Dragon Blues

―Edie is brilliant! I love her snarky characters, the humor, the sex, the incredible story and the perfect narration she is able to spin into a single novel. I was on the edge of my seat while savoring another Ramer masterpiece! This comes highly recommended!‖ – Aimee Coffee Table Press “Edie is a great writer and pens a wonderful story.” -Blodeuedd Book Girl of Mur-y Castell Once a dragon… Saxophone player Noah Long shifted from dragon to human 2500 years ago, but the dragon blood still coursing through his veins has kept him healthy and virile. Now his secret is out, and the man who discovered it will do anything to make Noah‘s blood his own. Noah‘s only ally is martial arts expert Lila Fox, who heats up the fire in his belly…and his heart. Twice a killer… Lila Fox‘s first kill was at age sixteen after her stepfather put her mother in a wheelchair. Fourteen years later, she kills another abuser to save a woman‘s life. When the man who wants Noah‘s blood kills her sister, she can‘t let the death go unanswered. She teams up with the strangely compelling Noah, and discovers he‘s not all man and has a few tricks of his own.

Dragon Blues (Dragon Series, Book 1)

Edie Ramer Smashwords Edition Copyright 2011 by Edie Ramer This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Chapter One

The man entering Noah‘s shop may as well have had THIEF carved into his forehead. He slunk in, back hunched, eyes darting, hunting for the most valuable items. Noah stood from behind his raised desk in the corner, the cool of the Chou Dynasty white jade dragon warming in his palms. Not worried, but watchful. He‘d been robbed once. Never again. A shadow behind the thief quivered. The thief stepped aside, revealing a woman, slender and vulnerable as a rose in a snowstorm. He looked into her eyes and his breath hissed in. He went cold. Numb. He‘d never seen this woman before. Yet he recognized her in a way he couldn‘t explain or understand. Looking at her, he saw another woman with a different shape and a different face from a different lifetime. A woman he‘d never wanted to see again. And he knew they were one and the same. Beauty. She looked at him, her eyes as big and frightened as ever. But not of him. Not this time. Not like all those years ago, jumbled together with revulsion and fascination. This time, her fear was reserved for her thief companion, peeking quick glances at him, her body shrinking. Like a beaten dog, making herself smaller, less of a target. A meow cut through the air. Mystic arced off of the top of the bookshelves next to the window, a black streak. Her dismount deserved a perfect ten, but Beauty jumped and squealed, and the thief jumped and cursed. ―May I help you?‖ Noah asked, hearing his voice roll out like a low A on a tenor sax. The two jumped again. ―Fuck,‖ the man said. ―You scared me.‖ Noah arched his left eyebrow and waited. The woman stared at him. He kept his gaze on the man, but he saw her, all right. The numbness still clamped hold of his body, his emotions in lockdown, his mind whirring like a super-computer. She didn‘t recognize him in this life. Didn‘t remember what she had done, what he was. She didn‘t have his advantage—or disadvantage. Unlike him, she‘d always been human. Besides, he was different now. After the last couple thousand years in this ungainly and unbeautiful body, he was almost wholly human. No longer the ―other.‖ The Beast she‘d once named him. In Nashville, the Buckle of the Bible Belt and the Music Capital of the U.S., Noah was an

anomaly with his sharp features, angular body and hair black with seal-like sleekness. But despite his unusual looks, he fit in. His shop, Dragon‘s Lair, fit in. His cave in the middle of the pulsing city with his hoard of treasures and his music. That‘s why he‘d returned for the third time in sixty years. The music called him. The one true love of his life. It was the most he could hope for. Beauty pasted on a smile that wouldn‘t fool a toddler, her eyes too big, her pupils dilated. An addict‘s eyes. A great sadness caught Noah by the throat. For her, not himself. She still lived up to her name with her long dark hair and her slender nymph body and the face that could have been carved on a man‘s heart. Not his heart. Not anymore. Maybe not ever. The numbness melted, leaving pity and weariness. ―I‘d like to see some books,‖ she said. He gestured at the wall across the room, closest to the blues nightclub next door, with the comfortable chair in front of it where he sometimes sat at night, his eyes closed as the music thrummed through the walls and the floors and his veins. It was already late afternoon, the yellow-orange October sun lowering and the silvery moon rising. People bustled on the sidewalk outside the store, just off of Elliston Place, Nashville‘s Rock Block. Going home, going out to eat, going somewhere. Making hectic music with the pounding of shoes, the buzz of voices, the muted roars of cars and buses and trucks. ―Can‘t you show me?‖ Beauty‘s voice softened, seduced, and she tilted her head, her eyelids lowered. But her gaze flickered toward the thief, a man too thin and too wired, with vertical lines etched on his cheeks and a yellowish tinge to his complexion. He also had hair the color of a wheat field and eyes like a dusky sky. The kind of soulful looks foolish women swooned over. ―You‘re sure you want to do this?‖ Noah asked. Beauty started, and her gaze flickered back to him, her eyes big. She licked her upper lip and nodded. ―Yes,‖ she said, her voice a whisper. ―Yes, I want to do this.‖ He moved ahead of her, silently and swiftly. His back to the thief, Noah wove through the stands displaying paintings and statues of dragons in all shapes and sizes. Behind him, he heard the shuffle of hard-soled shoes as the thief skulked toward the display case on the back wall next to his desk. Noah stopped in front of the books. A sound came to his ears, the thief trying to slide open the locked glass doors and failing. Noah faced Beauty and stretched his mouth into a smile. Her eyes flared wide and she quaked, her pale skin turning the color of concrete. ―Are you looking for anything in particular?‖ he asked. ―Um.‖ She swallowed and shot a fearful glance toward her companion before peering up at Noah. ―A book on dragons.‖ ―All the books are about dragons.‖ He shifted and caught sight of the thief at his desk, staring

at the Chou Dynasty white jade dragon Noah had received today, his body still as death. Then the thief reached out to touch it. Anger simmered inside Noah. He took a step forward, and a hand clasped his arm above his elbow. He stopped. Turned. Gazed down at Beauty‘s face and saw the fear he remembered all too well. Her fingers quivered on his arm and she dropped her hand. ―A Cornish dragon,‖ she said. ―I‘ve heard of them. I want to read about one.‖ Cornish. Not Welsh, but close. He turned his back on the thief once again. About to reach up to the top shelf, he changed his mind and knelt. From the bottom shelf, he plucked out a thin book with no illuminated pages. One she would probably hate and never read. The Beauty he remembered coveted shiny things. They had been alike that way. She took it from him, glanced down at the covers then up at him again. Her pasted-on smile didn‘t match the panic in her eyes. ―Just what I wanted. Do you have anything else?‖ Movement blurred in the corner of his eye, the thief hurrying toward the door, sending off nervous energy, a frenzied mix of excitement and apprehension. Noah swung his head toward the thief, and Beauty clasped his hand again. ―Scotland.‖ Desperation roughened her voice. ―What about dragons in Scotland?‖ He gazed at her delicately shaped oval face again, her eyes that glittered with desperation. Still looking into those eyes, he reached down and his fingers circled her wrist. The heartbeat in the vein on the underside of her wrist pulsed like a trapped hummingbird. She gasped and jerked her arm back, but he didn‘t let go. ―Scotland is too cold. Dragons like their warmth.‖ Only then did he release her and lunge after the thief with the bulging back pocket, fire churning in his belly. ―Kevin!‖ Beauty shouted. ―He‘s coming after you!‖ A foot from the door, the thief glanced furtively behind him instead of diving for the street. His jaw gaped. Noah knew what he saw. A man surging toward him at an inhuman speed. A man with whirling green and blue eyes. A man not really a man, but a beast. Above man‘s laws. The thief wheeled around and jumped. Too late. Noah clasped a gaunt shoulder. His fingers formed a vise and he held the thief in mid-air, his skinny legs thrashing. The weight became heavy and Noah dropped him. The thief plunged to the marble tiled floor, crying out. Cowering. Staring at Noah with hate and fear, like one of the villagers more than two thousand years ago, coming across him unexpectedly as he‘d sunned on a cliff top. Noah stretched his mouth into a predatory smile. The thief blanched, scrambling back on his scrawny ass until the glass door stopped him. Behind Noah, Beauty whimpered. ―Don‘t hurt him,‖ she said. ―Please, don‘t hurt him.‖ Her words spun Noah back in time to the Welsh forest. He smelled the pines, the rich earth, heard the twitter of excited birds, felt the sun warm on his face and the breeze cool on his scales.

Then another whimper, this one male, tumbled Noah back to his shop. The rage whooshed out of him, like liquid from a wineskin ripped by a Damascus sword. Leaving him deflated, empty. The thief wasn‘t worth it. She wasn‘t worth it. ―Give me my treasures back and I‘ll let you live.‖ He heard his voice, tired and flat and deadly. The thief scrambled to his feet and dug his hands into his pockets. The malice in his expression warned Noah, and he stepped forward, into the thief‘s space. ―You break what‘s mine, and I‘ll break you.‖ ―Don‘t, Kevin.‖ The woman‘s voice shook. ―He means it, I can tell. Give him the stuff.‖ Kevin shot her a glare, his features twisted with anger, before holding out the Chou Dynasty white jade dragon. Noah took it. ―The other pockets, too.‖ The thief‘s malevolency tainted the air Noah breathed. In his belly, embers of fire smoldered. Until Beauty and Kevin left, the beast inside him wouldn‘t sleep. ―That‘s all I got. I swear to God.‖ ―I‘m not your god,‖ Noah said slowly, smoothly, ―so I know you won‘t mind if I check myself.‖ Beauty whimpered again. Kevin glowered at Noah. He shoved his hand into his back pocket and drew out a sterling silver dragon ring with rubies set in the miniature eyes. His lips coiled in a silent snarl, he slapped the ring into Noah‘s palm. Noah folded his fingers over it, the jade dragon in his other hand. The ring was a paltry thing, bought for its appeal rather than its worth, but it was Noah‘s. What was his, he kept. He stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest, and watched Kevin storm out, Beauty scurrying after him. At the last instant, she turned her head and looked straight into Noah‘s eyes. ―I‘m sorry,‖ she said. Then she was gone. Two more people hurrying along the busy street. All of them with someplace to go. Except him. Noah flipped the Open sign to Closed. Triple locked the doors. Turned on the alarm. He trod to the desk, his footsteps nearly soundless, and left the jade dragon and the ring on the desktop instead of locking them away as usual. Tomorrow. He would put them away tomorrow. Something tore at his throat, at his chest. A weight pressed down on his shoulders. Darkness devoured him, and he knew its name. Loneliness. He was a solitary creature by nature, but there was a difference between being alone and lonely. At least this time he knew better than to do something that would make it worse instead of better. He turned off half the lights, then climbed the back staircase to his rooms above the shop. His

furniture in the living room was dark reds and black, and the lamps and the pictures gleamed with touches of gold and silver. A meow came from the black chair in the corner. Mystic, curled up, wisely staying away from the fracas. On the table next to the black chair, a tenor saxophone glimmered in the dusky light. Noah crossed the room, bent and picked Mystic up. Her body was warm, pliant. He sat, draping her on his lap. She allowed him to pet her, her body rumbling with purrs. ―I have you,‖ he said. Usually he had more than one cat, but he‘d seen too many die. Every death wore on his soul. Even beasts had souls, and sometimes lately he thought his was rubbed down to translucency. Like a fine silk cloth, so thin only threads remained. A siren wailed outside. Mystic meowed, jumped off him and padded into the kitchen. He didn‘t follow her. He needed something to fill the gaping emptiness inside him. To smooth his rippled emotions. To bring him peace. A need roared in his chest. Not for food, not for liquor, not for women. Music. That‘s what had kept him sane this all these years. Kept him alive. He picked up the saxophone, the metal smooth beneath his fingers, bringing him a small measure of peace, mending the torn threads of his soul. Then he lifted it to his lips, took a breath, closed his eyes and played ―Is That All There Is?‖ The Peggy Lee version. Slow and sexy and sad. The sounds outside faded, and nothing mattered. Not Beauty, not the thief, not the lonely, lonely years. Just the music that poured through him and out of him. Out of his soul. When he finished, he sat in the chair for long moments as night invaded the room, darkness falling around him like a magician‘s cloak. ―Is that all there is?‖ he whispered to the silent room. ―Is that it?‖ A noise answered, someone knocking on the alley door.

Chapter Two

Lila‘s hand shook as she picked up her phone but she kept her voice light. As if she weren‘t drowning in anguish. ―You need to turn on CNN!‖ Her student, a movie producer who took karate lessons from Lila with her pre-teen daughter, sounded excited. ―They‘re going to show the video again. Honest, I could swear it‘s you.‖ A dozen other students had called already to tell Lila about the resemblance. How long before one of them called the LAPD? Lila looked at the TV in the corner of her living room. For the last hour, since the first call came about the video, the TV had seemed like a rectangular black monster. She picked up the remote and clicked on the power. TVs weren‘t monsters. People were. Today she‘d become one of them. The screen lit up. Jon Stewart was laughing with his head back and his hand over his mouth. She switched to CNN, dread forming inside her. ―It‘s on now!‖ her student said. The screen lit up and Lila heaved with relief. She wasn‘t on the screen yet, just the man and woman gesticulating. The woman, small and dark-haired. Pretty. The man taller and broader, looming over her, his short hair dark, too. ―Look at their body language,‖ a man‘s voice said on the TV, coming from the working end of the camcorder. ―This is going to be awesome.‖ Lila felt a spurt of anger. What kind of creep thought it was fun to film strangers arguing on the sidewalk outside his apartment? ―I have to go,‖ Lila told her student as her stomach tightened, her throat tightened, her nerve ends tightened. She hadn‘t been this twisted inside since she‘d left Nashville six years ago for her beach house in southern California. Her peaceful life shattered faster than she could finish a bowl of ice cream. Staring at the screen, she tossed the phone onto her meditation chair. She wanted to look away, but couldn‘t, her bare feet glommed to her wooden floor as the action unfolded on the screen. At the same time she saw it happen in her mind, reliving those moments in the early afternoon. She‘d been exhilarated, on a runner‘s high despite the L.A. smog. She‘d ignored the five slouching young men who looked at her like she was meat and they were starving hunters. As

she‘d passed them, one called out ―Hey, chica. You hungry? I got a nice juicy chorizo for you to chew on.‖ She hadn‘t flipped them off, though she‗d felt like it. Except for the wannabe studs, the only other people were a couple on the corner a block away. No cars traveled along the street, either. A dead zone, she remembered thinking. Not the kind of neighborhood where she should hang around. But she‘d thought as long as she‘d driven into L.A. to see her acupuncturist, she may as well practice running on concrete for the New York marathon instead of her usual sandy beach track. Her eyes closed, and she was back on that street, running smoothly. The voices from the couple grew louder, especially his. Blunt-edged, each word striking the air like the steel head of a hammer. He leaned forward, intruding into the woman‘s space. She backed off in small, shuffling moves, her hands raised to protect her face. Behind Lila came a spatter of words in Spanish, fast and sharp. By the time she crossed the street, a door slammed and she knew the five stud-lets had retreated into the gray house with peeling paint they‘d been standing in front of. Cowards. Afraid something would happen and they‘d wind up as witnesses. Her strides took her closer to the couple, her tension building, her insides clenching. The man‘s voice grew harder and rougher. Lila came close enough to see his face, see his hand pulling out of his pocket, something in his hand— Oh Christ, oh Christ, oh Christ. ―F—bleep!‖ The cameraman‘s voice and the network‘s bleep jerked Lila back to her living room. Her eyes opened and she was staring at the TV screen. Staring at sunlight glinting on the silver blade of a curved knife. ―He‘s got a knife! Call 911!‖ She wanted to turn her head away, because she knew what was going to happen next. But her limbs were heavy, her muscles locked. The camcorder zoomed in, the man‘s face showing clearly. On his features was a look of glee that sickened Lila. The bastard was feeding on the woman‘s fear. He raised the knife and his upper lip pulled back like an animal‘s. Lila shivered. It was like Satan smiling. Evil sparking in his brown eyes, he sliced the knife downward. The woman screeched, backing up. She tripped, and the slashing blade cut her ear and her shoulder before she hit the sidewalk. Lila closed her eyes to shut out the sight of the blood. But she couldn‘t shut out her memories. She hadn‘t just seen this, she‘d lived it. Now she relived it, instantly back on the L.A. street, smelling fear and poverty and blood. A chill started low in her belly and crawled up her throat. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. She wouldn‘t get involved. She didn‘t know this woman. It wasn‘t up to her to save her. But her body didn‘t listen to her mind. Her running shoes pounded the sidewalk faster. Her arms pumped harder. ―Hurry!‖ the cameraman‘s voice shouted, wrenching her back to the present again. ―He‘s

going to kill her. Oh s—bleep, what the hell is this?‖ Lila‘s eyes snapped open, and she was in her living room again. On the TV screen, a tall blond woman in a yellow T-shirt, black shorts, sunglasses and an Angels cap rushed into the camera range like a comic strip avenger. Vomit surged up in Lila‘s throat and she slapped her hand over her mouth. ―Run!‖ the cameraman shouted. ―Run, lady, run. Don‘t be stupid.‖ Lila swallowed the bile. Too late to run, even if the ghosts from her past had stopped riding her. But they didn‘t stop, back full force on that street, her stepfather‘s rage-red face superimposed over the olive-skinned man‘s hate-filled heavy features. The sounds were there, too. Her mother screaming, high and thin, on and on and on. Her sister sobbing, holding onto Lila. She‘d been the stoic one. The brave one. The strong one. She hadn‘t been much more than a child herself, but someone had to take on that role. Watching the video, she rocked back and forth on her bare feet and held herself tightly, her knuckles pressed into her belly. What good did screaming and sobbing do? Not a damn thing. Then the man on the TV screen turned toward her. Faster than she had anticipated. He stabbed underhand, straight at her TV image. She saw herself leap away, but he was already coming at her. Slashing her. A hot burn scoring her arm. The cameraman shouted. Lila lifted her hand, putting it over her bandaged upper arm. Her gaze locked onto the screen, her body flushed, her heartbeat hammered. She knew what happened next. Knew she‘d looked into the eyes of a madman. She could have grabbed his arm and brought him down, the moves second nature. But in that instant, she‘d had no doubt that as soon as she was gone, he‘d get back up and kill the woman as heartlessly as he‘d step on an ant. As heartlessly as her stepfather had thrown her mother down a twisting flight of stairs. Clamping her jaws together, she watched her TV image leap forward, her arm and wrist straight. Watched as she slammed her knuckles into his throat, the full force of her body behind her thrust. Watched as something caved under her hand. Something vital. His trachea.

Chapter Three

From the other side of the back door, Noah heard gulping noises, a woman‘s sobbing breaths. Beauty. He listened but couldn‘t hear anyone else. Just clatter from the Blues Bar, getting ready for tonight‘s crowd. Muted laughter, the stereo on, playing ―Tupelo‖ by John Lee Hooker. No backup, no band, just Hooker‘s half-spoken, half-singing voice and his guitar, so primal it slid into Noah‘s soul. He opened the door slowly. Carefully. He wasn‘t ready to leave this earth. When he was, he‘d do it his way. Not by a bullet from a cowardly thief. Beauty was sitting on the ground, her knees clasped to her chest, tears tracking down her cheeks. The picture of a waif. Light spilled out of the open door onto her face, the too pale complexion, the split lip, the skin around her eye pink and swelling. ―Help me,‖ she choked out, something wrong with her voice. He looked at her neck. Red fingerprints marked her skin. She let go of her legs and held out her arms to him. ―Help me.‖ He shook his head, and she gave a cry that turned into hacking coughs. He didn‘t back away, but he didn‘t touch her, either. Instead he lifted his head and listened for her cohort, the thief, not trusting her any more than a fox trusted a man with a shotgun. She scrambled to her feet, a small purse dangling from her elbow. ―Kevin isn‘t here. He went crazy on the way back to our hotel and tried to kill me. Someone honked their horn and he ran off.‖ ―Why should I help you?‖ He heard his voice, as dispassionate as a newscaster talking about the latest catastrophe. ―You tried to rob me.‖ She crossed her arms over her upper chest, her shoulders hunching. ―Don‘t you see? That‘s why. He‘ll never think to look for me here. Please. Next time, he‘ll kill me for sure.‖ Her face crumpled. ―He said it‘s my fault that you caught him.‖ He expelled a long breath. It didn‘t give him pleasure to see her broken and beaten, to hear her cry. It didn‘t give him sorrow, either. He felt...nothing. He owed her nothing. The beast in him didn‘t want to let her in. But somewhere during the last two thousand years, the human in him had learned pity. The unwanted emotion stole into him, the way pebbles stole into walking shoes. Unable to disregard it any more than he could peel off this smooth human skin, he backed up to the metal door and gestured her inside. She choked out a sob of relief and limped into the hallway. ―Thank you, thank you.‖ She hiccupped. ―I won‘t stay long, I promise.‖

He locked the door before facing her. ―Can you make it upstairs?‖ She nodded and grabbed the banister. He could see the veins on the back of her hands, her skin as thin and pale as Irish linen. She pulled herself up, one step at a time, her purse slapping her hip. He followed, ready to catch her if she fell. Her black jeans hung as though she‘d lost too much weight too fast. Beneath the back of her long-sleeved top, her shoulder blades stuck out in two sharp wedges. ―I saw your light was on.‖ Her voice was a strangled whisper. ―Do you live alone?‖ ―No.‖ Her breath sucked in. She stiffened and hesitated, halfway up the stairway. ―You met Mystic,‖ he said. Her shoulders relaxed and she pulled herself up another step. ―The cat! She made me jump. I like cats.‖ When they reached the living room, Mystic wasn‘t in sight. She accepted strangers in the shop, but this was her refuge. She didn‘t like to share. Neither did he. ―I don‘t know your name,‖ he said. ―Isabelle Walton.‖ He kept his features impassive. Her name when he‘d first known her had been Isolde. Welsh for ―fair lady.‖ ―Everyone calls me Izzy,‖ she added. ―What‘s your name?‖ ―Noah Long.‖ He bowed his head and upper back. ―Welcome to my home.‖ Tears dampened her eyes. ―You‘re the kindest man I know.‖ He stepped back, because what he felt wasn‘t kindness. It was a wish that she would leave soon. She disturbed his peaceful life, the slow and easy rhythm of his days. Her uninvited arrival interrupted his serenity like a discordant note in a hymn. Then he glimpsed his saxophone on the table next to his favorite chair and recalled that a few moments ago he‘d asked ―Is that all there is?‖ He reminded himself to never ask that question again. Wiping the tears off her cheeks, she asked where the bathroom was. While she used it, he changed the sheets in the guest bedroom. The only person who‘d slept in it for many years was an old blues singer too drunk to remember the name of the hotel where he was staying. And Mystic. Her scent on every bed and every chair in the place. Like Noah, she put her stamp on it all. Her way of saying Mine. From the bathroom came sounds of Izzy opening the drawers and the cupboard below the countertop. Noah couldn‘t think of anything of value in the bathroom. If she was seeking something to steal, she‘d be disappointed. He stepped into the hall and asked if she needed anything. She didn‘t reply for a moment, then called out that she was fine, her voice pitched high. A tone he didn‘t believe for a second. A moment later, he was carrying a white T-shirt to the guest room when the door opened and

she limped toward him. He handed the T-shirt to her. ―For you to use tonight.‖ He glanced at her jean-clad legs, then raised his gaze to hers. ―Did he hurt your leg, too?‖ ―He pushed me down and my knee hurts.‖ She swallowed and he saw the tension in her face, the nervousness that warned him before she spoke. ―It really hurts. Everything really hurts. Do you have any pills?‖ ―No.‖ ―You don‘t have to worry about me being allergic. I can take anything.‖ ―I have nothing. I never get sick.‖ ―Everyone has something.‖ Her laugh was strident. ―Everyone gets sick sometime.‖ ―I don‘t. Have you eaten?‖ ―I‘m not hungry.‖ She swallowed twice, and her desperation wound around him with invisible tendrils. ―Do you have anything to drink?‖ ―Tea and water.‖ She rubbed her hand hard across her mouth, her skin pulling. ―I‘ve had a bad day. A very bad day. Tea or water won‘t do the trick. Do you have brandy? Whiskey? Vodka? Wine or beer? Anything with alcohol?‖ He hesitated. He wasn‘t her keeper or her husband. Not even a friend. She was nothing to him but a reminder of a mistake he‘d made many, many centuries ago. A lesson he‘d learned. So why not give her a bottle of whiskey? Let her drink herself unconscious? ―No.‖ He couldn‘t do it. If she wanted to destroy herself, that was her choice. But he wouldn‘t contribute to her addiction. Her lips trembled and she veered into the guest room and closed the door behind her. He went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water. When he heard the squeak of the mattress, he crossed back to the bedroom and knocked on the door. ―Come in.‖ Her voice sounded different. The pitch lower. Pleasant. He opened the door, not turning on the light, and crossed to the bed. ―Water.‖ He set it on the nightstand next to her bed. ―In case you change your mind.‖ ―Wait.‖ She snaked out her hand and grabbed his wrist. He glanced down. The second time she‘d done this to him today. ―You don‘t have to leave.‖ She smiled, lifting her head to show her neck. A signal that she was subservient to him, trusting him. She must have forgotten the ugly bruises from her boyfriend, the marks of his fingers turning purple. The sight didn‘t awaken Noah‘s passion, though nothing she did would have that effect. She was his anti-passion. ―I‘m leaving.‖ He tugged his arm, but she clung to him, her nails pressing into his skin, her grip surprisingly strong. Like Mystic when she dug her claws into him, wanting him to keep petting her, to be her slave. He jerked his arm free. ―I‘m not interested.‖ He headed to the door. ―Don‘t you like women?‖ Her voice rose to a shriek. ―Is that why you don‘t want me? You like men?‖

―What I don‘t like—‖ he paused at the door, ―—are junkies. There are no pills, no alcohol, no prostitutes in this house. If you have a problem living by those rules, then there‘s the street where you just came from.‖ As he closed the door, she cried out in wordless anger, then sobbed loudly, with no restraint, reminding him of a child acting out to get attention. Another unpleasant image. He strode to the living room without turning back. Mystic waited for him, curled on his chair as if she were the queen of the place. ―And so you are the queen,‖ he murmured, bending to rub the sides of her jaw. From the guest room, the sobbing lowered in volume, a melancholy refrain. He decided not to play his saxophone, in case the music would cause her to come out of her room to listen. Instead he picked up a book on astronomy. Mystic allowed him to lift her onto his lap as he reclaimed the chair. He opened the book and petted her, reading over her head. But concentration was impossible, even when Beauty‘s sobs changed into shallow breaths of sleep. Strains of a fast melody traveled from the bar, tonight‘s band starting their session. Mystic jumped off his lap and padded out of the room, things to do, litter boxes to visit. Noah set the book down and rested his head against the high chair back, letting the guitar riffs and the piano scales soak into his bones and his cells and his soul. A woman sang, dusky and earthy. The music bled and it tore and it healed. And it was good, washing away the bitter taste that his former bride-to-be had left in his mouth. He stayed like that for hours, until the last piano note vibrated through the air and he heard the bustle of people leaving, the band packing up their instruments. Closing time. Bedtime. He stood. Even beasts needed sleep. When he reached his bed, Mystic waited for him. He normally slept nude, but tonight he wore a T-shirt and a pair of sweat pants someone had given him. Tonight was his first time wearing them. Sweat pants were for creatures that sweated. He stretched out on his back, and Mystic rested her head on his thigh. The wind kicked up outside and drowned the breaths from across the hall. He drifted to sleep. A noise woke him. Light from the hallway slipped across his face. Someone was in his room. Instantly alert, he sat up straight and saw Izzy easily, though she stood in darkness. ―I‘m sick.‖ Except for the puffy redness around her right eye, her face was ashen, her lips pale. She crossed her arms over her chest, her body shaking. ―So sick. I need something. Help me, please.‖ He pushed aside the cover and slid off the bed onto the wooden floor, knowing what was wrong, though this was happening sooner than he‘d thought. She was detoxing. He‘d seen this before over the last two millennia, seen it too often. Sometimes it felt as if he‘d seen it all. ―Everything hurts.‖ Shuddering violently, she spoke through chattering teeth. Then an arrested ―oh shit‖ look came on her face, and she uncrossed one arm and slapped her hand over her mouth. Her actions set off an alarm, needing no words. He charged forward, scooped her into his

arms and rushed to the bathroom. She smelled sick already, her skin emitting the reek of garbage left out in the burning July sun. He set her down in front of the toilet just in time. She stuck her head over it and retched, the sound as unpleasant as the resulting smell. Leaving her to empty her stomach, he headed to the linen closet in the hall. Mystic trotted toward him and meowed, her tone ending in a question. Noah took out a blanket and flipped it open. ―You don‘t want to know.‖ As though she understood, she returned to his bedroom. Humans, after all, were not as interesting as grooming her back leg. He hurried back to the bathroom, relieved that the sound of vomiting had stopped. ―Better?‖ he asked. Her head still hung over the white porcelain bowl. She made a mewling noise and shook her head. The small movement triggered off another round of retching, but this time nothing came out. From her skeletal thinness, he suspected food wasn‘t a priority. After a moment, she lifted her head a couple inches, her neck still bowed. Her teeth clicked like castanets, and he draped the blanket over her back and shoulders. He sat behind her, his hands on her upper arms, their bodies otherwise not touching. Her clattering slowed, then stopped, but she still didn‘t move. ―I can take you to the hospital.‖ ―No! Kevin will find me.‖ ―I‘ll make sure he doesn‘t hurt you.‖ She raised her head and twisted to gaze at him out of her bruised eye. ―You don‘t understand.‖ Her voice was lifeless. A zombie voice. ―I‘m afraid of myself. If he comes, I‘m afraid I‘ll go with him.‖ He nodded. Beauty had always been a frail flower that wilted too fast. Rebirth hadn‘t changed her. ―Will you help me?‖ Her face contorted, her cheeks blotching with emotion, the whites of her eyes tinged yellow in the harsh bathroom light. Not beautiful anymore. ―I don‘t want to be like this. I‘m only twenty-three and I‘m afraid I‘ll die.‖ Pity welled up in him again. He didn‘t want to feel compassion for her, but there it was. Part of the human condition, coming with other unwanted conditions of this body, like thin skin and the way he bled if cut. He bent forward and turned her upper body into his arms. She sagged against him, completely trusting. Though she shivered, waves of heat radiated from her skin. ―You‘ll live,‖ he said. ―I‘ll make sure you live.‖ ―Promise?‖ she mumbled against his T-shirt. He began to rock her and didn‘t reply. There was only one way he could possibly keep her from dying. A whispery memory in his mother‘s voice that might be false or might be true. In all his centuries he hadn‘t used it. And he wasn‘t willing to do it now. Not for her.

She was still Beauty. She needed him now, but when she didn‘t need him anymore, he didn‘t harbor one doubt that she would betray him again. Betrayal was in her blood. And him…he knew what was in his blood. The reason the beast never died.

Chapter Four

It was too late for visitors when Lila‘s doorbell buzzed. She peered through the peephole with her heart hammering, expecting to see the police. But in the light of the entranceway that faced the beach, she saw Miriam, her nearest neighbor and best friend. Her heartbeat slowing to a steady thud, she opened the door. Miriam swept in, making a big entrance for a small woman with a pixie haircut, carrying a bottle of red wine. ―How was the gallery opening?‖ Lila asked. ―I didn‘t die of boredom. But only because everyone kept talking about the tall blond who killed a man with karate chop to his throat.‖ Lila‘s mouth was dry and she headed to the kitchen. ―I did get a few calls about it.‖ Though she trusted Miriam, she wasn‘t about to spill confidences. After all these years, she could still hear her mother‘s voice. “Don’t tell anyone. You know what will happen.” ―I just bet you did.‖ Miriam‘s voice, dryer than the wine she carried, came from the living room. In the kitchen, Lila slowly turned back. Miriam knew. Lila returned at half the speed she‘d left, her size twelve slippers dragging on the bamboo floor. Her hand on her hip, Miriam jerked her pointed chin at the oversized duffle bag next to the couch. ―Going somewhere?‖ ―Umm…‖ She could‘ve made something up, but Miriam‘s bullshit detector rivaled the monk‘s on top of the mountain. She claimed it accounted for her three divorces. Her gaze pinned Lila now. ―I saw the video on Paul‘s Smart Phone. Don‘t you think I recognized you?‖ ―Did Paul—‖ ―Men are idiots.‖ Miriam‘s tone and her hand slashing at the air dismissed her hunk of the month. ―He thought it was that actress with the body. The one who made that underwater movie and is sleeping with another actress‘s husband.‖ For the first time since Lila had said goodbye to her acupuncturist this morning, her lips curved up. ―Should I be flattered?‖ ―No, what‘s-her-name should be flattered.‖ Miriam held out her hand like a general giving a command, her index finger pointing at Lila‘s chest. ―You don‘t have to pack up and go anywhere. Give me your yellow T-shirt. If the cops come, tell them yellow isn‘t your color.‖ ―Miriam, you don‘t—‖ ―I do.‖ Miriam dropped her arm and marched to the bedroom. ―I‘ll get it myself.‖

Lila hustled after her, wanting to tell her to keep out of her bedroom, but it was too late. Stopping a train would be easier than stopping Miriam. They were alike that way, she thought, catching up to Miriam. No wonder they got along so well. Five steps into the bedroom, Miriam stopped and stared at the open, half-filled suitcase on the queen-sized bed. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyebrows raised. ―So, you‘re leaving. Not packing light, either. Are you planning on returning?‖ Lila shrugged. She wasn‘t much of a drinker, but right now she wished they‘d uncorked the wine bottle. ―When this cools down. Maybe your friends thought it was an actress, but a dozen people phoned to tell me how much I looked like her.‖ ―If the cops come, tell them it wasn‘t you. Even if they don‘t believe you, no one‘s going to make an arrest.‖ ―According to California law, my hands and feet are lethal weapons.‖ ―So is a knife.‖ Miriam‘s voice sharpened like one. ―It was self-defense.‖ ―The DA won‘t care. I killed a man. He has to uphold the law and prosecute me.‖ ―Only if he‘s an idiot. A case like that would piss off the voters who are cheering for you.‖ She swept her arm out. ―Don‘t expect him to be a slave to the law. He‘s not only a lawyer, he‘s a politician, too.‖ Lila spurted a laugh. ―You‘re good for me.‖ ―Right back at you. You‘re my hero.‖ ―I‘m not the hero of the woman whose life I saved.‖ Lila pictured the woman, half her ear sliced off, blood leaking onto the sidewalk, scuttling back from Lila in horror. Lila‘s shivers returned, as if someone was rubbing ice cubes on her skin. ―You have low standards.‖ ―In men, perhaps. Not women friends. It‘s a damn shame I don‘t swing that way.‖ She leaned her hip against the dresser. Despite her lack of inches, she looked slinky in a clingy dress. ―Lesbians are so lucky.‖ The image of the woman changed to the man with the gun, his face twisted with viciousness and hatred. In a snap, the image changed again. Her stepfather, standing over her mother on the bottom of the stairs, kicking her in the ribs as she kept crying that her legs wouldn‘t move. She wrapped her arms tightly over her chest, cold from the inside out. ―Total agreement.‖ ―Did you call Marc?‖ Miriam nodded at the side of the bed with the undented pillow. ―If it were you, would you call Marc?‖ ―Oh oh, his pretty face isn‘t enough anymore.‖ Miriam‘s nose wrinkled. ―Time for the ‗it‘sbeen-fun talk.‖ ―I did try to call him tonight. Not to tell him what happened, just to…I don‘t know…to stop thinking about what happened.‖ ―What did he say?‖ ―He didn‘t answer.‖ She rolled down her lips. ―I didn‘t leave a message. He was probably in a

Toronto bar with one of the actresses. Telling her his De Niro story with his perfect De Niro accent. Leaning close so she could see his puppy dog eyes and golden hair.‖ ―And to make his point,‖ Miriam added, ―he was putting his hand on her knee.‖ ―God, we nailed him.‖ Lila unwrapped her arms. It was hard to be angry at Marc. He was a good time, and that‘s all she wanted from him. In some ways she was her mother‘s daughter. But unlike her mother, she picked men who didn‘t beat her and terrorize her children. ―He can be entertaining,‖ Miriam said. ―You want him? Take him. Lately I‘ve been thinking that the best thing about Marc is that he‘s gone more than he‘s home.‖ ―Tempting, but I‘ll pass.‖ Miriam wafted her hand as though shooing off a fly. ―As you said, he‘d not the kind of man to call when you‘re in trouble.‖ She gave Lila a considering glace, the shadow of a frown on her high forehead. ―If I were in trouble, I wouldn‘t call any man. I‘d call you.‖ A little of the coldness inside Lila warmed. ―Right back at you. Let‘s open that wine, okay?‖ Miriam straightened from the dresser. ―The T-shirt first. And you aren‘t leaving after all, right?‖ Lila got off the bed and crossed to her walk-in closet. She wasn‘t promising anything. Unlike Miriam, she didn‘t trust the D.A. to do the politically correct thing. Maybe he wasn‘t planning on doing another term. Maybe he had a thing about women who killed men with their fists. Some district attorneys were funny that way. And then there was the woman who‘d looked at her with such horror. If she was the stereotypical victim, she hated Lila for killing her abuser and would do anything to see her locked up. ―I‘ll get the shirt. You open the wine.‖ Miriam‘s heels clicked on the floors as Lila grabbed the yellow T-shirt from her closet. She‘d planned to take it to the nearest shopping center the next day and drop it in a trash container, but this worked better. The phone on the nightstand rang as she closed the closet doors. She turned toward it, compelled to see if it was the police. Bending to peer at Caller ID, she frowned. Dragon’s Lair. She‘d never heard of it, but the 615 area code made her breath suck in. Izzy. It had to be Izzy. She picked up the phone and put it to her ear. ―Yes,‖ she said, and heard the caution in her voice. Had Izzy seen her on TV? Did she know the woman in the video was her? ―Is this Izzy Walton‘s sister?‖ A silken bass voice reverberated into her ear and curled down into the pit of her belly. Lila straightened her spine, the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck lifting. ―Who‘s asking?‖ ―Noah Long. You are her sister?‖ ―Yes.‖ Something was wrong, but at least it wasn‘t the Nashville police calling to inform her

that Izzy was dead or in jail. ―What did she do?‖ ―She‘s in my bathroom for the third time tonight, sick.‖ Alarm spiraled through Lila, her throat tightening. ―What‘s wrong with her?‖ ―I just met her today, but I believe she‘s a drug addict and is in withdrawal. I tried to convince her to go a hospital, but she refused.‖ ―What do you want me to do?‖ But she knew. She couldn‘t deny the sinking feeling in her belly. ―I want you to come and get her. She and her boyfriend tried to rob me today. She returned this evening. Her boyfriend had beaten her and she had no place else to go.‖ ―And you let her in.‖ Anger, frustration and helplessness jumbled together inside Lila‘s gut. Izzy must have seen something in Noah Long‘s face that told her he would let her in and take care of her. Just as she‘d seen in Lila‘s face six years ago that she meant it when she said she wasn‘t going to be her enabler any longer. If Izzy wanted to traipse after her boyfriend with his pretty face and ugly temper, she was on her own. ―She‘s not my responsibility,‖ Noah said. ―If you won‘t come and get her, I‘ll put her outside.‖ ―Like the garbage?‖ Lila heard the scorn in her voice. There was a pause on the other end, and she had the sense that he wouldn‘t put Izzy out, that he said it so she would come. But it was a fragile notion, and she couldn‘t pin her hopes on it. Besides, when did her brain cells turn into marshmallow bits, expecting a man to step up and take responsibility? Especially for someone who‘d tried to rob him. ―If you agree to come soon,‖ he said, ―I‘ll take care of her until you get here.‖ Her legs, always so strong, wobbled. They felt like the cocktail weenies her mother used to bring to neighborhood cookouts during the good times, before she met Izzy‘s father. Lila slumped onto a chair. Weariness swamped her and she couldn‘t think, she could just feel. She had no choice. Maybe Izzy really had left her loser boyfriend. Maybe she really was trying to get off drugs. ―I‘ll book a flight and call you back with my arrival time.‖ She jotted down Noah Long‘s information, slightly curious when she recognized the address in an area known for its nightclubs. She went to tell Miriam about her conversation. ―I‘m sorry about your sister,‖ Miriam said. ―This is the first you‘ve talked about your family.‖ ―My family‘s not much to talk about.‖ ―You aren‘t the only one.‖ Miriam‘s New York accent thickened. ―You ever meet my cousin Tony, don‘t turn your back on him.‖ Lila raised her eyebrows. ―Given my history, Tony should be advised not to turn his back on me.‖ ―No, you‘d do it to his face, not his back. I suspect your sister is the same as Tony. Thieves usually are.‖ Miriam pushed her face into Lila‘s space, her chin jutting. ―Let her hit rock bottom.

Take it from my experience with my second husband. Tough love works. You don‘t have to leave.‖ Perhaps she was right, but something inside Lila repeated what the guy taking the video had called out when she leapt into camera range. “Run, lady, run!” ―But you did leave him,‖ Lila said. ―Yes, but I heard he‘s not as much as an asshole since I kicked him out.‖ Miriam reached up to hug her, told her not to be a fool, then left without the wine. Lila watched her leave with an ache in her chest. Dismissing the ache, she looked up flights on the computer, then booked a direct flight that left L.A. at five the next morning. When she called Noah back and told him her arrival time, she didn‘t ask how Izzy was, if she was throwing up or having the shakes. If she‘d asked for her. In his deep voice she could listen to for hours, Noah said he would expect her about six the next evening. She clicked the phone off and got up to pack. If Izzy worsened, he would tell her. He would be there. Izzy wasn‘t alone. The irony that she was alone didn‘t escape Lila. But that was her choice. If she needed a warm body next to her she knew what to do. Go to the dog pound. Find a dog that liked to run and slept on the rug instead of taking up two-thirds of her bed like Marc. The phone rang, and she looked at Caller ID again. It was a former student and she let it go to her messages. At least she‘d be out of southern California, away from the images on TV. Nashville had to be better.

Chapter Five

Noah welcomed the harsh buzz of the doorbell. He set the book on astronomy and got to his feet. Izzy‘s gaze darted from the TV screen to him. ―You‘re answering it?‖ Bundled in a blanket, Izzy sat in his favorite chair, her feet on a hassock. With her pale face and a cup of steaming ginger tea on the table next to her, she could have been a sick teenager staying home from school. ―I‘m expecting someone.‖ ―Who?‖ ―You‘ll excuse me.‖ He bowed his head then left her for the first time since he‘d taken a three-minute shower this morning. When he returned, he would take a quick look around to make sure nothing was missing. Normally he moved at a deliberate, almost stately pace, a leftover from his original clawfooted body, but now he ran down the steps. The buzzer droned again. He reached the first floor and turned to the shop. It was already dark out, but the streetlights were on, as were the bars and the cars. His place was never completely dark. He‘d adjusted well. No one would suspect he‘d been born in a cave. Through the glass door, he saw a blond woman, getting an impression of competence and self-confidence. He unbolted all three locks and swung the door open. The woman on the other side took him in with one long look from her brown eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. She took his words away. She looked as if she‘d stepped out of the pages of a comic book. Tall and strong, with her head held high. Standing on the balls of her feet, ready to attack or feint to the side, whichever was called for. A warrior woman. A goddess. The one they named the huntress. ―Where‘s Izzy?‖ she asked. ―You‘re her sister?‖ His tongue moved slower than normal. He‘d heard humans talking about having their lower gums anesthetized as part of a dental process, their tongues numbed, too. That‘s how his tongue felt. Frozen and too big for his mouth. ―You don‘t look alike.‖ ―We‘re half sisters. She takes after our mother. I take after my father. Are you inviting me in?‖ Her eyebrows rose. Clearly not impressed. Before he could force words from his mouth or his feet to step back to allow her into his shop, her eyebrows contracted and she turned her body toward the street, a prelude to leaving. ―Is she gone already?‖ He hadn‘t been afraid of much for the last two thousand years, but he felt a twinge of anxiety.

Without thought, he grabbed her arm. Her breath hissed. She glanced down at his hand, his long fingers curved over her blue jacket sleeve. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her right hand lift up, held sideways, like a slicing knife. ―Let me go or I‘ll hurt you.‖ As he released her, something strange happened. It crept into his stomach and slithered up his throat, then burst out of his mouth in an eruption of laughter. Loud and boisterous and happy laughter made him lightheaded with glee and sapped the strength from his legs. As he leaned against the doorjamb to hold himself up, he realized laughter weakened a man. He continued laughing and didn‘t care. Not a twinge. This new feeling was euphoric. Blissful. Lila Fox watched him with no emotion on her face as he acted the fool. Men and women dressed for night clubbing slowed on the sidewalk to stare at him. In their faces, he saw them wonder what the joke was. He couldn‘t tell them he was delighted by her bravery and her selfassurance. Couldn‘t tell them her certainty that she could hurt him filled him with joy. His stomach hurt. He was using muscles he hadn‘t realized he possessed. The knowledge sobered him and his laughter stuttered to an end. But the bliss lingered inside him, like a note that hummed in the air after the music stopped. Stepping back, he gestured her into the shop. She leaned down and grabbed a carry-on, a duffle bag strapped to its top. Her oversized purse swinging at her right hip, she brushed past him, her shoulders unbowed, and took a sweeping glance around. It seemed to him that she saw everything, though he knew it was impossible. A normal human couldn‘t see that fast and in the half light. A meow sounded at her feet. He peered down at Mystic, who rubbed the side of her face on the jean-clad legs of Izzy‘s warrior sister. Mystic reminded him of the beast he once was. A smaller version, without wings and scales, but she had the claws and the attitude. ―A black cat. My favorite.‖ Lila Fox shoved the giant-sized purse behind her hip and scooted down to rub her fingertips along Mystic‘s jaw. Mystic purred, a sound Noah had been trying to duplicate with his soprano sax since he took her in five years ago, and so far not getting it. Almost. Just out of reach for him, like laughter. He‘d been amused before. He‘d smiled. He‘d even chuckled a few times. But until today he‘d never laughed all the way up from his belly and vibrating down to the soles of his feet. As he watched Lila and Mystic, the two seemed to meld together, woman and cat. One entity. Then she straightened and Mystic swayed away, her tail high. Lila looked into his eyes, her mouth set in determination. ―Where is she?‖ ―Lila!‖ The shout came from behind him. ―What are you doing here?‖ He turned. Izzy stood just inside the shop, the hall door open, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders and dragging on the floor.

Her gaze flickered from Lila to him. ―You brought her! How did you—‖ She gasped and pointed a finger at him, her hand shaking. ―My cell phone! You found her number and you called her. You can‘t do that. That‘s illegal.‖ Lila dropped her purse on the floor and swept past him toward her sister. ―Aren‘t you going to say hi?‖ Noah stepped to the side, giving him a three-quarter view of the sister‘s face and one-quarter of Izzy‘s. ―Why the hell should I?‖ Izzy crossed her arms over her chest, a truculent look on her face, more suited to a six-year-old than a woman in her early twenties. ―You only came to say ‗I told you so.‘‖ Lila gave her a crooked smile, one side up and one down, her brown eyes sad. ―Still the drama queen. Sweetie, you should‘ve been an actress.‖ ―Damn you, damn you, damn you.‖ Izzy uncrossed her arms and her index finger jabbed the air with every ―damn.‖ Lila‘s mouth twisted, her eyes sadder and darker. ―Don‘t worry about it, I‘m already damned.‖ She stepped forward, her arms out. Izzy‘s mouth wobbled, then she fell into Lila‘s arms. Her head on Lila‘s breast, she sobbed. ―It‘s okay, sweetie.‖ Lila caressed the top of Izzy‘s head. ―You‘re going to be fine. I‘m here to take care of you.‖ An ache pulsed inside Noah‘s chest. From way back in his memory, he recalled a rough tongue swiping the side of his face and an affectionate cuff on his head that sent him rolling on a cave floor. So long ago... Another life, another body. The sniffing stopped. Izzy lifted her head. ―Don‘t try to make me go to California with you. I won‘t go.‖ She shoved out of her sister‘s hold, beads of sweat dotting her forehead. ―I‘m sick.‖ ―We‘ll stay in Nashville. I‘ll get a hotel room and check out rehab places.‖ ―Rehab.‖ Izzy spat the word out like it was rotted meat. ―I won‘t go. You just want to get rid of me.‖ Lila‘s lips pressed together and she sucked in a breath, her nostrils flaring. ―We‘ll stay at a hotel. Or I‘ll rent a place.‖ Her hard voice softened, changing to a croon. ―Whatever it takes, we‘ll do it.‖ Izzy raised both fists above her head and brought them down, like Izzy Borden swinging her axe. ―No! I won‘t go with you. I‘m staying with Noah.‖ Lila darted a frown at him, then back at Izzy. ―Sweetie, I‘m family. He hardly knows you. Taking care of you isn‘t his job.‖ ―I‘m a job, am I?‖ Izzy‘s shrill tone made Noah wince. ―Is that why you ignored me all these years?‖ ―Don‘t do this.‖ Lila rubbed her forehead, and her energy seemed to drain. ―Everything that

happened, it‘s old news. We have to move on. We‘re together again. You need me, and I came for you.‖ ―As long as I do what you want, you‘ll stay.‖ Izzy glowered at Lila. ―Don‘t go into that old stuff. You‘re ready to get off drugs, and I flew in to help you.‖ ―You‘re so full of crap.‖ Izzy pushed her unkempt hair from her face. She lowered her hand and a swatch fell back over her cheekbone. ―As soon as I slip, you‘ll accuse me of being like Mom again.‖ ―You were going down the same route.‖ Lila‘s low voice pulsed with emotion. ―Watching you was killing me.‖ Tears rolled down Izzy‘s thin cheeks. She hit her bony fists on her chest. ―I‘m not Mom. I‘m me! Me, do you hear?‖ ―I hear you.‖ Lila held out her hands. ―But that was then. You‘ve left Kevin. You‘re changing. It‘s going to get better now.‖ Noah watched their drama unfold in front on him, both women intent on each other, ignoring him, heading into disaster. For each of them. And for him, the bystander pulled into their tempest. ―It‘s not so easy for me to forget the past.‖ Izzy‘s pale cheeks flushed with pink. ―Do you know what I had to do to survive? Do you?‖ ―I‘m not taking the blame for that. It was your choice.‖ Lila stood taller, unbending, the warrior woman back. ―You had the money from Mom‘s estate. You and your boyfriend blew through it like it was Monopoly money.‖ ―Bitch.‖ The muscles in Lila‘s face tightened. ―With the way you act, our family must be littered with them. Now, get your stuff and let‘s go.‖ Izzy made a strangled sound in her throat, like gears grinding together, and Noah groaned silently. This was not going according to his plan. A teary reunion. Two sisters hugging and kissing and crying. And then the happy ending he‘d anticipated—two sisters leaving. ―I‘m not going anywhere.‖ Izzy glared at Lila, her body stiff, her small feet braced as if glued to the marble-tiled floor. ―You can‘t stay here. Why do you think he called me?‖ Lila swept her hand toward him. ―He‘s not your friend. He doesn‘t owe you anything. He only knows you because you tried to rob him.‖ ―It‘s none of your business. Noah said I can stay here, and I will.‖ Izzy turned her head to him, her eyes pleading, her lower lip trembling. ―Tell her. Tell her I can stay here.‖ Lila looked at him, too. He couldn‘t read the expression in her eyes, but he sensed the pain deep inside her. The anguish. ―You can stay.‖ He spoke slowly, even as his not quite human brain protested and told him to throw out both women. But the part of him that was human wanted to help Lila. To lighten her burden. ―You can both stay.‖

He looked at Izzy first, and she smirked. Beauty again. Aware of his attraction, but not realizing she wasn‘t the source. Then he looked at Lila. Her eyes narrowed. Her mouth puckered. Her suspicious expression sent him a message. I don’t know what you want, but I’ll be watching you. He didn‘t know what he wanted, either. Not anymore. All he knew in this second was that his life would never be the same.

Chapter Six

Izzy‘s hand shook as she dissolved the pills in the tea cups while Lila and Noah murmured in the living room. Too low for her to hear, but she knew they were talking about her. She swallowed a sob. Why had Lila come home to Nashville now? Why hadn‘t she just sent money? Footsteps on the floor behind her sounded familiar. Lila. Her hand curved over Izzy‘s shoulder, and Izzy‘s chest seized. ―You okay, sweetie?‖ Izzy nodded and sniffed. Lila had come to save her, but it was too late. It had been too late since the day Lila left Nashville and said she was on her own. It was Lila‘s fault she was doing this, dammit. ―You want help carrying the cups?‖ ―I‘m a little shaky.‖ Izzy kept her head down and pretended to be humble, pretended to accept Lila‘s help. Pretended she wouldn‘t do anything for a fix. She grabbed the one cup without the drug. ―I‘ll take my own. Will you carry the others?‖ ―Sure.‖ Lila leaned to the side and brushed a kiss on Izzy‘s forehead. She smelled like fresh air, and an old memory slashed into Izzy‘s mind. Huddling in a dark closet, Lila holding her as they listened to her father‘s vicious voice, their mother‘s cries, a fist striking bone. Lila leaned forward and picked up the full cups. Izzy followed her, concentrating on walking to the chair without spilling anything. The tea sloshed up to one rim and then the other, copying the way she felt inside her head and her stomach, her stretched nerves quivering like plucked guitar strings. She set the cup carefully on the table next to her chair, then wrapped the blanket tight around her. Only then did she allow the shakes to take over, though she clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. Lila lifted the cup to her mouth. Izzy clutched her hands under the blanket and held her breath. Kevin had promised the drug would just put Noah out for a few hours. Even if he lied about the dosage, she‘d split it in half, so it should be safe for Lila. As Lila sipped, her eyebrows contracted. She glanced up and Izzy forced her mouth into a smile. As though she were happy to have done something for Lila. Lila took another sip, and Izzy exhaled. She‘d fooled Lila. A movement brought her attention to Noah. He sat straighter than most guys she knew, who sprawled with their legs spread wide. Not Noah. He reminded her of some

kind of royalty, though she supposed a real prince wouldn‘t take her in when she could tell he didn‘t trust her. Just because she had no other place to go. Then he‘d called Lila and got her to come and let them both stay in his home. A generous royalty. Noblesse oblige. Like one of the magical princes in the fairy tales her mother read to her when she was small. Noah sipped, frowned, and peered at her, mistrust in his gaze. Fuck. She needed to do something to deflect his suspicion. She grabbed her own tea and took a gulp, then set it down and made a face. ―It tastes funny. Is something wrong with your water?‖ Noah frowned. ―It doesn‘t taste the way it normally does.‖ Izzy‘s shakes returned. What would she do if he guessed? If Lila guessed? They would throw her out, and Kevin would be angry at her. Dammit, this was his fault. He was never supposed to steal from Noah. If he‘d done what the boss told them to do, she wouldn‘t have thrown up for hours last night. She wouldn‘t be feeding drugs to her sister and this guy who was helping her, even after what she‘d done. And what if they didn‘t drink it all? She couldn‘t let that happen. ―It‘s not too bad, is it?‖ She made her voice wobble, easy to do. Inside she wobbled all the time except for the short time after she took a hit. ―Sometimes it feels like I don‘t do anything right.‖ ―It‘s fine, sweetie.‖ Lila sipped hers, and Izzy turned to Noah, not able to breathe. He hesitated, then put his lips to the rim of the cup. Her heart thundered and her breath puffed out. She wanted to throw up but couldn‘t. ―Lila, I wish I‘d listened to you so long ago.‖ She spoke fast to change the subject, spitting out words. ―Kevin made me a lot of promises, but he hasn‘t kept a single one.‖ A flash of fury sliced through her. ―Okay, he kept one. To take me where I‘d never been before.‖ Lila picked up her tea and peered at Izzy expectantly. Izzy‘s tight nerves loosened a notch. ―To hell. He took me to hell and back.‖ And for once tonight she was speaking the truth. ~~~ Sitting on Noah‘s couch, built to accommodate long legs like hers, Lila tried to focus on Izzy‘s litany of complaints about her awful life with her awful boyfriend and the awful things he made her do. It was like living with her mother all over again. She hated this. Hated, hated, hated. Her brain was screaming. Her jaws hurt from clenching her teeth to hold back the angry questions: “Then why didn’t you leave him? Why did you let him hit you the first time? Didn’t seeing what our mother went through give you a clue?” And all this time she was aware of his eyes on her. Even when Noah looked at Izzy she sensed his attention on her, heat sliding over her skin as though it were the middle of summer

and she was sunbathing nude, the sun shining down on her on a sultry day. Odd, she‘d been falling apart yesterday, but since she‘d stood in front of the Dragon‘s Lair, her confidence had returned. The unfamiliar weakness and doubt washed away. ―I suppose you wouldn‘t have let him hit you.‖ Izzy shot her an angry look. ―I would‘ve kicked his bony ass out of Nashville,‖ Lila said, glad to focus her attention on Izzy and her abusive boyfriend. ―Out of Tennessee. The South. Let him live with the Yankees.‖ ―He threatened me with a gun! You can‘t kick a gun‘s ass.‖ ―I can do more than you think. You should‘ve called and asked me to help you.‖ Lila knew her words would put Izzy on the defensive, but she couldn‘t let her get away with her crap excuses. ―I did call you.‖ ―To ask for money. I won‘t enable you. If he‘s such a wonderful man, let him earn money.‖ ―He‘s sick!‖ A different whine squirreled into Izzy‘s voice. Not angry but defensive. ―He can‘t help it.‖ A suspicion burrowed into Lila‘s brain like a worm in an apple. Only one way to find out the truth. ―He‘s a user.‖ She made her voice harsh, thickened with anger. ―A bully. An abuser. A junkie.‖ She rose to her feet and leaned toward Izzy. ―An asshole.‖ ―No!‖ Izzy squirmed out of the blanket swathed around her. Color mottling her cheeks, she finally threw it off then jumped from the chair. ―He loves me! He does! He‘ll do anything for me.‖ ―Aw, Izzy.‖ Lila sank back down, her legs limp. The muscled, enraged man she‘d killed yesterday hadn‘t been able to knock her off her feet, just her sister, with a body like a skinny thirteen-year old. Just grief and sorrow and betrayal. ―None of this is true, is it? You‘re here for a reason. This is all staged.‖ Izzy glared at her, then faced Noah on the other end of the couch from Lila. ―She‘s lying. She‘s jealous of me, that‘s why. She hates me, she always did because my dad loved me more than her.‖ ―Your dad...‖ Lila got to her feet again, propelled up, as though an avenging god pulled a string on the top of her head. She took a step toward Izzy, rage in charge of her movements, making them jerky. ―You know what your dad did to Mom. You know, Izzy.‖ ―No! I don‘t know.‖ Izzy sidled sideways. Fear widened her eyes. She made a whimpering noise in her throat. ―I don‘t have to listen to this. I‘m going to bed. Don‘t come near me.‖ Lila watched her scurry into the hall like a rat afraid for its life. Be afraid. Be very afraid. The door slammed, and Lila turned to Noah, her fists curled at her sides. ―I‘m sorry.‖ He stood. ―Why? What did you do?‖ ―Not me.‖ Her voice was choked. ―I‘m sorry for my sister. I think she‘s playing a con on you.‖

―On you also.‖ ―It wasn‘t planned for me.‖ She frowned, remembering the look on Izzy‘s face when she first saw Lila in the shop, her dismay and anger. ―She was surprised to see me. Apparently not a pleasant surprise.‖ ―I agree with your supposition that she plans to rob me.‖ ―Then why...‖ She gestured toward the guest bedroom. ―You don‘t owe her anything.‖ ―You don‘t owe her anything, either.‖ She bowed her head, sucking her lips between her teeth. No, she didn‘t owe Izzy anything. But that didn‘t stop the pain and the heartbreak. Or the memories. They flooded her, wanting to drown her, pull her under and keep her down until she couldn‘t breathe anymore. A touch on her shoulder startled her. She jumped back and gazed up at Noah, her heart doing the world‘s fastest tap dance. She was tall for a woman, but he was about six inches taller. Not muscular but angular, his face all sharp edges—nose, cheekbones, jaw. His skin was sallow and she couldn‘t make out his ancestry or his age. He had no wrinkles and his skin was tight, but he felt older. And his hair... Her gaze shifted upward and lingered. His silky black hair shone with glints of greens and blues. Fighting an urge to reach up and run her fingers through it, she dug her nails into her palms. The greens and blues repeated in his eyes. Beautiful eyes. The only thing of beauty about him. Framed by sooty black lashes. Above them, his eyebrows slashed upward. ―Don‘t worry about her hurting me,‖ he said. ―I understand her.‖ She shivered. His voice... It rolled through her. ―Cold?‖ he asked. She shook her head. Not cold. Unsettled. She forced her mind back to Izzy. ―If you understood her, you wouldn‘t let her out of your sight.‖ ―My hearing is excellent.‖ ―I‘m leaving tomorrow. I advise you to tell her to leave, too.‖ He smiled, but there was no humor in it. ―A wise idea. You‘ll stay the night.‖ A statement, not a question. She raised her eyebrows but nodded. She‘d stay and make sure Izzy didn‘t pull anything. Now that she was here she felt responsible. The curse of the older sister. ―You can have my bed.‖ She shivered again, awareness of him as a man shimmered through her. So unexpected. He wasn‘t handsome like Marc, though she suspected if she took off his clothes, piece by piece, until he was naked, his body would look as good. Without Marc‘s cut muscles but leaner and harder. He stood a couple inches too close, in her space, but she didn‘t feel threatened or crowded. He was a still man. Serene. As though he carried a pocket of Zen at his center. She gazed into his eyes that studied her in the same way she studied him, as if trying to see through to her soul.

Another shiver shook her. She stepped back, her calves hitting the back of the couch. ―I don‘t want to take your bed. I can sleep on the couch. Or even the floor.‖ She glanced at the Oriental rug that spread between the furniture, with its mellow gold and cream and touches of red. ―The couch will do. You look tired. You were up early to catch the plane. I‘ll bring a pillow and another cover.‖ He gestured at her tea. ―Are you done?‖ ―It‘s awful.‖ He grabbed her cup and saucer and his, then crossed to the kitchen, his stride smooth and elegant like a dancer‘s. She watched him. Already she knew one thing about him. He was like no man she‘d known before. Lassitude touched her and she yawned widely, her eyes closing. It was a good thing she was leaving tomorrow. Because if she didn‘t… Her yawn diminished and she opened her eyes to see him return with a pillow and blanket. Her eyes widened. ―You just left. How did you get here so fast?‖ ―Perhaps it seemed fast.‖ He tossed the pillow and the cover on the couch. ―I‘ll leave you again. This time to sleep.‖ Weariness poured over her and she shook her head. Great, now she was losing track of time. ―I should stay up. Izzy might—‖ ―I‘ll take care of her.‖ She sank onto the couch, too wiped out to argue. ―It‘s not your job, taking care of her.‖ ―Is it your job?‖ ―At one time. But her character had already been...‖ The word ‗ruined‘ hung on her tongue, and she shook her head. ―...formed.‖ ―Why you? Why not her parents?‖ He sounded interested in a neutral way, like a therapist, asking questions she didn‘t want to answer. ―Izzy didn‘t have the best parenting. Her father abused our mother.‖ She heard her voice hardening. ―Our mother was weak. A victim.‖ ―Like Izzy?‖ She glanced at him, and the horror she‘d held inside her for so many years twisted out of her, like a splinter working its way out of flesh. ―That‘s the conundrum.‖ She grabbed the pillow and held it tight against her midriff. ―I often wondered if Izzy was like her father. She can be...manipulative.‖ He looked at her for a long moment, and she felt sucked into his blue-green gaze. She stood, not planning to, just doing it, her body acting on its own power. Her skin heated, then grew cold. ―You‘d better go.‖ He bowed his head and stepped back. ―If you need anything, don‘t hesitate to wake me.‖ She dropped her gaze to her feet in her black, leather half-boots. Waking him in the middle of the night was not a good idea. Not the way she was feeling tonight.

Vulnerable. Needy. Wanting. That wasn‘t why she was here in Nashville. Izzy was the reason, and she needed to remember it. When he was gone, she kicked off her shoes and turned off the lights, too lethargic to take off the rest of her clothes. She pulled the cover over her, stretched out on the couch and yawned. Her brain was shutting down already. Strains of music seeped into the room from the club next door. Raucous, sexy blues. She wanted to listen but sleep filled her mind, in seconds changing from wisps to thick clouds. She was tired, so damn tired. Too tired... She made a mewling sound and tried to sit up, but it was too much effort. Too much effort to do anything except close her eyes as sleep descended on her. At that second, she didn‘t think she could protect herself if her life depended on it.

Chapter Seven

A thud followed by another penetrated the thick fog in Noah‘s head. He lay motionless, half his brain still sleeping, the awake half giving off alarm signals. Something was wrong. Another noise came from the shop below. A hoarse exclamation. He opened his eyelids. The bedroom shades were up, and light from the streetlamp filtered into the bedroom. From the nightclub drifted the riff of a blues guitar. He must have slept for only a couple of hours. His body felt weighted down, unlike him upon waking. Get up, he commanded his body. Get off the bloody bed. This lethargy wasn‘t natural. His head buzzed, the working part of his brain shouting out one word. Drugs. The tea Izzy had given him and Lila. That‘s why it had tasted foul. He pushed up slowly like an old human, bone by bone, vertebra by vertebra, then swung his legs over the side of his bed. His back hunched, he pushed his hands through his hair and rubbed his scalp. Something cracked downstairs. Izzy gave a small cry, barely audible. He heard the rumble of a male voice. His head snapped up and he stood too fast. The room swirled, dizziness making him unsteady, something he hadn‘t felt since the original transformation to human, when he attempted to balance on his two long back legs without the two front ones. To make it harder, doing it without claws to dig into the ground. He grabbed the thick bedpost and wrapped his arm around it, then waited for the tilt-a-whirl inside his head to slow to a stop. It slowed, not stopping, but he let go of the bedpost. He needed to act now. Barefooted, he padded toward the hallway in his sweatpants and T-shirt. His step was heavy and he heard the slap of his feet on the wooden floor. Usually he made as little noise as a thief in the night. Though the thieves in his shop weren‘t attempting to be quiet. They probably thought he was knocked out and wouldn‘t wake up if a marching band stomped through his apartment, playing their instruments at full power. He stepped along the hall, not turning on the light, not needing it. The wooden floor was cool on the soles of his feet. From his belly came the first rumbles of anger. Like others of his kind, he was a packrat, a hoarder. Over the millennia, he‘d become choosier and no longer felt the urge to gather every shiny object he spotted. But one thing remained the same. He didn‘t share his treasures. He sold objects for profit, but not the ones that stirred his emotions and caught his breath. What was his stayed his.

He‘d given Beauty sparkly trinkets once. She‘d run away with them and a few more he hadn‘t given her, with another man. The fairy tale blamed it on her family, but the fairy tale lied. It was her choice and his fault. He‘d mistaken dross for gold. When she‘d left, he hadn‘t gone after her. But this time he hadn‘t given anything away. This time they were taking it. Reaching the living room, he paused to listen to the soft breathing of the woman curled on the couch. The tightness in his muscles eased. Lila hadn‘t been in on it with Izzy. It shouldn‘t matter, but he breathed easier, as though a weight had fallen off his chest and allowed his lungs to expand. A movement caught his attention. Mystic. Standing in the crook behind Lila‘s knees. She peered at him out of green eyes that glowed in the dark, and she meowed. Loudly. Lila moaned and rolled to her back. Mystic leapt onto her stomach. He stood still, unmoving, barely breathing. Not so Mystic, meowing again. As if she intended to wake Lila. He sent a message to Mystic to stop her chatter—though he‘d never had success with these silent commands. She meowed louder. Perhaps Lila wouldn‘t awaken. Unlike him, she was 100% human. Though she‘d drunk less than half a cup of the tea, the drug would have affected her more. Her eyes opened. She bolted into a sitting position and slapped her hand onto her forehead. ―What?‖ she whispered, and stared at him. He knew she couldn‘t see him. Her human eyes wouldn‘t have adjusted to the darkness so easily. She must have sensed him. Perhaps even smelled him. ―Nothing.‖ He spoke low, soothing. ―The cat woke me. Go back to sleep.‖ He felt her perplexity, her confusion, her tiredness. With a soft sigh, she dropped back onto the couch, her tiredness winning. Too much of the drug in her to fight its pull. The slide of a drawer came to his ears from the shop below. He recognized the sound. His desk. An excited male voice spoke, Izzy‘s Kevin. Then Izzy‘s nervous reply. His fury whipped up from a level ten to a level one hundred. The treasures he kept locked in his desk drawers were small. Mostly jewelry. Items easily scooped up and dropped into a man‘s pants pockets or a woman‘s bra. He sometimes took them out to just hold them. The stones and jewels gave him energy, a power pulsing within them. He didn‘t need the stones now. Anger sent him an energy surge that fought the drug-induced fog, pushing it back. Still he waited to hear Lila‘s even breathing before he crossed through the kitchen. Though his thoughts were clear and sharp, his body felt heavy and sluggish, as though he‘d gained fifty pounds overnight. His footsteps thudded on the wooden floor. Behind him, he heard a bump, then Mystic‘s raucous meow that was more suited to a five hundred-pound tiger than a fivepound cat. The music from the nightclub faded in and out, a sign that he was still affected by the drug.

Another man would tiptoe to the phone and call 911. Wait patiently for the police to take care of Kevin and Izzy. But he wasn‘t another man. Or even all man. The beast inside him didn‘t wait patiently for anyone. At the hall door, another wave of dizziness knocked him sideways. He grabbed the door handle and hung on until the wave receded. Only then did he step into the hall, closing the door behind him before Mystic could follow. Another round of mind-whirling wooziness hit him, and he leaned his head and shoulder against the wooden door. Breathing shallowly, he thought this must be how natural humans felt. Weak. Uncertain. Destructible. His spinning mind slowed and he pushed off, moving forward, his hand on the wall and then the banister. He put his weight on his arm to keep his steps quiet. The first tread creaked. Wincing, he eased his grip but kept going. With every step, he grew more sure-footed. In the downstairs hall, he edged toward the half-lit shop. Izzy‘s voice filtered to him along with strains of music from the club next door. ―Hurry,‖ she said, her voice low but strong, no tremors. ―Hurry before they come.‖ Noah‘s mouth tightened. She‘d gotten a fix. A present from her thief boyfriend. ―They should sleep through a fuckin‘ tornado.‖ Suspicion edged Kevin‘s voice. ―Unless you lied about slipping them the drug.‖ ―I said I did.‖ He snorted. ―You say a lot of shit when you want something.‖ ―Bastard. I did it all for you.‖ Tears wobbled in her voice. ―I let you beat me up.‖ ―As soon as we get the money, you won‘t mind a few bruises.‖ ―I hate you.‖ ―Shut the fuck up so I can concentrate.‖ ―You don‘t even know what we‘re looking for.‖ ―I‘ll know it when I see it.‖ His tone was sharp. ―What if he doesn‘t keep it here? Then what?‖ Yes, Noah thought. Then what are you going to do, you junkie bastard? ―Then we look upstairs.‖ ―My sister‘s upstairs.‖ ―She keeps sleeping, there won‘t be any trouble.‖ ―What if she wakes?‖ ―Then whatever happens will be your fuckin‘ fault for not giving her enough shit. Now, you gonna shut up or am I gonna have to make you?‖ Dregs of wooziness still clung to Noah‘s brain, but he straightened and stepped forward. He kept his breathing shallow and silent, drawing on his center, his strength, pushing out the human uncertainty. He needed to think like a beast. No, that was wrong. He needed to feel like a beast. He ignored the small, pulsing doubt that his body would change. It had been centuries since

he‘d done this. So long ago it seemed like a dream. What if he couldn‘t change? Though his ears were tuned to the shop, another noise penetrated, a sound that shouldn‘t be there. Coming from upstairs. Mystic. It must be Mystic. The upstairs door creaked open. A footstep brushed against the hallway floor, the sound too quiet for a human to hear. Not Mystic. Lila. She was coming down, not aware that she was putting herself in danger. Kevin would hurt her. He wouldn‘t hesitate. Noah knew it the way he knew he once breathed fire. In order to get what he wanted, Kevin would kill Lila. Noooooo! Within Noah, a storm roared to life, his normal calm overturned by a wave of rage. Inside his gut, a fire simmered. Instantly, the physical changes began in answer to the intense emotions. His chest expanded. His jaw grew and lengthened. His skin prickled, thickening, preparing itself for the covering of his thin human skin with beautiful, shiny scales. At the same time, he knew the heat expanding inside him wasn‘t hot enough or strong enough. But he heard her step onto the first tread, another creak sounding, so loud he was afraid Kevin must hear. It was too late to wait for the transformation to be complete. He needed to act now. Half human, half beast, he lunged forward and burst into the shop. ~~~ The step creaked, and Lila‘s heart thudded. She sensed danger, the same way she did twentythree years ago, the day after her mother married Izzy‘s father, when he changed from Mr. Nice to Mr. Scary. The creak reminded her of the nights he opened her bedroom door and she pretended to be asleep, curled into a tight ball, her fisted hands pressed tight against her chest. Then he would leave and seconds later she would hear his voice through the walls of the house, hard like a hammer, and her mother‘s cries, saying she was sorry, it was her fault. All her fault. The next day her mother would have a new bruise or would wince when she moved. And day by day she shrunk in body and in personality, a bit of her dying with every beating, every blow, every curse. Tonight Lila had automatically fallen back into the routine, closing her eyes when Noah told her to go back to sleep. As if she always mindlessly obeyed whatever a man told her to do. She clenched her teeth. They‘d only met that day and he didn‘t know her well. Didn‘t know she‘d started martial arts lessons when she was eight with the intent to kill her stepfather some day.

Didn‘t know she‘d succeeded, but too late to save her mother. It wasn‘t going to happen again. Where the hell was Izzy? Grief mixed with anger bubbled up inside her. Whatever was going on downstairs, Izzy was involved. She must have drugged the tea she‘d made for them. No wonder it tasted like bitter dreams. The reason she woke up woozy and weak, her hands and feet feeling like weapons of mass destruction for cupcakes. Damn Izzy, damn her. No time to wait. Lila stepped onto the first stair tread and wondered what Noah was up to. Either he‘d pretended to drink his tea or he possessed the constitution of Iron Man. A rush of sound came from the hall below. Someone leaping forward. Then a small shriek. Oh God, it was Izzy. No time to wait. Lila hurried down the stairs. Halfway down, she lost her balance and grabbed the banister, her pulse jumping in her throat. Hanging on while she caught her breath, she heard a man shout over Izzy‘s scream. ―Stay back or I‘ll shoot your fuckin‘ head off.‖ Not Noah‘s voice. Izzy‘s rat boyfriend Kevin. Mystic dashed past her and whipped into the hall, a sleek black streak. Lila hesitated, then remembered the weapon she‘d seen in shop. The jeweled crossed swords near the hall entrance. If she could grab one, it wouldn‘t matter that she didn‘t have her strength back yet. She would still trust her martial arts skill over Izzy‘s loser boyfriend‘s aim. She loosened her death grip on the banister and proceeded forward. Turning back wasn‘t in her nature.

Chapter Eight

Noah‘s bones grew in a spurt, and he stumbled at the end of his leap into the shop. The air stank with a mix of excitement and fear. Noah felt neither. Just rage. Rage burned in his stomach and in his veins. Rage heated his throat. Rage puffed out of his mouth, invisible to human eyes but visible to the eyes of the beast. He was changing. Slowly. Too slowly. The changes hindering instead of helping him, making him clumsy and heavy, slow moving. ―Eek!‖ Izzy‘s eyes rounded and she backed away from a carved white dragon on a pedestal. The stink of fear intensified. ―What the fuck is wrong?‖ Kevin was hunkered down, scrabbling through the bottom desk drawer, not looking up. ―Keep this up and I‘ll beat you for real.‖ ―It‘s him.‖ Izzy pointed at Noah. ―It has to be him. It‘s got his eyes.‖ Kevin jumped up and grabbed the desk chair, reacting faster than Noah expected. He threw it at Noah with a super force and speed fueled no doubt by whatever drug he‘d taken. Noah caught the chair with one hand, his powers growing by the second. Kevin reached in his pocket and pulled out a gun, his mouth twisted in a snarl. ―I‘ll shoot.‖ He was drugged to the top of his shaggy head. Noah saw it in his fevered expression, his too bright eyes with pupils no bigger than a freckle. ―It‘s going to fuck up everything, but if it‘s you or me, it sure the fuck ain‘t gonna be me.‖ ―What do you mean, fuck up everything?‖ Noah kept his voice calm, not giving any agitation away as he heard Lila bounding down the stairs like a giant-sized rabbit wearing floppy clown shoes. Kevin pushed his hand through his hair. At one time, he might have looked like the boy band singers that the teen girls screamed over. But drugs and a few years had scored lines on his too thin face. Hardened him. Marked him. He reeked of desperation. ―The boss wants to know your secret. You got a formula or something?‖ Noah took a step toward him, mindful that Kevin was strung out and jumpy. Mindful that any sudden move or noise could make him shoot. Mindful that he could survive plagues and other human diseases, but not a bullet in his heart. Behind Noah, Izzy whimpered. ―Kevin! His skin. Look! He‘s getting scales.‖ ―I don‘t give a shit if he‘s got bumps the size of a large pizza.‖ Kevin didn‘t take his addict‘s gaze off Noah‘s face. ―When we‘ve got all that money in the bank, you can mail him some skin care lotion. Now, shut the fuck up.‖

Footstep padded in the hallway toward the shop, Lila trading the bumbling rabbit for the sly cat. Out of the corner of his eye, Noah saw movement in the hall, but he continued to face Kevin, keeping Kevin‘s attention on him. Though he couldn‘t see Lila, he smelled her. Cinnamon and musk. Light and dark. Sweet and heavy. Go back. He sent a silent message, as if she could read his mind, though he knew that would never happen. Go out the back door and run. A siren screamed on a street not far away. Probably an accident or a drunk somewhere. Noah‘s fingertips hurt, his claws pushing out. It took all his will power not to cry out. ―You were telling me about your boss,‖ he said. ―You think I‘m stupid?‖ Kevin sneered, so emaciated he looked like a skeleton covered with skin. ―Talk to you until cops get here? This ain‘t TV, dude. You don‘t need to know anything about Mr. Big. He knows all about you, that‘s what counts. Tell me how you stay young, when you‘re older than shit. Tell me and maybe I‘ll let you live.‖ ―We have to go.‖ Izzy‘s voice trembled. ―Cops! They‘re coming.‖ ―I told you to shut the fuck up.‖ Kevin whipped a look of hate at her, then back at Noah. ―I don‘t hear anything. When I do, I‘ll shoot him and we‘re out of here.‖ The sirens grew louder and Izzy put her knuckles to her mouth. Her gaze darted in the direction of the street and back again. Noah stiffened. Any second Kevin would hear the siren. Out of the corner of his eye, Noah saw Lila step into the room, so silently even he didn‘t hear her footfall. Quiet as a ghost now. But she wasn‘t a ghost. Kevin and Izzy could turn their heads an inch and they‘d see her. Go back. ―I‘m not playing games.‖ Kevin jabbed the gun in the air. ―Start talking.‖ Lila took another step and stopped next to the set of swords on the other side of the hall opening, dragons carved in the hilts. She reached out, grabbed one and drew it toward her. Tension vibrating in the air, Noah heard the zing of metal sliding against metal, like the twang of a guitar string. And he heard something else. Lila‘s shortened breaths and the thudding of her heart. Even as he heard it, his heart thumped in the same erratic rhythm. ―Your boss seems to be under a misapprehension,‖ he said, keeping his voice level as he braced his feet and bent his knees slightly. ―I‘m thirty-eight.‖ ―Yeah, and I‘m the king of England. Talk to me right now, asshole, or you‘re a dead man.‖ The siren grew louder. Kevin‘s features tightened, his hand holding the gun raised an inch. ―You called the fuckin‘ cops.‖ Izzy screamed. ―Lila!‖ ―Fuck.‖ Kevin turned his head to Noah‘s right, and his body shifted, his gun pointing at Lila. Instead of running into the hall, she rushed toward Kevin and leapt, the sword raised high above her head. ―Bastard!‖ she yelled. ―Bastard!‖

Noah‘s frozen heart melted. So beautiful. So brave. So foolhardy. Heat flamed up his throat and he lunged toward Kevin. He was inches away from Kevin when the gun went off, still aimed at Lila. The bang bounced off the walls and assaulted his ears. The room stank of gun smoke. Too late to stop the bullet, Noah swiped his hand out and caught Kevin‘s face with his claws. He scored four bloody lines from Kevin‘s nose to his ear. The gun flew out of Kevin‘s hand and slid beneath the desk. A thump brought Noah‘s attention to Lila. He looked behind him and saw her sprawled on the floor. Izzy screamed. Kevin screamed louder. Noah bounded to Lila‘s side and dropped to his knees. ―Fuck, fuck, fuck,‖ Kevin shouted behind him, his voice loud with pain and anger. ―You cut my face.‖ Lila stared up at Noah, but her eyes... They glazed over. Crimson red pumped out of a hole on her left side, above her heart, staining the blue T-shirt she‘d worn as a nightshirt. She was slipping away in front of his eyes, this woman who‘d run forward to protect him. He couldn‘t remember anyone doing that for him. There was only one way to save her. He didn‘t know if that way would work but he had to try. He swiped his longest claw over the pad of his palm, ripping his thickened skin open. Pain tore through him, and he pressed his lips together, not making a sound. ―She‘s dead.‖ Izzy sobbed. ―Kevin, you bastard. You killed my sister.‖ The sirens grew louder, less than a block away. ―Forget the bitch. I‘m hurt. We gotta get outta here.‖ Noah held his hand over Lila‘s mouth and his blood dripped down. Drops landed on her barely open lips and stained her teeth. ―Swallow,‖ Noah said, his voice fierce, and inside him heat flamed higher. ―Dammit, swallow.‖ She stared upward, her brown eyes dull, and he knew she didn‘t see him. She wasn‘t there anymore. He couldn‘t hear her heartbeat or her breaths. ―I can‘t leave.‖ Izzy‘s voice shivered with notes of fear. ―What‘s he doing to her? Stop him!‖ ―Shit, he‘s a fuckin‘ vampire.‖ Kevin laughed, high and nervous. ―C‘mon, she‘s dead. Even a vampire can‘t save the dead.‖ ―No,‖ Izzy said. ―No!‖ ―Stay then. I‘m outta here.‖ He ran, his footsteps pounding toward the back of the store and into the hall. Ignoring them, Noah pressed a thumb and middle finger on the soft skin on each side of Lila‘s mouth. Careful not to push his claws through her skin, he opened her mouth wider and held his hand over it, letting the blood drip into the larger opening. ―Swallow,‖ he said, and reinforced the command with his mind. Swallow, swallow, swallow. ―Please,‖ he added. ―Please swallow.‖

A spark flickered in her eyes. Her mouth moved, her throat contracted. His heart leapt. More of his blood dripped into her mouth. ―Do it again,‖ he said, hearing the grit in his voice, the plea. He‘d never begged before, not even with Beauty. ―Do it. Please, do it.‖ Her throat contracted again, and something released inside him. A strange emotion, but he recognized it. He‘d seen it in humans before. Foolish humans. Hope. She blinked and looked straight at him, the spark of life back in her eyes. Her hand lifted toward his cheek. Another drop of blood dripped into her mouth. She swallowed again. Her tongue swiped her upper lip. ―She‘s alive.‖ Izzy sobbed. ―Lila‘s alive! Your blood... It saved her.‖ The siren screamed past the shop, racing to another destination. Footsteps pounded in the hall toward them. ―The cops aren‘t coming here,‖ Kevin said, his breath huffing. ―Baby, I came back for you. You gotta go with me. I didn‘t mean to kill your sister. It‘s not my fault she jumped in front of me. Come with me. Get out while we can.‖ ―She‘s alive, Kevin.‖ Izzy‘s voice rose with excitement. ―Alive! Noah‘s blood saved her.‖ ―No shit! Mr. Big‘s going to pay big for this news. But in case he doesn‘t...‖ Though he stared into Lila‘s eyes, sending her messages of life, Noah saw Kevin‘s hand reach for the sword on the ground. Noah shifted his head and his rage built up a fire inside him, his fear stoking the flame. Kevin‘s hand clasped the hilt and Noah opened his mouth. A roar came out and something else. Fire. ―Fuckin‘ Christ.‖ Kevin jumped back, the smell of burnt cloth and skin in the air, the sword clattering onto the marble tiles. Izzy screamed and stared at Noah, walking backward away from him. Kevin laughed wildly, even as he cradled his scorched wrist to his ribs. ―Not a vamp, a dragon. Mr. Big‘s gonna shit. We got ourselves a dragon.‖ Noah roared again, and a plume of flame flared out of his mouth. ―Shit. I ain‘t getting paid enough to die. I‘m getting the fuck out of here.‖ Kevin turned and ran. This time Izzy followed him, screaming the way she‘d done more than two thousand years ago when she first saw Noah change from man to dragon. But this time, Noah didn‘t care what she thought. He only cared about what Lila thought as he looked down into her eyes that didn‘t give away any emotion. ~~~ Skin and scales. Lila ignored the cold marble floor beneath her and reached up to cup her hand against the side of Noah‘s not-quite-human face. He should have looked ugly, but his magnificence awed her. The gold scales should have felt stiff like lizard skin, but they felt like expensive silk. His jewel-toned eyes stared into hers. With his elongated jaw and widened nose,

he looked half dragon, half human. ―You‘re beautiful,‖ she said, and heard her voice, soft and ethereal, like the wisps of smoke hanging in the air. ―You‘re insane.‖ His voice rumbled, pleasing to her ears, wrapping her in comfort and strength. ―Maybe.‖ She spoke slowly, dreamlike. Maybe this was a dream. A lovely one from her childhood, when she believed in unicorns, fairies and dragons. A dream she didn‘t want to stop believing, though she knew it was false. ―You saved me.‖ Even as she said the words, she knew they couldn‘t be true. No one saved her. She saved other women, teaching them how to protect themselves, giving them back their power. ―He was going to shoot me, but you charged him.‖ Noah frowned, puzzled. As though he‘d walked into her dream and couldn‘t believe it, either. ―Don‘t do that again.‖ She brushed her fingertips down his face again, the skin and the scales silky. Sparks danced on her body. Another part of the dream. ―I drank your blood.‖ Even her voice sounded disconnected and happy. Surely that wasn‘t the real her. ―You brought me back to life. I stumbled into a fairy tale.‖ ―There are no bullets in fairy tales.‖ His deep voice reminded her of warm molasses. She wondered what it would be like to swim in warm molasses. To dangle her toes in it, let it lap over her feet. ―No guns. Just swords and magic.‖ ―And dragons. Will I turn into a dragon?‖ He looked down at his shoulder and arm, still human, then back at her. ―Apparently I can‘t be a full dragon myself, so I doubt it.‖ ―You don‘t know for sure?‖ He didn‘t answer, but as she watched, his jaw shrank, his nose thinned. Her dream was shrinking. Disappearing. The disappointment hurt more than the bullet in her chest, a sharper ache. For a few moments, it had been a lovely dream, as if she were floating on a big fluffy cloud. Now she toppled off the cloud and tumbled to earth with a thud, landing hard on a cold floor. A wave of tiredness swamped her, wrapping around her brain. She moaned her denial, even as images flashed in her mind. She‘d hovered above Noah, Lila, Kevin and her own body. No longer a participant but an observer. Kneeling on the floor, Noah cut his hand to save her. He looked calm and intent, but his passion buffeted her, tempests of emotion. She watched the blood drip into her mouth, saw the tension in Noah‘s face, heard him order her to swallow. And his thoughts—she heard them, too, louder than Izzy‘s sobs. Swallow, swallow, swallow. Then his voice, tinged with desperation. ―Please. Please swallow.‖ As he pleaded, she‘d whooshed back into her body. Her throat convulsed and she swallowed. She‘d returned for one reason. Because he said please. Coming back to life was her choice. Drinking his blood... Her choice.

The images faded, and she stared at Noah. This was real, no fairy tale. He was an actual dragon. Tiredness engulfed her. Her eyes wanted to close, but she fought to keep them open. Her hand dropped to his shoulder, clasping, hanging on to her link to life. ―Your blood is doing something to me. I can‘t keep my eyes open.‖ ―Close them. You‘re healing and you‘re tired. I‘m tired, too.‖ ―You‘re hypnotizing me.‖ He slid his arms beneath her back and her knees, then lifted her easily, as if she were a child instead of a tall woman with muscles. ―You need to sleep.‖ She looped her arms around his neck. ―Will you stay with me?‖ His step faltered. She felt his surprise and she laughed, hearing the breathiness, but not embarrassed. Sex didn‘t embarrass her. Kindness... Perhaps. She let her eyelids lower. ―Are you sure that‘s what you want?‖ He strode through the hall toward the back stairway, his breathing not changing, though she wasn‘t getting lighter with distance. ―I want you to be next to me when I wake. I want you to tell me what I am.‖ And she didn‘t want to be alone. Not tonight. ―I‘m not sure what I‘ll be, either.‖ The sadness in his voice squeezed her chest. ―A vampire?‖ ―There are no such things as vampires.‖ He stopped at the back door and double locked it, the two snicks soft in her ears. ―That‘s a myth.‖ She opened her eyes, gazing at the taut underside of his chin and jaw as he started up the stairs. The up and down movements began, and she interlaced her fingers behind his neck. ―Have you ever thought that somewhere there‘s a vampire saying the same thing to a woman about dragons?‖ His laughter came, full-bodied, his chest rumbling. Her eyelids closed again and she leaned her head against his shoulder. Something was wrong with her. Seriously wrong. She felt...happy. Content. Izzy had drugged her so she could rob the man who‘d taken them both in, then Izzy‘s boyfriend had tried to kill her. No, not tried. He‘d succeeded. She‘d died. And then she‘d come back to life. She should be angry, miserable. Instead she wanted to close her eyes and dream of Tinker Bell and dancing unicorns. And dragons. One particular dragon. It was his blood. His blood made her happy. And sleepy. Happy and Sleepy, two of the seven dwarfs. She wanted to laugh, but her mouth was too tired to open. Her mind felt numb, as if someone had shot novocaine into her brain. Her heartbeat was slowing, her breaths steady. She tried to push the lethargy back and hang on to the lovely feeling. Afraid to fall asleep. Afraid of what she‘d be when she woke up. A woman, a dragon, or half of both... ...or dead. Because dragons weren‘t real. That part must be an illusion.

The only part she believed was the bullet in her heart.

Chapter Nine

Pain woke her. Pressure in her heart and her chest. She cried out, and arms enfolded her. Noah. She pushed out her elbows, shoving him away. Gasping. The overhead light flicked on and she squinted against the sudden brightness. Noah gazed down at her, concern in his long face and his blue-green eyes. ―What is it? Should I call 911?‖ She shook her head. She couldn‘t be dying. Dying people didn‘t want to laugh, did they? And dragons didn‘t call 911. The pain flared outward. Not quite pain, more like pressure. A sharp stab made her gasp again. She reached out and grabbed his arm. Held on tightly. ―Something is happening.‖ She paused, her breath puffing in and out, like a woman giving birth. ―I‘ll give you more blood.‖ He shifted, and she dug her nails into his skin. ―No! Stay.‖ Oh God, she was treating him like a dog. And he was no dog to do tricks. He was...her savior. Her hero. A man like no other. He didn‘t say anything, and she kept her gaze on his face. He anchored her. She felt as if she was in a horror movie, and he knew what the script said. If she kept looking at him, she would be okay. ―There‘s something inside me.‖ Her chest convulsed with another squeeze. She half gasped, half cried. ―In my chest. Trying to come out.‖ She gritted her teeth, holding back a whimper. Izzy whimpered. Battered women whimpered. She never whimpered. The muscles in his face relaxed. He slid his gaze down to her chest, put his hand over her top, and tore her T-shirt in two. She arched her back and cried out. Whatever was inside her was coming out now. ―It‘s the bullet,‖ he said. ―Your body is expelling it.‖ One horrendous pain ripped through her chest, burning and seizing. She cried out again. The hell with being brave. And then... It was gone. The pain, the pressure, the burning in her chest. All gone. Leaving her sweating and gasping and shaking. She unhooked her nails from his skin and sagged onto the mattress. He smiled and his expression almost looked tender. ―Well done.‖ He brushed his fingers on the inside of her breast. Picking up the bullet, she supposed. She didn‘t look away from his blue-green eyes but shook her head. She hadn‘t expelled the bullet. His blood did it.

―My body...‖ She swallowed. Her teeth wanted to chatter, and she tightened her jaw. ―It‘s changing. I just expelled a bullet. What‘s happening to me?‖ He drew away, his hand closed around the bullet. Her shakes intensified into shudders. She was so cold. So damn cold. Even inches away from her, his body had warmed her. She wanted him back. He stood and she saw he still wore his clothes from last evening. His weren‘t torn, though they had blood on them. Her blood. ―I don‘t have the answer.‖ He walked away, out of the room, into the hall, leaving the light on. She pressed her lips together to stop herself from calling him back. He probably had to use the bathroom and would be gone for only a few minutes. And even if he left her, so what? She‘d do fine without him holding her. Though he could have turned off the light. Water ran in the hallway bathroom. She closed her eyes, but the light shone through her eyelids. She resisted turning on her side, not sure what the shift would do to her chest. The same reason she didn‘t pull the cover over her chest. She imagined heat flowing through her veins, warming her from the inside out, but her teeth didn‘t get the message, still wanting to chatter. She would survive this. She‘d survived worse. Faint strains of blues music came to her ears from the club next door. She couldn‘t identify it, but she breathed in tune with it, melancholy thrumming in her blood. The hum of the faucet shut off. Bare feet padded on the floor, into her room. The mattress dipped. Noah sat next to her right shoulder, his heat warming her again. Still, she kept her eyes shut. ―I‘m going to wipe your chest,‖ he said. ―Tell me if it hurts.‖ She nodded. This seemed to be working for her right now. Don‘t look. Don‘t talk. Don‘t scream. He pressed a warm, damp cloth on her upper chest. She opened her eyes after all and wondered what she was becoming. ―Does it hurt?‖ Frown lines indented between his slashing dark eyebrows. She shook her head, looking for answers in his gaze. ―It should hurt, shouldn‘t it? The bullet coming out of me... It felt like an alien pushed out of my chest instead of a small bullet. But once it was gone... I was fine. Like nothing happened.‖ She stopped and swallowed. ―I‘m forcing bullets out of my chest. It‘s crazy.‖ ―You‘re alive.‖ He dabbed her skin with the damp cloth. Wiping away crusty blood from last night, she supposed. ―I‘m a cartoon character.‖ He made a noise from his nose, not quite a snort, but she sensed his amusement. He pulled back the cloth and stood. The mattress released, the slight movement giving her chest a twinge. He pulled the blanket over her, tucking it beneath her chin.

―I‘ll sleep in the other room. Call if you need me.‖ A wordless protest tore from her throat before she could clamp her lips together. She turned her head away from him. ―You want me to stay,‖ he said. ―Sleep in the other room. I‘m fine.‖ The light turned off and she waited for his footsteps to pad out of the room. She wanted him to leave, she told herself. She wanted to be alone. The edge of the blanket lifted again, a draft of cool air on her chest, then the mattress dipped and he slid next to her. She gazed at him, but her eyes weren‘t adjusted to the darkness and the window shades were down. She couldn‘t see anything, but she smelled him. Like smelling the sun. Warm and clean. His body emitted heat like the sun, too, warming her side. But inside she felt as cold as the North Pole. If a polar cap needed freezing, Santa could send his sleigh for her. She‘d lie on it and turn melting snow into ice. ―Go to sleep,‖ he said. ―You‘ll be fine tomorrow.‖ She closed her eyes. Not from obedience, but the need to sleep. She‘d be something tomorrow—dragon, human, something in between—but she didn‘t know what.

Chapter Ten

Carter Fromm looked across his desk at the walking dead man with a scarred face and haunted eyes. Kevin Skimmer didn‘t know how close he was to an endless sleep, sitting his bony butt on Carter‘s Italian leather chair and making it look like a cheap knock-off. He flapped his mouth too fast like the junkie he was, sweat gleaming on his face. Four angry slashes on his left cheek oozed a rust-colored puss and he emitted the scent of rot. ―He turned into a monster?‖ Carter interrupted Kevin mid-sentence. He should never have trusted a junkie, but he‘d known Skimmer before the drugs ruled him, when he was his go-to guy who would do anything for money. ―I swear to God.‖ Skimmer sketched the sign of a cross over his chest, his hand shaking. ―Things popped up on his face. Feathers or fish scales or something. Then he blew fire out of his mouth. It freaked me out.‖ ―So you ran.‖ ―No, no!‖ Skimmer waved both hands in the air. ―That‘s when I got out my gun.‖ ―So you shot him.‖ Fury shook Carter, but he kept it out of his voice. ―No! Well, I was going to, but he wasn‘t alone. She came at me.‖ ―She? He was with a woman?‖ Carter‘s eyebrows rose as far as the Botox let them. According to the detective‘s reports, Long never dated. Except for trips to the grocery store, book store and the Monday night jams at the Blues Bar, he lived a solitary life. ―Yes! Blond and tall.‖ Skimmer jumped to his feet, holding his hand an inch above his head, his eyes wide. He smelled of sweat and desperation. ―And muscled. Like one of those Amazon women. She ran at me with a sword, and I had to shoot her instead of him.‖ Carter stood slowly, the rheumatoid arthritis attacking his joints like hell on fire today—and he was only forty. Too young to feel so old. Too young and too rich. Men like him weren‘t supposed to get incurable, crippling diseases. And now this. How the hell could this have gotten so fucked up? ―Is she dead?‖ Were the cops looking for Skimmer? Ready to swarm into his office any moment, waving search warrants? ―No, but it‘s not because my aim was bad.‖ Skimmer‘s attitude changed from cringing to arrogance. He swaggered two steps to Carter‘s ebony desk, the one that Carter‘s grandfather used to drink whiskey with Johnny Cash, play poker with Elvis, and fuck half the wannabe female country singers in the fifties. Skimmer slapped his palms on the desktop and leaned forward, his face close enough for Carter to see his constricted pupils.

―I shot her through her heart. She was dying. I swear to God, she was flyin‘ with the angels. Then he brought her back to life.‖ Every muscle in Carter‘s body stiffened, but he remained silent and stared Skimmer down, until his displeasure lasered through Skimmer‘s drug-frazzled brain. Skimmer blinked, then straightened and backed up a step. ―You‘re sure you shot her?‖ Carter asked. ―You‘re that good of a shot?‖ ―She was only a few feet away. Jumping straight at me like a crazy woman, the fucking sword in her hand. I couldn‘t miss.‖ Carter nodded for him to go on. That had the ring of truth. ―Long went over to her. Cut his own hand and let his blood drip into her mouth. I seen a lot of crazy shit, but nothing beat that. I got the fuck outta there.‖ ―Back up.‖ Carter leaned forward. ―Did she swallow his blood? If she did, what happened next? Be precise.‖ Skimmer wiped beads of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. His complexion was the color of paste and he looked like he could use a blood cocktail. ―First of all, the fucker had claws sticking out of his hand. Look what he did to my face!‖ Excitement stirred inside Carter. His heartbeat drummed in his ears like wild horses stampeding. ―Go on.‖ ―He knocked the gun outta my hand and cut my face up. All I wanted to do was get outta there.‖ ―But you didn‘t.‖ Carter put bass into his voice, compelling Skimmer to look into his eyes. ―You said she was dead but didn‘t die. How did you know this?‖ ―I didn‘t leave right away.‖ He looked down. ―My face, you know...‖ Carter straightened his spine. ―I don‘t like lies.‖ More sweat beads appeared on Skimmer‘s forehead. ―Okay. I wasn‘t alone.‖ He held his hand up. ―Don‘t worry, she won‘t say nothing. I got her under my thumb. She‘s like my slave. Does anything I tell her.‖ Rage burned a path through Carter‘s body. At his sides, his hands curled. ―The name of your friend.‖ A command, not a question. ―Izzy. She‘s been with me for six years. We‘re like this.‖ Skimmer held up two fingers wrapped around each other. ―She was helping me. It was her sister who attacked me. She‘s a fuckin‘ crazy bitch and was asking for it. But Izzy, she didn‘t want to leave while her sister was dead. You know how bitches are. But then the sister drank the blood and came to life.‖ ―To life?‖ Carter‘s heart pounded faster and harder. ―I swear to God and Jesus and Mary.‖ Skimmer made the sign of the cross again. A junkie Catholic. Just what the world needed. ―On my grandma‘s grave. The sister‘s eyes opened and Izzy screamed that she was alive. And Long... He was still human but his face was doing weird shit. Then fire came out of his mouth and he burned my wrist.‖ Skimmer thrust his hand out, showing the angry red blisters on the back of his wrist. ―That‘s when I knew what he was. A

dragon. A fuckin‘ dragon. I grabbed Izzy and left. This time she didn‘t give me any shit.‖ ―I see.‖ Carter rocked back and forth on his cowboy boots. Calm on the outside, but in his brain, fireworks were going off. This was it. The secret the most expensive and sophisticated detective agencies couldn‘t find. It took a junkie and his girlfriend to discover that Noah Long was a dragon. It sounded insane, but what Carter knew about Long was insane. Insane and indisputable. ―Does your girlfriend know you‘re here?‖ ―No.‖ More sweat shone on Skimmer‘s slashed face. He was a lousy liar. ―You‘ll give me the money, right? Twenty-five thousand.‖ ―The offer was ten grand.‖ ―My face got cut!‖ Skimmer said, too loud, pointing at his cheek. ―My fuckin‘ face. I‘m scarred. I should ask for a lot more than twenty-five grand.‖ And he would, Carter knew. He would demand more as soon as he and his girlfriend blew the money on drugs. But he couldn‘t ask if he were dead. ―I don‘t have that kind of money lying around, and I won‘t write you a check. I‘m not leaving a paper trail.‖ Skimmer‘s lips pulled back from his teeth, like a trapped animal. ―You pay your music people millions.‖ Carter didn‘t allow his distaste to show. Every second he was standing pain twisted through his neck, his back, his joints. But he couldn‘t show any weakness. Don’t let them see you flinch. ―We don‘t pay with cash. If you want your money, give me your address.‖ Carter gestured at the pen and paper on his desk, not sure he could bend without crying out. ―I‘ll drop the money off later today.‖ ―What time?‖ Skimmer‘s hand shook as he scribbled his address. ―I have a couple appointments, but they shouldn‘t take long. An hour or two. You‘ll be there.‖ ―Yeah, yeah, I‘ll be there.‖ Skimmer shoved the paper across the desk and stood, his expression avid, his eyes shining with greed, his earlier fears and misgivings forgotten. A true junkie, living for the moment. ―Good.‖ Get this done as soon as possible. ―Make sure your girlfriend‘s there, too.‖ ―Izzy?‖ Skimmer‘s eyebrows contracted, his head down, eyes darting with suspicion. ―Before I give you the money, I want to ask her about the events of last night.‖ ―Oh. Yeah, sure.‖ Skimmer gave him a wolf‘s smile. ―I‘ll make sure she‘s there.‖ With a nod, Carter sat and then glanced at his PDA, as though Skimmer were already gone, holding himself stiffly to keep from shaking with a torturous combination of pain and rage. ―Um, I‘ll go then.‖ Carter waited for the click of the door before he opened the drawer and took out his pain pills. He swallowed one in gulps, wanting the pill to dissolve quickly into his system. While he waited for the pain to ease, he listened to a demo one of his producers had given

him, saying the singer made Reba sound like a hick. Reba did sound like a hick—a hick with one of the best voices in the world. The new singer was good. No Reba, but there was only one Reba. No matter. He‘d see the new girl. From the light in the producer‘s eyes, Carter bet she was hot. It was good business to sign a looker. Pretty girls sold better than plain ones, no matter which one sang better. A fact of life. He called the producer and left a message. By the time he hung up, the pill had kicked in, the grinding of his inflamed joints lessened, and he relaxed his shoulders. He felt good enough to think about calling Aimee up and meeting her for a quickie. The junkie could wait until he was damned ready. Then he remembered Aimee was with her band this morning. Just as well. He bent to unlock the bottom drawer of his desk. His lower back twinged, the pain bearable, and he took out the Smith & Wesson .38 caliber revolver. According to statistics it was the most common gun used in crimes of violence. For this afternoon‘s task he needed common. Next he took a folder out of the top drawer, then slid out the yellowed photographs he‘d taken from his grandfather‘s scrapbook. Six men in a blues band, three black and two white, not the usual mix in those days. The sixth member stood on the left. Tall and lean, with a long face and fingers, he looked slightly Oriental, an air of foreignness about him, his eyes almond shaped. Even in the grainy photo, his black hair looked shiny. Carter took out several more photos from later on in the same decade, the band members aging, hair thinning, jowls and wire-rimmed glasses appearing. Except for one. The tall, foreign man, who looked the same in each photo, his face never changing. Even his hands and fingers smooth. He could have been anywhere from thirty to forty. Then he was gone. Another sax player replaced him, a thin, smiling black man who grew chubbier and grayer in the following photos. After that, nothing for thirty years. No pictures. No obits. Nothing. The next pictures were from the seventies. Newspaper clippings instead of photos. Carter‘s father didn‘t do scrapbooks like his father, the founder of Fromm Records. This time there were just three black-and-white pictures with Noah‘s face and body. In each, his head was turned to the side, showing his profile, but Carter recognized him. The same long face, tilted eyes, seal black hair. Last, he took out six photos taken during the last five years at the Blues Bar. The same face, same age. Playing every Monday with the band as though he and his sax were one instrument. ―I know your secret,‖ he whispered. ―It‘s your blood. That‘s what keeps you young.‖ He gathered the photos and newspaper clippings back into the folder, returned it to the drawer and locked it. Then he stood and went into his private bathroom. From the gym bag he kept in there, he took out a pair of old jeans and a flannel shirt, something he‘d never wear. Below was the final piece of his disguise. A blond shaggy wig. As he changed, he caught his image in the mirror. He still looked handsome and fit, but that wouldn‘t last long. He‘d been missing the gym too much lately. He was married to a twenty-six-

year-old singer with a size two body and breasts like ripe melons who thought old was boring. He needed Long‘s secret. His new clothes on, he grimaced at the image in the full length mirror. The man looking back at him was an over-the-hill red-necked guitar player who never made the big time or even the small time. There were hundreds like that guy in Nashville. Most of them worked a day job and haunted the clubs at night, hoping to meet someone who‘d help them, hoping for a break. No one would recognize him. He took the gym bag into the office. Once he stuck a cowboy hat and the gun in the gym bag, he called his secretary and told her he was going out and would be back in a couple hours. Not to ring him for anything. Without hesitation, he strode to his private elevator in the back of the room. He wasn‘t looking forward to doing this, but as his granddaddy was famous for saying, ―Like it or not, sometimes you gotta get your hands dirty.‖

Chapter Eleven

Sunlight burned through Lila‘s eyelids. Something warm and breathing pressed against her leg. Too soft to be Noah, but the hair on her arms rose. He was watching her. She felt his stare as though it brushed her skin and whispered across every exposed inch. Her eyes opened and she arrowed her gaze in the direction of the stare, straight into Noah‘s blue-green eyes. He sat on a carved, throne-like chair in the corner, watching her as if she were an exotic creature in the zoo. Mystic meowed, curled against Lila‘s leg, protesting her slight movement. ―I wasn‘t dreaming,‖ Lila said, though dreaming was the wrong word for her nightmare memories of last night. She sat up, the blanket falling around her waist, her chest chilly. Mystic meowed another complaint and leapt off the bed, then padded across the floor, past Noah on his throne, the king of the bedroom. Her tail up, she was the queen of the bedroom. Lila awake and moving was no use to her at all. Glancing down, Lila saw her ripped blouse, her breasts, the nipples hardening under the cold and his stare. But it was what she didn‘t see that stopped her breathing on an inhale. No bullet hole. No scar. Just a small pucker, a pinkness on her lightly tanned skin. Nothing else. As though she‘d imagined last night. But the emotion inside her, the anger, the fear, the sorrow—all the sucky feelings rolled into one massive ball of misery in the middle of her chest—told her they were as real as her heartbeat. As real as Noah the man and Noah the dragon. She exhaled and shifted her gaze to the blankets. Bloodstains. Dried already. More proof that last night really happened. That Noah really had flamed fire at a man. That he had claws and scales. That she‘d died and he‘d saved her with his blood. ―Izzy set you up last night,‖ she said, heaviness inside of her. ―I‘m sorry.‖ ―It‘s not your fault.‖ His face didn‘t betray emotion, as impassive as a mask. ―Your sister is weak by nature, and you can‘t change a person‘s nature.‖ ―You don‘t sound surprised.‖ Or betrayed. He should feel betrayed. She waited a beat, but he didn‘t elaborate. Maybe dragons didn‘t have feelings. Or else they handled them better than humans. In that case, she was as human as ever, a rush of anger

steamrolling over the fear and the sorrow. She wanted to hunt Izzy down, grab her and shake her until her too few brains rattled like nails in a tin can. Then she wanted to lock her up somewhere until she dried out. No drugs, no booze, just a locked, soundproofed room with a toilet. Tough love. Soft only worked with Izzy until you turned your back on her. After Izzy was so dry she squeaked, Lila wanted to march her to a recruiting station and sign her up for the Marines. A place where Izzy could grow a backbone. And sometime during that process, Lila wanted to chase down Izzy‘s lover boy and show him he‘d made a big mistake when he‘d robbed the wrong man and shot the wrong woman. The sense of loss slammed back, double, triple, quadruple, knocking down the anger. How could Izzy have done this? How could she? She pushed aside the cover and swung her feet over the side of the bed. Wallowing in selfpity sucked worse than getting shot. She stood, not worrying that Noah could see her bare chest. She doubted the sight of her breasts—impressive though they were—would make him fall into a paroxysm of lust. He stood, too, his eyes on her chest. His gaze felt dispassionate, but she shivered as awareness prickled over her skin, her nipples tightening. Okay, maybe she was wrong about his lust. It seemed to her that he was looking at her as if he was a man where it counted, despite the dragon thing. She stood taller, still not grabbing the blanket. ―You saved my life.‖ He lifted his gaze from her breasts. ―You saved mine. The bullet was meant for me.‖ ―Would a bullet kill you?‖ ―It‘s my belief that it would.‖ ―But you don‘t know for sure,‖ she said. ―You don‘t know what the blood has done to me, either?‖ ―I‘ve never shared my blood before, so I can‘t say with any certainty. I heard that dragon blood would heal a human, even bring one back to life, but that was many years ago. I doubt there will be any long-term effects. I‘m not sure of the short-term.‖ ―Not FDA approved?‖ His smile was quick, there one instant, gone the next, like a twinkle of a star. ―I expelled a bullet from my chest. That‘s...amazing. Are you self-healing?‖ ―To an extent. If I had enough blood loss, it‘s possible I could die. Other injuries, such as an explosion, would likely kill me, too. Like Humpty Dumpty, you couldn‘t put the pieces back together again.‖ A dragon who knew childhood poems. She suppressed a smile. What happened last night wasn‘t whimsical or childlike. ―Is it possible I could heal others with my blood?‖ A slight frown crossed his forehead and disappeared as fast as his smile. ―You expelled the bullet, so perhaps the combination of human and dragon blood created a unique synthesis. It‘s unlikely to last long. Human blood renews itself every three or four months.‖

She nodded. Now she knew. Now she could go on with her life. But Noah stood in front of her, not moving, the way all men did when they had something to say but were taking their time spitting it out. She raised her eyebrows in a question. ―You saw me for what I am last night.‖ He kept his gaze on her face, as though he were trying to see behind her eyes, view the gears turning in her brain and the different areas lighting up. ―A beast. Why aren‘t you afraid?‖ She didn‘t reply immediately, asking herself the same question. Shouldn‘t she be stunned by what she‘d seen? In disbelief? Frightened of the unknown? Denial surged up inside her, Even before she‘d known what he was, he seemed unlike other men. Otherworldly. Too sure and too calm and too apart. And last night in his shop, it was as if a glorious creature had sprung out of the pages of a fairytale. The scary part had been fully human, a man with a gun. A sister who‘d betrayed her out of weakness. She shivered again. ―You helped Izzy, you saved me. If that‘s a beast, every man should be one.‖ He went still. She couldn‘t hear his breaths or see his chest move. ―You‘re not like any woman I know,‖ he said finally. ―I don‘t think there are many like me. I‘m going to change.‖ She needed to leave before she said anything more. Just because he‘d brought her back to life, it didn‘t mean she should tell him her deepest secrets. In the bathroom, she showered and washed her hair, using his shampoo and soap. Heading back to the bedroom, the towel wrapped around her, she heard him in the kitchen, footsteps and the homey clink of dishes and silverware. She closed the bedroom door behind her, ignoring the goosebumps on her arms. Most of the time, her life was ordered and calm. She had her students, her few close friends, and Marc when he was between acting jobs. It sometimes felt like she was a train on the same track every day, making the same stops, seeing the same people. But every once in a while, her train swerved onto another track. These last couple days, her train had derailed and lost all the passengers. Her thoughts were veering into self-pity again. She shut them off and dug into her carry-on for another set of clothes. When she was dressed in a pair of jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt, she left her hair down to air dry. A buzzing sound from inside her purse caught her attention. Her cell phone. She‘d forgotten about it. Probably Miriam or Marc. They both seemed far away and insubstantial, from another life where people didn‘t try to kill her. Except for the occasional asshole on the freeway with anger issues. She picked it up and saw a text message from Marc. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she read it. ―sorry. ella‘s pg and we‘re getting married. thought i shd tell u b4 it‘s on the news.‖ She stared at it for a long moment, and felt...annoyance. Amusement. Slightly pissed that she

didn‘t break up with him first. Then she noticed what she didn‘t feel. Surprise. Anger. Unhappiness. Not even irritated enough to want to fly home and burn the clothes he‘d left in her house. She texted her congrats, then wondered if anyone was taking bets on how long he and Ella would last. There was an older text from Miriam. ―Why aren‘t you answering your phone? It‘s all clear! The woman told the cops the killer has a scar. You can come home.‖ Lila typed a return message. ―Thnx. I‘m still helping my sister. Marc‘s marrying his pg actress GF. Don‘t get mad.‖ She pictured Noah breathing fire and smiled grimly. ―I met a hotter guy. Call u later.‖ She sent it and checked her messages. Miriam had called twice. Marc once. There were calls from several clients. None from the person she most wanted to speak to. Izzy. Her teeth gritted. Izzy, I hate you. Her eyes burned. Izzy, I love you. A knock on the bedroom door got her attention. She hurried to it, her emotions taking another turn. So far today she was experiencing a kaleidoscope of colors and emotions. Right now she felt brighter, expectant, her nerves fizzing. All for the man on the other side of the door. Understandable, she told herself. Noah had saved her life. And how often did she meet a dragon? She opened the door and he stood on the other side, a good half foot taller than her. Not as handsome or ripped as Marc, but if she put them in a ring together, she had no doubt who would be the last man standing. ―Do you like eggs?‖ he asked. ―You don‘t have to make me anything.‖ ―I‘m leaving today. Any food left behind will go to waste.‖ He turned toward the kitchen. She followed him, as though he was the Pied Piper and she was a child entranced by his music. ―Leaving? A vacation?‖ He opened the refrigerator door and bent down. She checked out his butt in his black slacks. Not bad, though she‘d never been a butt woman. She‘d always thought what was up front counted. The only part of the male anatomy that had done her any good. ―Someone knows who I am.‖ He stood, looking elegant holding the plastic tray filled with eggs in his long-fingered hand. ―Someone sent Kevin here to look for me.‖ ―Not to kill you.‖ She lived out the night before in her mind, the few moments when her own life changed, seeing the panic on Kevin‘s face, smelling the sour scent of his fear. ―Someone sent him here to find out your secret.‖ He crossed to the stove. ―Easy over? Scrambled? Two or three eggs.‖ ―Either. Two will be fine.‖ She didn‘t sit, she paced the kitchen, a contrast to his calmness and deliberate movements. ―He thinks you‘re a vampire.‖

His back was to her and he broke an egg into a bowl. A careful chef. Careful everything, she guessed. Even making love. ―It doesn‘t matter what he thinks of me,‖ he said. ―I‘ll pack up today and be gone before this evening.‖ ―Mr. Big... God, I hate that name. Mr. Small might come before then.‖ ―It‘s possible.‖ Noah‘s voice was unperturbed, as calm as if she‘d said the pizza delivery person was on his way. The bread inside the toaster popped up. She crossed to the counter, pulled the slices of toast out and plopped them on two plates already set on the wooden kitchen table. The plates were gold-trimmed with a line-drawn dragon. She wondered if he missed other dragons. Though perhaps he saw other dragons often. Dozens of dragons. Hundreds. Maybe they had yearly reunions, monthly concerts, weekly camping trips. They could take turns lighting the campfire with their breath. But he felt solitary. And if he had all those buddies, wouldn‘t he have asked them for help? ―You don‘t have to run,‖ she said. ―I owe you. I can take care of it.‖ She fought to keep her muscles from tensing but her nerves twisted and her stomach revolted. She‘d killed twice, and if the same circumstances happened, she would do it again. Even though it sickened her, a whisper in her mind saying she was no better than they were. Noah didn‘t reply immediately and she felt his gaze on her back. Then it was gone, and she felt...colder, as though she‘d lost something vital. ―I appreciate the offer,‖ he said in his molten voice, ―but that‘s not necessary. I‘ve done this before. When too many people remark upon my lack of aging, it‘s time to disappear for a few decades. This time I might not return.‖ She unscrewed the lid from a jar of strawberry preserves. Organic, the label said. She swirled the knife in, then spread preserves on the toast. ―It must be harder to disappear now. With YouTube and all.‖ She heard her voice falter. It sounded as though she was trying to convince him to stay, but that wasn‘t true. She was just stating facts. ―I‘ll stop playing my sax with other musicians. I‘ll miss that.‖ She nodded, though he couldn‘t see her. She heard his footsteps coming toward her. He used the spatula to divide the eggs before depositing them on the two plates. She sat and grabbed the other piece of bread to spread the preserves on. Anyone watching would think they were two people who‘d spent the night together, probably making love, and now they were eating breakfast, experiencing the morning after blend of nerves and hope. He set the pan on the stove, then returned to the table. ―Are you going home?‖ ―After you leave, I will.‖ He looked amused. ―I don‘t need protection.‖ ―You did last night.‖ ―Last night I was drugged.‖

―So was I. And I still covered your ass.‖ She lifted a forkful of eggs to her mouth. ―Next time you might not get lucky. We might both die.‖ She swallowed before replying. ―What about all the stuff in the store?‖ ―I‘ll pack and store it somewhere. Once I‘m settled, I‘ll send for it.‖ ―Then perhaps you‘d better hurry up and eat. We need to start packing.‖ She scooped up another forkful of eggs. His hand curled loosely around her wrist, stopping her with the fork halfway between the plate and her mouth. ―Can I say anything to make you leave right now?‖ ―No.‖ She shook off his hand and wondered what happened to Kevin‘s gun. So far she hadn‘t killed with a gun. But there was always the first time.

Chapter Twelve

Skimmer died with a surprised look on his slashed face, his mouth half open, tumbled across his bed in a cheap hotel room, his arm still held out for the money. Carter noted the steadiness of his hand gripping the gun, the way his senses sharpened, observing everything in the room. The worn carpet with a sad smell. The curtain over the window with giant faded roses. The grime-covered windows diffusing the mid morning sunlight. His hearing was sharp, too. As sharp as the look on Aimee‘s face when he couldn‘t perform in bed. That was two nights ago. Tonight he would perform like a porn star. He heard his harsh breaths. The hard thump in his chest, the same way his heart pounded after an orgasm. The door opened and he wheeled toward it, holding the gun behind his back. His heart thudded even more loudly, more crazily. A woman, small and delicate, beautiful, closed the door behind her. He could see at a glance the marks of an addict. And there was the brightly colored eye. She smiled at him, though her brows arched. She wasn‘t expecting him. Skimmer must have lied to get her out of here, wanting to keep all the money and not give her any. Just as Skimmer had lied to him, saying she didn‘t know anything, not even his name, and on second thoughts he‘d decided not to have her here, despite Carter‘s express order. Really, Skimmer deserved to die. No one would miss him except for his girlfriend. And she wouldn‘t miss him for long. Carter returned the smile, glad she‘d come back early. Now he wouldn‘t have to wait. She carried a plastic grocery bag, bananas sticking out of the top. She‘d gone shopping for groceries, like a good girlfriend. Carter pitied her. ―Hello, I‘m—‖ Her gaze swept beyond him, to the bed. Her mouth opened, the bag slid out of her hand, the bananas and other groceries thumping to the worn carpet. A can of soda rolled toward Carter‘s feet. A keening sound came out of her mouth and she backed up, her hands out to protect herself. Carter whipped the gun from behind his back and aimed it at her. She shook her head and her lips formed the word Please. He shot her before she could say it, the gun with the silencer making a muffled pop. Not even

as loud as a balloon bursting. She fell to her knees, a hole in the middle of her forehead. ―Eh,‖ she said. ―Eh.‖ And in her eyes he saw the question. Why? Why did you do this to me? ―I‘m sorry,‖ he said, and as the words came out of his mouth, he knew he wasn‘t. He just wanted to stop her looking at him like that. As though he was a cold-blooded killer. She didn‘t answer, toppling forward, onto her face. Carter dropped his arm and stepped up to her prone body. Kneeling, he rolled her to her side with his gloved hand. She stared up at him and he knew she was dead, her eyes flat, her expression frozen in a question. ―So easy,‖ he murmured, then rolled her back to her previous position. He straightened and shoved the gun into his jacket pocket before doing a quick search of the hotel room. Nothing in the place connected him, but he grabbed Skimmer‘s phone and could hardly believe his luck. One of those pay-as-you-go phones. The cops wouldn‘t even know he‘d had it. He found another phone in girl‘s purse, this one a regular cell phone. He‘d check later to make sure Skimmer never called him on it. But even if he had, so what? He was the head of a music company. A lot of people called him. He shoved both phones in the gym bag he‘d plopped on the bed, bending his knees slightly. Vicious pain attacked the joints of his knees. He gritted his teeth to hold back a cry. Looking down at the bodies, he was grateful for the reminder of the reason he‘d done this. Sooner or later they would have told someone. Everyone knew not to trust junkies. When this started, he hadn‘t realized Kevin was an addict, just that he‘d do anything for money. With the latex gloves still on, Carter grabbed the gym bag and headed to the door. This wasn‘t him. He wasn‘t a bad man. He was a desperate man.

Chapter Thirteen

Lila wrapped packing paper around a blue dragon figurine as smooth as new ice. Probably worth more than her Taurus, when what she wanted to do was smash the dragon on Noah‘s thick head. She gave him the angry gorilla look she normally reserved for students who didn‘t pay her. ―You can hire movers to pack for you.‖ Lovingly placing a wrapped statue in a box, he didn‘t glance at her. They‘d packed for four hours, and the place was only half empty. Amazing how many things one small shop contained. After handling so many dragon items, she was starting to work up a dislike of the objects. She was none too happy with the real thing, either. ―Can you guarantee the items will end up in the storage area whole and undamaged?‖ he asked. She pressed her lips together and continued wrapping. This was starting to sound domestic, and she didn‘t do domestic. ―You don‘t have to stay,‖ he said. ―I can do this myself.‖ ―I‘m staying.‖ The words kicked out of her mouth like karate chops. Mr. Big or Small or whoever he was could come any moment. The reason Noah was leaving, yet he piddled around with his overpriced knickknacks. She didn‘t care if they were 3500 years old and made of nephrite jade or thirty-five days old and made of plastic. None of it was worth her life. But he wouldn‘t leave. Maybe he‘d started out life as a dragon, but he was stubborn as any man she knew. Because of that, she wouldn‘t leave, either. No matter how stupid he was acting. He‘d brought her back to life. She owed him. The CLOSED sign in the window and a locked the door wouldn‘t stop anyone determined to break in. Perhaps he didn‘t need her at his side, but that was too bad. She was going to be there anyway. Her phone trilled. She wanted to ignore it. Probably a friend or client who heard about Marc‘s upcoming wedding. But it could be Izzy calling her. Sobbing and saying she was sorry. Offering excuses. Up to her old Izzy tricks. Lila took the five steps to the desk, grabbed her cell phone and glanced at the number, a 615 area code. Nashville, not southern California. She put it to her ear. ―Izzy, I‘m so pissed at you my eyes are probably yellow.‖ For a second, no one answered. She glanced at Noah and saw emotion in his usually dispassionate face. Sympathy for having a sister like Izzy. A sister who‘d run off with the man who‘d shot her.

Lila turned her back on him. She‘d endured worse in her life, and she was fine. She didn‘t need his sympathy. ―Is this Lila Fox?‖ a male voice asked. ―Isabelle Walton‘s half-sister.‖ Her grip tightened on the phone. ―Who is this?‖ ―Ms. Fox, this is Detective Jim Rochester from the Metropolitan Nashville Police Department. I‘m calling about your half sister.‖ ―Izzy? What‘s she done?‖ ―Ma‘am, have you talked to your sister recently?‖ ―Yes. Why?‖ He didn‘t answer right away, and dread twisted her stomach. She glanced at Noah. He set down the bowl he‘d picked up and strode to her side. ―What is it?‖ She shook her head, looking away from him. Whatever it was, she would handle it herself. ―Do you know if she was having trouble with anyone?‖ the detective asked. ―Was she afraid of anyone? Was anyone threatening her?‖ Oh God, oh Christ, what happened? ―Her boyfriend. He beat her up.‖ ―She told you that?‖ ―I saw it.‖ As soon as the words were out, she winced. Her brain wasn‘t working right to volunteer that information, not to a cop. The dread was spreading inside her like kudzu on speed, winding around her brain cells and strangling any coherent thoughts. ―Are you in Nashville?‖ The detective‘s tone was urgent. Noah put his hand on her shoulder. Strong and warm, a reminder that she wasn‘t alone. She wanted to lean her head against his shoulder, but she kept her neck and back straight, her feet planted on the floor. ―Yes, I got here yesterday.‖ Hard to believe it was only one day. ―I can come to the police station and talk to you.‖ ―There‘s no need, ma‘am. We can come to you.‖ ―Just a mo—‖ ―Give them my address,‖ Noah interrupted. She gazed up at him and she breathed easier, the tightness in her chest loosening a tiny bit. He grounded her, this man she‘d met less than twenty-four hours ago, with his odd-colored eyes that met hers squarely. Thank you, she mouthed, then turned away, not wanting him to see the fear flare in her eyes as she gave the police the Dragon‘s Lair address. She hung up and faced Noah, managing to breathe evenly. ―You heard him, didn‘t you? You must have the hearing of a cat.‖ ―Better than a cat.‖ He gazed into her eyes, and she wondered if he heard the thumping of her heart. ―We‘re causing you a lot of trouble, me and Izzy. First all that other stuff.‖ She twisted her hand in the air. ―And now the cops are coming here.‖

―Police officers don‘t bother me. I‘ve been chased by knights with spears and offered virgins by villagers. The virgins scared me more than the knights.‖ She huffed out a laugh and strode to a three-foot tall vase with blue dragons, dolphins and clouds cavorting on an unglazed white background. She knelt on the floor to wrap it, focusing on it as if it were the most important thing in her life. Noah walked past her, his footsteps making a shushing noise. On the sidewalk outside, a woman laughed. Another woman said, ―I‘m not kidding about the size of him. King Kong would‘ve been jealous.‖ Cars rumbled along the street. A bus door swished opened on Elliston Place, a half block away. Mystic padded on the floor upstairs. She let go of the vase and stood slowly. The world swirled like a merry-go-round out of control. If she moved too fast, she‘d fall on her ass. ―My hearing... It‘s changed. Sharper. Better.‖ He didn‘t say anything, just looked at her. ―Your blood.‖ Her voice was a harsh whisper. ―What else is it going to do?‖ His lips curved and his eyebrows arched. ―Are you getting a craving for coal?‖ She glowered at him. A dragon joke, and not a good one. But some of the tension oozed out of her tightly wound muscles. She went back to her wrapping, hearing Mystic dart down the stairs and along the hall, then stroll sedately into the shop. Doing them a favor by appearing and inspecting the boxes. Three packages later, Noah lifted his head and peered outside. She glanced up, too, but from her angle, kneeling on the floor, she only saw two men walking past in jeans and sweatshirts. A woman in three-inch heels passed them, going in the other direction. Then a car door slammed on the street in front of the shop. Noah was at her side in three long strides. He curled his fingers around her upper arm and supported her as she stood. Not that she needed support. She jerked her arm away and looked at the door. But she felt his gaze on her, warming her skin like sunlight. ―I‘ll answer it,‖ he said, a second before she saw the man in the gray suit and blue tie through the shop window. She took deep breaths as he opened the door to the detective, a stocky man in his mid thirties, short brown hair, her height, not bad looking. No wedding ring. A man she might date if he weren‘t a cop and she hadn‘t killed two men. He flicked his gaze from Noah to her. ―Lila Fox? I‘m Detective Rochester.‖ ―May I see your ID?‖ He showed her his ID and his badge. She moved closer and memorized the number. Not that she was worried for herself. But what if Mr. Small had sent him here as a way to get to Noah? Stepping back, she nodded but remained alert to anything that seemed off. Not taking her gaze from the detective‘s face with the strong square chin. ―You live in California.‖ He slid his ID holder into his pocket. ―Is there a reason you‘re in

Nashville now?‖ She darted a look at Noah, who had moved silently to stand two feet from her side. She turned back to the detective. Sturdy and studly, she thought as she told him about Noah‘s phone call and her flight to Nashville. ―What‘s this about?‖ She‘d answered enough questions. Now it was his turn. ―Izzy‘s loser boyfriend came last night, and she left with him. That‘s the last we‘ve heard of them. I‘m pretty pissed at her.‖ His lips twitched. ―So you told me on the phone.‖ She raised her eyebrows. His smile straightened and the amusement and hint of flirtation changed to something that chilled her, the way adults looked at children when they were about to tell them very bad news. ―Did Izzy overdose?‖ She heard the high note of fear in her voice, but right now she didn‘t give a damn how scared she appeared. ―She didn‘t overdose. So you were aware that she was an addict?‖ ―Of course.‖ Her arms were rigid by her sides. Enough chit-chat. ―What happened to Izzy?‖ The detective glanced away from her and then back, his lower lip rolled between his teeth, like someone gearing himself up to do something he hated. Then his lips opened, his mouth and tongue and teeth shaping words that sounded as if they came from a distance, in slow motion, the sound distorted. ―I‘m sorry to have to tell you, but Isabelle Walton was found dead late this morning.‖ The room reeled, turning upside down. An arm wrapped around her back, holding her up. Noah. She braced her feet and shook off his arm, then glared at the detective. ―No! Izzy‘s not dead. She can‘t be.‖ He hunched his shoulders and lowered his neck, like a turtle. ―I‘m sorry,‖ he repeated. ―Very sorry.‖ Oh God, it was true. She knew it. She‘d known before he‘d said it. She bent forward, the grief starting deep inside her, in the pit of her belly and even lower, in her womb. Because hadn‘t Izzy been her child? Hadn‘t she cooed over the tiny, perfect baby when she was only seven? Fed her with the bottle? Changed her diapers when their mother was in bed after being beaten by Izzy‘s father, begging Lila to keep Izzy from crying, afraid Izzy‘s father would beat the baby, too? Aware of the detective‘s eyes on her, she held back her grief the way she‘d held back her own cries all those years ago. Instead, she screamed in silence, her mind and her internal organs shaking with the force of the silent, deafening voice. Until it grew too big and too high and too wide, and most of all too loud. A tidal wave of grief and pain battering down her wall of control. Immense. Hurtful. Unstoppable. A low, guttural moan gritted out of her mouth and every pore of her skin. She straightened and the groan changed to a howl. She lifted her face to the ceiling, and the howl deepened and grew like the pain inside her and changed into a roar that shook the air and sent the sturdy

detective stepping back in dismay. Waves from her roar bounced off the high ceiling even when her roar stopped. She staggered, then collapsed. Noah caught her and this time she turned to him, reaching up to grab his shoulders, looking at his face. ―He killed her.‖ Hot tears streamed down her cheeks. She who never cried. ―The bastard. Damn him, damn him, damn him. Damn him to hell.‖ ―Ma‘am.‖ Detective Rochester‘s voice was firm. ―Who are you talking about? Who killed her?‖ ―Her asshole boyfriend, that‘s who. Kevin Skimmer.‖ She snapped her head around, her hands tightening on Noah‘s shoulders. Beneath her hands, he was like a warm, breathing rock. ―Who else would it be?‖ Her raw throat felt like sandpaper. ―He beat her, but she left with him anyway.‖ The pain twisted up inside her, and she clamped her lips together, her jaw hurting from holding back another soul-wrenching scream. ―I‘m sorry, he couldn‘t have done it.‖ ―But he—‖ ―Where were you last night?‖ ―Here,‖ she said, her voice muffled. ―And you are...?‖ ―Noah Long,‖ Noah said. ―A family friend?‖ ―I knew Izzy slightly.‖ She pushed out of Noah‘s hold and immediately felt cold and bereft, reeling inside and threatening to reel outside, too. But she needed to stand on her own feet without anyone‘s help, needed to convince the detective that Skimmer had killed Izzy. He wouldn‘t listen to her if he thought she was weak. ―Tell me what happened to Izzy. How do you know Kevin didn‘t kill her? I‘m telling you—‖ Her hands balled at her sides, her grief turning into anger even as hot tears spilled out of her eyes. ―He beat her. He‘s a liar, a junkie, a thief, a woman-beater. Whatever he told you, don‘t believe him.‖ He gazed at her, pity in his eyes. ―I‘m sorry, but he was killed, too.‖ She drew in her breath and lifted her hand. Swiped the tears away. ―Who?‖ she asked. ―Who?‖ ―We‘re investigating. We believe Skimmer was shot first, that he was the target. Did your sister say anything that could help us find the person who murdered them?‖ ―Nothing,‖ she said, not looking at Noah, her tears stopped. The searing grief still flared inside her, but alongside it grew a need to find out who had killed Izzy. When she did, she wouldn‘t call the studly detective. She would exact her own form of justice.

Chapter Fourteen

Detective Rochester left after promising Lila he‘d keep her in the loop. Noah believed him. He‘d seen the admiration in the detective‘s brown eyes when he looked at Lila as she stood tall and firm, demanding that he listen to her. She‘d been magnificent. Noah frowned, discomfited by his admiration and by the detective‘s. He wasn‘t accustomed to having strong feelings for anything but his music and his treasures. Turning his attention to the items he still needed to wrap, he picked up an antique jade coiled dragon sculpture dating back to the Hongshan Period. He‘d owned it for more than three thousand years. It hadn‘t been flashy enough for Beauty to steal, but he‘d been drawn to it and had refused all offers. Wrapping it, he felt as if he was putting his life into storage. Just as he‘d done hundreds of times during these thousands of years. Emptiness gaped inside him, ahead of him, behind him. No wonder he clung to his possessions, proof that he‘d lived all these years. Lila‘s determined footsteps echoed in the near empty room with the denuded shelves and high ceiling, demanding his attention. He turned from the packages and she stopped in front of him, her hands on her hips. She stuck her chin toward him with the same don‘t-mess-with-me stare Mystic gave him when he pulled her off the windowsill on summer nights, her claws clinging to the wood. Noah gazed into Lila‘s unwavering brown eyes. As he breathed in her scent, his melancholy—the sense of dying a little with each wrapped treasure—lifted. So did his lower extremities, stirring to life. Inconvenient and uncomfortable. He ignored his body‘s response and concentrated on her words. ―I need you to stay.‖ She scowled, no beguiling, no bargaining. ―You owe me for what I did last night.‖ He suppressed an inappropriate desire to smile. ―I gave you my blood and saved your life. I‘d say we were even.‖ Her fierce glare put Mystic in a bad mood to shame. ―I didn‘t ask you to save my life.‖ ―Next time I‘ll remember.‖ She sucked in her breath and stepped back from him. Her expression changed, the belligerence melting, and she looked at him as one being to another. He waited to see what she‘d do to convince him to stay and help her. Whatever she wanted,

nothing would work. Not even if she jumped him, wrapping her long legs around him, pressing her body against his, her lips against his, her tongue sliding into his mouth. His genitalia grew heavier. She smiled slightly, a twist of her lips that gave him a twist in his belly. With her strong features and muscled body, she wasn‘t the current image of beauty. No high heels, no cosmetics, no perfume, no jewelry. No bras that made her breasts look bigger than they already were. Perhaps she should not have been attractive to the detective. Nor to him. But she was. Sometimes in humans as in art, the imperfections made them more desirable. And Lila possessed something more, an inner strength that drew him to her. Even when he didn‘t want to be drawn. Without a word, she swiveled and stomped towards the back hall, away from him, the smack of her shoes on the marble tiles loud to his ears. He heard when she reached the staircase and pounded up the stairs. Not angry, but fast. Whatever decision she‘d made in the few seconds when she‘d peered into his eyes so sternly, she was doing. His hands steady—because there was no reason they should be unsteady—he picked up a thick shufi ware bowl with a molded dragon and carried it to the table he‘d set up to use for wrapping. He told himself he was glad she was gone. Now he could put his mind to the task at hand. Maybe this time he would go to Japan. Tokyo, perhaps. Too crowded for his taste and the music not as good as Nashville‘s, but he would find the place that would be his alone. Money could buy space. And he doubted Mr. Small would find him in Japan. The Japanese crime lords didn‘t care for American interlopers, though money could buy murder in Tokyo as easily as in Nashville. He carefully swathed the bowl in wrapping paper as if it were a precious baby, then picked up another cherished item, and then another. But he didn‘t feel his usual pleasure as he handled them. The moment Lila had turned her back on him, they became objects instead of treasures. As he wrapped the last item, a vase with an etching of a fire-breathing dragon, footsteps stormed down the stairway. He set the vase on the table and faced the hall. His human-sized heart, too small for his dragon body, speeded its beat. The footsteps continued along the hallway, accompanied by the whirr of small wheels, and he caught Lila‘s cinnamon and musk scent. Seconds later, she strode into the shop with her oversized purse looped over her shoulder, rolling her carry-on with the duffel bag behind her. Her expression purposeful, she stopped in front of him, switched her carry-on to her left hand and held out her right to him. ―Thank you for all you‘ve done.‖ She smiled coldly, but her eyes burned with grief, weeping sadness without tears. He wrapped his fingers around her palm and let her shake his hand. When she pulled back, he tightened his grip.

―Where are you going?‖ he asked. ―A hotel.‖ ―You‘re looking for Mr. Small.‖ He didn‘t make it a question. ―He‘s a dangerous man.‖ ―I can be dangerous.‖ ―He won‘t give you any warning.‖ ―I won‘t give him any. May I have my hand back?‖ He opened his fingers and let her pull her arm to her side. ―I‘m sorry Izzy messed up your life.‖ Her voice was stiff and she looked at him with griefdarkened eyes. A powerful emotion took hold of him, anger at her wrongheaded, stubborn choices. He should smile and step back and wish her well, but the anger compelled him to do something he knew would drive her to fury. ―There‘s an old saying. ‗The tree of revenge does not carry fruit.‘‖ Her eyes lightened and he saw a spark in their brown depths. ―Darn, and here I was hoping to sprout lemons.‖ ―I‘ve lived a long time. Longer than you can imagine. Take my advice and go home. The situation will resolve itself. I feel certain that Mr. Small won‘t have a happy ending.‖ ―Really? How is that? And don‘t tell me karma. Karma is something people tell themselves to make them feel better when life is shitty and they don‘t have the guts to change it.‖ ―What we do brings consequences,‖ he said. ―Call it karma or whatever name you please, it may not be apparent in this life, but it will happen in another.‖ Her mouth curled in a sneer and she raked her gaze up and down his person, as though what she saw displeased her. ―I won‘t presume to give advice back to you, but let me tell you,‖ her tone grew in volume and pink bloomed on her cheeks, ―I‘d rather be dead than to live the way you do, running away instead of staying to fight. Maybe that‘s part of your dragon mindset, but my mindset is that if someone hurts someone I love, I hurt them back. What I would never do is act like a—‖ Her teeth snapped together, her lips tight, and she stepped back. ―Never mind. This isn‘t how I wanted to leave. You‘re disappointed in me, I‘m disappointed in you.‖ She shrugged. ―You are what you are, I am what I am. That‘s the way it is.‖ ―We can change the way we are.‖ He had changed from dragon to man, and the man didn‘t like being dismissed as a coward. How could she so quickly forget that he‘d flamed Kevin last night? She switched her carry-on to her right hand. ―We have to want to change. Thanks for all you‘ve done. I know I said it before, but I‘m sorry for anything Izzy did that caused you trouble.‖ Without waiting for a reply, she nodded and marched toward the exit, her back straight as a young soldier‘s. ―Wait!‖ She glanced back, her eyebrows raised. She didn‘t say anything, but something new

glimmered in her expression. Hope. ~~~ ―I‘ll help you,‖ Noah said. Thank God, thank God. Lila dropped her carry-on and her purse, her legs threatening to give. Her hands and her entire body shaking. She needed his help so bad her insides had knotted with the fear that he would let her walk out. Izzy‘s killer was hunting Noah, not her. Without him, the killer wouldn‘t slither out from under his rock to show her his fangs. ―Wait here.‖ He clasped her shoulders and settled her onto the desk chair. As though she were one of his treasures. Breakable. She knew she should object, but right now she felt as though a red stamp on her forehead said FRAGILE. She‘d sit for just a few moments while she recouped her strength and thought about what she planned to do. Set a trap for Mr. Small. And when she found him... What then? Would she kill again? Her stomach twisted. She clasped her hands. She wasn‘t a random murderer. Not even a vigilante, killing for justice. Both times had been personal. And this time… Her breaths shortened, her chest tightened, her teeth clenching. Her hands clasping each other so tightly they hurt. This was her baby sister who‘d been killed. As personal as it got. Noah went back to packing, not saying anything. She watched the sure and steady movements of his long fingers. The moments ticked by and the tension in her body eased, her breaths deepening, her teeth unclenching. Unclasping her hands, she rested them on her thighs. She wondered what it would feel like to have his long fingers touch her intimately. Her phone trilled. She started and glanced away from him, as if he could read her thoughts, and pulled her phone out of her jacket pocket. Reading Marc‘s name, she changed the ring to vibrate, then shoved it back into her pocket. She didn‘t know what Marc wanted and she didn‘t care. Even if he wasn‘t engaged to another woman and wasn‘t filming a movie in Toronto, she would never have turned to him for help. He was a plaything. Noah, despite his dragon blood, was a man. Compared to Noah with his dragon presence, his Zen essence and his voice that warmed her from the inside out, Marc was insubstantial. A wisp of smoke. Noah was the fire. Mystic jumped on her lap and allowed Lila to pet her, her body quivering with purrs. For a few moments all seemed well. Petting the cat, watching the man. Sounds drifted in from people rushing by on the sidewalk, the cars and trucks rolling down the street. Everyone outside hurrying and busy, while the three of them—man, woman and cat—were slow and still, cocooned inside Noah‘s Dragon‘s Lair.

Time stretched and flattened. She fell into a meditative state. An odd place where she felt Izzy in the room, hovering next to her, whispering that everything was going to be okay. Lila shuddered and a black anger squeezed the calmness out of her, ripping her out of the trancelike cocoon and into in the present. Izzy‘s whispering stopped. Her presence puffed out. A figment of Lila‘s imagination. She answered anyway. The hell it‘s okay. The hell. Mystic meowed and leapt out of her tightened grip onto the floor, then dashed out of the room. Noah glanced up from the package he was wrapping, the last one, a question on his serious face. ―What made you change your mind?‖ she asked. He taped the package, set it down, and stood. ―Someone is watching the shop. I heard a car stop in front while you were upstairs, and no one came out.‖ ―It could be someone waiting for a friend.‖ ―Another car parked across the street, the driver also not leaving the vehicle. That makes two cars, positioned to follow us either way. I suspect someone is watching from the alley as well.‖ She jumped up to look out the window, then thought maybe she shouldn‘t. Better let them think they weren‘t spotted. ―If they‘re hunting us, we need to change that.‖ His left eyebrow lifted. ―The hunter becomes the hunted?‖ ―Exactly.‖ Exultation rose inside her. ―We need a safe place, then we start hunting Small.‖ ―I know a safe place.‖ Though he didn‘t smile, amusement glowed in his eyes. She should tell him this wasn‘t a time for amusement. Her sister was dead. Murdered. Without warning, the grief roared back, full force, threatening to swallow her in large gulp. She wished it away, but it stayed in her throat, her chest, her mind. Heavy and dark and ugly. ―What about all this?‖ Her voice thick, she gestured at the wrapped items. ―Your stuff? You‘ll need a safe place for them, too. Small will send his men here to look for you. What they don‘t break, they‘ll steal.‖ His expression held no emotion, but she felt his upheaval, his flash of rage. He was like the earth, the surface calm but the subsurface seething. ―It doesn‘t matter.‖ She didn‘t believe him. It mattered to him. And it mattered to her. ―We‘re giving that murderer nothing. Nothing.‖ ―How?‖ ―We can‘t take them to a storage facility in the area. Small and his watchers might find them. My dojo master in California owns one. Hire a mover to drive it there.‖ He blinked, and she was positive he was going to raise objections. They clangered in her own mind. There had to be a closer place. In a long drive, there was too much chance of breakage. She‘d seen how he loved the items, handling them with more care than many mothers handled their babies. There was no way he‘d agree.

―A guitar player I know is saving his money to give L.A. a try,‖ he said, his face showing no emotion. ―He works as a dishwasher in a restaurant during the day and hits the clubs at night. He has talent, but he‘s a rocker and Nashville is the wrong place for him. I could give him money to rent a truck and ask him to drive there with the items.‖ ―You trust him?‖ ―He saved a cat from being run over by a tourist bus.‖ He looked at her gravely. ―He didn‘t tell me about the incident. I witnessed it.‖ ―Ah.‖ She scratched the side of her head. Men admired quiet bravery. So did she. ―He can stay at my house until he finds another place to stay. It‘s on the oceanfront, two hours from L.A.‖ ―I‘ll call him.‖ He looked toward the window. ―When he gets here we‘ll have to divert the watchers.‖ ―I‘ll do it.‖ She forced herself to stand still and gaze into his eyes. She needed to act. Needed it like she needed to breathe and eat and sleep. She hadn‘t been able to stop Izzy from her selfdestruction. She hadn‘t been able to stop her mother. But this she could do. She waited for him to object, to say he would take care of it. That he would do it better. He was, after all, a man. More than a man. A dragon. A creature that breathed fire. But he nodded and turned. Excitement surged into her chest, her heart beating faster. Now she had to figure out a way to get rid of the watchers, and how to do it the hard way. Without hurting them.

Chapter Fifteen

A man left the shadows of the alley and followed Lila, his movements smooth and sure. Noah watched through the window in the back bedroom, his fingers curved onto the sill. Before Lila had left, she‘d pulled the hood of her green sweatshirt over her blond hair. ―If anyone follows me, I‘ll lose them.‖ Her eyes sparkled and she held her high, eager for the hunt. ―Don‘t you dare come after me. I don‘t need your help.‖ This woman with her independence and bravery was unlike any other person he knew. He pushed his forehead against the cool glass and watched her hurry. Her shadow hurried, too. His nails burrowed into the wood, trying to be claws. Inside his belly, heat simmered. No, not yet. He breathed in the cool air and stepped back from the window. He did not like this worry. It unsettled him, and he was already unsettled from the events of the last day. His inclination was to stay inside his lair, and when this one was threatened, to find another safe cave. The reason he‘d stayed alive so many thousands of years. But Lila was risking her too few years in her human body to avenge the murder of her dead sister who, if the positions had been reversed, would be cleaning out Lila‘s bank account. Lila knew that, but it didn‘t stop her. She‘d even risked her puny years last night to help save his treasures. He stepped back from the window, not worried but something else. A constriction in his chest, as though his human heart needed more room. The discomforting feelings refused to be banished or left behind, but he could do no less than she did. She‘d forbidden him to help her, but he could do something else. He went to the kitchen and picked up his phone. ~~~ Ten minutes later, Noah stepped out on the sidewalk to wait for his guitar playing friend. Humanity with all their scents and voices marched by him, a parade of humans, from baldheaded babies to bald-headed men, but most in between. Men and women from twenty to seventy out for a good time, even on a late Thursday afternoon. His gaze zeroed in on the vehicles of the two watchers. One battered blue car ready for a junkyard was ensconced in a No Parking loading zone two stores from his shop. One sedate

beige van with a year or two of life left was across the street, squeezed between a pick-up truck and an SUV. Even Noah with his keen eyesight couldn‘t see through the constant stream of people to the faces inside the vehicles. He turned away. Never mind. He wasn‘t here to catch the men or women who watched him. He was here to attract their attention. While they watched him, it would be easier for Lila to escape their notice. A shout caught his attention, a hand waving in the air behind two laughing women in their thirties wearing heels and makeup and an air of excitement. The women parted and let through a big, husky kid, more boy than man, with a goofy grin, a scrawny beard and mustache, and a magician‘s fingers. T.J. carried his guitar, too poor to afford a case. He stopped a foot and a half from Noah, smelling of fried food from his dishwasher job. ―Whatcha got?‖ he asked in his warm Kentucky accent. ―You still want to go to Los Angeles?‖ Noah asked. ―Hell, yeah.‖ It took Noah two minutes to tell T.J. his proposition and it didn‘t take T.J. one second to slap Noah‘s upper arm and whoop. People turned their heads to smile at him, and he grinned back, a good time country boy ready to rock and roll. ―I woke up this morning and it felt like somethin‘ good was gonna happen. I even called my ma and told her.‖ ―What did she say?‖ Noah asked. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a flash of green by the curbside back tire of the beige van. Lila, scooting down. Noah‘s heart stopped, then started again. He shot a quick glance at the other people on the street. No one slowed to watch her. She must have lost her follower. He frowned. In his experience, this was happening too easily. ―She told me not to be a horse‘s ass like my dad.‖ T.J. threw back his head and roared with laughter. Noah‘s frown smoothed and he allowed himself to smile, though he saw nothing humorous in T.J.‘s parental anecdote. He pictured Lila lunging at the thief last night, and assured himself that Lila could take care of herself. To keep the watchers focused on the shop, he invited T.J. inside. T.J. entered first. Before Noah followed the younger man, he took one glance around. A tall woman was crossing the street in the middle of a crowd of people. She wore a green hoodie and blended in perfectly. That‘s my woman, Noah thought, then shook his head as he stepped into the shop, the door jangling shut behind him. Lila was her own woman, never his. Once this was over she‘d be gone and he would never see her again. ―What‘re you sad for?‖ T.J. asked. ―I‘m not sad.‖ Noah stood in the middle of the room and looked at the wrapped packages, the empty shelves. Inside he felt empty, too, a void in his chest as big as a crater.

―Bull,‖ T.J. said. ―I know that look. It‘s a woman, right? It‘s always a woman.‖ Noah glanced outside and when he didn‘t see a green hoodie, he worried. Fretted. T.J. was right. It was a woman. The admission brought no surprise, just more sadness. An ocean of sadness. Nothing would come of this feeling. Nothing. He wouldn‘t even try. If he ignored it, it would go away. Like so many other things in his life.

Chapter Sixteen

Lila pulled the knife out of the slashed tire of the second car, pushed it up her sleeve, then tied the shoelaces of her running shoes, her apparent reason for kneeling next to the back tire. Her hands were steady, despite the adrenaline racing through her like wildfire. It had taken too long to shake off her follower from the back of the house. He‘d been surprisingly tenacious. But her marathon training had paid off and she‘d lost him two miles away, then doubled back. Yet her skin prickled. She resisted the urge to look around and forced herself to breathe slowly before taking a casual glance around and ascertaining that no one was watching her. After memorizing the license plate number, she headed to the Blues Bar. Instead of strolling into the club, she hurried around to the back, then crossed to Noah‘s back door and rang the bell. Voices came through the thick wooden door. A man laughed and Noah responded in his smooth bass that sent shivers down into the pit of her stomach and a bit further down. Yesterday she wouldn‘t have heard the voices. Nor would she have heard Noah‘s footsteps heading toward the back door. She could even swear she heard his heart beat in tune with hers. And her eyesight... She saw specks in the paint on the door. Glancing at her shoes, she saw the wear on the tip of her shoelace and the splash of mud on the white canvass. The click of a lock turning came to her as clear as the hiss of her breath. It opened and she looked at Noah‘s face. His eyes searched hers and his curved lips straightened and pressed together with concern. ―What is it?‖ he asked. She shook her head and stepped in, forcing him back. Her heart pumped faster, too fast. ―I have to go upstairs.‖ She rushed past him, feeling the warmth of his gaze on her nape until she clambered out of his sight up the steps, not caring what he thought. When she was young, her mother used to say she sounded like a herd of elephants, and for the first time she thought her mother might be right. Upstairs she pulled the knife from her sleeve and put it on the kitchen counter. Finding a pen and a notepad, she scribbled down the two license plate numbers. Then she pressed her palms on the counter, bent over it, and her breathing turned to gasps. The excitement she‘d felt earlier changed to something else, something she didn‘t recognize. Something that made her heart beat like a hundred drums, her arms shake and her skin chill. A panic attack. She‘d never had one before. How crazy to have it now, after all the horrific things that had happened in her life.

That must be why she‘d had the sense of being watched. Downstairs, Noah‘s friend said he‘d be back later and the front door closed. She expected Noah to come upstairs, but instead she heard bolts turn and locks click. Only then did his footsteps cross the shop floor toward the hall that would take him upstairs, where he would see her like this. No. Hell no. She shoved away from the counter, sucked in her breath and refused to gasp. She could conquer this. If Izzy could see her now, she‘d laugh. But Izzy couldn‘t see her. She was dead. The grief came like a tsunami, swamping her, too strong and swift to deny. Filling all the spaces in her chest. Spreading up her throat. Drowning her in grief. Killing her in pain. This storm of emotion was more powerful than her self-control, battering down her years of denial like flood water smashing down a crumbling brick wall. She hobbled out of the kitchen, needing to get away, to hide before Noah saw her like this again. Clapping her hand over her mouth didn‘t stop her small, sharp cries. At the edge of the living room, her shaking legs gave out and she fell to her knees. He was running up the steps. He‘d heard her fall, of course. Though she knew it was futile, she let go of her mouth and her ribs, set her hands on the floor and crawled toward the bedroom. The door opened, and she kept going. Never, ever stop. A keening sound came out of her mouth, tears running down her face, snot dripping from her nose. If he had any sensibility he would step back into the hall and close the damn door and pretend he‘d never seen her like this. Weak and crying and crawling. Weak women were victims, and she wasn‘t anyone‘s victim. He reached her. Put his hand on her shoulder, sat next to her on the hall floor and scooped her onto his lap as if she weighed no more than Mystic. His arm around her back, he drew her to him so her head rested against his chest. ―Cry,‖ he said. ―Make noise.‖ She tried to shove away with arms that had turned into boiled spaghetti. ―No, I—‖ ―Don‘t say anything. Just cry. Sometimes humans are supposed to cry.‖ A shudder went through her, then emotions she‘d locked down for so long poured out of her. Howls and anger and more tears and more snot, and when that wasn‘t enough, she pulled back and lifted her fists and thumped his chest, over and over again. ―Why, why, why,‖ she cried, her voice raw. Not a question but a protest of rage and grief. Then the rage overcame the grief and she pushed away from him. ―I‘m going to find him.‖ She glared at Noah. He shook his head, his hands still on hers, his eyes looking at her as though he didn‘t see a half-crazed woman who‘d left snot and damp spots on his shirt and pummeled his chest. ―No,‖ he said. ―You aren‘t going to find him. We are going to find him.‖

She collapsed against him. His words stole the worst of the rage from her, the worst of the grief. This time when his arms came around her, she didn‘t fight him. They sat like that for moments, and inside her chest her heartbeat slowed until it matched his beat for beat. And her breath... They inhaled and exhaled in time. She imagined if they put the undersides of their wrists together, they would pulse at the same speed. His hand moved along her back. Not a consoling hand. Not a comforting hand. This was a hand that wanted to feel the curve of her body. And she liked it. Liked it a lot. She pulled away and looked at the glow in his blue-green eyes. Her breath hitched and her pulse speeded again, and this time it had nothing to do with rage. He stood in one fluid movement, reached down and pulled her to her feet. She stared at him as he dropped her hands, gave a slight bow of his head, and said he‘d be downstairs cleaning up a few things. She watched him go and didn‘t say a word. Another day she might have called him on that look. Told him that she wanted him, too, so why not go for it? But today she was tender, like a steak crusted and blackened with the inside rare. If someone stuck a fork in her, blood would flow. Blood that was mostly human with a few drops of dragon. So she let him go and then she went to the bathroom to blow her nose and wash her face. It had been a hell of a day...and it wasn‘t over yet. Anything could happen.

Chapter Seventeen

It was dark by the time T.J. backed the rental truck into the alley behind the Dragon‘s Lair. Noah and Lila had piled everything outside the back door, so all they had to was load the truck. Noah had glanced around but had seen no one. As they loaded the items into the truck, he wondered if the man who‘d been watching the back of the shop before Lila lost him was letting Small think he was still on the job. A sharp note of caution went off in his head. He would not let down his guard. Once the truck was filled, Lila handed T.J. a set of keys and directions. T.J. shook Noah‘s hand, then grabbed him in a hug and pounded his back. After that he said, ―Oh hell,‖ and he grabbed Lila and kissed her. A big smacking kiss with noises, and he grinned widely when they separated. Lila laughed, her smile bright in the moonlight. ―I‘m coming with you,‖ Noah said to T.J. Lila‘s laughter cut off, as though he‘d muted her. It was not the first time he‘d muted a woman. He‘d silenced Beauty all those years ago. After all, he was the beast. An inconvenient ache in his heart, he turned to T.J. ―I‘ll be right there.‖ With a nod, T.J. headed for the cab. Noah waited until the door snapped shut before he handed Lila his keys. ―We‘re staying next door for the evening. In the apartment over the Blues Bar.‖ The look she gave him wasn‘t friendly. Some women preferred to be taken care of and told what to do. She wasn‘t one of them. From what he‘d observed, Lila grabbed onto life. And sometimes she flipped it on its ass. ―There‘s a cat carrier in the closet in the bedroom,‖ he said. ―I‘d appreciate it if you‘d take Mystic with you. She hates the carrier, so you‘ll need to surprise her.‖ ―I‘ll manage.‖ Her voice was flat. She crossed her arms over the front of her green hoodie, his keys gripped in her fist. He nodded in the direction of the club next door. ―You can enter through the back door. It has a staircase like my shop. When T.J. and I drive off, the men watching will believe I‘m leaving the city and will follow us until their tires flatten. When we lose them, I‘ll have T.J. drop me off and I‘ll walk back.‖ ―Okay.‖ She turned, where another woman would have remained and asked a hundred questions. He reached out and touched her shoulder. She twisted to glance at him. Instead of lifting his

hand from her shoulder, he slid it down to the small of her back. She blinked and her eyes widened, and he knew, he knew, the knowledge a knife thrust in his human heart, that she was going to tell him to stop. Before she could say the words, he stepped forward and at the same time pulled her to him and brought his mouth down on hers. At least he would have this much. At least this. She stilled, her mouth open slightly. Her lips were soft, her body warm against his. The most warmth he‘d felt in a long time. His genitals grew full and heavy. He drew back, his head up. The kiss had lasted less than a moment, but he still held her. He looked down at her, waiting for her to respond, to tell him to go to hell, to say she wasn‘t interested. Or perhaps say she was interested. She pushed her hands up between them and shoved against his chest. ―You‘d better go.‖ He stepped back, his arms drawing away from her. His chest felt cool. He nodded and turned. ―I could have tossed you onto the concrete in less than a second,‖ she said. He paused, waiting, sensing that this was like a full-measure rest in a piece of music, that the song wasn‘t done. ―But,‖ she continued, ―I thought you might hurt your head and what would I do then?‖ He glanced back at her. The light above the back door shone on her blond hair and sad smile. ―I have a hard head,‖ he said. ―I suspected. But in the end I thought a kiss is just a kiss.‖ ―I‘ve heard that song.‖ He nodded again and faced forward. His heart beat too fast and too loud, a drum solo in his chest as the back door shut. He took a few strides then climbed into the passenger side of the van, closed the door, and T.J. started the engine. ―So you and Lila got something going?‖ T.J. asked. ―Possibly.‖ ―It‘s always possible.‖ T.J. laughed. ―My daddy would call Lila a fine lookin‘ woman.‖ They pulled into the street and waited for a car to pass before turning left. Music blasted out of the stereo, a country song, a woman singing that men were only good for one thing. Noah suspected that Lila would agree. He already knew what her one thing was. To find her sister‘s killer.

Chapter Eighteen

Mystic screeched in the small cage. She looked like a witch‘s cat. The fur on her neck stood straight up, and she glared at Lila as though wanting to change her into a mouse—the better to kill and eat her. Shushing Mystic didn‘t help. A waste of voice power. Like telling the fires around L.A. to settle down, save it for a barbeque or two. She took the front sidewalk. The car and the SUV were gone. Probably spinning on their rims trying to follow Noah. The thought amused her but not for long. She wished she could have squeezed information out of the drivers‘ throats, but she had their license numbers. A chill crept up her spine. Just a few days ago, she‘d been shaken after killing a man. She never planned on doing it again. That was before someone killed her sister. The bar was open, though it was early for clubbing, about ten past seven. Through the front window, she saw about a dozen people. Mystic stopped screeching but still narrowed her I-willkill-you glare that made Lila suspect that under her skin and Mystic‘s fur they were twin souls. As soon as she opened the cage door, Mystic would probably scratch her. Lila went around the back where someone was smoking a cigarette, the acrid smell of burnt tobacco floating to her. A noise came from the alley, a branch cracking under someone‘s weight. Mystic yowled and Lila slowed, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. Looking around, she spotted the source of smoke leaning against the wall by the back door. She dismissed the noise—probably a squirrel in a tree—and headed toward the tall, scrawny man with a haggard face. He looked like he‘d lived a few country songs. Lived them hard. ―Evenin‘,‖ he said, his voice a raspy drawl. Mystic screeched again. Lila nodded and stepped past him into the hall. ―Going somewhere?‖ He put the cigarette to his lips and drew smoke into his throat. She glanced back at him, giving him her ―stop me if you dare‖ look. ―Upstairs. I‘m with a friend. The owner told him we could stay there.‖ He grinned then gave a laugh that turned into coughs. Holding up his hand, he silently told her to wait. She did, though she didn‘t like it. She didn‘t like smokers. She didn‘t like men who laughed at her. Neither did Mystic, taking this opportunity to yowl again. ―She‘s a noisy one,‖ he said. ―I hope she won‘t do this all night.‖ ―It shouldn‘t bother you in the bar.‖

―Could be. But it will when I‘m trying to sleep.‖ He grinned, showing teeth that were crooked and tobacco-stained. ―I‘m staying in the apartment, too.‖ ~~~ The back door was unlocked, flattened cigarettes butts on the concrete next to the dumpster. Noah caught the mouth watering scent of barbeque sauce mingled with the rankness of rotting meat and vegetables. The good and the bad. Inside, he took the stairs two at a time. The band wasn‘t playing yet, but he could hear the chatter of people, the Nashville drawl, not as twangy and drawn out as T.J.‘s Texas accent. Halfway up the stairs, he slowed. A man was talking. The TV maybe, but the voice paused and Lila replied, her voice casual, easy. His body tensed, his mind shouting ―Danger, danger!‖ as it had done three thousand years ago when he‘d scented another dragon around his cave, sniffing at his treasures. His woman. He surged forward, never slowing. And his mind added, not yet. Soon. The man said something and laughed. No laughter from Lila joined him. Noah reached the door and reminded himself that Lila could take care of it herself. She wouldn‘t appreciate him acting like a caveman. He turned the handle and strode in. Perhaps he strode more forcefully than he planned. A man jumped up from a living room chair, holding a guitar with one hand as if ready to use it as a weapon. He looked like a villain in an old western with his tall, ropy body and lived-in face, his hair held back in a rubber band, the stink of old cigarettes clinging to him. Noah‘s nostrils flared in distaste, and he recognized the other man. Jerry something. A guitar player. Good but not great. A fill-in guy, not talented enough to be a regular. Lila gazed at Noah, her expression impassive, and he knew she‘d heard him run up the stairs. His blood had done that. Allowed her to see and hear better than the average human. His heartbeat slowed with that thought, no longer thundering in his ears but a steady patter, something he could manage. ―Guess what,‖ she said, her voice flat at the end instead of rising in a question. ―We have a roommate.‖ Jerry‘s shoulders relaxed. He lowered his black-and-silver guitar to his side, then hooked his thumbs behind his belt, his fingers pointing to his genitals. Noah nodded at him. Point all you want, he thought. Mine are bigger. ―I talked to Ralph,‖ Jerry said, and Noah decided he disliked his drawl, just as he disliked the mischief-making look on his face. ―Donna told me I could crash for a couple weeks. Looks like she forgot to tell Ralph.‖ ―Ah,‖ Noah said. Jerry could be telling the truth. Donna‘s memory lapses worried Ralph and everyone who knew the couple. Noah glanced at Lila for confirmation. She lifted one shoulder.

The least talky woman he‘d met, though her face said it all. Right now it was saying she wasn‘t happy. That made two of them. ―Don‘t worry.‖ Jerry sat back on the chair with the worn seat. A good match for Jerry with his worn face and worn soul. ―I‘m sleeping in the small bedroom.‖ He grinned at Lila as if they shared a secret, one blink away from a wink and a leer. ―She threw my stuff out of the big bedroom and said you two were staying there.‖ Noah glanced at her sharply, and his heartbeat drummed in his ears again. She peered up at him, then down and gave a small nod, almost indecipherable. He heard an echo to his heartbeat, and he knew where the pounding, drumming intensity came from. Her heart. For him. His heart pounded harder. ―I was just telling Jerry I‘m hiding from an old boyfriend,‖ she said. ―We don‘t want anyone to know we‘re here.‖ Jerry grinned again. ―Baby, I told you, I don‘t do secrets.‖ She got up and looked at his guitar, then reached for it. ―Nice guitar.‖ His expression changed. ―Sweetheart, I‘d appreciate it you don‘t touch it.‖ Her lips curved into a cold smile. She grabbed its neck and pulled it out of his grasp easily. Looked him in the eyes. ―We‘ve been talking for a while and you haven‘t asked me what I do for a living. Wouldn‘t you like to know?‖ He glanced at her hand with the long, capable fingers. Noah watched, too, enjoying the show. ―You play guitar?‖ Jerry asked. ―I‘m a martial arts expert.‖ She held the guitar like a baby, belly up. ―One of my specialties is breaking a solid block of wood with one hand. If I keep going, I can break it into toothpicks. I do demonstrations. Give me the word and I‘ll do one right now.‖ ―You‘re kidding.‖ Jerry reached for the guitar. She drew back one hand and angled it in the air toward the guitar. Under her long-sleeved top, Noah easily saw the definition of her bicep. Jerry swiveled his gaze to Noah, no humor in his face, just disbelief mixed with horror. ―Gloria‘s the only thing I got worth shit. You know what that‘s like. Tell her to let it go.‖ Noah crossed his arms over his chest. ―I‘m not foolish enough to tell her to do anything. If you want her to return Gloria in one piece, I suggest you ask nicely.‖ He looked at her, her lips still curved in a faint smile. But her eyes... They were sad, hurting, mourning. The kind of eyes that would make a country song. Jerry turned back to her. ―Please. Will you please not break my guitar? Please give it back?‖ ―That depends.‖ She shifted her mournful eyes and slight smile to Jerry. As calm as the desert on a dry, windless day. ―What was it you said about not keeping a secret?‖ He swallowed. ―I‘m real good at keeping secrets.‖

―That‘s what I thought.‖ She handed him the guitar, then turned to Noah. ―I‘m hungry.‖ Noah was hungry, too. But not for food. He could hardly breathe looking at her. His chest wanted to puff out too much. He wanted to grow. Show her how big he could get. Bigger than any man she‘d known. Show her how he looked in his dragon glory. ―I‘ll order something,‖ she said. ―What‘s your preference?‖ ―Whatever you want.‖ His tone was low and rough, reverberating in his genitals. Jerry laughed. ―That‘s a good answer to give her.‖ Still standing, she shifted her gaze to Jerry. ―It‘s a good answer to give any woman.‖ He shrugged. ―You should‘ve told me that a week ago. I might not be here.‖ ―At your age, you shouldn‘t need telling.‖ He grinned, a spark in his eyes that Noah didn‘t care for. ―What can I say? I‘m a slow learner. I‘m a weak man who likes strong women. The problem is strong women don‘t like weak men.‖ ―I think there‘s a song in there.‖ Her posture shifted, her bones eased. Noah strode to her side and curved a hand over her shoulder. Marking her as his. Staring at Jerry, he let him know there were things more important to a man than a guitar that could be smashed into toothpicks. Jerry stood, still holding the guitar, and backed away from her. ―I‘ll eat downstairs. You two enjoy your meal.‖ ―Wait.‖ She turned to Noah. ―Do you like barbeque? It smells good.‖ ―I do, but—‖ She turned back to Jerry. ―Bring us a couple orders. I‘ll pay.‖ He made a deep bow. ―Your wish. My command.‖ Noah felt Lila‘s amusement, just as he‘d felt her cold anger earlier. Jerry went to his bedroom and deposited his guitar, then closed the door behind him. When he came out, he asked what kind of barbeque they wanted. They both said ―Hot‖ at the same time and looked at each other. Only Jerry laughed, and then he finally did the one thing Noah had wanted him to do since he‘d heard Jerry‘s voice. He left. The door closed behind him and downstairs a song began, a band with a woman singer that Ralph sometimes booked. Noah always liked the woman‘s singing, but for the first time her voice reminded him of warm sex. Lila turned to him. ―How did it go?‖ ―I‘m here,‖ he said. ―I know Jerry. Don‘t trust him.‖ ―I don‘t trust any man.‖ ―In that case, perhaps it‘s good that I‘m not all man.‖ He bent his head and kissed her.

Chapter Nineteen

Lila pushed him away and the emotion blanked out on his face, leaving him expressionless. She made a huffing sound. ―Don‘t be like that.‖ She put her hand to his cheek, held it for a second, then pulled back. ―When did you get such a fragile ego? You‘re acting like...‖ She smiled through the ache in her chest. ―A man.‘ His expression changed, the mask thinning, his mouth twisting in a sardonic smile. ―The part that reacted was a man‘s.‖ She laughed and was surprised by the sound, husky and sensual, as though it came all the way up from her vagina. The thought shook her, and she pressed her lips together, shutting off her laughter. ―I haven‘t eaten since breakfast. I‘m starving.‖ A glow sparked in his eyes and she swallowed a laugh. ―For food.‖ ―Now that you mention it, I‘m hungry, too.‖ Despite his words, he watched her hungrily and she stopped herself from stepping back—or forward. Not sure which way she‘d go. ―We don‘t have to wait for Jerry. I can go down and get the food. No one is looking for me.‖ The mask settled on his face again, the spark blanking. He bowed his head, the movement formal, distancing himself emotionally. She wanted to scream, Don’t do that! She gestured, a twist of her hand in the air. ―Forget it. We can plan our next moves while we wait.‖ ―My favorite subject.‖ His deep voice made the three sardonic words shiver down her skin. She turned toward the front of the room to avoid looking at him. He was too...hard. Not the dragon part. The man part. Not letting anyone get too close. Crossing her arms over her chest, she admitted she was hard, too. Impossible to deny that her childhood had damaged her. She could run to California again, but the moment push came to shove, her first choice would always be to shove back. She shivered. She could change her environment, but she couldn‘t change her character. Rubbing her arms, she shut off her disturbing thoughts that were as useless as screaming at God, and switched her focus to her temporary home. The drapes were closed, not shutting them in but shutting the world out. Two low-wattage lamps lit the room, a mellow light. But it was bright enough to see the frayed spots in the 70‘s style brown plaid couch and chair. Probably old furniture the owners moved to the apartment instead of dumping it on the curb with a sign proclaiming them FREE. Another song started downstairs. She felt it through the floor, through the soles of her running shoes. A saxophone, the music smooth and sexy. Noah shifted. She glanced at him and he was

looking toward his place, as if he could see through the walls to the saxophone he‘d left in the living room. In his haste to lose their watchers, he‘d left all his personal items, only concerned that she take Mystic to their temporary quarters. His face wasn‘t the most expressive, but she saw the yearning in his eyes. She yearned, too. This was the kind of music to make love to. The kind that made her want to sway and hang on to another person. To kiss and moan and bite. To experience the gradual buildup of pleasure, the primal joy of a sexual joining. The closeness, the ecstasy, the bliss. And then the release, her body imploding. And afterward, the utter contentment. That wasn‘t going to happen now. She strode past him to the bedroom. ―I‘ve got something for you.‖ He followed her promptly. ―I thought you wanted to wait.‖ She laughed. Without doubt, he was a man in all the right places. ―It‘s not about sex.‖ She opened the bedroom door. Mystic meowed and strolled out, her tail up. No one looking at her would guess that an hour ago she was a screeching, snarling wild cat. Noah bent to murmur to her while Lila stepped into the bedroom and opened the case on top of the beat-up maple dresser. She heard Noah walk into the room behind her, heard his sharp inhalation. Then his hand slid into the case and he lifted the sax out. He held it with reverence. The awe in his eyes, as though he‘d found a golden dragon egg, made her heart twist. ―You took it with you,‖ he said. ―I went back for it.‖ She shrugged. ―It‘s just next door. I brought a few of your clothes, too.‖ She jerked her thumb in the direction of the closet. He put the saxophone tip to his lips, but didn‘t blow. Just breathed in and out, cupping it with both hands. His eyes closed, and there was a look on his face... As though this was it for him. For this second, for forever. His utopia, his shining star, the thing that was all his, that everyone searched for but most people never found. Then his head tilted toward the hall, listening. His eyes opened and his hands holding the sax lowered. She heard it then, footsteps on the stairs. Jerry, she thought, bringing their food. She lowered her eyelids and breathed in through her nostrils, smelled the barbeque sauce, the perfect mix of tang and yum. Her mouth watered. She crossed to the hall and hurried toward the door. Behind her, she heard Noah tuck the saxophone in the case before he followed her out of the bedroom. ―I‘ll pay,‖ he said. She let him walk ahead of her, but she stayed until Jerry greeted Noah, making sure it was their new roommate. Only then did she head into the kitchen and search for plates. Noah joined her a few seconds later and she saw that she needed no plates. He carried two platters loaded with ribs and two small paper cups with coleslaw. ―From Ralph.‖ He frowned at the platters, as if not sure why Ralph had done it. A bottle of red wine was stuck under his arm. She slid it out, and he set down the plates.

―If there‘s a heaven, it smells like barbecued ribs.‖ She unscrewed the top of the wine bottle before grabbing a couple of paper napkins from the plastic holder on the table. She was chomping on her fourth rib when Jerry returned with two baked potatoes and two small bread loaves. ―I take tips.‖ He grinned, but a fleeting bleakness on his face made Lila wonder if he was kidding. Before she could say anything, he waved and strode away. Noah wiped his fingers on a napkin and reached for the bread as the door shut behind Jerry. ―You don‘t have to stay with me. I won‘t mind if you go downstairs.‖ He carefully didn‘t look at her. She licked her fingers clean, and he picked up a rib and raised his gaze to hers. He held his rib, not eating, a look crossing his face that made her close her mouth to hold back a cry. Hunger, that‘s what she saw in his eyes. And it had nothing to do with the food. She wanted to say something, but the words swirling inside her melted away, the same way she melted inside. In silence, she held her hand out to him. He bent forward and grabbed it, his fingers leaving sauce marks on her hand. He stared at her, his blue-green eyes darkening. Her shivers started again. Still staring, he drew her index finger inside his mouth. His gaze never leaving hers, he sucked. She felt the pull in her center. Then lower, in her vagina. She closed her eyes, tilting her head back. Aaaah. Next he took the middle finger and sucked that in. The pull came again. As though the finger were connected to her G-spot. Someone should write a song about this, she thought. Maybe she‘d do it when her brain started working again. Right now her little gray cells were leaking below her waistline. She drew her finger from his mouth and stood, the chair legs scraping back. Below them a blues guitar played something slow and sultry. Just the way she felt inside. No. Not slow. Not sultry. Fast. Hot. She backed up and gave him a smile that started in her womb. Then she snapped around and headed out of the kitchen, along the hall. Aware of him coming after her, the way men had been coming after women since they crawled on all fours. The bed with its navy quilt waited for them. She grabbed a corner and tossed it on the floor. She‘d changed the sheets after kicking Jerry out of the bedroom, though he‘d sworn he hadn‘t slept on them. Jerry was not a man whose word she‘d trust. Most men weren‘t worthy of her trust. She turned to face Noah. Him. He was the only man she‘d trust completely. Smiling, she grabbed the hem of her top and tugged it over her head, catching her hair, pulling her scalp, then releasing it. Cool air hit her upper body. Only her breasts were warm, still

covered by a black sports bra. She put her hands behind her back to unhook the bra. ―Am I the only one undressing?‖ He shook his head, not smiling, but his eyes burned, a fire inside his pupils, his blue-green eyes vital and liquid-like. She wanted to swim in them. With one smooth move he pulled off his black turtleneck. All thoughts of swimming flew out of her head. His shoulders looked solid. No extra flesh on those arms, the muscles firm. His chest...nice. Very nice. Her bra hit the floor and he stopped undressing to look at her. ―Don‘t stop,‖ she ordered. ―Pants next.‖ Laughter lit his face, the fire still flaming in his eyes. His gaze heated her, burned her from the inside out. Now. She wanted him now. She bent her head and pulled off the runner‘s pants she‘d put on earlier today. She wasn‘t running anywhere now. His black pants dropped onto the wooden floor. She looked up and he was undressed. Standing tall and still. More beautiful than any statue she‘d seen. ―Aaaaaah.‖ The sound breathed out of her throat. He could have been a nude model, except no straight woman artist would want to paint or sculpt him. She would only want to touch him. So would a few men Lila knew. Equipment like Noah‘s inspired equal opportunity lust. Her gaze lifted to his face. What he didn‘t say in words he said with his brightly burning eyes. He stepped toward her the same instant she stepped toward him. Their arms wrapped around each other, their mouths clamped together and so did their bodies. Flesh to flesh. His mouth was wet and warm and sloppy and she supposed hers was, too. Not the only place on her that was wet and warm and sloppy. Desire consumed her. A hunger inside her that needed to be fed or she would die. She pulled away from him. ―Now,‖ she said. She wanted him now. This second. Because if she didn‘t have him soon, she would scream. Scream louder than the band played. Her scream would rip through the club, and people would run up to see what was wrong. And all they‘d see was a horny crazy woman. A woman who‘d lost the last of her family today. She blanked out the thought. Instead of moving toward him, she moved backward, a tactical maneuver. He frowned and opened his mouth to say something. But it wasn‘t words she wanted. She lunged forward, grabbed his arm and rolled him over her right shoulder. Giving him one hell of a throw, she dropped him on the mattress on his back. He grunted, but she didn‘t give him time to protest. Her need was driving her. Making her insane. In this second, she wanted him more than she‘d ever wanted anything in her life. With another quick move, she straddled him, his hips between her legs, his long and proud penis beneath her, between her thighs, pressing up against her damp, warm center.

Her breath caught. Her body pulsed. She wanted more. She wanted everything. And she wanted it right now. She pushed down on him, not needing any preparation, any touching. He was halfway in when the ripples started. Strong and getting stronger. She screamed, long and thin. Rocking back and forth on top of him. Her scream going on and on and on. The ripples going on and on and on. It was so good. So fucking good. Her scream died, but still the ripples continued and she whimpered and moaned and whimpered and moaned. She looked into his eyes and his pupils flamed at her but something was wrong. He was lying still, unmoving. As though his body was a warm statue. She stopped. Frozen. The ripples stopped. ~~~ His mouth tightened, the flame in his eyes dimmed, and he gripped her right arm. ―What‘s wrong?‖ His tone was hoarse. ―Nothing.‖ The word tore out of her throat, and she tried to move up and off him, but his hand held her, keeping her from separating their bodies. Any other time, she would‘ve used one of her martial arts‘ moves, but it was easier to lift her left arm, make a fist and punch his shoulder. He didn‘t flinch, didn‘t move. Again. ―You didn‘t do anything,‖ she said. ―I‘m doing it all. I look at you and you‘re a robot. I may as well be with a vibrator. This is just...self-satisfaction. I wasn‘t asking you to make love to me, but at the very least, sex is interactive.‖ His face changed slightly—eyes flickering, the corners of his mouth curving down, and something else, a look she‘d seen in the women‘s shelters where she volunteered to teach the basics of self-protection. She had a name for that look. Hopelessness. The anger seeped out of her, deflating her. She bowed forward and pressed her palm to the side of his face. ―I guess this was a bad idea.‖ Her voice came out in a husky whisper. ―My fault. I shouldn‘t have pressured you.‖ In the bar below them, the band played ―Looking for Some Heat.‖ Wasn‘t everyone, she wondered as Noah‘s forehead creased, and his lips stretched in anguish, the lines on either side of his mouth deepening. And his eyes... They moistened. Not tears, but so close it hurt her to look at him. ―Don‘t worry about it,‖ she said, trying to make her voice cotton-candy airy and failing miserably. ―I made a mistake. Not my first, and for sure not my last.‖ She sat up, pulling her hand back, still ensconced on him. Even now, after all her drama, he filled her. His condition awkward, because she would have to leave him like this. She refused to feel guilty. He could take care of it the same way most men did. In the bathroom.

She leaned to her left, her right leg lifting— Without warning, he flipped her onto her side. She squeaked and held on, her leg automatically curling around his hip. Still inside her, he twisted again, and she was on her back and he was on top of her, his legs between hers, his face inches from hers. The moisture gone from his eyes, the flame back. ―You didn‘t ask why I remained still,‖ he said. ―Why?‖ She stared into his glowing eyes, and excitement built up again inside her. A guitar riffed in the band below, and she was riffing, too. ―I wanted it to be good for you. I wanted it to last. Once I started moving, I would be selfish. I would take my pleasure and wouldn‘t care about you until I was done.‖ Her throat opened. She smiled. She wanted to laugh—sometimes he talked like he came from another century. Or in his case, millennia. But she‘d learned a few things about men. None of them liked being laughed at during sex. ―It‘s okay, I‘m done,‖ she said. ―Your turn now.‖ ―I might hurt you.‖ She stopped smiling. ―You do and I‘ll hurt you back.‖ ―Not that way. Just that...‖ He frowned. ―I‘m big.‖ ―I know how big you are.‖ Honest to God. What was it with men and size? Even a dragon wasn‘t immune. ―I‘ve hurt woman in the past. They told me I‘m too big.‖ Poor guy. He believed them. ―I‘ll survive. Let‘s do it.‖ She was getting hungry again. Something else she wasn‘t saying. Telling men to hurry because she was hungry didn‘t do much for their fragile egos. She pushed her hips upward. Always a good move. The glow in his eyes flamed. ―You‘re sure?‖ ―I‘m sure.‖ Was he going to take forever? She could smell the barbe— He slid partially out of her, and the slant abraded her most sensitive spot. Bliss shimmered through her. Then he did it again. And again. The thought of barbeque wiped from her mind. She wanted more of this. More, more, more. She reached up to grab his arms and he moved in and out of her, in and out, his face set in lines of agony. She opened her mouth and keened with a constant wave of pleasure. An orgasm undulated through her and didn‘t stop, didn‘t stop, didn‘t stop. She rocked with it, cried with it, wanted it to never stop, never stop, never ever, ever, ever fucking stop. Then he raised his head to the ceiling and he roared. She held onto his arms, her legs wrapped around his buttocks, holding him as he convulsed inside her, his expression raw, primal, duplicating the rapture that rippled through her. His arms buckled and he collapsed on her, his chest damp. She held him and rocked him, her body still rippling, but smaller. Her heartbeat still

pounding, but quieter. Slowing down. When he lifted his upper body, his expression radiated satisfaction. The glow of a man who‘d had the best sex of his life. She beamed at him and supposed she looked the same. And he beamed back. Beamed. In her mind, she laughed with pure joy. Amazing what good sex could do—even for a dragon. He eased out of her. Then the sticky fluids leaked out between her thighs, and the ―oh shit‖ dip in her stomach wiped off her smile. How could she have been so stupid? Kneeling above her, he froze, his smile erasing. ―I hurt you.‖ She shook her head. ―We forgot about protection. I‘m not taking birth control. Is there any chance—‖ ―None. My sperm, if I have any, must be incompatible with the human egg.‖ ―Then I‘m okay.‖ She smiled, but her mood shifted. Some of the greatest-sex-ever joy leaked out of her. Her body still exuded satisfaction, though. As if her mind and her vagina belonged to two different women. ―We‘re going to be all right.‖ He rolled to his back, their arms touching. ―We can do this again?‖ She turned to face him. ―Yes, but not now. I‘m hungry.‖ He was up in one fluid move, over the side of the bed and on his feet. ―I could eat everything on the table.‖ ―You do and I‘ll hurt you.‖ She jumped out of bed, her inner thighs sticky. He grabbed his clothes and started pulling on his underwear. ―I need to wash up,‖ she said. ―You‘d better not touch my ribs. Remember, my hands and feet are lethal weapons.‖ He chuckled, and her spirits lifted. Hearing him chuckle was as rare as snow in southern California. The bedroom had its own bathroom. She cleaned up, pulled on her clothes, then headed to the kitchen where Noah sat at the kitchen table, half his ribs still on the plate. ―You waited for me.‖ She slid onto the chair next to him and tore off a rib. It was lukewarm, but she was too hungry to care. ―You didn‘t have to.‖ ―I wanted to.‖ He brought a rib to his mouth. She did the same. The band wasn‘t playing below, and the chatter of more than two hundred club-goers traveled through the heat vents. She wondered if his roar or her cries had traveled down to them. A giggle tickled her throat, but she was too ravenous to let it out, too busy chewing and swallowing. He finished first and cleaned his fingers the way she‘d done before, putting them in his mouth and sucking them. She warmed below. Heated already. She looked into his eyes to say something. What she saw made her forget what she was going to say. The glow in his eyes sent a chill through her, goosebumps prickling on her arms. She‘d thought it was sex, but it was more. Too much more. An emotion she didn‘t want to name.

She set down the rib. His eyes made her feel as though her world was turning upside down and inside out. That was a problem. She didn‘t want her world to turn. All she wanted was revenge on the man who killed Izzy. After that happened...she didn‘t know what she would do, except that it called for a lot of thinking. The past still had its tentacles stuck into her, and she wanted them out. ―That was good.‖ She smiled, deliberately and falsely. ―And so was what we did before that.‖ She gestured toward the bedroom. ―Of course I want to do it again. Why deny ourselves pleasure?‖ Her laughter tinkled, like shards of glass falling on a tin roof, and she forced herself not to wince. ―But otherwise everything is the same. It didn‘t change anything.‖ His silence brought her gaze to his eyes. Not sadness as she feared, but determination. ―It changed everything.‖ ~~~ Noah held his breath, heard the steady thrum of his heartbeat and the way hers beat in tune with his. Below, the band was playing a Stevie Ray Vaughan song, the guitar player showing off his riffs, but never as good as Stevie. Up here, though... Up here was silence. Lila shook her head. ―Don‘t.‖ She looked him straight in the eyes, and he remembered when he‘d told Beauty she was his. She‘d shrunk away from him, her gaze averted from his beastliness. Not Lila. She didn‘t shrink. Not from him, not from any man. ―You don‘t know me.‖ ―I know you‘re a woman of honor.‖ The knowledge sang inside him, long and loud. ―The most honorable woman I know.‖ ―Oh God.‖ Her eyes looked down, her mouth curved down, her brow crinkling. Noah stilled. He wasn‘t an expert at reading women, but this wasn‘t good. ―I killed two men.‖ Her voice was harsh, her brown eyes bleak, but she squared her shoulders and raised her chin. ―The last one happened the day you called me. He had a knife out and was going to kill his girlfriend. When I stopped him, he turned on me.‖ ―He didn‘t deserve life.‖ Her mouth worked and she shook her head. ―I could have stopped him without killing him. I could have turned him into the police.‖ He put his hand over hers on the table without having to look down, his body aware of hers. As though she was a part of him, and her inner anguish was a part of him, too, a soreness in his heart. ―A man like that, there‘s something wrong with him. Blackness where there should be light. He would have walked the streets again. He would have killed again. He needed to be put down.‖ She huffed out a sound between a sob and a laugh. ―Like putting a dog down.‖ ―A deranged dog.‖ A smile gleamed in her eyes for a second, and then it was gone, replaced by a shadow. ―The first kill…‖ She looked away, then back at him. ―It was my stepfather.‖ The knowledge hit him like an iron fist in his gut. ―Izzy‘s father.‖

―Yes.‖ Her hand curled tightly, her knuckles poking into his palm. ―When Izzy was nine, he pushed our mom down the stairs and she was paralyzed. We heard it in my bedroom. Heard him say he was going to kill her. No wonder Izzy turned out to be a mess. She was vulnerable. She needed coddling.‖ ―Who was coddling you?‖ She scowled at her plate again, as though the messy plate with its rib bones and sauce offended her. ―I was older. I didn‘t need coddling. ―Pretend you do.‖ He lifted his hand and shifted his chair until it was next to hers. Enfolded her in his arms, he drew her against him. She didn‘t sob, but her breath caught for a long moment before she released it. The tension in her body released, too. Her back curved and her head rested heavily on his shoulder. He closed his eyes and did something he normally did only while listening to music or playing music. He opened his senses and enjoyed the sound of her breaths, the feel of her, the smell of her. Nothing else. Just her. Footsteps hit the stairs, climbing up, and she stiffened. He raised his head and listened, his muscles bunching. A cell phone buzzed from the stairwell, the first notes of "Mammas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys," and their visitor‘s footsteps stopped. Lila pulled away, grabbed a napkin and dabbed her eyes. Looking at his shirt, she made a face. ―I got barbecue on your sleeve.‖ He was about to tell her it didn‘t matter when Jerry spoke from the stairway. ―I don‘t know if Long will be here on Monday.‖ He talked in a low voice, but his words were as clear to Noah as if he were on the receiving end of the phone. ―He doesn‘t report to me. I talked to Ralph, and he hasn‘t heard from him.‖ Lila‘s breath sucked in through her teeth. Noah stopped breathing. There was silence from the stairwell. Then Noah heard a man talking, coming from Jerry‘s phone, the words too muffled to make out but the tone unmistakable. Short. Commanding. The man in control. ―I didn‘t get the contract yet,‖ Jerry said when his caller stopped talking. ―Until it‘s signed and there‘s a deposit in my bank account, I‘m not telling you a damn thing.‖ The voice spoke louder and faster, barking out orders like an incensed drill sergeant. This time Noah heard his words. ―You‘ll do what I damn well tell you to do.‖ ―I‘ll do it,‖ Jerry drawled, ―as soon as I get the money.‖ ―I‘m going to kill him,‖ Lila said. Cold anger vibrated from her skin. Noah‘s fingertips hurt, his claws growing. ―Until the money‘s in my bank account,‖ Jerry said, ―I‘m an independent. I‘ll call you tomorrow.‖ The caller‘s voice started, then cut off. Jerry chuckled under his breath and Noah heard the slide of plastic against denim, Jerry slipping his cell phone into his pocket.

―Jerry didn‘t tell him we were here.‖ Lila frowned, then added, ―Not yet.‖ ―He will. He‘s the Trickster.‖ Her eyebrows contracted in a question. ―The coyote in North American Indian lore,‖ Noah said. ―Called the Trickster. Not to be trusted any further than we can hear him.‖ She opened her mouth to say something, but Jerry‘s footsteps started up the stairway and he was whistling ―Tonight‘s Gonna Be A Good Night.‖ ―We‘ll find out who put him up to it,‖ Noah said. ―He‘d better not try to trick us,‖ she said, her face fierce and beautiful. And he did what millions of men had done before him, and perhaps even male dragons when the mating urge was upon them. ―I‘ll take care of it,‖ he said, and then he bent and kissed her hard.

Chapter Twenty

Lying next to Lila, Noah murmured, ―He‘s asleep.‖ She shivered, not with desire. Not completely, though she admitted that was a part of it. They shared the bed to fool Jerry into thinking they were asleep, and it was like cuddling up to a furnace. The scent of sex lingered in the air from their earlier lovemaking. On Christmas, if they were on gift-exchanging terms, she was going to have a T-shirt made for him that said DRAGONS DO IT HOTTER. Both she and Noah sat up. She put her arm out to stop him, and he did the same to her, their hands meeting. ―I‘ll go,‖ he said. ―I‘m quieter.‖ ―But if he wakes up and finds me there,‖ she whispered, ―he won‘t complain.‖ He leaned over and kissed her. Short and hard and fast. ―I would complain. I don‘t share my treasures.‖ He turned without waiting for a response. Warning bells tolled in her head. She reached out and grasped his arm. ―I‘m not your treasure.‖ Though she still spoke low, her words came out like rifle shots. ―The only person I belong to is myself. Not you. Not any man.‖ In the dark room, she dimly saw the outline of his long face, but she felt his unsmiling regard, his seriousness. ―Would you like me to be with other women?‖ Hell no. ―Not really.‖ Hell no, she thought again. ―But if you do, that‘s your decision and I wouldn‘t stop you.‖ ―But you would leave me.‖ ―I might leave you anyway. We had sex.‖ Nothing more, she told herself. ―Good sex. Okay, great sex.‖ Fabulous, shooting stars, out-of-the-world sex. ―But we didn‘t make any commitments.‖ His tone was grave, his eyes serious as a funeral. ―Perhaps you didn‘t make a commitment. I did.‖ Her warning bells tolled. She realized she was still grasping his arm. Releasing him, she resisted an urge to wrap her arms around her chest and hold herself tight. ―We just met two days ago. One of the classic signs of an abuser is instant love, pushing for commitment.‖ ―We haven‘t been apart since.‖ He spoke without emotion, no attempt to charm or coerce her, his voice robotic. He hadn‘t been robotic while they had sex, though. Not after the first start. After that... Just thinking about it raised her temperature, made her want to do it again.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. She was not listening to her body. Perhaps she was overreacting, perhaps because on a primal level his words made her rejoice. She wanted him to claim her. But it was too soon. She was not going to be like her mother and her sister. Like too many women she knew who ended up wearing thick makeup to hide black eyes, and long sleeves in summer to cover bruises. ―Two days,‖ she repeated, as much a reminder to herself as to him. Perhaps she needed it more than he did. ―In those two days you saved my life. I saved yours. I gave you my blood and brought you back to life.‖ ―Oh geez.‖ She buried her face in her hands. He‘d brought her orgasms, too. Giant waves of orgasms. Now she wanted to do it again. She lifted her head from her hands. What was the point of the conversation? Oh yeah. ―Go ahead. Sneak into his bedroom and get his cell phone.‖ It didn‘t seem important anymore that she go. She was too controlling and he would be quieter. Not that she was noisy, but he carried silence with him the way her stepfather had carried rage. Without another word, he rolled out of bed and stepped on the floor. It creaked. Loudly. The cat screeched and jumped up from the chair in the corner. Thumping onto the floor. Noah froze in place, his long, dark form like a sculpture. She clapped a hand over her mouth to mute an inconvenient giggle. Something was wrong with her. She never giggled. Giggling was for nervous young girls. Their lives might depend on her being quiet. Her urge to laugh grew. Her teeth clamped together, and the giggle grew in her throat, tickling her vocal chords. She sat up and the bed creaked. Loudly. Oh shit. And the giggle... It was there. Coming out in a strangled screeching sound, much like the cat. Oh God, oh God, oh God. She flopped on her stomach and stuffed the pillow in her mouth. Despite the pillow, small, stifled sounds emitted from her throat. She didn‘t have much practice holding back laughter. She had an excess bottled up in her. All the jokes she hadn‘t laughed at. All the times her friends were playing when she was young and she was taking care of Izzy because her mother was in pain. All the dates she didn‘t have in high school. All the dances and movies she didn‘t go to. She even snubbed the girl in her martial arts class who wanted to be her friend. Finally Lila had switched to another class to get away from her. She couldn‘t have friends. She had secrets to keep. A family to protect. The floor squeaked again. Louder. The bed dipped. A hand curved around her back. Another hand patted her head, as though she were a dog. ―It‘s going to be all right,‖ he murmured. ―It will be okay.‖ She lifted her mouth from the pillow to tell him to go jump in the Cumberland River, but she couldn‘t, because the laughter spilled out. But something was wrong with the sound. Something

that made him look at her with his brow creased and his eyes sad. It wasn‘t laughter. It was sobs. Oh no, she‘d done this already. ―I‘ll stop.‖ She flapped her hand in the direction of the hall. ―Go. Get the phone.‖ ―Later. The phone will wait.‖ ―No.‖ She shook her head, but the tears kept coming. Like a flood. And she wasn‘t exactly crying, but making honking noises. She sniffed and flapped her hand again like a sea lion. ―I‘ll stop. Just go and don‘t worry about me.‖ ―Humans are like volcanoes, your emotions boiling inside you. Crying is one of the safer ways of releasing the strain inside you.‖ Oh God, he was Oprah. An Oprah who occasionally breathed fire. ―I cried for Izzy yesterday.‖ ―I know.‖ He slid his arm beneath her ribs and rolled her against his body. ―Today you‘re crying for yourself.‖ She pulled her head back, peering at his face. Even in the darkness she could see his serious lips, his concerned eyes. ―I never cry for myself.‖ ―That‘s why you‘re crying so much. You‘re overdue.‖ ―I don‘t—‖ ―Shut up.‖ He drew her to him. ―Just shut up and cry. You don‘t have to be strong all the time.‖ Tears leaked out of her eyes, and she clasped her arms around the back of his neck. ―I hate you. I hate you, hate you, hate you.‖ The next instant, gasping sobs ripped out of her throat. And she knew it wasn‘t him she hated. It was herself. It was Izzy. It was her mother. It was all the men who hit and killed women. Someone had to stop them. She couldn‘t do it all on her own.

Chapter Twenty-one

Killing carried a price. Carter stumbled over the back entrance to the guesthouse. The contractor, a man a few years older than him with deep lines in his cheeks—no collagen or Botox shots in his sun-reddened, working-man face—grabbed Carter‘s arm. Catching his balance, Carter sucked in his breath and shook off the contractor‘s grip. ―I‘m okay,‖ he said. The contractor dropped his arm to his side, but doubt lingered in his face. ―I did too much today.‖ Carter scowled as the image flashed in his mind of the two dead bodies in the hotel room. ―Overextended myself.‖ Without waiting for the contractor‘s reaction, Carter led him through the kitchen with the cherry wood cabinets, stainless steel appliances, granite countertops and Italian terracotta floor tiles. Only the best for his guests. He didn‘t suppose his next guest would appreciate it. Descending the stairs to the basement, he clenched his jaws against the pain in his knees and his hips. Like screws turning inside his joints. When they reached the tiled floor of the media room, with its leather couches and super-sized screen and shiny wet bar, his pain eased enough for him to speak. ―This all has to go.‖ He swept his arm out. ―I‘m turning the back part into a prison set for a video for one of my artists. It‘s going to be one big prison cell.‖ He waited a beat, watching the contractor‘s face to see if he swallowed this. ―I‘ll need unbreakable prison bars, the real thing.‖ The contractor stiffened, his nostrils flaring as if he smelled something bad. ―I‘m paying top dollar,‖ Carter added. The contractor‘s expression turned blank. Money did that to people, Carter thought. Stole their morals. At least Carter admitted what he was doing was wrong. Once again the images of the bloodied bodies flickered into his mind. The life force there one instant, blanked out the next. He shoved the image out. Skimmer and his skinny girlfriend had been junkies, disposable. Not like him. Look at all the charities he funded. All the employment he gave. It wasn‘t right that he was walking in pain. Old before his time. He had to break the chain of misery, the curse that crippled the men of his family. ―I only want to keep the bathroom on that side,‖ he continued. ―You can install a fridge, a

small one.‖ The contractor‘s expression didn‘t change, didn‘t flicker. ―I want it done fast. In twenty-four hours.‖ The contractor shook his head. ―I can‘t do it. That‘s impossible.‖ ―Finish by five tomorrow and I‘ll pay you a bonus. One hundred thousand dollars.‖ The contractor blinked but didn‘t say anything. ―For every hour before five,‖ Carter added, ―I‘ll give you an extra twenty-five thousand.‖ The contractor licked his lips. ―Fifty thousand.‖ Carter nodded. Instant health. Forever young. Worth every thousand. ―My secretary will fax you the contract,‖ he said. ―I‘ll take some measurements, then get started.‖ The contractor‘s lips thinned and his eyebrows drew together. ―It‘s gonna cost. I won‘t have time to shop for bargains.‖ ―Do it. Whatever it takes, just do it.‖ The contractor pulled out a metal tape measure from his jacket pocket and stepped forward, lines of concentration on his forehead. ―I‘ll call my secretary.‖ Carter turned to leave. At the stairway, he paused, put his hand on the banister and hauled his flawed body up, one step at a time. This time he didn‘t ignore the pain, he stepped into the pain. Centered himself in it like a fish centered itself in water. The reminder of the reason he needed a prison strong enough to hold a dragon. It would be easier to drain the dragon‘s blood and refrigerate it, but there was no guarantee the blood would remain viable. After a short time it was possible it would degenerate. So much of this was unclear. He had no idea how much he needed, how often he needed it, how long the effect lasted. It wasn‘t as if he wanted to turn himself into a dragon. All he wanted was to be healthy and virile and young. Better to keep Long imprisoned until he could test the blood over a period of time, taking vials of blood as often as he needed it. He already had a doctor ready to do what needed to be done. He took the last step and set both feet onto the hallway in the first floor, across from the laundry room. He remained still for a second, savoring the relief that the climb was over. It wouldn‘t always be like this. Soon he‘d be bounding up the steps. Money combined with determination could buy anything. Or anyone. He just had to make sure nothing fucked this up.

Chapter Twenty-two

The cell phone wasn‘t anywhere in sight, and Jerry‘s snores rubbed against Noah‘s nerves, like listening to the snorts of a wild boar. Noah had meant to do this hours ago, but holding Lila, comforting her, had seemed more important. He wasn‘t sorry. Regrets were sour, and holding her was sweet. Sour was the sight of Jerry with the early morning sun spilling over his sprawled body, showing every line on his face, every gray hair, all the morning afters gathered onto his face. Watching him, Noah felt like the grim reaper, smelling the defeat and the beer. Probably beer was all Jerry could afford. Everything about him screamed that he was squeaking by. The scuffed boots next to the twin bed. The long, shaggy hair. The frayed jeans he‘d tossed on his open suitcase on the floor. In mid-snort, Jerry‘s eyes opened, looking straight at Noah. He closed his mouth and jackknifed to a sitting position. Blinking, he rubbed his face. ―I hope you‘re not thinking what I think you‘re thinking,‖ he said, his voice as bleary as his eyes. ―I don‘t roll that way.‖ ―I‘d like to borrow your phone.‖ ―Nah.‖ Jerry‘s gaze skittered to the left. ―Nothing personal, but the last guy I lent my phone to talked up a huge bill and never paid me. Just can‘t afford it.‖ ―I‘ll pay now.‖ Noah slid his hand into his back pocket, and Jerry‘s faded blue eyes lit up. Then his face stiffened. ―I don‘t need money that bad.‖ ―I need a phone that bad.‖ Noah felt as if he were playing chess, every move deliberate. Not his favorite game, though he invariably won. But he‘d rather play his sax and get lost in the flow of music. Jerry pushed out of bed in his T-shirt and gray briefs. ―You can use it. No charge.‖ He picked up the jeans from the floor, shoved his hand in the pocket and pulled out the cell phone. Noah reached for it. Easier than he‘d thought it would be. Jerry started to give it to him, but stopped and drew back. ―Just a sec.‖ He pressed numbers, peered at the tiny screen, pressed something else, nodded, then handed it to Noah. ―I‘ll take this into the other room,‖ Noah said. ―I owe you.‖ ―Let me play with you on Monday. That‘ll be my payment.‖ Noah bowed his head, then left the bedroom, heading for the bigger bedroom across the hall. Inside the room, Lila sat on the edge of the bed, tying the shoelaces of her running shoes. She was dressed in jeans and a blue hoodie, her hair pulled back and tied in a fall of straight blond

hair. ―Look what I found for you.‖ She gestured to a black cowboy hat tossed on the bed behind her. His eyebrows went up. She laughed, her expression happy. ―A disguise. No one will expect to see you in a cowboy hat. Besides, you looked handsome in one the other day.‖ He nodded, though he could smell the old sweat on the hat from five feet away. He would adjust to the smell. He was good at adjusting. ―You should get one for yourself.‖ ―Someone left a Titans cap in the closet. That‘ll work.‖ She started on her other shoe, the corners of her mouth turned down, the happiness wiped out that fast, that easily, more fragile than an eggshell. ―I heard you and Jerry talking. He woke up, huh? It‘s my fault for last night‘s crying jag. Otherwise you would‘ve gotten what you wanted hours ago. Maybe he‘ll take a shower and we can search his room.‖ He held up the phone. ―I have it.‖ She looked up, her eyebrows raised. ―You‘re good.‖ ―Yes, I am.‖ A laugh choked out of her and she tilted her face up, her mouth curving with amusement. As he looked at her, his body stirred. He resisted the desire to bend down and kiss her lips. He didn‘t understand why, but kissing her good morning seemed more intimate than what they‘d shared last night. ―How did you do it?‖ she asked. He felt the same primal urge as last night to puff up his chest, show her his bigness and bravery. Impress her with his treasures and his intelligence and his prowess in bed. ―I told him I needed to use his phone.‖ ―You asked him? I never would‘ve thought of that.‖ She laughed again and his chest puffed up more. She held out her hand. ―You don‘t know how to use it, do you? I can do it.‖ ―I am perfectly capable of operating the device.‖ It must be his humanity, this courtship urge to show his knowledge, like a peacock spreading its wings. ―Two years ago a customer showed me the features of his cell phone in an attempt to convince me it was necessary.‖ She waggled her fingers. ―Two years? You won‘t remember.‖ ―I have an excellent memory.‖ Her eyes crinkled in a smile and she lowered her hand. ―Go for it. You‘re my hero.‖ He bent his head and pressed the menu button, ready to find the number and give it to her. Proof of his brilliance, his merit as a mate. Proof that he deserved to be her hero for real. But under the record of phone numbers from last night, he saw…nothing. ―What is it?‖ She jumped up from the bed. ―There‘s nothing here.‖ He looked up at her, his puffing deflated. Pride turning to anger. Inside his belly the simmering began. ―Nothing at all. He did something before he handed it to me. It appears he erased the record of his previous phone calls.‖

―Figures. Can‘t make it too easy. Where‘s the fun in that?‖ She held out her hand. ―You have to make a phone call. He might check. Give it to me. I‘ll call Detective Rochester and tell him I saw the two men watching your shop. That they appeared suspicious and I took down their license numbers. He can look up their names.‖ ―Will he give it to us?‖ ―Not to you.‖ She laughed again, taking the phone from him, and he thought she looked happier this morning. As though their lovemaking had freed some of the guilt inside her, some of the weight lifted off her shoulders. The next instant, the laughter disappeared, her brown eyes darkened. He knew she was thinking of Izzy. In silence, she crossed to the dresser and drew a business card from her purse, then punched in Rochester‘s phone number. Avoiding his gaze, she headed to the window, her rubber-soled shoes padding on the scratched wooden floor. She angled herself to peer at the street. The phone rang again and her breath sucked in, her body tensed. ―Fuck.‖ She pulled the phone away from her ear even as a man‘s voice said, ―Hello.‖ Noah strode over to her as she turned off the phone and stepped away from the window. ―It‘s him,‖ she said, her voice clipped. ―Rochester. Watching your shop. I can see him.‖ He peered out the window at the Corvette across the street, sleek and cherry red and low slung, a car purchased to demonstrate wealth. Noah clearly saw Rochester in the driver‘s seat. ―He could be undercover,‖ he said. ―In that car?‖ The look she gave him questioned his intelligence. ―He was bought off.‖ ―Mr. Small.‖ He turned from the window and saw her clenched jaws, her cheekbones standing out sharply. ―I want to tell you to call him Mr. Dead,‖ she said. ―But then I‘d be as psychotic as he is.‖ He wanted to tell her that both his dragon side and his human side liked the sound of Mr. Dead, too. Instead he pulled her to him, and she clung to him tightly.

Chapter Twenty-three

―I want to go with you.‖ Noah stopped on the corner, a block away from the Blues Bar, and it looked to Lila as if he‘d planted himself there. A six-foot-four-inch man in a black cowboy hat, black pants and a black leather jacket doing a damn good imitation of a redwood tree. Lila gave Noah her don‘t-give-me-any-crap look. He gazed back at her with no sense of disturbance, unlike normal men, who wisely cowered. But normal men didn‘t look dignified with scales on their face. Normal men didn‘t make her go from hot to cold to hot again in a twominute span. Normal men didn‘t have blood pulsing through their veins that could revive the dead. ―Splitting up is more efficient,‖ she said, low and harsh. She didn‘t need him protecting her. Had he forgotten what she‘d done? ―We can cover more gas stations this way.‖ ―Detective Rochester is looking for you. You‘ll need me with you in case anything happens.‖ ―It‘s not me he wants, it‘s you.‖ She backed off from the corner, aware of people walking by them, smiling indulgently, as if she and Noah were having a lover‘s spat. As if they saw something in their faces. Something that wasn‘t there. Yes, they‘d made love, but that was two bodies rubbing together, generating heat, lighting a fire inside each other. The brim of his cowboy hat shadowed his eyes, but she felt his disbelief. ―I saw the way he looked at you. He wants you.‖ She shrugged. A lot of men wanted her. And a lot of other men didn‘t. ―He‘s the kind of guy who looks at all women like they‘re fresh meat and he wants to stick his fork into them.‖ ―I‘m not leaving you.‖ His voice, firm as the sidewalk, said she wouldn‘t move him with a bulldozer. ―I don‘t need babysitting.‖ The light turned green and she marched across the street. A good thing, because the way she felt she would‘ve walked through traffic to get to the other side. Let the cars swerve around her. He kept up with her. At the first gas station, she stuck her head over the counter and told a tall, thin man guy with a manager‘s badge she was looking for two guys from the night before with slashed tires, giving him the license plate numbers. As she talked, his face closed. She grew angrier. He wasn‘t going to help her. She could see it in the way he leaned back from the desk and pursed his lips. Damn him. Damn all men. ―Those cars are involved in a double murder. If you don‘t want to tell me the information,

maybe you‘d rather tell the cops.‖ His eyebrows escalated halfway up his forehead. ―Go ahead, call them.‖ He reached for the phone on the counter. ―Maybe I‘ll call them myself.‖ ―That won‘t be necessary. Thank you for your time.‖ Noah grabbed her arm and hustled her out of the door. Outside, he clasped both her arms and lowered his face to hers, his lips two breaths away. ―What‘s wrong with you today? You can‘t order people to do things. You only succeed in antagonizing them.‖ ―Someone killed my sister. I don‘t feel like being nice.‖ Her voice came out wobbly and high. Her eyes stung. The sun shimmered through the veil of tears, blinding her. She needed sunglasses. She needed…too much. And she despised her need. She despised her tears. Right now she despised herself. She twisted out of his grip, turned her back to him and clapped her hands over her eyes. She was turning into a fountain. She wanted her off switch. He stepped up to her back, and she felt his body heat before he pressed against her. His arms folded around her ribs, holding her. She closed her eyes and leaned back, her head against his neck and breast bone, his jaw resting on the crown of her head. With a sigh, she relaxed, feeling every strong and comforting inch of him, like being cocooned in her favorite dark chocolate. It reminded her of the way she felt when she was young, before her mother married Izzy‘s dad, so sure that everything was going to be all right. They stayed like that for a long moment. She was aware they were in a public place and people driving or walking by or filling their gas tanks could see them like this, but she didn‘t care. She only cared that she was showing her vulnerability again. That she cared so much it was a pain in her heart. ―If I don‘t stop being angry,‖ she whispered, ―I‘ll be weak and useless. I‘m like a snowman. I need the cold. Warm and fuzzy will melt me.‖ It came to her that for most of her life, her anger kept her from falling into little pieces so tiny no one could glue her back together. Without it she‘d be like her mom. Like Izzy. Like so many women she‘d met. A wash rag that someone else could ball up and use to wipe up their crap. To keep the weakness at bay, she used anger and scorn and the knowledge that she was stronger and smarter than most men. But she wasn‘t stronger and smarter than Noah. She stepped forward, breaking out of his hold. ―Let‘s go to the next place. You can talk to them.‖ ―I‘m going back to talk to Bill,‖ he said. ―Bill?‖ She twisted to face him. ―The manager.‖ He tapped the left side of his chest. ―He had a nametag.‖ He headed off to fix what she‘d screwed up. She scowled. At herself, not him. This was the nearest garage to the Dragon‘s Lair, the most likely place their watchers would have called.

Trying not to berate herself—a feat harder than any of the tasks assigned to Hercules—she slumped against the brick garage wall to watch the cars drive by. Her cell phone rang and she pulled it out of her purse, brought it to her ear and said her name. ―Lila,‖ the male voice said. ―Jim Rochester here. I have news about your sister.‖ She stood straight, her brain sharpening so fast she could practically hear the alpha brain cell chirping to the others, Wake up, guys. Incoming! ―I need to see you,‖ Rochester said. ―Where are you?‖ ―I can come to the station.‖ ―I‘m not at the station. It would be easier for me to come to you.‖ She raised her eyebrows. ―Are you near the downtown area? I can meet you at a restaurant.‖ ―I‘ll pick you up. Just tell me the address.‖ ―I‘m at a friend‘s. I‘ll meet you.‖ ―I‘m just trying to save you the walk.‖ ―I run marathons.‖ Her words were clipped. She remembered Noah‘s warning about antagonizing people, but she suspected he wouldn‘t mind if she made an exception with the detective. ―Where do you want to meet?‖ The door leading to the garage made a sound like a sick dog, and she peered around the corner. Noah was striding toward her, his gaze narrowing, his nostrils distended. Rochester named a coffee shop two blocks from the Dragon‘s Lair. She agreed and finished the call. Noah neared her. ―I‘ve got one address.‖ ―Good.‖ She dropped the phone in her purse. ―Rochester called. I‘m meeting him at the Coffee Bar.‖ ―Now?‖ He stopped three feet from her, and she could practically hear his mind whirring. It made her think of Miriam sitting in her beach house kitchen, predicting rain when the weather forecasters were calling for sunshine, her sensitive sinuses feeling the changes in the atmospheric pressure. Apparently she was sensitive to Noah. ―Now.‖ She raised her eyebrows and her chin. He looked at her for a long moment. A traffic light changed. A car pulled up to the gas pump and another left while she stared at him, daring him to object. His expression impassive, he inclined his head. ―We‘ll split up then. I‘ll look for the gentleman with the new tire while you talk to the detective.‖ ―Fine,‖ she snapped. ―Fine.‖ He strode away. Not looking back. She watched the gap between them grow. It felt as if her best friend was walking away. Silly. She‘d only known him a few days. Stupid tears burned her eyes. It was grief. Her grief made her want to cling to him, made her body need him like an addict

needed a fix. She turned the opposite way, toward the Coffee Bar, and pulled her cell phone out of her purse. She pressed Miriam‘s number on her speed dial, and five seconds later her friend‘s usual tart tone warmed with pleasure. A bit of warmth wormed into Lila‘s throat, loosening it. Then Miriam asked about her sister, and her throat tightened again. Her voice rough, Lila told her she‘d talk about her sister later. The grief was too near the surface. She didn‘t want to walk along the street with tears streaming down her face. She told Miriam that T.J. would be at her place soon, that she hardly knew him but he‘d done her a favor. Miriam rattled off questions, her New York accent sharpening the faster she talked. Lila answered half of them, then neared the Coffee Bar and said she had to meet a hot cop for hot coffee. She hung up on Miriam‘s squeal of curiosity. Glancing at the window of the bar, Lila spotted a woman with a ravaged expression. A woman who‘d gone through hell. Her reflection. She took off her cap, jammed it into her purse. Yanked off the scrunchie. Her hair fell down, nearly straight, no style, but softening her face so she didn‘t look like a war victim. Except for her eyes. Those eyes had seen horrors. She dug in her purse, scrabbling beneath the cap, found her sunglasses and put them on. There. Now she looked cool. All her sins covered. If only she could put sunglasses on her soul. That‘s when she saw someone else was checking her out. Standing two feet behind her, a muscular figure watched her with an intensity of emotion that Lila felt rather than saw, even with her enhanced vision. The prickling Lila had felt yesterday came back full force. She snapped around, ready to defend her life. ~~~ Lila recognized the stocky shape. The guy who‘d followed her from the alley behind Noah‘s place before she‘d slit the tires. The guy it took her nearly two miles to lose. He even wore the same clothes, black suit jacket and slacks, gray shirt, wrinkled now. Probably slept in. Had he been watching her all night? Standing behind the Blues Bar while she‘d been in the bedroom with Noah? Listening nearby as she screamed out her orgasms? Yet his chin and jaw were as smooth as fresh cream. He must have stopped someplace and shaved. Lila raised her gaze to his eyes, silvery blue with pale eyelashes tipped with brown, the eyes almost perfectly round. Striking. Easy to remember. A face flashed into her mind to match the eyes, and her breath sucked in. Oh God, she knew

him. She‘d last seen this guy fifteen years ago, when she was sixteen. But the last time she‘d seen him, he‘d been a girl. ―Robin?‖ she said. ―That‘s you, isn‘t it?‖ Reflected sunlight glinted in Robin‘s round eyes. Then she stepped closer and Lila realized it was sparks of hate. Lila stiffened. And she remembered something else about the old days with her first dojo. By the time she turned sixteen, the only one who could equal her—and sometimes beat her—was Robin. ―Why are you following me?‖ she asked. ―Why didn‘t you just call out and say hi?‖ ―After the way you treated me?‖ Robin‘s gaze speared into Lila‘s. ―Like I was a pile of shit?‖ Lila lifted her hand, and Robin immediately braced her legs and bent her knees, her arms scissoring up. Without thought, Lila whipped into a matching defensive position. The people walking by gave them extra space. As Lila stared at Robin, Noah‘s voice spoke in her mind, cool and calm, like Yoda advising Luke, repeating the words he‘d told her at the gas station. ―You only succeed in antagonizing them.” She sighed, straightened her knees and relaxed her muscles. Apparently she‘d been antagonizing people since she was sixteen. ―I never did that. Never.‖ ―Don‘t bullshit me.‖ Robin‘s brow lowered, her mouth belligerent. ―I was there. I didn‘t expect you to fall in love with me. Hey, I saw you last night with that guy from the shop. The way you two looked at each other. Sure, I get it that you like men, but I admired you so much. You were the only other strong girl I knew my age. Maybe I hoped it could‘ve been more, but I never made any moves on you.‖ The hardness in her face thinned, softened, showing remnants of confusion and unhappiness from all those years ago. ―I would‘ve been happy with your friendship.‖ Lila shook her head. ―I couldn‘t handle friends back then.‖ ―You acted like I was poison. You dropped out of the dojo and joined another one to get away from me.‖ The concrete slammed back into her voice. ―It took years before I could let anyone see the real me.‖ And you blame me? Lila breathed twice to hold back the words. But it was like holding back vomit. She swallowed and spoke, her tone low. ―I was having family problems—‖ ―Big fucking deal.‖ Robin‘s upper lip curled. ―Who doesn‘t have family problems?‖ ―My stepfather was beating the crap out of my mother.‖ Robin‘s lip uncurled. ―My mother begged me not to tell anyone. My stepfather said if I did, he‘d kill my mother and sister.‖ Robin‘s knees straightened. ―For real?‖

―I can tell you his exact words.‖ She wished she could forget, but sometimes she woke in the middle of the night, sweating and gasping, hearing his icy voice spitting out the words over and over. ―He said, ‗I‘ll make you watch while I kill your mother and Izzy, and then I‘ll kill you. You‘ll die knowing their deaths were your fault.‘‖ ―You believed the shit-head?‖ ―I always knew the fault was his, but otherwise...yeah. He would‘ve done it. That‘s why I couldn‘t have friends. Not just you, anyone.‖ She stopped and swallowed a fist-sized lump in her throat. ―The others left me alone, but you wouldn‘t. You were persistent. That‘s why I changed dojos.‖ ―What happened to your mom?‖ Robin‘s eyebrows pulled together, not quite convinced, but the rest of her face was open, ready to believe. ―She‘s dead.‖ Lila‘s throat constricted, but she kept going. ―A month after I switched dojos, the bastard tossed her down the stairs and she was paralyzed. Two weeks later, he was killed in an accident.‖ ―Your family was way more screwed up than mine.‖ Robin‘s eyes narrowed. ―I‘m going to look them up. See if it‘s true that they‘re dead.‖ ―You do that.‖ Regret uncurled inside Lila‘s chest. She‘d never had a clue to what Robin was going through, too caught up in her own drama. ―I‘ll call you. What‘s your phone number?‖ ―Don‘t worry about calling me. I’ll call you.‖ Robin stepped back. ―It isn‘t over.‖ The second before she stomped away, the anger melted from her eyes, and instead they held all the sadness in the world. Except not all the sadness, Lila thought. Because a soccer-sized ball of sad was lodged in her throat. She turned toward the Coffee Bar and Rochester. When she was opening the coffee shop‘s glass door she realized she should‘ve asked Robin who‘d hired her to watch Noah‘s house. But she doubted Robin would‘ve told her anything. Maybe once she was convinced Lila told the truth, she might contact her again. Maybe it wouldn‘t be too late.

Chapter Twenty-four

The dingy, paint-flaking hallway reeked of old sex and old sweat. Sheets unwashed, dreams unreached. Noah was glad Lila wasn‘t with him. The building was a block from the hotel where Izzy was killed. He stopped at apartment number 406, and before he could knock, a chubby, bright-faced woman opened the door. Not long out of her teens, she smelled of lilacs. Two straps were looped over her right shoulder, belonging to a pink purse and a red book bag. ―Oh! You surprised me.‖ Her voice was high, and he lowered his estimate of her age to eighteen at the most. ―Can I help you?‖ ―Is Cody here?‖ he asked. ―Sure. C‘mon in.‖ She backed up and turned around. ―Cody!‖ Her shout at a door was answered by a flush from a toilet. ―Someone‘s here for you.‖ Noah glanced at a futon against the wall, a pillow and folded quilt at the end, the dark screen of a smallish TV, a guitar leaning against the wall, a chest of drawers. The place was almost as neat as Noah‘s shop, smelling of lemon furniture polish. A tiny kitchen with a table for two and a waist-sized refrigerator took up a third of the small area. On the counter was a plant with four leaves shaped like miniature swords. ―I‘m Susan.‖ The young woman held out her hand, and Noah shook it. ―Noah,‖ he said. She beamed. ―It‘s nice to meet you. Sorry to leave, but I have a class.‖ Noah nodded. She waved and hurried into the hall, closing the door behind her. The door to the bathroom opened, a head sticking out. With one glance, Noah committed the face to his memory. Early twenties, a half foot shorter than him, about forty pounds lighter. Dark brown hair, pale skin, fuzz around his chin and jaw, giving the impression of a peach that needed to ripen. The young man took in Noah a moment slower. Then his eyes widened, his breath hissed and waves of panicked energy rippled from him. ―Just a sec.‖ He pulled his head in and shut the door, raising his voice. ―Gotta wash my hands.‖ The lock turned. The faucet started, full blast. When a window creaked open, Noah wasn‘t surprised. A second later came the sound of someone scrabbling over the window sill. Noah grabbed the door handle, but it wouldn‘t turn. He raised his leg and kicked, putting muscle into the move. The wood veneer shattered beneath the heel of his shoe. Cody squawked.

Noah angled his arm through the hole and turned the handle from the inside. The door opened as two feet clanged on the metal fire escape. Noah rushed in and made it to the open window in two long strides. He stuck his head out, the wind cool against his face. ―Stop!‖ he ordered. On the third step, Cody paused. ―Don‘t make me come after you,‖ Noah said. ―I‘m here for information. Nothing more. I won‘t hurt you.‖ Cody peered over his shoulders, his pupils dilated with fear, only a rim of brown iris showing. ―I don‘t know anything.‖ ―Then you have nothing to hide.‖ Cody didn‘t move, but his gaze lowered to the metal steps. Noah sighed. He didn‘t want to climb onto the fire escape and chase the young man. No doubt if Lila were here, she‘d be in Cody‘s face already, making him tremble. But physical threats weren‘t his style. He‘d spent too many years seeing the uncalled for and unnecessary damage man did to man. The only good reason to use violence was when someone tried to take what belonged to him. To harm what belonged to him. To harm him. To harm Lila. The thought made Noah tense. He pushed the emotion into a small box in his mind and closed the top, a trick he‘d used during the early days in this body when so much confused him. ―Would you want Susan to see you like this?‖ he asked, focusing his attention on Cody. ―Cowering on a fire escape?‖ Cody‘s spine stiffened. ―I‘m not cowering.‖ ―Then come inside and talk to me face to face.‖ He paused, and offered the most irresistible phrase he could think of. One that would have influenced him when he was young. ―Talk to me like a man.‖ Though in Noah‘s case, it would have been ―like a dragon.‖ Cody‘s head snapped up, and Noah saw the wariness in his eyes. Cody trudged toward him, his breaths fast, his feet slow, scared and trying not to show it. Noah stepped back from the window to let Cody slip into the bathroom, feet first, until he crouched on the dingy tiled floor and then straightened to his full height, the top of his head not quite reaching Noah‘s chin. His expression fearful, Cody met Noah‘s gaze. ―After you close the window,‖ Noah said, ―perhaps we can have our conversation in another room.‖ ―Oh, yeah.‖ Cody turned and fumbled with the window, closing and locking it. Noah left the bathroom with its ruined door. In the living area, the futon looked clean but he took up a stance by the window, glancing outside. Two boys who probably should have been in school were following two girls who probably should have been in school. The boys appeared to be watching the girls‘ bottoms move from side to side, as though mesmerized. Noah had felt the same compulsion when he followed Lila—

A footstep shambled onto the scarred wooden floor, stopping Noah‘s wayward thoughts. Thoughts that should be firmly on finding out who was hunting him and who killed Izzy. Then he and Lila could take care of it and Lila would go home to California. The conclusion brought a darkness to his mind, night falling inside him though outside the sun shone blindingly bright. He blinked and told himself that later he could brood. Right now he had a nervous witness who might have information. ―Perhaps you would care to sit.‖ Noah gestured at the futon. Cody hurried to the futon and sat. The only other item of furniture was an exercise ball, about the same height as the futon. Not wanting to intimidate, a practice not conducive to loosening a nervous tongue, Noah sat on the ball, feeling the give beneath his bottom. Because of his long legs, his knees jackknifed up, mid-chest. Cody‘s shoulders and face muscles relaxed slightly. ―I guessed who you are. The guy who hired me said you were tall and thin and looked kind of Chinese.‖ ―Who was this man?‖ ―If I tell you, I‘ll never get a job in this town.‖ ―No one will know you told me.‖ Cody‘s face scrunched. ―How do I know you‘re telling me the truth?‖ ―Because I don‘t lie.‖ ―Everybody lies.‖ Cody‘s eyes glistened with moisture. ―Especially in this town. I‘ve been here two years. People make promises all the time and don‘t keep them.‖ ―Your music?‖ Noah nodded at the guitar in the corner, anything to prevent Cody‘s tears from falling, though the sooner he found what he needed from Cody, the sooner he could get back to Lila. He didn‘t trust Detective Rochester with his sleek, expensive car and the way he looked at Lila, as though he wanted to gobble her up, piece by delicious piece. ―You play guitar?‖ ―Lead guitar.‖ Cody watched him warily, the way he‘d watch the devil. ―I write my own songs, too. Lyrics and music.‖ ―Are you good?‖ Noah asked, though just about every fifth person he met lately seemed to play guitar and write their own songs. Cody sat up straight. Everything about him firmed, his muscles, his bones, his expression. ―I‘m damn good.‖ Noah‘s eyebrows went up. Cody radiated confidence in those three words. But many people were delusional about their talent and should be banned from singing in public, even something as innocuous as ―Happy Birthday.‖ ―Someone in the industry hired you,‖ Noah said. Cody slumped, his mouth turned down. ―A booking agent. Said he was calling for someone who wanted to be anonymous. Said if you left and I found out where you were going, he‘d book me a gig.‖ ―The booking agent‘s name?‖

Cody hunched his shoulders and rubbed his hand over his lower face and mouth. He peered at Noah, his expression glum. Sighing, he lowered his hand to his knee. ―Billy Audrey. He said the guy he was doing it for was someone big in the business and I wouldn‘t be sorry.‖ ―Did he get you the job?‖ ―Not after I lost you.‖ Cody frowned at his knees. ―He wouldn‘t pay for my tires, either.‖ ―Someone else was watching the house. In a tan van.‖ ―Yeah.‖ Cody glanced up, his expression miserable. ―I saw him. Do I have to tell you who he is? I don‘t know him that well, but he‘s got a wife and a kid. I don‘t want to get him in trouble. I don‘t know even know his last name.‖ ―I‘m not getting you into trouble.‖ ―That‘s what you say.‖ He shrugged, his body slumped with hopelessness. ―No one‘s going to throw us in jail, but we‘ll never work in this town. I know it.‖ ―Cody, my band plays at the Blues Bar on Monday. It‘s the only place we play. If you have talent, I‘ll let you sit in with us this Monday. I don‘t know if it will lead to anything, but it‘s something. And something is better than nothing.‖ ―You mean that?‖ ―On my honor.‖ He stared into Cody‘s eyes, holding the younger man‘s gaze until the hopelessness fled. ―I‘ll only do it if you‘re good, though.‖ Cody nodded and his face settled into determined lines. ―And if I tell you Dan‘s name.‖ ―You just did.‖ ―Shit, I guess I did. That‘s all I know about him.‖ He eyes swung to the left, toward his guitar. He stood. ―Not his last name or anything else. Just Dan. You want me to play for you?‖ ―You play country?‖ He nodded. ―I can play blues, too. Or rock. Whatever you want. Anything but rap.‖ Noah stood. Gestured at the guitar. ―Play one of your songs.‖ Cody jumped forward, reminding Noah of a young dog that still had some of that puppy bounce. ―Do you know where I can find Dan?‖ Noah asked as Cody bent to grab the neck of the guitar. Cody straightened much slower than he‘d bent forward, as though he‘d aged in those few seconds. ―I‘ve got to tell you to get the gig?‖ ―No. But I‘d like you to.‖ He sent Cody vibrations of assurance. ―I won‘t do anything to harm Dan or his family.‖ Cody broke their stare, dropping his gaze. ―I know where Dan‘s day job is. The downtown Sheraton. I think he works at the desk.‖ He scratched his ear. ―I‘m pretty sure Audrey wouldn‘t‘ve told him any more than he told me. Should I sing now?‖ Noah stepped back and nodded. ―Now.‖ Cody remained at the window. While he tuned his guitar, Noah sat on the futon, their positions reversed. The futon was awkward—stiff and uncomfortable. But Noah had once slept

on cave floors, so he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. Mystic would sniff at the hard cushions, but he didn‘t have the feline luxury of disdain. ―It‘s called, ‗She‘s Too Good,‘‖ Cody said. His fingers in place, he hit D7 and slid a fret behind it. Then his voice howled out, strong and rough and trouble-laden despite his young years. She says she wants to be my friend But I can tell she wants more than that A kitchen that smells like food and love Two kids, a dog and a cat. That sounds like a piece of heaven It‘s no place for the son of a devil I went to school with holes in my shoes I saw too much and I did too little Her soul shines golden like the sun She‘s too good for me. My soul is like a moonless night She‘s too good for me. She‘s too good, too good, too good. And I‘m too bad, too bad, too bad. One of these days her eyes will open And she won‘t like what she sees She‘ll try to clean me up And she‘ll find this dog‘s got fleas A country boy singing love songs. For a sweet-faced girl too good for me. The only way I know to make her happy Is to keep her far away from me. She‘s too good for me, too good, too good. And I‘m too bad, too bad, too bad. He repeated the chorus twice, then stopped, the last note vibrating in the air. Noah exhaled, realizing he‘d held his breath as he listened, not even thinking of Lila. That‘s what good music did. Wiped his mind so he got lost in it, riding the wave of music and lyrics and voice.

The same thing happened last night, with no music, when he made love to Lila, only a thousand times stronger. ―You‘re good,‖ he said. ―Real good.‖ Cody beamed and cradled his guitar against his scrawny chest like it was a baby. He rocked from side to side, moving to a silent beat, as though inside him a song played. He didn‘t say anything and didn‘t have to. The look of bliss on his face said it all, as if he‘d just seen Yahweh or God or whatever he called the deity he worshipped. ―If I‘m not there on Monday,‖ Noah said, ―find Ralph. I‘ll tell him you‘re playing with the band.‖ ―You might not be there?‖ Cody‘s rocking stopped. ―I hope I will.‖ Noah got to his feet and headed for the door. He didn‘t want to make promises he couldn‘t keep. In the hallway, the reek of sweat and sex hit him again. He ran down the stairs, eager to get out of this place. He had two names. Billy Audrey, a booking agent, and Dan at the Sheraton. The booking agent sounded more promising than Dan. One step closer to Mr. Small. Noah wondered if Lila was getting any information from the detective. Somehow he doubted it. Unlike Cody, the detective wasn‘t desperate or pliable. He was a cop, used to power. In a smaller way, Lila was used to power, too. She had her hands and body as a weapon. The detective...he had a gun.

Chapter Twenty-five

At the far end of the coffee shop, Detective Rochester stood. As if Lila hadn‘t spotted him the instant she walked into the place, sitting at the farthest table from the entrance, his back to the wall. A dozen other customers sat at the booths and tables, texting, working on their notebooks, two women chatting, one woman engrossed in a book as she slurped her coffee. Before going to his table, she armed herself with a hot chai tea though the place smelled like roasted coffee beans. The smell was stronger than she was used to, richer, clinging to the walls, the tables, the chairs. She smelled undertones and overtones, and if there were such a thing as middle-tones, she smelled them, too. Crossing the room, she was aware of everyone, studying features. Not trusting anyone except a gray-haired woman with a toddler. Not because of their ages but because they were leaving. She sat opposite Rochester, who smiled at her as if she were his favorite caffeinated drink served with a dollop of whipped cream. ―How are you holding up?‖ he asked. ―I‘m holding.‖ She sipped the tea, but it burned her tongue, and she set it on the table. If he‘d asked her to meet him here for small talk, making her worry for nothing, she was going to be pissed. ―I hope you don‘t mind meeting here.‖ His lips tilted at the corners, his eyes warm. ―I thought you‘d prefer it to the station. I stopped off at the Dragon‘s Lair, but it was closed.‖ ―Noah mentioned something about a vacation. I was upset and wasn‘t paying attention.‖ She sighed and allowed her shoulders to droop. While she‘d been teaching actors how to protect themselves, she‘d learned a few things. The students teaching the teacher. ―You‘re not with him?‖ Rochester asked. ―He was kind to me and Izzy, but I hardly know him.‖ The words barely out of her mouth, she wished them back. If the detective was Small‘s minion, he‘d soon find out she was lying. She sat back, the vertical chair rungs digging into her back, her spine stiffening. So what if he found out she‘d lied? To accuse her, he‘d have to say how he‘d found out. She‘d like to hear that explanation. His smile turned to concern and two deep lines etched between his eyebrows. ―You‘re all alone then?‖ Just like that, the loss slammed into her chest. One moment she was thinking snarky thoughts. The next she was fighting tears and losing. Like being shot in her heart all over again. She turned her head from the detective‘s overly concerned gaze. If he were in a TV show,

he‘d always be cast as the cop. He looked solid. Dependable. But if he wanted someone to lean on him, he needed to look elsewhere. ―I‘m fine.‖ Her thick voice matched the clog in her throat. His hand reached across the table, his fingertips warm on her hand. ―I know what you‘re going through. My younger brother died ten months ago.‖ She tried to read the truth in his earnest face, his brown eyes dark with either pain or bad lighting. Yes, she was suspicious, but she had reason. Someone had tried to kill her already. Someone had killed her sister. Izzy‘s boyfriend, too, but she didn‘t give a damn about him. ―I‘m sorry,‖ she said. ―Was he killed in a—‖ ―Car accident. A DUI. Not Zack. The other driver.‖ ―I‘m sorry,‖ she said again. And she was. But she wasn‘t letting his brother‘s death turn her insides into the consistency of a melted marshmallow. Izzy‘s death had done that already. A marshmallow burnt on the outside, held too long over the fire. ―Yeah, well, I just wanted you to know you aren‘t alone.‖ ―I never thought I was.‖ But she was alone, even though his hand still touched hers and she wished he would remove it. Rochester hefted a sigh. ―I‘ve been alone since Zach died.‖ She frowned. Not because he was so obviously fishing for sympathy, but for the first time she noticed his voice had an edge instead of the honeyed Tennessee accent. ―Are you from New York?‖ ―You can tell?‖ He raised his eyebrows. ―I‘m a Queens‘ boy, but I‘ve lived in Nashville for nine years and thought I‘d lost my accent.‖ ―What brought you to Nashville? Music? Do you play guitar or sing?‖ The questions continued in her mind. Is that how you know Small? Is that why you were watching the shop? Is that where you got the red car? Come on, tell me. Come on. ―Zack played the guitar. He was the family music maker, the one Mom pinned her hopes on to buy her that condo in the Trump Tower.‖ ―Trump Tower?‖ Was this guy for real? ―She believed in Zach‘s talent, but not his behavior. That‘s the reason I followed Zach here. To watch over my baby brother.‖ His hand dropped to the table. ―I tried my best, but couldn‘t protect him from a drunk and a 4500 pound car.‖ She clasped her hands on her lap. ―I couldn‘t protect my sister, either.‖ He stared deep into her eyes. ―We have that in common.‖ Suspicion boiled up inside her. They had grief in common? A sense of uselessness? She peered at him and saw his eyes were watchful. Waiting for her reaction. He was playing her. Bastard. She looked down at her chai tea to conceal her anger. Maybe this was nothing to do with Small. Maybe Rochester just wanted to get in her pants.

―So why did you want to meet me here?‖ She lifted her gaze to him, making her expression calm, as though she weren‘t imagining herself kicking him in seven different places, each more painful than the last. ―The funeral arrangements.‖ Her anger fizzled out and another tangle of grief formed in the pit of her stomach. She lifted her cup to her mouth but couldn‘t swallow, her throat too tight, clogged with the bizarre desire to throw back her head and scream at the ceiling. ―I can help you.‖ He leaned forward. ―I‘ve been through it.‖ She leaned back and set her mug on the table top before he could notice her trembling hands. ―I know how to do this. I‘ve done it before.‖ He raised his eyebrows. ―A parent?‖ ―My mother.‖ Seeing the pity in his eyes, she set her lips together. She didn‘t want anyone‘s pity. ―And stepfather. I thought because of the murder investigation you‘d need to keep the body.‖ ―We know what killed her. Your sister‘s remains can be released to a funeral home.‖ ―I‘ll handle it today.‖ Handle it. She was good at handling it. ―You don‘t have to do it alone.‖ ―I was hoping you were calling me to say that you found her killer,‖ she said, changing the subject, putting the spotlight on him. ―Do you have any idea why she was killed?‖ ―We think it‘s drug related. Is there anything you can tell me about your sister?‖ He leaned forward again. ―Do you know if she was involved in any criminal activity?‖ She shook her head. Shouldn‘t he have asked that first thing instead of talking about funeral arrangements? ―Are you sure Noah Long wasn‘t involved?‖ He leaned closer, in her space, his eyes hooding, his voice softening. Coming on to her, even as he questioned her about her sister‘s murder. ―Positive. He took my sister in when she‘d been beaten. He didn‘t know her before that, but until I got here, he took care of her.‖ ―Yet she didn‘t stay.‖ ―She was a drug addict.‖ Anger spurred her to lean forward, in his space now. She didn‘t give a damn that he could see her grief spilling out at the speed of rage. He jerked back. She saw his discomfort and was fiercely glad. ―Her boyfriend was a user,‖ she snapped, ―and she went back to him. She was weak.‖ ―Not like you.‖ The flirtation wiped out of his eyes as if he saw the truth in her face. She wasn‘t soft like her sister or other women. No one used her. She saw the truth right back in his. Staring at her out of eyes that turned from gentle to hard as a bullet. As hard as her heart. ―If you‘ll excuse me.‖ She stood. Not afraid of him. ―I have a funeral to arrange.‖

~~~ Parked on the street, the motor of his gray Sonata purring, Noah saw Lila stomp out of the coffee shop as though she wanted to break the concrete with her running shoes. He wouldn‘t be surprised if she accomplished it. He wouldn‘t be surprised if she accomplished anything she set out to do. He rolled his window down to call her, and the door to the coffee shop opened, the muscular detective on her trail like a hound after a rabbit. In a previous century, Noah had taken part in a hunt. Rochester had the same hungry look as a hound that scented blood. Rochester had Lila‘s scent. Noah inhaled. Smelling exhaust, dirt, old food and beneath it all, people. He singled out Lila‘s scent first, mixed with cinnamon and nutmeg and pheromones. The detective‘s was sharp with an acid base. I have it. Noah gripped the steering wheel, the plastic digging into his palms. I have your scent. The detective caught up to Lila next to the Deliveries Only zone where his red Corvette was parked. ―Hey, I‘m sorry if I upset you.‖ His voice carried easily to Noah. ―I‘m trying to find out who did this.‖ ―Fine.‖ She didn‘t halt her stride, didn‘t look at Rochester. Then her stride hitched, her gaze shifted, straight into Noah‘s eyes. He saw the change in her face, the easing of her tension, the loosening of her shoulders, the slight lift of her lips. He shook his head no and she gazed forward, away from him. All of this happening in an instant. ―At least let me drive you to your hotel,‖ Rochester said. Noah got the impression of a slavering hound again. He sent his silent command. No. Say no. She stopped too fast for Noah. Too sure of her safety now that she knew he was there. ―Okay. Thank you.‖ Noah knew immediately what she planned, as though he was plugged into her mind. She was going to tell Rochester to drop her off, then she‘d go inside and register, in case he called later. Her proof that she wasn‘t staying at Noah‘s place. But Noah foresaw a complication… ―Where are you staying?‖ Rochester asked. She hesitated and Noah cracked open the window. He remembered what Cody had said about his friend Dan. ―The Sheraton,‖ he said, his voice low though Lila was across the street and a diesel-fueled bus passed between them. ―Tell him you‘re staying at the downtown Sheraton.‖ ―On second thoughts, I can walk,‖ she said. ―I‘m staying at the Sheraton. It‘s just a few blocks away.‖ ―It‘s more than a mile. Maybe two.‖ Rochester swept his hand toward his phallic symbol.

―Hop in, I‘ll drive you.‖ ―A few days ago I was training to run the New York marathon. I think I can walk a couple miles.‖ She glanced at the Corvette, and her left eyebrow arched as if this was the first time she saw it. ―Cops must be paid more in Nashville than California.‖ He laughed. ―You like it?‖ ―What‘s not to like?‖ ―My uncle died and left this to me.‖ ―Your uncle must‘ve loved you.‖ ―My uncle wanted to stick it to his wife and her two kids.‖ He laughed again. ―They were furious. Now about that ride...‖ ―Sure, I‘ll come.‖ She twisted toward the car. Rochester beat her to the passenger door, grabbing the door handle. ―Delay him,‖ Noah murmured, and Lila glanced his way, gave a short nod. ―Is there a pharmacy nearby?‖ She tapped the tip of her nose. ―My sinuses are bothering me.‖ ―Sure. I‘ll stop off.‖ ―Aren‘t you working? Is that why you‘re driving your own car?‖ ―It‘s my lunch break. Don‘t worry about it. I often work through lunch. The department owes me.‖ Noah checked his side mirror and waited for a lull in the traffic, then pulled in front of a van, forcing the driver to step on his brakes and honk his horn. Glancing across the street to see if Rochester was looking, Noah caught the detective staring at Lila‘s profile, his scent sharper and stronger. Inside Noah‘s gut, heat started, the beast coming to life. Damping it down, he turned back to the traffic. He needed a cool head instead of a burning gut. But his fingertips and scalp prickled, and he knew that the time would come soon for the beast to emerge.

Chapter Twenty-six

His smile so determined Lila suspected his teeth must hurt, Rochester insisted on seeing her to her room. She was just as insistent that he leave her at the entrance, but he ignored her, earning him the Nr. 1 spot on her Jerk list. But she made a hobby of not arguing with cops and strolled into the lobby where she made a fuss about losing her key card. A mousy-haired woman at the registration desk greeted her by name. Passing Lila the card, she casually mentioned the room number, her eyes bright with a curiosity that made Lila wonder what story Noah had spun and how much money he‘d slipped her. Rochester followed Lila into the fourth floor suite, and she felt like she had her own pet dog. One she wasn‘t sure would bite her or lick her. Not looking at him, she sensed his gaze turning from her to study the room. The two gold sofas, the grass green rug, the solid tables and big window. But she guessed Rochester wasn‘t assessing the furniture. He was looking for signs that she wasn‘t alone. Looking for signs of Noah. He wouldn‘t see any. Noah wasn‘t sloppy and he didn‘t make mistakes or leave Freudian slips. But if Rochester could smell... She breathed in Noah‘s scent, rich and exotic, coming from the back room. Though she swore she didn‘t need anyone‘s help, the knowledge that she didn‘t have to do it all herself was freeing. Her shoulders felt lighter. Even her chest felt more open, and she breathed freer and deeper. ―I know you said you didn‘t need any help.‖ Rochester‘s determined words jarred her newly found calm, as if he‘d picked up her thoughts. ―But there are some things it‘s better to do with someone at your side.‖ His fingers curved over her shoulder. No magic in his touch. Not like Noah‘s long, slender fingers and his dragon magic. She remembered an old song her mother used to listen to, over and over, the singer enthralled with a man who had magic hands. Noah was her Magic Man. Lila straightened her spine. No, no, no. That was so wrong. What she had with Noah was passion, not magic. No man enthralled her. Noah might be a dragon, but he was a dragon with a man‘s body, including the lower package that did strange things to their brains. She might have wild sex with him. She might save his life. She might even trust him. But the only thing magic about him was his rejuvenating blood.

Rochester stepped closer to her, and her body stiffened, her defensive instincts kicking in, ―Thanks, but I need to be alone.‖ ―At a time like this, you‘re not thinking right.‖ He reached out to her. Her body reacted. She bent her legs, grabbed his right arm, hitched her right shoulder beneath his armpit and straightened her knees. With the dragon blood adding strength to her throw, she flipped him as easily as if he were a hamburger on a grill. He slammed onto the floor with an ―Oomph!‖ of surprise and pain. The whole move took about one second. She had an ―Oh shit‖ thought, but the satisfaction and exhilaration coursing through her didn‘t dissipate. The bright spot in this hateful game of pretend. ―Sorry,‖ she said, and worked hard to stop her smile. Her lips didn‘t want to listen to her brain, so she spoke quickly. ―It was an automatic reaction. I wasn‘t thinking. I hope you‘re all right.‖ That was probably the most sincere comment she‘d made to him. She wanted him to get to his feet. She wanted him to get up and leave. A noise came from the back room that only she could hear. A step. Then another. Oh shit. Stay back. I’ll get rid of him. Rochester pushed up to his feet with his forehead creased and his lips twisted. He shook his head. ―You could‘ve just told me to go away.‖ ―It‘s been a lousy couple days.‖ Her voice cracked. ―I need to curl up and sleep for an hour. Then I‘ll take care of the funeral.‖ Nodding, he dug into his pocket, fished out a card and handed it to her. ―This place is good. They won‘t rip you off.‖ She looked at the address. Not too far from the Sheraton. And she was reluctant to go to the same place she‘d gone to for her mom. She‘d always felt they overcharged her, taking advantage of her grief. ―A lot of cops use the place,‖ Rochester said. ―I‘ll give them a call.‖ She slid the card into her jeans pocket, then gave him a pointed look, her eyebrows raised. He gave her a half smile, then headed to the door. Finally, she thought, and followed him. One foot in the hall, he turned back to her. ―Call if you need anything.‖ ―I will.‖ Leave. Just leave. He continued to look at her, as though expecting something. She wondered what. Not a kiss. Not after she‘d flipped him to the floor. And not another apology for something she wasn‘t sorry for doing. Given the same circumstances, she‘d do it again. ―Thanks,‖ she said. Go away, she thought. He smiled, nodded, and finally left. She closed the door, locked it, then listened to his footsteps heading toward the elevator. Listened to the footsteps behind her, heading toward her.

―Hello, Noah.‖ She turned and put her hand on her hip. ―How was your morning?‖ ―No one tried to seduce me.‖ He stood two feet away from her, straight and tall, as though tied to a metal pipe, his eyebrows contracted. A man in the throes of displeasure. She sighed. She much preferred him in the throes of pleasure. ―It‘s early. There‘s still hope.‖ She decided not to tell him about her encounter with Robin. Maybe later, if she and Noah had a ―later.‖ She had the feeling that someday she would see the woman who looked like a man again. But not soon. ―What did he want?‖ Noah asked. She switched her thoughts back to Rochester. ―Not the reason he gave me.‖ ―Which was?‖ Another clog blocked her throat and she walked to the windows. The lined drapes were open, but not the filmy inserts. She pushed one aside and peered down at the traffic moving along the street. A man rode a bicycle. A couple walked hand-in-hand along the sidewalk. A woman pushed a stroller, the toddler in it bouncing and waving at the traffic. She sensed Noah nearing her back. Heard his footsteps, his breaths, his heartbeat. Smelled his scent. Felt his warmth. Then he was behind her, against her, his hands curving over her shoulders. She stood without moving, barely breathing, head bowed, mouth stretching, teeth clenched. The clog in her throat melted to nothing, and oh God, she wished it hadn‘t. She wished he‘d take his hands off her shoulders. She wished he‘d step back. The cry came from deep in her belly, ugly and harsh. She put her hands over her mouth, but another sob came out, uglier than the first. The next one was like a cry from a thousand hungry babies. She rocked forward and backward. Oh God oh God oh God. She jerked away from him. Not caring if her complexion was blotched and the tip of her nose pink, she faced him. ―I‘m fucking tired of this.‖ Noah put his hands behind his back. No words came from his mouth, but the sharp planes of his face softened and he radiated compassion. She wanted to hit him. She took a step forward and lifted her fists in the air. ―This has to stop. Every time you touch me, I cry.‖ His expression changed, but she couldn‘t read him right now any more than she could read Sanskrit. Then she looked into his eyes. Blue and green like water. Not his pupils, though. A light glowed in them. Like an image of the sun. Or a fire. As if inside him a fire burned for her. The twin of the fire that burned inside her. Her fingers uncurled and she lunged at him. His arms swung out. He caught her and lifted her until their lips met. They kissed, hard and wet and long, as though they‘d been waiting centuries for this moment. She tasted him and tasted and then tasted some more. Wrapped her legs around his hips. His body against hers was strong and lean, and she never, never, never wanted to let him go.

He walked backward and she closed her eyes, still kissing him, letting him go where he wished, because all she wanted to think of was this. His mouth, his tongue, his taste. Most of all his heat. He warmed her from the inside out, from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head. And in between. Oh God, did he warm her in between. More sounds came from her throat. Kitten sounds. No, lion sounds. Mama lion. Loud Mama Lion purrs. She rocked against him, her hips undulating and her mouth stuck to his like Super Glue kissing. He stumbled back, but she didn‘t stop kissing and neither did he. She held on tighter, and so did he. As though he never wanted to let her go. Or maybe that was her. He landed softly on the couch and a muted roar of hunger came from his throat, as primal as if he were the male lion talking back to her. Telling her he wanted her more than she wanted him. Impossible. She was burning. A wildfire raging through her body and her veins. A knee on either side of his hips, she slid onto the zipper of his pants, onto his erection beneath the crotch of her jeans. Still kissing him, still devouring him, she rocked up and down. It. Felt. Good. Damn. Good. She pulled back from his mouth and immediately missed the heat of his tongue, the taste of him. ―Fuck me. Now.‖ He stared into her eyes. ―Fuck is an ugly word. I want to make love to you.‖ She wanted to hit him, but if she did he might not do what she wanted. Men didn‘t like being hit. At least, not men she wanted to fuck. To join with. To make love with. After all, that‘s what she called it her mind. In the end, love and fuck were both four letter words. With a twist, she rolled sideways off him and landed in a sitting position on the couch. She tugged off her top, then jumped to her feet and tossed it onto the square coffee table, the wood glowing the same way she thought her skin must glow. If it were night, she‘d glisten, her pheromones sparkling like tiny stars. She kicked off her shoes, her hands moving below her waist to her zipper. Noah stood and draped his shirt onto the table while she shimmied out of her jeans. He unzipped his pants as she slid down her panties. Slow. Too slow. She left her socks on. Watched him since he wasn‘t hurrying the undressing process. As though he had forever, while every cell in her body wanted him right now. Not one second later. But waiting and watching gave her a chance to enjoy the view. The flat stomach and solid chest muscles. The long, sinewy arms and, as he pushed his pants down, the longer, sinewy legs. He straightened and his chest was smooth, devoid of hair, and his skin looked thick and tight, with small pores. Like a baby‘s behind. She opened and closed her hands while his thumbs tucked beneath the elastic waist of his black silk boxers. The color and the material lightened her mood, eased her tension. If she had bet money on what kind of underwear he wore, what material and what color, she would have

said black silk boxers. Last night she‘d been too frantic with lust to notice his boxers. He pushed them down his hips and his penis sprang up, long and thick and full of life. Beautiful. Pinker and paler than the skin on his legs. He stepped out of his boxers. As though that move was her ―go‖ signal, like the white flag at a NASCAR race, she leapt at him, slammed into his body and knocked him backward onto the couch. Her legs bent over his sides to straddle him. Her mouth smashed down on his. Beneath her his chest shook. She drew back, the hairs on her arms lifting with alarm. Gazing at his face she saw him doing the one thing she hadn‘t expected. Laughing. Silently laughing. Bastard. She drew back her arm and socked his shoulder. He laughed harder, but his hand caught her fist. His face bright, he looked like a different man than the serious fellow she‘d met. He looked...happy. The angry energy driving her spilled out and she sagged against him. Not like a damp washcloth, but like Mystic draped on his lap while he petted her. With this man, she didn‘t need to be on the attack, on the defensive, on the top. She only needed to…be. His chest stopped shaking with amusement. Instead he crooned soundlessly and rubbed her back with his warm hand. Up her back and neck, down her back and neck, then up again. She sighed. He picked her up as though she was a petite, skinny girl instead of a tall, fit woman who thought cheese and chocolates should be the top two food groups. Dragons were fast becoming her favorite animal. Her lips felt heavy, but she curved them into a small smile. His eyes shone, and the smoldering fire inside her blazed, coming to life again. He laid her on the couch, and she remained where he put her. For once, she let a man lead the sex. The lovemaking. Whatever they were doing. This lovely, wild, beautiful thing they did together. He crawled on the couch, his legs between her thighs. She bent her knees to give him better access while he looked down at her. ―We are making love, aren‘t we?‖ he asked. She was melting inside. Melting into a puddle of warm, honey-tinged estrogen. ―Yes.‖ Right this moment, she‘d agree to anything he said. She‘d wanted things before now— her mother to live, her stepfather to die, her sister to grow a backbone—but this moment, with this man... She ached for the slide of his skin against hers, her body more than ready. Throbbing, warm, wet. Every cell in her body screamed for him. The glow in his eyes intensified, the green and blue swirling, pulling her inside them. His pores emitted testosterone, the scent of sex. All for her. She cried out and reached for him. Her hands grasped his arms to pull him on top of her. He resisted, his arms steel covered with velvet. Then he bent, as though giving in, but in the

back of her mind, the tiny part that still thought coherently, she knew he was lowering because it was what he wanted to do. He slowly pushed into her, stretching her, sliding slowly against her most sensitive spot. Bursts of pleasure exploded inside her body, like fireworks on the Fourth of July. She moaned and arched up. He pulled back, away from her, and for one second she wanted to rail at the loss of connection. But the look on his face, the lust, the wanting, the need, told her it was temporary. Then he pushed in again. She opened her mouth and screamed. It was so good, so good. She screamed again, a hundred screams, holding onto him as he pushed in and out. Still she screamed. A thousand screams. She wanted this to never end, but to go on and on and on— He stopped. She cried out a wordless protest. He looked down at her, his face usually so controlled now so full of passion it made her want to cry. ―What are we doing?‖ he asked, his voice like rolling lava. ―Making love,‖ she said. When he didn‘t move right away, she said it louder. ―Making love.‖ Still he didn‘t move. Damn him, damn him. ―Making love!‖ she shouted. And then he moved and her body shuddered around him, one stream of joy after another. Her eyes never leaving his. And something inside her changed. Her defenses melted to nothingness, and she knew she would never be the same again. ~~~ Noah flew high. Up, up, up. Even better than flying with his wings flapping over hills, landing on the top mountain peak, finding purchase, looking around and saying, ―Mine. All mine.‖ Or playing the elusive note that reverberated between his heart and his soul, every cell in his body purring in an exquisite riff that went on and on and on. This was why he‘d become human. Not for the music he‘d been chasing for more than two thousand years. This, what he had with Lila, was the greatest music of all. The control he kept on his body and mind and emotions splintered, his body first. All thoughts stopped while his body convulsed, every pleasure center climaxing as he shuddered inside her. And it was good, it was great, it was wondrous. He wanted to do it again and again and again. Right now. He looked down into her eyes and she smiled at him, yawned sleepily, satisfaction seeping out of her smile, her pores, her half-lidded brown eyes. Mine, he thought. Mine. The second time he claimed a woman. The first was with his eyes and he‘d been disappointed. This one was with his heart. He‘d walked away from Beauty‘s betrayal wiser and sadder...and glad that she‘d left. But this one— Fear seized him, made him clutch her and burrow his face into her hair.

Someone had killed Beauty. What if he killed Lila, too?

Chapter Twenty-seven

Carter entered the private studio not half as good as the one he‘d built for Aimee in his home, not one-fourth as good as the one in the downtown studio. Aimee stood next to a tall, young singer with stubble on his chin and low-slung jeans held up at his lean hips by a belt with a rodeo championship buckle. The real thing. He also possessed a husky baritone and a face that made girls and women from fourteen to seventy buy his songs so they could pretend he was singing directly to them. ―I never kissed until I kissed you,‖ Aimee sang. “I never loved until I loved you,” Mel Kipfer, the country meat of the year, sang. They gazed into each other‘s eyes as if they wanted to stick their tongues down each other‘s throats. Carter wanted to stomp over to them, grab Kipfer‘s guitar and smash it on both their heads. The drummer stopped playing, and Carter glanced at him. He‘d reared back, his eyes widened in the classic ―we‘re fucked‖ look. Kipfer twisted to see what the drummer was staring at, but Aimee‘s eyes remained on Kipfer‘s face. The last time Carter saw her look so enthralled with something pretty was at Tiffany‘s in Manhattan. The drummer stood and waved, his rubbery face familiar from the Nashville music scene. ―Hey, Carter.‖ He spoke louder than necessary. ―Good to see ya‘.‖ Aimee wheeled around, her dark hair swinging, her mouth open, her face flushed. ―Carter, honey.‖ She set down her music sheet and hurried to him. ―You forgot lunch?‖ Carter asked. ―Oh my gosh, I did.‖ She clapped her hands to her cheeks. ―I got the call to record a duet with Mel, and everything else flew out of my mind.‖ She transferred her hand from her cheek to Carter‘s head behind his right ear, her fingernails scratching his skin. ―Baby, I know you won‘t mind. This was a chance I couldn‘t miss.‖ Carter looked at Kipfer, who smiled like a man does when he‘s on the top of the world. A place where he could crook his index finger and any woman he wanted would rush to him before he changed his mind. Just a few years ago, before the arthritis slammed into Carter like an out-of-control train, that‘s how life had been for him. ―Faith was supposed to do this with me,‖ Mel said in his fuck-me drawl, ―but she‘s singing something similar with Tim. Sorry if it interfered with your lunch.‖

―I‘m thrilled that Faith backed out.‖ Aimee hurried back to Mel and curled her fingers around the crook of his elbow. ―Mel and I are as wonderful together as peanut butter and chocolate. We‘re even talking about touring together. That would be so amazing.‖ She gazed at Mel with lust in her big, greedy eyes. Eyes that wanted it all. The career, the money, the excitement. To be envied, to be desired. For every man to want her, for every woman to want to be like her. She was the female version of Mel. ―Great idea.‖ Carter walked up to them. ―You‘ll be the warm-up act, Aimee.‖ A small line indented between Aimee‘s eyes. ―We‘d have equal billing. It‘s happened before.‖ Carter shook his head. ―They say equal billing, but that‘s ego-soothing bullshit. Everyone knows who‘s the big talent and who‘s the lesser one.‖ He bent his head to her level. ―You don‘t want your ego soothed, do you?‖ ―No.‖ Her mouth turned down. ―And you.‖ Carter turned toward Mel. Slapped him harder than necessary on his shoulder that didn‘t have any give, damn him. ―You don‘t want to be billed second, do you?‖ Mel shrugged. Not saying a word. Not needing to. Message sent, message received. The corner of his lips crooked in the next worse thing to a sneer. A look of disrespect. Carter‘s guts twisted, a snake of hatred slithering inside his belly. He wanted to ruin Mel‘s career, but Mel wasn‘t signed with him and he didn‘t have that kind of power. He could call in favors, but the word would get out. Everyone would know. ―My fiancée might be jealous,‖ Mel drawled. Aimee stumbled back. ―You‘re engaged?‖ ―Sure am. She‘s a former rodeo queen and she‘s going to school to take care of my money. Pretty and smart, but she‘s got a temper.‖ ―Sounds like you‘re a lucky man.‖ Carter thought about slapping Mel‘s shoulder again, but decided against it. Mel might slap back, and his bones ached in the cold studio. ―Hot temper, hot in bed.‖ Aimee gasped, as if he‘d stuck a pin in her heart. Carter stepped to her side and slid his arm around her. She slumped against him. He squeezed her too hard, and she gasped again. He drew his arm from her back and raked his gaze over her. ―I‘ll let you two record your song. I have to get back to business. Just wanted to make sure you‘re okay. I‘m not used to being stood up.‖ ―I‘m sorry,‖ she said, her voice soft. She looked smaller, her shoulders hunched up, her mouth curved down. Carter nodded and strode toward the door, leaving silence behind him like a dead zone. It had started already. She was looking for another man. This one didn‘t work out, but Carter had no doubt there would be another one. More exciting than him, more hot. If his body continued to worsen, she would find one faster than a bad album could make a country star fade into obscurity.

His steps pounded on the hard flooring, though with every step a jolt shrieked through his bones and his joints. He needed to grab hold of the dragon fast. There was no turning back.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Noah spotted his target. Next to him, Lila‘s footsteps clicked on the shiny tiles heading to the registration desk where a tall, chubby young man smiled at them, his eyes clear of recognition, his round face untroubled. He hadn‘t been there yesterday, though Noah had been prepared to handle that possibility. This worked better. Anything with Lila at his side worked better. On Dan‘s right, a short woman with a dusky face was taking care of an elderly couple. On his left, a fortyish woman with hair the color of a ripe pumpkin was checking in a family with a screaming baby and a wiggly toddler. The front doors swished open, other people entering. Noah lengthened his strides to get to the desk first and Lila followed his lead, keeping up with him. Their in-tune movements reminded Noah of playing his sax on Monday nights with Sweet Benny Hawkins on his guitar, playing riffs off each other, taking the music places it had never been. Creating magic. That‘s what he and Lila did together. Create magic. They were five feet from the counter when Dan caught a good look at Noah. Shock registered on his vapidly happy face, his half smile wiped off, his jaw slacked open. They were two feet away when his jaw snapped shut and he twisted to the side. Before he could take a step, Lila leaped forward, her arm out. Sliding onto the countertop, she grabbed his red tie. He squeaked and everyone around them stopped what they were doing. No one moved. No one spoke. No one pulled out their cell phones to call 911. They probably thought Lila and he were the police. This was not the way he would have handled it. He would simply have asked Dan to stop. If Dan continued to scurry away like a frightened rat, Noah would have informed the quaking gentleman that he would see him at his home instead. But it was done. Noah grasped Lila‘s hips and held her while she tugged Dan back to face them. ―Let him go,‖ the small woman said, blinking as if she‘d broken a spell. ―I‘m calling Security.‖ The orange-haired woman glared at them and lifted a phone from the counter. Lila slid down until her shoes hit the floor, still holding Dan by the tie, making him lean over the counter. His face was red, beads of sweat popping onto his pasty forehead and blotched

cherry-colored cheeks. ―You do that,‖ Lila said, her voice clear, her head held high. Noah didn‘t say anything. Where he would use a butter knife, Lila wielded a hatchet. But this was her way and he would not change it or anything else about her. ―D-d-d-don‘t c-c-call S-security.‖ Dan‘s last word sprayed out, and Lila released his tie to wipe her arm on her jeans. ―We‘d like a few words with you,‖ Noah said. ―If this is inconvenient, we can wait until your break. Or we can talk to you at your home.‖ Dan swallowed and looked at the orange-haired woman. ―Liz, can I take my break early?‖ ―Sure you don‘t want me to call Security?‖ she asked. He shook his head so vigorously, Noah thought some of the sweat beads might fly off his face. ―Talk to them on the red couch.‖ Giving Noah and Lila a suspicious glare, the woman gestured toward a seating area within eyesight of the reception desk. Dan nodded and gave her a sick smile. When he rounded the fragile protection of the reception desk, Lila and Noah flanked him. His face paled to the color of spoiled milk. They reached the seating area, a red sofa and two brown chairs. Dan faced Lila and him, none of them sitting. ―I don‘t know anything,‖ he said, no stutters, just a wild-eyed, trapped-animal glance from Noah to Lila and back again. ―You know why we‘re here,‖ Noah said. Dan nodded, his gaze settling on him. ―Billy showed me your picture. I‘m sorry, I‘ll never do anything like that again. I hated doing it, but I needed the money. And then he wouldn‘t pay me anything.‖ ―Who wouldn‘t pay you?‖ ―Billy Audrey.‖ His face changed, hardening and sullen. ―He‘s a booking agent, but he stiffed me. I‘ll give you his card.‖ He dipped his hand in his back pocket. Noah saw Lila tense, but Dan pulled out a wallet and took out a business card. He handed the card to Noah, not looking at Lila. Noah had heard that if you if didn‘t stare at feral dogs they wouldn‘t bite you. Apparently Dan had heard the same adage. ―Did Billy say who was behind it?‖ Lila asked. Dan shook his head, his cheeks wobbling. ―N-n-no. I didn‘t ask. Just said he was hiring me for a client.‖ She shot him a look that should have set him afire and burned him until only a pile of ash remained on the floor for the cleaning crew to vacuum. The family with the baby and the toddler passed them, the baby quiet now, the mother holding the baby and the father the toddler. Noah ignored them. He no longer concerned himself about the opinions of others. It had been a long time since villagers had run from him, screaming, ―Don‘t eat me!‖ ―You can go.‖ Noah nodded toward the desk.

Dan walked backward, away from them, then turned and scuttled crab-like. ―Shit, shit, shit,‖ he whispered beneath his breath. Noah shook his head. A man that excitable and nervous would never make it in this town. He felt a burn of sorrow for Dan. He knew what it was like to want so much to be part of the music that he changed everything about him. Even his form. From beast to man. Only in body, though. In his heart and soul, he was still the beast. The dragon in his cave, surrounded by his treasures. Right now his treasures were on their way to California, but he‘d kept his most important treasures in Nashville. He‘d kept his saxophone. And Lila. He‘d kept her. She looked at him, her eyes bleak. ―I have to leave for my appointment at the funeral home.‖ ―I‘ll go with you.‖ She‘d called the funeral home before they‘d come down, and the sadness in her voice had reminded him of an old blues song. After she‘d hung up, she‘d put on a determined smile and said she was glad they could talk to her so soon so she could get it over with. The right side of her mouth lifted now, but the bleakness remained. ―Have you done anything like that before?‖ ―Not in a funeral home.‖ In other places, other centuries, where the church took care of burials. The priest, the town apothecary, the constable. If they kept a few coins for themselves, Noah didn‘t begrudge them. ―I‘ll go myself. I‘ve done this before.‖ ―Your mother.‖ ―And stepfather. I‘ll be all right.‖ ―You‘ll be alone.‖ ―I‘ve been alone before, and I managed just fine. What will you do?‖ She reached up and cupped the side of his face. He savored her touch, the connection, and it took a second before he replied. ―I believe I‘ll pay a visit to Mr. Audrey.‖ ―I‘d tell you to wait for me, but I almost screwed up the interview with Dan, didn‘t I?‖ She leaned forward and slid her hand over his mouth. ―Don‘t lie, I know I did.‖ He removed her hand, his fingers lightly encircling her wrist. The tenderness he felt for her was too wide and deep for this human body. He wondered what she would say if he told her he loved her. Would she run? Could he take that chance? No, he‘d lost too much already. The tenderness curled to a warm ball inside him. He would woo her slow and steady. And someday she would age and he would remain the same. He would watch her die.

But he wouldn‘t think about it now. ―I won‘t lie.‖ He smiled at her with his eyes. ―You were awful.‖ She laughed, then leaned forward and kissed him hard, her lips closed. Pulling back, she jerked her hand from his. ―I‘m glad I know where you‘re going.‖ He raised his eyebrows, not saying a word, just taking the moment to look at her brown eyes and her blond hair, the color of honey in the sunlight. ―In case you‘re not here when I get back.‖ She stepped toward the exit, her eyes glittering. ―It‘s good to know who to hunt down.‖

Chapter Twenty-nine

Carter put down the phone and he breathed better, felt better, a burst of energy rushing through him. The basement was done. The contractor and his men were cleaning up and would be gone in a half hour. That‘s what he liked to hear. Someone pulling miracles out of their ass to get the job done. That‘s the kind of men Carter wanted working for him. Ask no questions, just do the work, take the money, and keep their mouths shut. He pressed a button on his phone and told his secretary to cancel his appointments for the afternoon. He had to go home and talk to his contractor. Make sure the bars were solid and strong enough to hold a man who could change into a dragon. Not that he knew the measure of a dragon‘s strength, but if Long possessed super strength, wouldn‘t he be more than an antique shop owner and part-time musician? And soon-to-be blood donor. With the cell built, all he needed was one thing. The dragon. The phone still in his hand, Carter punched in numbers that he‘d memorized this morning, the third time he‘d called the number today. The phone to his ear, he walked to the windows and peered outside at the tourists walking along Music Row, taking photos of the buildings, especially his. One of the oldest and the best. Handed down from father to son to grandson. But he didn‘t have a son to hand down the business to. Not yet. Another reason to stay alive and healthy. His call went to voice mail. Anger tightened his muscles, the pain immediate. He wanted to throw the phone on the floor. Instead he walked to the desktop and set the phone in its cradle quietly. Forced himself to calmness, forced his muscles to loosen. He couldn‘t afford pain. When he had Noah in his basement, his dragon blood transfused into his veins, the over-thehill guitar player ensconced in the Blues Bar would pay for blowing him off. Everyone who disrespected him was going to pay. And Aimee... Once he was healthy and full of energy, she would be the supplicant, the one worried about losing him to another woman. She‘d never look at another man romantically again. Only him. He lurched to the bar on the sideboard against the office wall that separated him from his secretary. His hand shook as he poured bourbon into a glass and shot it back. It burned going down, clearing his throat and his mind. But it didn‘t kill the pain, and it didn‘t change his mind.

Chapter Thirty

The white, one-story brick building with the parking lot and impeccable landscaping on the corner of the residential street was too tasteful for live people. Lila read the discreet sign in front anyway before steering her rental into the side parking lot. Two other cars were parked there already, a silver Lexus and a black BMW. There was one more vehicle in the back of the building, half of a gray van visible. No windows that she could see and no funeral name. The hearse must‘ve been out on a job or parked in the back. She pulled up next to the Lexus and got out of the car. The parking lot was a nice size. Apparently a lot of dead people passed through here. Dead people with money. She wondered how the funeral directors advertised that. We take your money, then we bury you. Or maybe, And you thought college was expensive? Oh God, she was making bad funeral jokes. She wiped her damp hands on the sides of her jeans. She was shaking, and for no reason. She‘d been less nervous the first time for her stepfather. Cremation. The cheapest way. Told them to keep the ashes, though she thought of dumping them in the toilet. But why pollute Nashville‘s sewer system? She‘d been almost seventeen, two weeks after he‘d thrown her mother down the stairs. Her mother‘s funeral had been two and a half years later, when Lila was nineteen years old. Not old enough to legally drink, she was burying her mother. She‘d emptied her mother‘s ashes into the Pacific Ocean. Her mother had always talked about going to California. A semblance of peace settled over her now. She‘d felt her mother with her that day, with the sun on her shoulders and the ocean lapping over her bare feet burrowed in the sand. Felt her approval and her smile. Holding her head high, Lila strode to the double front doors. As she did, she felt two presences watching her, her mother and her sister, sending her love. Then she stepped inside and the sense of being watched with love dissipated, warmth turning to cold. Maybe it was the building, not silent but hushed as though the walls breathed. The inside like the outside was in the best of taste with solid woods, traditional furniture, an elegant flower arrangement on a table near the entrance. The paintings were of flowers, too, reassuring and peaceful. Not a jarring note in the place. Nothing to wake the dead or excite the living. A middle-aged blond woman hurried out of the office next to the entrance, a smile creasing her face, her hand out in greeting. About twenty pounds overweight, she was attractive, with a creamy complexion that most actresses would envy, though they wouldn‘t envy her staid gray

skirt and cream-colored blouse, ―Miss Fox? I‘m Andrea Roman. Evan is expecting you.‖ They shook hands, and the memories of her mother‘s funeral hovered at the edge of Lila‘s mind. She‘d been frozen with grief, raging at the dead man who‘d ruined her mother‘s life, raging at God. The emotions returned in a rush, hanging above Lila like a sinister cloud. Andrea told her how sorry she was about her sister‘s passing. As though Izzy had traveled to another country. No doubt a place where butterflies fluttered and puppies romped and kittens rode the backs of miniature ponies. Andrea led her down a hallway with framed leaf prints. The last door was shut, and Lila heard a male voice murmur, an edge to his tone that made her pay attention. Andrea knocked and opened the door. The talker stopped mid-word. ―Evan? Miss Fox is here.‖ A chair creaked, then footsteps padded across short-napped carpet. Andrea stepped back, not opening the door, smiling as she watched Lila. Lila stiffened. Not alarmed but on alert. Glad her purse hung around her neck, criss-crossing her chest, leaving her hands free. Someone was in the room with Evan. She remembered when she planned her mother‘s funeral. It started with one person, but he‘d brought someone else in near the end to take her through the paperwork. Maybe this place did both right away. A smell came to her, someone familiar. The door opened, distracting her, and a man stepped into the hall, smiling, his hand out, just as the receptionist had done. The Angel of Death, Lila thought. Shuddering, she stepped back, even as she derided herself for her reaction. He looked nothing like Death. Barrel-shaped, pink faced, his smile showing a mouthful of shiny white teeth. More like a cartoon pig than a figure of death. If anyone resembled the rower on the River Styx it would be Noah, with his tall, lean body, sleek hair, sardonic attitude, and surprisingly soft lips that rarely smiled. As if darkness and gloom draped him—until she looked into his blue green eyes and saw intelligence and light and music. She gripped Evan‘s hand. He smiled up at her, a couple inches shorter than she was, saying something in his soothing voice, words that didn‘t penetrate her whirling brain cells that were trying to catch and hold onto something just out of reach, something not quite right. Stepping back, he gestured for her to go inside. Andrea said it was nice meeting her and left. Lila didn‘t reply to either of them. They probably thought she was too grief-stricken to talk. Evan‘s voice buzzed in her ear again, his tempo speeding as she stepped into the room and looked for the person he‘d been speaking to. No one was there. She frowned, glancing around at the solid wooden table in dark maple, big enough to seat eight easily, with matching solid chairs. The creamy walls drank in the afternoon sun, but Lila studied the two wooden doors. Closets, probably, though they could lead to another room.

A place where someone could be hiding right now. She listened for breathing from behind either door, but her hearing wasn‘t that good. Evan was murmuring canned condolences, his voice a modulated murmur. An unexpected longing for Noah and his superior hearing closed her throat. She clamped her teeth together and pushed aside the thought. Nothing was going to happen. Whoever was here must have left through one of the doors. And she could handle the arrangements without Noah. Besides, she‘d rather cut her big toe off than need a man to get her through anything. Evan motioned her to the seat at the end of the table near the doors. She headed toward the chair he‘d pulled back, but stopped at the one kitty corner to it. As she sat, she caught a wince of discomfort on Evan‘s face. The small hairs rose on the nape of her neck. He could be a creature of habit. An OCD sufferer. Or it could be that she was paranoid. Her hands curled. Too many anomalies were making her wary, too many alarms going off in her mind. Though she didn‘t believe in ghosts, she believed in her gut, and it was telling her that something hinkier than dead people was going on in this place. She stood, pushing the chair back. ―Miss Fox.‖ His voice rose. ―Where are you going?‖ ―Out of here,‖ she said, and the door nearest her burst open. Jim Rochester jumped into the room, aiming a gun at her chest. She picked up the heavy chair and held it to the side like a baseball bat. Evan shrieked and jumped back. ―Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus and Mary.‖ ―I‘m not going to hurt you, Lila,‖ Rochester said. ―I‘m just taking you someplace for a short time. As soon as my employer gets what he wants, you‘ll be released. I give you my word, no one is going to hurt you.‖ Another time she might have hesitated facing a gun, but she‘d never felt so strong and fit. As though she could leap up and touch the fourteen-foot high ceiling. A combination of the dragon blood and the adrenaline. The reason she hefted the heavy chair as though it weighed less than a liter of wine. ―Put the chair down,‖ he said. ―It‘s got to be killing you.‖ ―Okay,‖ she said, and saw his shoulders relax. So did his gun hand, the barrel aiming down a half inch, slightly to the side. She flung the chair at him and the gun straightened. A shot blasted, the sound booming, and she ducked. She heard the bullet whiz by, heard the chair slam into something, then clatter to the floor. Heard Rochester‘s ―Oomph.‖ Not wasting a second, she hooked her hands beneath the table top, the enhanced strength still coursing through her, and she lifted the table off the floor. It was about ten times heavier than the chair, and her muscles strained. She guessed it normally took four men to lift it.

With a grunt, she tipped it straight up, then thrust it toward the men. It toppled, blocking Rochester as he aimed the gun at her again. She turned, and the shot roared out. Her upper arm stung. ―My table,‖ Evan cried. ―My table.‖ ―Come back!‖ Rochester shouted. ―You can‘t get away from me.‖ Andrea stood in the hall, her mouth open, her hands on either side of her face. Lila sped past her, running not just her life. For Noah‘s life, too. Because it wasn‘t her they wanted, she knew. It was Noah. She was just the bait.

Chapter Thirty-one

Billy Audrey wasn‘t at his office, only his administrative assistant, Jovan Mayes, according to the gold letters on his nameplate, a small mountain of a man with a shaved head who wore three on three fingers of each hand. In a surprisingly high voice, he told Noah that Billy wouldn‘t be back until Monday. Billy was on personal business and wasn‘t taking any calls, ―even if Garth Brooks called and said he was ready to tour again and wanted Billy to book all his gigs.‖ When Noah pressed him for more information, Jovan said he knew Audrey‘s location but ―was not at liberty to say.‖ That did not stop Noah from asking. Of course Jovan was at liberty to say. He wasn‘t wearing a gag, and Noah didn‘t see anyone holding a gun to his head. But politeness, urgency and bribery didn‘t budge the stalwart assistant. About to tell Jovan a semblance of the truth—leaving out all mention of dragons—Noah lifted his left hand. Jovan‘s eyes widened, his gaze glommed on to the ring on his left index finger. ―Is it real?‖ he asked ―As real as I am,‖ Noah said. ―It‘s a jade dragon ring from the Shang Dynasty.‖ ―It‘s beautiful.‖ Jovan‘s voice was reverent. ―The Shang Dynasty lasted from 1700 to 1150 B.C.‖ Noah leaned in closer. ―This is not an item you would pick up at Wal-Mart. It once belonged to an emperor.‖ He moved his hand and Jovan‘s gaze followed the ring. ―Would you like it?‖ Noah asked. Jovan‘s head snapped up, his gaze hungry. ―How do I know you‘re telling the truth?‖ Noah slipped the ring off his finger and handed it to Jovan. His beefy hand trembling, Jovan whimpered like a woman in the first throes of an orgasm. Five minutes later, Noah left the building with the address written on a slip of paper and his finger bare, with not one regret about giving away one of his treasures. When he reached the car, he looked at the address once again and frowned. Lebanon. Not in the city. Since he didn‘t drive out of the city much, he didn‘t have a GPS system. The map in his car would have to do. Hunting his enemies had been much easier two thousand years ago when he didn‘t have to drive on the interstate.

Chapter Thirty-two

―Was someone shooting a gun?‖ Andrea asked. ―What happened?‖ Lila sprinted for the double doors, not wasting her breath to snarl at the woman. A commotion came from the back and a door opened, but no one chased after her. Her upper right arm burned, but other than that she felt she could leap tall buildings, her adrenaline turned on high. The door stuck and she realized it was locked. Of course it was. This was planned. Andrea must have taken care of it after she‘d herded her into Evan‘s clutches. Lila begrudged the second it took to turn the lock. Behind her she heard Andrea scurry into the room with Evan and the upturned table. The need to hurry driving her, Lila yanked the door open and rushed into the afternoon air. The October sunlight was dimming, the world turning, time passing, more traffic on the streets, people going home from work. If Rochester shot her out here, someone would see. She raced around the building to the side parking lot, pulling her car remote out of her purse as she ran. An evergreen blocked her car from the street. Damn, damn, damn. She pressed the unlock button, whipped around the corner, and came face to face with Rochester. He stood five feet away, his gun pointed straight at her, his face set in determined lines, his eyes bleak, an expression she‘d seen only once before. The night she‘d killed her stepfather. In that second she thought about attacking him, but he would shoot her before she reached him. She was too close to him to flee. An easy shot to the back and she‘d be down. That was not how she wanted to die. Her last option was to go with him and wait for a chance to attack him. When that chance came, she would have no mercy. She stopped. ―You‘re willing to kill me for money? Is that what you‘ve become?‖ ―I told you, I won‘t kill you.‖ He walked toward her. ―As long as you behave yourself.‖ She arched her eyebrows, wondering how he thought he‘d transport her anywhere without her kicking his ass. Then the click of high heels came to her ears, tapping on the sidewalk toward the parking lot, and she smelled Andrea‘s cloying perfume. She put one more name on her mental list to take down as soon as she was released. If she was released. If she lived. ―Put your hands behind your back.‖ Rochester‘s jaws clenched and he watched her the way a

cat watched a mouse just out of reach, poised to attack at the first movement. Her arms rigid at her sides, she sensed Andrea behind her. “Now,” Rochester ordered. His eyes glittering, he aimed the gun barrel at Lila‘s knee. Swearing to herself that she would make him sorry, she put her hands behind her back, tensing her wrists to make them bigger. Her hands were slender for a woman her height. Maybe she could pull them out of— Metal snapped around her wrists. Handcuffs, of course. After all, he was a cop. A dirty one. Fury rose inside her, and she jerked her hands up her back a few inches. Andrea grunted and snapped the cuffs into the locks. Then she stepped back, breathing too hard, sweating, her acrid body odor biting through her perfume. Damn her, damn her, damn her. Lila glared at Rochester. Damn him, damn him, damn him. ―In the back.‖ He gestured with the gun barrel for her to walk behind the funeral home. She marched forward, shutting down her desire to kill him. Later. For now she needed to concentrate on any opening. She could take him down with her legs and her feet, but first she needed to get near him. A kick in his balls. Another kick in his face. A knee in his chin. If she did it just right and if luck was on her side, she could kill him. Even if she just knocked him down, she could run. Run faster than he believed. Into the road, into traffic if that‘s what it took to get cars to stop, shouting at them to call 911. As she came forward, he backed away. She sneered. Coward. As a last option she could scream ―Fire!‖ and people nearby might hear her. But she read brutality in his determined face. In her gut she knew he wouldn‘t hesitate to knock her in the back of her head with the butt of his gun. Or shoot her in the knee as he‘d threatened. No, she would wait for an opening—then take it before the opening snapped shut. He moved behind her, and Andrea called to him and whimpered how frightened she was. Lila kept walking at an even pace, forcing herself not to run. Not yet. From the back of the funeral home, a door opened and steps hit the concrete, quieter and rubber-soled. Evan. The coward. Waiting until she was handcuffed to come and do his part. A bird tweeted on the rooftop. A woman across the street chattered on her cell phone. Cars rushed past on nearby streets, exhaust puffing into the air. A mix of smells wafted to her. Sweat, perfume, exhaust fumes, wood smoke. Someone down the block burning wood. Behind her, Rochester murmured reassurance to Andrea. The pulse in Lila‘s throat throbbed. Good. Keep doing that. Keep believing you have me neutralized. She neared the corner and knew Evan was there. Waiting. Another smell. Chemical. Sweetish. Something he put on a bruise or a cut. She clenched her teeth. Reaching the corner of the building, she turned. She hoped to hell

she‘d cut him. She hoped she— Heavy footsteps rushed up behind her, and her thoughts stopped. Rochester. Too close for her to run. She tensed, ready to attack as he grabbed her arms. ―Hurry!‖ he snapped, even as she lifted her foot and swung it back, connecting with his shin. Even as she twisted forward and— Cloth closed over her mouth and nose, reeking of the sweet chemical smell. Chloroform. Bastards. She would get them for this. She would—

Chapter Thirty-three

Excitement thrummed through Carter‘s veins. He stood outside the guesthouse and watched the contractor‘s van roll down his aspen-lined driveway. His plan was coming together. His call phone trilled. He unhooked it from his belt, read Rochester‘s name on the display, and put it to his ear. ―We‘re on the way,‖ Rochester said. ―Don‘t mention my name.‖ Carter strode to the front entrance of the guesthouse, unable to fight the obsessive need to look at the cell again, check that everything was going to be perfect. The contractor had told him King Kong couldn‘t escape. Carter had asked, ―But what about Superman?‖ ―You need kryptonite for that,‖ the contractor said, and laughed. When he realized Carter wasn‘t making a joke, his laughter choked off. ―Don‘t worry.‖ Rochester‘s determined voice claimed Carter‘s attention. ―The couple at the funeral home think you‘re a politician. They never even asked your name.‖ ―After they demanded an extra ten thousand,‖ Carter said. He still wondered if they really asked for the extra money or if Rochester put the ten thou in his own pocket. After this was over, and the dragon blood was flowing through his veins, he had a few questions to ask Rochester. For now, he had other concerns. ―The woman with you,‖ he said, her name escaping him. After all, she wasn‘t important. ―She won‘t be happy with what she gets.‖ ―She‘s unconscious.‖ Rochester didn‘t stop there. Exuberance in his voice, he explained how he‘d baited the trap and captured the woman. While he sang his praises louder than any diva, Carter stepped into the guesthouse then walked through the kitchen to the back hall. The door to the basement was open. He peered down the gleaming steps and decided to stay where he was for now. Soon Rochester would march the woman down them. If his instincts were right, Long would come for the woman and Rochester would imprison him. In a short time, Carter would get his blood transfusion. Soon he would run up and down the steps with abandon, the way he‘d done as a boy. He‘d be young again. Young and healthy and virile. The only thing that could screw this up was if Long didn‘t come for the woman. If he didn‘t care for her. If he decided to let her languish in Carter‘s basement. If he took the chance that Carter wouldn‘t kill her.

Or he might suspect that Carter would never release her. That he wouldn‘t take the chance that she‘d tell someone what happened. A crazy story, but someone might believe her. Drops of sweat slicked Carter‘s forehead. There were too many ―ifs.‖ Too many holes. He‘d thought his plan was brilliant, but now... He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his Armani shirt and tightened his mouth. This had to work. He had no other plans on how to trap Long. It was this or years of pain as his body worsened monthly, weekly, sometimes daily. This was the only solution. He was desperate. To pull this off, he needed to do everything perfectly. He couldn‘t make mistakes. ―She may be pretending to be unconscious,‖ he said, cutting off Rochester‘s boasting. ―You have the blindfold on her? Her legs tied? Her arms cuffed?‖ ―All done.‖ Rochester‘s voice was clipped. Pissed that Carter was checking on his work. Too fucking bad. Rochester probably wanted to screw the woman. Some of the excitement Carter had heard in his voice was sexual. If she looked anything like her junkie sister, she was attractive. The few times Carter had talked to Rochester while he‘d headed security at industry events, he‘d seen the way Rochester eyed the women singers and the fans in their show-all, fuckme clothes. When an attractive woman and a healthy, heterosexual man got together in a close situation, it was like putting together fire and wood. The wood was bound to burn. Carter knew one thing. The person going up in flames was not going to be him. ―Shit,‖ Rochester said. ―She‘s awake now. Kicking the back of my seat and calling me a bastard.‖ The woman‘s voice came through the phone. Not loud and screaming but low and intense. Carter‘s heartbeat slammed against his chest wall. ―If she gets loose—‖ ―No way is she getting loose. I have her tied up like she‘s a calf at a rodeo. Blindfolded, too. I‘ll be there in a few minutes. Make sure the gates are open.‖ He clicked off. Carter stood still, his nerves tight from Rochester‘s disrespect. He‘d wondered before about leaving witnesses, opening him up to blackmail. The reason he‘d chosen Rochester, who couldn‘t take the chance of implicating himself. The woman didn‘t have that incentive to keep quiet. He‘d killed her sister and her junkie boyfriend. When this was over and he had what he wanted, he couldn‘t let her live. Carter walked out of the kitchen, out the back door and across the luxurious lawn to the house, thinking furiously. The woman wasn‘t the only one he couldn‘t allow to live. Rochester‘s circumstances could change. He could quit the force. Move to another country, and then blackmail Carter. But before doing anything or killing anyone, Carter needed Long behind bars. Then he would make sure there were no lingering loose ends.

Chapter Thirty-four

Listening to a lover‘s quarrel hadn‘t been part of Noah‘s plans for the day. Standing in the hall outside room 342, he decided that though he didn‘t have a lot of experience with love affairs, Billy Audrey‘s wasn‘t going to have a happy ending. ―Stop taking the pills,‖ a male voice said. ―I can‘t leave my wife.‖ ―I love you.‖ Another male voice shook with emotion. ―Honey, you know you‘re special to me, too.‖ ―Special?‖ The volume of the second voice rose, spiced with indignation. ―I thought I meant more to you than special.‖ ―Honey, you know I‘m married.‖ ―You said your marriage was over.‖ ―It is! But I have to think of the kids.‖ ―That‘s not what you said when we made the arrangements to meet here.‖ ―Honey—‖ ―Stop calling me honey. I‘m beginning to think you don‘t remember my name.‖ Noah decided to wait a few minutes before knocking on the door. Bedsprings squeaked. Feet smacked onto a carpet as though someone had vaulted off the bed. ―Of course I remember your name.‖ Coins jangled and cloth slid, someone pulling on his slacks, the change in his pocket clinking. ―Bill. Your name is Bill.‖ ―You bastard. No one calls me Bill. My name is Billy.‖ ―Stop being such a queen. Bill, Billy. Who the fuck cares?‖ ―I care! It‘s my fucking name! This is just a fling to you, isn‘t it? You never meant any of your promises. Oh God, I don‘t want to live anymore.‖ ―For Christ‘s sake. Go ahead, swallow the whole fucking bottle. It won‘t change a thing. You knew I was married and had kids. Don‘t make a big deal out of it. You can‘t tell me you didn‘t enjoy it.‖ ―Kurt!‖ Billy‘s voice was strangled, as though one of the pills his lover had mentioned was stuck in his throat. ―After all that I did for you. All the money—‖ ―C‘mon, it‘s a business deal. A loan. Nothing more. I‘m paying you back, aren‘t I?‖ ―Bastard! You don‘t know what I did for that money.‖ ―That‘s rich. Fucking rich. One thing‘s sure, you know what I did for the money.‖ ―You... You... This was all for the money? Is that what you‘re telling me?‖

―Christ. There you go again, acting like—‖ ―I‘m right, aren‘t I? I feel sick. Sick! Get out of here, you prick. Get the fuck out of here.‖ ―I‘ll be glad to go. I have to take this shit from my wife. I don‘t have to take it from you.‖ Footsteps clomped on the carpet, coming toward the door. Noah strolled toward the end of the hall. The door slammed. Footsteps tramped into the hall and turned in the opposite direction from Noah. He glanced behind him to see a tall black man stomping around the corner toward the elevator. Noah headed back to the room. He had no opinion on the sex life of the two men, but the argument made him want to grab his sax and play. Let the music take him away from humans with their smashed dreams and broken illusions. At one time he had dreams and illusions, too. His had smashed, too. Since then, he tried not to pin hopes on any humans. For a long time, he‘d succeeded. Then twenty-five hundred odd years later, he‘d met Lila. Beauty‘s sister. Beauty was the fool‘s gold in both the lives in which he‘d known her. Lila was the real thing, with more courage than most dragons he‘d known. More than he possessed. She was everything he‘d thought he never needed. Now he knew he needed it all. The need burned inside him, bright and aching. He knocked on the door, hard and crisp. ―Kurt.‖ The voice on the other side fluttered with hope, and footsteps hurried across the room. The door handle turned the wrong way, then the right way. It opened, flung wide. A man with a wide face, receding hair and a beaming smile swept out one arm in a prelude to an embrace. His arm still sweeping up, he blinked at Noah. His happy expression morphed to dismay, like a snowman melting. His smile and his arm dropped. His soft looking body, with a belly pouch exposed by his turquoise briefs, slumped. ―Who are you?‖ Billy‘s complexion was tinged with gray and he was sweating, though it was cool in the room and the hallway. ―Noah Long.‖ Billy‘s cheek muscle twitched and his eyes blinked furiously. He backed up and shoved the door forward. Noah put his hand out. His palm smacked against the wood, halting it. ―I don‘t know what you‘re doing here, but I can‘t help you.‖ Billy‘s voice shook. Noah stepped into the room. ―You sent two men to watch my shop. I want to know who was behind this.‖ Billy put both hands to his face, covering it. ―I can‘t tell you anything.‖ ―You can and you will.‖ ―No, I made a promise, and Billy Audrey keeps his promises. I...‖ He lowered his hands. His face turned purplish red. Sweat slicked a film over his face and his neck. He put one hand over

his stomach and another over his mouth. Bending forward, he threw up on the nondescript hotel carpet. And again. And again. And again. Noah leapt to the phone on the table by the bed. This wasn‘t normal vomiting. He grabbed the receiver and pressed the button for the operator. Next to the phone were a pill bottle and an empty water bottle. A woman‘s voice answered promptly instead of a recording giving him options of numbers to press. If Noah had believed in the human God, he would have thanked him. ―Call 911. I‘m in room 437. The occupant is sick and needs help. I found an empty pill bottle. I suspect a suicide attempt.‖ He picked up the plastic bottle to spell out the medication for her to pass on to the 911 people. When he hung up, Billy Audrey fell to his knees, too sick to make it to the bathroom. Moaning, he still held his stomach. Noah gazed at him for a moment, trying not to breathe in the putrid stench, then walked past him in a large circle and out the door. Nothing he could do here. He wasn‘t going to find out anything from Billy Audrey. He needed fresh air. More than air, he needed Lila.

Chapter Thirty-five

Lila dreamt someone was watching her sleep on a hard mattress while Rochester put food in a small refrigerator. She turned to her side, then back again, and imagined Rochester stopping his chores to look at her. She kept her eyes closed and her body relaxed, her foggy brain telling her she needed to pretend she was asleep. How weird. Why was she dreaming of Rochester? She wanted Noah in her dream. Immediately a dragon appeared in her mind. Sleekly gold, covered with shiny scales. His eyes whirled blue and green. Wings. He had wings. ―Hop on me. I‘ll take you away from here.‖ An unfamiliar voice intruded into her dream. ―She‘s moving and twitching. She‘s not supposed to do that, is she?‖ ―I don‘t know.‖ Rochester‘s tone was truculent. He probably resented stocking food while another man watched and directed, she thought woozily. He wanted to be top dog, not kitchen dog. ―You told me how much to use, and that‘s all I did.‖ ―I do my research. If she wakes, you‘ll have to give her more.‖ Lila made herself settle, made herself inhale normally, exhale normally. Not too deep, not too shallow. In her odd dream world, she was the Goldilocks of breathing. But what if it wasn‘t a dream world? What if it was real? She still kept her eyes closed. If it was real, she needed to pretend to sleep while she gathered information. ―The chloroform‘s in the car,‖ Rochester said. ―The glove compartment. She looks okay to me.‖ ―Bring the stuff in.‖ The man‘s voice vibrated, as if he were too tightly wound. ―In case something goes wrong I want it handy. A prepared warrior is a wise warrior.‖ Angry footsteps stomped away. Softer footsteps came toward her. Her skin prickled and she knew someone stared at her, searching for signs of wakefulness. Feeling herself tense, she pictured the dragon with the whirling eyes. Heard Noah‘s voice purr at her touch. Watched his dragon wings spread. The tension eased from her muscles and joy filled every empty nook inside her body. Beautiful. So beautiful. ―Hop on,‖ he said. ―Don‘t you want to fly?‖ She nodded. Not the self sprawled on the mattress, but the self standing straight and tall on a

stony coastline, with blue water, bright and clear, splashing against the rocks. The dragon perched like a giant bird at the highest spot, about one hundred yards away. ―Come,‖ he said. ―Come and ride with me. She ran to him, the breeze in her face smelling of Noah the man, not this wondrous winged creature. She knew she was dreaming, but it seemed real as she climbed up his wing, grabbing gold-colored scales to pull herself up. Then she was on him, her arms around his neck, her knees on each of his sides, clinging. And he lifted up. Up, up, up... ―She‘s gotta be dreaming.‖ Rochester‘s harsh voice intruded. ―Look, she‘s smiling.‖ Of course she smiled. Who wouldn‘t smile? She was flying! Just her and Noah, soaring high in the air, as though they were one. This was reality. The rest was false. Nothing mattered now. Nothing would hurt her. Nothing would hurt him. Nothing at all.

Chapter Thirty-six

Lila opened her eyes to dimness and despair. This was real, not a bad dream. As real as the worst times in her life. As real as her stepfather‘s hard fist. As real as Izzy‘s death. She cut off her thoughts. All those years with her mother and stepfather she‘d never succumbed to the darkness. She wasn‘t succumbing now. Listening, she heard no sound of anyone breathing, no smell of another person, no sense that anyone‘s eyes were on her, watching and waiting. She sat up, and the room spun and flipped. So did her brain and her stomach. She froze in place until the room slowed and her stomach settled. Afraid to move too fast, she gazed around. It felt as if she‘d been thrown into the middle of someone else‘s bad dreams. A nightlight threw off a blue glow, giving off enough light to see she was in a long room split by prison bars. She was in the wrong end. Where was she? The last thing she remembered was— Memories slammed into her. The funeral home. Evan and Andrea. Rochester and the chloroform. Damn him. She would make him sorry. She would make them all sorry. She shifted her legs over the edge of the bed and pushed off to her feet. The room swayed from side to side. She plopped back down and waited for the room to settle, wishing for some ginger for the dizziness. Better, she wished for a gun. A loaded gun. Her teeth gritted so hard her ears hurt. She forced herself to relax her tensed muscles. She needed to calm down. To use her brain, not her fighting skills. When the room settled, she stood in increments, the dizziness hovering at the edge of her mind. She forced herself to pay attention to the little details that told her so much when the big picture was one blank canvass. She had no aftertaste. She felt all right other than the dizziness, a lingering tiredness and the natural desire to kill Rochester and the man who‘d watched her earlier. Thinking of him, she shivered, her skin creeping, and she was reminded of the bullet grazing her arm. She pushed her hand inside her sleeve but felt only goosebumps. In case she remembered the wrong arm, she tried her other arm. Nothing there, either. The dragon blood inside her had healed her again. Emotions swirled in her mind. Joy that she was healed, happiness because it made her think of Noah, despair that she might never get out of this prison alive, anger because she was in this position.

It was too much to handle, sickness rising in her throat. Closing her eyes, concentrating, she took deep breaths and pushed the emotions into a dark corner of her mind. She would think about it all later, when it didn‘t make her mind twirl. Right now she needed to find a way out of here. Spotting wall switches on her side of the bars, she walked over and turned them on. Soft ceiling lights powered on in her half of the room, seeping into the other half. She moved closer to the bars, peering out between two, and saw tan leather couches, a stone fireplace and a screen that covered two-thirds of the wall. A media room. The big thing in California. Just in case the person who‘d done this had the brains of a gnat, she pushed at the gate, the metal cold beneath her palms and fingers. Nothing moved. Her fingers tightened around the bars and she tried to jerk them toward her. Still nothing. She pushed, her teeth gritted and her muscles straining, with the same results. Frustration, anger and the desire to kick someone in the jaw welled up in her. She grabbed the bars harder and pushed and pulled and pushed and– Wooziness kicked into her, along with a wave of nausea. She held on to the bars, bending her head against them, thankful for their coolness against her heated skin, until the sick feeling passed. After a moment she stepped away. Not fast. Slow. Afraid to move fast, afraid of what might happen. Fury roared through her like a wildfire. She hated being afraid. Hated it. This was what bullies did. They fed on terror. They craved it. It made them feel powerful. The man who‘d watched her last night as she lay on the bed, helpless, drugged... She would make him pay for what he‘d done to her and to Izzy. And Rochester... He was going to be held accountable, too. Not by a Nashville judge, but a far harsher one. Her. Turning, she saw a smaller room within her half, and guessed it was a bathroom. She was surprised whoever did this hadn‘t demolished it. They had that much decency. She headed to it, passing a refrigerator but no stove, not even a microwave. Dammit, no coffee maker, either. Did they think she could turn a coffee maker into a weapon? Why do that when she had the ultimate weapons? Her hands. Her feet. Her brains. In the bathroom, there was a shower but no shower door, no curtains. A vanity but no mirror. Whoever created this prison inside the media room had made sure she couldn‘t use spears of broken glass as a weapon. There were no drawers, either. On the granite top was toilet paper, washcloths, liquid soap in a plastic container and a box of sanitary pads. The toilet was separate, with its own door. She went in and used it. Flushing, she thought perhaps she could take the porcelain top off and use it as a weapon. But it would be hard to hide in the other room. Another thought made her hot and then cold. Cameras. What if the sick person behind this had cameras and was watching her right now? She scanned the room but didn‘t see anything that could be a camera. Relaxing slightly, she

washed her hands. She dried them on the washcloths, thick and luxurious. Only the best for Small‘s prisoners, damn him to hell. Back in her prison, she opened the fridge. It was stocked with bottles of water, packets of lunch meat, bread, energy bars. No condiments, vegetables or fruits. Nothing she really wanted, like a gun or a sharp knife or a cell phone. She took a bottle of water, unscrewed the cap and walked around the perimeter of her prison. On the other side of the room, she spotted boarded windows. There were none on her side of the room. She guessed she was in a basement. This side must have been built into higher ground than the other. She could see no weaknesses. No places to break out. On the good side, no cameras here, either. Though she knew it would be no use, she bent her head back, took a deep breath, opened her mouth wide and screamed as loud as she could, her voice vibrating in her throat. She felt her yell hit the walls and the ceilings—and then it stopped. Going nowhere. Thudding into nothingness. The place was soundproofed. Her scream died in her throat. Despair dropped her to her knees. The bottle slid from her hand, bouncing on the short-napped carpet. She couldn‘t remember the last time she‘d been so defeated. Not even when her stepfather was terrorizing her mother, Izzy and herself. Before her mother married her stepfather and turned from a laughing, happy woman into a woman who lived in fear, Lila had six years with her mother telling her she could do anything if she wanted it enough. ―I want it,‖ she said, and her voice cracked. She sounded like a six-year old again. ―I want it,‖ she said louder. Balling her hands into fists, she looked up at the high ceiling. ―I want it!‖ Freedom. That‘s what she wanted. Revenge. She wanted revenge. Really, really wanted it. Noah. Her throat choked, her heart pounded, her blood sped in her veins. She got up. They were using her as bait to entice Noah. She needed to do her best to make sure it didn‘t happen. She sucked in a breath. She needed peace to calm her body and her emotions. Anger closed the brain. Serenity opened it. She sat again and crossed her legs. ―Peace, peace, peace,‖ she chanted. ―Peace, peace, peace.‖ The turmoil roiling in her mind stopped the words from getting through to her body, the same way the bars stopped her from getting out of this place. She pictured a calm pond but the image changed to Noah‘s stern, strong features. ―Noah,‖ she chanted. ―Noah, Noah, Noah.‖ Her mind stilled, her breaths inhaled deeper, she exhaled stronger, the tight muscles

loosening. It was working. Soon Noah would come for her. She knew it. Her jailors knew it. When he got here, she needed to be in the same mindset as when she‘d offed her stepfather and the man in Los Angeles. Not burning hot with anger, but burning cold. ―Noah,‖ she chanted. ―Noah, Noah, Noah.‖ Noah, she thought, come and help me kill them.

Chapter Thirty-seven

The instant Noah stepped into the hotel room he knew Lila wasn‘t there and hadn‘t been in it since they left this morning. Her smell had faded. Despite the ornate furniture, the room had a sense of emptiness that crept into his belly. He told himself it was nothing, but his belly was rarely wrong. Sitting on the bed, he picked up the phone and called the operator for messages. There were none. The emptiness in his belly twisted tighter, the same disconnect that had been gnawing at him since before he left the hotel. As though tiny rodents chewed on his nerves. The kind of unease a human parent must feel something bad happened to his child. He had no children. Just Mystic, who he‘d left at the apartment above the Blues Bar, expecting to go back sometime today. Now he wasn‘t sure when he‘d get back. The only thing he was sure of was that Lila should be here. He gazed out the window at the steady stream of Friday night traffic. The sky was already dark, the cars driving with their lights on, going from point A to B to C. After a few moments, he picked up the phone again and tapped in Lila‘s cell phone number. Though he‘d only called it once, he knew it by heart. He knew a lot about her by heart, her taste, her smell, her courage, and every curve on her body. The phone rang four times before it went to an impersonal recording that told him to leave his name and phone number. He opened his mouth to do so, but a prickling on his skin warned him not to. He hung up and called the Blues Bar. ―Blues Bar,‖ Ralph voice said, his voice raspy. Noah heard B.B. King in the background playing Lucille, his famous guitar, the notes clear and long and bending. ―Noah Long. Did anyone leave a message for me?‖ ―Nope. You gonna be back tonight?‖ ―I don‘t know,‖ Noah said, and the words felt strange. He always knew. After so many years on earth, he‘d learned to live each day deliberately. But that was before Beauty entered his life again. And in her wake, Lila, his strong warrior woman, lighting up his world as though he‘d been living in darkness and she was the sun. ―Would you send someone up to the apartment to make sure my cat has water and food? Her food is in the pantry.‖ ―No problem. You coming back tomorrow?‖ Ralph asked as B.B. started singing in the background, the unhappiness in B.B.‘s voice echoing the ache in Noah‘s heart.

―I‘ll try. I have to go.‖ He hung up and grabbed his keys and his jacket. Outside the temperature was dropping and so were his hopes that Lila was returning to the hotel soon. Something was wrong. He needed to find her. For the first time he could remember, he was very, very afraid.

Chapter Thirty-eight

Noah hated cold, one of the reasons he‘d chosen Nashville. The weather and the music. Perhaps that explained his affinity with cats. Like them, he enjoyed curling up in the sunlight and napping. He was catlike in his hunting skills, too, though it had been many years since he‘d practiced the sport. When dogs hunted, they barked and smashed through fields, alerting their prey. Cats stalked. For all their height and depth and weight, so did dragons. He parked the car four blocks from the bar. Wearing the cowboy hat and slouching, he blended in with the Friday night crowd. He reached the Blues Bar and slipped around to the back, then stood in the shadows and waited. Listening. Smelling. Looking. He heard no sounds of breathing in the back of the bar or the alley. Smelled no humans. Saw no one watching. No flicker of movement, no darker shadows. His spine straight, he strode past the club to the back door of the Dragon‘s Lair. Sounds rushed at him from the club, the street, the sidewalks. Strains of music, people talking, hums of traffic. But nothing came from inside his shop except a buzz of electricity. He unlocked the door, still listening, and entered. After closing the door behind him, he walked up the steps, avoiding the first and twelfth treads that squeaked. He opened the door to his living room carefully, quietly. It appeared to be as he‘d left it, but he smelled something that didn‘t belong. A faint mix of cloves and moss and patchouli. Rochester. He‘d been in Noah‘s house recently, leaving his scent like a calling card. Noah did a quick tour of the rooms. Nothing missing that he could see. Just Lila. The loss bored a hole in his heart. He checked his phone, but the only messages were from customers asking why the shop was closed and why he wasn‘t taking their Internet orders, wanting to know if something was wrong. Everything was wrong. Lila was missing. He put the phone down and admitted to himself what made his skin clammy and his heart pummel with fear. He had Lila. Mr. Small. He wasn‘t surprised there was no message. Small was planning to make him worry. Make him crazy imagining what might have happened to Lila. Make him careless and reckless. Make him do anything to get Lila back. He didn‘t know how Small knew he cared that much to endanger his life. All he knew was that Small was right. For Lila, he would do anything, face anyone. Even death.

~~~ Noah found Rochester‘s address the old-fashioned way, in the phone book. It was about five miles from the Dragon‘s Lair. He could have walked but he drove, the ticking clock inside his head shouting at him to hurry. Rochester lived in a condo that came with a concierge, which Noah suspected was not affordable for most Nashville police officers. After parking his car in front of the brick and glass building, Noah walked inside behind a middle-aged woman whose small dog tried to hump his leg. She apologized profusely, and Noah told her that dogs often mistook his leg for a female dog, which sent her into giggles. He strolled with her past the concierge as the woman chattered to him and the dog eyed Noah‘s leg. The concierge greeted Noah and the woman, clearly assuming they were friends. In the elevator, Noah pushed the button for the fifth floor. The woman asked if he lived there, and he told her he was visiting someone. ―A friend?‖ she asked. He bowed his head for reply, as he did not like lying and he did not want to claim Rochester as a friend. He got off on Rochester‘s floor and found the room number. No one answered and he couldn‘t hear anyone within, though muted sounds traveled from the surrounding rooms. He tried to turn the handle but it wouldn‘t budge, locked in place. He took a breath. Centered himself. Thought of Lila. Of how she might be in danger. Inside his belly, the fire smoldered to life. The change started in his limbs, his bones, his muscles. Expanding as the fire heated. Closing his eyes, he gripped the handle tighter and turned it. And turned it again. And turned it yet again. Something cracked inside the jamb. The handle kept turning but too freely, not connected to anything. He pushed, but the door held, the handle out of commission. Instead of fixing the problem, he‘d made it worse. He glanced around. Any moment someone might come this way. He didn‘t have time to play games with the door. The fire inside him smoldered higher and stronger. Down the hall, he heard the elevator ding. He shoved against the door with his shoulder and his hip, and it pushed inward, the wood jamb tearing. Once inside the condo, he held the broken door against the opening and fitted it in place like a puzzle piece. He suspected Rochester would not report this. The place had clean lines, all metal, wood, leather and one wall of windows. It smelled expensive. Noah stepped to the kitchen first, moving quickly, opening drawers and cupboards. Next he searched the bedroom, the bathroom, the office, the living room. Five minutes later, he was in the condo hall again. He fit the door from the other side so only

a close look could tell it was lopsided, then he left. Anger smoldered inside him, heat moving up from his belly. He‘d found nothing, but he‘d learned something about Rochester. The detective had a rich man‘s taste on a feet-to-the-ground Nashville police detective‘s salary. The condo search wasn‘t his only option. He still had his wild card. He never underestimated the wild card, but he did not pin hopes on it. It was like pinning his hopes on a wisp of smoke. His wisp of smoke was Jerry with his sardonic smile and his phone call from Small. Jerry the trickster. Taking the elevator would be too slow. Noah opened the stairway door and raced down. With every floor he reached, the whisper of unease inside him grew louder. As impossible to ignore as a hiss of a rattlesnake. Warning him of deadly danger ahead.

Chapter Thirty-nine

Lila studied the room outside her prison for a clue to her jailor‘s identity. Everything personal had been taken down, even paintings. The only thing she saw was an oddly shaped bug. She blinked and looked at it again. Not a bug, a hole. A perfectly round black hole the size of a nickel. Her heart stopped, then started again. Faster. Angrier. Not a natural hole, either, too round and too black. Positioned in the perfect place to film the jail cell half of the room and follow her moves. She stomped to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, stomped back to the bars and spread her left hand against them. The bars were a little over three inches apart, too tight to fit her arm through. She tried anyway, not getting past her elbow. Defeat tasted bitter as she slid her arm out. Frustration and anger and fear hovered on the edges of her mind, but she shoved back at them. Defeat was not acceptable. She would fight until the end. So, she had to do this without putting her arm through the bars. She‘d done worse. Facing the wall with the camera, she held the bottle and pushed it through the bars, a half-inch space on each side. Not great, but it would do. Somehow she would throw a water bottle across the room, a good thirty feet, and hit the nickel-sized target. It seemed impossible, but she‘d done the impossible before and could do it again. One bullheaded woman taking one baby step at a time. Stepping back, she hefted the bottle over her shoulder, held her breath, then arched her arm forward and let loose. The bottle hit one of the bars and bounced to the floor. She didn‘t swear. Didn‘t say a word. Instead she picked the bottle off the floor, hefted it over her shoulder again, squinted at the space between the bars, gritted her teeth and threw. It took two more tries before it flew through the bars, arcing up, up, up. Yes, she thought. Yes! It slammed against the ceiling and clunked downward. In her chest, her heart clunked downward, too. Her mouth set, she went back to the fridge and pulled out an armful of bottles. Took up her position, focused on the hole, and threw. Four more times it hit the bars. Eight times the bottles made it through and missed the target. Eight more times it clunked to the floor. She made another trip to the fridge. Pitching had never been her strong point at school recess,

though she‘d been a hell of a hitter and an even better runner. The cold air from the fridge chilled her, but she was already chilled inside. What if she threw all the bottles, missed, and whoever locked her in here wouldn‘t bring any more water? Feeling like a robot with her emotions shoved into a place so deep inside her couldn‘t access them, she closed the fridge door, went into the bathroom and turned on the tap. She put her cupped hand beneath the stream, then brought the water to her lips and sipped. Not nectar, but it would do. She didn‘t need designer water. She wiped her palm on her jeans, then took more bottles to the bars and started tossing. Twelve bottles later, she scowled at the black hole, at the bottles strewn across the carpet. Her arm and shoulder ached. But her soul...it felt as if her soul had been hefting ten-gallon bottles for years. Futility drained her, but she didn‘t let shoulders droop. She wouldn‘t allow Small or Rochester or whoever the hell was watching her to see her defeated. Staring at the camera, she held up her right hand, middle finger. Silly, but the gesture made it easier to keep her spine stiff as she walked to the wall switch and turned the light off. For extra privacy, she unplugged the nightlight and set it on the floor. The glow from the stairway on the opposite wall kept the place dimly lit. Too dim for the camera to see much of her, just a dark silhouette. If anyone came down the steps, she could see them first with her enhanced sight. She hadn‘t spotted anything in her part of the jail she could use as a weapon, but it didn‘t matter. It wouldn‘t be the first time she killed with her feet and hands. Come on down, she thought. Come into my web, you bastards. Let‘s see who makes it out alive.

Chapter Forty

The bar smelled of people and booze and excitement. Someone in the band was playing a harmonica, a fast train rhythm that started Noah‘s heart pumping. The player was good, and another time Noah would have let the music sink into the pores of his skin and deeper still into the marrow of his bones. But now his marrow had other things going on. Life and death things. He spotted Jerry at the end of the bar just as the fiddle and guitar player joined the harmonica, someone on the dance floor calling ―Whoop, whoop.‖ Lost in the music, people tapped their feet, nodded their heads and swayed their hips. His back to the bar, Jerry lifted a beer bottle to his mouth. Noah snaked through the crowd, resisting the pull of the music, and grasped Jerry‘s upper arm. Jerry started, beer spilling onto his blue shirt. He swept his beer-dampened chin around to face Noah, his eyes narrowed. ―What the fuck—‖ ―Upstairs,‖ Noah said. ―Now.‖ Jerry‘s nostrils flared, but he must have seen Noah‘s determination. Or more likely, Noah‘s grip on his arm was stopping his blood flow. He nodded. ―Let go of me.‖ Noah released him, and Jerry headed to the back. Noah followed him closely, not putting it past Jerry to run. Running was a typical trickster move. A ditty clicked into his mind: Run fast and far away, live to trick another day. But Jerry didn‘t hurry as he weaved through the crowd of dancers, making no attempt to lose Noah. In the back hall, the air wafted on Noah‘s face, the music dulled slightly by the closed door. Jerry took the stairs two at a time, Noah on his heels. If Noah were any closer, he‘d be breathing on him. Once they reached the living room, Jerry turned to face Noah, hooking his thumbs in his belt. ―What the fuck do you want?‖ ―A name. The man who‘s giving you a contract for telling him I‘m here.‖ Jerry‘s worn face didn‘t show any expression, but his rangy body tensed. He unhooked his thumbs and crossed his arms over his chest. ―Tell me something. You‘re the best sax player I know. If the devil came in with a sax on a Monday and said he wanted to play you for your soul, you‘d win. No contest. You must‘ve had offers from bands and producers. Good ones.‖ Noah shook his head. ―I don‘t have time for this. Give me a name.‖ ―This first.‖ Jerry uncrossed his arms and scratched his jaw. ―Why not take ‗em up on it? Why just the Monday night gig?‖

The music was rocking through the floorboards. A rusty-voiced man sang, ―Nashville, Music City, music all around.‖ Lila, Noah thought, Lila all around. ―Monday night suits me,‖ he said. ―My shop suits me.‖ ―You could be famous.‖ ―I don‘t want to be famous.‖ ―Rich, at least—‖ Impatience made Noah break his normal stillness and whip his hand in the air. He was already rich, but Jerry didn‘t need to know that. ―Anyone who goes into the business for money is a fool.‖ ―Hell, I get you there.‖ Jerry scratched his jaw again. ―Lightning only strikes a few of us. Why do we do it?‖ ―Because we love it.‖ Noah stepped forward, a foot away from the tall Texan with the ponytail and too many years on his face and his guitar. Closer than he cared to be to any living being except Lila and Mystic. ―But I don‘t love it as much as I love Lila. She‘s missing, and we heard you on the phone yesterday, talking to the guy you won‘t name. I believe he has kidnapped her. Are you going to tell me his name? I don‘t want to use violence, but I‘ll do whatever is necessary to find Lila.‖ Jerry held out his hands in a surrender position. ―Hey, man, no need to get hasty. I never told him jack. He‘s one of those guys who thinks money is everything. He doesn‘t know that it‘s not money that makes Nashville go round. It‘s guys like you and me that play for the love of it.‖ In the bar below, the harmonica started the train rhythm again, the vibrations thrumming through the floor, thrumming through Noah. Faster and faster and faster. ―Tell me,‖ he said, his voice urgent. Mystic meowed, strolling into the room. Noah looked at her, and so did Jerry. The level of tension dropped from a hell-of-a-lot of danger to bearable danger. ―He promised to send me a contract.‖ Jerry gave him the trickster‘s grin. ―But I know bullshit when I hear it. You want his name, I‘ll give it to you. It‘s Carter Fuckin‘ Fromm.‖ Mystic strolled up to Noah and rubbed her face on his slacks. He bent to scratch her jaw, the anger and fear still inside him but simmering now that he had a starting point. ―Fromm Records?‖ ―That‘s him. Head honcho. Married to Aimee Velvet.‖ ―A stripper?‖ Noah asked. Jerry barked a laugh devoid of humor. ―Not quite. She‘s a new country star, thanks to her hubby. Up for all the awards. Looks like a cheerleader and I hear she acts like she‘s the new Dolly.‖ His mouth twisted into a sneer. ―Ain‘t gonna happen. She‘s got the looks and the body, but not the voice.‖ ―Where do I find Fromm?‖ Still bending, Noah rubbed Mystic‘s forehead as she purred her approval.

―The hell if I know,‖ Jerry said. ―At his home, maybe. He probably lives close by. You going there?‖ ―I believe he has Lila.‖ Jerry‘s eyes flickered with surprise. ―Like a prisoner? Why the hell would he do that?‖ Noah knew why. He knew it the same way he knew he breathed. The same way he knew Lila had stomped into his heart without trying. Somehow Fromm had found out who he was. What he was. That‘s what this whole thing was about, the reason he‘d sent Izzy and her thief boyfriend to his place. Fromm had made a mistake, hiring junkies and then killing them. He‘d made an even bigger mistake today, taking Lila. ―He wants me, that‘s why.‖ Noah stopped petting Mystic and stood. Mystic meowed her objection and swished away. ―Call the cops.‖ ―He has a cop working for him. I‘ve seen his condo. It has a concierge and a view of the city.‖ ―Fuck. A dirty cop. I don‘t need this shit.‖ Jerry pushed his hand through his hair. ―I told you Fromm‘s name. What the hell else do you want from me?‖ ―His home address.‖ ―Good luck with that. I don‘t have it. Ask Ralph. He knows everyone.‖ ―Ralph is taking care of the bar,‖ Noah said. Ralph wouldn‘t leave the bar if there was a nuclear disaster. He‘d just pass out more drinks and maybe take a moment to gulp down a shooter or three. Another song started downstairs, this one slower and sadder. But inside Noah the fast song still played. ―You know people, too.‖ ―I could probably get it for you.‖ Jerry shrugged. ―But why the hell should I?‖ ―Because then I‘ll owe you.‖ Noah thought of other musicians he could call who might know Fromm‘s address. But it would take time and Jerry was here. ―I promise you, you‘d rather have me owe you than Fromm. When I say I‘ll do something, I do it.‖ Jerry grimaced. ―You got me there. I suppose a phone call or two won‘t hurt.‖ It took five calls before Jerry found someone who knew the address. He handed Noah the phone to talk to his friend, a limo driver who said he was waiting for his passengers outside the Grand Ol‘ Opry. He gave Noah the address and directions. Noah thanked him and hung up, then turned to leave. ―I won‘t go with you,‖ Jerry said, the creases between his eyebrows deepening. ―I‘m not asking you.‖ Noah walked away, the directions memorized. Jerry wouldn‘t be able to handle it. Noah knew only one person who could. Lila. Inside him the fire smoldered, the beast about to escape.

Chapter Forty-one

The ten-foot-tall gates of Fromm‘s fenced estate stood open, illuminated by a street light in this community of privilege, whispering, ―Come in, come in,‖ like the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood. But Noah knew in the real story, the wolf ate Little Red and her grandmother. And in the real Beauty and the Beast, the woodsman‘s beautiful daughter stole his treasures and ran away with the muscular blacksmith. But this was no fairy tale, and Noah wasn‘t a trusting, small girl who couldn‘t tell her grandmother from a wolf. His car was parked three blocks away at the end of a dark cul-de-sac. He‘d hoofed it from there, his fast walk speedier than most people could run, passing a few cars with purring motors and a Harley, its roar echoing the one in Noah‘s head. A roar loud and angry enough that he felt it could shake the earth and the sky. So furious it could crack buildings. This building. Fromm‘s house. Noah planned to crack it wide open. He stood outside the fence in the inky shadow of an elm tree. The house was dark, striking a wrong note. He guessed they normally left the place lit up like a Christmas tree in December, whether they were home or not. Anyone who owned a three-story house bigger than 10,000 square feet wasn‘t worried about carbon footprints. Carter Fromm wanted to leave elephant-sized prints that shouted, ―I came, I prospered, and I want every peon to know my name.‖ He killed, too. But he probably thought that was a dirty little secret he‘d take to his grave. Noah was ready to help him to his grave sooner than nature planned. Despite the darkness, Noah sensed the presence of at least one person, maybe more. Listening hard, he sifted through the night sounds, the distant roar of traffic, a snatch of music from a neighbor‘s home on the left, a baby‘s cry from a home on the right, a laugh track on a TV show from across the street. Shutting out the other sounds, he narrowed his hearing toward Fromm‘s house. It came softly. A hushing sound. In, out, in, out. Coming from a back room. Someone inside the big house breathing. And he knew this person was watching the images on the security cameras placed on top of the fence, waiting for someone to sneak in. Waiting for Noah. Another sound came to him, another breather in the same room. ―You don‘t have to stay,‖ Rochester said, an edge of irritation in his voice. ―If anything happens, I‘ll come and get you.‖ ―I‘m staying.‖ A male voice, tense, vibrated with nerves. ―I might see something you miss.‖

Rochester didn‘t reply, but Noah heard a noise that might have been teeth grinding. He hoped so. Hoped Rochester ground his teeth to nubs. Neither voice was Lila‘s. Where was she? He slid closer to the fence, listening intently. Lila‘s life might depend on what he heard. A sound pulled his attention from the house. It was probably a night animal, but he concentrated on the sound. Quiet, soft breaths that socked him in his gut. Lila. He recognized the rhythm of her breaths, the pattern of her breathing. Oddly, the breaths came from below the ground, past the big house, in a smaller place at the back of the property. Immediately he knew three things. They had imprisoned her. She was alive. She was constrained in some way. If she wasn‘t constrained, Rochester would not have spoken. He would be dead by Lila‘s lethal hand. Rochester‘s companion was most likely Carter Fromm. The human side of Noah wanted to face Fromm and ask ―Why? Why do all this to capture me?‖ The dragon part of him wanted to flame him until he incinerated, leaving ashes and a few pieces of bones. Anger swelled up inside Noah. Tonight he liked the dragon better. The smolder in his belly heated. His body expanded, a process painful but bearable. He fed the anger, fed the flames. He wanted to grow bigger, wider, stronger. He wanted wings that would flap out and fly him to the roof. He wanted claws that would rip off the roof and send the ceiling tumbling onto the two men who waited for Noah to walk into the house like a rooster into the jaws of a hound. He concentrated, his palms stinging with the claws trying to break through his skin. His clothes tightened around his growing dragon body. His skin grew tight, too, especially on his back, which itched as though fire ants crawled beneath his skin. Holding his breath, he ignored the discomfort and concentrated on the fire in his belly, stoking it, seeing it flame up...and then…the fire died down, shriveling into smoldering rocks. He slumped against the elm tree, his breaths harsh. Despair traced acid in his lungs where there should have been flames. Perhaps he needed to be in immediate danger for the change to stick, the way he‘d been in the shop when Skimmer shot Lila. Even then, he‘d stopped transforming partway through the process. He‘d breathed fire but never reached the full dragon. His dragon form was probably atrophied by the thousands of years in this human body, and he would never reach his former height and depth. Never grow wings. He pushed away from the tree, his mind whipping through scenarios of what he could do to salvage this. To save Lila, he needed more than a stream of fire. He needed to give himself up. Trade himself for her.

The flame shot up inside him. High and angry. He lifted his head, his nostrils flaring, his mind doing a one hundred eighty turn. He didn‘t trust Fromm or Rochester to give her up. They‘d killed before. He didn‘t have proof, but he didn‘t need proof. His simmering belly told him it was true, told him they would kill again. But so had he killed before. Many years ago, to protect his villagers and himself, but a dragon never forgot. And he‘d do it again. This time he wouldn‘t look for a peaceful way to handle it. This time they‘d taken Lila. This time his anger overpowered his mercy. This time he would act first, think later. First he needed to break Lila out without either of them getting shot. Second he needed to kill Fromm and Rochester. He moved away from the front of the house, following the fence around to the back. He walked silently except for a few crackles of leaves and small branches beneath his soles, too quiet for Fromm and Rochester to hear. Sometimes, he thought, the quiet was deadlier than the loud. Unlike a snake, he wouldn‘t hiss before he struck.

Chapter Forty-two

Wood creaked. Curled on the bed, her back to the camera, Lila stiffened. The hairs on the back of her neck rose and she held her breath. Someone was breaking in, pulling off the wood covering the windows on the far side of the room. Then she smelled him. Noah. Oh God, Noah was here. Her heart thumped so loud she was sure he heard it. Not turning, not daring, she whispered his name, as soft as a breath. ―Noah.‖ Nothing for a few seconds, just the sounds of the house: The clock ticking seconds of her life away. A nearly silent furnace kicking in. A rush of hot air murmuring from the vents. A pipe knocking. ―Lila,‖ he said, his voice so low she strained to hear it. She put her fist over her mouth, stopping herself from calling out and telling him to hurry, to come and save her. As though she were a princess in a fairytale, when she was more likely to be the princess‘s bodyguard. Only it wasn‘t the princess she needed to save. It was Noah, her dragon king. ―Go,‖ she whispered. ―Go, before they catch you.‖ In reply, the wood groaned. She groaned, too, to cover the noise of Noah‘s breaking and entering. No alarm went off. It could be a silent one. Or it could be that Small had alarms on the grounds and not the house. Or it could be that Small wanted him to come into the basement. Wanted to entrap him. She clamped shut the questions in her mind. She needed to act, not think. ―Oh God,‖ she said loudly. She pushed to a sitting position and faced the camera, her hand over her stomach to keep the attention on her. ―Oh God.‖ Still sitting, she rocked from side to side, the springs beneath the mattress squeaking. ―Camera,‖ she murmured, her hands splayed over her mouth to hide the opening and closing of her mouth, the shaping of her lips. ―Opposite wall from me. In the middle.‖ A dark figure slithered down the wall, head first like Spider Man, a skill she hadn‘t realized he‘d possessed. She didn‘t think he was in the camera‘s view, but fear clogged her throat. She cleared it and wailed, inserting a thin shriek of fear that came too easily. Watch me, watch me, watch me. In her peripheral, the dark figure slipped. She jumped off the bed and screamed, her mouth open wide, putting into it the full power of her lungs to hide the sound of him hitting the floor.

She heard the thump but was sure no one else did. Closing her lips, she shut off her voice mid scream, then slumped onto the edge of the bed and stared straight at the camera. Letting them know the scream was for them. ―Bastards.‖ She didn‘t disguise the hate in her tone, the disgust, but this time she hid her fear. Not for herself but for Noah. Was he all right? Oh please, God, let him be all right. ―Cowards.‖ She raised her fists toward the camera. ―Come and get me. Hand to hand. I‘ll take you on.‖ No reply came, and her fists and her gaze lowered. She was speaking to voyeurs. They were probably snickering at her. On the floor, the shadow pulled itself further into the room. Pushed something out of its way. A water bottle. Yes! Water bottle. Her heart thumped again, this time with excitement. Like a marching band hitting the drums before a big game. She jumped to her feet again and turned on her heel. Stomping to the refrigerator, she made as much noise as she could. She opened the door, and the refrigerator light spilled out into her side of the room. Her prison. She couldn‘t hear any movements from Noah, not even the friction of material sliding against the carpet. Good. He knew she had an idea and was waiting to see what it was. When she straightened, she hugged six water bottles against her chest. She shivered, not because of the coolness, but because of how much she needed this to work. If it didn‘t— No. No, no, no. Hell no. That was not going to happen. This was going to work. She marched to the bars. Set five bottles at her feet, keeping one in her hand. ―This time, I‘m going to hit you.‖ Her angry tone echoed the fury shaking her body. How dare anyone do this to her? Use her as a stalking goat? ―I‘m going to knock your damn camera out if I have to use every bottle in the place.‖ Sucking in her breath, she aimed, then threw the sucker at the camera as hard as she could, putting her muscle into it, her hatred, her desire to kill. It sailed through the bars and flew high, arching inches from the ceiling, curving in a wide arc, heading straight for the black dot of the camera— Exhaling, she slapped her hands together in a prayer position. Please, please, oh God, please, please, please... It missed by an inch, the bottle clanking to the floor. She bit back a cry, then remembered Noah and let the cry out, with all her disappointment and rage and sorrow. Let them think they were getting to her. When they discovered the truth, it would be all the sweeter. She threw another bottle and another while Noah slunk to the wall. She heard the friction of clothes rubbing against the wall, but never looked at him. The last bottle bounced on the floor, and her teeth clamped together so tightly her jaw hurt.

Her arms rigid at her sides, she tramped to the fridge again, making as much noise as possible. As she stomped back, her gaze swept the wall and froze upon the dark shadow crouching beneath the clock. Her step faltered. She caught herself and moved, always moving, always going forward. Nothing was going to stop her. ~~~ Noah heard Lila‘s rough breaths, felt her frustration, her anxiety, her fear, her anger, her resolve to survive. She was a boiling cauldron of emotion. Because of him. She was doing this for him. Behind those bars because of him. Fire churned in his belly. He remained two feet in front of the wall, crouched, ready to leap the next time she threw a bottle. Her footsteps reached the bars again. Her inhales and exhales traveled to his ears. He pictured her arm drawing back, getting ready to throw. Then she made a sound in her throat, the grunt she gave each time she whipped her arm forward and let go of the bottle. He held his breath, waiting for the bottle to clear the bars. Unable to look behind him, because he needed to jump. He needed to count on his instincts. Even if she hit her mark, the plastic bottle was unlikely to damage anything. One dragon, two dragon... Jump! He leapt, his head and fist high, keeping close to the wall. He heard the bottle swirl in the air, and he silently swore. It wasn‘t going to work. His timing was off. A half second too late. The bottle was going to hit the wall before he slammed the camera with his fist. Too late to change course. The jump was taking him up and he couldn‘t stop it any more than he could stop a speeding train. Anger tore through him. It didn‘t matter. He would break the camera himself. In either case, they would come. The difference was that if they thought the bottle broke the camera, they might come slower, the danger less immediate. But if they suspected he was here, they would burst in before he had time to— The bottle hit the camera, smashing it, tiny shards spurting out, hitting Noah‘s face. His muscles relaxed, making his body heavy. He dropped to the floor, landing on the balls of his feet, his knees bending, his palms smacking the carpet. Inside him, exultation bloomed. The bottle worked! Behind him, Lila laughed and cried, the two sounds mingling, ending in gasps. He pushed up, wheeled around and ran to her. They had to act fast. Rochester and his friend might be hurrying out of the oversized house right now. Lila‘s relieved mix of laughter and cries stopped abruptly. Her fingers curled around the vertical black bars. ―Get me out of here,‖ she said, no more laughter or tears, her voice hard and angry. Her

cheeks were damp but her mouth was set and her eyes held the same determined look he‘d seen in warriors through the years. She was a sister warrior, ready to fight to the death. A flame leapt inside his belly, hotter and higher. Her words and her warlike expression hit a switch that turned up his heat. He smiled. Cold as ice on the outside. Hot as burning coals on the inside. ―Move back.‖ She raised her eyebrows but loosened her grip and stepped back. ―These bars are strong.‖ ―I‘m not going to pull them down.‖ The heat reached his chest, filling it, expanding it. He inhaled, his lungs warming. ―I‘m going to huff and puff and burn the bars down.‖ The tension eased from her face, and she backed up a few steps. Then someone was running down the steps. Too soon, dammit, too soon with him trapped in this useless human body. The steps reached the basement. Noah whipped around and saw Rochester at the opening to the stairway. His expression grim, he held a gun aimed not at him. At Lila. ―Make any sudden moves,‖ he said, ―and your girlfriend is going to be a dead woman.‖

Chapter Forty-three

Another man walked in behind Rochester. Lila took him in with one sharp glance, knowing her life or death might depend on him. He was fortyish, hair receding, left leg dragging slightly, his tight mouth holding back pain, a square-cut diamond ring on his finger. Not overly tall, about her height, but she‘d bet her bank account this was Small. The man who killed Izzy. Her muscles tightened and her hands flexed. ―Put him behind bars.‖ Small barked the order, excitement flickering in his face. He stared at Noah with greedy hunger, the way a dieter would stare at a double chocolate cream cake garnished with strawberries and nuts. ―I‘ll call the doctor as soon as he‘s locked up.‖ ―Take off your shirt and pants.‖ Rochester moved his gaze to Noah, then quickly back at Lila, not taking anything for granted. His cop skills better than his ethics, damn him. ―Behind bars first,‖ the other man said. ―I won‘t feel safe until he‘s behind bars.‖ Rochester‘s jaw clenched. ―He might be hiding something in his clothes. But if you‘d rather handle this yourself...‖ Small gave him a glare that said they were never going to be best buds, the room too small for their two alpha egos. Lila wondered if she and Noah could use this palpable dislike. Noah took off his jacket, his shoes, his turtleneck, his pants, leaving on his black boxers and black socks, his movements elegant even under duress. His face remained calm, almost serene, never showing the anger that tightened every muscle in her body. After Noah kicked the clothes toward the men, Small edged around him and unlocked the door. Lila tensed, ready to run forward. ―You try to run,‖ Rochester said, ―and I‘ll kill you.‖ She lifted her chin and sent Noah a silent message. Don‘t let him get away with this. Attack him. Kill them both. He‘s going to kill me anyway. If she died... Well, she didn‘t want to die yet, but if it happened she wanted to take Rochester and Small with her. Noah shifted to look at her. His eyes had changed color, red-orange added to the blue-green, a flame glowing in his pupils. She sucked in her breath then lowered her lids and closed her expression, not wanting Rochester and Small to see the anticipation building inside her or the fire heating inside Noah.

Noah stepped inside her prison. The gate clanked shut behind him, and Small shuffled toward Noah‘s clothes. She wanted to run to Noah, throw her arms around him, hug and kiss him. But she held back. She would not show weakness in front of the two men. She would not show emotion. Noah nodded approval, his own lids lowering. Though they didn‘t say a word, it seemed to Lila that their thoughts were attuned and their souls communicated. A crazy thought with no validation, but she clung to the comfort it gave her. His face impassive, Noah watched Small search his clothes, take his wallet and keys out of his pocket. Slide the belt out of the loops. When it was done, Small threw the clothes at the bars, falling in a heap on the floor. ―Might be better to keep them,‖ Rochester said. ―I don‘t want him to get sick.‖ Small narrowed his eyes and peered at them, a critical look on his face as though assessing their health. ―What are you going to do to us?‖ Lila asked. ―Nothing permanent.‖ His eyes shifted left. ―I‘ll take a little blood from your friend. You‘ll both be out of here by morning.‖ He plodded to the door, Rochester following, their footsteps climbing the stairs. As soon as Lila heard them reach the first floor hall, she turned to Noah. ―We‘ll both be dead by morning,‖ she said. His eyes burned hotter. ―Not if we kill them first.‖ ~~~ Noah knelt on the floor to collect his clothes. While he dressed, Lila dropped onto the bed, rolled onto her side, and watched him. Finished, he curled against her, breathing in her scent, treasuring her warmth through their clothes. His intent wasn‘t to make love, just to hold her, to have that connection before Fromm and Rochester returned and the fight for their lives began. She melted against him, as though of the same mind. Living in the moment, the second, the time it took to inhale one breath and exhale another. Every breath and every instant of contact precious. It had taken him nearly three thousand years to figure out that this bond with another being made life worth living. Before this he had his music. Now he had everything. He would not let it go without a fight. ―I love you,‖ he said. She rolled onto her back. Smiled a sad smile. Didn‘t say anything but her eyes glowed with warmth and she twisted to face him. Tilting her head forward, she leaned her brow against his chin. After a moment, she pulled back and looked into his eyes. Her mouth softened, her lips parted. She raised a hand to his cheek and brushed her fingers along his skin, her fingertips warm.

―You‘re the only man I‘ve spent a lot of time with and never once thought I‘d be doing the world a favor if I ruined your chances of reproduction.‖ He laughed, low in his throat, the blood in his veins pulsing with joy. No matter what happened, he thought, I will take this with me. Her near confession that she loved him. It was enough for him. Enough. ―I believe you did harbor that thought when we met,‖ he said, still laughing on the inside. They were behind bars in an improvised basement prison, but plastered against her he felt free and happy, as if he were walking outside on a glorious day, sunlight sparkling down on them. ―Did I?‖ She smiled, her warm brown eyes echoing the happiness he was experiencing. ―I can‘t remember. Must be something in that blood you gave me.‖ Her smile faded and she frowned. His own joy dampened, but a bit of it stayed inside him. No matter what happened, they‘d shared this. And more. Much more. ―That‘s what this is all about, isn‘t it?‖ she asked. ―Your blood.‖ ―Yes.‖ She looked down at the sheet, away from his eyes. ―That‘s why Izzy came to your place. She didn‘t want to get away from Kevin. She was spying on you.‖ ―She was sick.‖ He put a finger below her chin and nudged her face up until she looked at him again. ―An addict. And in the end, she was sorry.‖ ―In the end she was murdered.‖ She stared into his eyes, her gaze steady, her face not showing any weakness. ―Like we might be soon.‖ The fire smoldered in his belly. A plan formed in his head. One that wouldn‘t please his warrior woman. He rolled onto his back. She shifted closer to him and laid her hand on his chest, her fingers splayed over his heart, her right leg bent over his thighs. ―How did it happen? The change? How did you become a man?‖ The question startled him out of the thoughts darkening his mind. He laughed, remembering. ―Boredom.‖ She pushed up on her elbow, resting her head on her left hand and smiling down at him. Amused. Interested. Like a man and woman talking after a few dates, he thought. Learning more about each other, sharing secrets. ―I was a dragon for about one thousand years. Mother had departed long before that, when I was perhaps twenty years old. She left me the cave in China, where I stayed for many years.‖ ―What did you do in your cave?‖ He frowned. That time of his life had been long ago and unremarkable. ―The usual.‖ ―Eating humans?‖ she asked. He smiled. ―Not much meat on the skinny humans around Yangshuo. I was a fish eater.‖ ―I love the Chinese in you.‖ She traced the upward slant of his eyebrows. ―It was a pleasant place until it became too crowded, humans invading my space. Dragons are

solitary creatures. We aren‘t fond of sharing. I moved to the Welsh coast and took my treasures with me.‖ He gazed at her. ―There were goats nearby, and the herder played a pipe. A primitive instrument he‘d carved, but the sound infatuated me. I didn‘t leave my cave often, except to feed and look for treasures, but I went to watch him. He wasn‘t alone.‖ ―Ah. Chicks dug musicians back then, too.‖ He smiled at the warm amusement in her face. ―Her name was Isolde. She was beautiful.‖ Her face brightened with interest. ―You fell in love.‖ The memories rushed through his mind, fast moving pictures. Isolde laughing, the sunlight shining on her face. Golden hair, gold-tinged skin. Love for the goat herder had made her beautiful. Love and youth. He had wanted to snatch it, to own it, another treasure to admire. ―Not love.‖ He heard the wryness in his voice of a lesson learned the hard way. ―I wanted to add her to my collection.‖ She made a face that wiped the pictures from his mind and took him back to now. He smiled at her, a lazy smile, as though this interlude would never end, even as the smoldering heat inside his belly warned him of trouble ahead. ―I ached for her. It was the first time I desired a living being. And something else was happening.‖ ―What?‖ She smiled a little, a slight curve of her lips, waiting for him to entertain her. Like a storyteller from long ago, with children gathered around him. ―The other dragons were disappearing. We were being crowded out. Humans were increasing at a rapid rate. Dragons rarely bred. Despite our size and strength, extinction was inevitable.‖ ―Dying?‖ ―Dying or evolving.‖ He remembered the long days of nothingness. After a while it seemed as if he were dwindling to nothingness, too, the heat in his belly turning cold. He shivered. She rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped her leg tighter around his thigh, then higher, over his hip, warming him. ―Tell me about the girl first,‖ she ordered. He laughed at her. That was the most womanly thing she‘d said to him. ―It was over quickly.‖ Sometime he would tell her about Izzy. If they didn‘t die in the struggle to come. ―I knew there was only one way to get her. I had to transform into a human.‖ ―You changed into one? Just like that?‖ ―Not just like that. It seemed to take forever, though in reality it encompassed a summer‘s time.‖ Time watching the goat herder play his pipe, enticing the young Isolde to a bed of grass. ―I wanted it badly, and my body changed.‖ ―I know your body can change, but still...‖ She frowned. ―What about the girl? Did you get her?‖ ―I bought her from her father.‖ ―That was lovely.‖ She gave him a look that said she didn‘t like his old self much. ―In your human form?‖ ―I was human by day, but I couldn‘t sustain the human shape for twenty-four hours. Not yet.

By night, I became a dragon again.‖ She sat up. ―Beauty and the beast!‖ He sighed and rolled onto his back. Put his arms under his head. If this was his last night on earth, he didn‘t want to spend it talking about the past. ―The ending is wrong. Beauty stole the best of my treasures and fled with the blacksmith.‖ ―Not the goat herder?‖ ―She betrayed him, too.‖ ―Ha! She was a slut. You chased after them?‖ ―No.‖ ―Your heart was broken?‖ ―No.‖ She rolled her eyes. ―Then what?‖ ―The truth is I was glad to be rid of her.‖ Her empty chatter, her vanity, her greed. She was the mirror that made him see what he‘d become, the empty life he‘d lived for so long, caring only for inanimate things. ―The loss of my treasures was my payment for stupidity. A payment for a lesson learned.‖ A laugh huffed out of her mouth. ―I‘ve had a few lessons like that. So you remained a man?‖ ―I had to. For the pipes. By then I knew what I really loved was music.‖ He sought for words, but they didn‘t come, just out of reach. Words were more ephemeral than music. Words could be lies. Music was always truth. ―Music filled me in indescribable ways. My soul was dying, and music brought me back to life. It wasn‘t Beauty I fell in love with that day, it was the pipes.‖ ―Poor Beauty.‖ He smiled and decided she need never know that Izzy and Beauty were the same woman. Some secrets were worth keeping, even if they happened 2500 years ago. ―After Beauty deserted me, I traded the pipes from the goat herder for one of the treasures Beauty had left behind. Once I had the pipes, I needed to be human to play them. I needed fingers to play them instead of claws. I needed breath that didn‘t scorch my instrument when my emotions heated.‖ ―There you go. The fairy tale really was a happily ever after,‖ she said, and in one instant her face turned from gently smiling to unbearably sad. Like a stone weeping. ―Until now.‖ He pulled her down to him and she didn‘t resist, resting her head on his chest. He closed his eyes and heard musical notes, recognizing them as ring tones coming from the big house, the sound traveling easily to his ears through the empty yard. Fromm said something, his sharp voice telling whoever it was that he‘d expected a reply to his call right away. The same tone Chinese Emperors had used to condemn subjects to death. Fromm spoke again. ―Tomorrow then,‖ he said, his voice sharp. ―Early in the morning. If you want me to fund your drug study, you‘ll be here.‖ He hung up and told Rochester that the doctor wouldn‘t be there until morning. That he needed his sleep and that Rochester needed to stay awake and make sure Long and the woman

didn‘t escape. ―I‘m not going down there,‖ Rochester said. There was silence. Lila lifted her head from his chest to hear better. Noah pictured Rochester and Fromm glaring at each other, two attack dogs with bared teeth. ―Then keep watch on the cameras outside. If he escapes, I won‘t be happy. And if I‘m not happy, you‘re not getting my money.‖ Fromm slammed out, not waiting for any response. His money giving him the upper hand. Noah‘s small fear that there might be another spy device in the room dissolved, and in the midst of danger, he harbored a small sense of happiness. Living not for the hour or the moment, but for the second. Lila relaxed her head on his chest again. For moments, there was only the sound of their breaths as he savored the closeness. Then Lila sighed and shifted. ―The other dragons?‖ she asked. ―You think they‘re men and women, too?‖ ―Not human.‖ Laughter rumbled inside him, along with the joy and the fire and the worry. Strange companions. Tonight might be his last on earth and he was making room for it all, fitting it all in. ―Humans weren‘t admired by dragons. We of course knew that dragons were the most admired creature in this world. But we also admired birds. We thought of them as our little cousins.‖ ―The wings!‖ She lifted her head. ―You think the dragons became birds.‖ ―Not any birds. Eagles. Living high on cliff tops.‖ Not alone. With families. Some might have many families. Dynasties. Others might have been killed by predators. Possibly the most dangerous predator of all. Man. ―Do you miss your wings?‖ she asked. As he pondered her question, he felt the membrane growing on his backbone, an uncomfortable protrusion against his skin. ―I did, but I wanted the pipes more than wings.‖ ―You can‘t have it all.‖ She sat up in one smooth move, staring down at him, smiling. ―What are you doing?‖ he asked. Her hands went to the hem of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head, tossing it on the floor, leaving her in a flesh colored bra. She stood, her hands on the waist of her jeans. ―This might be our last night together. We‘re not going to talk all night, are we?‖ He sat up, bringing his hands to his shirt, tugging on the buttons. ―I was never much of a talker.‖ ―I certainly don‘t feel like sleeping.‖ ―Me neither.‖ He finished unbuttoning, and discovered this was something else besides running that he could do at dragon speed. He just needed the right incentive. He stood. She kicked away her jeans, and with his gaze he followed the curve of her hips and down her long, shapely legs. Some things, he vowed, he could do slowly. As slowly as they had hours left in the night. Tonight was about love.

Tomorrow was about survival. He stepped out of his pants and reached for her...

Chapter Forty-four

Lila heard the car purr into the driveway, and in one instant she went from sleepy contentment, the aftermath of great sex, to all senses alert. On the bed next to her, Noah stiffened and pushed up on his elbow, as though an alarm screamed in his ear. Fully dressed except for her bare feet, Lila vaunted off the bed and crouched defensively, her hands up in a chopping position. The car pulled up to the front of the house, the engine stopped, and she listened to a car door open. It was happening soon. The men would be coming down to them any moment. She needed to put on her shoes. But first... ―I‘m going to pee. Be right back.‖ Damned if she was going to fight with a full bladder. He nodded. Like her, he‘d dressed after making love, even putting on his shoes. She curved her hand on his neck and pulled back in surprise. It was like touching a hot burner on a stove. She gave him a wild glance, but he didn‘t appear to notice, his attention focused on the stairway. She hurried to the bathroom. A door slammed on the first floor while she was in the bathroom. She heard Fromm‘s voice upstairs, calling orders to someone, but she couldn‘t make out the words. Noah had told her Small‘s name during the night. Not that it mattered. She didn‘t need his name to kill him. Just an opening. Finished, she washed her hands. Whatever happened, she was going with clean hands. She glanced up at the tall ceiling, as though she could see up to Heaven. Hey, Mom, at least you taught me cleanliness. And you taught me that I needed to take care of myself. Taught her by omission, but she‘d take it. No whining, just going forward. That was her creed. She wiped her hands on a lush green towel then hurried into her prison. Weak rays of sunlight seeped through the windows in the other half of the room, leaving their unlit side as shadowy as she felt inside. Noah stood so still he could have been a statue, his face slanted up, a slight frown between his eyes as he listened to the voices rumbling down to them. ―I won‘t drain his blood,‖ a new male voice said from upstairs, not far from the stairs. ―I‘m not asking you to drain it today,‖ Fromm said, ―but when I do, you damn well better do it. Either that or kiss the fund money goodbye.‖ No answer came, and Lila imagined the doctor glaring at Fromm, wishing he‘d drop dead from an oversized ego. She heard another voice, Rochester‘s, joining the two men, his tone curt,

as though he had a lousy night. Good. She wished him many more. Though if things worked out as she hoped, it might be his last. She sat down on the bed and jerked on her socks and her running shoes, double tying the strings. Fromm‘s voice traveled to her, saying they were going downstairs now, his tone high with excitement. The doctor‘s reply was firmer than before, insisting he stay upstairs until everything was ready. She translated that to mean he‘d stay out of sight until Rochester did the dirty work. The door to the top of the stairway opened. She tugged the last knot tight and jumped to her feet. Looking at Noah, she leaned forward to kiss him before the action began—but something stopped her, pulled her back. Something wrong. Her breath sucked in. Was he getting...bigger?

Chapter Forty-five

Noah watched the doorway as though it were a lit bomb. They were coming to take his blood. He could handle that, knowing that sometime during the process they would get sloppy. Sometime he would have the chance to counterattack and take them down. But they were also coming to kill Lila. They hadn‘t said it aloud, but they didn‘t have to. That he could not bear. His belly was on fire. Smoke filled his lungs, yet it didn‘t sear the membrane, didn‘t hinder his breaths, didn‘t choke him. His organs were thickening, smoke proof, heat proof, flame proof, his insides no longer human. Rochester entered the room first, his gun up, his step cautious. He turned on the lights of the first part of the room and saw they were still behind bars. His hold on the gun relaxed, his stride loosened, more confident. Fool. Human fool. Noah‘s belly rumbled. Fromm stepped in next, and Noah knew he‘d waited to make sure that everything was okay. The coward. Two cowards, because Rochester needed a gun to face him, even with the bars between them. Fromm stepped around Rochester, his breaths panting, like a man at the peak of sexual excitement. Noah held the smoke in, breathing in the basement air through his nostrils. Not time for the fire yet. Soon. ―We‘re not going to harm you,‖ Fromm said, his eyes lit with such glee that Noah struggled not to roar out with fire on the spot. If he did, Fromm would jump behind Rochester, and Rochester would— ―I just want to take some blood from you,‖ Fromm continued. ―Mr. Long, I apologize for locking you and your friend in my basement, but I was quite sure you wouldn‘t consent to my plans.‖ Noah stared at him, letting the contempt in his gaze speak for him. Then he realized that between the dim lighting and Fromm‘s weak human eyes, he couldn‘t see his derision. ―Asshole,‖ Lila said. Fromm kept his gaze on Noah, his mouth tightening, his face turning red. ―I see that neither of

you is ready to cooperate. Let me phrase it in a way that you can understand. You do what I say or I‘ll order Detective Rochester to shoot the woman.‖ Noah stepped in front of Lila. ―You want me to shoot you first?‖ Rochester had the look of one of the barbarians invading the Welsh village near Noah‘s cave, bent on rape and pillage. Noah remembered his fury. He may not have had much to do with the village, but it was his village. He‘d known every birth and every death. Every pregnant woman and every man who‘d really impregnated her, not always the one whose bed she shared at night. He remembered the barbarians‘ surprise and fear when he appeared and took them out with one long blast of fire. He was going to revel in Rochester‘s expression when he did the same to him. Lila stepped around him, pushing him to the side. He allowed it. His time was coming soon. ―Lila,‖ Fromm said, ―I‘m going to throw a pair of handcuffs into your cell. I want you to pick them up and put them on your friend, behind his back. Do that and when I unlock the doors, I‘ll let you out.‖ ―You killed my sister.‖ Lila put her hands on her hips. ―Why do you think I‘ll handcuff him?‖ ―Because if you don‘t, I‘ll have Rochester shoot you right here and now.‖ ―Then it looks like we‘re at a standoff.‖ She braced her legs apart and bent her knees slightly. ―Kill me, and who‘s going to tie up my friend?‖ Fromm sighed as though sad, but Noah saw the anticipation in his eyes, the joy that danced in his veins at putting Lila and Noah in this position. Listening hard, Noah even heard the fast bump-bump-bump of Fromm‘s heart. The heartbeat of a man in the fervor of an adrenaline rush. Rochester glared at Fromm with a sneer of distaste, clearly not enjoying this game. Like the barbarians of old, he wanted action, not banter. ―Do you think I don‘t have a Plan B?‖ Fromm asked. ―I‘m not doing this for my pleasure, but I have no choice. If your friend‘s blood heals me, it will heal others. I‘m offering myself as a guinea pig. Someday I‘ll be as revered as Mother Teresa.‖ ―You‘re delusional,‖ Lila said. ―Try Jeffrey Dahmer.‖ His mouth tightened again, a white line above the lips. ―Let me put it another way. If you don‘t do as I say, I‘ll instruct our officer to shoot Mr. Long in his genitals.‖ Noah held back a roar of fire. Despite Fromm‘s gaze that studied him then returned to Lila, he didn‘t flinch. He wanted to flame the two men, but not now. The heat inside him wasn‘t hot enough to take them out. Not yet. A flutter of fear and panic hit him that maybe the fire wouldn‘t be ready in time. That he would fail. He shoved down the doubts. He couldn‘t think of failure or success. He couldn‘t think. He needed to feel or his body wouldn‘t change and Lila would be killed.

Anguish washed over him and immediately the fire inside him swelled, stronger than before. His body expanded, the waistband of his slacks too tight. A button popped off, landing on the carpet with a small plop. Lila started and her gaze swept to him. Fromm‘s lips curved smugly, clearly believing she was reacting to his threat. Fool. He didn‘t know Lila didn‘t back down from threats. Didn‘t know she was a warrior woman. ―Throw me the handcuffs,‖ she said. Fromm tossed them, but something was wrong with his throwing arm and they landed inches outside the bars. Rochester choked out a laugh, and Fromm gave him a glare that should have separated his head from his neck. ―You get it,‖ Fromm said. ―Oh no. I‘m holding the gun on them.‖ ―I‘ll hold it.‖ Rochester‘s sneer said what his words didn‘t, and he turned his gaze to Lila. ―You get it.‖ Noah didn‘t have to look at her downturned face to know she smiled, to know what she was going to say, but he did out of pure enjoyment. Because one thing he didn‘t know was tonight‘s ending. He could not deny the possibility that this time the barbarians would prevail and he might not survive. Back in the day when he‘d killed the barbarians, they didn‘t have guns. But this time he had one advantage he‘d lacked then. This time Lila was at his side. She put her hands on her hips again, but not angrily. Provocatively. Standing tall and proud, with her head up, her body on display, shouting without words that she was strong and beautiful. ―Do you really want to work for this asshole?‖ She looked straight at Rochester. ―You could kill him, rob the house of everything of value. I bet he keeps money around, a lot of it. He‘s the type of man who thinks money makes his tiny dick look bigger.‖ ―Bitch!‖ Fromm‘s face splotched with red again. ―And jewelry,‖ she continued, her gaze on Rochester‘s face not wavering, just as Noah knew she would never waver. ―You can‘t tell me he doesn‘t have a shitload of jewelry in this place.‖ ―Shoot her! Shoot the bitch.‖ ―Look at him.‖ She took one hand off her hip and gestured, a rude twist of her hand that needed no interpretation. ―He‘s so yellow, he could be a sunflower.‖ Her lip curled. ―A flabby sunflower.‖ ―I said shoot her.‖ Spittle came out of Fromm‘s mouth, landing on Rochester‘s face. Noah saw Rochester‘s cheek muscle twitch. ―You‘ll be doing your duty as a cop by taking him out,‖ Lila continued. ―He‘s a murderer. A double murderer, maybe more. He killed my sister and her boyfriend when he didn‘t need them anymore. After this is done, what makes you think you won‘t be next?‖ ―This makes me sure he won‘t kill me.‖ Rochester shifted the gun an inch. ―This and the instructions I left with my lawyer and a cousin in case of my early death.‖ He aimed the gun

lower, at Noah‘s knees. ―Now get the handcuffs.‖ Her expression blanked and she took her hand from her hip. The room vibrated with her emotions, her anger and her sense of defeat. But her shoulders remained square as she stepped to the bars and lowered to the floor until she knelt like a supplicant. Rage expanded Noah‘s body, buttons down the front of his shirt popping, all but the top one. The two men watched her, not noticing the fallen buttons. The red faded from Fromm‘s face, his breath came faster and he gave off a whiff of testosterone as he stared at her with lust in his eyes. Noah feared what Fromm would do to her before he killed her. The last button popped. The buttons on his sleeve cuffs popped. On his back, bony protrusions pushed out. His wings. Her knees on the carpet, her butt in the air, Lila squeezed her arm between the bars up to her elbow, then dragged the keys into their cell. Without a word, she rose to her feet, holding the handcuffs. ―Put them on him,‖ Rochester ordered. She turned toward Noah and her eyes flared wide. He wondered what he looked like and whether his face had changed. She stood in front of him, her body blocking their view. Right now the two men were looking at her. But when she moved behind him— ―Tell your boyfriend to turn around,‖ Rochester said. ―I want to see you put them on. And don‘t fake it. I‘ll be listening for the click.‖ Her gaze fixed on Noah‘s eyes, and fear flashed across her face. Not for herself, he knew. For him. He reached out, brushed his fingertips across her cheek. She bit her lip, nodded at him and stretched her mouth into a wobbly smile. He smiled back as the fire in his belly burned inside his lungs. ―Turn!‖ Fromm said, his voice a screech. ―Turn or I‘ll order Rochester to shoot her.‖ Noah turned and put his hand behind his back. Though his buttons had fallen off, his shirt hugged his arms and shoulders. His black slacks squeezed him like a sausage casing, the seams pulling. Any second, the rays of sun coming through the windows would be brighter and they‘d see what he was becoming. Lila took his left hand, her fingers and palms cool on his heated skin. She curved the handcuffs around it and pushed the two ends together, but his wrists were bigger than the cuffs. They wouldn‘t close. ―I don‘t hear the click,‖ Rochester said, and walked toward the bars, his footsteps scuffing the carpet. ―I don‘t want to shoot, but I will.‖ ―Do it,‖ Noah said, his voice low. ―Do it.‖ He heard her swallow, then she clamped the cuffs together, using her muscles. The metal dug into his skin and his bones, the ends not quite clicking. She breathed loudly, a sob in her throat

that the others wouldn‘t hear, only him. Knowing that she was crying over him, even silently, made him angrier, feeding the fire in his belly. Finally there was the snitch of one end locking into the other. She took his other arm, just above the wrist, and this time her hand wasn‘t cool but warm and moist. She repeated the process, and the metal dug in a tiny bit deeper, as did the other wrist now. He was growing fast. Footsteps shuffled on the carpet, Rochester and Fromm stepping further into the room, nearer to them, thinking it was safe. That‘s right. Come close. Closer and closer. ―I want him to go to the bed,‖ Fromm said. ―I want...‖ Noah knew what stopped him. There was nothing on the bed to tie him to. ―He‘s handcuffed,‖ Rochester said. ―Call the doctor. Let‘s get this over and done.‖ ―Quiet! I‘m thinking. I don‘t want to fuck this up just because you‘re in a hurry.‖ Noah could smell Fromm‘s sweat, the bitterness of excitement sliced with fear. There was no mixture of emotion in Noah. Just a growing anger. As his anger expanded, so did the fire and the dragon inside him, his humanity shrinking. ―He won‘t do anything.‖ Rochester‘s voice was sharp with impatience. ―One wrong move on his part and Lila will pay.‖ On the seams of Noah‘s slacks, threads ripped, one by one. He glanced down at his right hip and saw a three-inch gap. The threads on his left him tore. He brought his gaze up. It would not be long. Soon they would see what he was becoming. A beast. A dragon. The most beautiful, most ferocious beast ever. Pinging sounds came. It took Noah a second to realize it was a cell phone. He was caught in two bodies and two worlds, half in Wales twenty-five hundred years ago, half in this basement. Half man, half dragon. ―You can come downstairs,‖ Fromm said into his phone. ―The blood donor is secured. Do it as quickly as you can.‖ The phone clicked, then slid against material as he put it somewhere on his clothing. Footsteps neared the bars, one foot stronger and the other dragging. ―I‘ll open the gate,‖ Fromm said, and there was bluster in his voice, like one of the village boys coming closer to Noah‘s cave in an attempt to appear brave. Fromm, in his private testosterone war, was trying to appear as big of a man as Rochester with his gun. More threads split on Noah‘s slacks, this time down his thighs. The zipper tore apart. Soon Fromm and Rochester would notice. When that happened, Rochester would start shooting. A key slid into the lock. As the barred door opened, the shoulder seams of Noah‘s shirt split. Rochester gasped. ―What the fuck—‖

There was no going back, no stopping. Noah allowed the beast to overpower the human.

Chapter Forty-six

Lila took it all in—Noah‘s transformation, Fromm‘s horror, Rochester‘s muscles contracting, his gaze fixed past her on Noah. Fromm stood between him and Noah, and Rochester stepped sideways to get a better shot at Noah. There was no time to think, no time to feel, only time to act. She lunged forward, swiping her arm out, the edge of her hand knocking Fromm into a metal bar, his forehead connecting with a solid thump. Rochester‘s gaze darted to her but his gun still pointed at Noah. Dismissing her was his mistake. She pushed up on the balls of her feet and leapt at him faster and higher than she‘d ever done before. Noah‘s blood gave her the speed and the height of an Olympian. That‘s what Fromm wanted and would never get. Now she was the obstacle. Rochester swung the gun toward her. Her leg was up and her hand ready when he pressed the trigger, the gun booming. Without thought, she twisted midair into a sideways dive, forming a horizontal projectile flying straight at him. A bullet grazed a path on her thigh, burning and stinging. Behind her Noah roared, the sound of a thousand angry beasts. She barreled into Rochester, knocking him down like a bowling pin, landing on the rug a few yards past him and rolling three times. Behind her, she heard the crack of bars torn away from the walls. They slapped down, crashing to the rug. The concrete floor beneath the carpet shuddered. Fromm scrabbled on all fours toward the stairway, sobbing. Upstairs, the front door opened then closed. Footsteps raced outside, the doctor fleeing. Rats, she thought. The doc was a rat. Noah roared again, and a plume of heat flamed above her. Fromm screamed, a sickening sound that echoed in her mind. The smell of burnt flesh scorched the air. Rochester jumped to his feet. His face twisted with terror, he aimed the gun at Noah. ―No!‖ Lila shouted, her voice lost in Noah‘s roar and the gun‘s blast. Noah‘s roar died. Lila leapt at Rochester and the knuckles of her hand smashed into his trachea. Just as she‘d done only a few days ago in L.A. He stared at her and for one second he didn‘t realize what she‘d done, then his expression changed from fear to horror. He was a dead man, and he knew it. She stood over him, panting, adrenaline still pouring through her like an unstoppable flood. Good, she thought. Good.

He gripped his throat, his mouth opening and closing, trying to breathe, but his broken windpipe wouldn‘t let him. During the next few minutes he would die painfully, unable to even gasp for breath. She turned away. Karma. That‘s what it was. Maybe someday karma would ambush her. But not today. Thank God, not today. Fromm‘s blackened body sprawled a few yards away, smoke wafting into air from his burnt flesh. The stench made her choke and cough, even as she realized it was over. She was alive. Thanks to Noah. With a hiccupping breath, she stepped away from Rochester, twirled around and saw Noah on the ground in front of the broken prison bars. A cry wrenched out of her gut. Oh God, oh God. She ran to him. To the thing, the dragon, the beast he said he was. Her beautiful beast. Her beautiful beast with a hole in his heart, blood pumping out. She crumpled to her knees at his side. The last time he‘d changed in front of her he‘d been more man than dragon. Not this time. His body was nearly two times larger than his human height and width, and she‘d never seen anything so exotic and so beautiful. He was covered with scales, shiny and soft. Only his face remained mostly human. Scales on his cheeks and his jaws, his teeth rearranged in his mouth, sharper and larger than before. His eyes, though... They whirled and shone, a kaleidoscope of blues and greens. A dragon‘s eyes. A beast. Her beast. Her knees by his right hip, she leaned over his chest, setting her hands on the sides of his shoulders. ―Don‘t die.‖ Her tone was angry, fierce. ―Dammit, don‘t you dare die.‖ ―I love you.‖ His voice cracked. ―If you love me, you‘ll live for me.‖ The blue and green whirled slower. She smelled him, a mix of smoke and exotic spices and the human Noah. She choked back tears, refusing to cry. She was a fighter, not a crier. ―You‘re giving up,‖ she said. Pain tightened the skin around his eyes where the scales hadn‘t formed yet. ―I‘ve lived a long life.‖ ―Not with me you haven‘t.‖ She clutched his clawed hand. Claws or fingers, it didn‘t matter. Whatever he was, he was still Noah. ―We‘ve known each other for less than three days. Not nearly long enough.‖ His eyes moistened, shocking her. He managed a smile, and her heart cracked a little. ―If you hear sirens, I want you to leave.‖ ―Fuck that. I‘m not leaving you.‖ A ferocious need drove her. He‘d saved her with his blood. Because of it, she was alive. More than alive. Like him, she was changed. He‘d given his blood to her, and now she ran faster, jumped higher, and flew sideways in the air. Because of his blood, his precious blood that Fromm had killed to get, she had a bit of the

dragon inside her. She looked down at the immense hand she held, the five claws with their killing tips, sharp enough to rip through throats. Sharp enough to... Her breath sucked in and she finished the sentence in her mind... Save him. Sharp enough to save him. Without another thought, she pulled Noah‘s claws across her palm, slicing a path open on the fatty part of the heel. Pain slashed through her, like liquid fire. She bit back a cry and shuddered. He was dying in front of her. With every tick of the clock his face paled, his life force draining. She placed her bleeding hand over his slightly parted mouth. ―Open,‖ she ordered. ―Open wider.‖ His eyes widened. ―Lila...‖ Her left arm shook, the position awkward. She grabbed her wrist with her right hand to hold it steady. A thin stream of blood dribbled into his mouth, staining his teeth and his lips and his face. Dammit. Not enough blood was going into his mouth. ―Open wider and swallow. Come on, come on.‖ There was pleading in her voice and she released his wrist and lowered her cut hand to his lips, so as not to lose any more drops. She wanted him to have it all. She didn‘t know if it would work. Her blood must be mostly human. But her hearing and sense of smell were twenty times sharper than before. And hadn‘t she just turned herself into a flying projectile? That must all mean something. This would work. It had to work. ―Come on. Suck it in. Drink my blood.‖ He swallowed. Staring into her eyes, he swallowed again. And again. She bent down, her back bowed, her head over his dragon neck, her hand limp on his open mouth that closed around her cut. Warm and moist and needy. He didn‘t suck though. Her dragon was no vampire. He licked. She twisted her head sideways. Blood smeared the lower half of his face. But something else was different from a moment earlier. His blue-green eyes smiled at her. A sob burst out of her mouth and she put her uncut hand over her lips, angry at herself. Still, she couldn‘t stop the flood of emotion. Tears insisted on gushing out, a flood of them. From her throat came gulping, hurting sobs. She could no more stop this than she could stop rain. Giving up, she let it pour out: the cries, the sobs, the tears. Then she got up on her knees, her hand still over his mouth, and rocked back and forth, back and forth, tears running a path down her cheeks. She didn‘t care that he saw her crying. It was not the first time. After years of keeping her ―no

crying rule,‖ she was breaking it when she was with him. Breaking it every damn chance she got. His long fingers curled around her wrist, and he moved her hand from his mouth, rose to his knees and held her. She sucked in a sob. Her blood had worked. He was no longer dying. Thank God, thank God, thank God. She wrapped her arms around his back. He‘d shrunk to his human size already, though on each side of his back she felt two bony protuberances. He held her tightly, not saying anything, just holding her. Her tears wound down. She drew back her arms and pushed away from him. Sniffing, she rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. ―Let‘s get out of here,‖ she said. He got to his feet first. She scrambled to hers, though she was shaking from cold and shock and a heavy measure of relief. They were alive. The thought kept running through her mind with a sense of wonder and gratefulness. Alive, alive, alive. But not everyone had made it. The spurt of joy dimmed. She looked down at Rochester, his eyes blank, soulless. While she‘d saved Noah‘s life, Rochester had lost the fight for his. His twisted features still showed his horrors, as though at the last second of his life he‘d seen the devils of hell coming for him. Gazing at her enemy, the man who imprisoned her, tried to kill her and Noah, she felt nothing. No sadness, no relief, no victory. He was nothing to her now. And the burnt hulk that had been Fromm... A man who had so much, but it wasn‘t enough, she felt the same. No pity. No guilt. No anger. No emotion. Noah put his arm around her shoulders. She looked into his face. Scales still dotted his cheeks, but his features were nearly normal and so was his body. ―We need to wipe away our fingerprints,‖ he said. She gave a laugh that only had a bit of a sob in it. ―So you do watch shows on TV other than music specials on PBS.‖ It didn‘t take long. While she wiped down the bars and the bathroom, he pulled on his tattered clothes. She found vinegar beneath the sink and poured that over Noah‘s blood spill, then rubbed it in until her fingers hurt. ―What are you doing?‖ His touch on her back made her look up. ―Hoping the police won‘t find your DNA.‖ ―They don‘t have my DNA. I‘m not in their system.‖ He held out his hand to her. ―Let‘s get out of here.‖ Outside, she sucked in large gulps of the fresh, cold air and he did the same. She wanted to

fall to her knees and kiss the drops of dew on the grass. It was early, the sun rising, the sky above them tinted gray and blue and pink. Promising a new day, a new beginning. ―My car is a few blocks away.‖ Noah peered down at his shirt, stained with blood, then at her face. He licked his fingertip and wiped it across her cheek. Blood, she thought. He‘d wiped blood off her face. The thought didn‘t faze her. Right now she was immune to shock. Maybe later it would set in and she‘d be gibbering and bawling. She hoped not, but he did seem to have that effect on her. She reached up, grabbed his hand. ―I‘m part dragon now, aren‘t I?‖ ―You must be, or you wouldn‘t have revived me.‖ He sounded like a scholar instead of a creature who‘d roasted a man with his fiery breath. ―It won‘t last. Your blood will renew itself in a few months, and you‘ll be completely human again.‖ He started to turn, drawing his hand away, and she tightened her grip. He damn well wasn‘t going until she was ready to release him. ―What if I want to continue being part dragon?‖ He stilled. The last of the scales on his jaw disintegrated to nothingness in front of her eyes. Like watching soapsuds pop and dissolve. ―This is new to me.‖ He stopped, as if carefully considering his words. Then he gazed at her, and his eyes smiled. ―I suppose you would need...refreshers.‖ ―So I‘d have to stay near you?‖ ―Is that your plan?‖ Her breath caught in her throat that was sore from crying. ―A plan? I don‘t have a plan. This is all happening so fast.‖ ―Do you want to live forever?‖ She shook her head, not needing to think about it. Her mind and every cell of her body rejected the idea of life ever after. The thought repulsed her. ―What do you want?‖ he asked. Something grew inside her that she normally didn‘t feel. Happiness and lightness to the point of giddiness. Before she‘d crashed into Noah‘s life, she‘d walked around with her eyes wide open and her heart tightly closed. Now her heart was as wide open as a cloudless sky. ―You.‖ Her voice came out breathy when she wanted it to be forceful. Maybe that was okay. Maybe she could be just a woman, with no barriers, no secrets. A woman who wanted her man, and all the better if he was part dragon. Maybe just this once she could stop being strong. Maybe there was strength in admitting to a few weaknesses, in letting her walls tumble down. ―Noah Long,‖ she continued, ―dragon or man, I want you.‖ ―For how long? You told me you didn‘t believe in committed relationships.‖ His gaze stayed on her as though afraid to look away. Her courageous dragon afraid she wouldn‘t follow through. That she‘d be sorry. That she‘d get up one day and want to leave. Maybe he was right. And maybe he wasn‘t.

―I don‘t know. But you said you loved me.‖ ―You didn‘t say you loved me.‖ She swallowed. ―I care. Isn‘t that enough for now?‖ He stared at her for so long that she thought she might quake with nerves if he didn‘t say something soon. She‘d been through a few lousy days, dammit. The least he could do was reply quickly. A bird chirped nearby. Another bird replied, a slight difference between their tones that she wouldn‘t have noticed before she drank his blood. She was a different woman than she‘d been four days ago. When she‘d stepped into the Dragon‘s Lair for the first time, she was all human. A woman with a sister she hadn‘t seen for six years. A woman who chose her last boyfriend because she liked it when he left. A woman who never cried. She wasn‘t easy. She was damaged. Broken. Parts of her would always be broken. Dragon blood hadn‘t changed that. But it had glued together the broken parts. She could live now. She could love. As though he read her mind, Noah smiled at her—this man who didn‘t smile when she‘d met him. She‘d changed him, too. He looked at her in a way no one ever had. As if she was the other half to his whole. He held out his arms and she stepped into them. Tears rolling down her cheeks from the intense elation, she lifted her face for his kiss. They were alive. Alive! He‘d saved her, she‘d saved him. The sun was out, that light-giving benevolent fiery star. She was with a mythical creature—and he was a great kisser, too. Life didn‘t get much better.

Chapter Forty-seven

For once, Noah was all right with the smell of excited humanity. The Blues Bar was crowded, and so was the stage, more than usual with Cody and Jerry joining the Monday night regulars. Sometimes Monday nights were busier than weekends. The crowds thinned earlier on Mondays and maybe people didn‘t drink as much. But they danced more. They enjoyed life more in these few hours while listening to the pure rhythm of the blues that thrummed in sync with the rhythm of their blood. Especially since the next day many of them had to go back to a job that nibbled on the edges of their souls. Cody was singing ―Rock Me Baby‖ and Noah played his sax, letting the music take him to the magic place where he flew so high that he normally didn‘t want to stop, didn‘t want to end and come down to earth. But this time...this time the song ended and he peered at the tall blond drinking a beer at a table with the wives of a couple of the band members. And he remembered how he and Lila had flown last night. Flown without wings. Afterward, they curled together. She was the perfect height to spoon with, the top of her head fitting just beneath his chin. It was better than flying. Better than music. As though she felt his thoughts, she looked up at him and smiled. Then she whispered and through all the chatter and laughter and Jerry playing the guitar notes for ―Feels Like Rain,‖ he heard what she said. ―Later. Later.‖ He put the tip of his sax to his lips to play out the sad notes, but to him it didn‘t feel like rain, not one bit. It felt like the sun. -The End-

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Forged in Fire Trish McCallan

Beth Brown doesn‘t believe in premonitions until she dreams a sexy stranger is gunned down during the brutal hijacking of a commercial airliner. When events in her dream start coming true, she heads to the flight‘s departure gate. To her shock, she recognizes the man she‘d watched die the night before. Lieutenant Commander Zane Winters comes from a bloodline of elite warriors with psychic abilities. When Zane and two of his platoon buddies arrive at Sea-Tac Airport, he has a vision of his teammates‘ corpses. Then she arrives—a leggy blonde who sets off a different kind of alarm. As Beth teams up with Zane, they discover the hijacking is the first step in a secret cartel‘s deadly global agenda and that key personnel within the FBI are compromised. To survive the forces mobilizing against them, Beth will need to open herself to a psychic connection with the sexy SEAL who claims to be her soul mate.

"Forged In Fire is a smoking hot adventure with an irresistible alpha hero. Danger, action, suspense, and a steamy romance make a story that's impossible to put down!" ~Patti O'Shea, National Bestselling Author of Through a Crimson Veil Chapter One Lieutenant Commander Zane Winters shifted uneasily against the grungy white wall across from gate C18‘s ticket counter. He felt naked without his Glock. Exposed. An itchy, irritating prickle of vulnerability tightened his skin and cramped his muscles. Which was fucking ridiculous. They were on leave, for Christ‘s sake, booked on a civilian flight. Yeah, he and Cosky and Rawls had to check their weapons with their luggage, but so what? They weren‘t going wheels-up, facing deployment to some godforsaken foreign jungle or burning swath of sand. ―Did they have to pick Hawaii? We have the same blue sky and warm weather in Coronado. And without the tourists.‖ Zane barely heard Cosky‘s disgusted mutter through the drone of excited voices surrounding them. With a grunt, he massaged the back of his neck and surveyed the growing crowd. More passengers were arriving by the minute. Shit, there were already too many people to keep an eye on. Too many jackets and pockets and purses. Too many places to conceal a weapon.

A stacked brunette across the gate area caught his gaze and offered a sultry smile. Zane turned away. ―Jesus.‖ Rawls‘ lazy grin was a slash of white in his sun-bronzed face. ―You two need to get off base more often. You‘re as hinky as a pair of hounds during tick season. Those are civilians y‘all are glaring at, not a room full of tangos.‖ Bright blue eyes zeroed in on the brunette across the room. ―What you need is some of that. Sun, sand and sex. All the fixin‘s for a memorable vacation.‖ Cosky shot his teammate a derisive glance. ―When did you become so fond of sand and sun? Sure as hell not last month, judging by your nonstop bitching.‖ Rawls flipped him the finger. ―It‘s that third ―s‖, Cos. Makes all the difference. You should try it sometime, but without that blow-up Barbie you keep stashed beneath your bunk.‖ Shrill laughter erupted across the room. Zane tracked the sound, skimming an abandoned stroller and clusters of luggage. When the brunette tried to catch his eye again, he swore beneath his breath. Shifting against the wall, he gave her his back. ―See? This is why I like hanging with you, skipper,‖ Rawls drawled, a grin twitching the edges of his mouth. ―You attract the little darlin‘s over, and when you turn that cold shoulder on ‗em, they start buzzin‘ round Cosky and me.‖ ―Leave me out of it,‖ Cosky said. ―Unlike you, I don‘t need to surf Zane‘s wake for a hookup.‖ ―A hookup?‖ Rawls shook his head and smirked. ―Is that any way to talk about your hand?‖ Bracing his elbows against the wall behind them, he tilted his head and studied Zane‘s face. ―Seriously, skipper, you should take her up on that offer. It‘s not like—‖ He broke off to scan Zane‘s face more intently. Suddenly he frowned. ―You‘re shittin‘ me. That‘s some prime real estate over there, and you don‘t have any interest in her? None at all? That just ain‘t… natural.‖ Hell, Rawls was right. She was prime time. A real looker. Long, thick mahogany hair. A tight, curvy ass. Stacked across the chest. Enough flare through the hips to hold onto. She was the kind of woman who‘d give wet dreams to any straight male between puberty and death. Which must mean he was dead. Because he was way past puberty, yet he didn‘t feel even a twitch of interest. No chills. No thrills. No goose bumps. She could be his great-grandmother, for all the attraction he felt. Every year the numbness dug a little deeper, spread a little further. He‘d been warned about this particular side effect of the family gift—or curse, depending on who was talking. But knowing about it, and living with it, were completely different animals. ―Let‘s hope that woman of yours shows up ASAP. Much more of this drought and you won‘t remember what to do with her.‖ With a flash of white teeth, Rawls reached over to punch Zane‘s shoulder. The moment Rawls‘ fist made contact, every muscle in Zane‘s body clenched. He froze, his breath locked in his throat. His vision blurred.

Click. It was a subtle sound. A switch flipping inside his head. An image flashed through his mind. Quick. Brutal. Ugly. Rawls sprawled across a bank of narrow seats. His blue t-shirt splotched with black. Blood dripping from limp fingers. A fixed stare glazing his blue eyes. The vision vanished. ―Son of a bitch.‖ Sheer disgust vibrated in Cosky‘s gritty voice. ―We‘re on stand-down. This is a civilian flight. Regardless of that all-too-familiar look on your face, we cannot be in any goddamn danger.‖ But he didn‘t dislodge the hand Zane clamped around his bicep. This time Zane was expecting the vision. He tensed anyway, his body contracting into one giant charley horse. Click. He strained to capture as many details as possible as the new vision flashed through his mind. Gray eyes locked and empty, already filming with the unmistakable haze of death. Black hair saturated with blood. Hands clenched. He was splayed across a narrow aisle, dark blue upholstered seats rising on either side of his head. When the image vanished, he released Cosky‘s arm and wrestled air back into his lungs. ―Tell me this is a joke,‖ Cosky demanded. Zane shook his head and gripped the back of his neck with both hands. ―What did you see?‖ Rawls finally asked. Zane drew a shallow breath. ―You dead. Cosky dead.‖ ―From boredom?‖ Cosky asked dryly, one black-as-sin eyebrow arching. ―We are going to a wedding.‖ A quick glance at Zane‘s face, and a glint of steel darkened his gray eyes. ―Where‘s this going down?‖ ―On the bird.‖ Zane frowned. ―Couldn‘t tell whether she was in flight. Didn‘t get a good enough look.‖ Cosky turned to study the boisterous crowd. ―When do you ever?‖ Zane scrubbed his palms down his face and forced back a surge of frustration. The flashes never lasted long. No more than two or three seconds. Just enough to warn, without giving details. Just enough to raise guards, but not enough to mitigate the danger. ―Which bird? Over or back?‖ Cosky braced his hands on his hips and studied Zane‘s face. ―Either fits the three-day window for those flashes of yours.‖ ―Today.‖ Zane nodded toward Rawls‘ blue-clad chest. ―Same clothes.‖ Cosky grunted. ―I don‘t suppose you saw who killed us?‖ ―When have these damn things ever been that accommodating?‖ ―Fuck.‖ With a disgusted shake of his head, Cosky dropped his chin and scowled at the worn carpet. ―What about the wounds?‖

―Lots of blood. Could be a gun. Or a knife.‖ ―A crash?‖ Rawls broke in quietly. ―Doubtful. Neither of you were burned. We‘re looking at some kind of weapon.‖ Cosky frowned. ―It would be easier to smuggle a blade through security, but few people are good enough to take us on with a knife. Chances are it‘s a gun.‖ Zane pushed away from the wall. ―Whatever‘s going to happen is bad enough to take the three of us out.‖ The flashes never centered on him, but if Cosky and Rawls were in danger, he was as well. ―We need to get hold of Mac.‖ As the OIC of SEAL Team 7, Commander Jace Mackenzie had the pull to get the plane grounded and the passengers searched. ―Question.‖ Cosky‘s attention zeroed in on Zane‘s face. ―What are we going to tell him? We don‘t know what‘s going to happen, who‘s behind it, or what kind of weapons will be used. If Mac gets this bird grounded, only to have nothing show during the search, the backlash is gonna be a bitch.‖ ―What are you suggesting?‖ Zane cocked an eyebrow. ―That we skip the wedding, keep our mouths shut and let events play out?‖ ―Don‘t be an ass. I‘m saying it would be handy to have some solid intel to pass on for a change. Why can‘t you ever pick up more information if you touch us again?‖ Zane shrugged. Just because he suffered through the visions didn‘t mean he understood their properties. ―We‘ve got some time before boarding. Maybe one of the passengers will jump out at us.‖ A wave of heat suddenly rolled through him. It started at his scalp and flowed down—a tide of molten fire that left chills in its wake. A tingling, numbing sensation followed, as though he‘d been hit with a high-voltage electrical shock. ―What‘s wrong?‖ Cosky‘s question came from a distance. Muted and warped. Zane turned, searching for… something. The gate area spun in slow motion. That strange, electrical tingling raised the hair on his arms and down the back of his neck. He found her in the mouth of the waiting room. She was blond, slender. Perfect. Her creamcolored slacks and ivory blouse glowed beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, as though she stood squarely in a spotlight—lit up to catch his attention. Her chin lifted, their eyes connected and that strange, pulsating current shot straight to his cock. Electrified him. His libido, numb for years, reared up and howled. He took one long step toward her. Cosky grabbed his arm and hauled him back. ―Goddamn it, Zane. What‘s wrong?‖ Zane shook his head, tried to clear the fog from his mind. The tug toward her was incredibly strong, like she was a magnet and his bones were metal. He took another step forward, his body vibrating at some strange frequency.

Cosky‘s hand tightened with brutal force around his forearm, piercing the primal urge to claim her. Zane froze and drew a shaky breath. His muscles were rigid. A vicious ache had seized his groin. His skin must have shrunk at least three sizes. Holy shit. It had to be her. After all these years of searching, of waiting… this had to be her. To go from nada to nuclear in the blink of an eye… yeah. He drew a slow, burning breath, grappling to drag his body back under control. This had to be her. From listening to his brothers‘ stories about meeting their mates, he‘d expected a strong reaction, but nothing like this whirlpool of hunger. And he hadn‘t even touched her yet. ―Who is she?‖ Cosky demanded. ―Did you see her in one of your flashes?‖ The question snapped the world back into focus. The memory of those damn visions flooded his brain. He watched, frozen, while she headed toward one of the plastic benches strewn throughout the waiting room. She was apparently booked on his flight. A marked flight. His chest seized. His skin started to crawl. Christ, he couldn‘t breathe. Of all the bad timing. He‘d finally found her. His soul mate. At a time when he couldn‘t afford the distraction. When the slightest mistake could get her killed. ~~~ Holy Mother of God… they were real. All three of them. Real. Beth Brown sat frozen in front of gate C18, shock searing her lungs and sucking the strength from her legs. Across from the ticket counter, a trio of tall, muscular men lounged against a wall. Her mind had to be playing tricks on her. Those three men leaning against the wall could not possibly be the same ones who‘d died in her dream the night before. And then the dark-haired man in the middle of the loose masculine knot shifted his stance against the wall, turned his head, and scanned the departure gate. His intense gaze locked onto her. She was too far away to actually see those sharp eyes, but she knew they were green. Vibrant green. Icy chips of emerald. Just as she knew his hard jaw had a cleft in its chin, his name was Zane Winters and he was a lieutenant in—well, something. She knew all this, yet she‘d never met the man, had never even seen him. Until the night before. In that damn dream.

Disbelief slammed into her with the force of a Boeing 747. It roared through her head, drowning out the low drone of voices, the shriek of jet engines climbing overhead and the announcements over the loudspeakers. Oh God… oh God… if they were real…. If Zane Winters was real, if he was flesh and blood and standing across the room from her, what about the rest of the nightmare? The question rolled through her on a greasy wave of nausea. Oh, Lord, she was going to throw up. Or faint. The buzzing in her head grew louder. Desperate, she spread her legs, stuck her head between her knees and drew a much-needed breath. Calm down, Beth. Calm down. She was letting her imagination get the best of her. She‘d just imagined they‘d resembled the three men in her nightmare. Once she got a better look, she‘d find they were soft, with receding hairlines or jowls, nothing like those lean, lethal warriors from the night before. ―Are you okay?‖ a tentative male voice asked above her head. No, she was not okay. She‘d gone crazy in the space of a bad night‘s sleep. ―There‘s no reason to be scared. Flying‘s safer than driving.‖ She wasn‘t afraid of flying. As a PacAtlantic employee she could fly free. This flight, however, she did not intend to board, even though she‘d listed herself on standby and picked up a boarding pass. It had been the only way to gain access to gate C18 and prove nothing mysterious was at work. ―I‘m fine.‖ She forced herself upright. The stranger comforting her was in his mid-to-late thirties, tall and thin, but with a surprisingly broad span to his shoulders. Behind the wire rims of his glasses, his brown eyes were kind and bright with male appreciation. When she didn‘t recognize him, her muscles went limp. There! She was being foolish. Her Good Samaritan was waiting to board Flight 2077, but she hadn‘t watched him die the night before. Which proved she hadn‘t had some weird precognitive vision. She wasn‘t psychic. She did not have dreams that came true. The nightmare had been a result of too many late nights and too much work-related stress. She was blowing the whole situation out of proportion. She needed a vacation, but not to Hawaii. And certainly not on this plane. Except… she‘d never blown anything out of proportion. For God‘s sake, her wedding had been canceled fifteen minutes before ‗I do’ when she‘d caught her groom and one of her bridesmaids necking in the coat closet. If she‘d been the type to have hysterics it would have been then. Instead she‘d sent the guests home and sat down for a heart-to-heart talk with the pair. She simply did not have a hysterical bone in her body, which she would prove to herself as soon as she worked up the courage to check out the rest of the people at the departure gate. ―I won‘t recognize anyone,‖ she promised herself.

―I‘m sorry, did you say something?‖ She released a tight laugh. ―Talking to myself.‖ ―Oh.‖ He took that as an invitation to stay and sat down, smiling as she slid over. He set a laptop case between his feet. ―Russ Branson.‖ He offered his hand. She took it. ―Beth Brown.‖ ―Well, Beth Brown, what flight are you on?‖ ―PacAtlantic 2077, to Hawaii.‖ Which wasn‘t a complete lie. She did have a boarding pass. ―Too bad.‖ Regret darkened his brown eyes. ―I‘m headed to the Twin Cities myself. Minneapolis.‖ Her breath caught in her throat. ―You‘re not on Flight 2077?‖ ―No. My gate‘s next door.‖ The greasy bile rose again. So she wouldn‘t have recognized him from the dream after all. Her pulse thundering, she straightened in her seat and squared her shoulders. Time to stop this foolishness. Still, it took every ounce of willpower to force her gaze up. Across from her, an untidy pile of duffle bags spilled across the floor in front of a bench. A teenager with dirty blond hair, ripped jeans and a hooded red sweatshirt slouched against the blue plastic. This time the shock wasn‘t a hot, noisy rush—it was ice-cold and piercing. The rat-tat-tat of machine gun fire. That dirty blond head slamming back, almost white against the dark blue upholstery of the headrest and then exploding in a burst of blood, brains and bone. He‘d been in seat J32. Directly in front of Zane Winters. ―Mommy, how much longer?‖ Slowly, her head turned, tracking the childish voice. A middle-aged woman shuffled past, a young child clinging to her hand. The little girl was maybe five or six with dark hair pulled into two untidy pigtails, and a stuffed yellow duck clutched to the embroidered heart on her pink sweatshirt. ―Just one more flight, baby, and then we‘ll be home. Daddy will be waiting for us.‖ Mouth wide open, a young girl endlessly screamed. One dark pigtail dripped blood. A crimson duck, splotched with yellow, clamped to her rigid chest. ―Hey, maybe you better lie down. You‘re white as a ghost,‖ her Good Samaritan said. Beth barely heard him. Her gaze returned to the tallest of the trio against the wall. In the dream, Zane Winters had been intimidating enough. In real life, he was even more so. The hard planes of his face looked cast in stone. His well-washed jeans and faded blue t-shirt did little to disguise the lean, powerful frame roped with muscle. He was a warrior. She could see it in his unyielding expression, hooded eyes and rangy physique honed to weapon-sharpness. Hardly the kind of man to believe in ESP, or premonitions, or crazy women raving about ominous visions.

Dark hair soaked with blood. Sightless green eyes staring up, a milky film clouding the emerald fire. A crimson stain mushrooming beneath his splayed, bullet-riddled body. Rough hands shoving him over, working a drenched wallet loose from the back pocket and pulling out a driver’s license. “Zane Winters, just like the boss said.‖ The breath she drew sounded wrenching and raw. The passengers were real. Every last one of them. Real. So far everything she‘d dreamed the night before had come true. The fire in the abandoned warehouse off Whitaker. Shelby calling about the divorce. And now the travelers waiting to board Flight 2077, Seattle to Honolulu, were the same people who had died in the nightmare. The paralyzing dizziness struck again. Still as a fawn in hiding, she waited it out. Was she still asleep? But she remembered waking up and drinking her coffee before climbing into her car. She remembered turning on the radio and listening to the news about the fire as she drove to work. So if the fire had happened, and Shelby‘s news about the divorce and the passengers were real—she had to assume the rest of the dream would come true too. Unless she stopped it. The hijackers in her nightmare had been blond and jovial, only to morph into cold-blooded killers as soon as the plane lifted off. She searched the teeming departure gate, but couldn‘t find them amid the clusters of chattering people. After a second sweep, she released a relieved breath. They must not have arrived yet. ―When does your flight leave?‖ the Good Samaritan asked. She glanced at the clock on the wall behind the ticket counter. ―An hour and a half.‖ Ninety minutes to convince someone to believe her and prevent a hijacking. ―You want to get something to eat?‖ ―I‘m sorry. I‘m really not up to eating.‖ Any other time Beth would have taken him up on the offer. He was exactly the kind of man she responded to. Gentle, a bit geeky—someone she felt comfortable around. He reminded her of Todd. Her attention shifted to the three warriors lounging against the wall. Scratch that, two warriors. The third man, the other lean, dark and dangerous-looking one, had disappeared. Her gaze lingered on Zane Winters‘ hard face. Comfortable was not a word she associated with him, which was fine, since such men rarely noticed she existed. But God help her, what she wouldn‘t give to have him beside her at the moment. He would know what to do. He would know how to stop it. Her Good Samaritan followed her gaze across the room and rose to his feet. ―I see.‖ His voice thinned, and a hint of coldness touched his eyes. ―I‘m sorry.‖ With a shrug, he walked away.

Her attention swung back to the two men against the wall. She needed a plan. Sitting here accomplished nothing. But what exactly should she do? She could go to her supervisor and tell him about the dream. Frowning, she rejected the idea. The weasel-faced little rat had been gunning for her since the incident in the hallway last fall. If weapons were actually discovered, he‘d probably accuse her of being involved and get her fired, or worse. The machine guns must have been stashed earlier. Those cold-blooded monsters had pulled them out from beneath their seats. What were the chances that the weapons were already onboard? Todd… as an engineer, he had access to the PacAtlantic fleet. He could board the plane from the tarmac and search for the guns. She plucked her cell phone from her purse and scrolled through her contact list until she found his name. The call rang and rang, before going to voicemail. She hadn‘t seen him that morning. Maybe Ginny had finally persuaded him to call in sick. He‘d been fighting the flu for a week now. She tried Ginny‘s number next, but the call went straight to voicemail. Frustrated, she stuffed the cell back in her purse. Maybe she should head back to the inbound security gates. She could pull one of the guards aside and explain. But explain what, exactly? That she‘d had a nightmare and feared it was about to come true? They‘d think she was a nut job. Besides, once they knew her name, they‘d know she worked for PacAtlantic and she could kiss her job goodbye. She could call in an anonymous bomb threat. But she‘d have to do it outside of the airport and away from security cameras. Maybe with one of those disposable cell phones. If she claimed a bomb was beneath the seats, someone was bound to search the plane. At least the guns would be found. But the killers would go free. Sure, the passengers would live. But those bastards would just do the same thing on some other flight. She needed a plan to stop them and put them behind bars. Swallowing hard, Beth opened her eyes. She needed someone to believe her, or at least listen to her story with an open mind. But she couldn‘t afford to wait for Todd. It could be hours before he returned her call. Her attention flickered back to the two men across the room. To her surprise, Zane Winters was watching her. He snared her gaze and held it, something sensual and heated twisting between them. She jerked her eyes away. Obviously, she‘d imagined that. She simply wasn‘t the kind of woman lethal men played eye-footsie with. A quick peek a few seconds later proved the assumption. He‘d turned away and was leaning to the right, head cocked—listening to his blond friend. The third man, the other dark-haired one, rejoined the two against the wall. With a subtle shift of broad shoulders and muscular bodies, the three formed a loose huddle, blocking outside observation.

What were they talking about so intensely? Were they talking about her? Had they noticed all the glances she‘d been sending their way? Maybe they‘d misunderstood her interest. Embarrassment crawled through her, but it quickly cooled. In the nightmare, one of Zane‘s friends had called him lieutenant. Maybe he was a cop, or in the army. As a lieutenant, wouldn‘t he have connections? If she convinced him something was going to happen on the plane, maybe he could get the flight delayed, but in such a way the hijackers could be apprehended. If he gave her the brush off, she‘d fall back on Plan B and call in the bomb threat. Her cheeks heated as she stuffed her purse under her arm and rose to her feet. Zane Winters was going to think she was coming on to him. He was going to think she‘d made this whole story up just to draw his attention. But she had to try. She couldn‘t live with herself if all those people died, and she‘d done nothing to stop it. She was half way across the terminal when something icy and threatening drilled into the hollow between her shoulder blades. The hair on the back of her neck lifted. Raw fear squeezed the breath from her lungs. Someone was watching her. Someone ice-cold and deadly. She could feel those malevolent eyes locked on her spine. ~~~ Zane scowled at the couple sharing the bench across the room. The prick with the glasses and laptop had hit on her the moment she‘d sat down. Was still hitting on her. Fuck the decision to keep her at a distance. If Loverboy moved a fraction of an inch closer, he was heading over and breaking every bone in the bastard‘s body. Forcing his gaze away, he scanned the assembled passengers, studying expressions, gestures and postures. Rawls, who lounged beside him, surveyed the crowd as thoroughly. But within seconds Zane‘s attention migrated toward the right again. Toward that damn bench. The pull toward her kept getting stronger. It took every ounce of restraint he possessed not to break position and claim what was his. He hated the loss of control. Hated the fact he couldn‘t trust himself, couldn‘t trust his muscles to take orders from his brain. He‘d known the hunger would be strong when he found her. But he hadn‘t expected the sheer ferocity of the pull, or to lose his self-control. And he sure as shit hadn‘t expected the ugly urge to break apart any poor asshole that so much as looked at her. But then he hadn‘t expected to find her in the middle of a crisis, either. What a fucking mess. ―How you doin‘, Skipper?‖ Rawls asked quietly. ―Fine,‖ Zane snapped, ripping his attention from the bench and scanning the departure gate again. ―Where‘s Cosky? He should be back by now.‖ They‘d made several sweeps of the departure gate since Cosky had left to call Mac. By now they should have been able to pinpoint where the threat was coming from. If their target was an

amateur, he‘d be easy to spot—body posture and facial expressions would give him away. The fact that nothing struck them as odd or out of the ordinary indicated a clusterfuck of massive proportions. If the man behind the weapon was one of the laughing, chatting throng, then he was a professional and they were in deep shit. The next time he glanced toward her, Loverboy had disappeared. Zane relaxed, at least until her gaze shifted, snaring his. A current of awareness arced between them and heat rolled through him. The sharp tug toward her actually straightened him against the wall. Son of a bitch. He had to get this reaction under control. But she was the one to turn away. ―She‘s the one, isn‘t she? The one you‘ve been waiting for. Like with your dad and brothers.‖ Disbelief rang in Rawls‘ voice. ―Yeah.‖ ―And you just… know?‖ ―Something like that.‖ Although it went deeper than simply knowing. It was a tug in his bones, embedded in his cells. Hell, it spiraled right down to his DNA. It was the visceral certainty that she belonged to him. When he caught sight of Cosky‘s dark head weaving through the throng of vacationers, Zane straightened. ―Mac‘s behind closed doors,‖ Cosky said as soon as he joined them. ―Radar wouldn‘t budge on disturbing him. Said to call back in thirty.‖ He glanced at the clock on the wall behind the ticket counter and braced his fists on his hips. ―It‘s tight, but workable. We‘ve got ninety minutes before boarding, plenty of time for Mac to get on the horn and get the bird grounded.‖ Frowning, he scanned the packed room. ―Pick anything up on recon?‖ Zane shook his head and scowled. ―If he‘s here, the bastard‘s a pro. He isn‘t giving anything away.‖ With a twist of his shoulders, Cosky scanned the gate area. His gaze lingered on the bench in front of the main corridor and the blond woman sitting stock-still upon it. ―What gives? You locked onto her like a guided missile the moment she entered the terminal. You can‘t keep your eyes off her. Yet she‘s sitting over there all by her lonesome.‖ Since there was no way he was going to admit he couldn‘t trust himself to remain focused if she came any closer, Zane settled for a half truth. ―We don‘t know what‘s going on. Could be someone‘s tracked us down and we‘re the targets. I don‘t want her anywhere near us until we‘ve assessed the danger.‖ Of course it would help if he could concentrate on something besides her long enough to do his job. But his attention had splintered the moment she entered the gate room. He was acting like a goddamn adolescent with his first hard-on. Even now, his cock throbbed with a heartbeat of its own.

―I hate to break the bad news,‖ Rawls said, shooting Zane a quick look. ―But your little honey‘s on her way over.‖ Shit. Zane folded his arms across his chest, set his jaw and shifted until she faced his back. He couldn‘t afford this. Not only would her presence put her in danger, but she was enough of a distraction across the terminal. Having her up close and touchable was just asking for trouble. ―Head her off,‖ he told Rawls and Cosky. Heat washed over his back, flashed down to his groin. He ground his teeth. Great. Just. Fucking. Great. He could actually feel her behind him. Felt the tug getting stronger and stronger with each step she took. Any other day. Any other place. But no, she had to show up today. She had to show up here. A great cosmic joke. He‘d waited ten years for her, and now he couldn‘t even ask for her phone number. After this was over, he‘d call in some favors and get a copy of the passenger manifest. But it would take time to track her down. Christ, what if the team went mobile? What if they were deployed before he found her again? ―Well, hey there, darlin‘—‖ Rawls said. The soft fall of footsteps ceased. ―I need to talk to you.‖ Her voice was soft, low, thin with nerves. Zane gritted his teeth and concentrated on his breathing. ―And I‘d love to talk to you too, sweetcheeks, but we‘re plumb in the middle of something,‖ Rawls told her. ―Not you. Him.‖ Zane tensed, focused on the crowd. ―He‘s married, honeycakes. Has a whole passel of brats.‖ ―I don‘t care. I need to talk to him.‖ She didn’t care? He was losing his mind and she didn‘t care if he was married? He dropped his arms and turned around. Rawls shuffled to the side, blocked her and prowled forward, edging her back a couple of steps. ―I didn‘t want to tell you this, considering he hasn‘t made it out of the closet yet. But the man‘s gay. No interest in women whatsoever.‖ Cosky, who was leaning against the wall beside Zane, choked. Zane‘s gaze zeroed in on her face. It was oval, with soft cheekbones and a point to her chin. Then her eyes snared his. They were lavender. Honest-to-God lavender. The sweetest purple he‘d ever seen. He was so entranced by their color it took him a second to recognize the emotion shimmering within those purple depths.

Fear. He froze, reassessing. ―Rawls.‖ His voice came out sharp. Rawls shot him one quick questioning glance and stepped to the side. She stumbled forward and reached out to touch Zane‘s arm. The caress of her fingertips against his bare skin set his nerves jangling. But there were no flashes, no disturbing visions. Which wasn‘t a surprise. Nobody in his family ever had visions that centered on themselves or their soul mates. Heat spread out from the point of contact and shot straight to his cock. He went rock hard and aching in an instant. But not even a flicker of reaction touched her face or shimmered in her eyes. Realization struck him dumb. She wasn‘t feeling the pull. His skin still sizzled from the mere brush of her fingers, but she‘d had no reaction to the touch at all. No reaction to him. Wasn’t that just icing on the fucking cake? ―I need to warn you about… something. But they‘re watching.‖ He was so focused on her tender, trembling mouth it took a moment for her announcement to register. She needed to warn them? Someone was watching? ―What‘s going on?‖ He tried for calm, but some of his frustration leaked into his voice and sharpened the question. She bit her lip. ―We shouldn‘t talk here. Maybe if we flirt, they‘ll think that‘s why I came over. After a while we could leave and it won‘t look so suspicious.‖ They? As in more than one threat? ―Who are they?‖ His gaze dropped to the plump bottom lip her teeth were mauling. ―I don‘t know their names, just their faces. I‘ll tell you everything. But not here.‖ A frown knit her forehead. If she didn‘t know their names, she must not be directly involved. Maybe she‘d overheard something. But that didn‘t explain why she‘d approached him. Frowning, he searched her eyes. They were worried and wide, but held his squarely and without guilt. Cosky shifted until his back faced the crowd. ―You can identify them?‖ Zane shot him a quick glance. Yeah, they needed answers. Avoiding her was no longer an option. His best bet was to stick to her like a flak jacket. She was right, though. They couldn‘t talk here. Too many eyes. Too many ears. While flirting would give them an excuse to leave the terminal, it would take too long to accelerate to that point. With boarding in ninety minutes, time was at a premium. What they needed was a different cover. One that gave them instant intimacy. Lovers came to mind. Plus, there were side benefits to that cover. It would keep her close, safe. And give him a chance to cement something between them. She wasn‘t wearing a ring, but that didn‘t mean much. Possessiveness grabbed him by the throat.

Too damn bad if she was involved with someone. ―Flirting will take too long,‖ he told her. ―We need to move now. We‘ll pretend we‘re a couple.‖ He ignored Cosky‘s snort as well as her frown, his attention locked on those lavender eyes. Whatever she saw in his expression brought sudden caution. Her pupils dilated. She took a step back. His arm snaked out, wrapped around her waist, and dragged her closer. ―Where are they?‖ he asked, reminding her of the reason she‘d come over. ―I don‘t know. If I look it might tip them off.‖ Zane grunted, his gaze dropping to her tender, full mouth. That bottom lip was driving him insane. ―The fastest way to convince everyone we‘re involved is with a kiss.‖ Rawls laughed. Awareness flooded those purple depths. Her eyes widened, liquid with a different kind of alarm. ―They‘ll wonder why I didn‘t come over right away.‖ ―I‘ve been watching you. You‘ve been watching me. They‘ll think we had a lovers‘ quarrel and now we‘re making up.‖ He pulled her closer. With a startled gasp, she started to pull back, but caught herself and relaxed against him. He took another long sweep of the terminal. Loverboy glared at him from across the room. Zane tightened his arm around her waist and snarled back. Time to show the little prick just who had the right-of-way. ―Put your arms around my neck.‖ Her eyes were huge, cheeks flooded with pink, but she lifted her arms and slid them around his neck. They burned like a collar of fire. Jesus… she was so soft against him. Perfect. He could feel her nipples poking against his chest. Satisfaction speared him—finally, she was reacting to him. He could build on that, fan the chemistry into something stronger, something enduring. Women were wired differently than men. They equated sex with love. He could use that. Drown her in sensuality, leapfrog a couple of steps, and tie her to him. Threading his fingers through the soft cloud of hair at the base of her skull, he cupped the back of her head and tilted her face up. As he bent, he got his first whiff of her. She smelled like strawberries. He froze, drawing that fresh, sweet scent into his lungs. His gut clenched. And with a muffled groan, he took her mouth. Forged in Fire is available from: Amazon Barnes & Noble Smashwords For more about Trish and her books, visit her at www.TrishMcCallan.com. ~~~

Dark Moon Lilith, Witches Anonymous Step 4

Misty Evans Ex-witch Amy Atwood is on probation from Witches Anonymous for slipping off the magicfree band wagon. Her love life is also on probation and her sexy, irresistible ex, Lucifer, is tempting her to come back to him. On top of that, her ice cream shop is losing money faster than ice cream melts in June, thanks to a rotten economy and an archangel who‘s eating up all her profits. Struggling to save her shop and stick to her magic-free oath, Amy commits to Step 4 of Witches Anonymous—examining her moral character. Before she can dig too deep, a nascent witch shows up and Amy must take Mikayla under her wing to keep both good and evil from getting their hands on her innocent soul. Unfortunately, Lilith, the Queen of Hell, wants Lucifer back and has decided to test more than Amy‘s moral character. She sends three assassins after Amy. One to poison her, another to burn her apartment to ashes, and the third is taking Amy to Hell. Will Amy live to see another day? Or will she team up with Lucifer to kick Lilith out of Hell and become queen herself?

“If you haven't read this series, I recommend that you check it out. If you have read the previous novels, then look forward to another great one! ~Natasha, A Great Book Is the Best Vacation

Chapter One Love sucks. Just when you think you‘ve got control of your heart, wham! A crystal vase filled with ruby red roses and purple dahlias—your favorite flowers—shows up on your doorstep. Or in this case, at your ice cream shop. Tucked inside the center of each gorgeous flower is a perfect Dove dark chocolate square. Which reminds you that your boyfriend, who recently stomped on your heart, is really a very considerate fellow. He knows your likes and dislikes. He knows your weaknesses, but doesn‘t judge them. He wants to make amends for not showing up to your Witches Anonymous sixmonth magic-free anniversary celebration.

So your heart melts a little. But then there‘s the other guy. Your ex. He‘s seated in a corner booth wearing a black t-shirt and worn jeans, talking to his brother while he ignores you. He laughs and your skin tingles. He thumps the table with a fist and you jump. He slides over to lean his back against the wall and puts his feet on the booth seat, and instead of yelling at him to get his black boots off the red vinyl, you think how damn sexy he looks in all that black and break into a sweat. I mean, really, who wears black when it‘s ninety degrees outside? Someone who‘s used to the heat, that‘s who. Heat is one of the things my ex revels in. Oh, and his gift of the day? A dirty banana-split bowl left on the edge of the table waiting for me to clean up. Like I said—love sucks. Noise from a kid‘s birthday party jangled my already taut nerves as I stared at Luc‘s dirty bowl. A dozen six-year-olds ran helter-skelter through the shop with only the birthday boy‘s parents trying to corral them. Mr. and Mrs. Duncan had pretty much given up thirty seconds into the party, though, so crowd control was officially AWOL. I‘d given up in five, so I had to hand it to them for hanging in there that long. Birthday parties were the latest installment in my brand new business plan to bring more customers to Evie‘s Ice Cream Shop. The economy sucked as bad as my love life and the first thing to go from most people‘s budgets seemed to be ice cream. Kids, however, didn‘t stop having birthdays when the economy went south, and parents would drain a vein in order to make Suzie or Bobby‘s day special. Hence, my genius idea to rent out the shop for parties, complete with ice cream cake and a magician to perform tricks. Having been in Witches Anonymous for nearly eight months, I wasn‘t the one doling out the magic, however. I‘d blackmailed Keisha, my best friend and the shop‘s manager, into that duty. Evil of me, you say? Yep, that‘s me. Evil ex-witch trying to stick to her magic-free oath and make a living at the same time. ―Dark moon sure has everybody stirred up,‖ Keisha said, eyeing the chaotic kids. Kinky tendrils of hair formed a copper-streaked halo around her head. A complimentary bright orange dress hugged her bodacious curves, over which she‘d added a pretty white linen apron. Behind the counter, I cringed as the children‘s shouts reached a crescendo. Even then, with all that high-pitched noise, Luc‘s low, seductive laughter wove its way through the din as if my ears were especially tuned to its erotic sound. I ignored the gooseflesh rising on my skin and gave Keisha a hip bump. ―Magic time. Go get ‘em, tiger.‖ She arched a brow and placed a hand on her orange-clad hip. The other hand squeezed a cotton dishtowel she‘d been using to wipe down tables. Squeezing it so hard, her knuckles turned white. Reflected in her eyes was my neck under her fingers. ―Amy Atwood, you may be my boss, but I‘m not a common magician.‖

I gave her my most sincere, take one for the team smile. ―Of course not. You‘re an extraordinary voodoo priestess, who could turn all those little kids into toads. But instead of using your powers for evil, you‘re using them for good today, and saving your best friend‘s sanity while also saving your own job.‖ Her lips crooked to one side as she considered the underlying warning. No magic show and we could kiss half the party fee goodbye. That fee was going to pay the electric bill, which for an ice cream shop in June is substantial. No electricity equaled the unemployment line for both of us. ―I do this and I get a bonus.‖ ―Cash?‖ I shook my head. ―I‘m allowing your boyfriend to live in the back of the shop and sponge off me. That‘s part of the reason Evie‘s is going under. He eats ice cream like Adam‘s extended-cab truck guzzles gas, and since revenue is so low right now, that‘s the only bonus I can offer.‖ Her gaze slid to Gabriel who was still entertaining Luc in the corner booth. Gabe waved his hands in the air and yelled something in Latin, and Lucifer—yes, that Lucifer, Gabe‘s fallenangel brother and my ex-boyfriend—wiped tears from the corners of his eyes, his body shaking with mirth. They looked so happy, both of them, reunited again after Gabe took a walk on the wild side and ended up here on Earth with the rest of us. Practically inseparable for the past two months, he‘d spent his time bringing Luc up to speed on the goings on in Heaven and Luc helped Gabe blend in with us Earthlings. Hiding angel wings is no small feat, much less trying to merge a seven-foot tall, curly blond-haired guy with an attitude to match the width of his wings, into the normal citizenship of the town of Eden. Keisha‘s shoulders, stiff with indignation, softened. The irritation left her face. Gabe had never had a girlfriend, and Keisha was way outside the lines of normal, so they‘d logged some quality supernatural weirdness time with each other. But who was I to talk? My ex was the Devil and my current boyfriend was the original Adam sent back to Earth for a redo. So while I was determined to stay magic-free and act like a human instead of a wicked, bad-to-the-bone witch, I was having a hard time coloring inside the lines of normal myself. The one thing I was good at was using Gabe as a tool to manipulate Keisha into performing magic tricks at birthday parties. What? I told you I was bad. And I couldn‘t stand the thought of losing my shop. It had been in my family for generations. I‘d never known my father‘s side of the family, and this ice cream shop and my sister Emilia were all I had left of my mother‘s side. Well, my mother was still out there somewhere. I just didn‘t know where. She‘d left me and Em with our aunt before I turned five years old and neither of us had seen her since. A part of me believed she was dead. Another part hoped she was alive and safe, even if she had provided us with prescription-grade abandonment issues.

―Fine.‖ Keisha threw down the dishtowel and stomped around the end of the display freezer. She held up her hands in front of the rugrats, called for attention, and got nowhere. The kids didn‘t even glance her way. She hooked a glare at me over her shoulder, her skeleton earrings swinging wildly. What do I do now? I gave her an encouraging nod and made meaningless hand motions in an effort to get her to try again. She gave me a flippant eye roll and shook her head. Screw this. Sighing, I inserted my pinkie and index fingers into the corners of my mouth and pierced the birthday party noise with a sharp whistle. Everyone, including Gabe and Lucifer, whipped their heads around to look at me. Ahhh, utter silence. Much better. Birthday boy had frozen with a spoonful of ice cream cake halfway to his mouth. ―Whoa. Cool!‖ He‘d destroyed several napkin holders and broken the leg off one of the chairs. A mental tab ran in the back of my mind to add to the party fee. Leaving the security of the freezer, I sidled up next to Keisha and floated my hands around her, doing my best Vanna White impression. ―And now munchkins, focus your eyes on the spectacular…on the amazing…on the magical…Voudini!‖ A deep line appeared on Keisha‘s forehead. In the back of my mind, I heard her say, Voudini? Seriously? That’s the best you got? Cut me some slack, already. I was working on the spur of the moment and Voudini had a magic-y ring to it. Besides the fact, she was a voodoo priestess. It all worked together in my mind. I clapped my hands at her. ―Chop, chop, Amazing Voudini. Wow us with your spectacular magic show.‖ She narrowed her dark eyes at me and I swear I saw impending death reflected in them. There‘d be hell to pay later, but I‘d gladly pay if it meant shutting up the children for five minutes. Not that I don‘t like kids. I don‘t have any, so I can‘t be sure, but I think I like them. Just not a herd of them hopped up on sugar in my ice cream shop breaking things. My new business plan obviously needed tweaking. Luc and Gabe were still staring at me, so I used the moment to my advantage. I strolled over to the vase of flowers, sniffed a rose with relish and took my time unwrapping one of the Dove chocolates before slipping it into my mouth. A round of oohs and aahhs rose from the kids as Keisha snapped her fingers and produced a baby chicken in the palm of one hand. Voodoo witches and their chickens. Yeesh. I smiled at Luc, picked up the vase, and made a show of carrying the flowers back to my office, swaying my hips just enough to feel his power rising around me as I walked away. Passing Keisha, I gave her a sharp reminder. ―No animals, Amazing Voudini. Health department rules.‖

The chicken disappeared to a second round of oohs and ahhs. Satisfied I wouldn‘t be undergoing another run-in with the health inspector any time soon, and with the fact I could still snag Luc‘s attention, I continued the hip-swaying foray toward my office. Once there, I opened the door and stopped dead in my tracks, nearly dropping the vase. Waiting for me on the other side of my desk was an angel I thought I‘d never see again. Hoped I‘d never see again. Cephiel rose from the desk chair and held out his hands as if to embrace me. ―Amy, my dear. How are you?‖ Dark Moon Lilith is available from: Amazon Barnes & Noble Smashwords For more about Misty and her Witches Anonymous series, visit her at www.readmistyevans.com.

~~~

Tuesday's Child Dale Evans What she doesn‘t want...is exactly what he needs. Shunned and ridiculed all her life for something she can‘t control, Samantha Blair hides her psychic abilities and lives on the fringes of society. Against her will, however, she‘s tapped into a killer—or rather, his victims. Each woman‘s murder, blow-by-blow, ravages her mind until their death releases her back to her body. Sam knows she must go to the authorities, but will the rugged, no-nonsense detective in charge of tracking down the killer believe her? Detective Brandt Sutherland only trusts hard evidence, yet Sam‘s visions offer clues he needs to catch a killer. The more he learns about her incredible abilities, however, the clearer it becomes that Sam‘s visions have put her in the killer‘s line of fire. Now Brandt must save her from something he cannot see or understand…and risk losing his heart in the process. As danger and desire collide, passion raises the stakes in a game Sam and Brandt don‘t dare lose. “I place TUESDAY'S CHILD in my top ten reads of the year and I have no doubt you will enjoy this book just as much as I did!” ~Neis, The Romance Reviews

Excerpt

Lying in bed that night, Sam couldn‘t sleep, her overwrought mind refused to let up. The tantalizing possibility that she was meant to do something with this gift worried the frayed edges of her mind. Depressed and unsettled she fell into a fitful sleep, her dreams dark and disjointed pieces of past visions. Screams jarred her from a deep sleep. Confusion turned to fear when Sam realized the horrific sounds were coming from her own mouth. Even worse, she had no idea where she was. Terror overwhelmed her. Her fingers spasmed in a death grip around a strange steering wheel as the car she drove careened further out of control. Still trying to toss off the remnants of sleep, Sam yanked hard on the wheel in a futile attempt to turn it. The mid-sized car plowed through a steel barricade to hang suspended in midair before plummeting to the rocks below. Screams ripped from her throat and she reefed on the useless steering wheel, helpless to stop the deadly impact. Her foot pounded on useless brakes. The front grill of the car crumpled and metal buckled upward. The car smashed into the first of the rocks below, snapping her forward into the windshield. Agonizing pain shattered her spine. Grinding metal, exploding glass and continuous crunching sounds filled the air as first the bumper flew off, then the rear window shattered outward. Twisted metal ripped and groaned, flying to land beside the crash site. The car tumbled, smashed on a huge rock, careened to the left and flipped end over end before coming to a hard landing on its wheels at the bottom of the cliff. Then utter silence. Sam trembled. Shock and pain pulsed through her veins even as her blood dripped out one beat at a time onto the shredded seat beside her. God, she didn‘t want to die. She wanted to live. Please, dear God. Someone help! Blood streamed over her face, her spine…where a shearing heat set off continuous stabbing pain. The steering wheel jammed into her ribs. The front dash had crumpled into a mess of twisted steel and plastic, the famous Mercedes emblem now hung drunk in mid air over the remains of the once beautiful cream leather seats. Sam couldn‘t feel her right arm. And wished she couldn‘t feel her left. She closed her eyes, willing away the image of bone shards that had sliced through her sweater, a few loose strands of wool clinging to the ends. Heart wrenching sobs poured from her throat, tears coated her cheeks. She was alone. And dying. A brilliant flash of light engulfed the car as the fuel from the pierced gas line flashed into flames. Heat seared her lungs and scorched her hair, the strands melting against the inside of her car window. Panicked, she screamed as flames licked at her feet, burning, and cooking the flesh right off her bones. Agony. Pain. Terror. A voice whispered through the blackness of her mind, so odd, so different it caught her attention. She strained to hear the words. ―Let go. It‘s time to let go.‖

Sam stared through the flames, stunned. Let go of what? She couldn‘t hear over the roaring fire and could barely see, but knowing that someone was there stirred her survival instinct, and she started fighting against the seatbelt jammed at her side. She was saved. Just another minute and they‘d open the door and pull her free. She‘d be fine. ―Please hurry,‖ she cried out. ―Let go. You don‘t need to be in there. Let it all go, and come with me.‖ She peered through the golden orange windshield to see a strange male face peering at her through the flames. He smiled. ―Come with me.‖ ―I want to, damn it. Can‘t you see I‘m trapped?‖ she screamed, her vocals crisping in the heat. ―Release yourself. Come with me. Say yes.‖ The pain hit a crescendo. She twisted against it, hearing her spine splinter. The car seat melted into her skin. So much pain, she couldn‘t breathe. Blackness crowded into her mind, blessed quiet, soothing darkness. She reached for it. ―Let it go. You don‘t need to go through this. Hurry.‖ She started. Why wasn‘t he opening the door or getting others to help? He should be trying to save her. Shouldn‘t he? Sam, so confused and so tired, she could barely feel the pain overtaking her body. Where had he gone? She tried to concentrate. His face was now only a vague outline that rippled with the heat waves. A soft smile played at the corner of his mouth. The flames burned around him, weird as they centered him in the warm glow. She wanted to be with him. To live. ―Here, take my hand.‖ Dazed and on the brink of death, Sam focused on the hand reaching for her. She struggled to raise the charred piece of flesh that had been her arm and reached out to grasp his. She was free. Overwhelmed, cries of relief escaped. She turned to hug her savior, her head just reaching his shoulder. He stood beside her, the same radiant beaming look on his face. His blond hair glowed, and he had the brightest teeth. She sighed. This beautiful man pointed to her right arm. Confused, Sam glanced down at her burned arm, realizing she could feel none of her injuries. Just like her other one, her broken arm had miraculously healed – whole, smooth and soft. Her skin hadn‘t looked this good in ten years. Realization hit. She spun around to find a massive fireball below. What the hell? She had to be dead. But instead of the horror or shock, she expected to feel, she felt good. In fact, she felt great. She turned to the ever-smiling stranger. ―Let‘s go sweetheart.‖ Sam didn‘t know why he‘d called her that, but she bloomed under his loving gaze. Honestly, she was so damned grateful to be out of the car, she let him get away with it.

Holding hands, they floated higher into the cloudless blue sky. Then when the crash site below had become a tiny speck, Sam felt a hard flick on her arm and the words, ―Thanks, but I can take it from here.‖ And she woke up. Tuesday’s Child is available from Amazon Smashwords All Romance For more information about Dale and her books, visit her at her website.

~~~ About Edie Ramer: Edie funnier on the page than in real life. A multiple award-winning writer, she‘s published in short stories, non-fiction and greeting card verses. She lives in southeastern Wisconsin with her husband, two dogs, and one important cat.

Acknowledgments I‘m lucky to have so many fabulous and smart women in my life. Special thanks to Michelle Diener, Liz Kreger, Jody Wallace, and Marcia Colette for their advice and encouragement.

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