve was saying as Sinjin stepped into the
room.

"Someone has to be because ye werena much fun at all," he said.

Maeve shot him a sour look. "As if you would know."

"Not for lack of trying." Sinjin pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly. Maeve had been his
houseguest for an extended stay last year and he'd grown to appreciate her wry sense of humor. She'd
also succeeded in saving his life. "It's good to see ye, my friend."

"Good to see you, too." She returned his hug. "I've had a lovely day with your new friend."

He gave Vivian's wineglass a pointed look. "Should she be drinking?" he asked.

"She's fine-"

"I am of age," Vivian drawled. She raised the glass to her lips and took a drink, her gaze daring him to
object.

"That ye are. I was more concerned about your physical health than yer breaking the law."

"Thanks to Maeve here, I feel fine. I've been pampered like a rich woman's poodle all day long."

Maeve laughed. "I didn't allow her to lift a finger."

"So you're the one who dug up my yard?"

"Guilty." She tossed the dishrag over the faucet. "It was a glorious day, so we wandered outside and
Vivian rested while I worked in the mud."

He gave her a mock-lecherous look. "Sounds arousing."

Maeve rolled her eyes and grinned at the other woman. "Men areso predictable."

"But amusing in their own, tedious way," Vivian drawled.

"You are so right." Maeve picked up her purse. "I'm out of here. I have some errands to run." She
crossed the room to give Vivian a hug. "You take care and call me if you need anything. And you," she
turned to Sinjin. "You take care of her. I don't want to hear that she's been hit in the head again."

"I promise."

He felt a flutter of panic as Maeve left. They were alone and sparks seemed to fly whenever they were
alone together. After the events of yesterday, it would be easier for him to keep his hands to himself.
He'd come very close to losing her and he never wanted to go through that again, but for her own good,
he had to maintain his distance. But how could a woman worm her way into his psyche in such a short
period of time?

He cleared his throat. "So, ye're feeling better?"

"I am." She gave him a huge smile. "I really like your friend. She was great to spend the whole day with
me."

"Aye, Maeve's one of a kind."

"Yes, she is." Vivian unfolded her legs and rose from the couch, setting her wineglass on the hearth.
"Sinjin, I've always been a straight-forward woman. I've lied to myself in the past but that's over now. I
won't shy away from the truth and what I want in life."

A flutter of unease hit his belly as he caught the determined glint in her eye. What was she up to? "Viv-"

"No, let me finish." The scent of his shampoo rose from her hair as she stopped in front of him. "You and
I don't know each other very well." She shrugged. "That's okay. To some people, my life looked easy. I
came and went as I pleased. I loved those I chose and would cast them aside when I tired of them. I
lived a superficial existence then, but that's over now.

"This afternoon I realized, really realized how fragile life was. How I've wasted so much time trying to
insulate myself from getting hurt and being rejected, but that isn't what life is about."

He was caught by the brutal honestly reflected in her eyes. All artifice had been stripped away and in its
place was the essence of the woman she really was. The scent of her skin, warm and female, was killing
him. Since he'd failed to feed upon rising, his body was sounding an alarm that was part hunger, part lust
as she placed her palm on his chest. She licked her lips and a rush of heat filled his groin, bringing him
into full alert.

Sinjin wanted this woman more than he'd ever wanted anything, but to take her would be putting her life
in danger. That he couldn't do.

"Viv-"

"Shh." She laid her finger over his lips, stemming the tide of words. "You haven't let me finish."

Against his will, his tongue snaked out to taste her fingertip. The warmth of her skin melted over his
tongue like Swiss chocolate, invading his senses, making his head reel. He watched as surprise moved
across her features, changing quickly to desire.

"We never know when our lives will end or irrevocably change in a moment. I only know one thing right
now and that's that I want you." She rubbed her palm across his stomach and a shockwave of heat hit
him so hard that this knees wobbled. "I think... no, I know that you want me."
"Aye, woman." The word slithered through clenched teeth as her hand slid upward, curling around the
back of his neck.

"What would happen if we never consummated this feeling? What if I walked out that door and got
killed, never knowing what it would be like to be held in your arms?" She leaned against him, pressing her
full breasts into his chest.

He clenched his hands into fists, fighting the need to touch her. "Sounds like a rationalization for flagrant
disregard for decorum." He breathed against her hair. The scent of his own shampoo had never aroused
him to this extent before.

She cupped the hard crotch of his jeans. "This doesn't feel like a rationalization to me."

"Vivian-"

Her lips were firm and moist against his as her taste exploded in his system. Her tongue teased the seam
of his lips and, with a moan, he opened and let her in. Their tongues tangled and, when she gave his a
gentle nip then soothed it with a slow suck, he realized he was being kissed by a woman who knew
exactly how it should be done.

With a moan, he slid his arms down her body until he cupped her backside, lifting her to grind against the
soft cushion between her thighs. He groaned as if he were wounded when she lifted her leg and rubbed it
against his thigh. He could smell her arousal, her heat, and it sent his pulse racing.

He slid his hands from her buttocks down her thighs. Lifting, he turned and placed her on one of the
island stools. He pushed her skirt up as he nudged her thighs apart with his hips. With a quick movement,
he pulled her forward and pressed her panty-clad crotch against the straining fly of his jeans.

Their mouths ate at each other as he rubbed rhythmically against her dampness. His hands locked on her
hips and he pulled her upward to meet each thrust as her slim legs wound around his waist, canting her
body for a better angle. Her nails dug into his skin as she tore at the buttons of his shirt.

Vaguely he was aware of the sound of tearing cotton before her nails skimmed his bare chest. She
plucked at his nipple, breaking his rhythmic movements. If she kept this up, their encounter was bound to
be short-lived.

Hoping to slow her down, he tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back. He trailed hot,
opened-mouth kisses down her throat, pausing near the base. Beneath his lips he could feel her pulse,
wild and unrestrained just beneath her skin. He just barely managed to resist the urge to taste her by
forcing himself to move farther down her body until he nuzzled the creamy valley between her breasts.
Her hands brushed his chin as she undid the buttons of her dress, allowing him better access.

As he nibbled at her flesh, he curled both hands under her dark blue skirt and pulled it up to her waist.
By touch alone, he tore at her panties, the soft material gave under his grip, and he tossed it away,
feverish to touch her.

He shuddered as he breached her damp flesh with a finger. He raised his head. "Ye're wet for me."

Their gazes clashed and she didn't blush or look away. "Yes, I am. Very wet."
"I want ye to scream for me." He zeroed in on her clitoris, watching her skin flush with pleasure as her
hips followed him, making it last. Her gaze grew hazy with each movement.

A teasing smile curved her lips. "I'll scream for you if you'll return the favor." She cupped her hand over
his erection.

"Later."

Sinjin dropped to his knees and wedged his body between her thighs. Her inner flesh was dusky and
glistening with desire. He slid his hands up the inside of her thighs until they reached her soft nest of dark
curls. He was aware of her heated gaze as her restless fingers stroked his hair. He parted her soft flesh,
then slid a finger against the most sensitive part of her body. Once. Twice. A breathy half-moan slipped
from her mouth as her body mimicked his movements, rocking to and fro with each stroke.

He bent his head and buried his face between her soft thighs. At the first touch of his tongue against her
skin, her thighs tightened against his cheeks. She moaned long and loud as he suckled her flesh with
single-minded determination. He slid his fingers deep into her damp channel and a cry burst from her
throat.

Within minutes, she writhed beneath his touch. Her head thrown back, her breath came in soft gasps as
she begged, nay, pleaded with him to end her torture.

"Yes...please. There. No, harder. Yes...Oh God. Yes. Yes.Yes! "

Her final cry came out like a shriek, the sound of which bounced off the kitchen walls and other polished
surfaces. Her thighs relaxed and Sinjin nuzzled her inner thigh before rising over her.

Her skin was flushed, her lips swollen from his kisses as her curls tumbled wildly about her head. She
looked thoroughly compromised.

"You're next." She gave him a soft, sexy smile.

"Nay, I'm not through with ye yet."

Vivian shrieked and wrapped her arms around his neck when he swept her off the chair. He staggered
as she twined her legs around his waist, pressing her heat against his erection. He could only hope his
jeans could contain him for another few minutes lest he embarrass himself.

As he carried her through the house, she drove him crazy by touching every inch of exposed skin she
could reach. His earlobe was the first victim of her attentions when she sucked the tender bit of flesh
between her lips.

He shuddered and his cock strained for freedom. "Ye'd better quit, woman."

"Or what?" She bit his earlobe.

"I'll have to spank yer wee bottom."

"Ooh!" She shimmied as he climbed the steps. "Sounds kinky. Maybe we can do that next time."

He chuckled and smacked her lightly on the backside before giving her a firm squeeze. "Why not now?"
"This time I want you to fuck me hard," she whispered in his ear.

The images her words evoked had him panting as he staggered into his bedroom. Within moments, he
had her on her back in the middle of his bed. His mouth took hers as he set out to devour her. Greedy
hands ran over skin as clothing was removed and thrown to the floor. Impatient, he was hungry to have
her beneath him, desperate to be inside her. Deep inside her.

His restraint gone, he pressed her thighs apart and entered her with a low groan. Her body opened at his
invasion, caressing his cock with her damp, silken flesh. Moving with little finesse and a lot of passion, he
pounded into her. Reality faded and he was aware only of the woman beneath him and the sensations she
aroused in him.

Hot, wild and untamed, they possessed each other totally. Their fingers entwined as their bodies strained
toward completion. With a wild cry, she reached her release mere seconds before he did. His body
tensed as his orgasm ripped through his body. Deep, convulsive shudders wracked him before losing
their grip, allowing him to sink into Vivian's warm embrace.

After a few moments, their breathing slowed and reality reasserted itself. Sinjin rolled, taking Vivian with
him to curl against his side. As her hand landed near his heart, he savored the feeling of his lover cuddled
against him. Closing his eyes, he experienced a new- found contentment.

Limbs still entangled, Vivian fell asleep in his arms. The heady scent of their lovemaking lingered on his
skin. He loathed having to leave her but he was due at the bar to meet Elena and receive the diary.

Duty was more important than physical pleasure.

Slowly, he slipped from her relaxed grip. Pulling a light blanket from the foot of the bed, he covered her.
She gave a little sigh as the soft fabric covered her delectable curves.

With a light kiss on her forehead, he turned away from the woman who was in danger of stealing his
heart to ready himself for the upcoming meeting.

Chapter 11
Elena licked her lips. Her gaze was glued on Sinjin as he stared at the leather book nestled in its bed of
blue velvet. She knew well how he felt. The book was singularly unspectacular to look at. Warm brown
leather, worn at the edges and the book's spine was bare of any adornment. She knew he'd expected
more than this drab little tome. Certainly not bolts of lightning on high or anything like that. But more than
justthis .

"So many people have died for the knowledge in this book." Sinjin spoke as he ran his fingers over the
cover. He pulled his hand away and she wondered if he'd felt the same chill she had when she'd first
touched it. There was an unholiness that rested between its covers and she felt it every time she picked it
up.
"It has little to do with the knowledge and everything to do with the greed of man." She heard the
bitterness in her tone and winced.

He lifted his head and his blue gaze impaled hers. She fought the urge to step away from him. "Vivian
almost died for this book last night."

"How is that?"

"She was accosted less than a block from here when she left. She told me what they said to her and it
sounded like Miles." His expression grew guarded. "I will ask ye again, how did ye come by the book?"

She crossed her arms over her chest and turned away. "I prefer not to disclose that information."

"I dinna give a damn what ye prefer, Elena. An innocent woman almost died because she resembled ye.
Someone is obviously after ye and they know ye have the diary. Is it Miles?"

She shrugged. "I haven't had any problems. No one's hassled me over the book."

"Was it Miles ye stole the book from?"

"She's very lucky, your woman." Elena drifted to the window, her gaze falling on the boisterous crowds
that milled along the street. "I smell her on your skin. She's invaded every inch of your being, but you
haven't realized it yet." Loneliness resonated in her soul. Right now she wanted to be anywhere but here,
in this city, this office, her own skin. The weight of the book and her past betrayal weighed heavily on her
soul. All she wanted to do was lay down and weep, but that wasn't an option. For her it never had been.

"I stole the book from Miles while he slept." She smiled at the memory. "Or, at least I thought he was
asleep. When he woke I knocked him out." She turned. "Needless to say, he's not pleased with me."

"And he's come for it."

"Probably."

"Any idea who could be with him?"

She shook her head. "Man or woman?"

"Man."

"That's an interesting development. He usually travels alone unless it's a female companion."

Sinjin sat back, his expression contemplative. "Which tells me someone else is behind this."

"And who wants the diary more than anyone else?"

"Mikhail."

They were silent, both staring at one another as they realized the implications of the vampire's
involvement.
"Do you think Miles ever intended to take the book to him?"

Sinjin shrugged. "Whatever he intended, ye mucked that up. I have no doubt Miles is after the book and,
consequently, after ye. The question is whether or not Mikhail is behind him as well or is it another
interested party."

"Is there anything you need assistance with?" she asked.

"Nay. Right now, I just need several weeks to begin studying the diary. We can only hope time is on our
side."

"I'll keep my ears open and inform you if anything that pertains to this arises."

"Will ye be okay?"

Elena forced a smile to her lips. She was used to taking care of herself. She was always careful to on her
feet and she would this time as well. "Yes. I'll call you in a few weeks."

"Please do." Before she could leave, he rose from his chair and held out his hand. Elena stared at it for a
second before she caught it and gave it one quick shake.

"Thank ye, Elena Vasquez. Ye've done the entire preternatural world a huge favor by recovering this
book and turning it o'er to me."

She released him; her skin burning where he'd touched her. Didn't he know that she was undeserving of
his gratitude? Her possession of the diary had had nothing to do with saving any other life than her own.
"You're welcome. Now if you'll excuse me, I have another appointment to keep."

She took the steps at a quick jog. The restaurant was almost empty when she passed through. Only the
redheaded vampire waitress stood behind the bar, talking to a man with a scar on his face. His ice-blue
gaze met hers and a shiver ran down Elena's spine, alerting her to possible danger. Her eyes narrowed as
she passed, barely managing to not growl at him.

Keeping her senses on alert, she slipped out the door to blend with the crowd and fade into the New
Orleans night in pursuit of her next destination and the job that awaited her.

Dawn was still several hours away when Sinjin entered his house. He'd spent the last three hours
photocopying the diary, page by excruciating page. The copy was now secreted in his personal safe at
the Chat while the original was tucked into the bag he carried.

After locking the door, he headed for the stairs, wondering if Vivian was still asleep in his bed where
he'd left her. His pulse quickened at the thought of her waiting for him. He stopped to lock the diary in
the library safe before heading into the bedroom.

A small fire crackled in the fireplace, painting the room with a soft golden glow. The room was warm,
almost too warm, and he hastened to open the window. Outside the night air lay thick and heavy, almost
as if it were waiting for something. Even the usual night sounds were muted as if the creatures themselves
were afraid of attracting undue attention.
 A gentle snore sounded behind him, bringing a grin to his face. So, she wasn't exactly waiting up, but she
was still here. That was something. He unbuttoned his shirt as he walked to where Vivian slept, dropping
it on the carpet as he moved. She lay on her stomach, as bare as the day she was born. She'd kicked off
her covers and they were half wadded beneath her torso, canting her backside upward, one knee bent
toward her waist.

She made a restless sound and turned her face away as he sat beside her. Firelight kissed her exposed
skin and he eyed her curves appreciatively. She had the most beautiful bottom he'd ever seen. He ran his
hand over the soft globe, stroking and squeezing her flesh with a gentle touch. Beneath his hand, her
breathing hitched and she stirred ever so slightly.

He stopped, waiting for her breath to resume its normal rhythm before moving around between her
thighs. He kissed the base of her spine then let his tongue follow the curve of one plump cheek. Already
aroused, his cock strained the fly of his jeans, bringing him just short of the point of pain. Seeing her here,
naked, her beautiful body his for the taking, brought forth a powerful rush of lust that threatened to bend
him double. He wanted to take her from behind, to feel the slap of her soft bottom against his stomach as
he brought her to fulfillment.

But first he had something else to do.

He stretched forward, bracing his arm near her waist as he kissed his way up her spine. "Wake up,
sleepyhead," he purred.

Vivian shifted as he nipped the indentation of her waistline before nibbling a path over the curve of her
butt. He lightly bit the tender flesh between her buttock and thigh.

"Mmm..." She moved, her thighs opening further.

"More, love."

She moved again and Sinjin slid his hand between her thighs, parting her flesh to expose her glistening
dusky pink core with his fingers. She sighed as his finger brushed the nubbin still hidden by soft curls.

"So beautiful," he whispered. "And so wet."

He parted her further, exposing her clitoris. He slid his fingers deep into her slippery channel as his
thumb caressed her bundle of nerves. Her hips lifted as she gave a loud moan before pressing her face
deeper into the pillows. Her hands knotted the sheets as he continued his sensual assault on her body.
Her hips rose with each stroke.

"Sinjin?"

Her voice was faint, strained.

"Aye?"

"Make me come."

"Oh, aye."

Sinjin bent his head and applied his tongue to her flesh. Suckling her hot inner core, she cried out as his
fingers increased their gentle assault, stroking and teasing. He wanted to make her cry out in ecstasy. No,
he wanted her to scream and he would accept nothing less.

"Sinjin!"

Vivian reached for his free hand and their fingers twined as she twisted against his mouth. She cried, a
long and hoarse sob of release as she tightened around his fingers.

He removed his jeans then stroked the soft skin of her lower back as she slowly quieted. Her body fell
limp against the sheets, her skin damp with sweat. With their fingers entwined, he stretched out over her,
nudging her thighs wider with his knees, then slid into her from behind in one smooth movement.

"Mmm..." Vivian arched her back, taking him deeper. "Just lovely," she sighed.

He raised her arms so that her hands were near her head and he could balance his weight on his elbows.
He brushed his lips over her cheek, her hair tickling his skin as he nuzzled her ear. Buried deep within her
with her soft buttocks cushioning his belly was the closest a man could get to heaven and not be forced to
don a pair of wings.

He fought the urge to simply drive himself mindlessly into her body. His movements were slow, sensual,
keeping them both aroused, but doing nothing to bring them to release. But her soft wiggling motions and
the rhythmic clenching of her flesh frayed what little self control he possessed. He clenched his teeth as he
felt her shatter beneath him. Hearing her low cries of completion destroyed what little restraint he had left.
Her body bracing his, he drove into her, hard, deep. Once, twice, three times...his head came up and he
shouted as he came.

Trembling, he collapsed over her. Replete, he had absolutely no desire to move away from her. He
nuzzled her neck and the soft curve of her shoulder. Her curls tickled his nose as he nibbled the back of
her neck.

"That was fabulous," Vivian purred.

"Aye, it was." He closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of the woman beneath him. His body and soul
were replete.

She gave a throaty chuckle. "I heard the funniest thing today."

"What is that?"

"Brent said you were a-" a yawn broke off her words. "Vampire. Can you believe that?"

Sinjin froze, the warm afterglow of their lovemaking dashed like an incoming tide upon the rocks.
Beneath him, Vivian drifted into sleep as the dawn continued its inevitable arrival. He slipped from her
body to begin preparing for his dark sleep. And for the first time in centuries, he cursed the way of life
that would separate them in the daylight hours.

Chapter 12
What a twenty-four hours it had been.

Vivian took a sip of her strong coffee, enjoying the kick of the bitter liquid as it flowed over her tongue.
The sun was bright overhead and, even though it was barely noon, the air was growing dense with
humidity.

Across the garden, Maeve was up to her elbows in dirt as she planted rose bushes. Dressed in tattered
jeans and a faded Cleveland Browns jersey, she looked as happy as anyone could be in a pile of mud.

Vivian grinned. Almost as happy as she could be after a long night of good sex. She couldn't wipe the
smile off her face as she set her mug down on the table. Sinjin had been everything she'd imagined and
more. Uninhibited, passionate and tender, he was everything she needed in a lover.

How about a husband?

She snorted. That wasn't likely. He desired and respected her, but she was pretty sure he wasn't in love
with her. If he was, why had she woken alone in his bed with only sunlight as her companion? She picked
up the mug again and grinned. Maybe he really was a vampire.

The rattle of the gate brought her attention to the far end of the courtyard. Maeve leapt from the ground
and darted to stand between Vivian and the newcomer.

Brent Draven approached and Vivian's smile grew wider. "Welcome, Detective Draven. May I
introduce my friend, Maeve Leigh?"

He nodded at the other woman. "Ms. Leigh."

Maeve gave him a curt nod. "Detective Draven."

Vivian was surprised Brent didn't offer his hand to shake as she'd expect him to do. Had they met
before?

"How are you feeling, Vivian?" Brent asked.

"I'm well, thank you for asking."

Maeve gave her a measured look. "Will you be okay alone?"

"Yes, thank you."

The woman gave Brent a cool look, almost as if she were warning him to be on his best behavior. "I'll be
over in the rose bed. Just call if you need me."

Brent sat in the chair Vivian indicated and shot Maeve's retreating back an amused look. "She's very
diligent."

"She's been a good friend." Vivian reached for the pot of coffee. "Coffee?"

"No, thank you." Brent settled into his chair, his big rangy body comfortable in his own skin. But he
possessed a leashed sense of power and she knew that, no matter how relaxed he looked, he'd be ready
to spring into the fray should it be necessary.

"We could all use a good friend from time to time," he said.

She nodded, thinking of all the times she'd needed the support of her friends. "Indeed we do."

"Am I your friend, Vivian?"

She laughed. "I barely know you."

He nodded. "True enough." He reached into a pocket and withdrew a slim notebook. "If you don't mind,
I have a few questions."

"Sure, shoot."

He pulled a photo from the notebook. "Do you know this woman?"

Vivian looked at the paper he slid across the table. It was a color photo of the leather-chick she'd seen
on several occasions at the Chat with Sinjin.

"I don't know her but I've seen her before." She looked up. "Who is she?"

"Her name is Elena Vasquez." He picked up the photo and tucked it away. "Do you happen to know
where she might be found?"

Vivian shook her head. "I've never spoken to her. She's come into the Chat from time to time to see
Sinjin. He might have some idea of where to find her." She cocked her head to the side. "Is she a
criminal?"

"She's wanted for questioning." He glanced around the dilapidated courtyard. "Have you seen Sinjin
today?"

"No, I don't usually see him until late because he keeps such late hours."

He turned back to her. "Have you thought about what we discussed at the hospital?"

"Sinjin being a vampire?" Vivian gave a soft laugh. "I'm not really sure what you hope to gain by telling
such a fib. Everyone knows that vampires don't exist in the real world."

"Ask him, Vivian." A mechanical beeping sounded and Brent reached for his pager. "I want you to ask
him before it's too late. If he does feel anything for you, he'll tell you the truth."

"He'll think I'm crazy."

"No, he won't." Brent rose from his seat. "Crazy or not, ask yourself this. Why haven't you ever seen
him in the daylight? Have you ever seen him eat anything? Come to think of it, have you seen any of the
Chat employees eat anything?" He tapped the packet containing the photo. "And ask him who Elena is."
He paused, his expression tight. "I'll bet my badge that he knows exactly what happened to you when
you were mugged and why."

"I don't see-"

"Trust me, Vivian."

Disturbed, she watched him leave as a shiver ran down her spine. What would make a man, a police
detective of all things, believe that another person could be a vampire? New Orleans was known for
being steeped in mysticism and magic, but vampires?

She looked across the courtyard to see Maeve staring at her, a troubled look in her eye.

Heart pounding, Vivian perched on the edge of her bed at the hotel. The sun was sinking in the western
sky and still no call from Shai. Where could she be?

She rubbed her hands down her arms, trying to rid herself of the chill that had settled in shortly after
Brent had left that afternoon. Part of her, the part nearest her heart, wanted to laugh at the detective's
allegations. Who would believe that vampires could walk this earth?

But there were so many things left unanswered, thanks to the detective, and those were the things that
plagued her. She'd never seen Sinjin eat anything, though she had seen him drink from his black coffee
mug from time to time. What had he been drinking?

And what about Maeve? Did she know anything about what was going on? She was a good friend of
Sinjin's and she'd claimed to be a friend of Shai's as well.

As the last of the daylight faded from the sky, she picked up her cell phone. Since Shai hadn't returned
her call, there was only one other person she could call.

"Hello?"

"Jennifer? It's Viv."

"Viv!" There was no disguising the pleasure in Jennifer's voice. "I'm so glad to hear from you. Where are
you?"

"I'm currently in New Orleans."

"What are you doing there?"

"I was doing some research for Erihn and I ran into someone you might know."

"Oh, really?" Jennifer gave an uneasy twitter. "I don't know very many people in New Orleans."

"Maeve Leigh?"

"Oh, Maeve." Her laugh was easy. "Yes, I know Maeve. How is she doing? I haven't heard from her
in-"

"And Damien St. James."

"Sinjin?" Jen's voice faltered. "Where in the world did you run into him?"
Vivian's heart skipped a beat. "Do you know him?"

"Yes. I've known him for years though I don't know him very well." There was a pause, then the sound
of an indrawn breath. "Oh, Viv, you didn't...." In the background, she heard the sound of something
falling.

Vivian closed her eyes as pain washed over her. Whatever the truth was, Jennifer knew.

"Jen, if you've ever loved me, you need to tell me what the hell I've gotten myself into down here."

"You need to leave, Viv." Jennifer took a deep breath. "Come to Colorado and, I swear, I'll tell you
everything."

"No, you need to tell me now."

"Viv, please, I'm begging you-"

"Someone tried to kill me, Jen." She heard a sound of distress from Jen, but Vivian didn't stop. "I have
the right to know the truth."

"I'll call Shai and Erihn. Please come to Colorado and we can sit down and talk about this- "

"Shai and Erihn are involved as well?" Her knees gave way and she slid off the side of the bed, landing
on the floor with a soft thump. She was dimly aware of Jennifer begging her to pack and leave. But didn't
she understand that, finally, Vivian had fallen in love? A hysterical laugh caught in her throat and
threatened to choke her. She'd fallen in love and now her best friend was begging her to walk away.
How was that for irony?

"I want to know what's going on, Jen. Either you tell me or I'll find Sinjin and force him to talk to me."

Silence.

"Someone told me that Sinjin is a..." She struggled to get the word out. "Vampire. What do you have to
say to that, Jen?"

"I don't know what to say," she said, her voice a little sad.

"You can start by telling me that I'm crazy. That vampires don't exist in the real world."

There was a slight pause before Jennifer spoke. "I can't tell you that, Vivian."

She clutched the phone harder, her knuckles aching with the pressure. "Sure you can. You just say,
'you're nuts, doll.'"

"You're not crazy, Vivian. Vampires do exist."

The room seemed to shudder around her and she put her hand down, her nails digging into the carpet as
she gripped it for balance. "How can-"

"Vampires have been around since the time of the Pharaohs. I don't know if anyone really knows their
origins but they've been the silent observers of the passage of time."

"I don't believe you." Her chest ached with restrained emotions. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"I never wanted you to know, Vivian. I love you. You're my friend, but the reality is that the human mind
finds these things hard to comprehend, and that's why we never said anything to you."

A dawning sense of horror washed over her. "Who is 'we'?" she whispered.

"Erihn, Shai and I. We-"

"You're all vampires?"

"No. There are several species of preternaturals who roam the earth."

"What the hell does preternatural mean?"

"It means something that exists outside of nature. For humans, it's anything that they cannot wrap their
brain around."

"Are you trying to tell me that all of you-you, who're supposed to be my friends- are these
preternaturals?"

"Yes."

"Whatare you?"

"I'm called a revenant, an immortal."

"You can't be killed?"

"Well, no. I can be killed but it isn't easy."

"What about Shai and Erihn? Are they immortals as well?"

"Erihn is a were-cat."

"A what?"

"A were-cat, similar to a werewolf only in cat form. As the full moon nears, she changes form-"

"Uh huh, just like Lon Chaney and those characters she writes about. What about Shai? What is she?"

"A vampire."

Dazed, Vivian stared out the window of her hotel room. How could her best friends be these
preternatural creatures without her knowing it?

"When did all of this happen?"

"I've been a revenant since long before I met you. Shai, about twelve years, and Erihn, around a year or
so."

"Val?"

"He's a vampire."

A sense of unreality set in. How could everyone around her be of another species and she not know it?
How was this even possible?

She cleared her throat. "And Sinjin?"

"He's a vampire, Viv." Jennifer sucked in a noisy breath. "Where are you? I'll come down with Erihn and
we'll pick you up and we can sit-"

Vivian hit the "end" button, cutting off Jennifer's words, and closed her eyes against the pain in her chest.
She'd been fool enough to fall in love and what did she do? Fall in love with a vampire, of all things.
Yeah, he was the perfect man for her, another bloodsucker like her father, only Sinjin was the real thing.

Tears ran down her face as a bitter sob broke in her throat. Limp, she slid to the carpet as sobs
wracked her body. How could she have fallen in love with a man who not only lied to her, but wasn't
even human?

On the floor, her cell phone rang, but she ignored it. It was probably Jennifer trying to get a hold of her
and she had nothing to say to her one-time friend. There was nothing left to say.

The phone fell silent and, slowly, her sobs died down. The room grew dark with approaching night and
still she lay on the floor, unable to move, barely able to breathe.

Slowly she calmed, her heart aching, but intact, her tears dried to a sticky film on her cheeks. Exhausted,
she struggled to rise from the floor. She couldn't stay here any longer. She'd return home to New York
and pick up the tattered threads of her life as best she could.

She dialed the airlines and booked the first available flight out. Unfortunately it was to St. Louis, but right
now north was north and she'd take it. The more space she put between herself and New Orleans, the
better off she'd be.

As she packed, her cell phone rang several more times. Hardening her heart, she ignored it. She had
nothing to say to Shai, Jen or Erihn right now. Of course, it could be someone else. She picked up the
phone and frowned when she saw her stepbrother's home number on it.

"Stephen?"

"Viv, Christ-I've been trying to reach you for two days."

"Well, you succeeded." She balled several silk shirts and stuffed them into the case.

"I need you to come home right away. We have trouble with the business."

"I'm on my way. I have a flight booked for later this evening."

"You have?" The relief was evident in his voice.

 She was leaving New Orleans. Hands trembling, she snapped her suitcases shut. Was she actually going
to leave without confronting Sinjin with what she'd been told? What happened to her vow of living her life
with truth? The old Viv would have walked away without a backward glance. She'd have chalked up this
mess to yet another bad decision of which she was glad to be rid.

The new Vivian, the woman she was now, wanted the chance to confront the man who'd broken her
heart.

"Vivian? Are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"I asked if I should send a car?"

"Yes, send it to the Chat Noir at eleven p.m." Vivian gave him the address of the club. "I'll be waiting."

Brent scowled as he walked down Bourbon Street. He'd lost sight of Elena Vasquez in the crowds and
nothing annoyed him more than losing his quarry. Vasquez was a suspect in a series of burglaries that had
taken place over three years ago. When he'd first seen her at the Chat two nights ago, his heart had
almost stopped. Now, after losing her, it had almost stopped again.

His phone rang as he approached his car. He pulled the cell phone from his belt holder and flipped it
open. "Draven."

"Detective Draven? This is Detective Grant with district two."

"Evening, Detective, what can I do for you?" Draven reached his car and unlocked the door.

"I have some information on one of your cases. You're the detective in charge of the Janee Reynolds
murder?"

"The woman who was found in the dumpster?" He slid behind the wheel of his car. "Yes, that's mine.
What do you have for me?"

"On the same day we had a similar murder in our district. The woman's body was found in a mall and
her throat had been slashed. I was reviewing the inventory of items found at your murder scene and I
think I may have found a similarity between the two crimes."

Silently Brent cursed. He was swamped with his current caseload and he'd meant to compare the two
inventories himself earlier in the day. But the lead on Elena had come in and he'd kicked everything else
to the curb. "What would that be?"

"Both women had past criminal records for petty theft and credit card fraud. Both were found with
multiple stolen credit cards in their possession and each women had a card with the name of Vivian
Carrington." Brent heard the rustle of paper over the pounding of his heart. "I have here on your list that
there were multiple receipts. Have you looked into what credit cards were used that day?"

"Yes, but I don't have that paperwork in front of me."

"Well, look into that and get back to me. My victim was using Ms. Carrington's cards just twenty
minutes before she was killed. If your victim was using those cards as well, we might have more on our
hands than just a couple of murders."

Brent thanked the detective and hung up, his mind racing. If both women had used Vivian's cards just
prior to their deaths, what did that mean? Was someone stalking Vivian? If so, who was it?

He gunned the motor and put the car into drive. Whatever was going on, he needed to find Vivian fast.

Chapter 13
"Where are they?"

Brent Draven stood in Sinjin's office door and his expression was dark. Sinjin tamped down the mild
irritation that had reared its ugly head at the sight of the detective.

"Define 'they'." Sinjin laid the diary pages he'd been studying face down on his desk. He couldn't
concentrate when he didn't know where Vivian had gone. The cursed woman hadn't bothered to leave a
note.

"Vivian Carrington and Elena Vasquez," Brent said

Sinjin frowned. How did the detective know Elena and what did he want with her? "I have no idea. I've
been calling all over town."

Brent advanced into the room. "How long have you known her?"

"A little over a week, I guess." Sinjin shrugged.

"Did you approach her or did she approach you?"

"Why do ye want to know?" Sinjin shot back. He was getting a little tired of the detective's inquisition.

"Just answer the question."

"Are ye here in an official capacity?" He rose from behind the desk and leaned forward, palms down on
the polished top. "If ye are, I dinna remember seeing yer badge nor a warrant."

"I don't need a warrant to ask a few questions... in an official capacity, of course." Brent's eyes glinted
with a combative light as he advanced into the room, stopping when he reached the opposite side of the
desk. "I can always take you downtown if that will help jog your memory."

Sinjin could scarcely believe what he was hearing and he fought the urge to leap over the desk and rip
the other man's throat out. Was Draven threatening toarrest him? The last thing he could afford to do
was to end up in jail. Not only would it be disastrous if he didn't manage to get himself released by
sunrise, he wouldn't be able to wait for Vivian's call. Where the devil was the woman?
 "I spoke to her first." He gave the detective a look he hoped would let Brent know in no uncertain terms
that he'd get back at him for this impromptu questioning. "She'd been frequenting the Chat and I was
intrigued the first time I saw her." He shuffled the copies then slid the pages into a folder before dropping
them into an open drawer.

"Did she mention anything about a moonstone necklace?"

He frowned. "Nae. Why would Vivian mention a necklace to me?"

"I'm not talking about Vivian."

"Who are ye talking about?"

"Elena."

Sinjin shook his head. "Why are ye looking for Elena?"

"Yes, why are you looking for the lovely Elena?" Miles stood in the doorway, his gaze fixed on the
detective and, in his hand, he held a semi-automatic pistol, the muzzle trained on Brent's head.

"Good evening, Miles." Sinjin silently cursed the fact that Brent had managed to distract him so an
immortal could sneak in. As a vampire, Sinjin didn't have much to fear from a gun. However, Brent was
mortal and highly susceptible to the damage bullets could inflict. He nudged the drawer shut with his leg,
secreting away the diary pages. "What can I do for ye?"

"I think you already know." Miles stepped into the room, waving the muzzle of the gun at Brent,
motioning him to move away from the desk. "Empty your pockets and put your weapons on the desk."

Sinjin glanced at Brent and saw that the detective's gaze was focused on the barrel of Miles' gun. He put
a hand up as if to pacify Miles by showing him how harmless he was. "I think we should talk about what
you're about to do-"

"No discussion is needed," Miles said. "Empty your pockets and holster or she dies."

Another man stepped into the room, pulling a smaller figure behind him. Long dark hair hung in a ragged
braid and, in a glance, Sinjin knew it was Elena. Her lower lip was split and her chin marred with blood.
Her right eye was blackened and swollen shut. Bruises and abrasions marred her throat where a rope
was tied like a dog leash. Her wrists were secured and chained to her waist.

The new arrival shoved Elena in front of him before propelling her to sit on the couch by using the rope
around her throat like the reins of a horse. After she was seated, he withdrew a small revolver and placed
it against the side of her neck.

"This one contains silver bullets, if you get my meaning," he said.

Brent glanced at Sinjin, his gaze clearly asking for direction in this situation. Sinjin gave the detective a
slight nod. Brent may be in charge on the streets of New Orleans, but Sinjin was dealing with his own
kind, something with which the detective had little to no experience. It was up to him to guide them all
through the situation unharmed.
Sinjin looked at Elena. "Are ye all right?"

The eye that wasn't swollen shut narrowed and she gave a jerky nod, her chin elevated to a haughty
angle.

His lips tightened. No woman should have to endure what had been inflicted upon her. Granted, she'd
placed herself in harm's way by stealing the diary in the first place and that put her square in the middle of
the playing field. But enough was enough. Werewolves were sturdy creatures, but that didn't mean they
couldn't feel pain and he could feel her pain and outrage even across the room.

Sinjin moved around the desk as Brent removed a .40 H K handgun from his shoulder holster. Holding it
by two fingers, he laid it on the corner of desk.

"What do ye want, Miles?" Sinjin leaned against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest as if revenants
entered his office with guns on a regular basis.

"You know exactly what I want. Turn over the diary and we'll walk away."

Sinjin knew better than to think Miles would let any of them go unscathed. "The diary is at my house."

"And the other one, detective?" Miles gave Brent an unpleasant smile.

The detective raised his leg, then tugged up his pant leg to remove a small, 9 mm semi- automatic from
his ankle holster. He laid it beside the first firearm on the desk.

"Then we'll take a trip to your house, St. James," the other man said.

"I seem to be at a disadvantage here. Ye know who I am and I have no idea who ye are."

He gave Sinjin an unpleasant smile. "Gerald Lowery, at your service."

"Cut the crap," Miles snarled. "I have a car out back."

Sinjin nodded toward Elena and Brent. "Shall I tie up these two before we leave?"

"You don't think they'd enjoy the chance to get some fresh air?" Miles shot Gerald an amused glance.

"Nae."

"Too bad, they're going." Miles nodded toward the detective. "And the rest?"

Brent muttered something uncomplimentary as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded knife.
He placed it next to the guns.

"Do ye have enough hardware?" Sinjin asked.

"Not nearly enough," Brent replied. He looked from Miles to Gerald, then back again, his gaze
assessing. "Would someone mind telling me why I'm being held at gunpoint?"

"All in due time." Gerald yanked Elena from the couch by tightening the rope around her neck. She made
a choking noise and staggered to her feet, off balance because her hands were secured to her waist.
Gerald laughed as she struggled to remain upright.

"St. James, you go first." Miles motioned Gerald away from the door.

Sinjin walked down the steps leaving the others to follow, grateful for the first time that night Vivian
wasn't around.

Vivian stood in front of the Chat, her bag tossed over one shoulder and her stomach crowded with
butterflies. Swallowing her nervousness, she walked into the familiar chaos of the restaurant. One glance
told her that Sinjin wasn't behind the bar. Avoiding the milling crowd, she made her way to the stairway
and jogged up to his office.

The door was open and she stuck her head in. "Sinjin?"

The room was cluttered and he was nowhere in sight. She walked into the room, her gaze catching on
the unfamiliar sight of two guns and a folding knife on the desk. What the devil was he doing with guns on
his desk? She didn't remember ever seeing a gun here or at his home. Why would anyone leave weapons
just sitting out in the open? Even a neophyte like her knew that they should be secured with locks or
safely stowed away.

The nervousness in her stomach turned to unease. She needed to find Sinjin and soon. As she neared the
door, she saw several spots on the wood floor. She ran her fingers over them and found the spots were
still damp. She lifted her fingers and looked at the red streaks. It sure looked like blood to her.

Alarmed, she fished a tissue from her bag, then she ran downstairs. As she entered the restaurant, she
spied Tracey at the bar talking to Julius. "Have you seen Sinjin?"

"No." Tracey's expression was troubled and she shot an uneasy glance at Julius.

"Is something going on that I should know about?"

"No." The waitress turned away from her. "Why would you ask such a thing?"

Vivian grabbed her by the arm and swung her around, pinning her to the bar. "Because I found blood on
the floor upstairs." She held up the tissue, watching the way Tracey's eyes widened when she saw the red
stains.

"He went out back with several other men," Julius said.

Vivian released the waitress. "Thanks."

"I don't think you should follow him," Tracey said. "You need to stay out of this. It's too dangerous."

"You haven't begun to see dangerous yet."

She slipped through the kitchen and to the back door. In the alley, a dark sedan was idling and a tall
brown-haired man was getting into the car. Her blood froze as she recognized him. It was one of her
attackers. On the passenger side, she saw her other attacker getting in as well.
Through the back window she caught a glimpse of Sinjin and another man... Was that Brent beside him?
The overhead light reflected off something shiny in the tall man's hand.

A gun.

Ohmygod! Were they being kidnapped? Should she call the police? What would she tell them?
Hell, Brentwasthe police.

Before she could formulate another thought, the brake lights flashed as the car was put into drive. Vivian
noted the direction of their departure before she ran back through the Chat and up the office stairs. She
glanced at her watch. If her stepbrother was as efficient as usual, her car would be waiting out front.

She darted into Sinjin's office, heading for his desk where the guns rested. She tossed her bag on the
couch as she passed. Luckily, she knew a little bit about handling weapons and she was pretty sure she
could avoid shooting her foot off. Without a second thought, she grabbed both guns and the knife before
she ran back downstairs. She should be able to get to her car and follow the others.

She darted out into the street and ran toward where a black Cadillac was idling in park.

The driver rolled down the window as she approached. "Vivian Carrington?" he asked. His eyes
widened when he caught sight of the weapons she held clutched in her hands.

She nodded and literally dove into the back seat, slamming the door behind her.

"What's the matter, lady?" he asked. "Is someone chasing you?"

"A car will be coming down the street, dark sedan with several men in it," she panted. "Follow them."

"Are you kidding me?"

Vivian peeked over the car door as the sedan slid by. "No, I'm not." She pointed the gun at him. "Does
this look like I'm kidding? Follow them and you'll get a really big tip."

The driver gave an excited yelp and, with trembling hands, put the Cadillac into drive, pulling out behind
the other car. Vivian slouched in the back seat, her gaze glued to the taillights ahead. They followed at a
modest distance for several blocks until the sedan slid to a halt in front of Sinjin's home.

"Pull around and up the street a bit. I don't want them to see me."

Vivian was glad it was full dark as the occupants wouldn't be able to see her clearly. Her driver pulled to
a stop a half block north of Sinjin's house. She peered out the back window as Sinjin and his group
exited the car.

The smallest of the group had a rope around their neck. The shorter of her attackers gave the rope a
vicious jerk sending his victim stumbling. Brent reached out and helped pull them upright. Was that
leather-chick being led by the leash? From this distance, Vivian couldn't be sure.

As they entered the house, she reached into her pocket and tossed a handful of twenties at the driver.
"Sorry I pointed a gun at you, I guess I got a little excited."

The driver picked up the crumpled bills. "Jeez, lady, next time just say please."
 Vivian wanted to laugh and cry at the same time as she exited the car. The night was warm, humidity
thick in the air. The bigger gun dug into her stomach as she ran through the yards toward Sinjin's
property, clutching the smaller gun in one sweaty palm.

She tiptoed across the veranda, praying the old wood wouldn't squeak and give her away. The front
door was closed and she slipped it open, holding her breath as the aged hinges gave a minute squeak.
The front hall was empty and she caught sight of the smaller man rounding the corner into the library. She
entered, leaving the door open as she didn't want to take a chance on another, louder noise giving her
away.

Now what? She was in the house, she had a gun, but what did she do?

She jumped when a movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Clutching the gun, she
turned to find herself staring into a mirror, the gun aimed at her reflected midsection. With a sigh, she
dropped her defensive stance.

In the mirror was a Vivian Carrington she'd never seen before. Hair was untidy with soft wisps that had
come lose from her twist and curled around her face. Her skin was deathly pale and her bruises stood
out in stark contrast. Her shadowed eyes were huge with fear.

This most definitely wasn't the Vivian Carrington who ran one of the largest corporations in America.
This wasn't the woman who'd faced down overfed males who'd tried to wrest the company from her
grasp when her father had died. This wasn't the young girl who'd loved and lost. This wasn't the woman
who'd buried her best friend only a few months ago. This wasn't the woman who'd lain with her lover
only hours before.

This was the face of a woman who was prepared to fight to the death for the man she loved.

She straightened and laid her gun on the hallstand. Running a hand over her hair, she removed the clip
and the mass of curls tumbled to her shoulders. Tugging the shirt from her jeans, she turned and checked
to see that the other gun was concealed in the small of her back before she tucked the smaller one down
the front of her pants. She then unbuttoned the top two buttons of her shirt to display her cleavage.

Hands trembling, she pinched her cheeks and rubbed her lips to give them a touch of color. In her life,
she'd faced down lawyers trying to take her money and environmentalists who believed CI was
destroying the atmosphere, along with several kidnapping threats.

Vivian Carrington was a woman who could handle a few bad guys with guns.

She hoped.

Sinjin heard the soft tread on the steps just moments before her gingery perfume wrapped itself around
his senses. His grip tightened on the diary, which he'd just removed from the safe.

Not now, not yet...

"Sinjin, I know you're up here and I'm coming to get you..."

 Vivian breezed through the doorway, her eyes widening as she took in the people in the library.
"Heavens, a party and I wasn't invited?"

"Vivian-" Sinjin started.

"Brent!" A huge smile graced her mouth as she crossed the room and flung her arms around the
detective, pressing her body against his. "I haven't seen you in ages. How are you, my friend?"

Sinjin caught the look of surprise on the detective's face as he hugged her, his arms wrapping around her
waist. "It's mighty good to see you, too, Vivian." He gave her a secretive smile, then swung her behind
him, effectively shielding her from any threat that might come from their captors. The momentum of his
move propelled Vivian toward the window. As she neared it, all hell broke loose.

The window exploded inward with a shower of glass and bullets as Vivian and Brent fell. Bullets
sprayed the wall near Sinjin and he dove to the floor as rounds of ammunition pinged off the safe door to
ricochet around the room. He looked up in time to see Miles dive for Vivian as Gerald dropped to the
ground pulling Elena in front of him to act as a shield.

Across the room, Brent was trying to cover Vivian with his body, but Miles had grabbed her arm and
was tugging her toward him. The rain of bullets from outside stopped.

"What the hell was that?" Gerald raged.

"I'll fucking kill her if you don't turn over the diary." Miles pointed the gun at Vivian's head.

Sinjin inched across the floor toward Vivian. "Wait, ye can have-"

"Go ahead and kill her," another voice spoke from the doorway. "You'll save me ammunition if you do."
A slim man dressed in black stood in the entrance, a handgun in each hand. A strap over his shoulder
supported the MP5 assault rifle at his hip-what he'd used to spray the room no doubt. One handgun was
trained on Vivian, the other on Miles.

"Who the hell are you?" Miles snarled.

"The man sent to deal with her." He waggled the gun that pointed toward Vivian.

"Someone is trying tokill me?" she squeaked.

The man gave her an unpleasant smile. "I don't just try, darlin', I succeed."

One problem at a time...

Sinjin sat up and held the diary so that everyone in the room could see it. "I have the book right here,
Miles. If ye want it, ye have to let them go."

"Hand me the book first," Miles ordered.

"Not on yer life." He nodded toward Vivian. "Release her and I'll hand it to Gerald."

"Yeah, Miles," the newcomer taunted, "release her so I can finish my job and collect my pay." He
chuckled.
 Miles ignored his words and released his grip on Vivian's arm. Brent immediately pulled her away,
tucking her behind the dubious shelter of a chair and his fragile mortal body.

"Now, hand over the book, St. James," Miles said.

"Let her go as well." He nodded toward Gerald where Elena was still being used as a shield.

"You've received all the concessions you'll get from me," Miles said. "Give up the diary or pay the
consequences."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sinjin saw Brent rise from his position behind the chair while Vivian
remained crouched on the floor. The detective gave Sinjin a subtle nod, encouraging him to release the
diary. What did Brent have up his sleeve?

There was only one way to find out.

Sinjin tossed the diary to Gerald, forcing him to release Elena in order to catch it. He knew he'd just
thrown away his only bargaining chip, but they were at a stalemate. What other choices did he have?

"Is it authentic?" Miles asked.

Gerald flipped through a few pages. "Sure looks like it." Excitement made his voice sharp, squeaky.

"Our work is done here. We'll take her with us." He pointed to Elena who was trying to inch away from
them toward Sinjin's desk.

"Leave her," Brent protested. "You have what you want. Leave her behind."

"What do you care about the life of a she-wolf, mortal? She'd kill you for fresh meat and never bat an
eye." Miles pulled Gerald to his feet, while the man never stopped flipping through the diary as he
scanned the pages. Sinjin felt sick about the thought of that book ending up in Mikhail's hands again.

"She's an insurance policy that you won't try to follow us. If you do, she dies," Miles said.

Sinjin stifled a protest as Gerald tucked the book into his jacket before he hauled Elena to her feet, using
the barbaric rope. Her eyes were heated, her teeth bared as she was pulled toward the door. Heaven
help the little pipsqueak if she ever got her hands on him.

The newcomer stepped to the side as Gerald and Elena passed. His expression was curious, but he
didn't say a word. He didn't seem inclined to stop them from leaving either.

Miles paused beside him near the doorway. "You might want to know something about the detective
over there." He nodded toward Brent. "He has a gun."

The gunman's expression turned to one of surprise as Brent pulled out the gun and fired at his chest.
Miles darted out of sight and down the steps as Sinjin dove toward Vivian, using his body as a shield as a
volley of bullets tore into the walls overhead. A bullet whistled past his ear and he huddled tighter to his
woman, silently praying that she survive the melee.

A few seconds and quite a few shots later, he heard a low moan and a solid thud. Sinjin raised his head
to see the gunman lying across the doorway.

"Are you okay?" he asked Vivian.

Vivan gave a shaky nod and Sinjin leapt to his feet. Brent had approached the gunman and he was
moving the man's armaments to a safe distance. One glance at the two gruesome headshots and Sinjin
knew this killer wasn't going to rise again. Sinjin grabbed the MP5. It wasn't as if the dead guy would
need it anymore.

As he ran down the steps, he heard the wail of police sirens. Brent had fished a cell phone out of his
pocket and was shouting information into it as they ran for the street.

Sinjin skidded to a halt as the taillights sped down the street only to fade into the darkness many blocks
away. His head dropped, his breath raged through his lungs. Miles and Gerald had gotten away again
with the diary and Elena was their hostage. He ran his hand through his hair.

"Do you want to tell me what the hell is going on?"

Sinjin slid the strap of the MP5 over his shoulder before he turned and looked at Brent. Curling his hand
into a fist, he let if fly toward the detective's face, clipping him neatly on the jaw. Brent fell, landing in the
middle of the street with a surprised look on his face.

"That was for trying to arrest me, ye asshole," Sinjin snarled. He opened his mouth to continue when a
movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Vivian stood in the doorway, backlit by the
hall chandelier. Arms wrapped around her waist, she was searching the darkness for him, her expression
anxious.

When she caught sight of him, the worry faded and a relieved smile took its place. She leaned against the
doorway and he shuddered at the thought of how close he'd come to losing her tonight. If it weren't for
the quick action of Brent, she might be dead right now and he'd never know the feeling of a full heart.

He looked down at the stunned detective. "Thank ye for saving her life. I owe ye a debt that I can ne'er
pay." Sinjin held out his hand to Brent and helped him to his feet.

"I'll get you for that." Brent rubbed his jaw.

"I relish the challenge." He grinned at the disgruntled officer and slapped him on the back. "And, no, I
dinna want to tell ye what is going on." Sinjin looked at Vivian waiting for him in the doorway. "Right now
I have something else I need to do and that's all ye need to know."

Chapter 14
"How long will this take?"

Sinjin watched as Elena paced the room like a woman possessed. Her movements were frenetic,
anxious. Even though only twenty-four hours had passed since the destruction of his home, her bruises
had already faded quite a bit. The mark on her lip was still visible and her eye still blackened, but in
another day or so, her injuries would be gone and none would be the wiser.

The same couldn't be said for Gerald. Elena told him that she'd almost ripped his head off the moment he
made the mistake of loosening her bonds. One bad revenant dead leaving hundreds more to hunt down.
But he sincerely hoped it never came down to all out war. No one would win that battle.

"I canna answer ye, Elena." He returned his attention to scrubbing the bloodstains from the doorway of
his shattered library. "The diary isn't like reading a regular book. The events aren't in order and there are
multiple languages involved." He dipped his bloodied sponge into a bucket containing a mixture of
disinfectant and water.

"Time is against us," she said.

He rolled his eyes. "Against us or not, I need time." He scrubbed at the doorframe. Inwardly, he
shuddered at the thought of how close he'd come to losing Vivian last night. One glance at the multitude
of bullet holes attested to Anthony's determination to destroy her. Even the cops seemed to be shocked
at the sheer fury that had taken place in this room.

Now Vivian slept in his bed, untouched. He waited for her to awaken so they could air the differences
between them. Did she love him? He was pretty sure she did but, did she love him enough to sacrifice her
mortal life for an immortal one?

"Are you listening to me?" Elena stood in front of him, her fists on slim hips.

"Nae. Ye blather too much, woman." Sinjin tossed the sponge in the bucket, not caring that the
blood-tinged water slopped out and onto the floor he'd just cleaned. "I told ye that I need time. I canna
guarantee the diary contains the information ye seek and yer hounding me will do no good."

Her eyes narrowed and she scowled as she pointed one long slim finger at him. "Now you listen here-"

"Nae." He stripped off the rubber gloves and rose, pushing her hand away. "Ye listen here. Yer days of
dictating the use of the diary are ov'r. We no longer have the diary as Miles has taken it and we're left
with a copy-"

"Which you wouldn't have if I hadn't given you the diary in the first place." She whirled away from him.
"The diary that you promptly lost-"

"That isso like a woman." It was all he could do to avoid launching himself at her throat. "Ihad to give up
the diary or we were all lost, ye fool. Miles had us against the wall and-"

"Oh for crying out loud, why don't the two of you just whip them out and compare to see who the real
tough guy is in this room?"

Both Sinjin and Elena turned to see Vivian standing in the hall. Her dark curls were tumbled from her
restless sleep and she wore the same clothes, now rumpled, that she'd had from the day before. Her dark
eyes were shadowed and her pale skin was flushed with anger.

"How dare you-" Elena marched toward Vivian.

Sensing eminent attack, Sinjin stepped between the two women, halting the wolf with his arm. "Back off,
Elena."
She scowled at him. "Iknow you didn't just tell me toback off- "

"Ye heard me." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Getting into a fight with Vivian isn't going to get ye
the information from the diary any faster. I need time and that's that. I would suggest ye locate yer
brother and let him know what's going on as this affects him as well. Not to mention that the police are
still looking for ye. A burglary charge, I believe?"

The look on her face clearly said that she resented the suggestion that she leave. Her lips thinned and her
dark eyes flashed, then she shook off his restraining arm. She straightened her black leather jacket and
walked around him toward the door.

Vivian moved into the room, careful to avoid the bloody water both in the bucket and on the floor. As
they passed, Elena paused. "Watch your back, mortal."

Vivian rolled her eyes. "You are the least of my worries."

Elena glanced at Sinjin, then back to Vivian. She gave an unpleasant chuckle. "Don't count on it." Her
footsteps echoed on the polished wood as she exited the room and ran down the steps. A few seconds
later, the front door slammed shut.

"Well," Vivian drawled. "That was certainly pleasant."

"Encounters with Elena always are."

Her brow arched. "Have you known her long?"

"Nae. Just a few days."

She moved to an open window, her tone casual. "I assume she's not... normal."

Uh oh, dangerous ground here.

"Define, normal."

"Human."

Sinjin nodded. "Ye're correct, she's not human."

"What is she?" Vivian sat on the windowsill, her eyes trained on his face. He saw indecision and
confusion lingering in their depths.

"She's a werewolf."

She tilted her head to the side. "A werewolf? She gets furry once a month?"

"Aye."

"I spoke to Jennifer last night and she told me everything." Her gaze slid away to fix upon the bloody
mess in the doorway. "How am I supposed to comprehend all of this?" She shook her head slowly.
"How am I supposed to react when a v-v-vampire tells me that I was just arguing with a
w-w-werewolf?" She ran her hand through her tumbled curls and he saw she was trembling. His heart
broke for her. "I just-"

"Vivian?"

"I can't even begin-"

"VIVIAN."

She jerked at his raised voice, her gaze swung around to meet his. "What?"

"Can I say something?"

Mute, she nodded.

Sinjin approached, stopping when she straightened. She was on the defensive and he couldn't blame her
one bit. He sank to the carpet, arranging himself Indian style. By putting himself in a subordinate position,
hopefully he could alleviate some of her unease.

"I'm sorry ye were caught in this. I'm sorry that someone was trying to kill ye. I'm sorry that ye were
frightened and ye got hurt." He braced his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. "But do ye know
about what I'm sorry the most?"

She shook her head.

"That I lied to ye. I know better than to involve a human on any level other than in a completely
superficial relationship. But the first time I saw ye, I was drawn to ye. I think I just might have fallen in
love with ye that first night when ye told me ye came to New Orleans to find yerself." He smiled at the
memory. "I've never felt anything like it. Before I knew what had happened, ye were in my arms and it all
felt soright ." He shook his head. "Then along came Elena with the diary and things fell apart before I
knew it."

"What's in the diary? Why does everyone want it?"

"It has information vital to the existence of the preternaturals. Do ye know what that means?"

Vivian nodded. "Jennifer explained a little..."

"There's a vampire who seeks to destroy the Council of Elders-that is our ruling body-our congress if ye
will. The book contains historical information about the various races, the origins and, we believe,
information about how to engineer their downfall."

"So the diary is very important."

He nodded.

"And there are still people who are still looking for it?"

"Aye, probably thousands. Many would return the book to the council, some would give it to Mikhail,
and others still who would use it for their own purposes. The book might hold the keys to the kingdom or
only recipes, we dinna know for sure."
"And you have a copy of it?"

"Aye. I made a copy."With your taste lingering in my mouth as you lay sleeping in my bed.

"Does this put you in danger?"

He shrugged. "Other than the council, no one knows I have it. I'd say I'm not in any more danger than I
was before."

She wrapped her arms around her waist, clearly uncomfortable. "What is it like being a vampire?"

Sinjin settled his back against his desk and stretched out his long legs. He had the feeling he was going to
be here for a while. "Not much different than being human. I eat, I sleep, I feel pain and I love."

Her gaze shifted away. "But you drink blood."

"Aye."

"From humans?"

"Not always. There are those who donate."

Her gaze slid back to his, her expression curious. "Like a vampire blood bank?"

He nodded. "Ye could say that."

"And you sleep during the day?"

"For the most part. A young vampire sleeps from the moment the sun rises until it sets again. I'm a few
hundred years old. As long as I'm underground, I can stay awake for an hour or so after the sunrise."

"Do you miss it?"

"Being human?" He nodded. "Sure. I miss eating food, drinking wine. I miss the feeling of sunlight on my
skin. But do ye want to know what the hardest part is?"

She nodded, her gaze wary.

"Losing those I love. If they're mortal, they're destined to die before me. That's the hardest part, when
they leave and I'm alone."

Vivian swallowed hard, her eyes turning glossy with unshed tears. "What about a reve..." She stumbled
over the world.

"Revenant? They're immortal. They will live fore'er as long as someone doesn't separate their head from
their body or remove their heart. They're pretty hard to kill and they can easily live as long as a vampire."

"How are they created?"

"In most cases, they're fashioned by a vampire, though some have been born from two immortal
parents."

She frowned. "How does a vampire create them?"

"It's actually quite easy. The vampire chooses a willing subject and drinks from them three times. It's the
first steps of the vampire transformation ritual, but the process isn't completed. This transformation was
discovered by accident over a thousand years ago when someone who'd initially agreed to transform
changed their mind."

"An incomplete transformation?"

"Aye."

"That's it?"

He nodded.

"Have you transformed anyone?"

"Only one."

"Bliss," she said.

"Aye. She'd decided to become a revenant and stay with me."

"But she didn't?"

"Nae."

"She left because she loved you and wished to spare your life."

Sinjin's throat tightened and he nodded, mute.

Vivian was silent for a moment. He could sense that she had a million questions running through her head
and was struggling to decide which to ask him next.

"Have you ever killed anyone?"

"Nae, not from feeding. Being a vampire isn't like the movies. It doesn't hurt the donor if it's done right
and we dinna kill indiscriminately."

"But have you killed someone?"

"Aye."

"Do I have anything to fear from you?"

"Nae." He shook his head. "I'd die before I'd e'er hurt you, you have to believe that. The reality is that
the preternaturals live in a dangerous world, my love." He looked down at the palms of his hands, hands
that had killed humans and preternaturals alike. "For us, it isn't always a question of right and wrong.
Sometimes it's a question of life and death, and we have to fight for the survival of the whole group."
She shivered. "It sounds like a brutal world."

"Aye, 'tis true, but no more than yers. Mortals have humans who plot terrorist activities to strike at a
government they perceive as being evil. They kill thousands of innocents who only want to work and
raise their families and enjoy their lives. Women die in the marketplace in the Middle East because
they've left their homes to buy food for their families. And for what?" His gaze pierced hers. "The
difference in our world is that, most of the time, we know what we're fighting for and against. The bad
guys may not wear black hats, but they come close enough."

"It still sounds so frightening."

"Think about this, Vivian. As a vampire or immortal, ye can live forever. Ye watch time pass, and you
can participate in it as it happens. Ye have a front seat to history."

"And what about us?" Her arms tightened around her waist. "What happens to us, Sinjin?"

"We go forward into the great unknown as all living beings do. Where do ye want us to go?" He held his
breath as he prayed for the answer he most wanted to hear.

"I don't know, Sinjin." She pushed away from the window and approached, dropping into a crouch in
front of him. She shook her head. "I don't know where we go from here."

"I canna make the decision for ye, it is yers and yers alone. Know that ye dinna have to make any
decisions today." His hands ached to reach for her, to hold her in his arms. "For now, I'll be content to
hear that ye love me. If ye can go that far, everything else can be decided in the future."

She bit her lip. "And you'll abide by my decision, no matter what?"

His gut tightened. "Aye."

"I love you, Sinjin, but I'm just not sure about this whole vampire thing-"

Sinjin gave a yelp as triumph rushed through him. She loved him and that was all that mattered. He
grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her off balance until she landed in his lap. Sliding his arms around
her, he buried his nose in her fragrant hair.

"What's not to like about being a vampire?" his words were muffled against her skin.

"The whole blood thing sort of nauseates me." She slid her arm around his neck.

He nodded. "I understand."

"I need to think about this," she said.

"Think hard and long, but not too long. I dinna want to take the chance of losing ye."

She laid her head on his shoulder. "And I, you." They sat quietly for a few moments, enjoying the
stillness of the evening in the remains of his library. Outside the cicadas sang their night song as the house
settled around them.
Vivian stirred. "How about a revenant? Are they strong?"

"Physically? Depends upon yer body structure." He kissed her forehead. "Ye're pretty sturdy, so I'd say
you'd manage fine."

"Would I be strong enough to kick Elena's ass?"

Sinjin tipped his head back and laughed, his arms nearly as full as his heart.

Epilogue
Los Angeles, CA

Three months later

After tonight, all will be different. She would be different.

Vivian tipped her head back, allowing the golden light to wash over her skin. Tonight, she would receive
the dark kiss from Sinjin. She'd thought long and hard about this decision over the past few months.
Becoming a vampire was out of the question as she enjoyed her wine too much to be forced to give it up
for all eternity. So instead, she was to become a revenant. How better to prove her love for Sinjin than to
become the gatekeeper, the person who guarded his lair while he slept?

A shiver of reaction whispered down her spine. Who would have thought that at the age of forty-four
she'd give up her mortal life for an immortal one with the lover of her dreams?

She smiled as she picked up the large bouquet of yellow roses from the backseat of the limousine. Life
definitely had taken some fascinating twists and turns lately. She could hardly wait to see what came next.

The gravel crunched under her sandals as she approached the burial chamber where Melanie and Ray
rested for eternity. On each side of the doorway was a series of step-like shelves specifically built for
floral tributes. Every inch was crammed full from admirers from all over the world. She smiled as she
scanned the handwritten notes, most in English, though one looked like Farsi and another was Chinese.
Several candles burned, their feeble light dimmed by the brilliance of the sun overhead.

Near the door was a marble bench engraved with Melanie's and Ray's names. She sank onto the hard
stone surface, resting the flowers on her knees. Her gaze flickered across the multitude of flowers, teddy
bears, candles and letters scattered near the miniscule building.

Did Melanie know how much she was loved by the world?

Yes...

Did it mean as much to her as the love of one man, her husband Ray?

Not on your life...

 Vivian smiled. Now she, too, understood what Mel had talked about all the years she'd been married to
Ray. How it felt to know that her man would always be there, waiting for her, loving her in spite of
anything she did or any mistakes she might make. True love was unconditional.

The last few months had proven that to her. The police had determined that it was her stepmother,
Felicity, who'd hired the gunman to kill her. While there'd been no love lost between Felicity and herself,
it still had come as a shock to realize that the woman had wanted her dead. Her children had been
devastated at their mother's actions and Vivian felt sorry for them. Felicity may not have been much of a
parent, but she was all they knew. At least Vivian had some good memories of her own mother to cling
to. They had nothing.

After having confessed to her crime, Felicity now sat in prison, stripped of her worldly possessions.

So long, stepmonster.

For the past few months, Sinjin and his assistant had spent most of their time poring over the copied
diary pages, trying to make sense of them. Progress was slow, but they all had high hopes that the secret
of the diary could be gleaned with time and effort.

Only the time was in short supply.

The longer it took to decode the diary, the better chance that Mikhail would succeed in his plans. She
shook her head. In her mind, it was all madness. She knew well the havoc money and power wrought on
someone and it simply wasn't worth it. The price was too high.

And she wanted to join with her lover as a preternatural when their world was on the verge of collapse?
Vivian fingered the two-carat Burmese ruby necklace Sinjin had presented her with last night.

Yes...

She, Vivian Carrington, was head over heels, stupidly in love with a man several hundred years her
senior. The best part about it was that he was in love with her, too. Soft warmth moved through her chest
at the thought of Sinjin. She was truly blessed and, this time, she'd had sense enough to realize it before it
was too late. Poor Marc. She hoped he knew that she'd loved him as best she could. Maybe it wasn't
enough, but it was all she'd known twenty years ago. Thanks to Mel and Sinjin, she now knew how to
love and be loved in return.

Vivian rose from her perch and approached the sealed entrance to the mausoleum. Moving aside the
dead flowers and other wilted offerings, she arranged her flowers on the top step.

"Thank you Mel for being my friend and showing me the way." She wiped the tear that ran down her
cheek. "I will always miss you and love you from the bottom of my heart."

A soft breeze whispered over her skin, cooling her damp cheeks and ruffling her hair. Vivian gave a
shaky laugh as the warmth wrapped around her like a hug. It was almost as if Mel were saying good-bye
to her as well. Her heart light, she pulled a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose as she walked
toward the limousine.

It was time to prepare for the evening ahead. What did one wear when they turned into an immortal?
Was this a casual occasion or more formal in tone? Whatever it was, she wanted a little something new
to spice up the occasion.
The driver opened the door of the car and Vivian slipped into the plush leather interior. She kicked off
her heels as she reached for the mini-bar.

"Where to next, Ms. Carrington?" her driver asked.

"Victoria's Secret in Beverly Hills." She pulled a Spanish Cigarillo from her bag and lit it, inhaling the
fragrant smoke deep into her lungs. Exhaling, she picked up her glass of champagne.

Yes, Victoria's Secret would do nicely for what she had in mind for one vampire named Damien St.
James...

One With The Hunger

Book I: The Shadow Dwellers

by

J.C. Wilder

Copyright © 1998 Lisa Hamilton

Previously published by Dreams Unlimited.

Cover Art by Emily Black

Cover Art copyright © 2001

Published in Canada by LTDBooks, 200 North Service Road West, Unit 1, Suite 301, Oakville, ON
L6M 2Y1 [www.ltdbooks.com]

All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent
of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law.

National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data

Wilder, J. C., 1965-

One with the hunger [computer file]

ISBN 1-55316-070-3

I. Title.

PS3623.I45O54 2001 813'.6 C2001-902072-4

Dedication

For those who dare to dream...

Chapter 1

"I think you should take a lover."

Shai paused, her baked potato-filled fork poised in mid-air. She stared aghast across the table at her
friend. "Excuse me?"

"Ohhh, yes," breathed Melanie, "tall, dark and handsome." She twirled a lock of icy blonde hair around
her forefinger and fell back against her chair, a smile curving her full mouth. "And rich, of course."

"I think it's a wonderful idea, if I do say so myself." Vivian, the instigator of the conversation, leaned
forward, her elbows on the pristine white tablecloth. The stub of a Spanish cigarillo burned between her
fingers as she pointed at Shai. "Just what you need to get out of your rut." The rich smoke from the
imported cigarette drifted lazily around her head then vanished, vanquished by the efficient air
conditioning in the restaurant.

"I wasn't aware I was in a rut," Shai said pointedly.

Vivian rolled her beautiful blue eyes and looked at her as if she were, at the very least, a dimwitted child.
"Well, of course you don't see it, dear, that's what your friends are for... to point out these things."

"Even if I don't ask you to," Shai muttered.

Erihn ignored her. "Why do you think we bought that outfit for your birthday?" She waved her speared
shrimp in Shai's direction. "Vivian said we had to prime the pump, so to speak."

Shai glanced at the new clothes she wore. Granted, the clothing that had appeared in a
beautifully-wrapped package on her doorstep earlier in the afternoon weren't her normal cup of tea. The
short, black velvet skirt, long-sleeved black silk blouse and brilliant emerald green silk jacket weren't
bad. In fact, they looked lovely on her, she admitted shyly.

Before tonight she would never have dreamed of wearing such a revealing ensemble. She had to fight the
urge to tug down the skimpy skirt every time she moved. She'd never worn anything in public that only
covered her to mid-thigh; it simply wasn't proper. But it wasn't the clothing that worried her; it was the
lingerie that had accompanied the gift.

"I'll bet she isn't wearing them," Jennifer, a dark-haired, sloe-eyed woman, speculated.

"Think so?" Vivian stubbed out her cigarette. "Enlighten us, little Shai. Are you wearing the naughty
underwear Jen and I picked out?"

"That's rather personal." Shai stalled, setting down her fork with a clang before reaching for her
wineglass. The deep burgundy resembled blood inside the Irish crystal. In the dim lighting of the
restaurant, the liquid glowed and shimmered as if lit from within.

She took a hesitant sip, her mind scrambling for an excuse for not wearing the deliciously sexy lingerie.
Too small, maybe? No, Jennifer would see right through that one. Damn! She wished they'd not gone
shopping together last week. She set her glass down once more.

Maybe she could say a panty raid had occurred while she was in the shower. Or armed guerillas had
entered her apartment and stolen them at Uzi- point.

"Looks like you're right. She isn't wearing them." Melanie untangled her hair from her finger and returned
her attention to her plate.

"I'm not sure why I put up with you guys," Shai grumbled. She picked up her fork and stuffed the
now-cold bite of potato in her mouth, chewing as she glared at her four friends.

"Because we're family in every way that counts," Erihn answered matter-of- factly. "And you love us."

Jennifer grinned like a well-fed Cheshire cat. "That still doesn't answer the question. Are you wearing the
naughty bits Viv and I bought for you?"

Shai felt the blush heating her cheeks. While she'd been delighted with the clothing her friends had
picked out, the lingerie was intimidating for someone who'd religiously worn plain white cotton all her life.

The black lace demi-bra and matching thong had lain on the bed until the very last minute. As she was
getting ready for the evening, she'd kept glancing at the lingerie, torn between her desire to don it and her
wish that it would vanish into thin air. In the end, she'd relented.

Sitting in the trendy New York restaurant wearing an outfit and lingerie that would have cost her a
week's pay, Shai felt truly free for the first time in her life. She shifted in her seat, her bottom bare against
the black silk half-slip. The whisper of black-seamed thigh highs felt foreign and sexy against her skin.

"Yes, I am." She slapped her fork down on the table with a thump. "And I like it."

"Bravo, darling." Viv raised her glass in a mock salute.

"I suspected as much." Jennifer shrugged out of her black velvet bolero-style jacket to reveal gleaming
porcelain skin and a tiny black leather bustier. "Maybe I should take another lover," she commented to
no one in particular.

"Wore out Marcel already?" Melanie asked. She picked up her glass of wine and finished it off.
 "That's the problem with men today." Vivian reached for a new cigarette from Melanie's pack. "No
stamina."

Erihn swallowed a gasp as she ducked her head. Her face half-hidden by a wing of rich brown hair, she
busied herself with digging a chunk of crabmeat out of a claw. "More ginseng? Powdered deer antler?"

"It would be hard for anyone to keep up with you, Viv dear. How many days a week do you go to the
gym?" Melanie asked.

"Three." With a flick of a gold lighter, she lit a fresh cigarette. "I can crush a tin can between these
thighs."

"Isthat why you go through so many men? You crush them to death?" Melanie teased.

Shai glanced at Vivian. "And this is a good thing...how?"

"Maybe Viv is into recycling," chortled Erihn.

Vivian eyed Erihn's Rubenesque figure. "It wouldn't hurt you to go once in a while."

"Oh no, not me." Erihn caught the waitress's attention and waved her hand at the empty wine bottles to
show that they needed another one. "What would I do with a man?"

A tender look entered Vivian's eyes. She reached over and brushed Erihn's hair away from her face.
Her nimble fingers lightly traced the scar that marred the young woman's cheek.

A madman in Central Park had ended Erihn's budding modeling career seven years ago. In broad
daylight, he'd grabbed her as she'd left a photo shoot. He'd kidnapped and terrorized her for three long,
agonizing days before the police had caught up with him. She'd escaped with her life and a horrendous
scar that would forever mar her face. But it wasn't the exterior scars that concerned her friends, it was
the ones hidden deep inside they worried about. To this day, Erihn refused to speak of the incident that
had forever changed her life.

"I think you're perfect the way you are," Vivian murmured.

Tears glittered in Erihn's deep brown eyes. "Thanks."

Shai felt the tears stinging her own eyes. This was why she loved these women. Because they were
family in the ways that counted the most. They were there when they needed one another and even when
they didn't. For the past two years, they'd laughed and cried together, sharing their lives as only they
could with other women. In a silent toast to her friends, she picked up her glass and drank.

"Well, I for one have no desire to crush anything between these thighs," Jennifer spoke. "Anything that
gets between these legs will sigh with pleasure...not pain." Shai choked on her wine. Without missing a
beat, Jennifer pounded her on the back as she continued. "I haven't had any complaints yet."

"Nor will you ever, dear," Melanie said. She grinned as the waitress appeared with another bottle of
burgundy. "Can you grab some of these here?" She waved her hand at the empty wine bottles that
littered the table before returning her attention to her friends. "Of course, that doesn't fix the matter at
hand."
"Which is?" Erihn asked.

"Finding a lover for Shai," Vivian frowned at the young woman. "Weren't you paying attention at all?

"Well, of course I was. I'm sitting right here."

Shai leaned back, the base of her wineglass hitting the plate with a chime of fine china. "How in the
world did we get on this topic? Who says I need a lover anyway?"

"I did, dear." Vivian captured the bottle of burgundy before Melanie could help herself. She leaned
around Erihn to fill Shai's glass and then her own. "It's your thirty-first birthday today and, in the two
years I've known you, you've never mentioned a man once."

"So?"

"This needs to stop." Melanie liberated the bottle from Viv and filled her own glass. "Come to think
about it, I've never heard you speak about any men. What's up with that?"

Shai picked up her glass and took a quick swallow. How in the world was she going to get out of this
one gracefully? She set the glass on the table before she spoke. "Just because I don't need a man to
make my life complete, does this make me a freak?"

"Yes," they all spoke in unison.

Shai rolled her eyes. "So much for woman's lib. It's lost on you guys. I don't see anything wrong with
being alone."

"I do. It simply isn't natural." Jennifer leaned forward to pick up her case and extract a cigarette. "Take
me, for example. I'm a very successful journalist and I'm not in a relationship. However," she dropped the
case on the table, "I do have several gentlemen I can call to entertain me and take the edge off."

Shai blinked. "Take the edge off what?"

"Sex, dear." Vivian snared a crab claw off the platter in the center of the table and set to freeing the
succulent white meat. "You know, to get your rocks off?"

"To get nailed," Jennifer returned, her tone wry.

"To poke the hole in the doughnut," Melanie chimed in.

"Youladies are so vulgar," Erihn spoke without heat.

Vivian grinned, "Thank you, little mouse." She popped the chunk of crab, dripping with butter, into her
mouth.

"Oh, brother." Shai rolled her eyes again.

"You're a virgin," Melanie announced.

Silence reigned at the table as Shai found her friends hushed for the first time that evening. They watched
her, their expressions ranging from doubt to wonder as they pondered this idea. She squirmed in her seat,
uncomfortable with their questioning stares.

She wasn't a virgin...but she wasn't far from the mark either. In fact, Melanie's off-hand statement was a
little too close for comfort. Hasty fumblings in college with a nearsighted computer major didn't make for
a satisfied woman. After her somewhat anti-climactic experience, she'd decided that sex wasn't all it was
cracked up to be, so she hadn't pursued it further. However, technically, she wasn't a virgin.

"I am not," she protested. "Just because I don't sleep with half of the New York Yankees..."

"I object." Vivian dipped another bit of crab into her container of drawn butter. "It was only the first
baseman and the shortstop." A sensual throaty laugh escaped her. "And let me say, my dears, he was
anything but short."

"Really?" exclaimed Melanie. "Do tell."

Vivian shifted in her seat. A soft smile played about her thin, red-painted lips. "He had this thing about
biting my toes as he came." She shook her head. "Very strange, as I'd never seen that particular trick
before. But he did have this amazing maneuver with..."

"Stop!" Erihn's hand came up to halt any further revelations, her cheeks crimson.

Jennifer reached for the wine. "That's a word that's never passed Vivian's lips."

"Oh, I don't know, the worddon't might have been in front of that." Melanie cracked a lobster tail with a
practiced flick of her wrist as the ladies dissolved into laughter.

Shai drained her wineglass. Her cheeks were hot and she just knew she was blushing to the roots of her
already-red hair. She'd never understood how all of them had become friends over the years. They were
all so different with very little in common.

She glanced at Vivian, stunning in her blue silk jacket and black leather pants. Her clothing, cultured
accent and mannerisms screamed money. Divorced several times, Vivian was known for her outlandish
lovers, her flaunting of society's mores and her family's seemingly limitless supply of cash. She was lesser
known for her charitable works with the homeless within New York City, but that was something she
rarely spoke about. A stunning brunette with a wicked sense of humor, she moved in circles that Shai
could only dream of.

Jennifer, physically, was almost Vivian's twin. Both had black hair, Jen's long and straight while Viv's
was short and curly. Distinguished and elegant, Jennifer was one of the nations' top print journalists and
Shai's co-worker at theNew York Times . Jennifer was also one of the lucky three percent who made
the big money at it. After writing a piece on a little known war in South America and winning a Pulitzer,
the sky was the limit for her and she wrote her own ticket. Shai knew little about her background and
Jennifer volunteered very little personal information.

Melanie was the vivacious one of the group. Blonde and a bit ditzy, she'd worked for a late night
television talk show as the cue card girl. Her many appearances on television when the show's
flamboyant host had picked on her during the show had given her entrée to commercials and soon she
was headed to Hollywood to make her first movie. She dreamed of making it big in the movies and
marrying Mel Gibson. While the Mel Gibson part was out, they all wished her well and supported her at
every turn.
 And then there was Erihn who was like none of them. She was a romance writer and a long-time friend
of Jennifer's. Erihn and Shai had met when Shai, on her first assignment as a reporter, had been sent to
interview her on the changing face of romance novels. Both women were almost painfully shy, but they'd
hit if off immediately, becoming the best of friends.

But someone was missing.

"Where's Evie?" Shai asked.

Vivian shrugged and reached for a roll. "Maybe she got tied up?"

Melanie sighed. "Only if she's lucky."

"No. Don't tell me that white-bread man you're engaged to ties you up?" Jennifer drawled.

Erihn leaned forward, the candlelight flickered over the scar, making it softer, less apparent. Shai could
practically see her jotting mental notes for yet another book.

"Only once." Melanie's creamy skin grew flushed and Shai couldn't tell if it was from the alcohol,
conversation, or the memories of the event in question. "It was wonderful. Liberating, actually."

Vivian licked butter off her fingers and grinned at her blonde friend. "Isn't it just?"

Shai blinked. After all the years of outrageous conversations, she should be used to this kind of talk by
now. But she wasn't and it made her uneasy. Sex was foreign to her and, in her mind, overrated. She
picked up her wineglass and drained it yet again. She'd already had much more than she was used to
drinking and tomorrow she'd pay the price.

"So, what's your ultimate sexual fantasy, Jennifer?" Erihn asked, her eyes bright with curiosity and far too
much wine.

"Mmmm," Jennifer paused, her lips screwed up in concentration. "I don't know." A wicked gleam
entered her eyes. "How about handcuffed in the back of a police car? Cuffed to the dividing cage while
Joe Police-guy frisks me with his really hard...baton."

Erihn and Melanie dissolved into laughter as Vivian smiled. "Been there, done that. His last name was
Mathison from the 13th precinct here in New York." She sighed and picked up her wineglass, her eyes
growing dreamy. "And, oh my, what a baton he had."

"Okay." Jennifer stubbed out her cigarette, her tone challenging. "What's your ultimate fantasy, Viv dear,
and don't be shy."

"Yet another word that's never been associated with Viv," Melanie laughed.

Vivian paused, her glass halfway to her mouth. Her expression turned whimsical. "Well, I can't honestly
think of many things I fantasize about when, let's face it, I've lived most of them. I suppose, if I really had
to come up with one, there is the bar wench fantasy, the Madame and slave fantasy, and the bad cop
fantasy isalways a good one..."

"Just one, Viv. You needn't recite your entire repertoire of tricks," grumbled Jennifer. She picked up the
now-empty bottle of wine and waved it in the direction of the waitress.
 "Hmm...probably the saloon girl fantasy." Vivian shifted in her chair. "I'm working in a saloon in the old
west as some trail riders come in. Three of them, I think. They order a drink as they eye me in my
revealing peasant blouse." She traced her fingertips lightly over the suntanned skin showing between the
lapels of her jacket. A sensual smile curved her lips as she began to lose herself in the fantasy.

"The tallest man's name is Stud Lonewolf and he's a sight for sore eyes. With long blond hair, dark blue
eyes and pecs that would make a romance cover model cry with shame. As I set his drink in front of him,
he grabs my wrist and pulls me into his lap." She shifted in her seat once more before crossing and
re-crossing her legs. "I can tell it's been a long time since he's seen a real women. He whispers in my ear
all the wicked things he wants to do to me. As I lean back against his chest, he reaches up to untie my
blouse and my breasts fall free. Callused fingers tease my nipple as his knee parts my thighs.

"His teeth nip my neck as one hand traces down my side, across my thighs to the bottom of my skirt. His
hand on my skin causes goosebumps to break out. His fingers tear into my pantaloons to plunder my
waiting flesh. Growing impatient, he reaches down with his free hand to unleash himself before lifting me
to rub against his stiff rod. My eyes fly open at the sensation to realize that his two friends are watching
me. As their eyes grow dark with lust, Stud impales me on his manhood."

Her voice changed pitch as she continued. "Soft groans escape my lips as his blond friend comes
forward. His greedy lips suckle my breast as I twine my fingers in his hair. The third man comes over to
take my other breast into his mouth as Stud forces me up and down...up and down. It's relentless. Just as
I begin to reach my peak, he comes with a growl, deep inside of me.

"For a second, I'm disappointed. But, before I can draw breath, the blond cowboy grabs me around the
waist and tosses me on the table, thighs spread. Releasing a cock that would do a horse proud, he
shoves inside and begins thrusting. Pumping, pumping until screams claw my throat and I shatter into a
million pieces in his arms."

Vivian slumped in her chair and fell silent. Her cheeks were flushed, a look of near satisfaction on her
face.

Shai swallowed hard and reached for her wineglass.Goodness...

"What about the third guy?" Melanie asked, entranced.

Leave it to Melanie. Shai struggled not to choke on her wine.

Vivian picked up her napkin to fan her rosy cheeks. "Oh, him. I wait and nail him later."

Jennifer burst into laughter and slapped her palm on the table. "Bravo, dearest!"

Vivian grinned. "Too bad I only have a vibrator to go home to tonight. I'm feeling a bit frisky right now."
She cast an appraising look around the restaurant as if to spy a willing victim.

"Amen, sister," Erihn whispered. She picked up her wine and gulped the remains.

Jennifer turned her dark eyes on Shai. "So tell us what gets your panties in a bunch, my dear?"

Shai blinked. "My fantasies?"

Vivian gave a throaty laugh. "Why, of course. I have a feeling you aren't as pristine as you pretend to
be." Her flashing blue eyes dared Shai to step up to the plate.

"Whoever said I was pristine?" Shai squeaked.

"No one, dear." Erihn patted her hand as if to soothe ruffled feathers.

Shai stared at her neglected dinner while four pairs of expectant eyes watched her. What did she do
now?

She cleared her throat. "Well..." She hesitated before letting her eyes drift closed. "I'm lying in my bed.
It's a hot summer night, like tonight. The drapes are moving in a faint breeze, but it's not strong enough to
relieve the humidity that has me trapped in my bed. Restless, I kick at my covers as a shadow appears in
the window. It's a man."

"Who are you?" She whispered.

"You know who I am." His voice was deep, sensual like the purr of a giant jungle cat. Ripples of
awareness moved across her skin. Her nipples tightened beneath her simple cotton nightgown.

"Yes, I know who you are." She sat upright in her bed and held out her hand in silent invitation to
the dark figure in the window.

"What do you want from me?" he asked.

"Come to me."

"You're inviting me in?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Once I cross the threshold, there is no going back. Is this what you really want?"

She rose to her knees, her gown clinging to her overheated skin. "Yes, I want you, all of you."

His teeth gleamed in the darkness when he smiled. He stepped in through the window, onto her
window seat, scattering soft pillows with his booted feet. He was very tall, much taller than her
five foot four. He was dressed in all black-- black jeans and a black T-shirt that stretched across
his broad chest and shoulders. Black hair brushed his shoulders in a tumble of riotous curls.

Feverish blue eyes gleamed beneath heavy brows. His full sensual mouth curved in pleasure. "I've
come to give you your ultimate fantasy."

She gave a faint nod.

He held out his hand, tempting her to reach for the ecstasy he offered. Hesitant, she reached for
him, her breath caught as his warm fingers closed around hers. With a gentle tug, he urged her to
her feet. Her gown swirled around her thighs as she moved toward him. A strong arm slipped
around her waist as he gathered her close, his arousal evident against her lower stomach.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered against her skin. His lips moved over her neck, taking a
nibble here, a taste there.

"Everything. Anything. I want every woman's fantasy." She sighed as his mouth touched her ear,
teasing the delicate lobe.

His husky chuckle raised gooseflesh on her skin, "I did your laundry and balanced your
checkbook."

Shai opened her eyes to find her friends staring at her, their expressions ranging from wonder to outright
amusement. Suddenly, Melanie and Erihn broke into shrieks of laughter.

Viv lifted her cigarette case, a soft smile tugging at her mouth. "Well, that's definitely a fantasy we know
will never happen. Brava, my friend."

Jennifer shrugged. "Not true, Viv. It could happen with some men." She turned toward Shai. "Is that
your fantasy? A tall dark stranger entering your bedroom in the dark of night? To make love to you until
you can't think? To fulfill your darkest fantasies?"

"Sounds good to me." Erihn reached for her glass of water. Tears of mirth streaked her cheeks.

"I don't know." Shai shrugged. "If I knew I was perfectly safe?" She took another drink of wine. She
knew she was half-past drunk now and careening her way into dangerous territory. For her to discuss
her sexual fantasies was something she would never think of doing, ever. But here she was, sitting in a
public restaurant drinking loads of wine and discussing intimacies with her friends.

A sudden streak of boldness shot through her and she sat forward, slamming her glass onto the table.
"Sure? Why not? Who wouldn't want to have a dark handsome stranger take control of them, body and
soul? To make love until they merge as one? To be worshipped with his body till the end of time?"

Jennifer nodded, a speculative gleam in her eyes. "Another one of my favorite fantasies."

Vivian nodded slowly. "As is mine." She raised her wineglass in Shai's direction. "Happy birthday, my
friend. I think you just revealed more about yourself than you'll ever know."

Jennifer raised her glass. "And may your darkest fantasies come true, my dear Shai."

Shai laughed and raised her glass as Erihn followed suit.

"To fantasies." Chimed in Melanie as they clinked their glasses and the occupants dissolved into laughter.

Shai raised her glass to her lips and the laughter caught in her throat when a shifting in the shadows
snared her attention. She glanced over Melanie's head to stare into the darkest blue eyes she'd ever seen.

Prickles of awareness raced across her skin and her nipples tightened against the soft lace of her bra.
Her mouth went dry. Surely he was a figment of her imagination. No mortal man could have eyes so
dark, so ageless. So haunted.

He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. Piercing blue eyes shadowed by
winged black brows. Black hair swept away from his high forehead to fall an inch below his shoulders in
soft waves that her fingers ached to explore. Sharp features, high cheekbones and a patrician nose, saved
from austere by his mouth. Full and sensual, it screamed of long, hot nights, rumpled silk sheets and
musky sex.

It was the face of a fallen angel.

He was definitely not of this earthly plane.

Images came unbidden of the two of them in her wrought iron canopy bed. Sweat gleamed on skin as
his hands stroked her overheated flesh seemingly everywhere at once. Her heart thundered in her chest
as she imagined his lips on her stomach, leaving a damp trail as he moved toward her breast. His mouth
closed over its aching tip and he suckled deeply as she arched off the bed toward him, wanting more of
his dark magic. Her hands clinging to broad shoulders, her thighs opening to him, permitting access to the
apex that wept only for this man. For his touch alone.

A whimper broke from her lips as sensation poured through her body. She jerked in her chair, her
wineglass clattering against her plate as she bobbled it and blindly set it down. Her breath came in gasps,
the unexpected arousal leaving her unsatisfied body throbbing in places she barely acknowledged even
existed.

Erihn turned and frowned at her as Jennifer gave a delighted laugh and held her hands toward the
stranger in greeting. "Are you okay?" Erihn whispered.

Shai was shaken as he broke eye contact, looking away from her to speak with Jennifer. She nodded,
wondering if she really was okay.

What on earth was wrong with her? She'd never reacted like that to another human being in her life. She
moved the wine out of reach and picked up her glass of water. No more alcohol for her, that was for
sure.

The stranger's voice interrupted her musings. It was deep and resonant with a faint accent she couldn't
place. A shiver zipped across her skin. Rich, like dark chocolate, fine aged brandy or velvet, it was a
voice she could listen to for an eternity. She resisted the peculiar urge to swoon.

"I had business with Jacques, the owner here." He moved with the lethal grace of a big cat.
Unconscious, sexy. No mortal man should be able to move like that. It had to be illegal
somewhere.

Pleasure curled in her stomach, sending waves of desire racing through her blood. Stop that.
Time to sober up. Coffee, maybe? Yes, coffee, that would surely do the trick. She glanced around
for their waitress who was nowhere in sight. Damn!

The stranger laughed and her toes curled with pleasure as her gaze was dragged back against her
will.

He held Jennifer's hand and Shai struggled to quell the rush of jealousy as he brought it to his
mouth. His smile was intimate, his gaze knowing as he brushed his mouth over her skin.

Jennifer laughed and pulled her hand away. "Quit trying to impress me, Val. You forget
yourself."

He smiled easily, unabashed by Jennifer's rejection and Shai's heart gave a little flutter. This man
was dangerous to her well being and she knew, in that instant, nothing would ever be the same
again.

He glanced around the table, his gaze coming to rest on her. His eyes glittered with a dark heat.
"Indeed, I do. It's hard to remember myself when I am surrounded by such beauty." He tipped his
head in her direction. The dim lights gleamed in his thick glossy black hair, giving it a bluish
sheen.

Melanie gave an awkward twitter as Shai forced herself to look away.

"Is it?" quipped Vivian. Her eyes were fastened to the front of the stranger's pants. "Doesn't look
like it to me, but give it some time." A catlike smile curved her mouth as she licked her lips.

He chuckled as he moved around the table to take Vivian's hand and kiss it also. He crouched
beside her to murmur something into her ear as Viv pressed her ample breast against his chest
and circled an arm around his shoulders, tangling those obscene red nails in his hair.

Shai's cheeks heated in the face of such a blatant attempt at seduction. She shifted her gaze,
staring down at her plate while trying to ignore Vivian. She'd never been the kind of woman who
attracted men easily. There were times when simply conversing with a man could bring on hives.
She wished she could slip under the table and vanish in the face of her friend's easy sensuality.

The soft caress of a fingertip touched her cheek, bringing her head up. She glanced around. No
one was even looking in her direction, let alone close enough to touch her.

"Shai." Jennifer's voice brought her attention back to the table. "I'd love for you to meet
someone. This is Valentin and he's a very old and dear friend of mine." She waved her hand in his
general direction. "Val, this is Shai Jordan, a much newer friend of mine."

Shai caught the amusement in Jennifer's voice and flushed. She tensed as the dark man untangled
himself from Viv and moved toward her with his lazy grace. A richly embroidered vest hung open,
displaying laces on his flowing white shirt. Open at the throat, it revealed the strong column of his
throat melding into broad muscular shoulders. Black jeans clung to taut muscular thighs. A black
belt with a plain gold buckle circled his waist and black boots encased his feet.

Easily he captured her hand within his much larger one. Warmth surrounded before invading her
chilled flesh. Strong fingers, artist's fingers, encircled hers as he slowly raised her hand toward his
mouth. "Enchanté." His breath teased the sensitized skin of her knuckles.

His lips were warm and dry, eliciting a shiver as his tongue touched the back of her hand. Carnal images
crowded her mind as desire burned her like a wildfire. Before her eyes flashed images of this man in her
bed, buried deep within her, burrowing into her very soul.

Val pulled away, his teeth shutting with a sharp click and Shai caught a glimpse of an emotion akin to
shock racing across his face. Was he in pain?

"Are you okay?" she asked, startled when her voice came out husky.

He flashed her a picture perfect smile. "Better than I was before meeting you." He straightened smoothly,
never releasing her hand. "Ladies, it has been a great pleasure seeing you, but I am afraid I have to run."
He glanced down at Shai, his gaze capturing and holding hers easily. "Business does not await my
personal pleasures." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
 Vivian fairly purred her displeasure. "That's too bad, Val. It's been such along time since we've seen
each other. We're headed to the Pyramid after dinner. Maybe you can join us there?"

"Indeed, it has been a long time. If I can get away, it would be an honor to join you ladies this evening."
His gaze never left Shai's as he raised her hand to his lips once again. "Until next we meet, little one." He
kissed her hand a second time, his teeth brushing her skin before he released her. Turning, he headed
toward the door, every woman's eye on him as he exited.

"Nowthat is a fantasy," Erihn announced into the silence.

"It seems our little Shai caught Val's eye," Jennifer commented.

"Lucky girl. I've been after him since he first appeared in New York about a year ago." Vivian's tone
was sour. "Never even looked twice at me."

"I certainly wouldn't kick him out of bed," Melanie said.

"I wouldn't either," Shai, still feeling dazed, spoke through numb lips.

Vivian laughed, her pique apparently forgotten. "It's about damned time. A man to turn Shai's head. And
what a man he is." She leaned closer to Shai. "Watch out, little one. Val is one of the sharks in the ocean
of life," she paused. "Of course, that makes him all the more desirable." She raised her wineglass. "Here's
to Shai and her deepest, darkest fantasies. Long may Val fill them...and a few other things."

"I don't..." Shai began, only to realize they were no longer listening to her. Shivers danced along her
spine as she recalled his deep blue eyes and sinfully sexy mouth.

"Oh, what the hell... Here's to fantasies."

Chapter 2

Shai tumbled headfirst through her apartment door. Clinging to the doorknob, she skidded to a stop as
her oversized purse banged into the coat tree, sending it crashing to the floor. She straightened and stared
at it, her vision distorted as if she were underwater.

"Bummer."

Her voice sounded slurred and she giggled as she kicked the door shut with one foot. She started across
the wood floor toward the darkness of her bedroom door. As she walked, she discarded her clothing in
an uneven trail, marking her progress through the apartment. Her silk jacket landed on the arm of a chair,
her purse a hill of soft leather in the middle of her living room. Next came her black skirt, a puddle of
velvet in the hall.

As she neared the doorway, she noticed with alarm that the room was tilting. She reached out a hand to
brace herself against the wall and keep herself upright.

"What the..." She glanced down at her feet. One high-heeled shoe was missing. She turned too fast only
to send her head spinning and she staggered into the wall with a thud. "Oooof..." She squinted toward the
hall, looking for the missing footwear. Her errant shoe lay tangled in her skirt.

"Too much effort." Turning, she stumbled through the door, losing her other shoe in the process. Her
shirt slithered to the floor.

Her four-poster bed lay bathed in a pool of brilliant moonlight. The windows were wide open and a soft,
humid breeze tugged at the heavy blue drapes. With a sigh of delight, Shai fell onto the bed, her body
numb with drink and sensual intoxication. Her fingers curled into the crisp white sheets. Oh, how she
loved her bed. It was the best bed in the world. Unbidden, an image of Val entered her mind. She
groaned.

Val in her room.

In her bed.

In her.

She closed her eyes and grabbed a pillow to cradle it against her overheated body. Enough of that.
Fantasies were one thing, but her reality was that a man like Val would never be interested in a boring,
white-cotton woman like her.

She sighed into her pillow and scrunched her face deeper into the pristine cotton, willing her body to
relax. Within seconds, she gave in to the demands too much alcohol had placed on her, and she fell
asleep.

She looked like a whore.

The vampire settled on the windowsill, mere feet from the woman's sleeping form. A derisive
smile curled his lips. Whore or not, she was even more exquisite than he'd ever imagined.

Thick red hair lay tumbled across her pillow in a river of curls. Dark lashes shadowed her cheeks,
hiding eyes he knew were a brilliant green. A small, delicately shaped nose with a slight bump at
the bridge as if it had been broken at one time. Her mouth was generous with a full lower lip and
slightly thinner upper one. Her skin was the creamy delight of a redhead. Her throat was slender,
marred only by a small scar at the base on the right side.

Perfection.

A black lace bra barely covered her breasts, full and round. He ached to touch them, to taste
them. Her belly looked soft and inviting while her hips and upper thighs were covered by a silk
half-slip. Naughty black nylons encased her thighs and lovely calves down to slender ankles and
feet. A delicate gold ankle bracelet glittered in the moonlight.

He certainly appreciated her choice in underclothing. But he was surprised that a woman as
conservative as Shai would dress like a seasoned harlot beneath her street clothes.

It would be so easy to kill her, he thought dispassionately. He knew exactly where to touch her
slender throat and, in mere seconds, she'd be one of the dearly departed. Just another victim
found dead in their bed in the city called New York.

He looked at his hands, his pale skin gleaming white in the moonlight. They didn't look like they
were over nine hundred years old. Nine hundred years of murder, mayhem and blood. He stroked
his chin. For Shai's sake, it would be more humane for her if he did kill her with his hands. Quick
and efficient, no fuss no muss. No mortal would want to live through what he'd planned for her.
But even when he'd been human, he hadn't been humane.

A mirthless smile curved his mouth.

Oh, how he wanted her. More now than the first time he'd laid eyes on her. Every year, the desire
had grown stronger until he'd reached this breaking point. Sitting outside of her bedroom window
watching her sleep, lusting after her yet unwilling to touch her.

Yet. Soon her time would come.

A faint, self-deprecating laugh escaped him.

She stirred in sleep, a frown marring the perfection of her face. As if she knew he was there, she
turned her face and twisted her body away from his gaze as if to avoid him. The silk half-slip
tightened, sliding up to reveal the tops of her stockings and the tiny black thong panties she wore.

The vampire's breath caught in his throat and a faint hiss of air escaped him. Her panties left
nothing to the imagination. Moonlight gilded the perfection of her skin, the smooth slopes and
tantalizing indentations.

Her backside was larger than considered fashionable by today's standards. But it was perfectly
round and taut. He preferred his women to be shaped like women, not sticks with boobs. This
beauty had something to hang onto, a backside that would fill his ample hands admirably.

He longed to slip in her window and grab her, pulling her against his raging erection. To bury
himself in her softness until she cried. He pictured himself in bed with her, her body moving
against him, her eyes sleepy with lust.

A growl escaped his throat.

With one last look at the sleeping woman, he turned away. Mortal women. They were the
downfall of many a vampire. To meld with living flesh, breathing and crying out beneath him, on
top of him, it didn't matter. It was an addiction and he was in serious need of a fix.

Weakness was weakness and it had to be either destroyed or appeased. He glanced back at her. It
was rare that a mortal had reached him the way she did, the way she always had.

Just as her mother had many years before.

He bared his teeth. The moonlight seemed even more brilliant than it had been before. It was time
to feed and feed he must. Clicking his jaw in frustration, the vampire caressed her one last time
with his gaze. Moving with the near silence of one of the very old, he leapt from the window to the
alley thirty feet below.
He landed with a gentle thud and straightened, checking to ensure his clothing was in perfect
order before moving toward the mouth of the alley and the darkened streets beyond.

Shai's time would come, as would her companions. He knew that for a certainty. Unfortunately
her friends were average, not exceptional like her. If they'd been exceptional, he might have
spared them. The only possible exception was Jennifer. She could be a problem. But the rest of
them would serve their purpose and serve it well.

First things first, though. There was a merry game to be played. The players in this drama were
in place and act one had already commenced.

Laughter filled the night as the vampire faded into the shadows.

"So who's the woman?"

Val started, the forgotten book falling from his fingertips to land on the pine floor with a hollow thump.
He looked up to see his unexpected visitor standing near the fireplace, a bemused expression on her
face. "Miranda, what a lovely surprise. I didn't hear you pop in."

A silvery laugh echoed in the expanse of the library. "That's a new one." Miranda shed her black velvet
cape and draped it over the back of the chair across from him. She stooped to rescue the leather-bound
book from the floor. "Wuthering Heights," she read, carefully closing the cover. Her crimson fingernails
gleamed in the subdued lighting as she stroked the priceless binding. "First edition, even. Dreaming of
unrequited love, my friend?" A smile danced across her face as she perched on the arm of the opposite
chair.

"Just enjoying a classic, my dear." Val rose from the chair to reclaim his book from her.

She didn't release it. "What's her name?"

"And why do you think a woman is on my mind?" he asked, careful to keep his tone light.

Her smile turned sad, almost disappointed. "And who knows you better than I? You can fool others, but
you can never fool me."

He brushed his finger down her cold cheek. The first time he'd laid eyes on her, he'd thought Miranda
was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. Hair as black as night fell in thick luscious waves to her
tiny waist. Skin the color of clotted cream, by contrast her lips were full and red. Deep blue eyes framed
in sooty lashes stared, unflinching in their regard of him. Tall and built like a Rubenesque statue, she was
perfection wrapped in a rich, black velvet dress. She was a woman many men would desire.

Miranda was his dark angel, his savior. She'd saved him from himself many times through the years
they'd been friends and confidants. But he also knew she wanted more, much more than he could give. It
pained him to hurt her so. When he'd met the red-haired angel last night, he'd known it was inevitable that
someone would be hurt. Unfortunately, it would be Miranda.

"Never you, Miranda," he whispered.

 She released her grip on the book; her gaze unwavering as she folded her hands in her lap like a prim
spinster at an afternoon tea. "She's mortal?"

"Yes." His tone was resigned. Didn't she see that he didn't want to hurt her with this?

"Do you love her?"

Anger surged to life. How could he dare love any mortal woman? Their relationship would always be
doomed to failure and loss. A vampire would always outlive a mortal, many lifetimes over. "How can I
love her?" he bit out. "How can I love anyone?"

"The same way any of us can love." Her tone was soft, her voice musical, sensual. It was that voice
which had pulled him back from the edge many times. He felt the lure of it even now.

"I've only met her once."

"She must be quite the woman to have captured your attention."

"It's only lust." He said the words, but they rang hollow to his ears.

"If you believe it's only lust, then you're a bigger fool than I ever knew you were." She looked down to
pick at imaginary lint on her skirt. "You realize that mortals can be our downfall?"

"Yes."

She abandoned her task, raising her gaze to meet his. "Do you want to die that badly?" she whispered.

"No, not anymore. I have you to thank for that." He moved away from her and toward the
floor-to-ceiling windows. "I don't know how to explain it." Burgundy velvet drapes were pulled back to
reveal the clear, starry night. The shadows beyond the glass beckoned his soul and, for the first time in
many years, he wanted to curse the night which enshrouded him.

"You don't have to explain, Val," Miranda spoke softly. "You owe me nothing."

"No, you're wrong," he said, his voice harsh. "I owe you everything." He turned to the beauty who
stared at him with the face of love. Love that would ease the crushing loneliness of his life. Love he could
never return. "Everything."

"You owe me nothing you will not give willingly." Her tone was pained as she rose from her perch. "I'll
take nothing you do not offer of yourself." She picked up her cape and moved to stand before him, her
cool fingers caressing his face as if committing it to memory. She dropped her hand as tears filled her
eyes. "I take my leave of you with a heart filled with love for the boy you once were, and the man you've
become."

She vanished, leaving the faint scent of jasmine and a delicate tingling on his skin. His heart heavy, Val
turned, his eyes once again searching the darkness of a New York night. How had his life come to this?
 Sins of the Flesh
Book V in the Shadow Dweller Series

by

J. C. Wilder

ISBN 1-55316-073-8

Published by LTDBooks

www.ltdbooks.com

Copyright © 2001 J. C. Wilder

Cover Art by Emily Black

Cover Art copyright © 2001

Published in Canada by LTDBooks, 200 North Service Road West, Unit 1, Suite 301, Oakville, ON
L6M 2Y1 [www.ltdbooks.com]

All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent
of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law.

National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data

Wilder, J. C., 1965-

Sins of the flesh [computer file]

ISBN 1-55316-073-8 (electronic) ISBN 1-55316-927-1 (REB 1100 1200)

I. Title.

PS3623.I45S55 813'.6 C2001-902068-6

Dedication

To my fellow "Serious Writers" - Beth, Carol, Donna and Rosemary.

Thanks for kicking me in the backside when I needed it.
 Acknowledgments

Writers may work alone but we don't work in a vacuum. Many thanks go out to the following people
without whom this book would have never been completed:

Miss Binta, friend extraordinaire!

Stuart, who still thinks every hero is modeled after him and he just might be right...
a little anyway...

Debbie, thanks for the cover photo and the laughs.

Emily, for managing to take my vision and turn it into a gorgeous cover every time!

Chapter 1

Not her, please let it be anyone but her.

Alexandre Saint-Juste, vampire and head of the Council of Elders, looked up from the photo of a
burned corpse he was studying to see a figure hesitating in the doorway. She was little more than a
shadow in the dim lighting but he knew it washer . The soft, citrus scent of her perfume gave her away.

Sunni.

He closed his tired eyes. He was slipping. As an Elder, it was near impossible for another vampire to
sneak up unawares. He'd trained himself to be aware of his surroundings at all times and the talent had
saved his life on numerous occasions. But he'd been pushing himself too hard lately and, if he didn't take
more care, the next time might be his last.

He rubbed his forehead. Maybe she'd be gone when he opened his eyes? That would be his wish.
Could he be that lucky? He dropped his hand and opened his eyes.

Damn, she was still hovering in the doorway.

Inwardly he groaned. Right now he had his hands full and the last thing he needed was this flighty,
empty-headed little vampire.

As she stepped into the room, he dropped the photo onto the others scattered across the top of his
desk. Knowing Sunni, he'd not get any work done until he could get the little busybody out of his house.
He made a mental note to fire his housekeeper, Nelson, who'd obviously let her in the front door. He
was a sucker for a pretty face.

"What can I do for you, Sunni?"

"A lot actually. The question is, will you?" She grinned as she advanced, her sandal- shod feet making no
sound on the thick carpet. "But today I'm going to do you a favor."

His mouth went dry as she strolled closer. Sunni was tiny-barely over five feet-and she resembled a
young Mia Farrow with her cap of short, silky blonde hair, doe-brown eyes and delicate features.
Dressed in a sheer, yellow, cropped shirt over a matching bikini-style top, she was bare from the bottom
of her insubstantial shirt to the waistband of her skirt.

Slung low on her slim hips, the cotton skirt looked as if it had been left wadded in the back of a drawer
for weeks. The rainbow-colored material swirled about her slim legs, briefly outlining each delectable
inch as she walked. Tiny she may be, but she was exquisitely formed from her pale hair to the tips of her
petal-pink toenails. Damn, she was beautiful.

Alexandre swallowed hard against the unfamiliar rush of lust, his toes curling in his Bacco Bucci shoes.
Startled, he stepped back and sat hard in his desk chair.

He must be more tired than he thought.

Slick with pale gloss, a bewitching smile played about Sunni's mouth as if she could read the lascivious
thoughts dancing through his mind. His gaze shifted from her mouth to skim her pert breasts and dropped
to her hips, which swayed provocatively with her easy gait. The air in the room seemed suddenly in short
supply.

What the devil was wrong with him?

He'd never had a reaction to a woman like this, and certainly not with a woman like Sunni. She
was luscious...No, no-annoying-that was the word. Annoying and exasperating. That summed up
the little vampire. He reached up to loosen his tie. His reaction to her was simply a combination of
his need to feed and lack of rest. Yes, that was it. A few hours of sleep and a quick prowl would
set his world to rights once more.

Fighting for a cool demeanor, he fixed a bored expression on his face as he forced his gaze to
meet hers once more.

"What kind of favor would this be?" he asked.

"Jennifer sent these over to you." From behind her voluminous skirt, she withdrew a medium-sized
manila envelope. "Knowing I was headed this way she asked if I'd drop it off."

Alexandre silently cursed his old friend as he reached for the offering. Jennifer knew Sunni annoyed the
hell out of him on a good day, which this definitely was not. Her eyes gleamed with secret amusement as
she reached the edge of the desk and leaned forward, offering him a glimpse of her cleavage as she
handed the envelope to him.

"Thank you." He took it, forcing his gaze away from her shadowy cleft.

He'd been waiting for this information since he'd received word of its arrival. He tried to ignore the
delectable creature before him as he opened the envelope and withdrew a folded sheet of paper and
several photos. A quick glance told him the photos weren't of the greatest quality. Fuzzy and indistinct, he
nevertheless recognized the features of Cassiopeia, the woman who'd betrayed the Council of Elders by
siding with the vampire Mikhail in an attempt to overthrow Alexandre's rule.

The ever-present pain in the back of his neck made itself known once more as he stared at the blurry
face of his one-time co-council and lover. With the distinctive features of middle- eastern descent, Cass
was intelligent and charismatic, an excellent conversationalist and breathtakingly beautiful.
 Her thick dark hair was piled on her head with a few tendrils allowed to escape and curl against her
slender throat. With deep brown eyes framed by sooty lashes and a curvaceous figure usually covered in
the finest of silks, she was an exquisite woman to behold and an elder vampire to be feared.

She was also cunning and devious as only a woman could be.

Curse her black soul.

He flicked the photo to the back of the pack and scanned the others. All were of either Cass or the
immortal revenant Miles. As one of Mikhail's creations, he'd been rumored to be traveling with Cass for
the past month or so, acting as her personal servant. He was intelligent and ruthless, an adversary to be
wary of. He was also the keeper of Elsabeth's diary, a tome sought by everyone in the preternatural
world.

He flipped through the photos once more, noting that all of them had been taken in Vienna. Nothing
new. She'd been in residence for the past few weeks while Miles had been seen in various parts of
Austria and the Carpathian Mountains.

He dropped the photos in his lap and flicked open the note to scan its contents. Val and Shai were
currently in Vienna on Cass' trail. According to the hastily scrawled memo, they'd lost both Cass and
Miles several days ago. He frowned. Those two could be anywhere in the world within twenty-four
hours.

"Damn," he muttered.

"Problems?" A sweet voice sounded in his ear.

Alexandre's head jerked upward, and he was startled to find Sunni standing beside him. Her perfume
teased his nose, sending a rush of heat shafting through his body. The warmth of her skin radiated against
his arm as she leaned close.

She'd fed recently, giving her skin the blush and warmth characteristic of a live human. She licked her
lips, and he felt the sensual draw of her presence like never before. His breath caught in his throat as she
moved in, her breath soft on his cheek.

She was going to kiss him!

He shifted away then froze as she reached out, the silver rings on her fingers gleaming as she aimed for
his lap.

Oh, no.

The last thing he wanted her to see was the evidence of his arousal. If she ever found out how much her
presence affected him physically, he'd never get rid of her.

Then he realized she was merely reaching for the pictures in his lap.

Half relieved, half-disappointed, he caught her wrist. Pushing her away, he gently maneuvered her
against the desk, away from the photos and his lap.

"No problem that I can't handle." His words came out more abruptly than he'd planned.
She placed her hands on the edge of the desk and, to his surprise, boosted herself onto the polished top.

"Your reaction certainly indicated there was a problem." Her soft green gaze was fixed on his face as if
committing it to memory.

"You're mistaken."

Disturbed by her nearness, he gathered the photos and prepared to rise. She crossed her legs and he
heard the soft tinkle of bells. He looked down and caught a glimpse of her slender ankles, barely visible
under the skirt hem. A finely wrought gold anklet with a row of tiny bells encircled one of them.

A rush of desire hit, rendering him so dizzy he had to look away. He didn't dare move, especially since
his increasing erection would tell her exactly what effect she had on him. Trapped by his wayward
impulses, he dropped the photos in his lap, hoping they sufficiently covered his body's betrayal.

"Hmm." She began to swing her leg, the sound of the bells causing him to grit his teeth. "I assume since
it's from Val that the news is about Cass?"

Alexandre frowned, irritated with her and himself. He shifted, trying to ease the ache in his groin. "What
would you know of the situation?"

She shrugged. "Probably as much as any spectator. Mikhail invoked the Law of Seven and challenged
you for the rule of the Council. To aid him in his cause, he enlisted your right-hand people, the vampires
Edward and Cass, thus vacating two spots on the Council. Mikhail's bid for your position was thwarted
when he ran into Mac...a very talented Druid from what I understand."

She leaned forward, and her voice dropped. "It's rumored that Mikhail was blinded in the ensuing battle.
Since they lost, Edward, Cass and Mikhail have been on the run for the past fifteen months. The majority
of the preternatural world is looking for them but you're determined to find them first."

"For a spectator you seem to be remarkably well informed."

Sunni straightened and flashed him a bright smile. "What can I say?" She shrugged. "I'm observant and I
pay attention."

"So it would seem. However, the one thing you forgot to mention is that Edward is dead, killed last fall."

Her expression turned thoughtful. "I hadn't heard. So now you're looking for the remaining two?"

Cass, Mikhail, Miles, the diary, and a few hundred of their supporters, but that was none of her
business.

He nodded. "Something like that."

"I might be able to give you a hand with this."

"Indeed?" He swallowed a laugh, fighting to keep his tone level. He couldn't imagine any way she could
be of help to him. "How is that?"

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, I am a woman." She leaned forward and he caught another whiff of
her perfume. "I might be able to give you some valuable insight into what Cass will do and where she'll go
next."

Alexandre couldn't contain his snort of laughter and he covered it with a cough as her eyes narrowed
dangerously. He cleared his throat. "Thank you for the kind offer, Sunni. I'll certainly keep you in mind
should something come up which would require your, er...particular talents."

A hurt look came into her eyes and she leaned back, dropping her gaze.

Damn, why do I feel as if I've just kicked a puppy?

"Sunni-"

"I saw him." She pointed to the top photograph in his lap.

He looked down and saw she was pointing at a clear photo of Miles. "Where did you see him?"

"Here in New Orleans."

He stifled the urge to groan. This was just great. She was so intent upon helping him that she was seeing
things. There was no way Miles or Cass would enter his city. As prey, it was too dangerous for them.
They knew he was on their trail.

He looked up. "Sunni-"

"It was a few days ago, I guess." She frowned. "I don't remember for sure. Maybe three days? I went
out to pick up some henna and cloth and he was standing by the fountain in Jackson Square."

His looked at the picture once more. Could Sunni be right? Was Miles here in New Orleans? He picked
it up and beneath it was a fuzzy photo of Cass and there, beside her in the shadows of the Palazzo
Grassi, was the hulking figure of Miles. He flipped it over to look at the date. Nine days prior, they were
together in Venice. He shuffled through the rest of the photos. None of the others showed them together,
just that one. Were they still together?

He looked at Sunni and held up the clearest one of Miles. "Are you sure it was him?"

She nodded, her expression earnest. "Yes. I couldn't miss him to save my life-he's huge."

"Was anyone with him?"

"Not that I saw. It was late and not terribly crowded. He was standing by the fountain, looking around
as if he were waiting for someone. I only noticed because he's a revenant." She grinned. "I'm getting
better at picking them out."

Chances were, if Sunni was right and Miles was here, then Cass was with him. But why would they
come to New Orleans? They both knew he and several other Elders lived in and around the city. They
certainly knew they were being hunted. The Council had levied a death sentence on Cass for treason.
For now, Miles had no charges against him, but his transgressions were mounting with each passing day.
What could they hope to accomplish by entering his city?

"Who is he?" Sunni plucked the photo of Miles from his fingertips.
"An old acquaintance." He retrieved the picture before she could get a good look at it.

She snagged the next one, a close-up shot of Cass taken several days before the photo with Miles.
"How old?"

Alexandre reclaimed the second photo and opened the center desk drawer. "Not too old." He scooped
everything-all of the photos, the letter and the documentation he'd been reviewing before she arrived-into
the drawer then closed it, safe from her inquisitive eyes.

"Was there anything else you needed?" He rose from the chair.

"Is he mixed up with Mikhail and Cass?"

She slipped off the desk, her skirt brushing his pant legs. Standing so close to him, he was once more
assailed with the warmth of her skin and the scent of her delicate perfume.

He ground his teeth in frustration. She was maddening. There'd been many times he'd had to restrain
himself from throttling her. He'd noticed her as a man would a beautiful woman on several occasions,
then she would spoil the illusion by opening her mouth and irritating the hell out of him. The logical side of
his brain knew Sunni could never keep him satisfied as a mate and a relationship with her would be a
disaster for both of them.

His job as an Elder and the head of the Council was to look out for the health and welfare of all
preternatural beings. Regardless of how he felt, he didn't want Sunni anywhere near him when the
carnage began. He would do anything in his power to avoid the coming battle, but it was inevitable. Cass
and her ilk would see to it.

He ruthlessly tamped down his wayward desires. His position required it.

"No, he is not mixed up with them." He moved around her.

"Then why is he in a picture with her?" She stepped in his way. Her gaze was direct as she placed her
hands on his chest to prevent his escape. "You're lying to me."

He encircled her wrists with his hands. A shock radiated through his palms at the feel of her skin against
his. "This may come as a surprise to you, Sunni, but it's none of your business." He gently removed her
hands and pushed her back before releasing her to step away.

"It is my business if it concerns the Council." She moved to intercept him, crossing her arms over her
chest. "I'm a vampire and the Council is supposed to represent all of the Shadow Dwellers. If this man is
wanted by the Council then I, as a citizen, have a right to know."

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. She was, without a doubt, the most exasperating female he'd ever
met. "First off, he isn't a wanted person and we have little interest in him, only Cass. Second, there isn't
much of a Council in power at this point. Only Fayne and myself are left."

"It's said that Val will be stepping in for Cass and you've asked Quinn to assume the position vacated by
Bliss' death."

Damn, whom is she talking to?

"That is a possibility, but as of yet, nothing has been decided."

"Alexandre-"

He held up his hand to stem the tide of words. His patience had reached the end and it was time to take
off the kid gloves with the annoying little blonde. "Look, I appreciate your interest, but right now I have
my hands full with this and other matters. Everything is under control and there's nothing to concern you."

"Nothing to concern my little head about you mean?" Her eyes narrowed as she placed her hands on her
hips. "I just want to help, so why won't you let me? I might be able to find this man. Really, I'm very
stealthy and..."

She moved backward and her foot caught in the hem of her skirt, causing her to stumble. Pinwheeling
her arms, she gave a squawk and reached for the desk to stop her fall. Before he could give it a thought,
Alexandre's hand shot out and he caught her arm, pulling her upright. The warmth of her skin singed his
palm as a jolt of awareness shot up his arm. Stung, he released her and stepped back.

"So I see. Graceful, too." He winced inwardly at his sarcastic tone. What the devil was wrong with him?
He never gave in to his emotions, especially where his constituents were concerned.

Her expression turned annoyed. "It was an accident and it could have happened to anyone."

"Anyone wearing a skirt that's too long, you mean?"

Damn, there I go again.

She put her small fists on her hips and cocked her head to one side. "Since when are you the fashion
police? You probably own twenty suits, all in the same color and style. Black." She snorted. "That's
original."

He gave an exasperated sigh. "Look, I appreciate your bringing the envelope over." He ushered her
toward the door, reluctant to touch her but desperate to get her away from him before he did something
unforgivable-like kiss her. Or strangle her. Both were possible right now.

"I need to ask you to leave. I have many issues I need to attend to post haste and I really don't need any
help at this time. If I do, I will certainly contact you."

She stepped to the side, her expression remote. The warmth and fire that had inhabited her eyes as she'd
entered the room was now but a memory. Her gaze chilled his skin with its coolness. "Of course you will.
As long as the task requires-how did you put it-my 'particular talents,' I believe?" She turned to exit the
library. "Don't patronize me, Alexandre. I'm not a child and I'm fully capable of taking care of myself."

"Sunni-" He followed as she stalked into the hallway.

She ignored him. Throwing open the front door, she fled into the New Orleans night in a flurry of color
and bells. The door slammed shut behind her.

He dropped his head, fixing his gaze on the tips of his polished shoes. Silence surrounded him, broken
only by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the far corner of the hall.
Damn.

Chapter 2

"It isn't working." Sunni stuck her tongue out of the corner of her mouth as she completed a graceful
sweep of the peacock's neck. The tube of henna moved along Maeve's skin in a slow, practiced arc,
leaving the thick paste to mark a trail. The mehndi tattoo was taking shape; the peacock would be
eye-catching when it was complete. Only the beak and a few tail feathers remained to be finished. She
shifted her position and started outlining the beak. "What do you think I should do?"

"Seduce him."

Sunni's hand jerked. A sound of annoyance escaped her as the unexpected movement left a smear of
henna in the wrong place. The beak now had a definite dip in the center. Great, a peacock with a cleft
palate would adorn her friend's back. Setting the tube on a small table, she grabbed a cotton swab to
dab at the bobbled beak before the henna could stain Maeve's skin.

"Alexandre doesn't strike me as a man who can be seduced." Her friend, Jennifer Beaumont, lay on her
stomach on a padded massage table a few feet away. Henna marked her left shoulder in a pattern of the
sun and moon.

"He's a man, isn't he?" Maeve asked. "If he has the necessary equipment and is of the proper sexual
persuasion, he can be seduced."

"Oh, I'm sure he has the essential equipment. He's just very...formal. The perfect gentleman, you might
say." Jennifer shook her head as she reached for her glass of wine. "I've known him for years and I've
never seen him even look at a woman."

"Maybe he's gay," Maeve offered.

Sunni laughed. "He's not gay, just reserved." She leaned back to inspect her clean-up job. That looked
much better, like a real beak.

"Very reserved," Jennifer agreed.

"He's gay." Maeve reached for her glass of wine.

"Quit moving." Sunni poked her in the shoulder with a finger. "He's not gay. Maybe he's shy?"

"Uh huh, that's probably it, he's shy." Jennifer nodded.

Maeve emitted a disbelieving snort.

Sunni dropped the cotton swab into a trashcan and leaned over her friend's back once more. Picking up
the tube, she continued the finishing touches on the beak and neck.

"About thirty years ago there were rumors of him with a woman," Jennifer mused.

"Who was it?" asked Maeve.

"You won't believe this, but it was Cassiopeia."

Sunni stifled a groan as she bobbled the beak once more. Annoyance streaked through her. Next time,
no talking while working.

"Really?" Maeve laughed. "I don't know Alexandre well at all, but that's an unlikely pairing, if you ask
me."

"Me, too. Mac mentioned once that it was short-lived and ended amicably. It broke off when she
ascended to the Council. Knowing Alexandre, he decided it wasn't proper to have a sexual relationship
with a fellow council member."

Sunni gritted her teeth as jealousy burned under her skin. If Jennifer was correct and Alexandre had had
an affair with the outlaw, this was yet another reason to hate the lovely Cass.

"I still think Sunni needs to try seducing him," Maeve offered.

"I've never actually tried to seduce a man."

"That's the problem. You need to learn how, my dear." Jennifer reached for the wine bottle.

"That's easier said than done." Sunni shrugged. "I've never been the seductress type."

Maeve shook her head. "You're a woman. You can learn."

"Well, I haven't managed it yet. I grew up in the early twentieth century. Women rarely voted, let alone
seduced men."

"When did you become a vampire?" Jennifer refilled her glass, then Maeve's.

"Nineteen-thirty-eight, I was twenty-five."

Maeve snorted. "A twenty-five-year-oldvirgin ?"

"Times were different then."

"No kidding." Maeve's tone was wry. "What happened in the sixties? Didn't you learn how to handle
men in the age of free love?"

"Well, no. It was the age of free love but I wasn't very free with it." Sunni dropped the empty henna
cone into the trash and reached for a fresh one. Clipping the tip with a small pair of scissors, she started
detailing another feather. "It just never seemed...right, I guess. I wanted more than just emotionless
couplings."

Maeve whipped her head around, her face registering disbelief. "Are you saying you've never had sex?"

"Damn it, Maeve." Sunni reached over and shoved her friend back into her previous position. "You keep
moving around and your peacock will look like a molting chicken." She snatched another cotton swab to
repair the damaged feather.
"Are you?" pressed Jennifer.

"I never said that." She dropped the swab in the trashcan and reached for another. "I'm not a virgin.
How could I have stayed chaste for over sixty years?"

"Not very easily," Maeve drawled.

"Okay, Sun." Jennifer placed her glass on the table with the mehndi supplies. "What do you want to
accomplish with this seduction?"

Uncomfortable, Sunni shrugged. She could barely remember a time when she hadn't been in love with
Alexandre. Since the day they'd met in 1947 when he'd rescued her from a gruesome death by sunshine,
she'd been head over heels in love with him.

She frowned. There was definitely something pathetic about being in love with the same man for so many
years and never making a move. He barely knew she existed, and it was her own fault. She'd been too
much of a coward to make a move. Until now.

She discarded the swab and straightened. The time had come for her to muster her flagging courage and
deal with him once and for all.

She took a deep breath and spoke in a rush. "I either want a relationship with Alexandre or exorcise him
from my life forever."

"A relationship?" Maeve asked. "You want a relationship?"

"What's wrong with that? You're in one now." Jennifer grinned. "Quinn has certainly tamed the angry
woman that was once inside you, my dear."

Maeve sighed, her tone dreamy. "And then some."

"Back to Sunni's problem." Jennifer looked at her. "Knowing Alexandre, you'll need to be subtle."

"I still think he's gay," Maeve grumbled.

Jennifer ignored her. "You need to take him by storm. Seduce him, but make him think it's his idea. A
subtle yet ruthless assault on his senses."

Sunni bit her lip as she contemplated the idea. Could she seduce Alexandre?

Not in a million years...

She shook her head. "It doesn't sound like something I can do."

"If you want something bad enough," Jennifer said, "then you'll do anything to get it."

"Try showing up naked. That seems to work for most men," Maeve said. "After that, getting him into
bed will be the easy part."

"I don't know how," Sunni wailed, narrowly managing to not stomp her foot. "I just told you guys that
my education was stunted in this arena."
"That's an understatement if ever I've heard one," Maeve said.

"You're not helping," Jennifer ground out.

Maeve rolled her eyes.

"We need to come up with a plan." Jennifer's expression turned thoughtful. "Let's think about this. In a
woman, what would appeal to a man like Alexandre? What would he value in a potential mate?"

"Well, if he had a relationship with Cass, let's take a look at her. Other than poor judgment and the
penchant for treachery, what positive qualities does she possess?" Maeve said.

"She's beautiful." Sunni picked up the henna tube and reapplied herself to completing the peacock.

"Very. But so are you." Jennifer eyed Sunni's short blonde locks. "You're as light as she is dark."

"Cass is very beautiful. Polished." Maeve held out her hand and counted off as she spoke. "Intelligent."

"So is our Sunni. Even though she tries to hide those long-haired books she reads." Jennifer nodded
toward the slim volume of Rimbaud half-hidden under a hastily tossed towel. "I cannot imagine why you'd
do that."

Sunni ducked her head. As a child, her mother had pounded the idea into her head that men didn't like
intelligent women. While she knew it wasn't true, such ingrained habits were hard to toss aside.

"He strikes me as someone who appreciates subtlety in a woman," Maeve offered.

Jennifer nodded in agreement.

"That's pretty much the last thing I am." Sunni sat back to admire her handiwork. One more feather and
it would be done.

"We'll have to work on that," Jennifer said.

"No,we don't have to work on anything." She drew the spine of the feather in a graceful dip, following
the gentle curve of Maeve's own spine.

Under normal circumstances she loved nothing more than to lose herself in a mehndi design. The
traditional Indian patterns were her favorites, but she enjoyed the free hand designs her clients often
requested. Unfortunately, with her two friends in the shop and the recent downward spiral of their
conversation, there was no way she could lose herself to the creation of her design this time.

"I've got it." Jennifer sat up, swinging her slim legs off the side of the table.

"What?" Maeve raised her head, forcing Sunni to shove her flat once more.

"You need to make yourself indispensable. Alexandre values goals, logic and intelligence above
everything else, even beauty. He's a man of science. That is the language he speaks."

A quiver of excitement ignited in Sunni's stomach. This could very well be the answer to her dilemma. If
she could make herself indispensable to Alexandre, maybe then he'd look at her as something other than
a silly woman with more hair then sense. She knew she was intelligent; now she had to clue him in on the
fact.

She nodded. "You might be onto something-"

Maeve shook her head. "I disagree. Sunni is definitely not a woman of science. She's more a child of
nature. No offense, my dear, but you don't think before you speak and you never look before you leap."

Stung, Sunni straightened. "That's not true." She tossed the cone into the trashcan. "I do think before I
speak. I simply choose not to censor myself."

"Which gives people the impression that you're a bit...flighty," Maeve replied. "You've just illustrated my
point."

"Yeah, well... some people don't know how to have fun." Sunni stepped away from the massage table,
the peacock complete. "Now don't move. We have to let this dry before you can get up."

Maeve raised her head. "How long do I have to lie here?"

"At least three hours."

"I have to go to the bathroom," she wailed.

Sunni shot a pointed look at the wineglass and the almost-empty wine bottle. "You should have thought
of that before you guzzled all the wine. Besides, that's what you get for calling me flighty." She grinned as
Jennifer burst into laughter and Maeve's scowl deepened.

Revenge was sweet, indeed.

The New Orleans night surrounded him like a humid blanket.

Alexandre inhaled the thick air, scented with the sea and the crush of humanity on Bourbon Street.
Brightly dressed crowds moved along the legendary street, imbibing Hurricanes and partaking of the
eclectic mix of music, which poured from the nightclubs scattered along the avenue. Mardi Gras. There
was nothing like it in the world. Drunken revelers dancing in the streets, women flashing their breasts for
strands of cheap beads. It was cheap, tacky and ill mannered.

It was good to be home.

He moved down the street, weaving between groups of bewildered tourists and drunken partygoers.
Normally he'd find a place to watch, unobserved. Nothing intrigued him more than humanity, and he
considered himself a scholar of such creatures. As a vampire hundreds of years old, he barely
remembered how it felt to be mortal. Some memories stuck in his mind, such as the warmth of the sun on
his skin, the sensation of eating food, the heady effects of a bottle of fine merlot. But now that's all they
were-mere shadows of memory. By studying humanity, though, he maintained a tenuous grip on his sense
of former self.

However, tonight he had no time to linger.

 He stepped into the street to avoid a couple of drunken men as they staggered down the sidewalk.
Stepping back onto the walk, he continued his journey, ignoring the brightly colored store windows and
the raucous music. Barely clothed women danced in the windows of one nightclub, trying to entice men
to come inside, and he barely spared them a glance.

Raphael was waiting and Alexandre could only hope that the young vampire had the information he
sought. In the past twenty-four hours, two disturbing deaths had occurred in the city. Both vampires,
each younger than fifteen vampire years, had been found dead, their bodies charred beyond immediate
recognition. So far, nothing had surfaced as to the cause of their deaths. Was it murder? Suicide?
Something else?

Alexandre suppressed his frustration at how little he knew of the situation. Younger, streetwise vampires
were reluctant to give information to an elder such as himself, and it was this information that he needed in
order to get to the bottom of the situation. Without Raphael, he knew he'd be going into the situation
blind. The young vampire could gather information that few others could as he'd lived in New Orleans for
all of his vampire life. He could certainly get information that Alexandre wasn't privy to.

A peculiar sensation, not unlike that of a low-voltage current, rippled across his skin, bringing him to a
halt. He raised his head and scanned the area with his vampire senses. The noise of Bourbon Street
faded into the background as he concentrated.

Another vampire was nearby.

A hapless pedestrian plowed into him from behind and Alexandre didn't flinch. The man staggered
around him, muttering under his breath in slurred tones as he continued down the street.

Alexandre scanned the area to pinpoint the vampire's location, his gaze coming to rest on a brightly lit
storefront across the street. Bold golden letters were scrawled across the front:

S S Designs

Tattoo and Mehndi Artists

The vampire was within.

He stepped into the narrow, congested street and moved toward the store. Looking through the
window, he scanned the room, his eyes narrowing as he found her.

Sunni.

He glanced at the window again and noted the smaller lettering,Sunni and Sasha, Owners and
Resident Goddesses.

He frowned and turned his attention to the occupants of the tiny room. Sunni wore yet another
messy-looking skirt, this one in the palest of pink swirled with streaks of gray. A slim- fitting tank top in
matching gray completed her ensemble. She sat on the edge of a massage table, swinging her bare feet as
she spoke to a massive, tattooed man seated in what resembled a dentist's chair. Another woman stood
beside him, working a tattoo centered on his right shoulder.

Sunni's golden hair gleamed in the bright lighting and she gestured with her hands as she spoke, her
expression animated, her eyes sparkling. Her nails were painted shell pink. Her fingers were bare of rings
save one on her left index finger, the jewel a blood red.

The oversized customer grinned and said something that caused Sunni to shout with laughter, her entire
body vibrating in merriment.

The sounds of her mirth reached his acute ears through the glass. He watched as she tipped her head
back, exposing her soft throat to his gaze before bending double. One of the first things he'd ever noticed
with Sunni was her propensity for laughter. She was almost always merry and laughing was a
whole-body experience for her. He hadn't spent much time with her, but he'd lost count of the number of
times when he'd see her bent double with glee.

He watched as she sat upright, her eyes dancing. She licked her lips and his groin tightened. He
wondered if she was that unrestrained in bed.

Down, boy.

Annoyed, he swung away from the window and continued down the street, his stride lengthening as he
shouldered drunken revelers out of his way.

What was it about her? Sunni wasn't anything he looked for in a woman. She was blonde; he liked dark
hair. She was tiny; he preferred tall, statuesque women. She didn't seem to be terribly bright; he admired
intelligence. She had the maddening habit of laughing at everything, even herself. To her, everything was
amusing. It was rare that he'd ever seen her completely serious. And the most maddening of all, she was
never quiet. Even her jewelry was noisy.

Lately he'd been thinking about having another affair. It was long past time. It had been too many years
since his ill-fated liaison with Cass. His mouth tightened. That had certainly turned out to be a huge
mistake as she'd betrayed him in the worst possible way. She knew too much about him and had almost
managed to bring about his downfall and that of the Council. Never again would he open his heart and,
more importantly, his mind to another woman.

Even if he did decide it was time to seek a female companion, she wouldn't be a vampire and it certainly
wouldn't be Sunni, even if she were the last person on the planet. She owned half of atattoo parlor for
heaven's sake. Not to mention the fact she was never dressed properly. To him, it appeared as if her
mantra were the less clothing the better.

Not that he minded her attire from a male point of view. As a man he certainly appreciated a glimpse of
her legs, the creamy flesh of her stomach, the shadowed hollow between her breasts. However, he
wouldn't consider having a relationship with a woman who eschewed shoes as she obviously did.

Then again, she was as sexy as any woman he'd ever met in his life. Every movement hinted at her raw
sensuality. If she behaved in bed as she did when she laughed, with such unabashed delight, she'd be a
force to be reckoned with. Images of her lithe body, nude in his arms, crowded his mind. A rush of lust
caused him to falter and come to a complete stop.

He blinked, looking around as if he'd awakened from a deep sleep. Where the devil was he? He turned
around and stared dumbfounded at the street signs. Damn, he'd missed his turn by two blocks.

Annoyed, he started back the way he'd come. He'd been so engrossed in thoughts about Sunni that
Cass could have walked up behind him and taken his head without him even being aware of her
presence.

Resolutely, he shoved all thoughts of the annoying little blonde from his mind. She was nothing but
trouble and he had enough of that as it was. Vampires were dying under mysterious circumstances and it
was up to him to find out why before there were more victims.

He reached the street where he needed to turn and immediately sensed another vampire in the vicinity.
The pulse was weak like that of a very young preternatural. It had to be Raphael.

Now was not the time to ponder a physical relationship with any woman, let aloneher . He had
obligations.

About the Author

J.C. Wilder lives in Westerville, Ohio where she's owned by a Japanese Akita named Severena and a
really obnoxious Jack Russell Terrier named Copper Penny. She spends the majority of her time dusting
her 6,000 books and staring at her blank computer screen in complete terror.

After six years working for CompuServe Inc., she's working as a Business Analyst for the State of Ohio.
When not writing, she devotes much of her time to studying the medicinal uses of herbs and essential oils
and howling at the moon.

Temptationis the sixth book in the Shadow Dweller Series, available in a wide range of electronic
formats or as special double-volume trade paperbacks from LTDBooks.com.

You can write to J. C. at wilder@jcwilder.com or visit her webpage at http://www.jcwilder.com.

Publisher info:
Stories that stimulate your laughter, Provoke your tears, Evoke your secret fears,
Stories that make you think...The stuff that dreams are made of...LTDBooks

www.ltdbooks.com

Table Of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
One With The Hunger
Sins of the Flesh
About the Author
Publisher info: