I need to go, Brandon wrote. You've been very kind to me, but I can't stay here.

"What?" Rene said, frowning. "Why not?"

They're looking for me, Brandon said. They'll be angry when they find me. He closed his eyes momentarily as Caine's words echoed in his mind. We followed your scent, little brother. The stink of your weakness clings to you-pathetic and unmistakable.

He thought of Lina's horrified reaction to Caine's transformation from man into monster, how she'd screamed to see his eyes blacken over, his jaw snap loose of its moorings, his teeth fully extended.

His teeth... Brandon felt his heart suddenly shudder, and his breath stilled. Oh, Christ, he thought, remembering what he'd forgotten-for far too long, he'd forgotten it now. My pills. Holy s.h.i.t, my pills are at Jackson's apartment.

He glanced at Rene and then quickly wrote again, I need to go.

What do you mean, you got the prescription for him? Lina typed to Jackson. She'd returned to his apartment under the pretense of informing him about the "break-in," and Sun Ying, the landlady, had only been too happy to let her inside. What the h.e.l.l is that stuff, Jackie, and why does Brandon need it?

She had gone to the bus station and airport already, showing as many attendants and ticket agents as she could find both the photograph of Brandon she'd found in his bag, and her police badge, if only to further prompt their memories. n.o.body had recalled seeing a young man even remotely resembling Brandon. She'd gone back and forth between the two sites periodically, quizzing the same employees over and over again, hoping she was somehow simply crossing paths with Brandon, missing him along the way, but still no luck. He hadn't been to the bus depot or the airport. She'd even called the company who had towed his car, but the Audi remained present and accounted for-and as yet, not paid for-in their impound lot.

Where could he be? she thought, desperate with worry. She'd gone back to the Bluebell Inn and tried to retrace his steps from there, walking to neighboring businesses and stores, showing his picture, asking if anyone recognized him. It was as if Brandon had stepped out their motel room door and simply vanished off the face of the earth. That his family might have found him, intercepted him somehow, was a horrifying yet all-too-real possibility-one that Lina refused to consider for too long.

If they have, I will kick Jude's a.s.s, she thought. He won't walk without a G.o.dd.a.m.n limp ever again-I swear to G.o.d.

She hadn't told Jackie any of this, much less that Brandon was gone and his apartment had been trashed. She'd only said she'd discovered the pills in Brandon's knapsack and wanted to know what was going on. She didn't know what else to do, what other course to follow. She had nothing to go on-absolutely nothing, except for those pills. She hoped like h.e.l.l she might be able to squeeze an answer out there somehow.

I'm trying to help him, Jackson typed back. It's an antidepressant, Lina, and I got the prescription for him because Christ knows he needs it, living at that place, that G.o.dforsaken farm. You don't know his family, what it's like for him there.

"Oh, I'm starting to get a really good idea, Jackie," Lina muttered under her breath.

I had the Rx written in my name, Jackie said. Sent to the farm once a month. Brandon always picks up the mail, so I knew he'd get it. But I also knew if it was in my name, they'd think it was an outdated delivery if someone else intercepted it first, something from when I used, to live there.

Lina pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, thinking. It didn't make sense. Brandon had been nearly frantic to take those pills. She had a suspicion that part of the reason he'd tried to run away from Joe's Wok on Friday-and why he'd kissed her on such an impa.s.sioned impulse-was because he'd either forgotten or been delayed in taking them. He'd brought the pills with him ever since, and had made it a point to take them, even if it meant doing so in front of her, and risking her notice. He'd lied to her about what they were for. Why, Brandon? What are you trying to hide?

Jackie, he said something to me about having broken his hands, she typed. Do you know about that?

She couldn't imagine that he wouldn't; with something that devastating and potentially crippling to Brandon, surely word would have reached Jackson somehow, if not at the time of the occurrence, then certainly in the aftermath.

WHAT? Jackson typed, all caps to emphasize his surprise. For a moment, that remained stark and startled on the screen, and then he continued, his words flying. What are you talking about, broke his hands? Jesus Christ, when was this? How did he break his hands? Both of them, Lina-hands, not hand? Jesus Christ, did that son of a b.i.t.c.h Augustus n.o.ble do something to him? Did he- Jackie, I don't know, she typed quickly, cutting him off. I don't know what happened. His hands are fine now, and he mentioned it in pa.s.sing, like it was no big deal. I caught him taking those pills-the ones you got for him-and he told me they were painkillers, something for his hands. He must have been lying.

But somehow, she knew that wasn't true. My grandfather broke my hands when he found out I'd applied to Gallaudet, he'd told her, and Lina understood that if she told this to her brother, it would more than break Jackson's heart. It would see him on the first plane out of Florida for Kentucky, where he would promptly introduce Augustus n.o.ble head-first to his own a.s.s.

Brandon doesn't lie, Jackson wrote. He was upset, nearly distraught by her revelation. She didn't need to see his face, or hear any vocal inflections to understand this plainly. Jackson loved Brandon. He still suffered a tremendous amount of personal guilt over having left the boy alone in Kentucky, as if his dismissal had been of his own choosing, and he'd abandoned Brandon somehow.

Jackie, he's fine, Lina typed, wanting to rea.s.sure him. His hands are fine. Whatever happened, it's over now and behind him.

That wasn't true, either, and she knew it. She thought about his brother Caine, speared to the wall, the length of a katana shoved through his gut, as he'd thrashed and screamed at them.There's no corner of this earth, no measure of time that can hide you! We'll find you! We'll come for you! We'll never stop coming for you, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d!

She knew that however Brandon's hands had been injured, it would be nothing compared to what would happen to him if his family found him again. G.o.d help him, she thought. It's far from over.

Jackie, I need to go, she typed. She didn't know what she would do next, but every moment she wasted being idle was another in which Brandon could be in terrible danger. I'll call you later, OK? Give Mom a kiss.

She locked the padlocks back into place over the plywood at Jackson's doorway and took the stairs down to the main floor.

She could have used Jackson's computer to access the Internet instead of going all of the way back home, but the idea of being alone in the apartment after nightfall was definitely unsettling to her. It was dark outside, and the clouds that had hung low in the sky, spilling rain upon the city for the better part of the day had at last thinned out, allowing the bright sphere of the moon to shine. She glanced at her watch as she walked out the front doors of Jackson's apartment building. It was a quarter after eight.

Brandon was hiding something from her, and it had to do with those pills, the Wellbutrin, Jackson sent to him. Lina felt sure of it.

But what? she wondered. She figured that yes, Brandon probably was d.a.m.n-near clinically depressed, given what she'd seen and learned of his family, but she didn't think that was the reason he took the medicine. She wanted to search online, to find out what else Wellbutrin was used for; what else it could do. I have a feeling Brandon is using it to control something, she thought, thinking of his kiss outside the Chinese restaurant, of the wondrous, immense pa.s.sion in his mouth. And I'm willing to bet it's not depression.

"Excuse me?"

Lina looked up, stumbling to a halt inches before plowing headlong into a young woman. The girl had dark hair and alabaster skin, with large, hesitant eyes and a slight, waiflike frame. "Excuse me," she said again. "Do you know what time it is?"

Lina glanced at her watch again. "Uh, yeah. It's eight-seventeen."

The young woman smiled, her thin mouth unfurling slightly, politely. "Thank you."

"No problem." Lina brushed past her, walking again, scanning the street for a cab. Caine n.o.ble's threats specifically to her were still fresh in her mind...

I will bleed you dry.

... and she didn't particularly feel like hoofing it back to her apartment, being vulnerable and open out on the street as she was.

"Excuse me?" the young woman called after her, and Lina turned.

The girl had a sc.r.a.p of paper in her hands, and she squinted to read it by the glow of a nearby streetlight. "Can you tell me where I might find twelve twenty-three Oakton?"

"Sure," Lina said. "That's it right there." She pointed to Jackson's apartment building.

The girl glanced over her shoulder and then back at Lina, hunching her shoulders and smiling somewhat sheepishly. Her dark hair was cropped evenly with her chin, her bangs worn bluntly cut across her brow to lend her face a heart shape. She wore a lightweight pea coat hemmed at mid-thigh, with a plaid skirt beneath that was short enough to show off her strong but slender legs, long like a ballerina's. She wore a pair of wedge-heeled boots that, at least to Lina's observation, sure as h.e.l.l weren't made for walking. She wasn't the least bit surprised to see the girl fidgeting from one foot to the other, as if her feet ached her.

Welcome to the big city, she thought.

"Oh," the girl said. "Oh, uh, thank you again.""You're welcome again," Lina said, and as a cab approached, she darted for the curb, her hand outstretched. "Hey!" she shouted, and the taxi slowed, pulling over for her. That's how you get around here, sweetheart, she thought, ducking in and closing the door behind her as the cab drove off.

Brandon wished like h.e.l.l he'd taken a cab to Jackson's apartment building instead of accepting Rene's offer of a lift. Brandon hadn't told Rene why he wanted to go, only that he needed to, and Rene had been more than happy to oblige. He'd led Brandon from the loft, at last showing him where a heavy steel door opened out onto a steep stairwell hidden in a distant corner. They rode a freight elevator down together. Brandon counted at least a dozen floors pa.s.sing them en route, and he'd turned to Rene, bewildered. What is this place? he'd written.

Rene had laughed as the elevator rumbled to a stop. "It's home, pet.i.t," he'd said, leaning over and raising the metal grate of the elevator door. He stepped aside to let Brandon exit first. "Home, sweet home."

He'd brought Brandon to an underground garage where he kept a colorful a.s.sortment of new and vintage sportscars and roadsters. He fished a set of keys out of his pocket and thumbed off the alarm on a low-slung, sleek, silver Mercedes SLK 280.

"Hop in," he said to Brandon, grinning broadly.

By that point, Rene had polished off the better part of a fifth of vodka, and Brandon hesitated. Granted, in all likelihood, Rene's metabolism was as accelerated as Brandon's, and the effects of the alcohol would be short lived. Still, he felt uncertain. Should you be driving? he wrote.

Rene had only laughed, but apparently should and could were mutually exclusive terms in his vocabulary. Brandon wrapped his hand around the door handle and clung so tightly, his knuckles blanched. It hurt his arm, and sent stabbing pain through his right side, but he didn't have much choice. He couldn't hear the engine scream as Rene launched the car from the garage, up and out onto the city streets, but he could feel it thrumming around and within him, a deep and penetrating vibration that shuddered through his seat. Rene had dropped the convertible top, despite the chilly night air, and Brandon's hair whipped about his face in the wind.

"Some fun, eh, pet.i.t?" Rene asked, as they came to a stop at a light. He turned to Brandon, his blond hair windswept and disheveled, his mouth stretched in a broad, delighted grin.

Where the f.u.c.k did you learn to drive? Brandon wrote, his hand shaking.

"Louisiana," Rene replied with a wink, as the light turned green and the Mercedes rocketed forward with enough speed to snap Brandon back in his seat.

By the time they parked along a side street adjacent to Jackson's building, Brandon was ashen and shaking, his hair askew, his gut lodged somewhere between his diaphragm and throat.

"Voila," Rene said, still smiling. He forked his fingers through his hair, sweeping it back from his face. "Here we are. Safe and sound."

That's a matter of opinion, Brandon thought with a frown, unhooking his seat belt. He sucked in a pained breath as he opened the car door and went to climb out. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Rene moving to do the same. He paused, shaking his head.

"What?" Rene asked.

Brandon had left the notebook and pen on the console in the car. Rather than sit again and reach for them, he patted his hand against his chest and then pointed to the building. I'm going alone, he tried to convey. Rene hadn't yet lowered his mental defenses again and allowed for communication with Brandon, but he tried anyway. It won't take a second. Just wait here for me.Rene shrugged, slouching back in the seat, though whether responding in comprehension to Brandon's hand signal or thought, he didn't say. "Suit yourself, pet.i.t, " he said, reaching beside him and reclining his seat. He folded his hands behind his head and made a show of looking skyward, admiring the moon. "I'll be here. Don't go running off on me now."

I won't, Brandon thought, limping away from the car, following the sidewalk around to the building's front entrance. You may be my only way out of this city, Rene-whether I like it or not.

He ducked inside, and waited for the elevator. He was hurting entirely too much, and feeling far too weak to attempt eight flights of stairs. Rene had offered him another of the Percodans before they'd left, but Brandon had refused.

I'm OK, he'd written. It hurts, but it's bearable.

"That's because the one I gave you before hasn't worn off fully yet, pet.i.t," Rene had warned. "When it does, you're going to be miserable."

Brandon hadn't listened, and now-especially after that deranged car ride-he wished like h.e.l.l that he had.

He leaned heavily against the wall as the elevator car rode up, and closed his eyes, trembling in pain.

He didn't know what to think of Rene, or what made the man such an expert in pain management that he kept a veritable pharmacy of medicinal options readily on hand. He'd noticed Rene's limp, the way he seemed to favor his right side, and how he'd used his hands to help swing his leg into the car once he'd sat in the driver's seat. He hadn't said anything to Brandon by way of explanation, however, and Brandon hadn't asked.

He didn't know what to think of Rene, and it was obvious, Rene didn't know what to make of him either. He'd been kind to Brandon, gentle to him and uninhibited in opening his mind to the younger man, soothing him when he'd first awoke. After everything that had happened in the short time since, however, Rene had lapsed into a guarded mode, seeming far more aloof and cautious around him.

Brandon reached the eighth floor and limped down the corridor toward Jackson's apartment. He found a large panel of plywood propped against Jackson's doorway, secured in place with two padlocks and remembered that the door had broken during his fight with Emily. Terrific, he thought, staring at the locks in dismay. Just what I needed.

He reached down, pulling at the bottom of the plywood, easing it back. He was able to pry it enough to squeeze through by crouching on his hands and knees and wriggling. He had to twist and shimmy, and in doing so, barked his injured side any number of agonizing times. By the time he made it through, he lay against the floor of Jackson's entry way in a fetal coil, shuddering and breathless with pain.

Finally, he staggered to his feet and looked around. He could see moonlight streaming in through the windows, glittering and winking off of broken gla.s.s from the shattered coffee table. The blood was gone, the grisly mess left after Lina had shot Emily in the head, but Brandon wasn't surprised. The Grandfather and the Brethren Council might have sanctioned Caine and Emily's departure from the compound, but they would have done so only with a strict caveat-remain unnoticed. The Brethren lived in constant fear of discovery; that Brandon had been gone for nearly a week now, roaming on his own, had probably left them in a panic. He wondered what they would say if they realized that Caine and Emily had indulged in a little bloodl.u.s.t smorgasbord before attacking him. They'd both fed like gluttons the night before; Brandon had smelled it on them, seen it in the way they'd healed so rapidly. He'd also seen the daily newspaper before leaving Rene's loft-two bodies had been found that morning along the riverfront, a pair of homeless men whose throats had been torn open, and whose bodies had been drained nearly dry of blood.

So much for keeping under the radar, Brandon thought, following the corridor down toward Jackson's bedroom. The police were swarming all over the incident like a monkey on a cupcake, with speculations of ritualistic murder, devil worshipping, and vampire cults. And they don't know the half of it.

He stopped in the bedroom doorway, his eyes widening in surprised dismay. His duffel bag was gone. What the h.e.l.l...? He looked on the opposite side of the room, then endured more pain as he dropped to his knees, teeth gritted, and peered under the bed. There was no sign of it-his duffel bag, his coat, all of his belongings. Everything was gone. My pills...!

He looked up toward the bedside table and realized not everything was gone. His notebook, the one with the gilded bra.s.s cover and chain his father had given to him, sat there, waiting for him. In Kentucky, he hadn't been able to go a day without the d.a.m.nable thing, because it had been his only way of communicating. He'd been spoiled in Lina's company-and more than this, he'd been comfortable with her, and the notebook-once as much a part of him as his hands or feet-had been all but forgotten.

The bitter irony that it was apparently all that remained of his personal possessions wasn't lost upon Brandon and he threw it across the room, sending it smashing into the wall. G.o.dd.a.m.n it!

He sat against the mattress and tangled his fingers in his hair. Caine must have taken his bag with him when he'd moved Emily's body. Terrific.

It was only a matter of time before the bloodl.u.s.t came upon him again, and without the Wellbutrin, Brandon would be helpless against it. For the moment, his pain and the residual effects of the painkiller Rene had given him seemed to be enough of a distraction, but Brandon knew that wouldn't last. The bloodl.u.s.t would come, and when it did, he'd be driven to feed, to kill.

No, Brandon thought, his brows furrowed as he stood. I'm not like that. I'm not like them-not like my family or Rene. I'm not a monster, some f.u.c.king killer. I'm not. I won't let myself be like that.

He crossed the room and leaned over, picking up his bra.s.s-plated notebook. He looped the chain around his neck, and tucked it beneath the zippered front of the leather jacket Rene had loaned him. He walked back down the hall, steeling himself to leave Jackson's apartment in the same agonizing fashion by which he'd entered.

As soon as he stepped off the elevator at the building's ground floor, his extrasensory awareness kicked in, raising the hairs along the nape of his neck. He stumbled to a halt, looking around, wide eyed and apprehensive. The entryway was empty; it was after eleven, and most residents were home for the night or in bed, but still he could sense somebody nearby-someone not human.

Someone like him.

G.o.dd.a.m.n it, Rene, I told you to stay in the car, he thought, because there was no way it could be Caine or one of the Brethren. Even they weren't skilled enough hunters to have tracked him by his scent to the apartment that quickly. And they had no reason to stake out the building in the hopes he would return.

He walked down the front steps outside the building, looking around for Rene, because the sensation of his presence had grown even stronger. He cut to his left, hurrying in the direction of the car, ready to just go back to the loft, cut his losses, drop a painkiller, and sleep. The pain in his shoulder had grown unbearable, radiating throughout his entire body. He didn't know what he was going to do and all at once, he just didn't give a s.h.i.t. He was exhausted, sh.e.l.l-shocked, hurting, and weak.

I'll worry about it tomorrow, he thought. I know where Rene keeps his cars now. I'll just steal one if I have to. I hate to do that, but if I stay here, they'll find me-and worse, they might find Lina, too. I just don't- A hand fell against his sleeve, reaching out from the shadowed alcove between the staircase and the side of the building.

Oh, Jesus, one of the Brethren-!

He whirled, his right hand snapping out reflexively, catching his would-be a.s.sailant roughly by the throat. He slammed the person back against the wall of the apartment building, gritting his teeth against a swell of molten pain that ripped through his side at the motion, the impact. He reared his left fist back, ready to let it fly, and then he found himself staring into two large, dark, frightened eyes, framed by dark hair-a young woman's face, terrified and terrifyingly familiar.

"Brandon...!" she hiccupped, gulping breathlessly against his hand. She pawed at his fingers, struggling to dislodge his throttling grasp. "Brandon... please...!"

He let her go and staggered back, his eyes enormous with shock. She clutched at her throat, gasping. Ok, G.o.d, no, he thought, anguished. Not now, not tonight... Jesus, not ever! Please not this-not her.

I can't fight my sister!

His twin, Tessa, reached for him, still panting. "Brandon," she said. "Please... listen to me. Please. I... I'm here to help you!"

Chapter Eighteen.

Rene and Tessa hit it off like a soaking wet cat introduced to a dog with a burr up its a.s.s.

"Here, pet.i.t," Rene said gently, leaning over as Brandon sat reclined in the Mercedes' pa.s.senger seat. Brandon was semi-lucid, his eyes heavily lidded, his mind groggy with pain; grabbing Tessa had been the last injury atop far too many insults that evening.

Rene tucked his fingertips between Brandon's lips, easing a pill against his tongue. "Je suis desole.. .I'm sorry. You're going to have to choke it down dry."

Brandon nodded, grimacing at the bitter taste of the pill, and struggling to work up enough saliva to wash it down his throat.

"What is that you're giving him?" Tessa asked, leaning forward from the backseat and into Brandon's line of sight. Her dark eyes were round with worry. "What did you just give him? What happened to him? Why is he in so much pain? What-"

"You always ask so many G.o.dd.a.m.n questions at once, pischouette?" Rene asked, frowning irritably at her.

Tessa's eyes flew wide. "Get your hands off of him," she snapped, shoving Rene roughly back in his seat. She leaned over Brandon, reaching for the buckle of his seat belt. The hem of her short plaid skirt rode up to the swell of her b.u.t.tocks as she did this, awarding a fleeting peek at her panties that Brandon noticed Rene didn't miss. "I don't know who the h.e.l.l you are, mister, but we don't need your help." She leaned even farther, standing up in the backseat now, trying to reach the pa.s.senger side door to open it Rene c.o.c.ked his head slightly, keeping his gaze fixed with interest upon her bottom, and she glanced over her shoulder, catching him in the act.

"You a.s.shole," she said, frowning, slapping him in the head, immediately darting back into the seat. She climbed out the side, stepping over the folded convertible top, and opened the door from the sidewalk. "Come on, Brandon," she said, squatting and taking Brandon by the arm. "We're leaving."

"No, you're not." Rene caught Brandon's other arm and pulled him back into the car.

Tessa glared at him, her cheeks flushing with sudden, angry color as she tugged against Brandon. "Yes, we are."