"Where?" "To your apartment." He turned back to his arsenal and strapped a leg holster to his denim-covered calf, dropping another stake into it.

I waited expectantly as he pulled out Ziggy's axe. "Um...were you going to give me something to protect myself, too?"

"You're right." With an embarrassed smile, he headed down the hall. When he returned, he pressed something into my hand. "I'm sorry, I don't know where my head was."

I frowned at the cell phone in my palm. "So...is this a James Bond type of device that shoots fireballs or sprays acid or something?"

"Not exactly." He took the phone and pressed a button, lighting up the screen. "But it does speed-dial Ziggy's pager. If you have any trouble, call him."

My jaw dropped. "What? Ziggy's at the hospital and you told him to stay off the streets."

I wanted him to be annoyed by my protestations, but he remained perfectly calm as he prepared for battle. "Ziggy is better equipped to handle an emergency than you are. I trust him to keep you safe. Besides, there are plenty of weapons in the closet that you can use, and I really doubt that Dahlia will be back."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Hey, it's my apartment burning down! I'm coming with you."

"No." Nathan shook his head adamantly. "Too dangerous."

"Too dan-" I sputtered in my anger. "You're supposed to want me to die! Hell, if you're so loyal to the Movement, you should be shoveling vampires into burning buildings by the truckload."

"This isn't open for discussion. You don't know how to fight, and you'll be nothing but a distraction to me." When I opened my mouth to argue further, he held up a hand. "I'm leaving. If you want to live through the night, you'll stay here."

Grabbing the axe, he stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door so hard the walls rattled.

"Well...fuck you!" I shouted, kicking one of the couch cushions to the floor.

How dare he! As if I were somehow incapable of looking out for myself in my own, albeit probably on fire, apartment. And what did he mean when he'd said I'd be a distraction? Did he think I was going to get in his way, asking questions with painfully obvious answers and twirling my hair while looking on with a vapid expression?

Jerk.

I tossed the cell phone on the table. It slid across the glass top, colliding with the notebooks piled there. Papers cascaded to the floor. Frowning, I knelt to straighten them. I lifted the papers one sheet at a time and shuffled them into a uniform stack. When I laid the pile aside, I noticed the top page was an Internet printout of a map. It was a map of the very affluent neighborhood on the east side of town, with a big red X drawn on in marker.

Now, this was interesting. I flipped the paper aside to examine the sheet underneath. It was a fax, dated three days before John Doe had attacked me. Sent from VVEM to N. Galbraith, the letter contained only an address. The same address on the map.

"I thought his last name was Grant," I muttered to myself. I was about to flip to the next page when the cell phone rang.

"Nate, it's me. I'm stuck in this emergency room. They put me in this curtained-off little room and haven't been back since. I think they're calling the police."

I cut Ziggy off when he stopped for a breath. "Nathan isn't here. Dahlia set my apartment on fire. He went to check it out." "No shit? And he left you there?" He sounded as surprised at Nathan's actions as I was.

"He thinks I can't defend myself." I looked over at the computer desk in the corner. "Listen, a fax came after he went out. From VVEM? Is that the Movement?"

His curse resonated down the line, and no doubt through the stark, sterile emergency room. "Yeah. That's them. I wonder what they want."

"I didn't read it," I said, compounding my lie.

"It's probably another kill order." He cleared his throat. "Just stick it on the fridge. It's the first place he goes after a fight."

"Thanks, Ziggy." I bit my lip. "When exactly did the order come down for Cyrus?"

"The original one? I don't know, he's got like forty by now. Hey, somebody's here to take my blood and they're not happy I'm on a cell phone here, so-"

"No, the last order for him," I practically shouted into the phone. "When did that come through?"

"Why?" Ziggy's tone was suddenly suspicious. "Maybe you should ask Nathan when he gets back. I have to-"

"Ziggy, wait!"

The line went dead. I threw the phone to the floor in frustration. This was too much of a coincidence, I concluded as I stared at the map. Three days. What were the chances he'd gotten this message about a different vampire three days before he'd attacked Cyrus?

I flipped a page. There was my answer, in black and white.

From: VVEM To: N. Galbraith Re: Case #372-96 Part 9Y Assassination Order: Simon Seymour, aka Simon Kerrick, aka Cyrus Kerrick for Crimes against Humanity.

Well. There it was.

I glanced guiltily at the door and wondered how long Nathan would be gone. But did I really care if he found me missing?

Remembering his condescension earlier, I decided that I definitely would not care. This wasn't any of his business, and I only had a few precious days left to make my decision about the Movement. I deserved to know the truth about my undead birth. As much help as Nathan had been, it wasn't his blood flowing through my veins.

A curious ache filled me at the thought of Cyrus, and I wondered if this yearning was a symptom of the blood tie. And if it was, would this strange link protect me from more harm at the hands of my sire?

Without allowing myself to dwell on fear, I stuffed the map into my pocket. I called in to work to say I wouldn't be in. When I hung up, a vaguely empty feeling came over me, the realization that I might not return to the hospital. I forced the thought aside and opened the closet.

Though there were plenty of weapons at my disposal, I took a stake, the smallest and easiest to conceal of the bunch. Besides, I knew what to do with a stake. The spiky-ball-on-a-stick thing looked considerably more complicated to operate. Of course, a stake wouldn't protect me from Dahlia, if she was still waiting for me. But Nathan was a vampire hunter, not a witch hunter. I suppose I could douse her with water and melt her like in The Wizard of Oz, if it came to that.

I almost left a note for Nathan but decided against it. I realized there was nothing I could write that wouldn't seem like I'd turned my back on all of his help. There was no way to soften the truth.

As helpful and considerate as he'd been, there were some questions Nathan couldn't answer. For those, I'd have to face my fear the way I had that night in the morgue.

I had to meet my sire.

Six

John Doe

The day obviously hadn't been a warm one. The twilight air was cold enough to steal the breath from my lungs.

I'd found my wool coat hanging over the towel rack in the bathroom. It appeared Nathan had spot-cleaned the blood from it. But it didn't keep me warm as I walked the miles from Nathan's apartment to the address on the paper. Being dead had some serious disadvantages, like constantly assuming room temperature, no matter what that temperature might be.

While my car still sat at the curb outside the bookshop, the keys were probably still on the ground outside the donor house. There was no way I'd go back there. I preferred walking.

I was familiar with the posh neighborhood. When I'd been new to the city, I'd often drive through the winding streets and marvel at the modern mansions and fairy-tale chateaus. They looked completely out of place in the sparsely wooded area. Tall brick walls and elaborate gates wrapped around the lots. Some had privacy hedges with formidable-looking security cameras that glared at passersby with cold, glassy eyes. From the shelter of my car, I'd daydreamed about the people living in these houses and imagined living in one myself ten years down the road. The fantasies had always featured a handsome yet oddly faceless husband and our adorable, ambiguous children. Only one house had ever been the feature of a horror story in my mind.

That one turned out to be Cyrus's.

A severe Edwardian manor, it sat far back on a lawn surrounded by a stone wall. The wrought-iron gate at the drive looked as though it hadn't been opened in centuries. There was no intercom or bell. I gripped the iron bars and gave a push. The hinges didn't creak, and the gate swung open to admit me.

I'd never felt so exposed in my entire life as I walked toward the house. The driveway cut a paved swath through the lawn, which glowed an eerie green in the moonlight. Any moment, they'd release the dogs, I was sure. And I hated dogs.

Lucky for me, no one seemed to notice my presence, even as I neared the front door. With every footstep my confidence built, until I got close enough to grasp the doorknob.

The door was open.

I froze. I'd believed no one had seen me coming. As I looked over my shoulder at the broad expanse of lawn, I realized how foolish that assumption had been. The full moonlight might as well have been stadium lighting. Not to mention someone was probably watching me through the security camera mounted above the lintel. I swallowed my fear and stepped inside.

"Hello?" I called, my voice sounding like the dumb female protagonist of a slasher flick. "Your door is open."

"I know." Before I could turn to find the source of the voice, strong arms wrapped around me. The echo of the slamming door sounded final, like the felling of a judge's gavel.

Whoever held me was not a vampire. I don't know how I knew. I just did. Maybe it was the smell of his blood, or the surge of power I felt at the realization I could easily overcome him and make my escape. But the foyer was completely dark, and I had no idea where I'd find the door. Healing abilities and heightened reflexes were cool and all, but I really wished we came equipped with night vision. I cursed the total unfairness of it.

"The Master doesn't like that kind of language," the man holding me admonished.

My captor shoved me with surprising strength. I collided painfully with a set of double doors, which opened under my weight and spilled me into the next room.

I wiped a trickle of blood from my nose, sickened at my compulsion to taste it. My eyes adjusted to the dark, and I saw the room was very lavish. Leaded windowpanes stretched from the gilded ceiling high above all the way to the marble floor where I lay sprawled. A fresco was painted on the wall. I couldn't make out the figures distinctly, but there was a lot of nakedness going on.

It was like I'd died and been sent to a really Baroque version of hell. Somehow, though, I couldn't imagine Satan having bad enough taste to hang red velvet drapes.

Six black-clad men stood guard around the room, two stationed at each door, including the one I'd just been thrown through. The thrower stepped in. He was dressed the same as the guards.

"Watch her," he ordered the two closest men, and all the sentries nodded their heads.

When the thrower left, I climbed to my feet and took a few steps to the right. Each of the guards' heads swiveled slightly to follow me. I stepped to the left, with the same results. I had an overwhelming compulsion to boogie a little and see if they copied that, too.

Just then a door opened to admit a shadowy figure.

Though the sliver of light spilling in distorted my vision, I could tell from her scent it was Dahlia. My mouth watered at the memory of her blood.

One of the guards reached out as if to prevent her from entering, but she raised her hands and he inexplicably dropped his arm. A tremor of fear seemed to go through all the sentries. It was as tangible as a tidal wave crashing over my head. They were afraid of Dahlia.

She crossed the room slowly and waved a hand at the darkness.

"Illuminate," she commanded, and light flooded the room.

I forced myself not to retreat as she advanced. "Nice trick. I prefer the clapper, but to each his own."

"I can't remember where I picked it up, but it's handy," she said casually. "Not as useful as my other ones."

She walked in a wide circle around me. "So, you lived. I would have thought there was a lesson in that experience."

I shrugged. "Maybe I'm a slow learner."

"Really? Then perhaps you need a visual aide." She waved her hand again and mumbled a long command in a language I didn't recognize. Nathan's lifeless body appeared on the floor, his blood in a dark pool around him.

The sight stole my breath. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came. But Nathan wasn't dead. This is just a trick, I told myself. Don't let it rattle you. The vision evaporated as quickly as it had appeared.

Dahlia laughed like a child with a new toy. "You bought that? For a doctor, you're not very bright."

I rounded on her and felt the change come over me. For a moment, I thought I saw fear in her eyes, but she stood her ground and didn't utter a noise when I tackled her to the floor. I wanted to rip her throat out, not to feed, just to kill. The thought of her harming the one person who'd bothered to help me made me insane with rage.

A series of loud claps interrupted me before I could deliver a killing blow. I looked up, and Dahlia kicked me away with more force than I would have expected.

Cyrus himself strode toward us. His blond hair seemed longer, falling almost to the floor. He wore an ancient-looking brocade robe the color of blood, and his bare feet peeked out below the hem.

This was the monster who'd made me a vampire. He didn't look like the creature who'd attacked me. His face was young and handsome. Only his mismatched eyes hinted at his true nature. That, and his facial expression. He looked furious.

"If you don't want to be the next meal on my table, you won't harm her again," he warned Dahlia in a deep, sophisticated voice.

But he didn't spare her a glance as he approached me. His every step resonated with predatory grace. A tremor surged through my body as our gazes connected. A smirk of satisfaction twisted his lips as he reached out to pull me to my feet.

Dahlia sniffled pathetically. Cyrus turned and pointed one finger in her direction. The deadly sharp nail gleamed in the light, manicured to elegant perfection.

"Get out!" he shouted, and she scrambled to her feet, running from the room as fast as her plump legs could carry her.

"Disobedience, you'll find, is the one thing I cannot tolerate from my pets," Cyrus said, turning to me with an apologetic shrug.

"Please, allow me to introduce myself. I'm-"

"We've met before."

He arched an exquisitely sculpted brow. "Have we?"

With lightning fast precision, he pinned me against his chest. My veins burned at the physical contact, and I held myself absolutely still, afraid that at any moment I would writhe against him shamelessly like a cat in heat. This was the blood tie Nathan had spoken of. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

Never in my life had I felt as if I were spiraling out of control the way I did at that moment, nor had I felt such absolute relief as I did with my sire's arms around me. The loneliness of the past months vanished when he touched me, as though all I had needed to satiate the agitated emptiness in my soul was to be with him. He made me feel so strangely complete that I wondered if I would ever be truly happy again without him or if I'd miss my old life if I never left this room again.

Cyrus leaned his cheek against mine and sniffed me.

I heard the blood singing in my sire's veins, compelling me not to struggle. I can't say I would have wanted to escape even if I could.

"Oh, yes. I know you now." His voice was a rich, awed whisper in my ear. "You're even more beautiful than I'd remembered."

He ran his hands up and down my arms. I trembled. My knees buckled and I sagged backward, relying on his strength to keep me up.

Now I knew why the Movement thought of the tie in such absolute terms. It was better than love, better than success. The blood tie was the culmination and fulfillment of all human desires. I couldn't imagine how anyone would want to resist it. "What's your name?" Cyrus's cold breath teased my ear as he spoke.