The muscles along her shoulders tense. She gathers her hind legs under her and snarls her intention. When she leaps, I grab the first thing my fingers close around from the shelf behind me, hurl it, and jump away.

The ceramic vase catches her under her left eye. It shatters, a shard settling deep into the eye socket. She tumbles back, yelps, shakes her head furiously until the shard falls away. Blood spurts from the cut. When I breathe it in, I realize it's human blood. It causes my own to quicken but I can't give in to the bloodl.u.s.t. It's human blood, but it's not a human I'm facing.

I have to keep distance between us.

She's recovered. She looks for me, sniffing the air for my scent. I've moved to the middle of the room, between the rows of shelves. She catches my scent, howls in pain and anger, and comes after me.

The shelf facing me offers nothing I can use against her. She lowers her head and watches as I back up. Every instinct I have screams to meet her head on, snap her neck, drink her blood. Could I do it before she sank her teeth into my arm or hand?

I can't take the chance.

Think.

There were hundreds of silver objects scattered here among Avery's possessions. I know there has to be something I can use as a weapon. My eyes sweep the shelves.

Jewelry.

Goblets.

Bowls.

The wolf's ears flatten. Blood drips from a ruined eye socket.

There. On one of the top shelves. A dagger.

We move at the same time.

The wolf springs.

I leap straight up, grab the dagger.

The wolf touches down first, landing where I'd been standing, landing on nothing. She skids on the dirt. Clouds of dust rise under her scrabbling feet.

She whirls to face me, howling her frustration. Blood and spit spew out with her rage.

The dagger's blade is ten inches long. The hilt is heavy in my hand. Could I throw it at her? No, I couldn't be sure of a kill shot.

The only chance I have is to get behind her, seize her behind the neck and plunge it into her before she can sink fangs into my hand.

How to do it?

The muscles under her pelt bunch; her hind legs draw into each other like a spring being tightened. She is taking her time, gauging the distance, waiting for me to make the first move.

I feint to the left. She hurls herself at me. I wait until I feel her breath on my face before stepping back and around. I dig my fingers into her mane and straddle her. She bucks against me, snapping at air and howling. I work an arm around her neck, yank her backward against me. Her smell, lupine, musk, human.

I plunge the dagger into what I can most easily reach, her exposed belly. She screams in anger and pain, but the wound is not fatal.

Blood, hot, fragrant, flows over my hand. She's pawing at the air, trying to shake me loose. I hold on, fighting her, fighting the vampire l.u.s.t that thirsts for the blood. If I loosened my grip, a tiny bit, I could turn her to face me, reach her neck, drink.

Her jaws open wide, fangs seeking a target. Seeking skin to ravage, bone to crush. Mine.

I tighten my arm around her neck. Tighten my grip on the dagger. This time, when I plunge the dagger, I find the mark.

Find the heart of the beast.

For a moment the earth stills. Only the wolf moves. She thrashes, whimpers. I jump back and away. She does not come after me.

She twists into herself, shuddering, jaws working in a desperate attempt to reach the dagger. Her clumsy, frantic efforts succeed only in driving it deeper.

Another heartbeat and the thrashing stops. The wolf's head falls to the floor. Then there's only the blood. It pumps still, seeping around the dagger, turning the fur crimson. The blood of the wolf/human calling to me. I command myself not to respond, not to move. My nails dig into the palms of my hands until it's the smell of my own blood that fills my head. My eyes remain riveted on the wolf. As if in slow motion, the transformation from beast to human begins.

I feel Sandra watching, too.

The fur retracts into the skin, the head reshapes, followed by the limbs. The vertebrae realign with a crack like the withered branches of a dead tree. The knife in the naked human chest looks much more deadly than in the wolf's. Tamara's face is contorted in death, her mouth open, teeth bared. Around her neck, two gold chains.

She had Sandra's locket all along.

CHAPTER 65.

SANDRA HASN'T MOVED. WHEN I TURN TO HER, there is a spark of relief in her eyes. In the next instant it's replaced by fear and pain. She falls to her knees, doubled over, and a cry escapes her lips.

"What is it, Avery?" I say. "Your plans disrupted? You were clever, though; I never suspected Tamara."

I kneel beside Tamara's body and pull both chains over her head. The lockets are almost identical. "Which is yours, Sandra? Tell me and we can end this."

All she can do is clutch at her chest and throat. Avery prevents her from answering. He's exerting some kind of internal pressure that's choking her.

"Okay. We'll do it another way."

I approach Sandra, help her straighten enough to slip the chains over her head and let both lockets fall between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. There is an immediate howl of rage as Avery feels the talisman's power begin to usurp his own.

Sandra's strength is returning. She grabs my arm. "Go now. I'm going to make the change. Lock us down here when you go.

Don't come back. If I survive, I'll contact you."

"I can't leave you. Avery is my enemy, too. There must be something I can do."

She shakes her head. "This is my battle. Once I change, Avery will try to make me attack you. I may not be able to prevent it."

Still, I can't bring myself to go.

Sandra's eyes become hard. "You are not helping. Every moment you remain, Avery exerts himself more. You must go. One of us must survive in case . . ."

She doesn't finish it. She doesn't have to. If Avery survives, if he comes after me again in her body, I'll know what to do.

"What about the rest of the pack? Can they help you?"

She shakes her head again. "I sent them back to Mexico. Only Tamara remained. I now know why. She and Avery had plans of their own."

"But why? What did she hope to gain?"

Sandra sweeps a hand in a wide arc. "This. Now go."

CHAPTER 66.

THE DOOR AT THE BOTTOM OF THE STAIRWAY HAS no lock. Before I leave the cellar, I heave one of the crates against the wall. A cascade of gold and silver coins tumbles out. It's not the contents of the crate I'm interested in, though, but the heavy wood that held it. I choose two boards.

The last image I see of Sandra is a half-wolf, half-human form curled in a fetal position on the floor. Her face is distorted by pain; she is whimpering in anguish. Avery is fighting her.

She clutches the talisman in a hand that's more beast than human. Her eyes are clear. Her resolve strong.

She'll win.

I pull the door shut and jam the boards against the handle. A physically strong, determined human might be able to break out. I doubt a wolf could.

It's not until I'm back upstairs, in Avery's bedroom, that my own rage takes over. I rip the bedclothes off the bed and throw them into the fire. I use my hands to tear apart the mattress and feed it piece by piece into the fire. If I could, I'd dismantle the bed. It's too heavy, too well constructed to yield to bare-handed vampire strength. I have to content myself with destroying anything that my skin comes in contact with, anything that touched Avery's body. When I'm finished, the only smell left is ash and smoke.

I sink into a chair, watch the smoldering remains of the dying fire. Wonder what is happening in the secret room deep beneath my feet.

Tamara wanted what?

Wealth?

A life in this mausoleum of a house?

All she had to do was kill me, and let Sandra die. Avery would jump to her body and the union would be complete. One beast inhabiting the body of another. Was immortality part of the bargain?

With me gone, there would be no obstacle to claiming Avery's estate. What she, what no one, seems to understand is that I would have gladly given it away. I will give it away. To Sandra when Avery is dead. Theirs may not have been a civil marriage, but the h.e.l.lish union they experienced makes her more an heir than I will ever be.

The vineyard. What about the vineyard? Images of my parents and Trish, excited, exuberant, thrilled beyond words by the unexpected gift of a new life. How can I tell them the truth?

And Williams. What do I do about him?

I have no answers. Not yet.

The fire's last sputtering gasp is my signal to leave. A bedside clock reads 3:00 p.m. I look once more around a room I hope never to see again.

As I turn to leave, a m.u.f.fled sound drifts up from the bowels of the earth.

The howl of a wolf.

CHAPTER 67.

DAVID GREETS ME AT THE DOOR OF HIS CONDO, an impatient frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. He's wearing jeans and a polo shirt, and he has a leather jacket slung over one arm. "I thought you'd never get here. I'm going to be late. Tammy expects me at four."

Tammy isn't expecting anyone.

Ever again.

I furrow my brow in a puzzled expression of surprise. "She didn't call you?" He crosses his arms over his chest, and the frown deepens. "What do you mean?"

"I mean she told me she would call you before leaving town. She didn't?"

"No. She didn't call me. What do you mean leaving town?"

I push past him and move from the door into the living room. Gloria reclines against sofa cushions on the couch. She's dressed in a silk sweat suit, her hair swept back from her face in a ponytail. Her face, though pale and devoid of makeup, brightens as she catches our conversation.

I want to warn her not to get her hopes up, that this does not change our bargain, but first, I continue the farce with David. "She had a family emergency. Back in Pennsylvania. I can't believe she didn't call."

David pulls his cell phone out of a pocket and lets his jacket fall to the back of the couch. He finds her number, punches the "send"

b.u.t.ton and puts the phone to his ear.

I have an image of the phone ringing in some inner circle of h.e.l.l. I don't expect it to be picked up. It isn't. David leaves a message, a rather snarky message, and snaps the phone closed.

"s.h.i.t. I bought all this food." He gestures vaguely toward a couple of grocery bags sitting in a corner near the front door.

"Well, I'm sure Gloria is getting hungry. Aren't you, Gloria?"

She nods and David heaves a disgruntled sigh, but he gathers up the bags and takes a step toward the kitchen. "I can't imagine why she'd call you instead of me," he grumbles.

"I told you she was a flake."

He stops and turns around. "No. You told me you didn't know her very well. That she might be a flake. Thanks for nothing, Anna."

So once again, I'm the bad guy. First with Gloria, now with Tamara. I can't win.

David bangs things around in the kitchen while Gloria and I cool our heels in the living room. The silence between us is uneasy. I have nothing to say to her.

The sun is low over the water, casting an orange red glow that bathes the room. In a few minutes, the moon will rise. I wonder if Sandra can feel it. If Avery realizes that he is doomed.