On the ride home, they sat in silence, neither saying anything for a long time. Lina gazed out the window at the cityscape rolling by and replayed the delicious moment when Brandon had knocked the s.h.i.t out of Jude over and over again. At last, she reached out, touching Brandon's hand and drawing his gaze.

"Jude is my ex-boyfriend," she said. "He dumped me for the blond woman we saw with him yesterday. You did me a favor back there tonight. Something I have wanted to do personally for three months now. So, thank you, Brandon."

Brandon studied her for a long, nearly quizzical moment before raising his hands. You're welcome, he signed. I think.

Chapter Twelve.

When they arrived back at Jackson's, it was well after midnight. They had stopped by Lina's apartment building along the way, and she'd left Brandon to wait in the cab while she ran up to throw together a change of clothes and grab her toothbrush. He felt badly, disrupting her life as he had, and told her so. Disrupting, h.e.l.l, he'd thought glumly, remembering the looks on people's faces at the wedding reception-Lina's friends, all wide eyed and shocked-after he'd laid Jude out on the floor. More like ruining her life.

I'll get a hotel room tomorrow, he'd begun to sign, but she'd caught his hands.

"No, you won't," she said. "Jackie said it was fine. You could stay at his place as long as you'd like. And he asked me to keep an eye on his plants, so it's like killing two birds with one stone. It's no big thing, really, Brandon."

He sat on Jackson's sofa while Lina went into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. He looked out the eastward- facing windows at the nighttime city skyscape, the looming silhouettes of neighboring buildings dotted with pinpoints of light. He forked his fingers through his hair and sighed heavily, jerking against the knot of his tie, loosening it from around his neck.

Not my tie, he thought. Jude's tie. This is Jude's suit. I punched the h.e.l.l out of him, and here I am, wearing his G.o.dd.a.m.n suit.

He shrugged his way out of the coat and stood, pulling his shirt tails loose from his pants and unfettering the gold cufflinks. How the h.e.l.l did Lina sleep on that thing last night? he thought, frowning as he glanced down at the couch. He hadn't sat there for more than a moment, but it had been long enough to feel a persistent loose spring poking him in the a.s.s. No matter how he'd fidgeted or shifted, its sharp point had seemed to find him. That's it, he thought, kicking off Jude's too-big leather loafers. She's sleeping in the bed tonight, and I'll take the floor. I may have ruined her life, but I won't ruin her spine, too. Christ, on top of the kitchen counters would be more comfortable.

Lina walked into the living room, wearing a fresh T-shirt and sweatpants as pajamas. She had washed her face, scrubbing away any hint of the makeup she'd worn for the wedding. Her headful of curls bounced with each step and she tucked wayward tendrils behind her ears before hopping over the back of the sofa. "How are you doing?" she asked, sitting comfortably, looking up at him.

Brandon sighed wearily and sat next to her on the couch. He squirmed slightly, frowning as the wayward spring point found his a.s.s once again. I'm alright, he signed.

"Look, stop worrying about Jude," she said, patting her hand against his thigh. "He's an a.s.s when he's sober, and when he's drunk, he's even worse."

I shouldn't have punched him, Brandon signed.

"No," she replied, smiling wanly. "You should have kicked him in the b.a.l.l.s." He laughed at this, and she leaned against him, resting her cheek comfortably against his shoulder. "So we're good now?"

At the moment'? he thought, glancing down at her, feeling her hair tickle his mouth and nose. I'd say we're just about perfect.

He settled for nodding, and she signed to him: Good. Because I was thinking we could get your car back tomorrow.

His good mood, brought upon by her proximity and the sweet fragrance of her hair, immediately withered. I can't afford it, he replied.

I'll pay for half, she said, and when he lifted his hands to offer protest, she sat up from his shoulder, shaking her head. "Come on, Brandon, we'll wind up spending it anyway on cab fare at this rate," she said aloud. "And those tow companies will only keep the cars a few days before they try to track down the owner. If they trace it back to your grandfather, he's going to know you're here in the city-if he hasn't reported it stolen already."

He hasn't, Brandon signed. Her comment had caught him off guard. He'd never thought about anyone connecting the car to the Grandfather.

"How do you know?" she asked.

Because he wouldn't take that chance, he thought, but said nothing to her. He'd rather write the car off as a loss than have the police out looking for it-looking for me, risking anyone finding out who-and what-I am.

But Lina was right. If the tow company was able to run the car's license plate, then the Brethren would know where to find him.

It was an inevitability anyway, and only a matter of time, but frankly, Brandon had enjoyed the time he'd spent with Lina-more than anything or anyone's company in a long time-and the idea that he would have to leave the city, and her, left him dismayed.

I'm not ready yet, he thought, looking at Lina. I don't want to leave. I've fallen in love with her.

"We'll get your car back," she said. "And then we'll go see a friend of mine. He was my partner on the force until last year. He's got a lot of money, and he knows a lot of people. I'm going to see if he can hook us up with an attorney, someone who can help you."

Brandon blinked in surprise. I don't need an attorney, he said.

"Brandon, come on," Lina said. She reached for him, draping her hands against his. "I'm not stupid. I know you're in some kind of trouble. I don't know if it's something to do with money-"

I told you it's not, he said, pulling his hands back and signing sharply. I told you I don't give a s.h.i.t about my family's money.

"Well, then it's something else," Lina said. "I don't know what, but I know it's something, because Jackie's scared to death of them finding you, and so are you." He tried to turn away, but she caught him firmly by the chin, forcing him to look at her, to watch her mouth as she spoke. "Tell me what's going on. I want to help you. I'm a cop. Maybe there's something I can-"

No, Lina, he signed, ducking his head away from her. Look, I know it's your job, but I don't- This doesn't have anything to do with my job, Brandon, she signed back, slapping his hands aside, her brows narrowed.

That's not why I want to help you.

He blinked at her, meeting her gaze and suddenly realizing. He didn't even have to open his mind to her to understand. He wasn't a little boy to her anymore, one of Jackie's students, the teenager whose hair she'd ruffled after a hard-fought game of basketball five years ago. She saw him differently now, just as he saw her, too, and she wanted to help because she cared about him.

Brandon touched her face, brushing his fingertips lightly along her cheek, settling his palm against her. Her heart trembled at this, its tempo quickening, and he sensed it; his touch pleased her. He leaned toward her, holding her gaze, and when he canted his head slightly, she tilted hers up to meet him. He drew her near and closed his eyes, letting his lips brush lightly, gently against hers.

He'd waited the last five years of his life for that moment, that opportunity, having imagined kissing Lina a thousandfold in countless adolescent fantasies. The reality was so much sweeter, by far more wondrous than anything his mind could have fathomed. Her lips melded against his own, pressed in perfect complement, and when the tip of her tongue brushed against him, he opened his mouth, whimpering soundlessly. He moved his free hand to her face, and pulled her against him, tangling his tongue against hers, kissing her deeply.

He felt the intake of her breath against his mouth, could sense the eager, hammering cadence of her heartbeat in his mind. He could smell the hot musk of her blood as it raced suddenly, wildly in her veins; and his body reacted. He felt a tingling warmth in his gums, a tightening in his groin, and he leaned toward Lina, pressing her back against the couch until she lay beneath him, enveloping his hips between her thighs. She clutched at his hair as he drew his lips away from hers. The tips of their noses brushed; her breath fluttered against his lips and she whispered his name, fully aware of the hardening length of him, the swell of his growing arousal pressing through his pants against her.

For a moment he hesitated, uncertain and frightened that he would forget himself, that his body would forget the difference between bloodl.u.s.t and desire, and that he would hurt her. He could feel his canine teeth throbbing, wanting to drop, his gums aching, and he drew back, breathless and alarmed.

I can't do this, he thought. Oh, Christ, I can't...

Lina reached for him, touching his face with her hands. "Brandon..." she breathed, and he abandoned any reservations at this simple, poignant plea. He kissed her again, trailing his lips to her neck. She craned her head back, guiding him with her hands, leading his mouth to the frantic measure of her pulse beneath her throat. His lips settled there, his tongue drawing against her in slow, deliberate circles. Her fingers tightened in his hair and she writhed beneath him, undulating her hips against him, and forcing the strain against the fly of his pants to grow nearly unbearable. His mind clouded with a wondrous heat and he lost himself, succ.u.mbing freely, touching her, tasting her with the same intense pa.s.sion that had seized him the day before.

His hand moved to her breast, and her nipple hardened eagerly against his fingertips. He let his mouth follow his hand, sliding his tongue against her through the thin fabric of her T-shirt. He hooked his fingers against the neckline and jerked, ripping seams loose of their moorings, tearing open the front of the shirt. She wore no bra beneath, he drew her nipple lightly between his lips, teasing her with the tip of his tongue, making her clutch at him urgently.

He explored her with his mouth, every wondrous curve and lean muscle between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and belly and upward again to her throat. He reached between them, touching her through her sweatpants, caressing her amazing heat through the confines of the fabric. She guided his hands with her own, shifting her weight, raising her hips so he could slide his hand beneath her waistband, the hem of her panties, and she gasped as he kissed her mouth, as his fingertips brushed through the soft nap of tightly curled hair between her thighs. He touched her further, his fingers delving between her warm, wet folds, and he moaned soundlessly to slip inside of her, to slide first one finger and then another into her wondrously tight sheath. He moved his hand against her, sliding his fingers slowly in and out, venturing deeper with each thrust. Lina moved her hips in time with his hand, and faster still, urging him to match her pace. He drew his lips away from hers and looked down at her, watching as she closed her eyes and rocked against his hand, moving toward a powerful release he could feel coming upon her, tightening through her entire body.

"Stop..." she whispered, grabbing his wrist, trying to stay him. She trembled against him, opening her eyes, and he tried to move his hand again, to bring her to the pleasure he knew she wanted desperately. "Stop," she said again, holding him still. He blinked at her, confused, wondering if he'd done something wrong. "Do you have anything?" she asked, and when his confusion only deepened, she smiled. "A condom, Brandon. Do you have a condom?"

He shook his head. He drew his hands reluctantly away from her and sat back somewhat to sign. I've never... he began, feeling foolish. His fingers hesitated, then moved again, his right index finger tapping his upturned left thumb. This is my first... he started to sign, but still he couldn't manage the humiliating admission.

Lina caught his hands, drawing his gaze. "Hush," she said, smiling gently at him. She pulled against his arms, drawing him toward her again. "Come here."She caught his face between her hands and kissed him deeply, settling him against her once more. She reached between them, unfastening his fly, pushing the slacks away from his hips. For a moment, they laughed together, nose to nose as they wriggled and shrugged their way out of their clothes, and then she smiled at him again, kissing him, using her hands and her long, lean thighs to guide him inside of her. Brandon gasped at the sensation of it, her wet, amazing heat enveloping him. She urged him deeper, her fingers hooked against the small of his back, and then deeper still by opening her legs farther, allowing him greater access. She showed him how to move, the pace to set, the rhythm that pleased her, and he met it gladly, eagerly.

He started slowly, but with her hands to guide him, her quickening breath against his mouth to encourage him, he began to move more quickly, driving himself into her. His mouth abandoned hers, and he took her hips between his hands, lifting her from the couch, pulling her against him to meet each thrust. He looked down at her, and she was beautiful to him, her body glossed in sweat, her hair a thick mess of curls spread about her head, her eyes closed, her hands clutching at the sofa cushions, her breath hiccupping as again, he drove her to the brink of release. G.o.d, I'm in love with this woman, he realized.

This time, she didn't beg him to stop, and he delivered her. Her entire body went rigid, her muscles tightening against and around him and she arched her back, crying out. That powerful, wondrous, gripping pressure coaxed his own shuddering climax, and Brandon gasped sharply, crumpling forward, shocked by the intensity.

He tucked his head against her shoulder and trembled, breathless and exhausted. Lina stroked his hair gently; he felt her lips settle lightly against the crown of his head. This is what I want, he thought, closing his eyes. Right here, all of this. I want to be with Lina. I want a life that's just like this.

But then the tip of his tongue accidentally brushed against the sharp, elongated tips of his canine teeth, and he stiffened, his eyes flying wide, his breath caught. His teeth had lowered at some point during their lovemaking. He brought his hand to his face, his fingertips against his lips and could feel them. They hadn't dropped all of the way, thank Christ; his s.e.xual release had likely stopped their descent, but they were long enough now to be noticeable to Lina if she saw his mouth.

Oh, G.o.d, he thought, as she tucked her fingertips beneath his chin and tried to coax him into looking up at her. He pressed his lips together in a firm line and peeped up at her, keeping his chin pressed against her bosom, his mouth somewhat hidden against the side swell of her breast.

"You OK?" she asked. Her cheeks were flushed in the aftermath of her pleasure, the caramel of her skin deepened to dusky hues along the apples of her cheeks. She smiled at him and he smiled back, keeping his lips together as he nodded. He cupped his hand by her belly to draw her gaze, and rolled it slightly outward, away from her in a quick sign: Tired.

She laughed. "Me, too. That... that was something else." You're something else, Brandon n.o.ble, she thought, and he heard her plainly in his mind.

G.o.d, you don't know half of it, Lina, he thought, sliding sideways off of her, letting his feet hit the floor. He stood, heading quickly for the bathroom before she noticed his mouth, his newly elongated canines. He motioned behind him as he walked away. Be right back.

Chapter Thirteen.

Lina watched Brandon walk toward the bathroom. She felt breathless and tremulous, her heart still racing. She had never experienced an o.r.g.a.s.m like that in her life; pleasure had swept over her, pounding into her in heavy, shuddering waves, over and over, leaving her spent and stunned, unable to move, much less think. And that was only his first time, she thought, admiring the play of light from the kitchen against the curves of his b.u.t.tocks, outlining the lines and muscles in his back and legs as he disappeared down the hall. Imagine what he could do with some more practice.

She giggled at this, wrapping her arms around her middle and lying back against the couch cushions again. The day had been disastrous, the wedding ruined, the confrontation with Jude every bit as horrible as she'd dreaded. She'd spent the day forcing smiles, half-blinded by camera flashes, her feet aching, her face caked in makeup and now Melanie-whom Lina had considered her friend since childhood-would d.a.m.n likely never speak to her again. But I'd do it all again, she thought with a smile. G.o.d, every last moment of it.

She closed her eyes, still able to smell Brandon, his fragrance against her skin. She tried not to think too long or hard about what she'd done, but rather, tried to revel in the simple, residual pleasure of it for a moment or two longer. She knew once that wore off, and reality hit her, she was going to feel ashamed of herself.

And let's not even consider what Jackie's going to do to me when he finds out, she thought, pressing her lips together to stifle a groan. Christ, what a night.

She was actually charmed and more than a little flattered that Brandon had wanted her as his first lover. She'd never been anyone's first at anything before; even hers had come at the hands, mouth, and hips of a man far more experienced than she. He chose me, she thought, a wonderful warmth spreading through her at this realization. Brandon chose me.

She sat up, leaning over to pick up her sweatpants. Her T-shirt still lay draped over her shoulders, the front of it ripped open.

She fingered the torn edges of fabric and giggled again. He ripped my clothes off me. Just like in a movie. Jesus, no one's ever ripped my clothes off before.

She stood, stepping back into her panties and drawing the pants over her hips. Her overnight duffel bag rested in a chair nearby.

She dug out a fresh T-shirt and pulled it over her head. She glanced over her shoulder toward the hallway, wondering what was taking Brandon so long. After a curious moment, she followed him, stealing in to Jackson's bedroom and over to the bathroom doorway. She found him leaning over the sink basin, examining his reflection closely in the mirror. He had his upper lip pulled back from his teeth, the way a person might if they were checking for food bits. He caught sight of her through the mirror and jumped, his dark eyes wide as he swung toward her.

"Everything OK?" she asked, and he nodded. "You sure?"

He nodded again, but she had the distinct impression he was lying. He was acting too skittish and uncertain around her now; she didn't miss the way he took a hedging step back toward the toilet, as if he didn't want her drawing too closely to him. She felt a dull but distinctive ache in her gut.

Oh, s.h.i.t. Here we go-the brush off. Just like with Jude, only worse. This time, it only took one night, not three years for him to get sick of me.

Brandon blinked at her, his face softening, as if he'd somehow read her mind or sensed her sudden anxiety. He stepped toward her, surprising her as he caught her face between his hands and kissed her. His mouth settled firmly against hers, his lips parting, his tongue delving deeply, as if he had every right and reason in the world to do so. He walked her backward, guiding her toward the bed, and when her knees struck the mattress and she sat, he pressed her down against the bedspread. You're beautiful, Lina, he signed, sweeping his fingers in a counterclockwise motion in front of his face.

He placed his hands on either side of her and leaned over, kissing her again, making her smile. Whatever had happened, whatever had upset him, it was over now. Really over, to judge by the sudden, hardening heat she could feel pressing against her through her pants. She giggled against his mouth and he smiled for her.

Let's leave these off for a while, he suggested, sitting back, and then he reached for her hips, tugging against the waistband of her sweatpants.

Lina laughed. Sounds good, she signed in reply.

Several hours later, Brandon woke with a start, his eyes flying wide in the darkness, his mind snapping instantly from sound sleep to sharp clarity. He had been dreaming of moonlight flashing against dark water, of kneeling along the banks of an anonymous river and ripping the throat out of an old man in tattered clothing who thrashed beneath him.

He lay spooned against Lina, his arm draped over her waist, her fingers twined through his, and her nude body was soft and warm, molded perfectly to his own. He lifted his head from the pillows, peering past her toward the digital bedside clock. It was nearly four o'clock in the morning.

Jesus, he thought, sighing heavily and closing his eyes. Just a dream.

He'd never had a nightmare as vivid or horrifying before; in it, he'd been seized with the bloodl.u.s.t and unable-not to mention unwilling-to resist it. He'd felt it within his mind, swollen, hot and heavy, clouding his senses, making him focus on nothing else but the urge to feed, the need for blood. The smell of it racing through the old man's veins as he'd struggled in terror had left Brandon ravenous, and he'd dreamed of wrenching the man's head back by the hair and sinking his fangs, fully extended and ready, deep into the meat of his neck.

A shivering sensation p.r.i.c.kled his skin and danced through the fine hairs along his forearms, at the nape of his neck, and at this, Brandon sat up fully, drawing his arm away from Lina. She stirred somewhat, squirming briefly beneath the sheets before settling herself comfortably and falling still again.

Brandon tried to forget about the dream and looked around the shadow-draped room, studying the play of moonbeams and streetlamp light coming through the window off the floor, furniture, and doorways. He sensed something within his mind, a peculiar whispering sound, like distant static on the radio. His head was throbbing again, the dull ache rekindled inside his skull and he frowned.

He wasn't immediately alarmed, or at least, not as he'd been when Lina had left him alone in the cab the day before in front of that strange building, when he'd experienced a similar sensation. It had been weaker then, much weaker than now, but it had proven a false alarm, and he'd panicked for nothing. It can't be the Brethren, he thought, climbing out of bed. He reached down and grabbed his jeans, stepping into them. They can't have found me, not yet. Even if they followed me to the city, they can't have found me here. Jackson isn't listed in the phone book. They won't know how to find this place.

Besides, his telepathic abilities had been going nothing but bug-s.h.i.t and out of his control ever since he'd left Kentucky. For all he knew, he could be picking up sensations from miles away, halfway across the city, or even just one of the neighboring apartments.

Or it could just be my imagination, he thought, as he padded slowly toward the bedroom door. Something left over from that weird-a.s.s dream. My nerves are all on edge.

He glanced over his shoulder once as he finished b.u.t.toning his fly. Lina was sleeping, curled on her side, her body gracefully draped in pale bed linens. For a moment, he didn't move; he remained poised in the doorway watching her sleep.

G.o.d, she's beautiful, he thought. He still couldn't believe she'd let him make love to her-not once or twice, but repeatedly, and for hours. They had only just succ.u.mbed at last to exhaustion an hour or so earlier.

He wanted to return to her, to strip off his jeans and duck beneath the sheets again. Not just to make love to her, although the simple thought of that left dim heat stoking in his groin, but to hold her, to draw the sweet fragrance of her skin and hair against his nose, and feel the heat from her body seeping into his own. He wanted to snuggle against her and forget about the strange whispering in his mind, the horrible nightmare that had wrenched him from sleep.

The monster I dreamed I'd become.

That strange whispering, tickling sensation shivered through his mind again, and he turned to look down the corridor toward the living room beyond.

Nothing here, he thought, his brows narrowing. There's nothing here. It's just my imagination.Nevertheless, he walked down the hallway, his footsteps light and cautious, his gaze sharp. He cut his eyes around the broad expanse of the living room, studying all of the shadows carefully. Jackson's towering a.s.sortment of tropical plants cast irregular swatches of darkness everywhere. The ceiling fan had been left on, and the breeze stirred palm leaves and fern fronds, making shadows dance in constant, distracting motion.

There's nothing here, Brandon thought, following the kitchen wall, glancing over the breakfast bar into the empty room beyond.

In a nearby corner, Jackson had stowed an umbrella stand. Aside from a few umbrellas, plus some hand-carved walking sticks from Peru, Jackson kept his katana there; an exquisite, tempered-steel j.a.panese sword housed in a simple, wooden scabbard.

Brandon curled his hand around the unadorned grip and slowly, quietly lifted the sword from the stand. He'd only used the blade a time or two in his youth, under Jackson's tutelage and close watch, but he'd practiced plenty of times with its solid-wood counterpart, a bokuto sparring sword.

There's nothing here, he thought again, but he wasn't about to take that chance. Not with Lina asleep in the next room. He drew the katana free from its sheath, watching light filtering in through the windows gleam along the polished length of its blade.

He set the scabbard aside on the breakfast bar, gripped the sword hilt between his hands and stepped forward into the living room.

He crossed to the patio doors, then returned toward the kitchen. There was nothing but the bobbing, fluttering shadows of plants moving in the fan's breeze-and that faint, p.r.i.c.kling sensation that let him know he was not alone. He glimpsed a flutter of light against the flat of the katana, a reflection of sudden, swift movement, and then something plowed into his back. He staggered forward with the force of the blow, startled and knocked off balance, and his sharp gasp of surprise cut short as a strong, slender arm snapped suddenly beneath the shelf of his chin, crushing against his windpipe.

h.e.l.lo, Brandon, his sister Emily seethed inside his mind, as her fingers closed fiercely in his hair, and her long legs coiled viselike around his waist from behind. It's so good to see you again. We've been- Brandon reacted instinctively, ducking forward, tucking his chin. He grabbed her by the arm and threw her forcefully over his shoulder. He didn't hold back or offer her any restraint; he threw with all of his might, and she sailed across the living room, clear over the breakfast bar and into the kitchen. She smashed headlong into a row of cabinets and then crumpled beyond his view to the floor.

s.h.i.t! Brandon thought, his heart pounding, his eyes flown wide in panic. How the f.u.c.k did she find me? He scrambled backward, the sword still in hand, but when he stumbled against someone standing behind him, he whirled, wide eyed with new fright.