The head lopped off, then rolled to one side, an astounded expression in those dead eyes. And then, in a blink, he melted into formless goo. Yeah, well, don't underestimate a woman with a knife, buddy. Next time, I'd have to try staking the thing-were bloodsuckers vampires even without fangs? I didn't know-but it was nice to know that beheading worked just fine.

Twisting around, I ran back to the woman. She was a mess-her throat ripped open and her skin gray and lifeless. For a moment-one brief, horrible moment-I reveled in her pain. Hell, I wanted to push it higher. Wanted to take it to the limit and see how much she could bear.

I gasped, the moment passing even before I could push it away, but not so fast that I couldn't escape the wave of self-loathing that crashed over me.

I wanted this new life. I really did. But at what price was I sliding into this role?

I shook myself, determination setting in. Adjustments. That was all this was. Just like Clarence said: stress and adjustments. I wasn't some blackhearted beast.

And to prove it to myself, I hurried to the woman, crouched by her side, and took her hand in mine.

"You're going to be okay," I lied, as life flowed from her. "I'm right here. I'm going to stay with you."

I pressed my hands over her throat, trying to stanch the flow of blood. No use. It pumped out of her, spraying through my fingers, covering my clothes, my skin, my face.

She gasped, a fish out of water, seeking a breath I couldn't give her. As for me, I breathed in deep, my senses primed and tingling. My thoughts seemed to separate from my actions, and I was aware of only one thing-an intense, undeniable hunger. But not for food. For blood.

Shaken, I stood, my gaze shifting between the woman and the stain on the concrete where the demon had been.

"What's happening to me?" I whispered, even as I gazed at my knife and fought the disgusting-but-oh-so-tempting urge to run my tongue along the still-bloody blade.

I closed my eyes as a wave of dizziness washed over me. I felt faint, desperate to satiate that most base of desires.

I knelt beside the woman, and even as I heard myself whispering, "No," I brushed a finger across her neck. Her body temperature was already falling, and the blood felt cool against my fingertip. I lifted my hand and pressed my finger to my lips, my tongue darting out to taste the sweet heaven of her blood.

No!

This time, the word echoed only in my head, but the force of it was strong enough to bring me to my feet. I slammed my hand down against my jeans, scrubbing the blood off and wishing I could scrub the sweet, sweet taste from my mouth, too.

First a sensual haze with Zane. Then that dark, violent brooding. Now a near-painful bloodlust?

It was all too freaking much. I needed answers, and I knew I couldn't go to Clarence. Somehow the idea of bloodlust in one of heaven's soldiers didn't sound like something I wanted to confess. Not when you considered that knife he had no qualms about using if I failed to prove myself.

I grabbed my head, trying to keep the throbbing at bay, a deep, rhythmic pulse that originated as much with confusion as it did from my battle to keep myself away from the blood that called to me like heroin to a junkie.

Run. It was the only thing to do. Run and get clear and find my head again.

I gave her one last look, guilty about leaving her, and knowing that if I stayed, I would surely debase us both.

Run.

It was the only answer.

Run, dammit, run!

I ran.

I ran as if the devil himself were behind me. Because you know what? I think he was.

SEVENTEEN.

I ran, but I couldn't escape the scent, my own horrific desires, or the guilt that accompanied my overwhelming, sickening hunger.

The blood covered me, had soaked into my shirt, had stained my hands, and all I could do was run. Alice's apartment was right there, only meters away, but I didn't go in. Didn't want to surround myself in pastel pink and pretty images. Right then, nothing about me was pretty. Not the stains on my body. Not the anger in my heart.

And definitely not this sickening bloodlust that still burned through my veins.

Here I was, some big-shot, uber-bad assassin chick, and the first time I stumbled upon a demon actually attacking a human I'd managed to do exactly nothing. Nothing.

Worse than nothing, I'd defiled her death by a perverse thirst that had come over me.

What was the point? What was the point if I couldn't save the innocent? I trembled, remembering the cold, gray death in the woman's eyes. Remembering as well that cold gray in the eyes of my sister.

Goddammit. I was supposed to be better now. Pulled out of the useless mess of a life where I couldn't even help my sister. I was supposed to have been chosen. A frickin' savior for humankind, but so far, all I'd done was fail. The woman in the alley, the demon in Zane's basement, my sister-raped and stalked and tormented. I'd killed, and yet I still couldn't help anyone. Couldn't keep my promises.

How the hell could I save the world if I couldn't save even one person?

I hugged myself, the reality of this world I'd slipped into pressing hard around me. Murderous demons in dark alleys. Girls with Rose's eyes and black souls.

Pretty freaking unreal.

Then again, I'd been plucked from the jaws of death. Get thee to a new body, and go forth to slay the demon. Yeah, perhaps astonishment at the revelation of horror movie- quality creatures in Boston was a misplaced emotion.

As my thoughts raged in my mind, my feet took me far away from Alice's apartment. The dark streets were mostly empty, but I caught a few stares, then remembered I was covered in blood. Nice.

At least, I realized, the bloodlust had faded. Which was good, because if I thought about it too much more, I would seriously wig out.

The red leather duster hid the blood, but the white Bloody Tongue sweatshirt was covered. I slipped out of the coat, then peeled off the shirt, leaving me clad in the thin tank top I'd put on at Alice's. Despite the chill in the October air, I didn't shiver, the heat coursing through my veins sufficient to keep me warm.

I dumped the shirt in a trash can, then slid back into the duster as I kept on walking, my strides eating up the pavement. At first, I heard nothing but the beating of my heart and my own footfalls. But after a mile or two, I heard the definite tread of someone behind me.

I wheeled around, hand on my knife, and came face-to-face with Clarence, looking as pissed off as a frog about to undergo dissection.

"I thought you didn't have a Lily-scope?"

"I went back to your apartment," he said. "Wanted to double-check. Make sure you're okay. Shoulda got there sooner, I guess," he added, his voice tight with control. "You're an assassin, Lily. You're not a vigilante."

"He killed her. And you're telling me I should have done nothing?"

With both hands, he raked his fingers through short, thick hair. "You did great. Awesome. You killed the big, bad, bloodsucking demon. Yay for you."

My mouth hung open, because I was absolutely certain I was now in Wonderland.

Clarence sighed. "I'm sorry to rag on you, kid. It really was a solid kill. Nasty demon, now gone from the world. Kudos to Lily."

"Then what is the problem?"

"You still don't get it," he said. "This isn't about eradicating every demon that's walking around out there-"

"I didn't kill every demon," I spat back in return, my mind flashing to Deacon before I quickly shoved the image away. "I killed one. One who was hanging around outside my apartment killing innocent women."

"You think you're invincible?" He poked me in the chest with one quick fingertip. "You ain't. But you are the one who's going to make sure the gate stays closed. And if you get whacked, you won't be around to do that, now will you?" He snorted. "We lose the war, you gonna be happy you took out a demon or three? A vamp who was getting his rocks off with some skank he picked up at-"

"Skank?"

"I'm making a point. You wanna let me make my point?"

I put my hands up in a gesture of surrender and stepped back.

"Point is, you might win the battle, but you sure ain't gonna win the war. Not like that. Not if you go running off with your own agenda."

"He. Killed. Her."

"Everyone dies, pet," he said. "Like they say, 'That's life.' "

I crossed my arms, staring him down. "I didn't."

"My point," he said. "You got a job to do. You got a purpose. Don't screw it up for some tightly wound sense of justice."

"Tightly wound?"

"That woman was gonna die no matter what. Maybe not tonight. Maybe not next year. But she ain't living forever, and in the end, from her perspective, it's all the same. What you're fighting, though-that's eternal. More than that, you screw it up and maybe that little lady's soul don't have such a nice place to go. Capisce? You gotta be a big-picture gal, Lily. 'Cause if you're gonna go around sweating the small stuff, then we got loads of trouble ahead. Do you get that? Is any of this sinking in?"

"I get it," I said. And I did. I'd been trying to help. To use these newfangled powers to protect the weak and innocent. People like Rose. But I wasn't allowed to do that. Instead, I had to keep my eye on the mission and take my satisfaction where I was told.

Pretty lame for an uber-chick.

"An uber-chick who's going to save the world, pet. Trust me when I say that'll save a whole boatload of innocents."

I knew he was right, but it didn't feel that way.

He looked at me, eyes narrowed, searching my thoughts. "Come on, kid. Chin up. You can't afford to get distracted. We got too damn much to lose." He swung an arm around me and hugged me like a chum. "It's almost three, and you're due back at Zane's to train at ten, then you got a shift at the pub. You may not need sleep now, but I'm thinking downtime would be a good thing. Go take a little."

I nodded and ran my fingers through my hair. He was right, but that didn't mean I had to like it.

I told myself I had every intention of going home, of closing out the night in Alice's bed-my bed-and letting dreams carry me away from all this.

I told myself that, but then I kept on walking, twisting and turning down streets and alleys, not paying attention to where I was going, but letting the night lead me as I tried to empty my mind.

A steady bass thrum trembled through the air, the sidewalk beneath my feet throbbing with its syncopated beat. I stopped, turning as I tried to find the source of the music.

I realized then how far I'd wandered. I'd left the residential area far behind, and was now surrounded by warehouses and small businesses. The kind of off-the-beaten-path places that can repair your car or your antique typewriter and tend to be housed in metal buildings with garage-style doors.

The noise, I realized, was coming from a ramshackle warehouse on the corner, plastered with rain-stained posters advertising various bands I'd never heard of. I followed the music around the corner and found myself facing a guy in army fatigues smoking a cigarette as he lounged in a garden chair. He looked me up and down, his gaze barely even stalling as it hit the knife on my thigh.

"What's the cover?"

"Fifteen," he said. "We only got music, and we don't shut down until dawn." Which was doorman-speak for "We got whatever drugs and alcohol you want, but I'm not saying because you might be vice."

I still had my tip money, and I peeled a twenty from the wad of cash I intended to mail to Rose. "Keep the change," I said, then took a step for the door. His hand across my chest stopped me. I looked down at his palm over my breasts, then up at his face. The hand came off, flying up in a gesture of peace and goodwill.

"Gotta lose the piece," he said, nodding toward my knife.

"And to think I tipped you." I bent over and unstrapped the thigh holster. Then I pulled up the leg of my jeans, restrapped the contraption to my calf, and worked the denim back over the knife. A tight fit, and a very obvious bulge, but not so bad that it ruined the haute couture gestalt of my outfit. Whatever the hell that means.

"Not exactly what I had in mind."

"Well, I figure you have a choice," I said. "You let me in so I can dance and make merry. Or I go home, drown my sorrows in a beer from my refrigerator, and in my desolation at being rejected, drunk-dial the police and report the unsavory goings-on behind those doors. Because I'm pretty sure that unsavory is happening back there. Honestly, I wouldn't want in otherwise."

He stepped aside.

"Good boy," I said, bestowing him a quick pat on the cheek as I brushed past and into the deafening roar of the club's interior. Club being a loose term, of course, because these kinds of clubs changed geographical location almost nightly. But the place served my purpose-crowded, dark, boisterous, and too damn loud to even think.

I was tired of thinking.

The music pounded in my chest as I stepped through the inner door, though I suppose music is a loose term, too, considering the volume was too loud to hear anything but the bass beat. As far as I could tell, the song was meant to be enjoyed through vibrations in the air, as if those of us in the club were bats or something.

I considered the metaphor and decided it wasn't that far off the mark. I'd become nocturnal by default.

"Lily," I whispered, "you're a mess."

A bald man with a tattooed scalp shot me a curious glance. I ignored him and crossed to the makeshift bar of plywood and beer crates. I ordered a double shot of tequila and endured the bartender telling me they didn't have alcohol. "I'm not the cops," I said, then slammed back the drink he passed me. Easy enough, and because I figured good karma shouldn't be wasted, I ordered another, then took it with me as I wound my way through the crowd to the ladies' room, a haven of makeup, hair spray, and the most foulmouthed gossip you've ever heard.

Two overly coiffed sorority princesses stood next to a girl with a purple Mohawk and a pierced lip. All three turned and looked at me. I, in turn, looked at the sink, then aimed myself in that same direction. I plunked my drink down on the counter and proceeded to scrub the last remnants of blood off my hands, arms, and coat. Then I reached in front of Bitsy for a paper towel.

"Fight with the boyfriend," I said, conjuring a sweet smile, a not-too-difficult feat considering whose face I was wearing. In fact, anyone looking at the reflection in the mirror would probably assume I'd come in with Bitsy and Ditsy. Even after the night I'd had, Alice still looked cute and perky. Considering my old body used to develop bags under the eyes if I stayed up past nine thirty, I had to admit my new skin held some definite upsides.

The downsides, I discovered once I emerged from the ladies' room. Not fewer than seven men hit on me as I made my way back across the dance floor, and one of them actually reached out and grabbed my ass. I don't think I broke his nose, but he slid back into the crowd so fast after I belted him that I can't be sure.

I slid into the mass of people, arms high, my breasts pressed against the thin material of my tank top. Colored lights swept the floor, sweaty bodies moving in rhythm all around me, hips and fingers touching as we all moved in one delicious, sensual beat.

A lean man in a purple shirt slid in close to me, and I grabbed the waistband of his jeans and tugged him closer. A warm, sexy power was filling me, and I needed to explore it, to test it, to use it. I smiled at him and realized he was enthralled, which gave me a nice little rush.

His arm hooked around my waist and his hips pressed against mine as we gyrated in time to the music, a sensual bump-and-grind that only vaguely resembled dancing.

I closed my eyes as he slid his hands up from my waist, coming close to my breasts, teasing me, setting my body on fire, and taking my thoughts away from the specifics of my life to the pure, physical pleasure of touch.

And so help me, I wanted that. Wanted to be lost inside my head, even if only for a moment. I didn't want this man, didn't know him or care about him. Another face loomed in the back of my mind, but that was one of the images I pushed away, clinging instead to the safety of anonymity.

Whatever I wanted, this man would have to do; and if I could only quit thinking, maybe I could lose myself for a few minutes in his touch.

We moved in a mindless pattern of heat and desire, his touch fueling my need for release, but I wasn't desperate enough to go there with this man. It was enough to feel the power over him, a power I didn't understand, but that nonetheless consumed me.