He reached for her, and she caught his arm and twisted it, and he was amazed, stunned by her strength. He was brought to his knees, rage and venom tearing from his lips.

She released him.

He rose, charging again.

She fought back.

And he flew....

And this time one of the three men who had remained on the boat strode toward him, picking him up, slamming him down again. He fought, finding some strength. He had once been a great warrior. A chieftain.

Once. He slammed into the side of the tree.

Stunned, he fell.

He landed hard upon the sand of the beach. He struggled up on an elbow and saw, amazed, that the survivors from the village still mingled there, no expressions on their faces. They were like sheep, unaware of the battle before them, or of the horror they had just faced.

Body parts lay about; the head of the white-haired old father of the first girl lay just by Lucian's elbow....

She was suddenly standing over him, her smile deepening.

"b.i.t.c.h, monster," he told her.

She smiled. "The blood was delicious, wasn't it?"

"No."

She started to laugh, entirely entertained. "It will seldom taste so sweet; she was young. Truly an innocent."

She stared down at him.

Her lackey, the man who had come in on the fray to beat him for her, stood by her side. Tall, lean. His hair had a touch of red and was not too dark. His eyes were a light brown.

"Understand it. You are a monster, too, chieftain," the lackey told him.

"No."

Even his denial made him ill. The blood had been good. So good.

Water on the desert, meat to the starving. It had tasted sweeter than any mead, ale, or wine; it had filled him, warmed him, it had ... Oh, G.o.d . .

It had stopped the agony ripping at him, tearing at him. The unbearable pain ... "Get up," she told him.

"No."

"You will do as I say."

"I will never be your a.r.s.e-kissing slave, you witch. Such as him."

He indicated the fellow at his side.

The man started forward, ready to tear into him again. She stopped him, just lifting her hand. "But you will," she told Lucian. She set her palm upon the chest of the other man. "Darian is my right-hand man.

Touched by power. Protected ..."

Her fingers touched the locket she wore around her neck.

"Protected by my power," she said. "I will let you exist for now. Perhaps you will learn. We do not destroy one another. Such is written in the ancient laws. But, I am above the law, chieftain. I am the law. I made you; I will destroy you, if you learn too slowly." Lucian knew what he had to do.

He rose and suddenly turned on one of the Vikings, seizing his sword. The lackey-Darian-panicked, thinking he meant to slay the woman. He dragged her back. Lucian thrust the weapon hard into his own stomach. Pain. Blinding pain. He fell to his knees. And heard her laughing again. "Darian, get him up and back to the ship." Again, he wasn't quite sure how he got there, but he was in the ship. He should have been dead. He wasn't. He should have bled to death. The wound was almost healed.

When she stood before him next, he was no longer in pain. Just exhausted. He couldn't move. "What are you?"

She watched him a moment. "I am everything. Your sun, your moon, your stars. I am your ruler; I am your G.o.d."

"You are nothing to me."

"You're stubborn, chieftain. But you do tempt me. I'll give you far more of a chance than most." She shrugged. "I believe you will learn in time. You must." "You make me vomit."

She started to laugh again, that awful, deep, cruel and taunting sound. "You l.u.s.t for me, and lie to yourself. You think you have a soul still, or such a thing as a heart. You do not. You will forget your little honey-haired bride-"

"Forget her? For you?" He found strength and spoke with a raging contempt, sitting up. "Forget the sound of her laughter for the cackle of a witch?"

"We'll see." She smiled again. "You want to know what I am, chieftain? Some men call me lamia. That is the name they give creatures such as myself in the East. Among the Tartars and Huns and Gauls, my name is whispered, no more. Vampyr. But I am not just such.

I am the oldest, and the most powerful. I rule. I create, and I destroy.

Take care, chieftain, or I will tire of your whining. Believe me, I will destroy you."

"You have already destroyed me."

"I have given you strength, and life that can last forever."

"I am a dead man."

"Your hunger will keep you alive." She left him.

The lackey suddenly knelt down beside him, sneering.

"She wants you now. You are a fool. But she will tire of you. And when she does, rest a.s.sured, I will destroy you."

Pale streaks of day touched the sky.

Dawn was coming.

The lackey left him as well.

He couldn't move. He had no strength then, no power. The sun was rising. He closed his eyes and felt the deepest pain and anguish.

He thought that he was dying.

And it didn't matter; he was glad.

He only slept.

Chapter Five.

Rick Beaudreaux felt as if he were burning up. He was sicker than a dog, sicker than he could ever remember being.

And all this ...

Right when he was falling in love. He smiled, thinking about her.

Jade. The great thing was that she'd understood. She didn't accept pressure, and she didn't give it in return. She was great; she was beautiful. She was s.e.xy. And she was a friend. He wished he could be with her.

Oh, yeah. After all this time. And now, when she was ready . . .

He was a mess.

Not too much he could do.

He slept, he woke, he took medicine. He left off knowing whether it was day or night. He told himself that he needed to get to a doctor.

Hot, hot, hot. . .

It was October. Cool. The windows were open. He shouldn't be feeling this way. There were so many viruses lately that were really bad. Killer viruses. It made sense to go to a doctor.

As soon as he could get up and dressed, that was what he'd do.

h.e.l.l, being a police officer, at least he had good insurance.

He was thirsty. No matter what he drank, he still seemed to be thirsty. Laying in bed, he groaned. He had the urge to pee. He had to get up.

He made his way up, stumbled into his bathroom. The simple act of urination felt good. Except that he was even colder when he finished.

Well, pee was hot. Body temperature. Something like that. He dealt with kids and drugs, and chemistry and physiology had never been his best subjects. Didn't matter. He was good with kids. Loved them.

Wanted the best for them.

Thirsty again.

He started for the kitchen. His doorbell rang.

He paused, because he usually answered his doorbell. h.e.l.l. Not today.

He walked on into the kitchen in his briefs and open robe, shaking his head. He opened the refrigerator door and stared in. Water, beer, wine. Two-week-old milk. And a can of b.l.o.o.d.y Mary mix.

To his amazement, he opted for the b.l.o.o.d.y Mary mix. He shook his head, amazed that he could gulp down the two-liter can so quickly.

There was some hamburger meat in the lower shelf. He'd meant to cook dinner last week for Jade-the one dinner he did well: hamburgers on the grill. He hadn't gotten to it. The meat was probably too old now. It was raw, red, and wrapped in cellophane. He could see just how raw and red-and probably bad-it was.

He reached for it, suddenly as hungry as he was thirsty. He pulled out the hamburger meat, set it on the counter, and delved into a cabinet for a frying pan. It wasn't hard to find. There weren't that many pans in his kitchen. He seldom ate at home. He had a lot of talents, but cooking wasn't one of them. And he was surrounded by some of the best restaurants in the country.

He never bothered with the pan, or turning on the stove.

He ripped the cellophane off the meat and started thrusting it into his mouth. It didn't taste bad. It could have been fresher. It could have been ...

His doorbell was still ringing.

"h.e.l.l!" he swore aloud. "A man is sick in here, sick as h.e.l.l, I may be dying-go away!"

He caught a glimpse of his face in the aluminum surface of his coffeepot. He hadn't shaved; bits of raw and b.l.o.o.d.y meat were stuck in the pathetic blond stubble on his cheeks. He shook his head, disgusted, ran the water, and vigorously washed his face. He looked at the remaining meat, shaking his head. Well, h.e.l.l, people did eat steak tartare. This was kind of the same. Maybe his sick body was craving the iron or something.

The bell was still ringing.

"s.h.i.t!" he swore.

He started for it, shook his head angrily, and walked back to the bedroom. He closed himself in, pulling his pillow over his head.

He never took time off.

He always paid his creditors.

Whatever it was, they needed to leave him the h.e.l.l alone.

Shanna MacGregor woke to the sound of her phone ringing.

She groaned, pulling her pillow over her head. She wasn't a morning person.

The answering machine clicked on. "Shanna, dear, this is Liz. I'm so sorry to call. I was hoping to catch you in. I always hate to bother you girls, but..."

Shanna groaned inwardly. She knew that Liz hated to call.

She and Jade had both accepted Liz as their father's new wife. They had adored their mother, but they had lost her. And their father had grieved with them, long and deeply.