"Did ... did you see ...? Was that ... what I think ...?" I couldn't get the words out as the thought of what I'd just seen sucked the air out of my lungs. It can't be. It can't be. It can't be. Surely I didn't see what I thought I had. My eyes had to have been messing with me. I mean, I'd only caught a quick glimpse before Tristan had shut it out of sight.

"Yeah, I saw," Tristan said through a clenched jaw. "We can't open these here."

His tone and implication made my stomach roll.

"Alexis," Sheree said from the doorway.

Tristan sprang to his feet and jerked me up with him, but my trembling legs could barely hold my weight. With a hand on my waist, he walked me to the door, as if he didn't want Sheree inside, near the trunks. Was it really ...? I swallowed down the acid that had lurched into my throat.

"Um ... are you okay?" Sheree asked, her voice distant beyond the rush of blood in my ears.

I tried to look at her, but I couldn't see her face past the image of the black bag and the smooth, white-I blinked and shook my head, trying to erase it from my mind. It didn't go away, but danced around like a ghost only my eyes could see. My lips parted, but no words came out. My tongue stuck to the roof of my dry mouth.

"What's going on?" Tristan asked, his tone sharp.

"I, uh, wanted to talk to you about Sonya, Alexis." She paused but I still couldn't answer, so she went on about something having to do with Sonya and Heather and a phone call. "It went really well, did wonders for her, and I think she might be ready for an in-person visit."

Her voice stopped again, and I looked at her without really seeing her. She apparently waited for me to say something. My hand drifted to my temple and ma.s.saged, as if that would make the vision go away.

"We can talk about it later," Sheree said, her eyes tightening with worry as she stared at me. "You look like you're about to be sick."

"Later's a good idea," Tristan said, speaking for me again.

Thankfully, Sheree left us, and only then was I able to let out the breath I'd been holding since Tristan first opened the trunk. The breath felt good in my tight lungs, so I tried deep breathing while closing my eyes to center myself, but on the back of my eyelids I saw my hand reaching inside the trunk, opening the bag and then the ... No! That's not what it was. It couldn't be, because Owen would never, ever send us such a thing in a million years. Would he?

"We need to move them," Tristan said. My throat remained too dry and constricted to answer, so I simply nodded.

He raised his hand and one of the trunks lifted into the air. I swore I heard the contents inside shift and rattle. My imagination ran wild about what could have caused that sound-if it'd even been real-and I bit my tongue to stifle another scream. With a hand that shook worse than a recovering drug addict's, I lifted the other trunk with my own power and followed Tristan out of the room.

We'd put Sonya in one of the five guest rooms in the right wing, so, purposely avoiding Sonya's wing and Sheree, Tristan took us down the left side. We pa.s.sed the two master suites, continued to the end of the hall and turned right into the rear wing. Three bedrooms and a bathroom were back here, most recently used by the previous owners' nanny, live-in maid, and chef.

I called this wing the dungeons, not only because it was the remotest part of the mansion, but also because Tristan, following Mom's instructions, had bolted heavy silver chains to the concrete walls and attached silver cuffs on their loose ends. The rooms were furnished similarly to the others, with beds, nightstands, chairs, and table lamps, but the chains on the walls and the carts in the corners housing medical supplies made the rooms anything but homey. Instead, they felt as though we'd somehow merged a hotel room, a mental facility, and a torture room in the cellar of an old castle.

The eerie environment didn't help the foreboding feeling in my stomach.

We took the trunks into one of these rooms and set them on the floor. Tristan closed the door, then grasped me by the shoulders. The look on his face told me I'd really seen what I thought I had. My body began to tremble again. Or perhaps it had never stopped.

"Ma lykita, it's okay to be afraid," he said softly, looking into my eyes, "but I need you to be brave. You remember the definition of courage, right?"

My head bobbed once. Not only had he and Charlotte pounded their definition into me while I trained back on the Amadis Island, but we also drove it into Dorian's memory every time we worked with him.

"Feeling fear, but doing what's necessary anyway," I whispered.

"Right. I need you to be courageous, because you need to see this. It won't be the last time you'll come across something like this, and there's a chance you won't be in a safe place next time."

"Then it really was ... was a ..." I tried to swallow but my throat refused to cooperate. "... a person's hand?"

He nodded. I felt all the blood drain from my face.

"Oh, dear G.o.d." No way did a person fit in that trunk, not whole anyway, which only meant ... "Holy h.e.l.l! Who is it? Is the rest of him in these trunks?"

In answer, Tristan lifted the lid of the first trunk and pulled out the leather bags. With a solid determination I could never muster, he withdrew the hand, which remained attached to an arm, and I knew immediately it didn't belong to a "he," but to a "she." The skin was whiter than snow.

"A vampire?" I whispered.

"Remember what you learned? To kill a vampire, you must cut it up and burn the pieces. If you don't burn them ..." Tristan pulled out the other contents of the bags from that trunk, laying out another arm and the top of a naked torso with perfect, full b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The pieces, all of them rock hard, started trembling in place, as if the floor under them quaked. Then ...

"Oh. My. G.o.d." I threw my hand over my mouth.

The body parts were moving. Moving! The sound of stone sc.r.a.ping across the ceramic tiles screeched like nails on a chalkboard as the pieces inched across the floor on their own volition. They slid toward each other, as if each one was magnetically pulled to the others.

Tristan fingered the top of the other trunk to unlock it and lifted the lid. He pulled out more bags, these containing hips and b.u.t.t, thighs, calves and feet, and placed them near the rest, the display representing a morbid piecemeal of a human form. Somehow in my daze, I pulled a blanket out of the closet and was about to throw it over the naked female's chopped up body.

"Wait," Tristan said, holding his hand up to stop me. "You have to let it finish first."

He stood and turned his back to give the ... the thing ... privacy. He pulled me into his arms but I couldn't tear my eyes away from the macabre scene. Each white, stony body part made its way to the others and latched on with a sick, sucking sound like shoes pulling from mud. The body melded itself back together until it was whole. Well, almost whole.

"Where's ... where's her head?" I whispered. The form ended at the shoulders with only a stub for a neck. The whole thing began to vibrate, quivering on the floor as if it knew it was missing a vital part but didn't know where to find it. My own body shook and my voice came out as a shriek, escalating with hysteria. "She doesn't have a head. Where's her head? Oh, my G.o.d, it's not here! She doesn't have a head, Tristan!"

A faint pop sounded and suddenly Owen stood in the corner of the room. His eyes immediately went to the body on the floor, and he nodded in appreciation.

"Last piece," he said, holding up another leather bag, a round object the size of a basketball shaping its bottom. My stomach churned again.

I couldn't respond. I couldn't squeal my happiness at seeing him. I couldn't scold him for his gruesome delivery. I couldn't do anything. I simply stared in a daze as he moved toward the snow-white vampire. His body came between us, thankfully blocking my view as he pulled the ... Oh, G.o.d, the head ... out of the bag.

But I did catch a glimpse of the hair.

My eyes trained in on the long, silky locks as my brain processed what I'd just witnessed and what I saw now.

Long, silky, white-blond hair. The newly re-formed vampire let out a long sigh-and even it was musical.

I gasped.

"No. f.u.c.king. Way."

Chapter 13.

My mind tried to decide whether to thank Owen for capturing Vanessa or to demand from her where my necklace was. My body didn't wait on the decision, but acted on its own. One moment, I stood in Tristan's arms and peeked around his shoulder. The next, I had the vampire-b.i.t.c.h by the upper-arms and slammed her against the concrete wall.

Her head flew toward mine with a head-b.u.t.t, but I blocked it with a hand in her face. Of course, this meant loosening my hold on her body, which she took advantage of. She did a spin-and-duck move under my arm, freeing herself completely from my grasp. I swung my leg in a roundhouse that pounded into her ribs but she caught my foot before I could kick her again. I flipped out of her grip and lunged at her. We flew into the steel medical cart and crashed to the floor, medical tools and supplies clamoring around us. She grabbed my throat and her ice-blue eyes held mine as she punched me in the cheek. I zapped her with a shot of electricity. She pulled her knees under me and shoved me hard with her legs, and I flew backwards like a ragdoll. My head and back cracked against the wall.

The pain stopped me for a moment, and I closed my eyes, bracing for the impact. She should have been on me instantly. We had to have been moving in a blur before, and she had her chance now. I opened my eyes and prepared to grab onto her thoughts to know her next move as electricity sparked along my fingertips.

But the vamp wasn't making a next move.

She couldn't. Owen stood in front of her, blocking her out of view, but I could tell he gripped her upper arms. Okay, she wouldn't make a next move, because the vampire was definitely stronger than the warlock and could have broken free from his grasp if she really wanted to.

"You promised," he snarled at her.

"I was only defending myself," she said, her voice dripping with false innocence.

Defending herself? Yeah, right. But as I thought about it, I couldn't deny that every one of her moves had been in self-defense. Except ...

"Choking and punching are offensive moves," Owen said.

Vanessa's glare cut over his shoulder at me, and I took a step toward the two of them, my fists still balled at my sides. She shrugged as she looked me in the eyes. "Yeah, well, I've been wanting to hurt that pretty face of hers for years. I couldn't help it. One last hurrah and all that."

Tristan stepped forward with a growl of warning to the vampire. I'd have to remember to thank him later for not interrupting our fight. I just wished we could have finished it. Instead, after being absent for so long, Owen suddenly decided he had to do his job. Only ... I c.o.c.ked my head. Despite his accusation of her, he sure stood as though he protected her, not me.

Vanessa's eyes flew to Tristan at the sound of his warning, and I hoped she'd start calling him lover boy and proceed with her infatuation with him. I needed the excuse to pick up where we left off. But she didn't. She was standing there naked with one of the hottest bodies on the planet, an ideal opportunity to flaunt all of her perfection, and run at the mouth about what he was missing out on. But she didn't. Her eyes didn't have that usual spark of l.u.s.t when she saw Tristan. And she actually looked as though she hid behind Owen.

"Can I get some clothes or at least a blanket?" she asked. And she was modest? Vanessa? What was going on here?

Without actually touching it, Owen lifted the blanket I'd dropped earlier and wrapped it around her.

"What the h.e.l.l?" I finally demanded.

Tristan crossed his arms over his chest. "I'd like to know the same thing. What are you up to, Scarecrow?"

Owen turned to face us, but kept his body in front of Vanessa's and angled, as if prepared for an attack. By me. Tristan must have noticed, too. He c.o.c.ked an eyebrow.

"You know, the 'so-called' part of being my protector, I'd only said that because you were gone," I said. "Not because I thought you actually abandoned me. You're supposed to protect me, Owen. Not our enemy."

"You don't need protecting," he said. "Not right here or right now, anyway."

"And she does?" Tristan scoffed, nodding in Vanessa's direction.

Owen's sapphire eyes hardened as they looked at me. "As long as Alexis can't control herself, yeah, she does."

I sucked in a sharp breath. Tristan took another step forward and leaned in closer to the warlock who was supposedly his best friend.

"She is our enemy, Owen. How did you expect Alexis to react? What in G.o.d's name are you even thinking, bringing Vanessa in here like this?"

"She was completely defenseless when she got here."

A chill ran up my spine at the memory of the beautiful, crazed vampire-b.i.t.c.h in white pieces only minutes ago.

"She's weak now," Owen continued. "She needs blood. And she needs your help."

I laughed. It sounded deranged, maniacal. "What? Have you lost your mind? Why on earth would we help her? She wants to kill me!"

"I told you." Vanessa's musical voice came out from behind Owen's back. And something about her tone, about the implication that she knew how I'd react better than Owen did, p.i.s.sed me off.

Owen ignored Vanessa, though. "She has something you want. You have something she wants."

"We don't negotiate with the enemy," I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

"She doesn't have to be your enemy. You two have a lot in common, you know."

My eyes bugged. Red hatred seeped into my vision. My pulse flooded in my ears as the anger built up. But I managed to bite back all the profanities I wanted to slew at my so-called friend and protector.

"Chain her up until we figure out what to do with her," I said through clenched teeth.

"What?" Vanessa shrieked. Her eyes went wide as they took in the silver cuffs at the ends of the chains hanging on the wall. Tristan lifted his hand, and Vanessa's body rose several inches off the floor.

"Alexis," Owen said, his voice harder than I'd ever heard it, "this isn't necessary. Will you just listen to me?"

I spun on him and narrowed my eyes. I practically spit my words at him. "She has nothing I want, and she will always be my enemy. And I'm beginning to wonder if you are, too."

I heard the cuffs clamp around Vanessa's wrists and ankles as I stomped out of the room. The sound of her wails-not so much of pain but more of indignity-followed me down the hallway. So did Owen and Tristan.

"You need to shut her up," I snapped back at them.

As I rounded the corner to the left wing, a hand landed on my shoulder and spun me around.

"She wouldn't be screaming if you'd unchain her," Owen said, but at the same time, his hand flicked and her shrieks suddenly stopped. I didn't know if he actually silenced her or blocked the sound from leaving the room. As long as Sheree and Sonya didn't hear her-and I didn't have to listen to her-I didn't care about the how.

"And why would you even think we'd do such a thing?" I said, glaring at him. "Her ultimate goal has always been my death. Really, Owen, whose side are you on?"

His eyes flicked to Tristan and back to me. He didn't answer my question, but denied everything about Vanessa instead.

"She won't kill you. That's not what she wants. Not now." He looked away from me and cleared his throat. He shoved his fists into his pockets, then finally returned his gaze to me. "She doesn't even want Tristan anymore. She has a, uh, new ... interest ... obsession. Whatever you want to call it."

I stared at the warlock, trying to understand what he meant. What could finally pull Vanessa's attention away from Tristan and me? According to Tristan, she'd been chasing him for over two centuries, desiring him to be her boy-toy. She hated me and had wanted me dead before I was even born. She pursued these goals with the kind of single-minded determination that doesn't simply disappear without good reason.

Owen's gaze jumped about from the wall behind me to the ceiling and to some point down the hall, as if he avoided looking at me. And then I knew. Not what distracted her, but who.

"You've got to be kidding me," I said with a hollow laugh as I rocked back on my heels. Owen finally looked at me and a pink tint crawled up his neck and face. "You? She's obsessed with you now?"

His face reddened even more, confirming my statement.

"But you don't feel-never mind, don't answer that. Of course you don't." I shook my head in disbelief. "Well, I guess that's somewhat of a relief."

"Hardly," Tristan said. "Just because she isn't after me at the moment doesn't mean she won't still try to kill Alexis. Or both of us. She is Daemoni. Tell me again what exactly you were thinking by bringing her here, Owen."

"Yeah, what could she possibly want from us?" I asked, already knowing what we needed from her. Out of anger, I'd told Owen she didn't have anything we wanted, but that was a lie. She didn't have it on her naked body now, but she knew where the faerie stone was. Would she really exchange it for something from us? What could she want in return? Owen? "You're your own man, as you've shown us for the last fifteen months. That's up to you, not us. Or ... wait, if you made some kind of deal sacrificing yourself-"

Owen shook his head. "No. I'm not that self-sacrificing at the moment."

I tilted my head at his tone and meaning. We were definitely dealing with a changed Owen. He didn't elaborate but returned to the subject of Vanessa.