"All right," she said finally. "That's more like it."

"Good." He took her arm. "Then let's go."

They left the building together, and Lilith immediately sensed the shadows. They were closer, darker, more of them than there had been before, and she knew for certain now that they were neither stray dogs nor muggers. She clasped Jarod's arm.

"Do you see them?" she whispered.

"See who?" He matched her barely-audible tone.

"The shadows." Could it possibly be her imagination? Surely not- it was too real for that. They flitted at the corners of her eyes.

Jarod glanced from side to side without moving his head. "I don't see anything." His eyes narrowed a little, though, and Lilith was certain he was looking directly at one of the shrouded lurkers. "Vamps?"

he said.

"Yes."

"I don't see them. Are they ours?"

"No." She made herself as still as she could, as still as only a vampire was capable of being. Jarod's necessary breathing sounded like a gale-force wind next to her, his heartbeat deafening. The vamps would be looking for her, though, so the tumult of his humanness shouldn't matter.

In her shroud of silence, she watched. She could see only the vague, dark shadows. They were too distant for her to make out details, and seemed to be protected by some sort of magic. But they were Ialdaboth's. She was certain of it. They would sense her, at any moment, and they would come to her and take her, murder her, murder Jarod, then go on to the Underground, to destroy the others They moved. Shifted toward each other until they stood in a small clump. There were three or four of them-the magic distorted them enough that it was hard to tell. Lilith held herself utterly still.

And they disappeared.

"They're gone," Jarod murmured, his perception surprising her.

"Yes."

"Why did they leave?"

"I don't know. I think they were following me. Maybe your blood killed the trail."

"That would make sense." He grasped her arm as she relaxed again. "We need to tell Julian."

"It's not unexpected." Julian's calm response to the news that she'd been followed surprised Lilith.

"What if they find us?" she asked, wondering if he was truly as calm as he appeared to be, trying to match her demeanor to his. Inside, her stomach was trembling and twisted. She guessed Jarod, standing behind her, sensed her turmoil when she felt his comforting hand on her shoulder.

Julian, sitting at the desk, steepled his fingers and frowned. "I don't think they will. I've put up a few more safeguard layers. The margins of this place are so muddled by now they're practically impossible to sense unless you're one of us."

"How did that go?" Jarod asked, and Lilith heard carefully muted concern in his voice.

Julian looked at him briefly. "As well as can be expected."

She had no idea what they were talking about, but it didn't matter.

Only one thing did-protecting the Underground-and she didn't trust any so-called safeguards.

"I can't stay here," she blurted out. "It's not safe. It's why I left.

You have to understand that."

Jarod's hand tightened on her shoulder, as if to hold her there, to stop her from leaving again.

"You're wrong," Julian said firmly. "You have to stay here. I need you. I can use the link you have to keep track of Ialdaboth, to judge when he's likely to come after us again."

"But he can use it, too!" she said. "It will lead him here!"

"Not if we keep you . . . inoculated, so to speak." Smiling, he glanced again at Jarod. Then, his expression softening, he said to her, "I need you, Lilith. You're our secret weapon. As long as I have you, I have control over when and where I face Ialdaboth, when the time comes."

She hesitated, needing to be certain she wasn't surrendering for only selfish reasons. She felt her Jarod's fingers squeeze her shoulder yet again, gently this time. "You're sure about that?" she said.

Julian nodded. "As sure as I can be."

"But will it be safe for Jarod?"

Close behind her, Jarod put in, "As safe as we can make it."

"I'll let you two work out the details on that one," said Julian. He fluttered his fingers toward the door. "You can go."

She followed Jarod to her hospital room and sat on the bed.

"Still hungry?" he asked her, moving to stand between her knees.

"Not so much."

"Good." He traced his fingers down her cheek. "You're not in this alone, you know." His hand slid down from her face, across her collar bone, until he cupped her breast.

"Dr. Greene, I don't think that's very professional behavior."

"Do you want me to stop?" "No."

"Then shut up." He bent to kiss her, his mouth soft and searching.

She kissed him back, threads of heat singing through her body.

"When you have problems," he whispered against her lips, "you'll need me to help you."

"I'll need your blood."

"Uh-huh. So it might be a good idea to keep me close at hand."

"A very good idea." Her hands slid down his body, feeling his warmth, his heartbeat. His blood inside her seemed to call to its source, inside him.

"They say," he said softly, "that when a vampire takes your blood, she can make it like sex. Is that true?"

She smiled. "I can do more than that. I can make it be sex."

"Do you think you might need another dose? I mean right now?"

"It certainly couldn't hurt."

Jarod gathered Lilith close against him and kissed her, deep and long. He wondered, just for a moment, what the hell he was doing. His great-grandfather had always told him not to get too close. Yet here he was, peeling off her shirt and ravenously mouthing her breasts, about to get as close as it was possible to get. And he had no intention of letting somebody else's prejudices stop him.

What had Great-grandpa Greene been afraid of? Maybe of admitting the possibility of what Jarod now knew was true-that protovampire blood ran in his veins. He'd have thought the old man would have figured it out by the time his hundred and twentieth birthday rolled around.

Jarod laughed at the thought, and Lilith peered at him curiously.

"What?" she said as he kissed his way down her stomach.

"Nothing." He paused just below her navel to look up the length of her body at her face, framed by her breasts. "You're beautiful."

She watched his face disappear between her thighs and fought tears. He was a good man. Certainly, he deserved better than her ancient and damaged self. But Fate seemed to disagree. And she wasn't about to argue.

Especially not when he was working such magic on her. She'd wanted his mouth there ever since their encounter on the plane, and he was certainly living up to her expectations. She wondered how long it had been since he'd been with a woman, then decided she didn't care.

Then she couldn't think much about anything as the hot, spiraling pleasure flooded through her. She felt his smile against her skin as his tongue nudged her just a little further, a little more Jarod watched her hit her peak, tumble over. He kept her going for a few minutes, tapping with his tongue and feeling her shudder, until suddenly she twisted under him, and he felt her teeth. Not in his throat this time, but in the hollow of his shoulder. She could sip blood there but not gorge on it. He tried to remember what major veins passed close to the spot where she'd penetrated him and how far they were from the prick of her teeth, but she shifted again, and suddenly he was penetrating her.

Instinct took over then, and he slid home, claiming her. Then he held still, feeling the tight sheath of her sex around him, the pulsing of his own blood, the beating of it as it went into her mouth. For a split second, he was certain he was going to die. It would have been a very, very happy death.

She freed her fangs and moaned under him, licking the wound as an afterthought. Eyes locked to his, she smiled. He returned her smile and slid out, then in again, deeper. Her soft gasps guiding his rhythm, he stroked until her body clenched and pulsed around him, and he followed her over the crest to completion. For a time afterward, he just breathed. Then he settled next to her on the bed, and cradled her against him. She closed her eyes, her head on his shoulder-the unbitten one-and pushed her white-blonde hair out of her face.

"Remind me to check my hemoglobin levels before we make love again," he said, soft laughter in his voice.

She rubbed her cheek against his chest. "I think I love you," she said.

The admission surprised him. He shifted to look at her, but she wouldn't meet his gaze.

"That's good," he said. "That's very good, in fact." He put a fin ger under her chin, tilting her head up, making her look at him. "Because I think the feeling is mutual."

She managed a watery smile. "I don't think you know what you're taking on."

"Probably not." He kissed her on the nose. "I rarely do. It hardly matters."

"Just don't get too far away."

He nestled her closer. "Never. You can count on that."

Julian's Journal The one who was dead will feed on life without creating death, and the life that was death will bring power. That's Lucien's piece, which is all I have at the moment.

But what the hell does it mean? And how much more do I need?

There must be more pieces. Perhaps each of the four First Demons, the half-brothers born all within the same span of twenty-four hours in a cave in Romania twelve thousand years ago, carries a piece of the puzzle. I have Lucien's. I need Aanu's and Ruha's and Ialdaboth's.

Lilith thinks Rafael may have knowledge of Ialdaboth's part in this, because of his association with Brigitte. If he can give us that, we'll be halfway there.

As for the other two, that may prove more difficult.

Aanu is a pile of bones in the hospital wing. I have to wonder if his brain will actually grow back, and if it does, if he will be able to use it.

What happens when you've been dead for four thousand years? What does it do to your memory? Is it possible to recover from that thorough a desecration? Can the healing abilities manifested in myself and Lucien aid his regeneration? I guess we'll find out. Though Lucien may not be a great help, given his condition. He tries to hide it, but I can tell his confrontation with Ialdaboth took its toll.

Ruha seems to be out of the picture. But he is also within me.

Ruha and the Senior were lovers once, and his memories now lurk in the depths of my memory. I have sought-and failed-to find them. I have no choice but to seek again.

I will. I will find a way to save the Children, to restore their mortality.

And I will find a way to kill Ialdaboth, if I have to die to do it.

And I might die. I can sense him, and his minions are already here, lurking around the margins of the Underground. I have provided what protection I can, all that is within my power. But he is strong, and he is dark, and I don't know how long I can stand against him.

Rafael Light is sweet, and it pleases the eyes to see the sun. However many years a man may live, let him enjoy them all.

Ecclesiastes 11:7-8 In the revivification of the red cells we seem to have found a reaction between catalyst A and catalyst B, when combined in proper proportions. Frankly, the involvement of Nicholas' blood in this formula surprises me.

Email-Dr. Jarod Greene to Julian Cavanaugh The one who feeds from life without diminishing it-he will be the one who changes everything. Some may be inclined to call him Messiah.

The Book of Changing Blood

One.

With the coming of dusk, Rafael woke and, as he did every time he slid out of the daytime Sleep, wondered if he was still a vampire.

He must be, though. Otherwise he would be craving a nice, juicy T-bone instead of a good mouthful of blood. Even now, after four years, the thought revolted him. Some days it was all he could do to eat enough to stay alive. Some days it occurred to him to wonder if he was the world's only anorexic vampire.

With those ever-present questions asked and set aside for the day, he was free to move on to other puzzlements. Like where the hell was he?

He sat up, shoving a hand through his hair. Damned hair, anyway.

It would all be sticking straight up now-not that he cared. He was more concerned about getting the hell out of here. But when he tried to move the other arm, he found he couldn't past a certain point.

He looked at it and saw a needle taped into the bend of his elbow, plastic tubing leading from it to a bag of garnet blood hanging on a metal hanger like they had in hospitals. The blood had moved nearly all the way down the tube, and as he watched, it filled the tube completely.

A moment later, he felt it go into his veins. Cold, and strange, but it soothed the hunger that had begun to grow. An intriguing solution. He could go for this on a permanent basis. Ialdaboth would never allow it, though. He wanted those in his enclave to take hot blood fresh from the throat of a preferably innocent victim.

Ialdaboth was a prick.

"Good morning," said a male voice, and Rafael jumped, afraid someone had just read his last thought. He'd had too many similar thoughts over the past few years, and had always been terrified someone would overhear and have him killed. Or maybe he'd hoped someone would overhear and have him killed. He wasn't entirely sure.

But the person who'd spoken was unfamiliar. Something about him reminded him of Ialdaboth, an aura of some kind, but the resemblance ended there. This guy, Rafael was certain, was not a prick.