Dear Reader,

I’m thrilled to share with you the third book in the SWEETBLOOD series, Tempted by Blood, Jackson and Arianna’s story. The world is a deadly and seductive one, where a team of vampire Guardians fights to protect humans from Darkbloods—vicious members of their race who kill like their ancestors and sell the blood on the vampire black market. The rarest, called Sweet, commands the highest price.

If you’ve not read the first two books, don’t worry. The Sweetblood world is new to Arianna, too, but as you’ll find out, she’s not new to it. The owner of Paranormalish, a blog that checks out paranormal happenings, she’s learned to ask a lot of questions, dig beneath the surface and take a lot of pictures, which gets her into all sorts of trouble.

And that’s where Jackson comes in. He’s a charmer and a playboy, but he’s hiding a terrible secret. When he’s assigned to protect Arianna from Darkbloods, she ignites in him those dark cravings he’s been struggling to control. Tempting him as no other could, she awakens what he fears is the real enemy—the one buried deep inside him.

This is a story about secrets—everyone has them. But it’s what we do with them that matters … because some are more dangerous than others.

Happy reading!

Laurie

Also available from Laurie London

BONDED BY BLOOD

EMBRACED BY BLOOD

“ENCHANTED BY BLOOD”

in A Vampire for Christmas

And stay tuned for an all-new, sizzlingly sexy

Sweetblood novel, coming soon:

SEDUCED BY BLOOD

Tempted by Blood
Laurie London

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To mom, for your endless love and encouragement,

and your incredible example.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you, first of all, to my wonderful readers. A year ago when my first book came out, I was surprised and humbled that so many of you took the time out of your busy lives to contact me. I’ve loved “meeting” so many of you.

To the fun and sometimes zany online book bloggers and reviewers, thanks for your support and enthusiasm. I’m continually amazed at your creativity, professionalism, dedication and love of the romance genre, particularly you rabid paranormal fans. You make it cool and exciting to be a reader and an author in this digital age.

To Becky, Mandy, Janna, Kandis, Kathy and Shelley, thank you so much. I’d be adrift without you. Thank you to the Cherryplotters for the great ideas and for confirming when I’m on the right track … or not.

Thanks to my friends Julia, Eric and Marc, for tidbits that I twisted for my own evil purposes, and to Kevin, for help with a local urban legend that inspired a few of the details.

Thank you to my wonderful editor, Margo Lipschultz, for all your support and encouragement. You breathe life into my ideas and know just what needs to be done to make them better. Thank you to everyone at Nocturne™, including the awesome digital team and art department, for all your behind-the-scenes work. Thanks to my agent, Emmanuelle Morgen, for believing in me.

To my husband, Ted, and my two “babies” who are taller than me, thanks for putting up with crazy. I love you.

CHAPTER ONE

WHEN SHE SAW the number of vehicles parked in the second driveway on the left, Arianna Wells tensed and almost turned her car around. She hated having an audience for these things.

With her eyes forward, she drove past the house, then a dozen others in the neighborhood, and parked the old Cadillac under a streetlight around the corner. Out of habit, she scraped the wheel rims against the curb. Her father had loved this car and was so proud of himself when he gave it to her for her sixteenth birthday. Problem was, she’d been nineteen at the time and he’d mixed up her birthday with one of his many ex-girlfriends. Adding a new scratch when she was frustrated or pissed off always made her feel better. She shoved the transmission into Park and it lurched into a rough idle.

She stretched her arm over the seat and peered out the back windshield. Maybe that wasn’t the right place. All the houses had the same mirror-image design, painted one of three colors with identical rows of box hedges lining the walkways. Roads to the left and right led to similar cul-de-sacs. Everything was confusingly similar. It’d be easy to turn down the wrong street and knock on the wrong door.

She pulled the address from the front pocket of her jeans and realized she still needed to change her shoes. She’d gone in to work today for an unscheduled meeting and hadn’t thought about tonight until she was already at the office. Hopefully, she had a spare pair of boots in the trunk. If they went to the site of the disappearance, traipsing through wet bushes in flip-flops would really suck. From what she’d learned about getting to the Devil’s Backbone, even wearing hiking boots, it wouldn’t be easy.

She opened the folded scrap of paper: 4112 Maple Grove Avenue.

Yep, that was the right house. The one with all the cars.

She crumpled the scrap into a ball and threw it on the seat. Thanks to rush-hour traffic in Seattle, it had taken an extra hour to get here and she really didn’t want to reschedule. The hems of her jeans were damp from running into the office and she was still chilled. She supposed she could’ve parked in her company’s garage today, thus avoiding the rain and the wet sidewalks, but she didn’t have a pass and paying forty bucks for a two-hour meeting was just wrong. She could have asked Carter, one of her coworkers, to hack into their building’s property-management company and print her a parking pass, but unlike him she had principles. Although on a day like today, she wished she didn’t.

She grabbed her phone, hit Redial, and a young man answered on the first ring.

“Look, Blake,” she said, not bothering to hide her irritation. “I told you I don’t do this with a bunch of people around.”

“Is this Icy Shadows?”

He only knew her by her screen name and Arianna preferred to keep it that way.

“Yes, and don’t tell me your mom is hosting her book club.”

She heard the low murmur of male voices, a muffled curse, and she was pretty sure someone in the room with Blake said, “Do you see her yet?”

Good thing she’d parked around the corner.

“It’s just me and the guys who were with me that night. That’s all. I figured you’d want to talk to them, too.”

What part of “I want to conduct this interview alone” didn’t he understand?

Before agreeing to meet with him, she’d thoroughly checked out Blake’s background, as she did with everyone she interviewed in person. He was a seventeen-year-old honor student at Cascadia High School, on the varsity tennis team, vice president of the French club. In a write-up in the local paper about some community service project, his marketing teacher had called him a leader.

Using her internet-sleuthing abilities—some people would call it stalking, but she preferred to call it due diligence—she’d tracked his movements online. She found his social-media pages, followed him to the few blogs he’d read, hers being the only one that didn’t involve music, and she’d looked at dozens of pictures and videos. The few times he’d posted on her blog, he’d been respectful and articulate. The guy was who he said he was—a decent kid with a very interesting story that she was dying to hear in person.

But she knew nothing about his friends and she had her rules.

“We’ll have to do this another time, then. Goodbye—”

“Wait. Wait. I’m really sorry, but they really want to meet the Icy Shadows from Paranormalish.”

I’ll bet.

“Sorry. I’m shy.” Not really. Although she did hate crowds, she guarded her online identity with the finesse of someone navigating a minefield. Each movement, each next click could be disastrous.

If Xtark Software found out how she spent her free time, that she lied on her employment application about having a blog, she’d lose her job. The game company was anal when it came to its employees’ use of social media, requiring everyone to turn over their computer passwords so company security officials could monitor their online activities. They worried about employees sharing too much and other companies stealing their proprietary secrets—as if someone in the graphics department would know anything about software design. But a blog run by any employee was a huge no-no. As far as she was concerned, however, it was no one’s business but her own, and she preferred to keep it that way.

And then there was that business with her ex. When he’d found out about her blog, it had turned her life upside down.

She’d learned long ago that people thought her interest in unexplained phenomena was weird … crazy, even. Sitting on a cold metal chair at the Fremont area police precinct as a five-year-old, having no one believe her had taught her that. They’d tried to explain that shadows don’t just come alive and kidnap people; a real person took her mother. They’d given her a stuffed animal to hold—Comfy Carl, they called him. She could still picture the bear with crisscrossed threads for eyes that smelled as if it’d spent months in the damp trunk of a patrol car. But she knew what she’d seen and a toy wasn’t about to convince her otherwise.

At a young age, Arianna figured out pretty quickly that if she wanted to be taken seriously and keep a roof over her head, she’d better keep her interests to herself. The blog was her way of exploring topics she couldn’t discuss out loud.

No, she couldn’t risk Blake’s friends finding out anything about her. It could show up later online somewhere, making it easier for Xtark to discover what she was doing. Conducting these sorts of things one-on-one lessened the chances of that happening.

“Okay, okay,” Blake said. “I’ll make them leave.”

Arianna paused, her hand on the ignition, still not convinced she wanted to chance it.

“Pleeease?” His voice cracked midstream and he suddenly sounded younger, more vulnerable.

She knew her readers were dying to hear what happened that night at the Devil’s Backbone, complete with pictures and videos. Ever since Blake posted that the captain of the football team never came back after visiting the site and a watered-down version hit the news outlets, her blog readers had been pestering her to interview him. Many of them had never seen pictures of the site of the old sanitarium, which had burned to the ground at the turn of the century. Situated on private property, it was rumored to be haunted, and kids snuck in late at night to party there. Blake claimed the missing boy had been with them when they visited the site that night. He’d posted on her blog that he was too scared to go with them, so he waited in the car. All of the kids returned except for one. Sure, they could’ve been drinking, but given the fact that it happened at the Devil’s Backbone it was enough to pique her interest.

“A guy named George from another website has been emailing me, wanting to know what happened, but I’d rather talk to you.”

She winced. “George from OSPRA?” That meant he’d been reading her blog.

The Olympic Society for Paranormal Research and Analysis had been relentlessly pursuing her since she started blogging, pressuring her to join their organization of crazies—vampire hunters, ghost hunters and alien-invasion enthusiasts. After she’d repeatedly turned them down and inadvertently scooped them on a few investigations, they got pissed off and someone tried hacking into her website. If it hadn’t been for Carter, who beefed up her security settings, they’d have succeeded.

“Yeah, I think so.”

Bastards. That was it. “Okay. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. But if even one of those cars is still parked out front, the interview is canceled. For good. Understand?”

Blake lowered his voice. “Is there any way my younger brother can stay? He was one of the guys with us that night, too, and has a totally different story than I do.”

Did no one listen anymore? Was the spoken word that hard to understand? She let out an exasperated sigh and picked at a tear in the vinyl upholstery.

Interviewing one of the others who was there would give a good perspective to the article—make it even more compelling. George wouldn’t be able to compete with that.

Blake was quiet on the other end of the line, waiting for her answer. She could almost hear his silent plea for help. Then it dawned on her. Maybe he was seeking validation from her so that his friends would know he wasn’t making up the story. That all of this wasn’t just a twisted joke or the product of an overactive imagination. Clearly, he had experienced something but no one believed him. A familiar pang tugged at her heart. She knew how it felt to witness something that wasn’t possible. To be given a stuffed animal and a pat on the head because no one could figure out how to make you feel better.

She recalled the disapproving looks her great-aunt and -uncle had given her as they’d lamented that this preoccupation of hers was too deeply rooted in the satanic. After a few months, they’d given up and sent her to live with a string of foster families.

“Fine. Your brother can stay. But if I come back and get any inkling, any strange or nagging feeling that you lied to me, and your friends aren’t gone—”

“I promise,” he said hastily. “Just me and my brother.”

“Okay. Fifteen minutes.”

Before the line went dead, she heard him yelling at his friends to leave.

JACKSON FOSS DIDN’T PLAY by the rules, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start tonight. Besides, he hated being rushed.

Reluctantly, he raised his head and turned toward the door, feeling his pupils dilate even more than they already were. This was the second time Mitch had interrupted him, and if it happened again, Jackson, swear to God, was going to storm out there and acquaint his knuckles with his partner’s face.

Techno music blared from the ceiling speakers. Although it was loud inside the tiny room, its walls upholstered in tufted pink vinyl, he didn’t have to raise his voice. His buddy would be able to hear him just fine.

“I said I’ll be right out.” But he lied—he’d need at least a few more minutes.

He turned his attention back to the woman beneath him. He was aroused but didn’t feel like using what the good Lord gave him. That wasn’t what he was after. At least not this time.

Soft waves of hair tickled his nose as he settled in again. The too-sweet smell of her drugstore perfume was so concentrated, so overpowering here at the base of her neck that he almost sneezed. He tried like hell to ignore it and placed his hand to her temple anyway.

Technically, Mitch was right. They were on duty tonight and being on duty didn’t involve this. He just wasn’t a slave to protocol like some people were. Sure, he’d be the first one to admit they shouldn’t be at the Pink Salon for more than just a standard walk-through. A drink at the bar? Maybe. Shooting the shit with a few of the regulars? Yeah. But this? Not really.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t serious about his role as a Guardian—he was. It was just that this was necessary, too.

With a jolt, her energies shot through his palm and up his arm, static electricity popping in his veins, leaving in its wake a warm, numbing sensation.

Heaven.

Inch by inch, his muscles unknotted, the gnawing hunger in his gut subsiding. Clarity settled over him, the clutter in his mind evaporated. Now he’d be able to concentrate on the things a Guardian should be doing. Walking the streets. Monitoring the police bands. Hanging out in alleys, searching the shadows for those who lived on the fringe of their secret but civilized society.

For a short time, at least.

Thank God things had been slow lately, so he didn’t feel too guilty being here. After the Seattle field team busted a huge Night of Wilding party recently on one of the San Juan Islands, the streets had been pretty quiet. Those who weren’t killed during the raid had gone into hiding. Not that there weren’t still members of the underground seeking out desirable blood types to sell on the black market—hell, he’d caught one last night stalking a young mother who was holding her child’s hand—but, for the most part, work was slow. Mitch just needed to unknot his tighty-whities and chill out.

Ah, yes, sweetheart, just a little more and I’ll be finished.

“You must work out a lot,” the woman said, running her hands over Jackson’s back.

“Yeah, guess you could say that.”

Not wanting to crush her small frame, he shifted his weight slightly and kept his hand against her temple. Evidently the anorexic look was in fashion this winter. The chick he’d been with earlier had been just as skinny.

Having yanked off her own shirt when they got to the room, she now tugged at his clothes, fumbled with his belt. He didn’t put distance between the two of them to make it any easier for her.

Lucky for him, she’d had a healthy dose of sun recently—her stored energy levels were higher than most people’s in Seattle who lived under a gray blanket during the winter months when the ultraviolet index was low. He was feeling stronger already, much more rejuvenated than if he’d been with someone else.

Had she just been to Hawaii? Cabo, maybe? Yes, Mexico, he decided. When they entered the private room a few minutes ago, he’d asked her to remove her silver rings and bracelets, citing an allergic reaction if his skin came into contact with the metal. Not exactly true, but close enough.

“God, I needed this.” Maybe he would be able to skip a couple of days.

“Me, too.” She managed to slip her hands under the waistband of his low-slung jeans, reaching, searching. Of course, she thought that was why he’d brought her here. It’s what he wanted her to think. It’s what he wanted everyone to think.

“Ooh, you’re commando. Did I tell you I like a man with easy access?”

“You lucked out then because I’m all about easy.” He sucked his abs in farther, making more room inside his pants without having to go through the hassle of shoving them down. He’d let her handle him for a few moments while he did his thing. As far as he was concerned, it was the perfect combination.

Her fingers brushed the head of his erection and she gasped. “Is that—oh, my God—what I think it is?” She’d found his piercing. Her pulse spiked as he hoped it would.

“It’s a little surprise for you.”

“No way.” She giggled nervously, her voice higher pitched than before. “Does it really, you know, make it better?”

“I’m told it does.” That tiny metal stud had seen its fair share of action. With minimal effort on his part, he could easily satisfy any woman. “Like I said, it’s your lucky night.”

And just like that, her excitement shot into his veins like a pinball ricocheting off the lighted bumpers. He held still and wallowed in the sensation.

She said something else, but he wasn’t really listening. This was his favorite part, experiencing the rush of anticipation from a female donor host when she made that discovery. It added an extra spice to the energy. Fear did the same thing, but he didn’t let himself think about that.

She tilted her head, seeking out his mouth.

I don’t think so. With his face turned away to keep his fangs hidden from view, he chose not to react to her body language. He ran his free hand down her arm to distract her.

“Kiss me,” she ordered.

“Tobacco. Just chewed a wad.” The lies easily rolled off his tongue. Only a few more moments, then he was outta here. “Didn’t know I’d be hooking up with the hottest girl in the club.”

“Really? You think so?”

“Absolutely. If I had, I’d have never taken a dip. I’m addicted, though. Weak. Totally unable to quit. Will you forgive me?” God, he was laying it on thick, but then women liked being with men they thought needed fixing. Men who needed their help.

“Of course.” She gave a little laugh that sounded like a cross between a woodpecker and a machine gun. It would’ve grated on his nerves if he wasn’t so mellow right now.

He didn’t like to kiss them, if he could help it. Even the pretty ones. Kissing led to feelings, which led to intimacy, which led to talking about the future. Not that he hadn’t played house with various women—both human and vampire—over the past century, but whenever they started in with the baby names, the bathroom colors and the mixing of bank accounts, he got itchy. As in the kind of itch that needed someone else to scratch it. After a while, when the charade became too hard to maintain, it just so happened that he’d become a shitty liar, very conveniently forgetting to cover his tracks. He really hated the “sugar, this just isn’t working for me any longer” speech, so he gave them a reason to break up with him.

His last on-again, off-again girlfriend had thrown all his crap on the front lawn when she discovered he’d been with another woman. His leather coat, his Xbox, all his games—ruined in the rain. He didn’t blame her for being pissed—he’d expected it. He cringed, though, when he thought about that damn coat. His favorite. It’d smelled musty ever since. Yeah, it was easier for every one involved to not let things go that far in the first place. It really wasn’t worth it.

Dating standards aside, he couldn’t kiss this woman anyway, he noted as he ran his tongue over his partially extended fangs. A side effect of being sexually aroused, whether he planned to bite her or not. She sure as hell didn’t need that shocking visual. A female screaming at your appearance, if only for a moment before her memory could be wiped, deflated more than just your ego.

With every heartbeat, her energies continued to pulse into him, and her movements became less vigorous. Her nails weren’t digging into his ass the way they had been, her ankles no longer clasped behind him. One leg slipped from his hip to dangle bonelessly off the edge of the mattress. Finally, she yawned. With his ear against the side of her face, he heard her jaw pop.

“I’m sorry. I feel so … tired all of a sudden.”

“I’ve worn you out already?” he joked, though he knew it was true.

“Don’t worry. I’ll totally rally.”

When she yawned into his shoulder again, he knew it was time to go. He’d taken enough. He ran his tongue over the tips of his fangs.

But first … maybe just one taste.

With his ring finger, he located and caressed her artery, feeling the steady rhythm of her heart there. He could sink his teeth in and drink. One sip. Although her blood type was common, with all the sun she’d been exposed to, it would have the same stored energy signature.

He’d taken blood from an earlier host, but what would be the harm in another little taste? Or two?

Wait. Stop.

He didn’t need more blood. He’d had plenty tonight to sate his physical requirements. This desire was all in his head, he told himself. Completely unnecessary.

Reluctantly, he dragged his hand away. This dark nature of his was a cancer that never fully went away. Coaxing him. Whispering in his ear like a jealous lover who didn’t want to be forgotten.

No. He wouldn’t give in this time, as he had less than an hour ago. He clenched his teeth, cutting his lip in the process. “Shit.”

“Wh-what’s wrong?”

He waited a moment, willing his fangs to recede into his gums. “Nothing.” With effort, he pushed away from the drowsy woman, forcing himself to look at her as a living, breathing human and not unsuspecting, vulnerable prey.

Neon lights from a neighboring building flashed through the narrow window high on the wall, obscuring her features in garish, almost cartoonlike pink shadows. Her shirt was open, her breasts exposed. They didn’t sag much to either side, he noted. Instead, they proudly displayed an unmoving quantity of silicone beneath the taut mounds, too large for her waiflike body.

What would she look like in forty or fifty years? A grandma with Playboy-size implants. He stifled a chuckle and his fangs disappeared completely back into his gums. Humor always had a calming effect on him.

He didn’t want to consider that increased cravings for blood and energy were the first signs a vampire was reverting to the uncontrollable blood urges of his ancestors. No, he wasn’t a damn revert, nor was he in the beginning stages. He’d never killed a human and he wasn’t about to start. He may be a screwup in other ways, but there was no way he was giving in to that. Besides, if anyone suspected a Guardian was reverting, tests would be done and he’d be hauled in front of the Council. The sentencing would be swift, the punishment harsh. Regular members of vampire society got a long stint in rehab. Guardians weren’t so lucky.

Even though it happened more than a century ago, every detail about that night in the catacombs beneath Paris stuck in his memory like black ink on a fresh piece of paper. It was there if he chose to think about it. The moist stillness in the air. The sound of water dripping in one of the adjacent passageways. Hushed whispers echoing off the stone walls. The shuffle of feet as they made their way in the darkness to gather around the man held in chains.

Traitor, someone hissed.

A disgrace to your family.

You’ve endangered all of us.

Then the screams began.

Jackson shuddered. He was a young Guardian in training at the time. But even now, he didn’t want to think about what had happened to the agent who’d reverted and killed several humans, so he forced the memory out of his head.

The Governing Council was more civilized, or so they said. But once you witnessed something that brutal, that unforgiving, it was pretty damn hard to forget.

This was just a temporary hiccup. He’d muscle through it and be fine. What he needed right now was a little more yin to go with his yang.

She tugged at his triceps and made a little sound of protest. It wasn’t a surprise that she didn’t want him to go, but he reached for his coat, anyway. They never wanted him to leave, especially after knowing what his body jewelry could do for them. He enjoyed being someone’s addiction, liked to be needed, no matter how temporary or superficial.

“You’re not going already, are you? But we haven’t—”

“What you need is sleep and a healthy dose of sun tomorrow.” Good luck with that, though. Chances were, in Seattle at this time of year, that golden orb wouldn’t be making an appearance anytime soon.

“The sun? I don’t get it.”

“Just promise me, okay, sweetheart? Rain or no rain. You’ll spend time outdoors.” He considered telling her to take a vitamin-D supplement, but decided that’d sound too weird.

“Um, sure.”

As soon as his boots hit the floor, he leaned over and brushed four fingers over her forehead. “Sex with me was unlike anything you’ve experienced before,” he said, implanting a memory suggestion. “The only thing you’ll remember about me is that I’m an amazing lover and tonight was—” he searched for the appropriate dramatic word “—in-fucking-credible.”

Her eyelids fluttered briefly as the thought took hold. When she opened them, her lashes hung over her eyes in that unfocused, just-had-sex look. “God, that was mind-blowing. The best I’ve ever had. You’ve got a real monster behind that zipper.” Even her voice was thick and raspy.

“Why, thank you.” There had to be a special place in hell reserved for guys like him.

Techno music blared even louder as he entered the hallway, the sound waves tangible on his skin.

In the dim light, Mitchell Stryker was leaning against the painted brick, arms folded, mouth pressed into a tight line, but he couldn’t hide the flicker of amusement in his eyes. Oh, yeah, he could look as pissed off as he wanted to, but Jackson knew better. The guy had a serious case of envy.

Jackson pulled the door shut behind him. “What?” he asked, feigning innocence.

“Dude, you’re on a roll tonight.” Mitch brushed a blond forelock from his face.

“What can I say? When you got it, you gotta use it.”

Even though vampires were naturally more sexually active than humans, any idol worship of Jackson’s sexual habits made things a helluva lot easier. No one suspected he had off-the-chart energy needs and that it wasn’t sex he was after—at least not all the time. They simply thought he was always horny. Who was he to argue?

Doing a little shuffle step, Jackson snapped his fingers and pointed at Mitch. “You seriously need to get laid, my friend.”

Mitch straightened up and adjusted his leather coat with a quick shrug of his shoulders. “Why do you say that? Not that I’m arguing with you or anything.”

“If you have to ask, you’re worse than I thought. You’re way too uptight, banging on my door and shit. You need to be banging something else and let me do my thang.” Jackson elbowed his buddy. “Need some help separating a little filly from the herd out there?”

Mitch shoved him back and laughed. “Don’t you worry about me. I can manage just fine, thank you very much. Speaking of managing, looks like your thang got a little wild in there.” He indicated Jackson’s lip.

Jackson flicked his tongue out and tasted blood. Mitch probably assumed it was the woman’s but he didn’t bother to set the record straight. It wasn’t as if a sip now and then was against the law.

“Is that the second or third one tonight?”

Alarm bells went off in his head. He didn’t want Mitch to think he was taking blood every time he had sex. He shrugged, tried to act casual as he rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand.

Not long ago, he could stretch it out for two or three days before the energy cravings got too powerful to ignore or the need was triggered by something he didn’t expect. And decades earlier, like most vampires, he’d been able to go for weeks at a time without blood. Something inside him was changing, but he sure as hell didn’t want to know why. He’d need to be more careful next time.

“Didn’t you get it on with that curvy redheaded chick when we got here?” Mitch continued. “I saw you guys stumble out all lovey-dovey, your hands all over her.”

He sauntered down the hallway, an extra spring in his step. Goddamn, that chick’s energies felt good. “Couldn’t help it. Got a thing for redheads.”

Mitch laughed behind him. “And blondes and brunettes.”

“Hey, I’m all about equal opportunity. Democracy and shit. I like to spread the wealth evenly among the people. It’s only fair.”

“Sounds like communism to me. Listen. Dom called. He … um … tried calling you directly, but you didn’t pick up. He needs your sweetblood report. Says it’s a week late and that you’re making him look like a lazy ass to Region unless he gets his numbers in soon.”

Jackson stopped and pulled out his cell.

Five missed calls—all from his field team leader. Damn. He must’ve been more engrossed back in that room than he thought.

“How many sweetbloods do you have on your list?” Mitch asked. “If you want, I can do a few of the drive-bys.”

He thought about the latest addition, a young human girl he’d saved at the Night of Wilding party. He’d always thought that keeping tabs on known sweetbloods was a waste of time—Darkbloods or other vampires would get to them eventually. It was a fate most of them suffered, despite the Guardians’ best efforts to keep them safe. Their addictive blood was almost impossible to resist and commanded the highest price on the black market. But the girl reminded him of his little sister who’d died many years ago. Old feelings of regret welled up but he quickly tamped them down. There was nothing he could do about Betsy now. “Nah, I can do it, but thanks.”

He hustled down the hallway toward the main part of the Pink Salon, his boot heels pounding on the floor. Better return Dom’s call from outside and see if he could buy a little more time. Although the guy had mellowed out considerably since marrying Mackenzie and starting a family, Jackson didn’t want to chance it. His field team leader had a bitch of a temper if you pissed him off, for which Jackson seemed to have a knack. Plus, he could hold a serious grudge.

Jackson pushed aside the rows of hanging beads and stepped into the alcove at the side of the dance floor. As usual when someone emerged from the entrance to the ultraexclusive salons, dozens of sets of eyes focused in their direction. He ran a hand through his newly highlighted hair—green and blue streaks this time—and his acute hearing picked up a few female sighs. Yeah, chicks dug the hair. Made picking up women as easy as going through a drive-through.

His eyes locked onto a pretty thing sitting at the bar. He flashed her a smile, making a mental note to head over there on the way out. Clasping forearms with the muscle-bound bouncer who regulated the comings and goings of the salon, Jackson slipped him some green. “Thanks, Rocky. You’re my guy.”

“You bet, man,” the human said, nodding appreciatively at the Benjamin before tucking it away. “Anytime. How was the meeting? Enjoy yourself back there?”

Officially, the Pink Salon referred to them as meeting rooms; Jackson conducted a lot of “business” there. “Always.”

Although the guy didn’t know Jackson and Mitch were vampires, on some level, he had to have realized there was something special about them. Most humans did. They instinctively reacted by giving them a wide berth or going along with shit. Besides, this place was like a home away from home for Jackson. They played his kind of music, and these were his kind of people—fun-loving, always willing to party and not into heavy conversations.

He waited as Mitch brushed past him into the crowd and moved out of earshot. Then he turned back to the bouncer. “Hey, that gal I was with? Make sure her friends know she’s crashed back there.”

Rocky nodded. “You wore her out?”

“‘Fraid so.”

He caught up with Mitch threading his way through the dance floor. “Yo, wait up. What’s the hurry.”

“Come on. We gotta go.”

“I’m not ready to leave yet.”

“Seriously, man.” Mitch flicked his arm with the back of his hand. “Don’t you think you should call Dom first? He’s gonna rip you a new one if he doesn’t hear from you.”

When you know something’s inevitable, why rush it? He considered the list of sweetbloods he still needed to do drive-bys on. Two here in town, one up north and one in an Eastside suburb. Then there was the girl. Mitch was right. He didn’t have time to do it all if he stayed much longer. He’d probably just lose track of time again.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll call him from the road.”

CHAPTER TWO

INTERVIEWING BLAKE AND HIS brother had been a colossal waste of time and now Arianna was late picking up her cousin. She should’ve insisted on meeting Blake at the Devil’s Backbone rather than his house. But because the site was difficult to find and was surrounded by private property, you had to know someone to take you in. Instead, she’d spent the evening trying to pry verbal information from a couple of boys who clearly were better at texting than talking in person.

She glanced at the glowing hands of the clock on the Caddy’s dashboard. Almost midnight.

“Come on, Krystal,” she mumbled to herself as she waited in the car parked outside the apartment building. What kind of teenager studied on a Friday night, anyway?

Warily, she watched the fog advancing off the sound a few blocks away as it searched for low-lying spots in which to settle. In the light from the overhead streetlamps, it took on a gray-green color and, if you blinked once or twice, it was suddenly thicker. There hadn’t been a trace of fog over at Blake’s house. She worried if she had to wait too much longer, visibility would be so bad that she’d have to drive away inch by inch because her piece-of-crap car didn’t have working fog lights.

The two-story apartment building sat at the end of a long narrow driveway less than a mile from where Arianna lived—too far for her cousin to walk home, though she did try to convince Arianna it was no big deal. Maybe Krystal’s mother would’ve been okay with that, but this wasn’t a tiny farm town in eastern Washington and Arianna didn’t have substance-abuse problems. This was the big city and no one walked home in the dark around here.

Her fingers twitched with the urge to blast the horn, but the neighbors probably wouldn’t appreciate that. She definitely wanted to avoid running up to the door—shadows were everywhere. Along the shrubs at the base of the windows, underneath the spindly birch tree in the front yard, next to the minivan parked in the driveway. In an argument repeated for years, her sensible self said this fear was unreasonable, but the memories of her five-year-old self were ingrained too deeply to forget. Most of the time, she was able to push past it—you couldn’t exactly be afraid of the dark and run a blog like Paranormalish. But tonight she felt on edge for some reason.

She texted Krystal again: I’m still waiting. Where are you?

Comingggggg.

U said that already. Hurry. I’m tired.

K. Grabbing backpack now.

Yeah, right. Krystal texted that ten minutes ago, too.

To kill time, Arianna opened her camera phone and flipped through the pictures she’d taken at Blake’s. Two teenage boys sitting on a couch with their grandmother’s colorful afghan behind them. Blake looking scared. His brother looking confused. She deleted some, keeping only a few of the best ones to post on her blog. Then she watched part of the video she’d taken. One boy talking. The other boy listening. Arianna asking questions off camera. Boring with a capital B. The whole interview was. So much for interesting blog content.

She hit Delete and was about to set the phone down, when she remembered that videos were automatically saved to her cloud account, too. Carter had set it up for her in order to save memory on her phone and make them easier for her to access later. Once, when she’d been having all sorts of technical trouble with her website that she attributed to OSPRA, she took a chance and asked for Carter’s help. Since he was always bitching about Xtark—sometimes she wondered why he even stayed on with the company—she’d turned to him, trusting that he wouldn’t rat her out to corporate, and he didn’t.

“Don’t let these bastards dictate your personal life,” he’d said. “You need to maintain some sort of control. If you want to keep something private, then you shouldn’t have to feel you’ve got to turn over your passwords or tell them about your blog.”

“But I don’t want to lose my job.”

He’d rolled his eyes. “Please.”

“Carter, if they find out, I’m toast. And I kinda need this job. My bank account needs this job.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t lose it.”

Then he’d set up something called a proxy account, which supposedly hid her identity from snoops, as well as a cloud account. Thanks to him, she didn’t have to worry about running out of memory any longer.

From her phone, she accessed the cloud online and deleted the boring pictures and video there, as well. With that housekeeping done, she settled back in her seat, again wishing they had explored the sanitarium, instead. Although the charred remains of the building were almost completely hidden, supposedly the ravine where they dumped the bodies of residents who had mysteriously died was haunted. Thirteen steps were carved into the side of the hill, leading to the bottom, thus the Devil’s Backbone. That place would’ve given her plenty of interesting images. Local legend said that when you got to the bottom and turned around, you could see straight into hell. Now, that would’ve been something interesting to post. But at the last minute, Blake had freaked out and didn’t want to go back.

What did that leave her with? Zilch.

When she met Blake, she couldn’t help noticing that he looked a lot like that kid on YouTube who’d signed a big record deal recently. Maybe she could leverage that. Tag the singer’s name, or something. She pictured the blog title: Friend of Tai Simmons Look-alike Gone Missing. That’d garner a few hits on an otherwise boring post, wouldn’t it?

“Ari,” she said to herself, “you’re really stretching it this time.”

She was about to set the phone down when two sets of lights blazed in her eyes, illuminating the interior of the Caddy for a moment, virtually blinding her. She held a hand up to block the light. A jacked-up vehicle with its high beams on, including large yellow fog lights, had just turned onto the street. The driver probably had no clue how obnoxious that was. Or maybe he did. Guys who drove rigs like that dug the attention—good and bad. It was swagger on wheels.

Something darted out in front of her car. A cat. It paused in the middle of the road, staring at the oncoming vehicle.

“Move, little kitty.”

But it didn’t. Not one inch. The poor thing was paralyzed in place, its body a dark silhouette against the lights.

Oh, no, the fog’s too thick.

The Jeep probably couldn’t see it. She jumped out of the car to shoo the cat away, but before she could, the vehicle seemed to speed up, its engine revving louder. At the last moment, the cat shot into the bushes at the side of the road, narrowly avoiding becoming roadkill.

Anger surged inside her. Clearly, those jerks had seen the cat. What kind of idiot would purposely try to run over an animal? She glared into the windows of the Jeep as it drove past, wishing her eyes were daggers. She expected to see a car full of joyriding losers—hats turned backward, liquor bottles being guzzled, but instead she saw two guys in the front seat wearing sunglasses—what the hell?—and staring straight ahead.

They even looked like assholes. Identical ones. There should be a law against trying to run over someone’s pet. She should report them to … to … someone. Remembering the camera phone in her hand, she took a few pictures as the vehicle’s red taillights disappeared into the fog. Like that would make any difference.

Assholes Almost Run Over Garfield

Men in Black Attempt Kitty Killing

Making up ridiculous blog titles for imaginary posts always gave her a small sense of power over circumstances beyond her control. In fact, she had a monthly feature where readers would vote for their favorite outlandish blog-post title. Unfortunately, it hadn’t won her many friends with the other paranormal bloggers. Seemed OSPRA was always on the list. Hell, she’d make her own list with those ridiculous titles.

She sighed and climbed back into the car. Everything always came back to her blog. Maybe she’d skip a day or rerun an old article. People did that all the time. Other than a little ad revenue, it wasn’t as if she was getting paid to do it. She was the boss and if she decided to skip a day, well, then she should be able to do so and not feel guilty.

A slash of light from the apartment building on the other side of the road cut through the darkness. She looked up to see Krystal stepping onto the porch. The teen waved goodbye to her friend, slung her backpack over one shoulder and skipped down the steps.

Finally.

Arianna reached over to unlock the passenger door then opened her camera phone. She couldn’t wait to show Krystal that one picture of Blake. Would she think he looked like—

Movement behind Krystal drew her attention. Two shadows she hadn’t seen before seemed to separate from the darkness alongside the building. Confused, she scanned the area, but saw no one. Just shadows.

Was the fog playing tricks on her? She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision. Then the shadows began to advance. Straight toward her cousin.

Arianna’s throat tightened, strangling her airways. She wanted to scream at Krystal, tell her to run, but the sound was stuck in her throat. Just like what happened with her mother twenty-two years ago when the shadows had come alive. But she couldn’t move a muscle—she was frozen. Just like that stupid cat in the road.

The dark forms got to the minivan parked in the driveway and split up, with one going around to the other side. Then, at precisely the same time, they took shape. Gone were the shapeless, shadowy figures. These were flesh-and-blood men.

With their hands in their pockets concealing God knows what, they wore long, dark trench coats that grazed the tops of their boots and although the muted light from a streetlamp cast angular shadows on their faces, their identical expressions were devoid of any emotion. A pair of macabre robots on a mission, just like the two who took her mother.

Something inside her snapped, jerking her to action, and Arianna jumped from the car. “Run, Krystal!” Her voice cracked like a prepubescent frog’s.

“What are you talking about?” Her cousin had been about to step off the curb, but instead, she skittered sideways, looking at her feet as if expecting to see a snake.

“Those men. Behind you. Come on.”

Krystal spun around, dropping her backpack in the process. “What men? Ari, you’re freaking me out.”

How could she not see them? They were less than twenty feet away, coming toward her from both sides of that van.

Arianna felt helpless again. That same little girl hiding under a skirted table at the street fair.

One of the men spun a finger in the air, signifying a wrap-up, and the other nodded. They’d obviously done this sort of thing before. In a flash, they were on Krystal like a pair of jackals, lifting her off her feet and whisking her down the sidewalk.

Arianna tried to scream—surely someone would hear and come help—but she couldn’t catch her breath. It felt as if she’d been punched in the gut. They moved faster than humanly possible, their trench coats billowing behind them. Her cousin struggled, arched her back, but it was no use. A ninety-pound girl was no match against two men.

And neither was a five-year-old girl.

Something stirred inside. She couldn’t just stand here and watch her cousin being taken away by the men from shadows the way she had with her mother. “Put her down!”

In unison, they snapped their heads in her direction as if they were just now noticing they had a witness, but it didn’t halt their stride. She fumbled with her phone, attempted to dial 911, but the picture app was still displayed on the screen, and she ended up pressing the wrong buttons. Shit, shit, shit.

They rounded the corner and disappeared behind a sprawling cedar, its lower branches stretching out across the sidewalk.

Without thinking, she sprinted down her side of the street, past a few parked cars. She thought about going for help, but she didn’t want Krystal out of her sight. If she waited for the police to come or banged on the doors of any of the buildings on this block to get help, no one would believe her when she told them what happened, and her cousin would be long gone. Her only hope was to get some photographic evidence of the vehicle and license plate then call for help. When she got to the corner, she saw them trying to stuff Krystal into the back of the Jeep.

Her cousin managed to kick the shorter one in the face. Arianna heard him grunt. Krystal braced both hands on the door frame, but the other one came up behind her and easily pushed her inside.

She couldn’t just let them take Krystal away without doing a single thing to stop them. Though she’d taken a few martial-arts classes, she now realized, she’d focused too much on self-defense. She’d never thought she’d need to know how to attack someone.

Standing from her crouched position, she wished she had a gun or something. She cursed herself for being too afraid to even hold one, let alone learn to fire one. If she could, she’d step into the roadway right now and shoot them. Just like in the movies.

Bam, bam, bam!

It was what she’d have done if she had the chance twenty-two years ago. She’d replayed it in her mind hundreds of times. Like a gunfighter, she’d stand unafraid in the middle of the road as the crowd of people scrambled to get away from her. They’d hide behind lampposts, cars. Duck into doorways and shops. She’d jerk the gun from her holster, boldly take aim and fire. Two quick shots that would echo off the buildings and change the course of her future. The shadowy men would crumple to the ground and her mother would be safe.

Instead, as the Jeep’s engine fired to life, she aimed her camera and snapped a few quick photos before switching it to video mode. Seeing things through that tiny screen made real life seem a little less real. She stepped out into the road to get a better view of the license plate and was so focused that she almost didn’t see the movement to her left.

She snapped her head up just in time to see another man emerge from the shadows.

Ten feet away.

The overhead streetlight illuminated bronze hair that reached to his chin, the top portion held back away from his face by a small ponytail. He was big—much bigger than the other two men. At well over six feet tall, he had linebacker shoulders underneath his leather coat and a formidable presence that seemed to suck the oxygen from the air.

His gaze burned into her before he made a noise that sounded like a growl. He covered the distance between them in two commanding steps.

She wanted to pinch her eyes shut, block out the nightmare, but for some reason, she didn’t. Up this close, she noticed that his hair was streaked with green and blue highlights. She was vaguely disturbed that she noticed this innocuous detail about him when the thing that should be first and foremost on her mind was that he’d stepped from the shadows.

Obsidian irises were ringed by an iridescent green color so captivating that if she had any breath left to gasp with, she would have. Her legs could no longer support her weight and she felt herself slip. An energy charge snapped in the air when he steadied her, snaking invisible fingers around her body. She caught the faint smell of alcohol on his breath and noted that his square jaw was peppered with stubble. A small scar interrupted the slash of his dark eyebrow, similar to one she had from hitting her chin on the windowsill as a child.

All very humanlike—yes—but she knew what she’d seen. He’d morphed from a shadow, just like those men in the Jeep and just like the men who took her mother.

She staggered backward and caught herself on the hood of a car, setting off a high-pitched alarm that cut through the night air.

She’d never been so thankful for that shrill sound.

Until he banged once on the hood and the siren quieted.

“Who the hell are you?” he said, staring at his hands before giving her a quick head to toe.

Who am I? My God, that’s a question I should be asking him.

She shook off that strange, electric sensation and pointed. “They … those two men took my cousin.”

He glanced at the Jeep. “Yes, they did, didn’t they. Get back, sweetheart, and try not to look.”

She blinked once, twice, zeroing in on the fangs that were hanging from his mouth like twin daggers.

This time she had no trouble screaming.

CHAPTER THREE

JACKSON LEFT THE WOMAN BEHIND him and sprinted down the street, cursing himself for sending Mitch back to the field office. He could’ve used the guy’s help. This was just supposed to be a routine task that he’d check off his to-do list. Hell, if he thought he’d run into more Darkbloods tonight …

And that woman … Shit. She’d seen him in his shadow form. And what was it with her energy signature, anyway? He’d never felt anything like it, not even from the woman earlier who’d been to Mexico. But maybe he didn’t want to know why things felt so different lately. He shoved her out of his mind as he narrowed his focus on what he had to do.

This weather wasn’t helping, either. With the fog, shadows weren’t as distinct, making it hard to blend in and shadow-move. The Jeep was pulling away with the young girl trapped inside. Damn. He wouldn’t make it. If that woman hadn’t drawn his attention, he’d have gotten there in time.

Unzipping his coat, he knew he’d have one opportunity to save her, then she’d be gone. Without slowing his stride, he grabbed a half-moon blade from the multitude of weapons strapped to his body. He threw it sidearm at the vehicle, flicking it as it left his fingers and giving it a good spin. The blade hissed like dragon’s breath as it flew through the air.

Pop.

It lodged in a back tire. The rig skidded to the left, slowed.

That was all Jackson needed.

He quickly covered the distance, yanked open the back door and climbed up on the running board.

“Goddamn Guardian pig.” With both hands on the wheel, the driver struggled to regain control.

Before the bastard in the passenger seat could level his gun, Jackson was slamming a fist into his jaw. The guy’s head jerked sideways and hit the dashboard with a loud crack. Just as Jackson reached for the driver, the Jeep screeched to a complete halt, knocking him slightly off balance. He reached for the guy, grabbing nothing but air, and the asshole jumped out.

Jackson hesitated. Go after him or see to the girl?

The guy in the passenger seat groaned.

Jackson couldn’t leave her here, he decided. If this one came to, he’d be weak. His willpower shot. Given that the girl was a sweetblood, there’d be nothing stopping him from attacking her in order to regain his strength. With that first taste, it’d all be over. That’s what it was like when a vampire tasted Sweet. Jackson had seen it happen enough times to know he wouldn’t be able to get the guy off her without potentially ripping out her throat. Most likely, he wouldn’t be able to stop the guy even if he wanted to.

“Out,” he ordered the girl. He’d take care of these two lowlifes in a minute, once he knew she was away from them.

She huddled in the far corner of the backseat, her eyes almost too big for her face. His stomach tightened. He still couldn’t get over how much she resembled Betsy. The shape of her face, her brown Shirley Temple curls, the way her bottom lip quivered as if she was on the verge of crying. Just like she had when he’d rescued her the first time.

In a disgusting display, Darkbloods were going to auction her off to the highest bidder with the winner draining her onstage for all to see. After the Agency’s medical staff checked her out and he wiped away the memory of her two-day ordeal, she was returned home. But now, here she was, at the mercy of Darkbloods again. That was the problem with sweetbloods, they attracted trouble like fresh meat to a zombie.

He reached over to help her out, but only when she shrank away from him did he realize his own fangs were fully extended. Rather than wasting precious minutes talking her down gently—this wasn’t a time for nice—he grabbed her by the scruff of her jacket and hauled her out.

“Go back to your mom,” he said as her feet hit the pavement. DB number one was running down the street. Thank the good Lord for the fog. At least it made shadow-moving hard for all of them.

The girl hesitated, clutched her hands around her middle as if she was about to get sick. A twinge of guilt hit him. All sweetbloods were trouble magnets. He should’ve kept better tabs on her. Just as he should’ve with his sister.

“Go,” he barked.

Her whole body jerked as if she were awakening from a far-off trance. She blinked and her eyes focused on him again. “She’s my cousin, not my mom.”

He bit back a smile as he turned to the guy in the Jeep. Human teenagers … vampire youthlings. They were all the same—concerned with things that didn’t matter in the long run. Her scent was much stronger inside the rig. Instantly, he felt his pupils dilating and a familiar but deafening beat sounded in his head.

Suddenly, his goal of killing this guy and then catching his friend didn’t seem quite so important. Or at least not as important as feeding his immediate needs.

Blood. Energies. Blood. Energies. The words drummed in his head with the rhythm of her heartbeat.

He’d have to wipe their memories, anyway. What was the harm in—

A sound from the front seat cut through his fucked-up logic like a boning knife.

Shit. What the hell was he thinking?

That was the problem. He wasn’t. His dark nature was.

He should take care of this loser first, anyway.

Staking a Darkblood would have to be enough to stoke his dark nature—the ancient, violent urges of his ancestors, urges that lived inside every vampire, whether civilized or not.

He pulled out his curved dragon blade just as the DB opened the door.

The similarity between Jackson and the DB was painfully obvious. They both wanted the same thing—blood and energies.

And yet the difference between them was huge. It had to be. He cared about humans and didn’t want to lead a life like this loser. Trolling night after night, living like their ancestors did who preyed on innocent victims and killed them. That wasn’t him. He didn’t want it to be him.

What he wanted was to make a difference. He wanted to matter. Do what was right. Make those around him proud. But none of that would happen if he let his dark side get too powerful and take over. And if it did, if he slipped up and let himself go, not only would his parents’ expectations and predictions for him have come true, but he’d lose everything he cared about.

Besides, he thought as he looked at this sorry bastard, he didn’t want to end up like this. Smelling like rotten meat because of an all-blood diet, the Darkblood hissed at Jackson and flashed a mouthful of teeth. His irises were completely black, the whites of his eyes a dark gray, and they locked onto the human female like the desperate predator he was.

Jackson would fight with everything he had before that happened. It simply wasn’t an alternative.

Jackson struck fast and the silver went deep. The DB let out a cry and lashed out, his hands dual claws on Jackson’s forearm, clutching, digging.

“Son of a bitch.”

The blade had clearly missed its mark, but the DB shouldn’t be this strong, either. A stab by a knife made from this silver alloy should have this guy flat on his ass.

Unless … he’d had Sweet recently, Jackson realized. Given its healing properties and the high it gave vampires who drank it, that could be the only explanation.

He withdrew the handle and struck again. This time, he twisted the hilt until the blade went where he wanted it to go.

The DB finally crumpled to the ground, and Jackson took a half step backward, watching as the body quickly turned to ash. Sadistic, maybe. But Jackson liked to watch this part. All that was left of the guy were rivets, zippers, glass blood vials and collection needles. His dark nature fed on shit like this. The sicker the better. Sure, he lived life hard—partying, screwing, fighting—but it was for a reason. It fed the evil part of him, kept it at bay, preventing him from spiraling out of control.

“That is so disgusting,” Krystal said from behind, “and it stinks.”

Having expended all that negative energy, Jackson was feeling better already. Not perfect, but he should be able to manage now. Before he forgot, he retrieved the half-moon blade embedded in the back tire and turned around. Krystal’s cousin, the woman with the golden eyes and the long auburn hair, was partially shrouded in the heavy fog. She was holding up something. Her phone.

Was she trying to get a signal? he wondered.

He pulled out his own phone and texted Mitch an I-need-your-fucking-help-now message. He’d need a cleanup crew to dispose of the vehicle and make sure there were no other witnesses. Someone would have to go after the DB that got away, and the two females would need to be taken home and have their memories wiped.

And then it dawned on him.

Her phone.

The woman had been taking pictures.

WITH A SWIPE OF HIS HAND, the man brushed his hair from his face and came toward them. His strides were long and fluid, like a powerful animal’s. Arianna subtly moved Krystal behind her and took a half step backward.

Damn her morbid curiosity that always seemed to get in the way of common sense. Why hadn’t they left when they’d had the chance? They could’ve been back home by now behind locked doors. She’d have out her garlic, her crosses and she’d make sure to tell Krystal not to answer the door. Who knew if any of the vampire myths were correct, but she wouldn’t have taken any chances. Too late for that now.

Her mind spun out of control with the incredible event she’d just witnessed. As unbelievable as it sounded, she couldn’t deny it. Vampires really did exist in this world. They weren’t just made-up stories and fables. They were walking, talking individuals who melted with the shadows and preyed on humans. Thank God, she’d taken pictures and video, otherwise no one would ever believe her. Not even the loyal readers of Paranormalish. She glanced around desperately, looking for a way out.

“Give it to me.” He snapped his fingers.

Her first reaction was to do what he said, and she made a move to hand the phone to him. Wait. What was she doing? This was her only evidence of what she’d seen. There was no way in hell anyone would believe her if she didn’t provide proof of what she’d just witnessed. She knew that all too well.

And those knives of his …

When he’d pulled one out and raised it above his head, the reflection of the moonlight had flashed along the curved blade, illuminating it from point to hilt. It was as if it were lit from within, drawing power from the man who held it.

She bristled at his commanding tone and yet she shrank away from him at the same time. “Give what to you?” she asked, quickly finding her courage. She raised the pitch of her voice slightly in an attempt to sound innocent.

She’d been waiting for most of her life not only to see something like this with her own eyes, but also to have undeniable proof that there was something out there beyond the realm of human reason. Shadows did come to life and threaten people. Just as she always knew they did.

“The phone,” he growled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, honey, don’t bullshit me. Neither of us has time for this.”

Honey? Did he just call her honey?

She straightened her spine and glared at him. Men who threw around fake endearments like candy, assuming it would make a woman cave, were enough to make her break out in hives. It was something her father did.

“For one thing, I’m not your honey. And for another—”

He turned his full attention to her and the words faltered in her throat. Vampire or not, the guy was gorgeous. Probably the hottest guy she’d ever seen in person. Just about anyone could look good, airbrushed in a magazine. He was the real deal.

Amusement flooded his green eyes and one corner of his mouth curved up. It was a look that said he knew exactly how attractive he was and the effect he was having on her. This rough, unpolished sexuality was one hundred percent male and it sent shivers down her spine. He was a vampire, for God’s sake.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have a camera.”

“You were taking pictures, honey,” he said pointedly, drawing out the two syllables. Clearly, he knew it pissed her off and yet he did it, anyway.

Her face heated with anger. “Too bad. You can’t have it.” As if she would simply—

In a flash of movement, the phone was suddenly gone from her hand and he was pocketing it.

She took a half step back, appalled. “What do you think—You can’t just—That’s my private property. Give it back to me.”

“Well, it’s mine now.” He snapped his fingers at her cousin. “You, too.”

She could suddenly relate to the whole mother-bear thing. Messing with her was one thing, but messing with her fifteen-year-old cousin really chapped her hide.

“Come on, Krystal with a K,” he said, when her cousin didn’t immediately respond. “I don’t have all night.”

A freight train roared in her head and the little hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

How did he know that was one of Krystal’s pet phrases? Because her name didn’t start with a C, when she met new people, she’d introduce herself as Krystal with a K. What the hell was going on?

Her cousin handed over the phone without complaint or comment, as if the guy was God or something. Most teenagers would at least say something when it involved their phones.

As if in answer to Arianna’s unasked question, he said, “Lucky for both of you, Krystal and I have met before. Otherwise, you two would’ve been toast.”

Krystal looked confused. “We—we have?”

Which could only mean one thing. Arianna’s legs felt boneless as the weight of his words sank in. “Her disappearance. Last month. That was you?” Her voice came out hoarse and breathless.

“Not her disappearance, no. That happened because of guys like that back there.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder.

“I … I don’t understand.”

Cursing to himself, he glanced out into the night. She could see the muscles in his jaw working, and she imagined he was mulling things over, trying to figure out what to tell her. When his gaze landed back on Krystal again, his expression softened. Hell, he looked almost protective of her.

“Okay, what in the world is going on?” she prodded.

He sighed and she noticed the resignation in his eyes. “Where’s your car?”

“Why?” Her hand went instantly to the keys in her pocket. She was not about to divulge—

And before she knew what had happened, he had her keys, as well.

“What the hell? You seriously need to stop doing that.”

“Which car is yours?”

“I’m not telling you that,” she fired back.

“You’d better, because I’m driving you home.”

“So that you can find us again and kill us next time?” She wrapped her arms protectively around her cousin, who seemed to be in shock.

He rolled his eyes. “I already know where you both live. If I had wanted to kill you, believe me, I could’ve done it a long time ago.”

She blinked, but when she didn’t answer right away, he said, “Fine. I’ll find it myself.” Then he grabbed both of them by the upper arms and marched them up the street.

Arianna tried to dig her heels in despite her flip-flops, but it did nothing to slow him down. He was too strong. “You can’t do this to us.”

“I’m not doing anything to you.”

She tried wrenching away from him. “Then what do you call this?”

“Well, I’m not leaving the two of you here, if that’s what you mean.”

“I’ll scream.”

“I’d prefer it if you wouldn’t,” he said gruffly, gripping her arm tighter. “I don’t think I need to remind you of what I’m capable of.”

No, he didn’t. It was burned into her retinas like a red-hot branding iron. The fangs, the weapons, that … that guy folding in on himself were images she’d never forget. And she knew how fast he was. If he wanted to, he could slice her throat open before she’d even feel the press of the blade. She’d go along with what he wanted for now and watch for a chance to escape.

They were only about three cars away from the Caddy when she remembered the statistics: women who get into a car with a stranger have just reduced their chances of survival. Getting driven to another location would be a disaster. For both her and Krystal. He could just be telling them he was taking them home when he might have other plans for them entirely.

She pulled again, tried to wrench herself from his grasp, but he was too strong. His grip was like a handcuff around her upper arm. Glancing around, she knew she’d need someone else’s help. Down the street, light from a doorway cut a sudden column of warmth into the darkness.

This was her chance.

So, for the second time tonight, she yelled.

GODDAMN IT, he was helping her. Adding another human into the mix would only complicate things further.

“Quiet,” he ordered.

But she didn’t. He slid his hand down to grasp hers and felt that familiar snap of human energy. But rather than calming him, it was like a triple jolt of caffeine, instantly jacking his heart rate up, just as it had done the first time he touched her.

What the fuck?

First the woman at the club, now this one? Was being hypersensitive to a human’s energies and blood just another sign of reverting? Needing more might only be part of the problem. Jesus, he’d have to work fast, otherwise he could really lose control. He grabbed Krystal’s hand, as well.

Calm down, he pushed into both of their heads. I’m only here to help.

The girl relaxed, but the woman didn’t. “Hey, you,” she yelled to a guy who was headed to his car parked down the street.

Panic ripped through him. What in the hell was going on? Why hadn’t the thought suggestion worked? He couldn’t remember that ever happening before. “Stop,” he commanded her, jerking her close. “I’m not hurting you, nor do I plan to.”

She hit his chest with an oomph. “Then let us go.”

The girl was staring at both of them, a bewildered look plastered to her face. If he didn’t act fast, her memory plant may not hold. He’d have to take more drastic measures.

So he did the only thing he could think of.

He leaned down and kissed the woman.

She gasped as his mouth covered hers, struggled against him at first.

An asshole move for sure, but what choice did he have? It would shut her up as he implanted a thought suggestion. The intimate contact would surely make it take hold this time.

Even though he was prepared, another powerful jolt of electricity charged into his body. His lips tingled, his face heated up, his bones felt as if they were turning to rubber. Fire raced through his body, igniting just about everything. His fingers. His toes. And a few key places in between.

Damn. What the hell is going on with him? Is this what reverting feels like?

If so, no wonder it was so compelling. Her energies were rejuvenating him like a hit of adrenaline or a megadose of caffeine.

The woman’s mouth was hot on his and tasted faintly of some Italian spices and … Bubble gum? He’d have guessed she’d be more of a mint-gum person. Soft waves of her auburn hair brushed across his face. It smelled like honey. Or maybe that was her gum. Everything about her was tantalizing.

But he could not—would not—give in to it. Struggling not to get lost in the sensation, he forced himself to think of what he needed to do. He’d wipe her memory, take the two of them home, then get the hell away from her forever. Everything about this woman was way too dangerous.

He no longer cared that Krystal reminded him of his sister. Like most sweetbloods, she’d probably succumb to an unscrupulous vampire at some point in her life. There was nothing he could do to prevent it. He’d have her name taken off his list and put on another Guardian’s. Let someone else keep tabs on her, just as long as it wasn’t him. The long-ago guilt he’d harbored about his sister seemed much less important than his survival in the here and now.

“Shh,” he whispered against her lips, working his way past her mental barriers. He was vaguely aware that this felt different, as well, but then he couldn’t recall doing a mind wipe on a human host during a kiss without putting his hands on her temple. He quickly implanted the thought suggestion.

You have nothing to worry about. You saw a street fight, that’s all. I came along and broke it up.

Her body relaxed just a touch, her free hand no longer pressing against his chest in an effort to get away.

Thank God, it appeared to be working. Finally.

He slipped into his usual mode with a woman and let his hand go to the small of her back, just above the curve of her bottom. She didn’t push away. If he weren’t holding on to the girl, he’d have threaded his fingers through the woman’s luxurious curls to caress the back of her neck or cupped her ass to pull her hips closer. But he didn’t. Despite his reputation, he did have a few scruples.

And then, because he couldn’t help it, You’re kissing me because you’re grateful for my assistance. You and your cousin were in terrible danger.

Only when he stepped away from her was he aware that her arms had gone around his neck at some point during the kiss. She blinked, touched her lips with the tips of her fingers, as if confused by what just happened.

“What—what was that?”

“You tell me,” he said, shrugging. “You were the one who kissed me.”

Her cheeks colored to a lively shade of pink. “I—I did? But I don’t understand … how?”

“How? Well, if you’d like another demonstration, I’d be happy to oblige.”

The combination of a cough and a nervous laugh bubbled from her lips. “I’m grateful for your help, but … ah … that’s not necessary.” It took two tries to get her hair tucked behind her ear. She was clearly unaccustomed to doing what she thought she’d done—willingly kissing a complete stranger.

Thank God the mind wipe took this time. He didn’t know what he would’ve done otherwise. Give him a knife and a Darkblood and he was golden, but anything that needed a careful hand or any kind of finesse wasn’t his deal.

After tonight, hell most definitely had a special place waiting for him. They were probably having his name engraved now.

The woman grabbed her cousin and held her close. “Are you okay?” she asked, stroking the girl’s hair. “I’m so sorry you had to see that fight. The city usually isn’t like this. I promise.”

“I’m okay,” Krystal said.

Though relieved that the memory implant had taken hold, he was still confused. The woman made it sound as if the girl wasn’t from around here. “She’s visiting you?”

“No. She moved in with me two months ago.”

Right before she’d been kidnapped, he realized. But that didn’t surprise him. It wasn’t safe for sweetbloods to live in big cities, where vampires were concentrated in order to be close to human hosts, and tonight proved that. She’d be better off way out in the country, where it was less likely she’d run into vampires.

“Where did she live before she moved in with you?”

“In a small farming town in eastern Washington.” Perfect. “Then she needs to move back. The city is no place for a girl like her.”

“She can’t right now. I’m the only family she’s got for the time being.”

Apprehension knotted his gut. This sweetblood girl had no other options but to stay in the city.

“I’m Arianna Wells, by the way,” she said, holding out her hand.

He pretended not to see it and tucked his hands into his pockets, instead. He really didn’t want to experience her energy again. He was barely holding it together as it was. “Jackson Foss. Nice to meet you.” Changing the subject, he asked, “How far away do you live?” Although he knew the answer, he still needed to pretend he didn’t. She wouldn’t remember that he’d already admitted knowing her address.

“About twelve blocks north.”

“Good, I’ll see you safely home, then.”

“This is your car?” he asked as they approached a decades-old Cadillac parked half on and half off the sidewalk. Its pale yellow paint was chipping, one of the hubcaps was missing, the back bumper was askew and a dent in the back passenger door made him wonder if it even opened.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, for one thing, who parked it?”

“You just broke up a gang fight and you’re concerned about my parallel parking?”

He laughed. “It’s kind of a piece of shit, if you want to know my honest opinion. It isn’t what I had expected from you.” He hadn’t really considered what he was expecting, just that it wasn’t this.

“I actually don’t recall asking for your ‘honest opinion.’” She cocked an eyebrow. Even though he’d wiped her mind and planted some completely self-serving thoughts, he liked that she stood up to him. “That is, if you want me to be honest with you.”

Okay, she had a point. “Fair enough.”

He opened the passenger door and waited for them to climb in.

“You’re driving us?” Krystal asked.

“Yes. I’ll either come back for my truck on foot or have one of my associates pick me up.” He shut the door and jogged around to the driver’s side.

Arianna probably loved this old thing because of its sentimental value, he thought as he slid in behind the wheel. Maybe it used to belong to someone she really cared about. Her grandfather? The boat of a car did look like the kind that had belonged to an old duffer who met the boys at the neighborhood coffee shop for an early breakfast before playing eighteen holes. He’d probably kept his clubs in the large trunk and set his hat on the back ledge. No doubt she couldn’t bear to part with it. But what did she expect his or anyone else’s reaction would be? There was no denying it. The car was a total junker.

“Unfortunately,” she said, “what’s under the hood runs well. That’s all that matters.”

He didn’t quite follow her. Had he heard correctly? “Why is it unfortunate? I’d think it’d be a good thing that the car runs well, despite what it looks like on the outside.” On the seats, he noticed duct tape covering several tears in the vinyl, too.

She looked a little sheepish. “Never mind.”

CHAPTER FOUR

ARIANNA’S PENCIL SLIPPED OUT of her hands as she walked past a row of cubicles in the accounting section of the Xtark offices. As she stooped to pick it up, all the files she carried fell to the floor, papers scattering everywhere.

Damn. She was totally discombobulated and distracted today.

Having misplaced her phone somehow, this was turning out to be the worst day ever. Normally she didn’t need to come into the office two days in a row, but there was another meeting. One of the new assistants had been let go yesterday. Apparently, she hadn’t divulged that she was a writer and she had social-media pages using her pseudonym. They’d fired her without giving her a chance to explain.

“Does anyone else have any secrets they’d like to confess?” the VP in charge of operations had asked in such a patronizing tone that Arianna had wanted to punch him. She was pretty sure that would’ve gotten her fired.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Carter had muttered under his breath.

She’d almost laughed out loud. She was pretty certain that that would have landed her in hot water, too.

And to top things off, she’d slept crappy. She’d tossed and turned, and had some really bizarre dreams—one of them involving the really hot guy she’d met last night. When she awoke, she had a major kink in her neck and muscle aches that were so entrenched that even a strong cup of coffee and two Tylenol hadn’t helped.

Where was that damn phone? she wondered as she gathered up the papers. She’d searched her bedroom where she always plugged it in to charge on her nightstand, then the kitchen counters, even all the cracks and crevices in the Caddy. She distinctly remembered having it when she interviewed Blake and when she picked up Krystal, but hell if she could find it now.

Seeing that gang fight must’ve been more traumatic that she’d thought. She had to have dropped it somewhere in all the chaos. After she got out of here, she’d go back to the area to see if she could find it, even if the search did seem futile. If it was there, somebody probably had picked it up by now and was making calls to the Netherlands. Even though it was password protected, hackers had their ways. At least it hadn’t rained again last night. Maybe the man who’d broken up the fight had seen it. Could he have picked it up?

Her face heated up at the thought of him. She hadn’t really kissed him, had she?

His full lips had been soft yet commanding against hers. His chest strong and muscular under the palm of her flattened hand. She’d even felt the beating of his heart.

She’d planned only to give him a quick peck and was caught off guard when the kiss turned out to be so much more. He obviously hadn’t been surprised by that turn of events because without hesitation, he’d slipped his tongue past the seam of her lips and forced her mouth open. And she’d let him.

What had caused her to do something outrageous like that? It just wasn’t like her. Sure, the guy was really hot, but she normally wasn’t the swooning type.

Though his hair was tied back, a few multicolored strands had grazed her cheeks as he leaned over her. What kind of guy would color his hair like that? she mused. Sure, it looked great and she was pretty sure he knew that. There was no doubt that he was the kind of guy who liked attention. And he was obviously very practiced when it came to having strange women kiss him, too.

Good looks and charm typically meant nothing to her, thanks to her father. It was a sugar high that left you temporarily elated until reality set back in and you got practical. And Arianna was practical to a fault. So why the hell had she kissed him? She grabbed the pencil she’d dropped and held it so tightly that it snapped.

“Need some help?”

She looked up to see Carter step out of the elevator. He leaned heavily on his cane and approached slowly, as if each next step could cause him to fall.

“Nah, I’m fine,” she replied as she picked up the last of the files.

As she got into step beside him, matching his pace, she noticed his pained expression. “You okay?” He looked a little worse than he had this morning.

He grunted. “Nothing that a medical miracle couldn’t take care of.”

Although she wasn’t privy to all the details, she knew that Carter was suffering from a debilitating disease that only seemed to be getting worse. It had to be really frustrating for him, especially since he used to be really active, running marathons, climbing mountains, kayaking the sound. When she first started at Xtark, she’d seen pictures in his office of the time he and his buddies summited Mount Rainier. He’d looked healthy, vibrant and happy. The past few times she’d been in his office, she didn’t see the photos and had wondered if he’d stashed them away. She certainly didn’t blame him for not wanting a reminder of what he used to be capable of doing.

“Sorry to hear that,” she said, keeping her voice low as they walked past the customer-service department where dozens of CSRs with headsets were answering calls. Xtark might make her mad a lot of the time, but they did put out some very popular games, including the violent and gory Hollow Grave. Plus, they didn’t outsource, which she appreciated, though it probably wasn’t due to their desire to support the local economy and workers, but because they didn’t trust anyone who wasn’t directly under their control.

God, she was in a bad mood today. Xtark paid her well and was a pretty decent company to work for … as long as you played by their rules. If she didn’t like it, she could walk. One thing was certain—she needed to get a serious attitude adjustment. Maybe that was what she needed. A vacation.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m learning to deal with the hand I’ve been dealt, because when we die, we die alone.” He sounded so matter-of-fact; was that what happened when you were faced with no alternatives?

For an instant, she considered her own mortality. How would she live her life if her days were numbered or if she knew her independence would soon be gone? One thing was certain. She sure as hell wouldn’t be working for Xtark.

“Are you just coming back from the doctor’s office now?” She knew Carter had weekly visits to monitor the progression of the disease. Why wasn’t he working remotely, the way she did most of the time? Surely it would be easier for him working from home.

Seeing what life was like for him made her feel pretty lousy for being frustrated about her job. He put up with a lot more on a daily basis than she did. Just getting to work had to be a bitch.

“The very place, yes.”

She didn’t want to turn into one of those people in the lunchroom who griped about everything. In fact, this morning, one of the CSRs who looked too young to have even graduated college yet had laughed at Carter after he left the room. She’d said it was disgusting how his shirt wasn’t long enough to cover his muffin top. Arianna had quickly retrieved her yogurt from the refrigerator and left them to gossip on their own. She wished she’d told the young woman to grow up, that Xtark wasn’t like her sorority house where members were chosen simply because they shopped at Nordstrom. Carter was a computer genius who not only was one of the lead designers of Hollow Grave, but also built Xtark’s popular online forums. If it weren’t for him and what he’d done for the company, that young woman probably wouldn’t have a job.

But she hadn’t said anything. Seeing him now emphasized how shallow and mean some people could be. And she should’ve known better. Growing up as the girl who saw shadows move, who tried to tell everyone that monsters did exist, hadn’t exactly made her popular. More like an outcast who was made fun of until she’d learned to keep her mouth shut. Carter, however, didn’t have that choice. Next time, she vowed to speak up and defend him.

When they got to his office, she hesitated, looked around. “Can I talk to you a sec?”

“Sure.” They stepped inside and she closed the door.

“Do you know if there’s a way to find a lost phone? You know, some kind of GPS device that can track down its whereabouts?”

“Yes,” Carter said as he pulled his desk chair out and sat down with a heavy sigh of relief. “But the app would need to be on the phone before it was lost or stolen.”

She cursed under her breath.

“Why? I take it you lost your phone?”

“Yes, and it’s driving me crazy not having it. I suppose if it doesn’t turn up in the next few days, I’ll have to get a new one.” She rubbed her neck. Her throbbing muscle aches weren’t getting any better, either. “Normally I’m not very forgetful, so it’s really frustrating.” Although they were alone in his office, she lowered her voice, anyway. “Hey, I don’t know if you’ve been following Paranormalish lately, but I was interviewing one of the boys involved in the disappearance of the high-school student near the Devil’s Backbone.”

“Sounds vaguely familiar.”

“I know you set up my cloud account, but to be honest with you, I’ve totally forgotten how to access it via the computer. Although the interview wasn’t great, I did take a few photos that I think people will be interested in seeing. Believe it or not, the kid looks just like Tai Simmons. The interview sucked, but I figured I’d post a picture or two and get some good laughs.”

“T-Si?” Carter scoffed. “You looking to expand your readership into the teen-girl segment of the population?”

“I know,” she said, laughing. “But it’s the only hook I can think of, since we didn’t go out to the disappearance site. It’s not like I’ve got any appropriately ominous photos to share.”

Carter laughed and started scribbling instructions. “So, did you find out any additional information on what happened?”

She cast a quick glance at the door to make sure it was closed tightly. Even though she had been the one to bring up the subject, it still made her nervous talking about Paranormalish at work. And especially after this morning’s announcement.

“I didn’t learn much more than what I knew before.” She rehashed a few of the details with him. “The thing that nags at me, though, is that the boy disappeared on the same night that Krystal went AWOL. I know it sounds far-fetched, but I can’t help wondering if there’s a connection somehow.”

“Krystal?”

Hadn’t she told him her cousin was living with her and what had happened? She could’ve sworn she had. “You know the girl I’ve written about on the blog, the one who went missing for a few days then mysteriously showed up back home with no recollection of her whereabouts while she was gone?”

“That’s Krystal?” He handed her the paper.

“Yep. My cousin. I just couldn’t tell readers that. She’d only been staying with me for about a week when she suddenly didn’t return home one day. I, like, freaked out. I’m surprised you don’t remember. I was a basket case.”

“It’s not like I haven’t had problems of my own,” he said tersely.

Although taken aback by his tone, she decided to just ignore it. “I was worried about her, but I didn’t know if she was being a wild, irresponsible teenager or if something really bad had happened to her.”

“What about her parents?”

Arianna shrugged. “She doesn’t know her father, and her mom has some serious substance-abuse problems. That’s why she came to live with me in the first place. My aunt was going into rehab and Krystal had nowhere to live for a while. I got a call from the State saying she’d be put into a foster home unless I could take her. She’s doing a home study–type high-school program, so she didn’t have to quit school to move over here.”

“Did you call the police?”

“Yeah, but they figured she was a runaway and would turn up at some point. Still makes me mad thinking about it. I searched everywhere, checked her phone records and computer to see where she last was headed, but everything was a dead end. I had just about given up hope when several days later, she turns up as if nothing had happened.” Not exactly. Krystal arrived home, gaunt and exhausted, but at least she was alive. After eating like a horse, she slept for almost a full day.

Carter looked confused. “She doesn’t remember anything?”

“Nope. Even now she doesn’t. It’s like an alien abduction or something, where all this stuff is done to you, then they return you home with no memory of anything ever happening.”

Carter was writing on the scratch paper. In addition to various geometric designs and the number ninety-two—the year he graduated from high school, maybe?—he had written Krystal’s name in block letters, though he spelled it with a C. As he continued to listen, he added rows and rows of stripes to each letter. Who knew he was such a doodler?

“And when I realized that the high-school boy at the Devil’s Backbone disappeared on the same night as Krystal, I couldn’t help but wonder if the two events were connected somehow.”

He stopped writing and let his pen rest on the paper. A large, red ink spot formed under the tip like a spreading bloodstain before he lifted the pen and looked at her. There was something in his expression that she couldn’t quite read. “But there’s a big difference. She came back. He didn’t. If they were connected events, that doesn’t make sense. Either they’d both return home or they’d both stay missing.”

He could go ahead and think the two events weren’t related. It wouldn’t do anything to change her opinion that they were. Two kids roughly the same age didn’t just go missing on the same night. There had to be something more.

“Yeah, but I still can’t shake that feeling. Over the years, I’ve come to trust my instincts and my instincts tell me there’s more to this story than we know. Which leads me back to those pictures.”

“Oh, the pictures. I’d offer to pull up the account from here, but—”

“Yeah, I know. Big Brother is watching.” She tucked the scrap of paper into a pocket and turned to go. “Thanks, Carter. You’re the best.”

THE UNMISTAKABLE ODOR of rotten meat wafted through the crowd and Jackson felt a rush of I-told-you-so. Before they got here, Mitch had protested going to the Pink Salon a second night in a row, but Jackson had needed energy on the sly and this was as good a place as any to get it.

He whipped his head in the direction of the smell and held up his fist, signaling silence.

“Darkblood pair. Eleven o’clock.” The words, barely audible, hissed out of his throat.

On the far side of the dance floor, past the elevated cages with stripper poles, two figures dressed in matching trench coats rounded the corner in unison and stopped in front of a booth where several youthling couples sat with two obviously clueless human males. Clueless, because if they had any idea about the true nature of their party buddies or the goal of the new arrivals, they’d hoof it out of here.

“Looks like the cockroaches have come out of hiding, after all.” Then, slipping into the West Texas accent of his youth, he added, “Let’s go have us some fun.”

Loosening his coat to make his weapons more accessible, he elbowed his way through the long line of scantily clad drunk people waiting to dance on one of the elevated platforms. The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea. Even those who had their backs to him stepped out of his way. A dozen steps later, he hesitated.

He should probably let Mitch do this. Although the guy had spent years teaching at Council headquarters, he hadn’t been in the field much. A club takedown would be a good, real-world experience for him.

He turned to his partner. “Wanna handle this one? I’ll ride shotgun.”

The guy’s baby blues lit up with excitement. “Hell, yeah.”

“Know what to do?”

“I’ll shove a silvie into their—”

“Whoa. Hold on there, Slick. First of all, do you have a second knife?”

Mitch extended his hand, exposing the tip of a barely used, Agency-issue blade strapped to the inside of his wrist under his sleeve. “Got a couple of bullet dispensers though, including—” he patted his pocket “—my baby Beretta and a bad boy I’m dying to use in the field.”

“Nope. No heat, only silvies. Here, take one of mine.” Jackson slipped him a silver alloy stiletto—one of his backup blades, not his good one. No one touched his dragon blade. “And don’t use it inside the club. One wrong slip under a rib and they’ll charcoal in front of all these witnesses.”

Mitch raised an eyebrow. “Can’t you scrub them if that happens? Do a mind wipe?”

“I’m good, but I ain’t that good.”

Even newly energized, Jackson wasn’t able to do the amount of head-fucking it’d take to wipe the memories of all the club goers. It’d take four or five Guardians at least. Maybe down in one of the UV-intense regions, where human blood and energy tended to make vampires more aggressive and their skills more pronounced, but not in Seattle, where almost every human host was vitamin-D deficient. Mitch hadn’t been working in the field all that long and he’d recently spent time in Australia with Dom, so he’d made the assumption that things worked the same here. Not true.

Besides, this wasn’t that kind of operation. Although he had to admit, it would be fun in a Wild West shoot-’em-up sort of way.

“If you do have to fork one, go low in the belly or give ‘em a kidney shot from behind. Just don’t nick a heart. We’ll finish them in the alley.”

They quickly worked out a plan.

“Okay, let’s rock,” Jackson said.

Mitch melted into the crowd and Jackson eased around the perimeter of the dance floor toward an exit at the back, never dropping his eyes from the Darkblood pair. He palmed his knife, flicked open the blade with a click and waited in the shadows near the door. Mitch approached the table from the other side and sidled up behind the two DBs. They stiffened. Several long seconds later, they began to shuffle toward Jackson, obviously being herded at the points of Mitch’s knives and his persuasive way with words.

Jackson moved deeper into the shadows, trying simply to blend into the darkness, not meld with it. There were too many potential human witnesses around for him to just disappear. But when he stepped backward, he bumped into a young mixed couple making out—a human female wearing a skimpy sequined halter top and thigh-high boots, and a young male vampire in a letterman’s jacket.

Jesus, the kid didn’t look nearly old enough for the Thirst to have started. But then how was he to tell? At over a century old, he thought any born vampire under the age of thirty looked like a child.

Jackson gave the youthling a two-fingered I’m-watching-you gesture followed by a turn-around-and-get-the-hell-out-of-here look. Both the human and vampire complied.

The bass from a speaker pounded so loudly in his ears he wasn’t sure what was the beating of his heart and what was music. He flexed his empty hand. Nothing like a good altercation to sand off the dark, rough edges. Today, he woke up feeling more out of sorts than normal. It had to be the blood of those two women last night. First, the sun-rich blood of the woman in the private salon last night, then Arianna.

Mitch escorted the Darkbloods into the hallway, calmly, quietly.

Niiice. If they could wrap this up quickly, he could go back in and hang out.

The two DBs moved in unison, their black coats swirling around their ankles. Did these losers think a simple pickup awaited them in the alley? That was only for routine reverts, vampires who needed a little reminder about the laws of their kind. Not members of the Darkblood Alliance who didn’t abide by Council law, who thought it went against the laws of nature not to feed from and kill humans.

No, guys like these two got the special treatment.

The kind that involved a slip of a special blade and some ashes.

But just as Mitch and his two new BFFs approached, all hell broke loose out on the dance floor behind them. Shouting erupted above the music and Jackson heard the sound of breaking glass. A few chairs went flying.

A fight, probably in the cage line—people hated waiting their turn to go on display.

The screech of the DJ’s record blasted like squealing tires through the speakers. That was when Mitch glanced away for a split second. It was the only invitation the DBs needed.

Mitch hit the ground, sputtering from an elbow to the chest, and the two charged the exit, heading straight for Jackson. They were fast, probably jacked up on Sweet. Jackson shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, ready to spring.

Yeah, bitches, bring it on.

Light glittered off something in his peripheral view. Damn. The human female. Those complicated things. He flattened himself against the wall and let the DBs pass him.

One glance at his partner coughing on all fours confirmed the guy just had the wind knocked out of him.

“Your silvie,” Mitch managed to say.

What? Darkbloods had his blade? “Goddamn it.”

Jackson ran out after the bastards into the alley behind the club. He wasn’t about to let them get away, otherwise they’d be back to prey on another unsuspecting human some other night. DBs were always on the prowl for people with the extremely rare sweetblood. Although their two human male targets inside the club weren’t sweetbloods—Jackson would’ve been able to smell that—chances were, one or both of them had a fairly uncommon blood type. One that the DBs were after.

Besides, they had his knife. No one messed with his knives.

In just a few strides, he got to the short one first. With a roundhouse kick, Jackson’s boot landed squarely on the side of the guy’s head, snapping his wraparound sunglasses and collapsing him to the ground. A well-placed shove, a little hitch with his blade, and the DB was already charcoaling.

One down, one to go. Jackson retrieved his weapon from the body.

The other one made it almost to the street by the time Jackson caught up with him next to a Dumpster. He jumped onto the guy’s back and clamped him in a choke hold. Was this the one with his knife? He didn’t care if the guy had a Darkblood blade; they were poorly made and fairly ineffective. But a nick from Jackson’s own blade would be an entirely different story.

The fucker spun around, clutching at Jackson’s biceps, but he didn’t succeed in loosening them. Damn, he was strong, though. Much stronger than the other one. Probably from the Sweet. Jackson hitched his arms tighter and the guy choked. As with any vampire who lived on an all-blood diet, the air from his lungs reeked, and Jackson tried to keep his head turned away as much as possible. DBs used the stench as a calling card of sorts. If you were looking for a little action, you knew you could score a hit from the guys who smelled like a Texas meat locker with a faulty refrigeration unit.

Being this close, Jackson would need a serious shower after this was over. The DB continued to struggle, but when that didn’t work, he fell to the pavement with Jackson’s arm still firmly wrapped around his neck.

“Take it down if you can’t handle it on your feet,” Jackson said mockingly through clenched teeth. What a fool.

Thanks to his black belt in Brazilian jujitsu, Jackson preferred the ground and pound, anyway. At the first opportunity, he wrapped his legs viselike around the guy’s torso, locked his ankles in place and squeezed. The loser groaned loudly. Like a boa constrictor taking advantage of every exhale, Jackson’s thighs compressed him farther.

With a flick of his wrist, Jackson positioned the tip of his knife on a precise spot between the guy’s ribs—he could find it with his eyes closed.

Just as he was about to finish the job, he saw the flash of a blade and felt the sharp sting of silver on his forearm.

Was that from his own knife? The one lifted from Mitch?

Energy began to pour out of his system. Pain instantly radiated outward. He had his answer.

His grip on the guy’s throat weakened. With a few more beats of his heart, Jackson knew the effect of the silver would be coursing throughout his body and he wouldn’t be able to hang on. Like hell if he’d let this one get away. It’d only be a matter of time before this blood-dealing loser was back to work on the streets of Seattle, enticing vampires to revert. Ply a susceptible vampire with enough blood and the old cravings of their ancestors—the uncontrollable kind, the blood-sucking, energy-slogging kind—would be too strong to ignore.

With a final surge of adrenaline, Jackson gripped the handle with both hands and angled the point upward.

“Eat this, you son of a bitch.”

And in one mighty, satisfying jerk, the blade found its mark.

Footsteps pounded on the cobblestones just as Jackson rolled away, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to avoid the charcoaling body. A thin layer of ash covered the toes of his Lucchese ostrich-skin boots and he tried to brush it off. He wasn’t picky about a lot of things, but these boots set him back almost a thousand bucks. He’d bought them to impress his parents when he showed up at the ranch wearing them—they were the only kind of boots his father wore—but they hadn’t even noticed. Still, he loved them and didn’t want them covered with Darkblood stink.

“Holy shit, are you okay, man?”

“Good timing,” he growled, ignoring his partner’s outstretched hand as he pushed himself to his feet.

“The little one elbowed me right in the gut. Couldn’t breathe for a minute. Damn, you worked these guys over fast.”

With his back turned, Jackson examined his injury. It was more like a scratch, really. He was weak, yes, but like carb loading before a marathon, all the human energy he’d slogged tonight should prevent the effects of the silver from being too serious. Or at least he hoped it would. The pain had made its way to his shoulder now and he grimaced.

Mitch’s eyes widened. “Are you okay? He got you, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, with my blade.”

“I’m sorry, man. I should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve anticipated something like that happening. I heard the noise, saw shit flying, and I must’ve gotten distracted for a split second.”

“Don’t worry about it. Darkbloods on Sweet are unpredictable.”

Mitch pulled out his cell phone.

“Who the hell are you calling?” Jackson asked, though he was pretty damn sure he knew the answer.

“A medico team.”

“No, you’re not. This is nothing.” He couldn’t let the medical staff see him in this weakened state and do any testing. Who knew what the results would show.

Mitch eyed him skeptically. “You don’t look so good. Are you sure?”

“Yep. I’m fine.”

He tried not to reveal just how much pain he was in as he turned toward the nondescript back door of the club. Mitch already thought he was a stud when it came to women and fighting the bad guys. Might as well make it a hat trick, let him think this didn’t hurt like a motherfucker. “Now, come on, let’s get inside and take care of those reverts.”

“Reverts? You mean those guys at the table with the humans?”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “No, Cinderella and her evil stepsisters.”

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