"Come on," Rafael said.

Dr. Greene scooped Sasha up in his arms and followed, no questions asked. Wrapped in the tarp, her skin was protected from the few feet of sunlight they had to pass through. The doctor carried her into the second warehouse, then set her gently down on the floor next to the entrance to the Underground. Turning toward the alley door, he closed it, cocking his head to listen as a series of clicks indicated the locks had reengaged. "Let's go," he said.

The actual entrance to the Underground was small, barely large enough for Rafael to slide through sideways, on his knees. Dr. Greene eased Sasha through feet first, and Rafael carefully positioned her on the floor just inside.

Dr. Greene was halfway through when Lucien appeared, out of nowhere. The doctor wormed the rest of the way through and bent to pick up Sasha.

"Sorry," Lucien said. "I heard you calling, but I couldn't quite zero in on your location. It's hard to navigate from the Underground to outside."

Rafael suspected the navigation problems might have more to do with Lucien's recent injuries. The right side of his face still looked like somebody had branded it with irons.

Lucien caught hold of the doctor's arm, helping him to his feet.

Then he grabbed Rafael with his other hand and said, "Hang on."

And suddenly they were in the hospital wing, and the doctor was running with Sasha, leaving Rafael with Lucien to trail behind him.

Seven.

Rafael paced the corridors, waiting for news. He didn't dare go too far, afraid he might lose his way. Without his vampiric senses it was harder for him to keep his bearings in the labyrinthine corridors.

It was hard, too, for him to stay focused. His thoughts were too full of Sasha. He could think of little else, his interior vision filled with the sight of her beautiful face, ravaged by streaking burns.

She might be dead. He thought she wasn't, though. Surely he would know if she was. But maybe he was deluding himself with unsubstantiated hope. He had no reason to think they had any kind of telepathic connection. After all, they hadn't been lovers very long, and he was nothing more than a useless mortal at this point.

Which led to the next question. If she wasn't dead, would she see him? Or would she continue to refuse to consider a permanent relationship?

He could bear even that, he thought, as long as she was alive.

"There you are."

Lucien's voice startled him, coming as it did a split second before Lucien actually appeared.

Rafael composed himself quickly. "How is she?

"We're not completely sure yet."

"But she's alive?"

"Yes."

"I want to see her."

Lucien laid a hand on his shoulder. "Then I'll take you."

A breath later, they stood in front of the door to Sasha's room.

Trepidation rooted Rafael to the spot for a heartbeat. Then he pushed the door open and went in.

Dr. Greene looked up from his work. He was replacing an empty IV bag with a new one full of clear fluid. Sasha lay with her face turned away from the door. She was utterly still.

"She's alive," said the doctor. "Her body is processing fluids, but very slowly."

"She'll be all right?"

"There'll be scars for a while. But maybe Julian or Lucien can help with that." He finished with the IV bag and took a step back. "In fact, I'd be surprised if they couldn't."

Rafael didn't care about scars. She was alive. That was the important part.

The doctor wasn't finished, though. "It remains to be seen, however, what will happen at nightfall." "Why? I mean, she'll wake up, right? Just like always?"

"I don't know. Sometimes when a vampire experiences this kind of trauma, she remains comatose for a period of time-stays in the Sleep to facilitate healing."

"For how long?"

"Until her system revives. I've heard of it lasting a few days-or ten, even twenty years."

Twenty years? "But wouldn't it depend on the seriousness of the injuries?"

"It seems to depend more on the severity of the trauma." He poked the nosepiece of his glasses, pushing them into place. "Look, I'm sorry to be so blunt, but there are so many variables here. It's very difficult to predict what a vampire will do, what her response will be to a particular trauma or a particular course of treatment. Most of what I do is trial-and-error and guesswork."

Rafael nodded. "It's all right. I know you've done what you can."

"And will continue to do so." He hesitated, then nodded. "You'll stay with her awhile?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'll be back."

Rafael heard the door click shut behind him, but his focus was on Sasha. He took a step closer, then moved toward the other side of the bed so he could see her face.

The wounds the sun had inflicted had not diminished. Whatever treatment the doctor had followed, it had done nothing to heal that aspect of her trauma. Her smooth, perfect skin bore streaks of red, brutal burns.

It would heal eventually, with or without help from Julian or Lucien.

She would be beautiful again. But Rafael didn't care. Seeing her lying there, still as death in the vampiric Sleep, he didn't care about anything but that she was alive-and that he loved her. Anything else was inconsequential. The thought that he'd almost lost her-the immortal in their relationship-to something as common as the sun, made him angry and frightened at the same time.

He understood, then, why she'd left him. Because she'd imagined him like this. Still and silent, not breathing, brutalized by violence or illness or age. It was inevitable, now that he was mortal again.

She hadn't considered her own weaknesses, though. Yes, she was a vampire, technically immortal, but not invulnerable. In her own way, she was as fragile as he. They would both eventually die-she could just put it off longer than he could.

There was a chair by the door. He dragged it over, so he could sit where he could see Sasha's face. He was tired and hungry, but both could wait. Right now, he needed to be here, with her.

When Dr. Greene returned, he had a plate with plain white bread and a bowl of broth. Rafael's stomach was growling, but after one bite he stopped to look at the bread. To smell it. To analyze the taste it left behind in his mouth. As a vampire he had been able to do none of these things. This was Life.

And life was good. Immortality had its advantages, but eating good bread wasn't one of them.

The food went down smoothly. His stomach was starting to adjust to handling digestion again. He ate the bread and the broth and wondered if it was time yet to try that pepperoni pizza.

Probably not. He daydreamed about it, though, finally drifting off to sleep, thinking about some oddly erotic combination of pizza and Sasha.

Sasha woke with a stabbing pain in her face and sat bolt upright, heart pounding, ready to attack. But there was nothing to attack. Only a silent hospital room and Rafael sitting on a chair next to her bed.

They had gotten her to the Underground. Somehow they'd managed it. Had Rafael been there? Had he saved her?

She looked at his quiet face, and her heart twisted. This was why she'd driven him away-because, when she saw him, her resolve wavered and she was ready to let him into her life, to love him regardless of the consequences.

And now she was the one who'd walked on the edge of death.

Irony sucked. It made her think too hard, threw all her carefully thought- out rationalizations out the nearest window.

Rafael twitched in his sleep. Sleep, she thought. Real, mortal sleep, including dreams. Where you tossed and turned and twitched and made funny noises, snored and drooled. She lay back down in her hospital bed, careful not to make any sound that might wake him, and watched him.

It wasn't until fifteen minutes later, when Dr. Greene entered the room, that she realized what was wrong. She frowned at the doctor.

"He doesn't smell good," she said.

"You're awake," said the doctor.

"Yes."

"How do you feel?"

"Not great. Why does he smell funny?"

Dr. Greene picked up a chart from the table near her bed. "Maybe he forgot that humans sweat and need to take showers."

"No, it's not that." She peered at him. "You don't smell good, either. But I know what that's about."

"Now, I know I took a shower." He examined her half-empty IV bag. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes. That's just it. I'm hungry, and he doesn't smell like a decent meal. Red-blooded, healthy male, and I have no desire to eat him."

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Well, that kind of thing's a bit dangerous with fangs, anyway."

"You should know. Besides, that's not what I meant."

The doctor still looked smug. "I know what you meant."

Her eyes narrowed. "What did you do?"

"I doctored Rafael's blood a little. I put some of my markers in it.

The ones that keep every vampire here from draining my veins."

"Why did you do that?"

"I thought it might smooth things out between you two a little.

He's still mortal, but at least you won't have the urge to nibble on him for breakfast."

Sasha blinked, not sure what to think about the doctor's interfer- ence-or his assumptions about her feelings for Rafael. Her lashes felt moist. "So you're sort of a freakish, high-tech, geneticist-match- maker type?"

"Something like that."

Rafael grunted. Sasha watched as he straightened in his chair, sniffling and snorting his way to consciousness.

The doctor stood. "I'll leave you two to it, then."

Sasha glanced at him as he closed the door behind him, then turned to Rafael, who opened his eyes and looked at her blearily.

"I dreamed about you," he said after a moment. He sounded surprised.

"Good dreams, I hope."

"No, not really." He grinned wryly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I haven't dreamed since-"

She understood both his wonderment and his reluctance to vocalize it. "So what the hell are you doing here?"

He studied her face. Suddenly she wondered what she must look like, what the pain in her face must mean. But there was no repulsion or even distaste in his expression.

"I wanted to be with you," he said. "You almost died."

"Yeah." She couldn't stifle the edge of bitterness to her voice. "I was stupid."

"You were. Stupid and careless."

"Rub my nose in it, why don't you?"

His expression had chilled, becoming unreadable. "I don't know if I can be with you if you're going to keep being stupid. It makes you careless, and sooner or later, you're gonna end up dead."

Tears rose too fast for her to stop them, but she refused to look away. "Touche."

"Damn straight. How does it feel?"

"If your blood didn't stink, I'd rip your throat out right now."

"You'd regret it later."

"Yeah, probably."