Zen’s mouth landed on Blade’s with graceful precision.

He grabbed her arms to push her away. Not expecting a kiss, he’d been blindsided. And when he wanted to shove her off and march out of the room, he suddenly relaxed his grip on her arms and leaned into the kiss.

And then he leaned in a little more.

He pulled her closer, sliding a hand up her back to keep her there. Her mouth fit his like no other woman’s had. She felt … not so much right, but rather as if she’d found something and did not want to again lose it. A missing piece to her puzzle? Despite being unable to remember things about herself, she’d certainly not lost the skill of delivering a kiss.

Blade moaned deep in his throat and then opened her mouth with his and slid his tongue inside her heated kiss. She felt impossibly exquisite. She smelled like honey and her body was warm and supple against his. A sweet thing.

And that was the kicker. Her scent did not allude to her identity. What was she? And worse, could whatever she was be bad for him?

MICHELE HAUF has been writing romance, action-adventure and fantasy stories for more than twenty years. France, musketeers, vampires and faeries feature in her stories. And if she followed the adage “write what you know,” all her stories would have snow in them. Fortunately, she steps beyond her comfort zone and writes about countries and creatures she has never seen. Find her on Facebook, Twitter and at michelehauf.com. You can also write to her at PO Box 23, Anoka, MN 55303, USA.

The Vampire’s Fall

Michele Hauf

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Cover

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

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

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

It wasn’t often Blade Saint-Pierre walked through the Darkwood without a purpose—or a weapon. Tonight he’d craved the exhilaration of awareness that always accompanied such a venture. Instincts on alert and every muscle in his body strung tightly, he closed his wings against his back as, barefoot, he strode toward the clearing that opened to a mossy bed edging a stream.

A dark forest of no return, the massive acreage edged his property. The Darkwood was a no-man’s-land that was principally Faery, but as well, a place for all breeds to congregate. It provided respite for those who could not walk amongst humans. A wayside stop for those paranormals traveling this realm that wished to take a breath before meeting the challenge of humans.

No humans dared enter the forest, for rumors told it was haunted and that the former residents of Blade’s property—the original 1910 mansion had been razed—had killed themselves after hearing voices tell them to cut out their hearts.

Great rumor, Blade thought. It helped him maintain his privacy. It wasn’t at all true. But it worked for him. Though he respected the boundaries of the Darkwood and only entered it with a certain reverence and much caution. Even then, he only stayed so long as his comfort level allowed.

Rumors told that people went into the Darkwood and they never came out. Deer, squirrels and wildlife? They didn’t exist within the dark thickness of evil that formed the murky wood.

Blade smirked as a squirrel scampered past him, its goal, the stream. And at that reminder that all was not as it seemed—or was rumored to be—he let down his shoulders and knelt on a mossy stone, pressing his fingers into the thick, verdant frosting. For the moment, he connected with it all. The grass, stones and trees. All creatures small and large whose heartbeats he could sense. The atoms that formed his body were the same atoms that formed nature, the very air, earth and flora.

How blessed was he?

You are alive. You have survived. Move on, yes?

He was trying.

While principally considered vampire, Blade had also his mother’s faery genetics coursing within his system. His black wings were not so faery-like, and the leathery edges were serrated and sharp, as if demonic. He didn’t mention his faery side to others. It was his dark beast, which craved unnatural tastes, such as demon blood, that others knew about—if they knew at all.

Blade honored all of nature’s creatures, including those breeds considered monsters by humans who would believe in myth. And yet, he hated demons. That a part of him looked similar to the creatures disturbed him. His wings shamed him and defined him as different. And different amongst the varied species was not always a saving grace.

Such a difference had attracted cruelty to his life.

He’d kept to himself over the past year. To the point that his brothers and sister had begun to call him a hermit. The quiet one.

He’d always been quiet. More in tune with nature than with what was going on with the human realm. The cruelty that his difference had attracted? He’d suffered torture a year ago. And following that, he had hidden away. Not wanting to show his face, his scars, to anyone. Not wanting to put himself out in a world that could attack at any moment.

For if attacked, he would retaliate.

He didn’t wish to harm others. Unless it was necessary.

He’d almost mastered the hermit role until last month when an old man filling his rusty 1970s Ford at the gas station had asked him if he’d any carpentry skills. Reluctantly, Blade had nodded and stepped outside his self-imposed prison of comfort. He’d been helping the elderly with small projects in and about their homes for a couple weeks now, and...it did feel good.

Life was beginning to look up.

At the sound of something heavy lighting onto the moss behind him Blade tilted his head. He smelled no odor out of the usual, yet his skin prickled. He should be able to pick up most scents. He rose to his six-feet-four-inch height, and with a stealthy twist, turned to stare into the cold white irises of a man with equally pale skin.

From the Darkwood? Most likely. The man looked human, save for the diagonal scars over each temple, which resembled gills, but no breath opened and closed the slashes. His brows were as black as his hair and clothing, which blended him into the night. His pale face, neck and hands were the only things remarkable; the pinpoint blue glow that seemed to radiate from around his irises especially stood out on his face.

“Blade Saint-Pierre,” the man said in tones that slithered with a sharp silver edge. “I am Sim.”

“What are you?” Blade asked, stepping up closer and thrusting back his shoulders. He unfurled his wings and they stretched out boldly behind him.

“Nothing so spectacular as a winged vampire,” the man said with a glance to take in the imposing wingspan. “I have an offer for you.”

Blade inhaled through his nostrils, frustrated that he couldn’t scent the man. Which meant he was not one of the many species he could instinctually sniff out. But for every breed with which he was familiar, there were so many more he could not scent.

The curiosity wasn’t demon. That scent always put up Blade’s hackles. And that small detail was the only thing that stopped Blade from sweeping forward a wingtip and slashing it across the stranger’s long pale neck.

“I can move much faster than your feeble mortal realm allows you,” the man warned, seeming to sense Blade’s defensive thoughts. “You do not know me, but trust me, you’ve no reason to fear or consider me enemy. In fact, what I want of you will give you such satisfaction that your faery will delight in the riches.”

“I don’t need money,” Blade countered. “You know nothing about me.”

“Not monetary riches but rather such that feeds your very soul. I know you crave demon blood, fanged one.”

Blade’s fingers twitched for the knife he’d left back home. He’d not revealed to anyone his insistent craving for demonic blood. It had developed during the torture a year ago. His family members would be appalled to learn of his new habit. For a man without a vast network of friends, their opinion meant everything to him.

He remained before the scentless curiosity, willing to hear him out.

“The demonic ranks are growing in the area,” Sim stated, clasping his pale hands before him. “I want you to annihilate them.”

Blade chuckled.

“You laugh as defense, vampire. Foolishly so. You have the desire to do as I request. I know you have been humiliated and crushed by the mimicus denizen. I offer you the chance to bring them all down. Cleanse this realm of the demons who dare to tread amongst humans before their denizens populate into rages.”

A denizen was a group of demons, much like a vampire tribe. When their numbers increased or the denizens joined forces they were termed a rage, vast quantities of the merciless bastards.

The man was playing it dramatically, and that made Blade wonder if he was mentally unbalanced, or if it was just his manner. It wasn’t every day he met a dark stranger in a haunted woods who asked him to slay denizens.

But he did have one thing right—beyond the insistent craving for demon blood, even more fiercely, Blade craved vengeance.

But he was no assassin. Not without good reason.

And he had begun to step toward the light. To do good. He strived to avoid making the same mistake twice.

“No,” Blade stated simply. He folded down his wings and took a step back off the mossy rock, putting himself a head below Sim’s stance. “The way to redemption is not through violence.”

“It doesn’t concern you that the demons will soon take over? They will torment humans and paranormals alike.”

“Where’s your proof? I’ve lived here all my life. There are demons who live amongst us, sure. But not in numbers so great as a rage.”

“You’ll simply have to trust I know of what I speak.”

“I do not blindly offer something so valuable as my trust.” And Blade walked around the man and into the woods. “Get off my property!” he called back.

“The Darkwood belongs to no man.” He heard the quiet reply. “You will change your mind. I can wait. But not for long.”

Blade started to run. Flapping his wings, he soared up from the ground. He dodged a ghostly wraith that lived within the forest, but which would never leave.

Kill all the demons? Sounded like a dream. But Blade was trying to turn his life around and be less violent. And he could do it.

If he could get beyond the need for revenge.

One week later...

Zenia parked the olive-green Chevy truck at the end of the block where she’d been hit by the bus. Hopping out, she skipped across the grassy road verge to the sidewalk. A wind-strewn newspaper lay on the ground, and she recognized the faded ad she’d seen a week earlier. A pharmaceutical ad touted something called Zenia. A word she’d liked so much she’d taken it as her name. It conveyed mystery. Just like her.

Which was about the only thing she did know about herself. That she was a mystery. The term used to describe her condition was amnesia, and she had it. And it had started in this neighborhood.

The street and houses were quaint. A smooth, narrow sidewalk stretched before neat yards, and most of those yards were fenced with white pickets. Bright yellow marigolds, pink-and-white roses and orange zinnias bloomed in profusion. Butterflies and bees fluttered from bloom to bloom.

The bus must have been cruising this quiet neighborhood so slowly that if someone had been hit by it, they wouldn’t have sustained a serious injury. And the bus driver may have never noticed the casualty.

Zenia strode down the sidewalk, a long floral skirt flitting between her legs. Her pink T-shirt was encrusted with rhinestones in the shape of a heart. She loved anything that sparkled. That much she did know about herself.

Summer sun warmed her skin and she flipped her long, midback hair over a shoulder. She brushed at an insect that briefly landed on her arm, and took note of the faint design on the inside of her elbow. Barely there, it looked as though someone had taken a white marker and drawn an arabesque. It was also on her other inner elbow, and had faded, but perhaps still needed a few more showers to completely wash away. It resembled the mehndi designs she knew were a Vedic custom in India.

How she knew about that baffled her. She seemed to know quite a bit about many things—except personal details. Had someone drawn these marks on her? Or perhaps she’d scrawled it during a lazy afternoon doing...what?

She wanted to know what she’d done in life, if only so she could resume doing that for survival. It had been a week since the accident and she had no money, had stolen clothes from a donation box on a street corner, and had only managed a handful of meals by chatting up lone men in the local diners and then dashing before they could ask her out.

And while remembering who she was would be terrific, perhaps she didn’t know for a reason?

Weird thoughts. But what else was there to think about?

A lot actually. Everything. From the solid feel of the sidewalk beneath the pink flip-flop sandals she wore to the warmth of the air embracing her shoulders. The sensory details were immense in this world. And it was almost as if she was experiencing touch, sight, smell and sound for the first time. There, a bird chirp sounded like a song she must know the words to, but unfortunately had—like her identity—forgotten.

Forgetting was frustrating. So she had returned, determined to trace her steps to learn where she had come from and what she had been doing before the accident.

Zenia stopped walking. A warm sensation blossomed in her chest. A visceral feeling of memory. She studied the pink, two-story house in front of her. White paint decorated the window frames and front door as if it were a confection under glass at a bakery. It looked familiar.

She walked up to the picket fence and darted her gaze over the yard, which was overgrown with brushy emerald grass and dotted with yellow dandelions. It smelled lush and wild. Didn’t look as though anyone lived on this lot. Did she live here?

“I walked through this yard,” she said with definite knowing.

She turned and eyed the street. The bus stop sign was thirty yards to the left, and the grass around the sign had been worn to dirt where she assumed people waited while sipping their morning coffees. “And there is where I got hit.”

Turning and wandering into the yard, she had to lift her skirt so that she didn’t get tangled in the long grass. Had she been walking out from behind the house? She could see an open backyard. No trees. And beyond that a field stretched quite a distance before it ended at a forest’s dark, jagged tree line.

Paralleling the side of the pink house, she walked around to the back and let out a gasp when someone stepped right in front of her. The woman couldn’t be younger than ninety, and her posture curled her spine forward so she had to lift her head to look up at Zenia. She smelled smoky. And a little too ripe for Zenia’s heightened senses.

“I’m sorry,” Zenia said, stepping back a pace. “I didn’t mean to trespass. I’m trying to track down a path I took a week ago. Would it be all right if I walked through your backyard to that field?”

“Never seen you before, young lady. Why would you walk through my yard?”

“I don’t know. I’ve lost my memory. I’m trying to piece things together, and I recall walking from back here. Maybe even through that field. Though I’m not sure why I would be in a field. I won’t do any harm to your property. I’ll walk straight through and on to the field.”

“Very well. You go find yourself. And I’ll go, uh...find myself.”

The old woman gestured dismissively with a swing of her arm then made a surprisingly hasty retreat into her house through the back door.

“Yes, find myself,” Zenia muttered. “But out in a field?”

And the old lady needed to find herself? Curious. But old people were some kind of curiosity, for sure. If not badly in need of a shower.

Zenia strode onward, her sandals stomping down the grass until she landed on the soft black earth of the freshly plowed field. Didn’t feel familiar to walk across the uneven surface. Hmm...

“This is the closest I’ve come to finding myself. I won’t give up.”

She walked onward.

* * *

Blade Saint-Pierre shoved the Craftsman toolbox into his truck box and pushed up the creaky metal gate to close it. He’d helped old man Larson fix the trellis that had come detached from the back of his house. Squirrels had been nibbling at the trusses. Now it was secure and the violet morning glories that reminded Larson of his dead wife, Gloria, showed through his bedroom window.

These neighborly fix-it stops were fast becoming an enjoyable way to spend the day for Blade. It made him feel better to help someone he didn’t know. But he was sure it would never counter all the guilt that weighed down his heart. It certainly wouldn’t grant him redemption.

But neither would slaying a rage of demons. He hadn’t seen the stranger, Sim, since that night in the forest a few days ago. Probably for the better.

Opening the driver’s door, he paused to eye the stunning beauty walking down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. He’d not seen her in Tangle Lake before. Blade had seen a lot of pretty women pass through this tiny Minnesota town. Most visitors hailed from the big city. Some liked to do an antiques run through the smaller towns along the highway that stretched from the Twin Cities north to the shipping harbor of Duluth.

So he was unusually curious about this beauty who looked as out of place as a demon in a salt factory.

Long red hair spilled down her back. He wouldn’t exactly call it red, more like copper that caught the sun in glints much like polished metal. Her skin resembled creamy caramel. A flowery skirt flitted between long legs as she strode the sidewalk, her attention taking in the house fronts and tidy yards. A faded T-shirt with an obvious hole at the back hem topped off the bohemian look. She scampered through an overgrown yard, which Blade wondered if he should offer to mow the lawn. Could be a hazard to an elder person trying to navigate the long grass.

He observed the sexy bohemian chick speak to an elder woman who seemed a bit too spry as she bounced back into her house. Blade could see the old woman’s shadow through the front window that wasn’t obscured by drapes. He kept her in peripheral vision while he satisfied his need for beauty.

The woman in the skirt scampered toward a dirt field. Did she have something to do back there? It was a big empty expanse. And across the stretch of black dirt was forest, which, after dozens of acres, backed up to Tangle Lake. Maybe she owned a strip of the black earth and intended to plant a garden? It was a little late in the season for that and she hadn’t any gardening tools on her.

An odd commotion inside the house made Blade turn his attention to the front window. The old woman’s silhouette was...changing. One moment she stood hunched, her head hanging and shoulders curved forward and down. The next moment, she’d grown another head. And another.

Instincts kicked in and Blade tugged out the silver bowie knife he kept stuffed in his combat boot. He closed the truck door. He knew better than to doubt his instincts.

The silhouettes in the house were now three separate entities, and big, and...

Blade sniffed. A faint trace of sulfur curled into his nostrils.

“Demons,” he muttered. “I do hate demons.”

Chapter 2

Running along the side of the house, Blade veered around the corner and toward the back door, noting that the woman with the copper hair stood three hundred yards away in the field, her back to him. Unaware of the weirdness brewing within the house. Or so he hoped.

He opened the door and dodged to avoid the slash of obsidian talons. Pulling the door shut behind him, Blade hoped to keep the demons contained. And the beautiful woman safe.

The threesome of demons growled and spat at him, and lunged. Blade leaped to the top of a laundry machine, and jumped, flipping in the air and landing behind the nasty trio. Bowie knife at the ready, he defied them with a come-on gesture of his fingers.

“Are you the rage Sim spoke about?”

In a rare pause from attack, the demons glanced at one another. Black-hooded red eyes blinked. It was obvious they knew nothing about what he’d just asked. And really, a rage of demons would blacken the sky with their numbers. These three were barely a denizen.

“Is the woman one of your own?” he asked. He knew some demons could take on human form, many of them, actually, but he doubted the woman in the field had anything to do with this bunch.

“She is ours,” one of them hissed. “Keep away!”

“I don’t take orders from demons.” He twirled the knife and caught it, blade pointing toward the speaker. “Want to try asking nicely?”

The next hiss was accompanied by burning spittle that sizzled on Blade’s wrist. Wrong move.

The best way to kill a demon was with a blast of salt to its black heart. Blade did have a salt knife, but rarely carried it. In lieu of salt, he’d have to do this the old-fashioned way.

Leaping to the left, he feinted right, ducking to avoid attack. With that demon occupied in missing him, Blade slid under a groping talon and stood before Thing #2. He jammed up his knife, catching it deep in the rib cage of the surprised demon. A knife wound wouldn’t take out a demon. Unless it was more than a wound, and the weapon had been warded against demons. Dragging the blade upward, he cut open the creature from gut to throat and flung its spasming body aside to scatter in a spray of black ash.

Grabbed by the shoulders, the creature’s talons pierced his skin. Blade growled, and slashed blindly, feeling resistance and tasting a spatter of black demon blood. He lashed out his tongue, even as he bent to fling the one on his back toward Thing #3. The taste of blood frenzied his faery’s wicked craving. His fangs descended as he snarled. He tightened his grip on the knife.

“Now I’m angry,” he muttered.

Standing tall, Blade turned to face the two, who actually cowered at the sight of the vampire with black blood dripping from his mouth.

Charging, he continued his assault. Catching one demon about the neck in a clothesline, the other demon he stabbed with the knife. He gouged his hand upward, tearing the warded steel through the shrieking demon. As the blade tore out of viscera, he curled his hand around to land the other thing through the skull. Both demons scattered in ash behind him.

Blade licked the side of his hand, coated with black blood, and growled in satisfaction. Nasty stuff, but it hit him with a jolt of power and comforting darkness. And that was an irresistible high. Mmm... He could feel it move down his throat. Delicious strength shimmered in his muscles. His wings trembled for release, to allow the wicked blood to course through their very structure like cocaine to an addict’s soul.

“Hello?”

Kicked back to reality by the female call from outside the back door, Blade shook his head and stopped his wings before they could unfurl. Right. Keep your head, buddy. He shoved the knife down the side of his boot and stepped out the door and marched across the unkempt backyard. The woman in the long skirt strolled toward him, oblivious to what had just gone down inside the pink house.

Demons didn’t follow humans around. Not that he was aware of. And the woman had purposely gone to this one; he had seen her speak with it. Had she known it was demon? And if so, what was out in the field that the demon had directed her to?

Blade wiped the blood from his mouth and retracted his fangs. The woman’s face brightened as she neared, and she lifted her long skirt to run toward him. “Hello! Do you live in the house? I didn’t find what I thought I would find—”

Blade grabbed her by the upper arms and growled. “What are you?”

* * *

The man’s grip was too firm, Zenia thought. He actually looked angry, his dark brows narrowed, and the sun shone on his hair, bluing it around the one eye that was visible. A fathomless, gray eye. He had seen tribulation. Zenia knew that with certainty, as she knew so many odd facts.

And he was sexy. Devastatingly so. His broad chest stretched a charcoal-gray T-shirt in ripples, and thick veins corded his massive biceps. Combine his remarkable physique with a handsome face and he was the complete package.

Yet he did not relent his strong grip. Zenia struggled and finally managed to squirm out of his pinching grasp.

“What am I?” she asked, stepping back a few paces from him. “What do you mean? I’m a woman. A human. You think I’m some kind of alien?” She looked over his shoulder and noted the back door of the woman’s house hung open. “I should go up and close that door for her. She probably forgot. She’s old—”

“Don’t go near the house.” He gripped her by the arm, and again Zenia shoved his chest and struggled. She stumbled in the long grass and he helped her to stand. It was all she could do to step away from him without falling again.

“Who are you?” she demanded with an impertinent lift of chin. “You don’t live here. If you did, you might have taken care of the yard for your grandmother, or whoever she is to you.”

“She’s not my—” The man gestured a wide splay of fingers toward the street. “I was working across the street and saw you two talking. I just— I don’t need to explain myself. I asked first. Who, and what in particular, are you?”

Zenia crossed her arms and looked the man up and down. Dressed all in dark clothing from his loosely laced Dr. Martens to the black jeans and gray T-shirt, his muscled arms gave her pause, as did his broad chest. But the long black hair with a weirdly blue sheen to it screamed goth. Goths were skinny and morose. This man’s physique said, I work out—a lot.

“Well,” she provided, “I’m certainly not an alien.” Of that she was aware.

The nerve of the man. He hadn’t even offered a friendly how do you do. Perhaps this neighborhood wasn’t as friendly as she’d originally thought. And for as much as she enjoyed the view of him, she did know not to trust a complete stranger.

Zenia marched past him and up toward the house. He passed her and slammed the door shut, stepping before it as if to guard the contents. His anger was so palpable she felt shivers trace her arms. But it wasn’t warning enough to make her run away from the guy.

“I didn’t find anything here,” she offered, hoping to appeal to his compassionate side. If such a thing existed. “This is where I came walking out and into the street before I lost my memory. I feel as though I was walking in from that field, but I haven’t a clue what I was doing out there. It’s just a bunch of dirt.”

“What the hell are you talking about, lady?”

“I, uh...” She raked her fingers through her long hair and splayed out her hand uncertainly before her. When she noted the cream-colored markings inside her elbow, she slapped a palm over them and offered with a shrug, “I have amnesia.”

This time when he raised his hand, perhaps to clutch her again, she flinched. That paused him. He put up both palms facing her, placatingly. And Zenia sensed whatever it was that had made him so tense and angry settled. Just a teensy bit.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that. There was a commotion in the house while you were wandering in the field. I don’t think you should go inside.”

“What’s wrong with the old lady?” Zenia bobbed on her toes in an attempt to see over his broad shoulder and through the window near the back door. “Is she okay?”

He narrowed his gaze on her so intently that she felt as if he’d physically touched her. Over the heart. And she suddenly wanted to know that touch for real. She’d not been touched by a man before. Maybe. She couldn’t remember if she had. Oh, woe, if she had not.

“She’s...been better,” he offered.

Arms sliding defensively across her chest, she studied his eyes again. Both of them now, for his hair blew away from his face. A curious gray and some fleck of brighter color. Violet? They had softened, though she could see the sharpness in them as if a cut to her hope for his kindness.

When he asked, “Did the Darkwood denizen send you?” her mouth fell open.

Because Zenia knew what a denizen was. Yet that knowledge startled her. Why did she know the word for a group or gathering of demons?

Because there are demons in this world. As well as angels, vampires, witches and other things most didn’t believe in.

Did she believe in them? No, such things were mythology. Fantasy bred into wild stories designed to entertain the masses. Which made this guy, as handsome as he was, some kind of wacko.

“I am not a demon.”

She turned to march around the side of the house. She wasn’t going to find what she was looking for here. And most especially, she did not want to deal with a crazy man. Even if he was the most remarkable specimen of male she’d seen. Ever.

A hand grabbed her by the arm, halting her near the picket fence that hugged in the front yard. “Yet you are familiar with the terminology?”

She shrugged. Annoyance felt new to her, and she didn’t like the feeling so she tried to look beyond it. Was his hair so black it gleamed blue? When the sun shone on it, it appeared blue. Kinda cool. She wondered if it was as soft as it looked.

Oh, Zenia, do not let his good looks distract you!

“I know a lot of things,” she offered when he gave no sign to leave her alone. “Except who I am.”

“So then how can you be sure you are not a demon?”

Zenia slammed her hands to her hips. “Are you for real? Demons are myth, buddy. Stories. Fantasy. I think it’s time I got some facts from you. Who are you?”

“Blade Saint-Pierre.” His shoulders stretched back proudly, yet his eyes remained dark. Uncertain? “I live on the outskirts of Tangle Lake. I was helping Mr. Larson across the street fix his trellis.” She followed his gesture to the yellow rambler across the street and spied the climbing purple flowers on the side of the house. “And who are you? Oh, wait, you don’t remember.”

“Zenia,” she offered with a lift of her chin. “It’s the name I’m using until I learn my real name. And I’m quite sure you and your weird fantasy ideas will be of no help to that quest, so if you’ll leave me alone, I’ll be on my way. Do not follow me!”

Stalking away from the man’s accusing stature, she strode through the long grass toward the sidewalk. Her truck was parked down the block. Feet shuffling quickly, she landed on the sidewalk and did not look back. A weird feeling that she was rushing forward, walking toward knowledge, flittered into her brain, and as quickly, fluttered back out.

And yet...it had been a familiar feeling. She’d felt the very same when she’d been walking this sidewalk previously. Before the bus had changed her destiny.

Destiny?

Hmm... It felt right to think that. At least, nothing in her being screamed, No, you’re on the wrong path. Interesting. Maybe she had gathered a bit of her memory by retreading her footsteps? Albeit, memory she didn’t know how to decipher. A quest for knowledge? It meant nothing to her.

The man followed so close behind her she could hear the trod of his boots on the concrete sidewalk. His name was Blade? Interesting name. Sharp and dangerous. It certainly matched his demeanor.

And he was stalking her.

“I have a weapon!” she called out, and scrambled for the truck keys in her skirt pocket.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said firmly.

“Says the serial killer before he dumps the girl in the pit,” she called over her shoulder.

Where had she mined such macabre information? It was frustrating to Zenia that she knew things—weird, odd things—and yet, knew nothing about herself.

“A knowledge walk?” she whispered as she neared the truck. Her stalker’s black truck was parked across the street from it. The truck bed was loaded with lumber and tools. So he’d been telling the truth about helping the old man. He earned trust points for doing a kind thing. Right?

“I need to make sure you are safe,” Blade said as he strode beside her, intent on not leaving her alone. “If you’re not from around here, and you don’t remember anything, you could be in trouble.”

“I appreciate that,” she said, still walking. “Really. Kindness of strangers, and all that. But I don’t know what I have to worry about. Wait. The old lady. I should have checked on her.”

“She’s...fine.”

“You said that with a pause. As if maybe she’s not fine. As if maybe you’ve just murdered her.”

He managed to overtake her rapid steps and stop before her on the sidewalk, planting his boots and slamming his fists akimbo. “Will you quit with the serial killer bit? I didn’t kill...the old lady. She wasn’t in the house when I went in there. I promise. There were others inside. Others who mentioned you.”

“Me? Really?” She turned at the hip to eye the pink house, then swung back to Blade. She had to tilt her head to meet his gaze; he was a tall one. “Who were they? They must know me. Maybe they can tell me who I am.”

“They were demons.”

He said it without a smirk or a wink. And that pulled the cord on Zenia’s freak-out alarm.

She shoved the guy away and ran toward her truck. Keys in hands, she opened the door, slid in and started the ignition. She’d be damned if she was going to talk to him one moment longer and risk his kind of crazy.

“Demons?” she muttered. “Talk about attracting a weirdo. I’ll have to return later, after he’s gone. If someone in that house knows about me...”

She shifted into gear, and rolled quickly by him. He waved, but it was more of a dismissive gesture. In the rearview mirror, she saw him get in his truck and turn it around on the narrow street. She quickly turned at the intersection, hoping to lose him.

“Demons,” she whispered again. “Can’t be. No. I won’t believe it. He’s a crazy madman that I was lucky to get away from him. This is bad.” She pressed a palm against the thumping heartbeats under her rib cage. “Really bad. Now I’ve got to shake a serial killer. I don’t want to die. I can’t die. I don’t even know what name they’d put on the tombstone.”

The image of a fresh grave made her miss the next stop sign. A shout alerted her to the pair of teenaged girls who had stepped off the curb, and now shook their fists at the truck.

“Oops. Sorry! Concentrate, Zenia. You don’t want to be arrested for murder.”

She glanced in the rearview mirror. The big black truck still followed.

“But who might be more guilty of such a heinous crime?” she muttered to herself.

He’d said there were others in the house who had asked after her. What had happened to the old woman?

Chapter 3

She was the prettiest woman in Tangle Lake. Demons wanted her. And she had amnesia.

Blade had discreetly followed Zenia to the Blue Bass, a dive bar nestled at the edge of town. So the tail hadn’t been as discreet as he’d hoped. Not easy to be covert in a small town with only two main streets. It was nearing eight in the evening and he suspected she had tried to give him the slip, but again, one of the hazards of a small town was lack of privacy.

Normally, he was not a curious man. That was his brother Trouble’s mien. But it wasn’t every day he watched a sexy woman tread about in a dirt field, and then had to slay demons to keep them from going after her.

He wanted to know where the demons had come from and why. And if she thought to use an amnesia defense to cover her knowledge then she’d better think again. She had to be hiding something. If a person had amnesia, shouldn’t they not operate a motor vehicle, avoid drinking in a bar and most likely be lying in the hospital?

Yeah, she was definitely pulling something over on him. Yet if there was a slight chance she was on the up and up, he sensed she wasn’t safe.

He entered the bar, and stood by the door to take in the yawn of an establishment paneled in rough-cut timbers and decorated with fishing rods, neon beer signs and the mascot stuffed bass with the milky white eyes. At the bar, Zenia ordered a beer. She didn’t fit in this redneck outpost. She looked more like a wine kind of gal.

Currently, she held her own against Brock Olafson, the town asshole. The guy had been divorced twice, owned a tanning bed—which explained his weird orange leathery skin—and never slowed his Hummer for a stop sign unless he sighted a black-and-white nearby.

Asshole was trying to pick up the pretty woman. Blade’s fingers had curled into fists the moment Brock sat down next to her. He held his jaw soft, not tense. Years of practice had allowed him to remain calm while holding within the roiling need to attack. It was never wise to attack. At least, not with human witnesses.

On the other hand, if a man opened the door of a house and was greeted by three demons, by all means, attack.

Brock slid his hand up the back of Zenia’s T-shirt. She slapped at him and shifted over to the next bar stool. Blade could hear her politely say, “Leave me alone. I just want to finish this drink in peace.”

“I’ll buy you another,” Brock said, shoving thick fingers over his short blond crew cut.

Before the asshole could slide onto the vacant bar stool, Blade pushed his palm onto the bar between the two of them. The bartender nodded at Blade and poured him a shot of Krupnik, a honey-sweet vodka the owner kept in stock for him.

Brock stepped away from the bar, muttering something about weirdos under his breath, but Blade kept an awareness of the man’s location in his peripheral vision as he tilted back the shot.

“Despite his rudeness, he did pin you correctly,” Zenia said and sipped her beer.

“How’s that?”

“You’re a weirdo. And I’ll ask you to leave me alone just like I did the other guy.”

“Sorry,” he said, and pushed the shot glass forward. “Did I interrupt something promising?”

She snickered and when she looked at him, he was momentarily fixed to her green eyes. She was so exotic and colorful, this memory-less woman who didn’t seem to belong, no matter the setting. And she smelled like the long grass and flowers he’d followed her through but an hour earlier. Blade lost track of Brock.

“Thanks,” she said. “But you can leave now.”

He sat on a bar stool and propped his elbows before him. “I’m not a weirdo,” he offered.

“You accused me, a person you don’t even know, of being a demon. Your hair is blue. You look like a goth. And you followed me here like some kind of serial—er, stalker. In my book that’s considered weird.”

The bartender poured another shot for Blade. He swallowed the vodka with a wince. Good stuff. He had a difficult time getting drunk. Blame it on his genetics. Being vampire and faery did come in handy when he wanted to hold his liquor. The only time he got drunk was when drinking from someone who had consumed whiskey. Whiskey-spiked blood always went straight to his head.

“It’s black,” he offered regarding his hair. “The neon light from that sign over the bar makes it blue.”

“If that’s your story. But I did see it in the sunlight. It’s blue.”

It wasn’t. Well, it sort of was. It was the faery in him. It sheened his black hair blue. It was a damned sight better than the pink that donned his sister, Daisy Blu’s, head.

“And yours is copper,” he offered. “Like a precious metal that someone steals to hock for as much cash as they can manage. It suits you. Looks great with your skin tone. Sorry.” He shoved the empty shot glass toward the bartender. “I don’t say things like that to women—”

“You mean compliment them? Are you flirting with me? Trying to pick up a demon?”

She was going to work that one until he surrendered. So he would. But only because she was pretty.

“Listen, can we start over? I’m Blade.” He offered his hand to her and she stared at it. “I live about ten miles out of town near the Darkwood.”

“That sounds...dark.” She smirked and he wondered if she might be a little tipsy. But when she took his hand and shook it, he felt a good firm clasp warm his fingers. “Zenia. No last name. At least, not that I recall. I live nowhere, or probably somewhere. But you know, Amnesia Chick.”

“So, Zenia, who is only recently Zenia, what’s up with that? Did you used to be Martha or Gertrude?”

This time she laughed out loud. Blade heard Brock’s huff on the other side of the pool table. The asshole tossed a dart at the board nailed on the wall—and missed.

When Zenia looked at him now he decided she was assessing him. A better risk than Brock? He should hope so. And then, he knew he was not.

“For all I know, I probably could have been Gertrude,” she said.

“You don’t look like a Gertie. The hair is all wrong. Gertrude likes curls and something shorter. Maybe even a blue rinse.”

“You could be right. Okay, so weirdness aside, I like you, Blade.” Her long dark lashes fluttered with a look over his face. “I’ll reserve judgment on your weirdness quotient until I get to know you better.”

He was about to say that she would be better off not liking him, but instead he simply smiled. A rare thing for him. Just ask any of his brothers or sister. The dark silent one put people off with his stoic expression. And for good reason.

He’d learned that keeping his head down was best for all. And yet, his surprising curiosity for this woman demanded satisfaction.

“No memory?” he asked. “How did that happen? Or do you know?”

“I think I only lost personal stuff. I know things. It’s as if I know crazy stuff like Russia’s population is almost one hundred and fifty million. The main ingredient in miso soup is dashi. And it would take the average person about eighteen months to traverse the wall of China. But I don’t know my name, who I am or where I came from. That’s why I’m here in Tangle Lake. I was hit by a bus in front of that old woman’s house.”

Blade was about to order another shot when he paused. “Seriously? Hit by a bus?”

“Yes. I was walking out of a yard—probably that old woman’s yard—and onto the street, and—bam! No memory of my life after that.”

“So you woke up in the hospital? They must have taken you to Unity. Closest hospital from here.”

“No. I, uh, stood up and walked away.” She offered a sheepish shrug. “Never saw a doctor.”

Blade put up two fingers when the bartender tilted the vodka bottle over his glass. This information was worthy of a double shot.

“It’s been a week,” she said. “I thought about going to the police, but—I don’t know, something inside me said they wouldn’t be able to help. So I hitched a ride into the Twin Cities and have been staying at homeless shelters, trying to make some cash to survive. A girl’s gotta eat, you know?”

“They have homes to stay in for people who have amnesia. Maybe.” What did he know? “If they don’t exist, they should. You should see a doctor.”

“I’m fine.” She bent her head and brushed aside her hair with a curl of delicate fingers over her ear. “I know it sounds weird, but I think the bus sort of...nudged me to pursue a different life. When it hit me, I was flung against the street pole and banged my head. Had a bruise right here.” She tapped her temple. “But that faded within a few hours.”

A hit that could take away one’s memory had to have left a big bruise. Blade had a hard time believing it had faded so quickly. There wasn’t a mar on her skin. Another reason to doubt her story. And she could be allied with demons. What game was she playing?

“So here I am.” She narrowed her gaze on him. “Do you know me?”

He had to chuckle at that hopeful question. “Never seen you before.”

“I had to ask. I’m not sure if I’m from Tangle Lake. Everywhere I’ve been no one seems to recognize me. Friendliest person so far has been that asshole behind us tossing the darts.”

“Name’s Brock Olafson, and you should stay away from him if you value your safety.”

“Thanks. I got that ‘stay away’ feeling from him.” She sipped the beer and wiped off the foam moustache. “I thought visiting the scene of the accident would make something click in my brain, you know?”

“Well, if you want me to hit you upside the head...?”

“Does that work? The knowledge I have on that is it’s mainly been used in children’s cartoons and tear-jerker love stories.”

“I was kidding. So were you hoping asshole would pay your tab?”

“I, er...” She shrugged and focused on her drink.

Blade tugged out his wallet and laid enough cash on the bar to cover his and her tab. “On me,” he said. “If you don’t have memory, you must not have a job.”

“Nope. Not that I know of. There could be a cubicle that’s empty right now. Is the whole office wondering where I am? Do I have a big project due any day now?”

She didn’t look like a cubicle drone, but Blade couldn’t decide what kind of work she might have done. Her exotic coloring and flowing clothes hinted at a bohemian nature. And those sorts were usually musicians and artists. Maybe?

Why not go to the police? Her story just didn’t jibe.

“If I can ask, how do you survive?”

“I spent a couple days hawking raspberries at a farm stand just off Highway 35 and earned enough to eat on. And I have the truck.”

“You remembered you own a truck?”

“Uh, no. It was running and no one was using it, so...” She winced and tilted back another swallow of beer.

She’d stolen a truck. Blade was impressed. Pretty and devious. The woman had survival skills, that was for sure.

But she’d been hit by a bus and had stood up and walked away? Was she something beyond human? If her story was the truth, she had to be. He didn’t scent his own species on her. He could also scent when werewolves or demons were around. Faeries were a challenge.

He got nothing from her. Just plain human. A human who had attracted a shifter demon who had claimed she was their own.

“You’re not afraid the cops will remind you that you don’t own a truck?”

“I’m not sure what fear is, actually.” She offered her hand again to shake. “I should get going. I’m tired. It was nice to talk to a kind person for a while. Blade Saint-Pierre, right? Maybe we’ll run into each other again?”

“I’m in town a lot.” He almost offered his services if she needed anything, but...he’d learned his lesson with pretty women. They were nice to look at, touch and make love to. But getting to know them and caring about them? Wrong, just wrong. “See you, Zenia.”

She strolled out of the bar with a wave to him. And Blade remained to keep an eye on Brock.

* * *

A knock on the truck window woke Zenia from the first tendrils of sleep. She sat up on the front seat, knocked her foot on the steering wheel, swore and spied the dark-haired man peering in at her.

“Blade.”

After talking with him in the Blue Bass she’d assessed that he was a nice guy who had the compassion to worry about a complete stranger. But here he was again. And her heartbeats picked up pace. What made her believe she had any skill at reading another person’s intent? As she’d once suspected, had she gained a stalker?

She sat up to open the door, but paused. It was close to midnight. She had parked in an empty parking lot beneath a streetlight. A city park paralleled the lot, but no residential houses or businesses were nearby. It had seemed a quiet place to sleep through the night, but now her caution rose.

He hadn’t tried to touch her, as had the other creep in the bar. But something about this man was dark. Mysterious. And now the hairs on her arms prickled.

She turned the key backward to the accessories position, then lowered the window down two inches. “Yes?”

“You sleeping in your truck?”

She nodded. Wished she had an iron pipe, or even a wood bat.

“This is going to sound strange,” he said. “It might even put up your weirdo alarms again.”

“I haven’t completely lowered them, so give it a shot.”

“You’re welcome to park on my land tonight. Uh, it might be safer. Unless you don’t mind taking your chances with Brock.” He turned and cast his gaze across the parking lot.

Zenia followed his gaze and there, across the street from the lot, idled a big yellow Hummer rimmed in chrome. She couldn’t see inside the cab, save for the glimmer of burning cigarette embers.

“Is that the guy from the bar?”

Blade nodded. “I’ve been watching him watching you for about an hour.”

Zenia clutched her arms over her chest. “You’ve been watching me a lot today.”

“Sorry. Seems as though you need it. This is not what I normally do. I mean—”

“Stalk women?”

He nodded and shrugged. It was a sheepish kind of move that settled her worries. She wanted to trust him. She would allow herself to trust him.

“Where do you live?” she asked.

“Ten miles north of Tangle Lake. It’s secluded. Brock won’t follow you there because he’s afraid of me. We had...an altercation a few months back. But then, if you follow me, you do risk leaving the safety of town.”

Yikes. When he put it that way. And yet, as strange as Blade was, Zenia sensed the other option would see her struggling with the man across the street not long after Blade left.

“Maybe,” she said.

“I’m heading back to my truck. You can follow me if you want to. The drive is down a long forested road, just so you know. You can park in my driveway. Lock your doors. I won’t bother you. You have my word.”

“I don’t know if your word is good.”

“That you don’t.”

Was it fair or even rational to give him points for honesty?

“So you think you need to protect me from demons or something?”

“Beyond the very human Brock?” He shrugged. “You never know.” Blade shoved his hands into his front pockets. “Your choice, Zen.”

And he strode off toward the truck that Zenia now saw was parked down the street. A bowlegged stride moved him swiftly, as if a shadow in the night.

Zenia scrambled into the driver’s seat and turned on the ignition. When Blade’s headlights blinked on and slowly drove past the other man’s truck, she made a snap decision and shifted the truck into gear.

Chapter 4

Zenia woke with her name zinging between her ears. Except it wasn’t the way she had chosen it. Blade had called her Zen last night. She liked it. It sounded like the man had made the name his possession when he’d said it. And that didn’t bother her at all.

But did she feel Zen right now? Hard to tell. She wasn’t sure what to feel. She was a woman out of place. Did she have a place to return? Was there a house or an apartment waiting for her to push a key into the lock and resume her life? She hadn’t a key, a purse or any identifying materials on her after the bus had hit her.

Only that weird tin circle.

She glanced at the flimsy circle she’d hung around the rearview mirror. She’d been clutching it after coming to a stand against the street pole. In that moment, she’d almost tossed it aside, but she’d felt an intuition to keep it. For some reason. Curious.

Had it anything to do with the destiny she felt she tread? For the undeniable feeling that contacting the police would not be wise? Was it a true feeling or was it that she thought she should have a goal or reason for existing so destiny was a good fill-in-the-blank answer?

Sitting up, she pulled her knees to her chest and bowed her head to work out the kinks from sleeping across the stick shift. A knock on the driver’s window startled her. A swath of dark hair reminded her that she’d had the audacity to follow a complete stranger out to his property last night. She’d parked at the end of the driveway closest to the highway just in case she’d needed to make a quick getaway. He’d been good to his word. Hadn’t bothered her.

Until now.

Zen hit the window control and lowered the glass. The scent of steaming coffee wafted into the truck interior. Never had anything smelled so good.

Blade handed in a black mug. Steam rose from the liquid surface. “Just brewed it. Extradark. Hope you take it that way.”

She’d take any offering of food or drink no matter the strength or weakness. Thank goodness he’d paid for her beer last night. That left her twenty dollars in her pocket—left over from selling raspberries—and a half-full gas tank. It was terrible not to know who she was. But not having the funds to rent a room or pay for a hot meal? She would have to look into that home for amnesiacs he’d mentioned if she didn’t figure her life out, and fast.

“Thank you.” She sipped the brew. It kicked her. Hard. “Whew!”

“It’s called Death Brew for a reason,” Blade offered. “Have a good night’s sleep?”

She shrugged. No one named Brock had tried to break in and attack her, so she figured that was as good as it got.

“Here’s the deal,” Blade said. “I’m heading into town in an hour. Got some work to do for a couple of nuns. If you want, you’re welcome to use my shower before I leave.”

“Really?” She hadn’t showered in days. Had begun to wonder if her hair would ever see a comb again. “I’d like that.”

“Cool. Just me and Oogie live out here in the barn. If my cat likes you, I like you.”

“Then here’s hoping I pass the cat test.”

* * *

The eerie, hairless black cat hissed and arched its back as Zenia landed at the top of the stairs leading to the loft level of the big barn. The lower level was a wide-open garage littered with vehicles in all states of repair. This was the living quarters. Vast and open, it felt modern and airy, not at all barnlike.

Blade, who had led her up the stairs and directed her to the left for the bathroom, peered out from around the stainless-steel fridge at his cat, which was poised on the back of a green-and-blue-plaid couch. Blade glanced at Zenia, who had frozen at the top of the stairs, clinging to the backpack strap she’d tossed over her shoulder. Then he eyed the cat, who had arched up its back so high Zenia thought it might fold in half.

“Guess I failed the cat test,” she offered.

“Oogie?” Blade knelt and called to the cat. “What’s wrong, buddy?” He tilted his head at her and she felt as if his look peeled back her layers and zoomed right to her oozy core.

If only it were so easy to learn who she was.

“Who are you?” he asked. Yet again.

And yet again, she had no clear answer.

The cat leaped into his arms, and the man stood, stroking its wrinkled suede-like head. “Oogie likes everyone.”

“Obviously I’m not everyone. And that’s the big question, isn’t it?” She rubbed her arms, though she wasn’t cold, just frustrated. And it had taken a cat to nail that frustration to the wall. “Who am I?”

The cat hissed at her.

Zenia flinched. “Uh, do you want me to leave?”

“No. Shower’s that way.” He nodded toward the hallway. “Oogie and I will talk. You have to walk through the bedroom,” he called as Zenia made her way down a short hallway. “You’ll see the bathroom door once you get in there.”

Overlooking the cat’s defensive reaction, she glided into a dark room that was lit by the sunlight beaming through a window set into the slanted roof.

Her gaze swept over the unmade bed. Black rumpled bed sheets. Cozy, in a manly way. Beneath her flip-flops, the floorboards were wide unbleached timber, as were the walls and slanted ceiling. Overall, a darkly clean, yet rustic decor. Just like the man.

And yet, he’d sweetly cuddled that ugly cat. Surprising to see such a big, intimidating man handle a tiny beast so gently.

Veering into the attached bathroom, Zenia was thankful it wasn’t all black. In fact, bright white tiles decorated the floor and walls, and though small, the gleaming shower looked inviting through the clear glass door.

She closed the bathroom door and set down the backpack. She’d raided a clothing donation box one night and found a sack of folded clothes that didn’t smell. Freshly washed? She could hope. And they’d fit, so she’d taken the whole bag and the canvas backpack that had been stuffed under a pile of smelly gym shoes.

Stripping off her clothes, she caught her reflection in the small shaving mirror above the sink. It was too small to see her whole face so she bobbed to get a view of her condition. Her hair begged a good combing and dark shadows curved under her eyes. She so needed a good night’s sleep and...to know.

“Who are you?” she repeated Blade’s question to her reflection. “And why the hell were you able to walk away after being hit by a freakin’ bus?”

She’d sensed his utter astonishment when she’d told him that. At the time she hadn’t thought anything of it. Could have been the adrenaline racing through her system. Shouldn’t she have a broken bone or even come away with a bruise or gash? She’d not even bled!

But instead of panicking, she’d been thankful. And that was about all she could do, wasn’t it? Live day to day, grateful that she had clothing and a vehicle.

Stepping into the shower, she adjusted the water temperature and said thanks for the kindness of strangers. And then she had the thought that she should have locked the bathroom door behind her.

* * *

Blade stood outside the bathroom door, his fingers glancing over the clear glass knob. On his bed sat his pet of thirteen years, the feline’s hairless black ears tilted backward and gold eyes wide. Oogie generally liked people. Though, he did tend to get his hackles up when demons were around. Full-blooded demons. Recognizing the mimicus breed of demon that could mimic other species had given Oogie trouble.

Don’t think about her. Just forget.

Forgetting was what he most wanted to do. But the memory of her had etched itself into his soul. And no amount of charity work was going to rub it away. Not even moving a heavy stone fountain into a garden for a couple of retired nuns.

Blade shrugged at Oogie. “What do you think?”

Oogie’s ratlike tail flicked with annoyance.

“She seems harmless. She doesn’t even know who she is.”

Which didn’t necessarily render her harmless. She could have forgotten she was some kind of assassin. Or maybe she was a real good liar.

He was jumping to wild conclusions. Zen was simply a pretty woman who had had a bit of bad luck. With a bus. And demons. Though she seemed genuinely unaware of the demonic trouble.

A stolen truck and no home or belongings? Had to be tough. She couldn’t sleep in her truck every night. But he wasn’t prepared to offer her a place to bunk down, either.

That way lay madness. Been there, done that. Wasn’t about to wear the T-shirt.

But she was a curiosity to him. And her looks were exotically appealing. She couldn’t be from around here, Land of Ten Thousand Lakes with hoards of Scandinavians who were whiter than white and had the tendency to mutter uff-da to express everything from annoyance to excitement.

Maybe she hailed from the more culturally varied Twin Cities? Had to. She could be a professional, or even a model or an actress.

Why not go to the police? They must have a way of searching for a person without a name but rather a picture. If she was a registered driver her license would be on file. Name learned. Problem solved.

For the most part. Simply learning her real name wouldn’t automatically restore her memory. Had to be tough not remembering a thing. She could have family. Friends. A husband.

Blade made a note to check her finger for a wedding band. He didn’t want to step on another man’s territory. Not that he was stepping. No, he was just helping a needy soul. It’s what he did, apparently.

“Come on, Oogie. We can’t sit out here like a couple of stalkers.”

* * *

The maxi dress with bright yellow-and-blue horizontal zigzags was a bit loud, but it felt comfortable and wasn’t too low cut. She did have nice, full breasts though, so revealing a little cleavage wasn’t going to kill her.

Zenia fluffed out her wet hair, and then borrowed Blade’s comb, which lay on the edge of the white porcelain vanity. A search in the small cupboard beneath the sink didn’t spy any hair products. And she didn’t want to check the drawers in the bedroom. Who knew if Oogie, the attack cat, might come after her?

After hanging the towel she had used to dry over the shower door, she shoved her dirty clothes in the backpack and headed down the hallway. Lured by the delicious scent of pancakes and maple syrup, she got right up to the kitchen counter, dropped the backpack, then veered toward the double cathedral windows at the end of the living area.

The old barn had obviously been restored and the windows added. They looked as though they belonged in Notre-Dame in Paris. And for some reason, she felt as though she’d been in the French city, though briefly; long enough to claim familiarity with the medieval cathedral. No color filled the glass sections that gently curved to a peak at their pinnacles. It gave the windows a clean, modern look. Very suitable for a man’s home. In a barn. It was an interesting choice, but again, seemed to match Blade’s no-frills, rough demeanor.

“They are so beautiful,” she said of the windows, then flinched when she heard the hiss behind her.

“Oogie!” Blade tossed a red stuffed mouse down the stairs that led to the garage below. “Go play with your mouse.”

The cat cast her a discerning look, then dashed off.

“I’m sorry,” Zenia said. “I don’t know why that thing doesn’t like me.”

“Oogie is a cat, not a thing.”

“Yeah, but it looks like a rat. Why doesn’t it have any hair?”

“He’s a Sphynx.”

“Oh, right. I know those breeds are hairless and require special care. Does he wear a sweater in the winter?”

“Actually, he does have one with a skull and crossbones on the back. Got a problem with that?”

She approached the kitchen counter and slid onto a stool. “No. Sorry, I seem to offend at every turn. I should leave. You’ve been more than kind.”

“Not until you eat.” He placed a plate stacked with pancakes before her. Beside that sat a coffee cup steaming with dark brew. “You like maple syrup?”

“I...don’t know.”

“Right.” He tapped his temple. “But you do know about Sphynx cats. Interesting.”

She dug into the pancakes. Mercy, but it had been days since she’d eaten a decent meal and not a candy bar or bag of Doritos that she’d gotten out of a vending machine. Her aching stomach growled with glee.

“So your bedroom is all black,” she stated between bites. Ah, hot food. And it smelled so good. And tasted even better.

Blade stood across from her by the stove, arms crossed and one hand wielding a spatula. He was noticeably not eating. “That it is.”

“And you’re all into the dark look yourself. Is that called goth?”

He made show of looking down the front of his black T-shirt, stretched tightly across muscled biceps, black jeans and, well, his feet were bare. “For a chick who’s lost her memory, you’re very judgmental.”

“And you are being sarcastic. I do know what sarcasm is.”

“Good for you. I’m not a goth. I’m just Blade. You find everything you needed in the bathroom?”

She touched her hair. “I borrowed your comb. I hope that was okay. You can’t imagine how good it feels to be showered and reasonably groomed. My hair must have looked horrible before.”

“It’s gorgeous,” he said quickly. And then he turned and made a show of checking that the griddle was turned off, mumbling as he did so, “I mean, it’s fine.”

Zenia brushed the wet locks over her shoulder, but couldn’t hide what felt like a blush. “So what do you do, Blade? You said you were running into town? To your job?”

“I do some fix-it work for the locals here and there. Got a quick job for a couple of retired nuns who are designing a water garden in their backyard. And I work with my brother, Stryke. He’s, er...leader of a...group.”

She sipped the hot coffee carefully, trying to figure out what he wasn’t willing to say. A group? Of what? People? For what reason? But she wouldn’t ask. Whatever he wanted to present to her, she’d take, and anything he didn’t want her to know was fine, too.

Should she be more curious? She had enough problems of her own to worry about. And she wanted to move over to his good side, maybe even befriend him. She could use a friend. Where were her friends? Were they worried about her? Had they called the police?

“Stryke is building a compound for...his work,” Blade offered. “I’m his second-in-command. It’s family stuff.”

“Sounds important. Do you think I have friends?”

The man shrugged. “Not sure. But you’re not wearing a ring.”

She studied her hands. The fingers were long and slender. “I must not wear jewelry.” That seemed sad. One should never forego a chance to sparkle. “I should have a couple of rings. I like sparkly things. Why did you notice the absence of a ring?”

“It’s nothing,” he said again, taking great interest in the griddle.

“These pancakes are delicious,” she said. “I’m trying not to devour them, but it’s not working.”

“Devour all you want. Griddle is still hot. I can make up more fast.”

“No, I think five is more than enough. Though, I will take a refill on the coffee. I figure it’s the last good meal I’ll have for a while. Aren’t you going to eat?”

“I did when you were in the shower. So you’re sleeping in your truck and I’m going to assume you don’t have a lot of cash.”

“Twenty bucks.” She shrugged. “I’ll figure something out.”

“There’s an inn at the edge of town where you could stay. Family owned. I don’t think it’s expensive. It’s got a big red cock out front.”

Zenia sputtered on a sip of coffee. “A what?”

His smile was slow but genuine and it warmed her all over to finally see some levity from him. His eyes were all kinds of sexy now.

“The inn is called The Red Rooster. There’s a giant iron rooster sculpture on the front lawn.”

“I see.” But looking for an actual red cock may have proved more interesting. “How much you think they charge a night?”

Blade opened a drawer beside him, took out a roll of bills and set it on the counter before Zenia. “That should help you out a bit.”

A bit? Her jaw dropped open. The tightly wound block of greens looked as though it could bankroll an entire building project.

“Oh, no, I can’t.” But she couldn’t stop from grabbing it and testing the weight of the roll. They were hundred dollar bills. And there had to be a couple dozen of them rolled up. “This is... No. I don’t know how I’d ever pay that back. I’m good with sleeping in the truck and eating Doritos. I like the cool-ranch ones.”

“It’s a gift. I can afford it.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“That’s the best kind of gift. It makes me feel good to give. Maybe it will even tilt me out of the guilt column I’ve been stuck in. Will you let me have that good feeling?”

“I uh...” She set the roll beside the plate. It would certainly come in handy and definitely pay for a month or more at a cheap inn or hotel. And she could really use a hot shower every day. And maybe even new clothes. And some sparkly rings for her fingers.

The guilt column? What had the man to feel guilty about?

It was none of her business. If he was trying to buy some redemption or whatever, far be it from her to get judgmental, as he’d suggested earlier.

“Okay,” she said. “But what will I owe you? Besides all this cash?”

“You think I expect something from you for that money?”

“You’re a man. If I know anything about men it is that they generally do not give things to others without expecting something in return. And you, being handsome and single, and me being, well—whatever and whoever I am—maybe you want something from me.”

“Something.” He leaned forward onto the counter on his elbows and his hair fell over one eye. He rapped the counter. Considering what his terms would be?

“I don’t want to give you sex,” she suddenly felt the need to say. “I mean, I don’t know you very well. So if that’s the condition, then I’ll leave without this.” She pushed the roll toward him.

“If I’d wanted to have sex with you, Zen, it would have happened last night.”

“Oh.”

So that meant he wasn’t interested in having sex with her? Because the guy was ten kinds of handsome. And—didn’t he find her attractive?

Why that thought? She wasn’t curious about having sex with him.

Maybe a little. Oh, mercy, to imagine that blue hair falling over her face as he kissed her and those rigid abs brushing across her stomach...

“I want to help you out and make sure you’re safe.”

As he seemed to do with the locals. Helping nuns? Despite his dark-and-dangerous appearance, the man must be a pussycat at heart.

“Okay.” She clasped the money roll. “Can we be friends?”

Blade abruptly straightened and crossed his arms again. “I don’t do the friend thing with women very well.”

“I see.” A wad of cash and a don’t-let-the-door-hit-you-on-the-way-out. Never mind the guilt column, this guy was still occupying the weird column. “So this is it, then? I indulge in your tasty pancakes and then take the money and run?”

“Yep.”

Her heart fell, but she kept her shoulders straight and didn’t show her disappointment. “That’s cool. I’ve overstayed my welcome as it is. Got some memory tracking to do.” She grabbed her backpack and stuffed the money in it. Holding out her hand, she shook his. “Thanks for everything, Blade. Blessings to you.”

“Stay away from Brock Olafson,” he called as she headed down the stairs.

She would. But it was too bad Blade didn’t want to be friends. She could really use a friend right now. This being-on-her-own thing was for the birds. Whoever she was, she was probably a person who thrived on the connection with others.

Which was why it felt as if she was walking away from the best thing to ever happen to her as she took the stairs downward.

Chapter 5

“Uh, Blade?”

A wave of relief fell over Blade when he heard Zen calling from the bottom of the stairs. She hadn’t left.

And what was that about? He didn’t care if she left and never returned. He’d told her he didn’t want to be friends. Had given her enough cash to survive a few months on her own. Add another tally in his charity column. End of story.

“There’s a police car at the end of the driveway,” Zen called up. “The officer is looking over my truck.”

“Ah, hell. They must have gotten a stolen vehicle report. Get back up here. I’ll go out and talk to him.”

He passed her on the stairs. The skim of her hair across his biceps felt like silk on his skin. He wanted to feel it brush his lips, to draw in her scent and—

Blade forced his thoughts back to the dire situation. “What’s out in the truck that belongs to you?”

“Nothing. All I own is in my backpack,” she said, patting the backpack she held before her. “Not as if any of this stuff is mine. Fingerprints?”

“Yeah, well, maybe that would be a good thing? If they traced your prints there could be a chance you’d know who you are.”

She shook her head and studied her fingertips. “Not sure about that. I don’t want to go to jail. I was just borrowing the truck. You think they’d believe that?”

“Nope. Stay. I’ll handle this.”

She nodded and he waited for her to reach the top step of the stairs before heading outside.

Earl Smith was a local cop who knew his family. Of course, Smith didn’t know the Saint-Pierres were werewolves, vampires and faeries. He thought they were just regular folk that tried to fit in, save when Trouble got rowdy and a bar owner called to have the police escort him home. Blade was sure Trouble knew all the officers and deputies within a thirty-mile range by first name and badge number.

“You’re at the wrong place, Earl,” Blade said to the lanky man who was probably twice his age and half his weight. “Trouble lives east of town.”

“You know where this truck came from, Saint-Pierre?”

Fortunately Zen hadn’t driven all the way up to the barn, and had parked near the end of the short drive.

“Wasn’t here last night when I got home. First time I’ve been outside today, Earl.” Blade rubbed his jaw and walked up to peer into the cab of the truck. As Zen had said, it didn’t appear as if any personal belongings had been left inside. The key was in the ignition. “Hell, I didn’t even hear it drive up.” He laid a hand over the hood. “Engine’s not hot. Must have been here awhile. Who’s it belong to?”

“It was stolen from a parking lot in Fridley about a week ago. Got a tip from Brock Olafson—we have breakfast at the Panera every now and then—that I should probably check your place.”

“That’s odd. How would Brock know about a truck I’ve never seen before? Maybe he had something to do with it being here.”

“I, uh, hmm...”

While Earl gave that one a good think, Blade glanced up toward the kitchen window. Zen’s face ducked out of sight.

“I don’t know what to say, Earl. You know I wouldn’t do such a thing as steal a truck. I have enough of my own in the garage.”

The officer straightened and hooked his thumbs at his belt loops. “Mind if I take a look?”

“Inside the garage? Sure thing.”

Blade led him toward the barn where the entire ground floor had been converted into a garage for his fix-it projects. Best thing to do was play along. He’d not asked for this trouble, but for some reason, he was damned good at extricating himself from sticky situations.

It was a talent he’d gladly surrender if only everyone would leave him in peace.

* * *

By the time Blade returned to the loft, Zen had watched a tow truck haul away the vehicle she had borrowed. Okay, stolen. The keys had been in the ignition. How else to get around while she was trying to figure herself out and had no cash whatsoever?

Was that it? Had she been a thief before losing her memory and the criminal act was so ingrained that stealing a truck hadn’t given her a moment of guilt?

Blade topped the stairs and veered toward the kitchen, where the coffee machine blinked in wait. He inserted a coffee pod and leaned over the machine, his back to her. Zen could sense his irritation. He was still barefoot. Her worry vanished as she studied his feet. They were sexy. Seriously. Those dark jeans slouched over his feet, the hems torn and worn from treading without shoes. It was so animal, in a sensual, easygoing kind of way.

And he had once again saved her butt, this time by diverting the police from her. Because there was just something about not going to the police that made sense. And she was going to call that intuition about the life she couldn’t remember.

“Sorry,” Zen offered. “Guess I’m not making a fast getaway now like I had planned. Are you in trouble?”

“No. But the local police will certainly be keeping an eye on me for a while. Earl left convinced it was a joyrider who had abandoned the truck here. Why they hadn’t driven it into the woods and trashed it was beyond Earl, but he’ll dust for prints. I told him to keep me in the loop if he gets an identification.”

“Thanks. I think. If they come up with my prints, will they arrest me?”

“Probably.” He removed the full mug and turned to face her, sipping slowly. “And why not go to the police?”

She shrugged. “Doesn’t feel right. Not part of the destiny.”

He raised an eyebrow.

Zen shrugged again. Because really, the words had just come out; she didn’t have a clear reason for them. “Don’t ask me to explain.”

“Uh-huh.” He tilted down a few sips of the hot brew. “If you say so.”

“So it’s as easy as that?” Zen asked. “I tell you not to ask questions and you don’t. Whew. You must have a heck of a closet filled with your own skeletons.”

He smirked and approached her, laying his hand over her heart. Zen flinched but didn’t want to pull away from the surprising touch of his big warm hand over her breast.

“What are you—” It didn’t matter what he was doing. She just didn’t want him to ever stop.

“Your heart is racing,” he said.

“Well, duh. A handsome man is touching my boob.”

He flinched away at that statement. Shook his head. “Sorry. Just wanted to know if you were for real.”

“I am real. I’m standing right here. What doesn’t look and feel real to you?”

“The whole not-knowing-things part. You can tell a lot about a person by measuring their heartbeats. Just thought I’d give it a try.”

With a nod he turned and pulled out another coffee pod and set it in the machine to brew.

“All righty, then.” Zen sat at the counter, more confused about the man than ever. So her heartbeats were fast. To be expected.

And what did she have to do to get him to touch her like that again?

* * *

There was something about this woman that was accepting and open, Blade thought. But also too damned curious. Dare he tell her what he’d encountered inside the house while she had been wandering about the field? That would then lead to a discussion on how he was familiar with demons, and...

Destiny?

There was certainly something other about her. But Blade wouldn’t necessarily label it destiny. Whatever that meant. When he’d laid his hand over her heart it had felt sure and strong—and fast. His sensory perception of other paranormal beings was excellent. Vampires he could tell by touch. Vamps gave off the shimmer, a knowing tingle. Werewolves were a scent thing. And faeries were a more difficult tell, even though faery blood ran through his veins, but some were just...bright. And that wasn’t a glow but rather a feeling he got.

As for witches, he felt a twinge in his spine when near them. Demons gave off a sulfurous scent and they generally had a difficult time hiding their red eyes.

He met Zen’s eyes as she sipped the coffee. Hers were blue.

“Yesterday they were green,” he said suddenly, leaning forward to closely inspect her irises.

“What?” She met his gaze, and then shook her head. “Listen, after your emphatic statement that we could never be friends, I find your gazing longingly into my eyes a little befuddling, not to mention the free feel you just took.”

“They’ve changed color.”

“What? My eyes? No, they’re still—” She touched her cheek below her eye. “I guess I’ve never given them a good look in the mirror.”

“Yesterday the color resembled emeralds. Today they are azure. Not red.”

“You’re hanging on to that theory, eh? Demons have red eyes. Or so the mythology states as much.”

“Zen.” Blade set his coffee mug on the counter and leaned forward. “That old lady back at the house where I met you? She wasn’t old or even a lady.”

“Sure she was. I spoke to her. Told her I was there to find myself. Though she did say something odd about finding herself. If she wasn’t an old woman, then what was she?”

“What you saw and spoke to was her human facade. I saw her shift into three demons. And then I slayed them.”

Tapping her fingernails against her mug, Zen surprised him in that she didn’t protest or stand up and dash off. The woman was reading him, delving into his words to glean their integrity. Trustworthy? Always. Upstanding? Rarely.

“What kind of demons?” she finally asked.

“I don’t know.” He narrowed his gaze on her. She wasn’t running. And asking questions was a good thing. Right? “The standard nasty-assed terrors that disperse into black dust when I draw my blade down their sternums.”

Zen clutched her chest and made a gagging face. “And you think I’m one of them?”

“No. Maybe.”

She gaped at him.

“I don’t know. But I do believe they were after you. When I was in the house, one of them said something like ‘she’s ours.’ You’re really cool with this conversation? Because most humans would not be.”

“I haven’t decided yet. I know demons exist. In mythology. As do bazillions of other breeds and species. But they are fiction, Blade. You do know that, right?”

He sighed. The conversation about paranormals was never easy, and he didn’t have it with humans unless it was absolutely necessary. Something about Zen made him believe this was a necessary conversation, so he decided to jump in with both feet and hope she didn’t freak.

“Demons are real, Zen. As are all other creatures of myth you believe are fiction. If you don’t have your memory, what makes you think your beliefs are real? That they have merit? Maybe you only think you don’t believe in mythological beings?”

She opened her mouth to say something, then paused. He had even confused himself with that question.

“I know some things,” she insisted. “As you seem to believe you know things. So I’ll play along. Say demons do exist. And you, apparently, are aware they exist. What does that make you? Are you some kind of creature, Blade?”

The million-dollar question. And she couldn’t hide the smirk of laughter that niggled at the corner of her mouth. But he wasn’t going to lie to her. Because to shuffle around the truth wouldn’t get him anywhere. And after slaying three demons he felt as though he’d become involved in something. A something that demanded he pay attention for Zen’s sake.

“Vampire.” He sipped the coffee and set it down. He ran his fingers through his hair and offered a tiny smile. He wouldn’t mention his faery half. That would only complicate matters.

He waited for Zen to digest his confession, and expected a calm reaction, as she’d displayed thus far. So when she stood abruptly and grabbed her backpack, nearly knocking the coffee cup off the counter in the process, he knew he’d gone too far.

“Quit playing with me,” she said. “I need help and I need answers. Not some idiot who thinks he can one-up the town asshole. Brock may have been the better choice last night.”

And she marched away from him and down the stairs.

Blade leaned over the sink and watched through the small window as she stopped halfway down his gravel driveway. She realized she no longer had a vehicle. The town was ten miles south. Would she make the walk? In a long dress?

Or would she come back inside and ask for his help? She hadn’t asked for his help thus far. And yet, he had willingly offered, and had gone above and beyond by giving her the roll of cash.

What was with that?

Normally Blade Saint-Pierre stood off and to the side, in the shadows. He didn’t call attention to himself. He didn’t like confrontations. Nor did he engage in small talk and friendships. It was easier that way. The unseen were not challenged, or tortured.

Too late for that, eh?

Yet he wanted her to see him for reasons that baffled. Of course, asking her to believe he was a vampire was out there, even for the smartest and most open-minded of humans.

After shuffling down the stairs, he headed out to his truck—he did have the appointment with the nuns—and smiled to himself. Zen would have a much longer walk than she anticipated.

* * *

He was following her, so Zenia picked up her pace, determined to make it to town before he could stop and once again offer her help. She didn’t need help from a wacked crazy who believed himself a vampire. What role-playing nightmare had he gotten lost in? Didn’t boys generally give up that stuff when they left their teens?

But it was a long walk. And he must be driving five miles an hour. Superobvious follow. Yet when his truck pulled in front of her to make a right turn, and his passenger-side window rolled down, it took all her strength not to rush up to the truck door and see what the handsome man had to say.

Arms crossed and posture stiff, Zenia stood at the road’s gravel edge. The sun was high and she guessed it would be a hot one today. She wondered if her skin burned easily. She didn’t want to make the long trek into town on foot. But she had reached her limit with trusting this guy. Handsome did not win over crazy. Usually.

Maybe?

Blade leaned across the seat and called, “Tangle Lake is in the other direction!”

Zenia steeled herself against turning and looking back the way she’d walked. “I knew that,” she said.

He tilted his head, as if to ask, “Really?”

“Fine.” She marched toward the truck. “You win.”

He popped the door lock open and she stepped up inside, setting her backpack on the floor. The tin circle poked out of the unzipped top.

“What’s that?” he asked with an urgency that again alerted her that this guy wasn’t all there in the head.

She tugged the pack onto her lap and pushed the circle inside, zipping it securely. “It’s mine. Now, would you mind giving me a ride to the big cock? Or whatever it is you called it? And I recall you had mentioned something about helping a couple of nuns. You must have an appointment to get to, so the sooner you drive me into town, the faster we can both be done with each other.”

“The big cock it is.” Blade shifted into gear. He drove a few miles before turning the radio down to a whisper. “It’s called The Red Rooster Inn.”

“Whatever,” she managed with as little interest as possible.

“I gave Beckett Severo a call while I was following you down the road. He’s my sister’s husband. Owns an auto-body shop. He has a sweet little Mini Cooper he can let me buy cheap. He’s going to wash it and give the interior a good cleaning, then he’ll call me when it’s ready. Work for you?”

“What color is it?” she asked, only because she suddenly felt as if he was making all the decisions for her, and she needed to wrangle some control.

“Red?”

“Like a demon’s eyes?”

“Yes, like a demon’s eyes. Believe me, Zen. I’m not making this stuff up.”

“Really? I want to believe you, but...” She sighed and tilted her head against the window. All out of argument. And so desperate for some small grace. “All right. Let me try out belief for a minute. You’re a vampire? With fangs?”

“Got the fangs. I need warm blood to survive. Every few weeks. Though I prefer it more often.”

He winked at her and it was all she could do not to drop her jaw in horror. He’d just confessed to drinking blood! And the truck was going the speed limit. If she opened the door and jumped now, could she get up and walk away as easily as she had after the bus incident?

But deep within, Zenia felt this man meant only good toward her. If he had a strange belief about his origins then she should allow him that. But that allowance should be countered with a healthy dose of caution on her part.

The giant red iron rooster swept by on her right as Blade pulled into the inn’s parking lot. Zen wanted to dash out of the truck and run as far away as possible. She wasn’t about to stay where he knew where to find her.

And yet. It was his kind eyes. And he had given her a huge roll of cash. And made arrangements for her to use a car. Balancing his crazy with his kindness was actually leveling out the scale.

So Zenia said something that surprised herself. “Come in with me.”

“Why?”

“We need to talk.”

He winced.

Yeah, so she’d just given him a standard girlfriend line. Poor guy. But she needed to get on the same page with him.

“I don’t believe you’re so lacking in curiosity that you can simply drive away, are you?”

He considered the subtle challenge. Twisting the key in the ignition, the truck settled to quiet.

After checking in, Zen filed down the narrow hallway with Blade in tow. Her room was small and fashioned with timber furnishings that sported green-and-red-plaid fabric on the chair and bedspread. Sure was a lot of plaid in this neck of the woods, she noted. She tossed the backpack on the bed, directed Blade to make them coffee and excused herself to the bathroom.

The blue-and-yellow dress was loud. She did need to pick up some new things. Something a little less crazy cat lady and a bit more sensual. Because she knew she was attractive, and Blade’s admiring gaze hadn’t gone unnoticed. Nor had his attractiveness gone unnoticed.

She wondered if he would flinch if she tried to touch his soft hair. She sensed that would be his first reaction. And then she wanted to test that theory because pushing him to his unknown boundaries felt important to her. To see if he could stand up to any challenge.

Because if pushed maybe he’d reveal his lies. That perhaps he clung to the fantasy of being a strange creature for reasons that helped him survive in this world. Or maybe it was simply that he watched too many movies. Believed women would go for the brooding vampire act. Ugh.

She tilted her head aside, her reflection tracing a finger down her neck. A vampire. Did he want to bite her? What would that feel like? Orgasmic, her knowledge provided on a whisper. And what was orgasmic? Had she ever had the experience of sex?

She didn’t know. And that frustrated immensely.

She hadn’t learned anything about herself out in the field yesterday. And maybe she had. Demons had been after her? Incredulous. She should have stopped to say goodbye to the old lady.

Why was he making up such an elaborate ruse? For what reason the lie? No, he was being truthful. And to test that theory she’d have to see proof.

“Fangs,” she muttered.

And once he had to confess to a lack of such telling signs of vampirism, then she could move forward. Both of them could.

Nodding once, she turned off the bathroom light and found Blade waiting with two cups of coffee in hand.

“Dark?” she asked.

“As black as I could get it.”

She glanced to the backpack. It was unopened. He hadn’t snooped. Not that she had anything to hide. Just a bunch of stolen charity clothing and that weird tin circle. And her roll of cash. His cash. Yet she didn’t feel as if she owed him for that generous gift. Was it because she couldn’t recall if she was the sort of person who had guilt?

Sitting on the bed, she shuffled closer toward the head by the pillows when Blade sat not three feet from her. Inviting him in may have been a stupid idea. She’d hoped it a means to allow him to confess. Did the victim invite the serial killer in so easily?

“I need some proof,” she said. “That you are what you say you are.”

“Will that make you believe?”

“Of course.” Or it would make him believe. One way or another, this was going to get settled.

“So you are not a woman of faith?”

“I don’t know.” She tapped her head. “Not all there, remember?”

“What kind of proof are you asking for?”

She set the coffee mug on the wood bedside table that looked as though it had been carved from an oak stump. “Whatever kind you’re willing to offer.”

She didn’t want him to be crazy. She really did not.

Sliding closer on the bed, she raised her hand to touch his hair, then decided against it. “Fangs?”

“If that’s what you need? I can do that.”

Blade tilted his head back and closed his eyes. And when he rolled his head around, his nose drew along her cheek. Her skin tingled at the barely there touch. It seemed as if he was scenting her. And when the tip of his nose dusted her earlobe she felt her nipples tighten and couldn’t decide whether to delight or be afraid of that feeling. Curling her fingers, she closed her eyes as a mix of anxiety and breathless anticipation stirred in her core.

A sharpness slid along her neck. Zen gasped in a breath. What the—? Blade’s hand grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to look at him. His mouth was barely parted, yet bright white fangs jutted over his lower lip.

“Holy... How did you put those in so fast?”

“I didn’t put them in. They are my teeth.” A wide grin revealed his fangs rising to sit even with his upper teeth, and then again, they descended into the long, pointed, gleaming weapons. “You wanted proof.”

“But... That means...” He was telling the truth? That was incredible. Impossible. Freaky. Real? “Oh, mercy.”

Zen raced for the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

After a few seconds a rap sounded on the wood door. “Zen?”

“I’m good!” she called. “Just need a few minutes to process.”

Chapter 6

Zenia leaned forward onto the vanity, peering at her eyes reflected in the mirror. What she saw there was not fear but uncertainty.

“He’s a vampire. Those fangs were real.”

She hissed out a breath and her shoulders sank. The man was really a vampire. Because his teeth had not been fake. No cheesy white plastic dentures. He’d lowered and raised them as she had watched.

So here she stood. Processing. And to do so, had locked herself in the bathroom to put herself away from the creature on the other side of the flimsy wood door. Who could probably knock it down if he wanted to and suck out all her blood before she could manage to scream for help.

She shook her head. “Don’t let your imagination make this into something weird. Weird? Ha! The man is a vampire. Which means the mythology is real. And what makes me think all I know is real anyway?”

Of course, if vampires were real that also opened the door to other creepy critters being as real. Werewolves, ghosts and demons?

“He killed demons. There were real demons in that pink house. He was telling me the truth. And they’d mentioned me? What is going on?”

She’d fallen into some kind of creature feature. And while she should do the smart thing and run like hell, she couldn’t resist a peek down the dark stairway.

“He’s been nice to me so far,” she reasoned with her reflection. “I can trust him.” A nod confirmed her decision.

And so she turned the knob and walked out into the room. Blade leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Head bowed, his hair was tinted blue, no denying that. Was that indicative of his vampire nature?

Wow. Just wow.

“Are you going to bite me?” she asked calmly.

He smirked and shook his head. “No.”

“Why don’t you want to bite me?”

Now he laughed. “In the course of two questions you went from curiosity to fang junkie.”

“Fang junkie?”

“Women and men who seek the vampire’s bite. It gives them an orgasmic high. Sort of a thank-you for giving blood.”

Zen blew out a breath. Shook her head. She’d asked for proof. And he’d given it to her in spades. The guy was a vampire. And the more she considered it, his fangs were actually kind of cool.

She walked up to him. “Let me see them again.”

With a shrug, he opened his mouth to reveal the fangs. She touched the tip of a fang and he flinched away.

“What’s wrong?”

“Women don’t generally touch,” he said defensively.

“I’m sorry. They are interesting to me. Don’t you ever poke yourself in the lip?”

He smirked, again revealing the gorgeous fangs. “I’ve been living with them awhile.”

“Since birth?”

“No, since my teen years. We vamps don’t come into the blood hunger until puberty. A vampire baby is just wrong.”

“I imagine so.” Frowning, Zen ran the idea of a fanged baby drinking blood from its mother’s nipple through her thoughts. Yeah, that was wrong in too many ways to consider. “Wow. So you are really a vampire.”

“And you are having a tough time with this.”

“No. Not anymore. I did some processing in the bathroom. Had a pep talk with my crazy ole self. So the myths are real? And you don’t seem a danger to me.”

“I have no reason to harm you, Zen. Believe me.”

“I am inclined to trust you. You’ve shown me nothing but kindness thus far. Will you tell me about being a vampire? That’ll help me to further process. You said you drink blood every few weeks? Is it a sexual thing?”

“You just ask whatever is on your mind, don’t you?”

“Are you offended by my questions? You should be pleased I’m not screaming and whittling a stake.”

“I am. Although the adrenaline that comes up when a person screams does season the blood nicely.” He paused. Gauging her reaction? Likely.

Zen didn’t feel disgust. She’d accepted that vampires existed. Now she needed to learn how and why.

“And so you know,” he added, “it would take a damn long time to whittle a stake. Use an ax to hone a point on a thick wood dowel. It will go faster.”

“Did you just tell me how to kill you?”

“I did. Feel better?”

“It’s not as though I need to feel better about your condition—”

“It’s not a condition. It is what I am.”

“Okay. I understand. Blood is your means to survival?”

“Yes. I like drinking blood and it is a sensual experience if I’m having sex with the person when I bite them. But I can take someone in a dark club or back alley without it turning me on. My bite leaves the victim in a state of bliss. As I’ve said, a reward for giving blood.”

“Do you ever, uh—” Zen ran her fingers along the plaid bedspread “—kill?”

His fangs retracted, and she missed them immediately. “When drinking blood? No.”

That he’d categorized that question bothered her. “So you have killed at other times? Of course, the demons yesterday.” She had no choice now but to believe they had been real.

He suddenly took her by the wrist and lifted her arm to hold her elbow toward the sunlight beaming through the window. “Those markings are faint but remarkable. Do you know what they mean?”

The man had deftly avoided the question about killing. She’d give him that. He had killed. Many times. She simply knew it. Perhaps he’d been protecting another damsel in distress from demons?

“I’m guessing it was something I drew on my skin before the accident,” she offered. “Should fade away with a few more showers.”

“Has it faded since you’ve noticed it?”

“No. I guess not.”

“It doesn’t look like ink or even one of those white tattoos that are so popular nowadays.”

“Demonic?” she tossed out teasingly. She regretted it immediately. Demons were serious and real. What kind of nightmare had she fallen into?

“I don’t know what it is,” Blade said. “One of my brothers is full faery. He has pale violet markings on his skin. But the patterns don’t look similar. Aren’t you curious?”

“I am, but it’s not as if I have any idea where to begin learning about such a thing. A faery brother? That’s fascinating. How does that work exactly?”

“It’s a long story. My family is a mix of races.”

Nodding, she rubbed the inside of her elbow to distract herself from the need to delve into his family history. He’d been kind in answering her questions so far. She didn’t want to press her luck. “How do I learn more about these markings?”

“There’s a witch in Minneapolis. She might have a clue.”

“Witches. Of course.” And so many other species she would likely learn about the longer she hung around Blade. The idea of gaining such knowledge compelled her. If she couldn’t learn about herself then she may as well gather info about the secret world that existed around her. “You know all the exciting people, eh?”

“Do you want me to take you to her?”

“I sense you are more eager to learn about these markings than I am. Digging up proof I’m not an evil demon?”

“I hate demons,” Blade stated plainly. He paced to the window. His frame stiffened, shoulders tilting back and fingers curling into loose fists. Zen could palpably feel his cool anger. He was a man who didn’t like to speak about himself, but he didn’t have to. His emotions showed in his tightly strung physicality.

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