"So soon," he remarked. "Well, then, at least let me give you a ride over to the English Department now. We can talk some more about all of this on the way."

Savannah's unease around him deepened. There was no way in h.e.l.l she was getting near him the way he was acting. "I'm late as it is. It'll be faster if I cut across campus on foot." She forced a casual smile. "But thanks for offering, Professor Keaton. I really gotta go now."

"Suit yourself," he said, then turned the radio on again. "See you around, Savannah."

She gave him a bright nod as she retreated backward to the safety of the sidewalk and the hundreds of students still milling around on their lunch break. Savannah watched as Keaton drove away.

When he was out of sight, his white car disappearing around a corner onto another part of campus, she let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. Then she pivoted in the opposite direction and ran like the devil was on her heels.

Chapter 9.

Savannah sat on the edge of her hardside suitcase at the South Station terminal, her right knee bouncing with nervous energy. Her bus was late. She'd gone to the station a couple hours ahead of time that evening, eager to be on her way back home. Desperate, even.

Her troubling encounter with Professor Keaton had her rattled enough on top of everything else, but it was her phone call to the library after she'd gotten home to her apartment that had really compounded Savannah's state of confusion and mounting unease.

Mrs. Kennefick hadn't been able to help Savannah locate Gideon. Oh, she recalled the big blond man in black leather who'd come around the other night inquiring after Savannah.

"Hard not to notice a man like him," she'd said, understatement of the year. "He's not exactly the library's typical clientele."

No, there was nothing typical about Gideon at all. Except the fact that he was male, and apparently adept at lying to a woman's face. Because when she'd asked Mrs. Kennefick if she'd told Gideon where Savannah lived, the older woman had balked at the very idea.

"No, of course not, dear. One can never be too careful these days, sad to say. But he did tell me he was a friend of yours. I hope I didn't overstep when I informed him you'd called in sick."

Savannah had rea.s.sured her kindly old supervisor that she'd done nothing wrong, but inwardly she was awash in doubt about everything. Now she had to put Gideon in that number too. If Mrs. Kennefick hadn't sent him to Savannah's apartment, how had he found her? And why did he let her think he'd come across her address through honest means?

Nothing was making sense to her anymore. She couldn't help feeling suspicious of everything and everyone, as if her entire world was veering off the path of reality.

She needed a good dose of home to set her right, put her life back together. Help her put everything in its proper place again. She was eager for Amelie's good cooking, and her warm, soft shoulder to lean on.

If only the d.a.m.n bus would get here.

Twenty minutes delayed now. Night had recently fallen outside the station. Evening rush hour commuters filled the place, hurrying to their trains and buses as exhaust fumes belched in through open doorways and garbled public address announcements squawked virtually unintelligibly from the ceiling speakers overhead.

No sooner had they come, the commuters were gone again, leaving Savannah and a few straggling others to wait a seemingly indeterminable time for some sign that they might actually make it out of the station tonight. She stood up on a deep yawn, just as the station speakers crackled to life and croaked out something indecipherable about the bus to Louisiana.

Savannah picked up her suitcase and hoofed it over to one of the counter attendants. "I missed the announcement just now. Did they say how long it will be before the bus to New Orleans begins boarding?"

"Ten minutes."

Finally. Just enough time to find a restroom and then she would be on her way at last. Savannah thanked the attendant, then headed off for the ladies' room farther up the terminal, luggage in hand. The bulky suitcase made for awkward walking. So awkward, that as she neared the bank of restrooms and payphones, she nearly tripped over the big, booted foot of a homeless person seated in the shadowy alcove just outside the ladies' room door.

"Excuse me," she murmured when she realized she'd b.u.mped him.

He didn't seem to care. Or maybe he wasn't even aware of her at all, pa.s.sed out or sleeping, she couldn't tell. The man in the tattered navy hoodie sweatshirt and filthy work pants didn't even lift his head. Savannah couldn't see his face. Long, dirty hair hung over his heavy brow and down past his chin.

Savannah attempted a better hold on her suitcase and skirted around his unmoving bulk to head into the restroom.

Gideon knew Savannah wasn't home, even before he knocked on her door. No lights on inside. No sound from within. No telltale glow through the walls as he searched for her with the gift of his sight.

"s.h.i.t."

Maybe he should have tried the library first, instead of checking for her at home. But even as he considered how quickly he could make it across town to look for her there, he was gripped with a sinking feeling of dread.

Savannah wouldn't have left Boston...would she?

That had been her intent last night, after all. He thought he might have convinced her to stay and let him help her, but what had he given her to hold on to? A heated kiss and a vague promise that he could somehow, miraculously, make everything better?

f.u.c.k. He was an idiot to think she'd stick around on that flimsy incentive. He couldn't blame her if she finished packing her bag and took off for Louisiana as soon as he crept out of her bed twelve hours ago.

He couldn't have lost her so easily.

He wouldn't let her go so easily, d.a.m.n it. And that claim had less to do with the Order's objectives or Darkhaven protocol than he cared to admit, even to himself.

If Savannah left, he was going after her.

Gideon took hold of the doork.n.o.b in death grip. Locked.

He was strong enough; he could have torn the d.a.m.n thing off in his fist. But he was also Breed, and that meant he didn't have to resort to caveman tactics when he had more stealth tools at his command.

He mentally freed the two deadbolts from their tumblers. The door sprang open, and Gideon slipped inside the apartment. A quick scan of her bedroom told him his worst suspicions were correct.

Savannah's suitcase was gone. In the cramped little closet, a bunch of empty hangers.

"d.a.m.n it," he growled, stalking out to the living room where he'd kissed her just last night, held her in his arms while she slept against him on the sofa. He sent his gaze all over the place, looking for anything--a clue that might lead him to her.

He zeroed in on a memo pad lying next to the kitchen phone. He flashed across the room, more than walked, to pick up the note. In loopy, vibrant cursive handwriting, someone had jotted down South Station, followed by a number and a time. A bus schedule.

Savannah's departure for New Orleans.

She was leaving.

And if the schedule was accurate, she was already on her way.

Gone, more than twenty minutes ago.

Gideon flew out of there anyway, determined to catch her. He took off on foot, his Breed genetics carrying him much faster than any manmade vehicle could.

He was nothing but cold air on the humans he pa.s.sed, his feet flying over pavement and through clogged traffic in the streets, speeding toward South Station.

Savannah parked her suitcase next to the paper towel dispenser in the empty restroom and stepped into the middle stall. She slid the wobbly lock into place, hearing the soft whoosh of the swinging entry door as someone came into the ladies' room a few seconds behind her. Hopefully someone who wouldn't think her battered American Tourister suitcase looked worthwhile to steal.

She was about to unzip her jeans, until the room echoed with the sudden sound of metal sc.r.a.ping heavily on concrete. As though someone were dragging the overflowing trash bin across the restroom floor. Was it the janitor coming in to clean?

"h.e.l.lo? Someone's in here right now," she called out.

And then wished she'd kept her mouth shut because no one answered.

The room went very still, nothing but the soft trickle of water dripping into one of the clogged white sinks outside the stalls. Savannah froze, every animal instinct she had going taut with alarm.

She listened, hoping for the sound of someone's voice--an awkward apology for the intrusion, a request that she leave soon so the restroom could be maintained. She heard nothing. She was in there alone.

No, not alone.

There was a rasp of open-mouthed breathing from somewhere on the other side of the shaky metal door. Heavy boots scuffed on the filthy concrete floor. They stopped in front of her stall.

Savannah recognized them instantly.

It was the homeless man who'd been sleeping in the terminal outside.

A wash of fear swept over her, leaving her skin p.r.i.c.kled with gooseb.u.mps, but she summoned the most threatening tone of voice she possessed. "You'd better get out of here right now, a.s.shole, unless you want to spend the night in jail."

Through the soughing of his breath, a chuckle. Low and malicious. Not quite sane. Maybe not quite human.

Oh, G.o.d.

Savannah swallowed hard. She was trapped in the stall, didn't know whether to scream and bring someone else into her nightmare, or remain silent and pray that this was just another trick of her fracturing mind.

At least the threat was on the other side of the door. The metal panel wasn't the most st.u.r.dy, but it was locked from the inside. So long as she kept that door barred between them, she was safe.

But for how long?

She had her answer a second later.

While she stood there, trembling between the toilet and the door, the lock started to jiggle loose all on its own.

South Station was packed with pa.s.sengers from a newly arrived commuter train when Gideon skidded to a halt inside the terminal. Weaving between the sea of incoming humans, some striding with impatient purpose, others wandering aimlessly, Gideon searched out the schedule board and scanned the departures for Savannah's bus to New Orleans.

Delayed.

Which would have been excellent news, except the board was showing the bus had left the station. Departed just two minutes ago.

Gideon could hardly curb the need to put his fist through something. "d.a.m.n it."

He considered running after the bus. If he didn't catch up to it en route, odds were good that he'd find it at its first stop along the way. Then what? Hop on board and search Savannah out among the other pa.s.sengers?

What would be the better tack once he found her: Trance her and carry her off the bus while attempting to avoid the notice of a few hundred witnesses? Or plop his a.s.s into the seat next to her and give her a quick rundown on Breedmates, Rogues and other alien-sp.a.w.ned vampires right there on the Number 59 to New Orleans?

Christ, what a disaster.

Not that he had a lot of choices here.

Gideon headed deeper into the terminal, mentally calculating potential outcomes of both less-than-ideal scenarios. As he stalked toward a corridor leading to the departure gates, he caught a whiff of something sickly sweet in the hallway.

Unmistakable to his Breed senses, the stench of a Rogue somewhere nearby.

Gideon glanced around, looking for the source of the odor. Nothing but humans in the station around him. Still, his nape p.r.i.c.kled with certainty. His gaze slid to a yellow maintenance cone blocking the door to the ladies' room across the hall. He strode closer, and the foul scent of a feral vampire strengthened.

His talent penetrated the wood and steel swinging door, locking on to a pair of heat sources inside. One was ma.s.sive and hulking. The other, tall and slender, frozen in place before the threat facing her.

Ah, f.u.c.k.

Savannah.

Gideon's entire body ignited in hot, ferocious rage. One second he was in the terminal hallway, the next he was in the closed public restroom, shoving past the overturned rubbish can and leaping on the Rogue--just as the suckhead was about to crowd into the stall to attack Savannah.

On a low growl, Gideon heaved the vampire away from Savannah. He drove the Rogue's spine into the wall of white sinks and dirty mirrors on the opposite side of the room. On impact, one of the old basins crashed to the floor, shattering on a heavy thump at Gideon's feet. Water sprayed from the broken spigot, hissing almost as fiercely as the feral vampire struggling to free itself of Gideon's unyielding hold.

The suckhead grunted and snarled, gnashing its yellowed fangs. It reeked of Bloodl.u.s.t and the soured evidence of a recent feeding, but its amber eyes and thin, slitted pupils held the look of a ravenous beast still thirsting for blood.

That this beast had gotten so close to Savannah--mere seconds away from touching her, biting her, close enough to kill her--made Gideon's veins throb with the need to punish.

To eviscerate the son of a b.i.t.c.h who intended her harm.

And he would have, had Savannah not been in the room to witness it.

Her stricken face was reflected in the cracked gla.s.s of the mirror behind the Rogue's struggling bulk. Savannah's dark doe eyes were wide with terror, her pretty mouth dropped open in a silent scream as she stared at Gideon and the beast pinned between him and the restroom wall.

"Get out of here," Gideon told her, ready to end the suckhead and loath to do it in front of her. "Wait for me outside, Savannah. You don't want to see this."

But she didn't move. Maybe she couldn't. Or maybe it was the sheer tenacity of the woman, her sharp, curious mind that would not give in to fright when the need for answers was stronger.

The Rogue bucked and thrashed, trying to throw Gideon off. There was little time to hesitate. The din of the terminal outside the restroom door would mask most of the sounds of struggle, but he had to end this quickly, before they drew unwanted attention. Gideon pulled one of his long daggers from the sheath beneath his black trench coat.

The suckhead's amber eyes rolled toward the movement. Awareness of his impending death flashed across the open-mawed sneer. He roared, one filthy hand shooting out to the side of him, grabbing for some kind of weapon of his own.

He didn't get the chance.

Gideon shifted his hold and brought his dagger up between their bodies. With a hard thrust, the blade sank deep, plunging into the center of the Rogue's chest. The suckhead froze, panting rapidly, the twin coals of his eyes fixed on Gideon, hideous face sagging in defeat.

Gideon held the dagger in place as the diseased Breed vampire shuddered around the killing length of t.i.tanium-edged steel.

Death was immediate. Gideon dropped the big corpse as the t.i.tanium began to feed on the Rogue, dissolving it from the inside out. In mere minutes, the lump of dying flesh and bone would be nothing more than ash, then all evidence of its existence gone altogether.

Gideon turned to face Savannah. "Are you hurt?"

Mutely, she shook her head. "Gideon...who was he? What was he?" She drew in a ragged breath. "My G.o.d, what the h.e.l.l is going on?"