"No," he said. "I won't leave you."

The strap loosened and I pulled my leg out. He looked at me, triumphant. An ominous crack sounded above, and then the ceiling gave way.

Stan didn't have time to move.

He was buried instantly.

Chapter 11

"Stan!" I screamed. My mind was still foggy, but the tender hold of the drugs slipped away. I felt terrible; my mouth tasted like metal.

I got off the table, my feet stabbed by broken gla.s.s and concrete shards. My legs folded, and I grabbed the table for support.

Unbelievably, the light only dropped a couple of feet; it was still on, too.

I lowered myself to the floor and crawled to Stan. Shards pierced my palms and knees, but the pain was dulled. Sweat dripped off my temples and rolled down my neck. The acrid smell of smoke singed my nostrils. It was familiar, that scent. Like home. Like family.

I kept moving, thinking only of getting to Stan. I needed to save him, so I could strangle him later.

My heart dropped when I saw Stan's pale hand sticking out from the rocks.

Seeing my old friend, my uncle Archie, buried by debris swept aside my anger about his actions. I could browbeat him later, if he lived to hear my harangue. I wasn't leaving him in the rubble. I flung away rock after rock.

"Stan? I'm getting you out," I said. "Keep breathing. Please, just keep breathing."

The noise and explosions stopped. What had blown up the building? A gas leak? A nuclear missile? A werewolf having a bad day?

I c.o.c.ked my head. I heard fire singing. It was far away, but I heard it all the same. The song was different than the others I'd heard before. It called to me. It seduced me.

But I couldn't answer. I couldn't leave Stan.

I uncovered Stan's legs and torso. Dread pounded through me. His injuries looked bad. One leg was bent at an impossible angle, and he had several broken ribs. Blood stained his clothes and seeped from jagged wounds.

I kept digging, and refused to consider that Stan wasn't alive. Whatever drug I'd been given made me feel like I'd imbibed too many Venti Mochas, and that made me think about Starbucks. What I wouldn't give for a Raspberry White Chocolate Mocha, with soy milk and no whip.

Vaguely, I wondered where everyone was. I mean, surely they knew Stan had been going all Dr. Frankenstein on me. An unearthly stillness settled over us. The s.p.a.ce above was completely dark, but even so, I realized it was another room. I think the prison and lab were located under the queen's mansion, bas.e.m.e.nt level. Were we still there? Or had I been moved to somewhere else?

Maybe everyone had evacuated. Or maybe they were dead.

No, I wouldn't think that way. I lifted the final concrete chunk from Stan's body and threw it. It banged against the wall, and I flinched at the harsh sound.

The green outline around Stan was dimming and I didn't want to see it fade away. "C'mon, Stan! Stay with me."

The light was flickering, and I figured it would go out soon. It was just as well. The yellow beam revealed the wide, unseeing stare of my old friend. His gla.s.ses had somehow remained on his face, but the lenses were cracked.

"No," I said, shaking my finger at him. "You're not dead. Do you hear me? You're. Not. Dead."

I looked down and realized I was still naked, and sweaty and dusty, and just a little bit out of my mind. I tugged the sheet from the debris-strewn table and made a suitable toga with it. Then I got behind Stanley and lifted him by his shoulders. I dragged him from the rocks as gently as I could. He was heavy, and moving him was like trying to move a two-hundred-pound bag of rice.

Behind me, the weak beam of the downed light revealed a door. I headed toward it with my precious cargo. I only laid down my burden long enough to pull the handle.

It was locked.

I yanked and yanked, but the G.o.dd.a.m.ned door wouldn't open. I screamed and pounded on the metal until my voice went hoa.r.s.e and my hands went numb.

Exhausted, I pulled Stan to the corner and collapsed next to him. That was the moment the light blinked out. Darkness blanketed the entire room. I stroked Stan's forehead and promised him everything would be okay. This was a lie, of course. But Stan didn't appear to care.

I drifted in and out of consciousness. Then, from far away, I heard a familiar voice.

"Libby!"

"Here," I croaked; my throat sore. "Here!"

"Don't worry," said Ralph on the other side of the door. "We'll get you out."

"Hurry," I said. "Stan is really hurt."

"Move out of the way!" yelled a fierce female voice.

The door burst off its hinges and flew across the room. I blinked as bobbing lights headed in my direction. I realized several people had filed into the room, and they held flashlights. One was a short, stacked redhead who marched toward us with fire in her eyes.

"He's not dead," she told me matter-of-factly. She knelt next to Stan and rubbed the bald spot on his head. "He'll be just fine."

"Linda," said another, softer Irish voice. I made out the tall shape of a woman. Her skin glimmered strangely. "We must help Libby.

Stanley is-"

"Fine. Stanley is fine." Linda scooped Stan into her arms and lifted him as if he weighed no more than air. "Brigid, as soon as you're done tending to the girl, you come and fix up my man."

Then she stomped out of the room.

Ralph sat down next to me. His blue eyes were filled with relief. His fingers swept my hair back from my forehead.

I felt so relieved to be alive. "What's going on? Is Stan . . . oh, G.o.d!"

Ralph's response was unexpected. He kissed me. Talk about bad timing. His lips were warm and soft and tasted like cinnamon.

Heat spread through my body. It was like we shared the fire again, and I reveled in that feeling.

I clutched at his shirt and let the tears flow. Gently, he moved back and wiped off my gritty cheeks. I looked like h.e.l.l and probably tasted like asphalt, and he planted one on me anyway.

The sparkly woman knelt next to me. Her diaphanous gown was green and showed off her lithe frame. "My name is Brigid. I'm a healer, and I can help you."

I studied her, feeling tired and scared. Glittery gold symbols on her skin swirled and changed patterns. "Those are some crazy tattoos."

"My magic knows what you need." Okay. That made no sense, but what was new? Nothing in Broken Heart made sense. Brigid put her cool, soothing palm against my forehead. "Sleep well, Libby."

That was the last thing I remembered.

I awoke in darkness. The bed underneath me was really comfortable and the sheets were so soft I felt wrapped in clouds. Huh. I must've gotten an upgraded prison cell.

Yay me.

I was really tired of getting knocked out and waking up in strange places. Seriously. What was wrong with these people?

I stretched, relieved I was dressed in pajamas. These fit me better, too. Overall, I felt good. My body didn't hurt at all, and the buzzing headache that had plagued me when I awoke on Stan's surgical table was completely gone. Whatever Brigid the Glitter Girl had done, it was miraculous.

I tried not to think about Stan, but how could I not? He was dead. I was sorry, too, even though he'd been experimenting on me.

And he didn't exactly stop his new pals from treating me so poorly. I had lots of reasons to be mad at Stan, but I didn't want him dead.

And what about Patrick? Surely they'd figured out I wasn't responsible for his sickness. Without Stan to do the testing, how would I be proven innocent? I could only hope Patrick was already recovering."Lights on, fifty percent," I muttered to Mr. Roboto.

Nothing happened.

"Lights on, fifty percent," I said louder.

"You have to flip the switch," said Ralph's amused voice.

"Aaaaahhh!" I sat up and pulled the covers over my head, which was stupid. How was a comforter going to shield me from anything?

A light snapped on as I cautiously lowered the bedspread. Ralph stood in the doorway looking at me, his blue eyes filled with apprehension.

"And I thought I slept like the dead," he said.

"Oh, hah." I was nervous. This was not a prison; this was someone's bedroom.

"Mine," he said, answering the question before I could ask it. "I took responsibility for you."

"They wanted to throw me back in the clink, didn't they?"

"We have to protect ourselves," he defended.

Then he sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair. "Stan shouldn't have-"

"Experimented on me?"

He nodded. "And even after he did, you saved him."

And it looked like Ralph had saved me. Again. But why? He'd made it clear he didn't like what was happening to me. To him. To us.

"Thanks." I didn't want to look at him anymore, not when I couldn't hide how I felt. I didn't care if it was the dragon fire, the magic that bound us. I liked him. I wanted him.

I studied the room. The sleigh bed was dark cherry wood. The sheets were gold lined with red, which the comforter's swirling pattern matched perfectly. The nightstands matched the rich wood of the bed, as did the dresser and armoire. There were no windows; the walls had an odd silver sheen.

Yep. I was in the vampire's lair.

Still, it was filled with a married couple's furniture. Oy. I couldn't help but think about Ralph and his wife going to the furniture store and picking it all out. They'd probably made love in this bed, and he'd slept next to her every night while their twins grew in her womb.

I felt self-conscious sleeping in her bed. Like I was the Other Woman.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

"What do you think?" My harsh tone made him flinch. c.r.a.p. How could I explain what I was feeling without sounding like an idiot?

I smiled weakly. "Your wife had good taste in bedroom suites."

"Therese didn't . . . that is, this set belonged to my parents. After she pa.s.sed away, I sold our old suite and took all this out of storage." He examined me, as if trying to figure out what else I might want to know. "The bedding was a gift from my sister. And the pajamas you're wearing are new. I guessed your size."

I hadn't even thought about where the pajamas had come from. "I didn't mean to freak. It's just weird. You being a widower. I feel like I'm intruding." I paused. "You bought me new pajamas?"

"Sorry. They were a gift from Patsy."

I was a little disappointed Ralph hadn't picked them out for me. Gah. I was so pathetic.

"I'll make you breakfast," he said.

I glanced at him and noticed his fangs were extended. I put a hand to my throat and gulped.

"What?" I squeaked.

"Not like that," he said impatiently. "I meant I'll cook for you, and then we can go."

"Go where?"

"The queen has called a council meeting." His gaze bounced away guiltily. "I'm supposed to take you there."

"Wait a minute." I glared at him. "You're my jailer now?"

"I told you. The only way to keep you out of that place was to agree to be your . . . escort." He looked at me, stone-faced. "Do you know what that means?"

My heart stuttered. "If I escape . . . you mean they'd kill you?"

"Worse." He stared at me, and his lips thinned. "They'd taunt me. I'd never live down letting a human escape my evil vampire clutches."

I didn't know if I should laugh or throw a pillow at him. I settled for a smile.