Hotter Than Hell

CHAPTER 1

A SHRILL SCREAM JERKED HER OUT OF THE DEEP well of sleep.

Selene fumbled for the phone, pushed her hair back, pressed the talk button. “Mrph.” She managed the trick of rolling over and blinking at the alarm clock. Oh, God, what now? “This had better be good.”

“Lena?” A familiar voice wheezed into the other end of the phone. He gasped again. “Lena, it’s me.”

Oh no. Not another panic attack. “Danny?” Selene sat straight up, her heart pounding. “Danny, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Sweat began to prickle under her arms, the covers turned to strangling fingers before she realized she was awake.

“Cold,” he whispered, breath coming in staccato gasps. “Selene. Help. Help me. The book—the book—”

Another panic attack, it sounds like another one, oh God. They’re getting worse. Selene swung her feet to the cold floor, switching the phone to her right ear, trapping it on her shoulder. “Where are you? Danny? Are you at home?” She grabbed her canvas bag the moment her feet hit the floor, craning her neck to read the Caller ID display. Daniel Thompson, his familiar number. He was at home.

Where else would he be? Danny hadn’t left his apartment for nearly five years. “Keep breathing. Deep breaths, down into your tummy. I’ll be right there.”

“No,” Danny pleaded. His asthmatic wheeze was getting worse. “Cold…Lena. Don’t. Don’t. Danger—” The line went dead.

Selene slammed the phone back into the cradle, her breath hissing in. Her fingers tingled—a sure sign of something awful. What was I dreaming? Something about the sea, again. She raced for the bathroom, grabbing a handful of clothes from the dirty-laundry hamper by the bathroom door. Just keep breathing, Danny. Don’t let the panic get too big for you. I’m on my way. She tripped, nearly fell face-first, banging her forehead on the door. “Shit!”

She yanked her jeans up with one hand and turned on the faucet with the other, splashed her face with cold water. She fastened her thick blond mane with an elastic band and raced for the door, ripping her sweater at the neck as she forced it over her head. She had to hop on one foot to yank her socks on, she jammed her feet into her boots and flung her bag over her head, catching the strap in her hair. Just keep him calm enough to remember not to hurt himself, God. Please.

She slowed down at the end of her block, searching for a cab. One down, nine to go. She sprinted across the street. Rain kissed her cheeks and made the sidewalk slick and slightly gritty under the orange wash of city light. Deep heaving gasps of chill air made her lungs burn. Her forehead smarted, making her eyes water.

She crossed Cliff Street, slowing down, pacing herself. Can’t run myself out on the first blocks or I’ll be useless before I get halfway there. If this is another one of his practical jokes I am just going to kill him.

Three down, seven to go. Selene’s boots pounded into the sidewalk. Rain whispered on the deserted streets and along the length of her messy ponytail, dripped down her neck as she crossed Martin Street and cut across the intersection. There were more streetlamps here, she checked her watch as she ran.

Two-thirty. Santiago City held its breath under the mantle of chill night.

The back of Selene’s neck prickled, uneasiness rippling just under her skin.

Why can’t these things happen in the daylight? Or when I don’t have lecture in the morning? This had better be something good, Danny, I swear to God if you’re just throwing another snit-fit I will never forgive you. Never, ever, ever.

Something chill and panicked began to revolve under her breastbone. The back of Selene’s neck crawled. I’m getting a premonition. Her breath came in miserable harsh sobs of effort. Either that or I’m just spooked. Who wouldn’t be at 2 A.M. in this busted-down part of town? She set her teeth, grimly ignoring the stitch in her side. Danny. Just breathe, please God, let him remember to breathe. Don’t let him be in the kitchen, there are knives in there. This sounds like a doozy, he hasn’t had a bad panic attack in at least six months, Christ don’t let him hurt himself.

“Hey, Selene.”

Selene whirled. “Bruce!” she choked, her hand leaping instinctively to her throat. The silver medallion was still under her sweater, warm against her skin. She hadn’t taken it off. “Good God, don’t do that!” She clenched her hands at her side. If only he was human, I could punch him.

Bruce grinned down at her, canines glittering in the pallid orange light, his eyes glowing just like a small nocturnal animal’s. Beneath his loud polyester sport jacket and eye-searing yellow tie, his narrow spotted chest was pale and hairless. “Don’t worry so much, Lena. I wouldn’t dream of taking a taste. His Highness wouldn’t like that one little bit.” His lips curled back even more, exposing more gleaming teeth.

Selene’s heart slammed once against her ribs. Taking a long deep breath, she willed her pulse to slow. Focus, goddammit! Danny needs you, you can’t fight anyone or anything if you’re busy screaming.

“I don’t have time, Bruce,” she gasped. “Danny’s in trouble.”

“I’ll go with you.” Bruce shrugged and peeled his lanky frame away from the streetlamp. He had just been Turned, and still looked almost human.

Almost. The feral glow in his eyes and the quick jerking of his movements screamed “not-quite-normal.”

Still, for a Nichtvren, Bruce was as close to human as possible. He’d just been Turned, so he didn’t have the scary immobility of older suckheads. Small blessing, but she’d take it. “That’s not neces—” she began.

Bruce folded his arms, the smile gone. “Danny’s under Nikolai’s protection too, Selene. If I let you go over there and get hurt, His Highness will peel off my skin in strips and salt me down.” Bruce shivered, his long pink tongue wetting his lips. “Trust me. I’ll go with you.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sweet sake.” Selene wasn’t about to argue with a dead lounge lizard. He fell into step beside her, long legs easily keeping pace as she trotted up the sidewalk. She glanced down. Black loafers and no socks. All you’re missing is a clutch of gold chains and chest hair. She tried to keep her breathing quiet, pushing down a lunatic desire to giggle nervously. Danny, Danny, I’m on my way. Don’t hurt yourself.

“I don’t…know what…he’s thinking,” she gasped, speeding up. “I’m…perfectly…safe.”

Bruce managed a high, thin giggle. “Oh, no you’re not, chickadee. You should be glad His Highness took an interest in you.” He didn’t even sound winded.

I don’t need Nikolai’s protection. I did just fine on my own.

Okay, so she didn’t want Nikolai’s protection. She’d rather tap dance naked through a minefield singing “Petticoat Junction.” Just because Nikolai was the prime paranormal Power in the city, responsible for keeping the peace among all the other factions of paranormal citizenry, didn’t mean she would ever kowtow to him. His Highness Nikolai indeed. Just another suckhead come out from the shadows under the protection of the Paranormal Species Act.

Only this one had an interest in her.

Don’t think about things like that. Danny, please be okay. Don’t bite your tongue or cut yourself.

Her bag shifted, clinking when it banged against her shoulder. Steel and salt, the tools she needed to banish anything evil or unwanted; it didn’t pay as well as teaching but God knew there was a need for her talents. She’d been so tired when she got home she hadn’t unpacked, poltergeist infestations were like that. Not very difficult, but messy and draining. She pushed the strap higher. “I don’t need his…protection or…yours, suckhead.”

“That’s what you think.” Bruce grinned down at her, his words soft and even. “Want me to carry your bag?”

“Of…course…not.” Selene sped up. To hell with pacing myself. Danny needs me.

Selene’s medallion warmed against her skin, reacting to Bruce’s presence—at least, she hoped that was what it was reacting to. By the time they reached Danny’s building, the metal thrummed with Power. Gooseflesh raced down her body; she choked back a final gasp as she rounded the final corner.

Bruce smirked, letting out a soft little snort of laughter. Selene curled her hands into fists, resisting the urge to claw the smile from his face. Jumping the Nichtvren won’t get you anywhere, Selene. Just ignore him, and concentrate on what matters. Danny, my God, please be okay. Remember the visualizations I taught you.

The tall black-clad shape rose from the shadows lying over the concrete steps. Oh, no. Could this possibly get any worse?

Of course not. Of course Nikolai would show up now. He always seemed to know when there was trouble.

Bruce dropped back behind Selene. At least I won’t have to see that fucking smirk on his face. Danny, please be okay, don’t be banging your head on the wall again. I’m on my way, I’m coming.

Her heart slammed once against the cage of her ribs and her fingers curled into fists. Fire bloomed in her cheeks, spread down her neck, and merged with the growing heat of the medallion between her breasts. She fought for control, ribs flaring as she struggled against hyperventilation.

Hands in his coat pockets, chin tilted toward her, Nikolai’s dark eyes catalogued her tangled blond hair, camel coat, scuffed boots. Her fingers itched to straighten her clothes, brush back her hair, check for loose threads. As usual, he was so contained she longed to see him roughed up a little.

I suppose you learn a little self-control when you’re a Master powerful enough to rule Saint City. He’s the Prime, after all. We all live our little lives in his long dark shadow.

A few strands of crow-black hair fell over his eyes as Selene, impelled by the medallion’s growing heat, skidded to a stop inches from him. Her ponytail swung heavily, but he didn’t reach out to grab her arm and “protect” her from falling headlong on the steps. Her heart actually leapt to see him again.

Stop that. He’s not human, you know that, stop STARING at him!

Nikolai said nothing, the light stroking his high cheekbones. His mouth, usually curled into a half-smile, was compressed into a thin line. His dark, electric eyes flicked over Bruce, who cringed another three steps back.

Selene suppressed a burst of nasty satisfaction. Serves you right. She started up the stairs, pressing her left hand against the sudden stitch gripping her side. Her toe caught on the second step.

She fetched up short when Nikolai closed his hand around her left arm, steadied her before she could fall over, and let her go, all in the space of a moment. “Selene.” The chill rain-soaked air shivered under the word, his voice soft and irresistible. At least he didn’t have the scary gold-green sheen on his eyes tonight, Selene hated that. “Stirling.”

“I was on watch.” Bruce didn’t sound half so smug now. Of course, he was an accident, Turned as a joke or mistake; Nichtvren didn’t Turn ugly humans. It was an unwritten rule: only the pretty or the ruthless were given the gift of immortality, and Bruce was neither. Why Nikolai kept him around was anyone’s guess, and Selene didn’t want to ask. Bruce’s doglike attachment and gratefulness for any crumb Nikolai threw his way was telling enough.

Besides, if she asked she had a sneaking suspicion Bruce might answer, and she wouldn’t like the answer at all. Not to mention what she might have to pay for it.

Selene brushed past Nikolai. Her boots smacked against the cold, wet concrete of the steps. She reached the glassed-in front door and stopped short, digging in her coat pocket for her keys. So Nikolai’s having me watched. She filed the information away.

Her fingers rooted fruitlessly around in her pocket and found nothing but an empty gum wrapper. “Oh, no.” Her keys were on the table by the door at her apartment, she had not scooped them up on her way out. Just run right past them in her frantic dash. “Bloody fucking hell on a cheese-coated stick.”

“You need to go in?” Nikolai’s breath brushed her cheek, the faint smell of aftershave and male closing around her. He was right behind her, so far into her personal space it wasn’t even funny.

A violent start nearly toppled her into the firmly-shut door. She hadn’t heard or sensed him behind her, he just appeared out of thin air. Dammit, does he have to do that all the time? The only place she could go to escape him was through the glass. She stared at the door, taking in deep harsh breaths and willing it to open. There was a quick, light patter of footsteps—Bruce, making off into the night. “I left my keys at home. Danny called. I think it’s a panic attack, and when he gets them he sometimes hurts himself. There’s an intercom—”

Nikolai reached around her, his body molded to hers, and touched the lock. The gold and carnelian signet ring gleamed wetly in the uncertain light as his pale fingers brushed the metal. He went absolutely still. The medallion’s metal cooled abruptly between Selene’s breasts, responding to the controlled flare of energy Nikolai was using. She could almost See what he was doing, despite the stealthy camouflage of a Master Nichtvren’s aura. The only thing scarier than their power was their creepy invisibility.

I really wish he’d quit crowding me. Her worry returned, sharp and acrid. Her lungs burned, the stitch knotting her left side again. Please, Danny. Please be okay. I don’t even care anymore if it’s one of your midnight games, I hope you’re all right.

The lock clicked open with a muffled thunk and Selene grabbed the handle before it could close again. Nikolai’s hand brushed hers, slid over the handle, he stepped aside and pulled the door open. She yanked her hand away. He didn’t have to touch me. He did that on purpose.

“Thanks,” she managed around the dry lump in her throat. Stop it, she thought desperately, biting the inside of her cheek. The pain helped her focus. It’s only Nikolai. You know what he is, and why he’s doing this. You’re here for Danny, remember?

“My pleasure.” His eyes dropped down to the medallion safely hidden under her sweater. The metal flushed with icy heat now.

He’s looking at my chest like he sees dinner there. Heat sizzled along Selene’s nerves. “Oh, stop that.” She stepped through the door, sliding past him, suddenly grateful for someone else’s presence. Her heart hammered thinly, the taste of burning in her mouth. Danny. Just remember to breathe, kiddo. Little sister’s almost there to take care of you. “I suppose you want to come up.”

“Of course.” His voice stroked her cheek, slid down her neck. He leaned back against the open door, his dark eyes now fixed on her face. Selene gulped down another breath, her heartbeat evening out. The familiar bank of mailbox doors was on her right, and the peeling linoleum floor glared back at the dirty ceiling. “It is pleasant to see you, Selene.”

Nikolai cat-stepped into the foyer, gracefully avoiding the closing door. Little droplets of rain glittered in his hair, sparked by the fluorescent lights. Under his coat, he wore a dark-blue silk t-shirt and a pair of designer jeans. The shirt moved slightly as muscle flickered in his chest.

Selene dropped her eyes, turned away from him. Oddly enough, he wore a high-end pair of black Nikes. Vampire fashion just ain’t what it used to be. Selene had to stifle another mad giggle. Where’s the fangs and the black cape, not to mention the evening wear? Her heart sped up, thundered in her ears. God love me, I’m going to have a fucking cardiac arrest right here in the foyer.

“Well, come on, then.” She started up the orange-carpeted stairs, sidling away from him. Nikolai followed closely behind, but not too close, letting Selene take the lead. For once.

Given how he’s always going on about how I need “protecting,” it’s a wonder he’s letting me in the building at all. But dammit, if he showed up at the door he’d just scare Danny more. He’s being tactful for once. Lucky me.

Her legs trembled and she rubbed at her eyes as she trooped up the stairs. Nikolai made no sound. “Would you make a little noise?” She immediately regretted asking. The silence behind her intensified. “Danny sometimes has panic attacks so he calls me. I just hope he’s okay. He hasn’t left the apartment for years.” Shut up, Selene, Nikolai knows. Danny’ll be okay, it’s probably nothing. He just stayed out of his body for too long and had trouble when he came back, another panic attack and the numbness. He’s okay. Be okay, Danny, please?

Nikolai’s footsteps echoed hers as he climbed behind her. That was a relief, but Selene still felt the weight of his black eyes as they reached the fourth floor. Her thighs and ass burned. Climbing stairs after almost-running ten blocks without rest was a workout she could do without.

Nikolai’s arm came over her shoulder again and held the heavy fire door open. The hall was dingy, most of the light fixtures missing bulbs, and a drift of fast food wrappers curled up from the far end. Selene’s nose dripped from the chill. She rubbed at it with the back of her hand, tried not to sniff too loudly. Threadbare orange carpet whispered under her boots. The entire hall was so familiar she barely paid any attention. Down the hall a wedge of light speared through the gloom.

Danny’s door was open.

CHAPTER 2

LONG JAGGED SPLINTERS POPPED OUT FROM THE frame, the door loosely hanging from its hinges. Lighter, unpainted wood peered through ragged vertical cracks. Oh, Jesus. Oh no.

“Danny!” Selene leapt forward just as Nikolai’s hand closed around her arm and pulled her back, jerking her arm almost out of its socket. “Let go of me!”

“No,” he said, quietly. “Let me.”

“He’s my brother.” She struggled frantically, achieved exactly nothing.

Nikolai’s fingers tightened, digging into her softer, human flesh. He pushed her back against the wall. “Stay here.” He looked down at her, his lips a thin line and his dark eyes fathomless. No cat-shine in them now, either. He must be worried.

Selene’s lungs labored to catch even a small breath. Her back and arms prickled. “Nikolai—” she began, but he laid a finger on her lips. The contact was electric. Her entire body went liquid, a moan starting in her chest. Selene strangled it before it reached her lips, making a thin dry sound instead. Stop it, stop it, no time for this, stop it, God, what kind of a talent did you give me if it makes me feel like this? Goddammit, please, help me.

Nikolai’s skin was fever-warm. He must have fed, he was metabolizing whatever he’d taken that night—blood, or death, or pain, or sex. Was it wrong to be grateful it hadn’t been her? Though God knew she’d done her share of feeding him. Being fed by him.

Danny. Selene tried to slip along the wall away from Nikolai, but he pinned her in place without even trying. He was being gentle, he could have broken her arm or put her through the wall if he’d wanted to. With hardly any effort.

He wasn’t human, after all.

“Move again and I will force your compliance.” Nikolai leaned closer, his lips a breath away from Selene’s, inhaling. Tasting her breath. Well, the dead do breathe, when they want to, she thought in a lunatic singsong. Just like the first night I met him. She hastily shoved the thought away, freezing in place. It was a mark of possession, smelling her breath like that; a Nichtvren didn’t get that close unless he or she intended to feed or mark you. If she struggled, his predatory instinct might come into play and he might well decide to sink his fangs in her throat right here.

So instead of looking at him, she stared over his shoulder. There was a spot of discolored, peeling paint on the opposite wall. Selene looked intently at it, her eyes hot and dry. She felt his eyes on her, waiting for her to speak, argue, something, Selene bit the inside of her cheek. I’m not going to give you the fucking satisfaction. Something hacked his door down, oh God, oh God. Oh, Danny.

The weight of Nikolai’s gaze slowly lessened when she didn’t struggle. It took everything Selene had not to move, to stay still and passive. I will not give you the excuse. Danny, please be okay. Come on, Nikolai, you’re so blasted interested in both of us, help him! “Danny.” The whisper escaped despite her. Nikolai took another long breath, leaning close, inhaling her scent deeply. Her knees went weak.

“Stay here.” He disappeared. Selene felt the shimmer of Power in the close still air of the hallway. To a human it would feel like a chill walking up the spine, a tightness under the lungs, if they were sensitive. Someone without psychic sensitivity might feel a momentary breeze, a cold draft, a sudden flash of fear that would quickly be disregarded.

The shimmer slipped through the space between the door and the shattered frame. God, please, she prayed. Please, God. Please.

Always begging. They called witches like her—tantraiiken—the “beggars.” Always moaning and pleasing. It was hard not to, when you had a talent that made your body betray you over and over again.

Stop it. Think about something useful. Why was Nikolai here? Or Bruce? Bruce’s hunting ground wasn’t around Selene’s apartment building, at least, it hadn’t been three weeks ago, when he’d turned up…well, Turned.

Nikolai must have set Bruce to watch her. Why now when she’d known Nikolai for all this time?

Known might be too strong a word. You can’t know a Nichtvren. They’re not human, no matter how charming they can occasionally be. You’re food to them. That’s all.

Selene’s back prickled, her breath coming in shallow adrenaline-laden sips. Danny, be okay. God, please, let him just be panicked. Let him just be upset but okay. Or even just a little hurt. Let him be alive.

Caught between fear and excitement, Selene let out a slow sharp gasp. Her knees shook slightly, the outer edges of her shields thickening reflexively. The jeans she’d thrown on were damp at the ankles from the rain, and would be damp between her legs soon.

Oh, God. It was her cursed talent. A sexwitch didn’t feel fear the way other people did. No, being afraid just turned into a different sensation entirely. One below the belt, thick and warm enough to make her heartbeat pound in her ears, a trickle of heat beginning way down low.

The agonized dread spiraled, kick-started a wave of desire that tipped her head back against the wall, forced her breath into another jagged half-gasp. Any more of this and she’d be a quivering ball of need and nerves by the time Nikolai reappeared.

Goddammit, Selene, focus! She shook out her trembling hands; if she had to throw Power she would need her fingers. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She repeated the mantra, as if it would help. Please, God. Please let my brother be safe.

Begging, again. Loathing crawled up her spine, mixed with the desire, and turned her stomach into a sudsing, bubbling washing machine.

The shimmer returned. Nikolai solidified right in front of her, a faint breeze blowing stray strands of hair back, her forehead cold as the moisture evaporated. Wisps of hair stirred at her nape. Her ponytail was loose.

He looked absolutely solid, real. Did his victims ever see him coming? It was like swimming with a shark and suddenly wondering if you’d cut yourself shaving that morning.

Selene met his eyes, tipping her head back. Nothing. She blinked, then looked at the shattered door again.

Nikolai caught her shoulders, pushed her back against the wall. “We will call the police.”

Her body, traitor that it was, understood before she did. Her heart plummeted into her belly with a splash, and the stew of desire and horror faded under a wave of stark chemical adrenaline. “What’s this we? What’s wrong with Danny? What’s happened?”

He smiled, and Selene backed up—or tried to, her shoulders hit the wall again. There were few things worse than Nikolai’s lazy, genuinely good-humored grin. Especially his eyeteeth—fangs, she corrected herself, the word is fangs, let’s call it what it is, you’re old enough to call things what they are. She could all too well imagine what those teeth could do to her jugular.

It’s not his teeth, though. It’s the rest of him I have trouble with.

“You will disturb the evidence. We can’t have that, can we? The police prefer to observe the formalities.” Nikolai was calm, too calm, and that grin…

Danny, she thought, but it was merely a despairing moan.

Nikolai continued, softly and pitilessly. “We will go downstairs and call the police. Verscht za?”

She slid away toward the door, blindly. Nikolai pinned her to the wall, his body curving into hers. Heat slammed through her; she tasted copper adrenaline. Selene drew in a sharp breath and kicked, missing him somehow. He smiled, caught her wrists. He could hold her all night and struggling would only excite him—and her. Stop it. Then she said it out loud. “Stop it.” Her voice broke, helplessly.

“You are being unwise.” His tone was a mere murmur, so reasonable. “Do as I say, Selene. Help me.”

Help you? Help you? “You bastard.” The steel vise of his fingers strangled her wrists. A twisting wire of pain lanced up both arms. Jerking backward, she smacked her head against the wall, brief starry pain twinkling in front of her eyes. “Tell me what happened.”

“Your brother is dead, Selene. Now we must call the police. Will you come with me or shall I drag you?” Nikolai smiled, his eyes twinkling. “I would enjoy carrying you. Particularly if you struggle.”

“Let go of me. I’ll go downstairs and call the police.” Like a good little girl. Her teeth clenched together, her jaw aching. She’d have a goose-egg on the back of her head for sure. Danny…

“Very good,” he breathed, and released her, finger by finger. Selene stared up into the lightless pools of his eyes. A kind of stunned calm slipped down over her body. Nikolai’s eyes were so dark. So endlessly dark.

When he spoke next, it was in something approximating a normal voice. “I am sorry, Selene. I will help you, however I can.”

Christ, does he have to sound like he means it? Any help from you is help I can do without, Nikolai. “Leave me alone.” Her lips were too numb to work properly. “If you won’t let me see, just leave me alone.”

“You do not want to see. It is…disturbing. Now come.”

The metal box of the pay phone gleamed dully under the fluorescents. A four-year-old phone book scarred with permanent marker, dangled from a rust-pitted chain. Someone had tagged the plastic hood at the top of the box—an out-of-date gang sign, a phone number, a caricature of a donkey, other symbols much less pleasant. Selene picked up the receiver in nerveless fingers, staring at the graffiti-covered plastic.

“I suspect you will want to call your police friend first.” Nikolai produced two quarters with a flick of his fingers, dropped them in. Selene’s eyes burned dryly, the numbers on the square silver buttons blurring. Nikolai even dialed, his signet ring flashing dully, blood on gold. Somewhere in the numbness a thought surfaced. How does Nikolai know Jack’s number?

The phone rang four times. “Urmph.”

Selene couldn’t get the words past the dust in her throat. Nikolai bumped against her, sending a rush of fire through her veins, kick-starting her brain. “Maureen?” she whispered, her voice coming from a deep screaming well of panic. “It’s Selene Thompson. I need to talk to Jack. Now.”

“What the…” Maureen’s tone changed suddenly. Mother to the world, that was Maureen. She’d cooked Selene dinner more than once, during the cases Jack needed paranormal help on. “Sweetheart, are you okay? Jack, wake up.”

Selene’s knees nearly buckled, a moan bubbling up. The vision of the hacked and shattered door rose up in front of her. Dear God what happened to his door…Danny…

Nikolai’s fingers slid under her ponytail, fever-hot. Fire spread from her nape, a deluge of sensation pooling in her belly. She hated the feeling, hated him, but the Power would help her. She was going into shock. Years of training kicked in, turning the desire into Power, shocking her back in control, her mind adding, subtracting, calculating. What happened? He hasn’t left here in five years. What went wrong?

Danny was a Journeyman, an adept at etheric and astral travel. He didn’t need to leave his apartment, and anyway couldn’t bear to be away from the safety of the wards and defenses Selene erected around his three-room world. Nothing touched him inside his magickal cocoon, no thoughts or emotions that might compromise his body when he projected. Time had strengthened Danny’s gifts, making him more sensitive to random buffetings, but also more sensitive to Selene’s defenses and powers. He couldn’t be with her all the time, so an apartment of his own with heavy shielding was the best—

She stiffened. The wards! They were a part of Danny now; he had taken over maintaining them since Selene had other problems. But they were originally her wards and would answer her call.

And they would have recorded what went on inside Danny’s walls.

“Jack here.” Detective Jack Pepper’s cigarette-rough voice came over the line. “What the hell?”

Her voice almost refused to work. “It’s Selene. Something’s killed Danny. Jack, Nikolai’s here.” I sound like I’m twelve years old again. And scared. I sound so scared.

Selene heard Jack breathing. “Jesus, why is he there? Forget it; I don’t want to know. Hang up and call 911. You got it?” The sound of cloth against cloth filtered through the phone. Jack was sitting up. Maureen’s whispered questions, then…silence.

“I…He c-c-called me. Said he was c-c-cold and something about danger.” Autopilot pushed the words out, she listened to her own ragged gasping breath. Danny, oh God. Danny. Jesus Christ…

“Selene, put Nikolai on the phone, honey. Now.” Jack was fully awake. A click and a flare of a lighter, deep indrawn breath. It must be bad if he’s smoking in bed, Maureen won’t like that.

She handed the phone to Nikolai. He slid closer, pressing her into the phone booth, his fingers kneading heat into her neck.

I wonder what a gun would do to him? The thought surfaced, she pushed it hastily away. She wasn’t sure if he could hear it; Nichtvren were psychic as well as physical predators. If he heard her, what would he do?

“Yes?” Nikolai paused. “Bad enough…No, not human…I did not. Nor did she. The door is shattered. She will of course not enter the apartment.” Selene strained to listen. “Of course. I will stay out of sight. I would not want to cause trouble for my Selene.”

Her neck muscles burned. My Selene? Oh, boy. We’re going to have to have a talk about that, suckhead.

Selene’s mind skittered sideways. Danny. The door. What happened? Nikolai brushed his thumb over her nape. Lightning shot down her spine and burst in the pit of her stomach. Oh, God.

“I will.” Nikolai reached over her shoulder again, hung up. He gently turned her to face him, Selene didn’t resist. Her head was full of a rushing, roaring noise, his voice came from very far away. “You must call the emergency services, Selene. You received a call from your brother. It was interrupted and you came to see if he was well. You noticed the door had been forced and decided to call 911. Do you understand?”

She stared up at him, his face suddenly oddly foreign. He looked more like a stranger than ever. Selene took a deep shuddering breath, fury crystallizing under the surface of her mind. “Why are you doing this, Nikolai? One dead human, more or less.”

His fingers tightened. “One dead human under my protection, dear one. Whatever killed him is very dangerous. Now you will call the emergency services and you will be a very good girl for me.” He touched his lips to her forehead, a gentle kiss that made her body burn, fire spilling through her veins. How can I even think about that when Danny’s upstairs?

Hot acid guilt rose in the back of her throat. I should have gone in there, I should have seen.

Her eyes filled with tears. “I hate you,” she whispered, looking up into Nikolai’s dark eyes. “I hate you.”

“Call them.” The corner of his mouth quirked up, as if he found her amusing.

She turned back to the phone and blindly picked up the receiver. Punched the nine, the one, the one. A deep breath. Nikolai moved away suddenly, and she swayed, grabbing the metal edge of the booth to steady herself. One ring. Two. Three. Four. Five.

“911, what are you reporting?” A passionless, professional voice, possibly female.

For one awful moment Selene couldn’t remember who she was or what she was doing. The metal bit into her fingers. Blood pounded in her ears and the hallway swirled beneath her. “My-my brother. He c-c-called me. I c-c-came to his apartment and the d-d-door is b-b-roken and I’m afraid t-t-to go inside.”

How strange, she thought from inside the glass ball of hysterical calm descending upon her. I sound like I’m scared to death. It was her voice giving information, stammering out the story to the operator. Danny never left his apartment. The door was broken. She was afraid. Tiny diamond mice fleeing the huge black wolf running around in her brain made her voice jittery, made her hands tremble.

She glanced over her shoulder. The empty foyer glared under the fluorescents. There was no sign of Bruce or of Nikolai, though the medallion throbbed a heated beat between her breasts. A heartbeat. His heartbeat?

The urge to tear it off and throw it away made her shake. Danny. Oh, Danny, please. Please, God.

She slumped, trembling, against the phone box. Her nails drove into her palm. The terrified mice spun round and round inside her brain.

“Miss, please try to be calm. We have dispatched a unit to your location.”

Try to be calm? Danny. Oh, God. How can I be calm if you’re dead?

CHAPTER 3

THE FOURTH TIME THE OPERATOR TOLD HER TO BE calm, Selene jammed the phone back down. She looked across the mailboxes to the stairs, and the medallion tingled harshly against her skin. A warning. Her throat was full of something hard and slick, she swallowed several times, resting her forehead against cool cheap metal.

Don’t go back, the operator had said. Stay outside the building. Stay and wait for the police. It’s safest to wait for the police, ma’am.

Selene’s hoarse inarticulate moan bounced off the stairwell walls. The stairs squeaked under her slow feet. Her legs burned numbly.

She only got halfway up to the first floor before Nikolai’s hand closed over her elbow. She gave a startled, wounded little cry and found herself facing him, looking at his chest. He was somehow on the step above her, and his mouth moved, fangs flashing in something less than a good-natured grin. It was more like a smirk, or a warning.

“No,” he said. Selene stared at him, and he gave her a little shake. Her head wobbled, the entire stairwell reeling. “Outside. This is not for you.”

“He’s my—” Her mouth was so dry the words were a croak.

“Your brother. Yes.” He used his grip on her arm to pull her down the stairs. Selene went limp, resisting him, but he simply dragged her as if she weighed nothing. Her boots dropped from stair to stair as if they weren’t attached to the rest of her. “You cannot help him now. And I would not have you see this, milaya.”

“I hate you.” The fluorescents seared her wet eyes. “I wish I’d never met you.”

He gave a gracious nod, as if she’d complimented him. “Thank you.” They reached the bottom of the stairs. He half-carried her across the peeling linoleum. He shouldered the door to the building open, dragged her out and let the door go. The lock engaged.

Selene looked up at him. He set her down on the cold, wet sidewalk and brushed her hair back, settled her camel coat on her shoulders, stroked her sore damp forehead, she’d be lucky to escape a bruise from cracking her head against the wall.

His fingers were still warm. Too warm to be human, feverish, but oddly soothing.

She hated that comfort.

Distant sirens cracked the still air. Breathe, she repeated. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Breathe.

The mantra didn’t help. “I mean it. I hate you.” Her voice shook. “I hate you.”

“And yet you need me.” He smiled, an almost-tender expression that made her entire body go cold. Selene would have fallen over backward, but his fingers closed around her wrist, a loose bracelet. Sirens hammered at the roof of the night. “Selene, you do not wish to see what lies in that room. Remember your brother the way he was.”

“I don’t need you.” Selene tore her wrist away. His fingers tightened slightly, just to let her know he could hold her, before he let her go and she stumbled. There was something hard and small and spiny in her hand, cold metal.

A police cruiser materialized around the corner, whooping and braying. She opened her hand to find her key ring. He must have had Bruce sneak into my house and get my keys. The little thief. Always creeping around, peeping in windows and doing Nikolai’s bidding. No wonder His Highness keeps him around.

She looked up. Except for the police car—siren, flashing lights—the street was deserted. Nikolai had vanished. She saw the blurring in the air, the shimmer that might have been him or just the tears filling her eyes. She fumbled on the ring for the key to the front of Danny’s building.

Numb, her cheeks wet with rain and tears, she raised her hand to flag the cops down. Thankfully, they cut the siren as soon as they pulled to a stop. Selene waved, her bag bumping at her hip. No poltergeist here, no curse to be broken, no client looking down their nose at me. No, this time the person needing help is me.

Two cops, a rookie and a graying veteran who looked at her as if he recognized her. Selene hoped he didn’t. If he recognized her, he might ask questions. Hey, aren’t you that freak who hangs around with Jack Pepper?

“My brother.” Her teeth chattered. “He’s a shut-in. He doesn’t leave the apartment. He called me—his doorjamb’s all busted up—it’s not normal—”

They barked questions at her, who was her brother, what apartment, who was she, was anyone armed, what did she see? The mice scurrying in Selene’s head supplied answers. “4C, apartment 4C, Danny Thompson, I’m Selene, I’m his sister—no, nothing, just the door, that’s all I saw, it’s busted all to hell—”

Before she unlocked the building door for them, the medallion scorched against her skin. Warning her.

Fuck you, Nikolai.

She followed the cops up the stairs, sliding the medallion’s chain up over her head. She pulled it out of her sweater. Light flared sharply from the silver disc before she tossed it into a dark corner of the second-floor landing. The cops didn’t notice—they were too busy looking up the stairs and speaking back and forth in cryptic cop-talk. Both had their guns out. “Fourth floor. Apartment 4C,” she repeated, and took a deep breath, choking on tears.

“Go back downstairs,” the older cop told her. “Go back downstairs!”

Fourth floor. They saw the shattered door, the wedge of light slicing through the dim hall. The older cop radioed for backup.

They edged forward and cautiously pushed the splintered door open. Told her again to go downstairs. Selene told them she would and stood where she was, hot tears spilling down her cheeks.

Now that she wasn’t standing next to Nikolai, the wards vibrated with Selene’s nearness, lines of light bleeding out from the hole torn where the door used to be. Something had blasted right through the careful layers of defense she’d painstakingly applied to the walls. What could do that?

She took two steps, and the rookie backed up out of the apartment. He was paper-white and trembling, freckles standing out on his fair face, his blond mustache quivering.

After glancing past him once, Selene could see why.

She clamped her right hand over her mouth, staring past the rookie, who stumbled to the side and vomited onto the hall rug. Selene didn’t blame him. She could only see a short distance down the entry hall and into the studio room. The kitchen was to the left, bathroom to the right, and she had a clear view almost to the night-dark window, with the orange streetlamps glowing outside.

A moment later her eyes tracked a shimmer up over the streetlamp, a shimmer that resolved into a dark shape balancing atop the streetlamp’s arm. A tall shape, crouched down, hands wrapped around the bar, eyes reflecting the light with the green-gold sheen of a cat’s eyes at night.

I wish he wouldn’t do that, perch up there like some kind of vulture.

Selene looked down again, and her hand tightened over her mouth. Her throat burned with bile. The shapes she was seeing refused to snap into a coherent picture. Blood painted the white walls, soaked into the thin beige carpeting, and the…the pieces…

Footsteps echoed in the hall, shouts, radios squawking. Four more cops. Selene stepped back against the wall, her hand still clamped over her mouth, fingernails digging into her cheek. She struggled to swallow the hot acid bile instead of puking like the rookie.

Detective Jack Pepper, his graying buzz-cut and familiar rumpled gray wool coat steaming in the hall’s heat, came striding from the other end. She stumbled back, hitting her head against the wall. Jack gave her a look that could have peeled paint. “Aw, Christ. Get her downstairs,” he said as one of the cops took a look past Selene and into the apartment, swearing viciously.

Selene couldn’t help herself. She began to giggle into her hand, her eyes streaming. The shrill sound echoed under the crackle of radio talk and more sirens outside.

After wiping his mouth, the blond rookie was finally delegated to take her downstairs. Selene had to steady him, her fingers against the creaking leather of his jacket. The queasy flickers of fear coming off the young man were enough to make her flush, her stomach tightening. Her mental shields were as transparent and brittle as crystal, he was hyped enough to broadcast all over the mental spectrum.

Lawrence, his name is Lawrence. He’s an open door right now, and I don’t have enough control to shut him out. Knowledge burned through her, the fear turning into a wash of heat that made her nipples peak and her entire body tighten. Her jeans were definitely damp between her legs.

I wish I’d stopped to put my panties on. The sanity of that thought saved her, slapped her back into herself. Focus, Selene. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Breathe.

She filled her lungs and tapped in, the rush of Power sparking along her nerves. I hope he puts me in a car, I can use this and yank the wards off the apartment. A killing like that leaves a mark on the air, the wards will be vibrating with it. I’ll be able to track whoever did this to him. Selene made a slight crooning noise, patted the rookie’s shoulder when they reached the foyer. He was looking a little green again, his cheeks pooching out and his lips wet. Selene smelled fear, the sharp tang of human vomit, and her own smell, rich floral musk. Tantraiiken musk, the smell of a sexwitch.

Put me in a police car. She patted the rookie’s back as he heaved near the stairs. A loose ring of cop cars sat in the wet street. More sirens cut the distant darkness. I don’t want to work magick right here on the street. God alone knows what sort of notice it will attract if I pass out, too.

“It’s okay, Lawrence.” She looked up in time to see another cop come flying out of the door—some thoughtful soul had braced it open with a chunk of pavement. This man—tall, stocky, brown hair combed over a bald head Selene could see because he’d lost his hat—made it to the bottom of the stairs before he puked, too, vomit spraying out onto the street.

Selene’s gorge rose. She swallowed against it. “Nice boy,” she said softly, stroking Lawrence’s back. “It’s okay. You okay?” Quit retching and put me somewhere quiet where I can Work, you waste. The coldness of the thought almost surprised her. He was just the type of ordinary civilian to come running to Selene for her help in dealing with something extraordinary—and then decide she was less than a used Kleenex when everything was said and done.

They were all alike, every one of them. Except Danny, and Danny was gone. Selene’s jaw clenched, her teeth grinding together.

Come on. Quit puking so I can work.

He did put her in a police car, mumbling something about her safety and a report, and she closed her eyes, settling back into the cracked vinyl seat. Finally. What did you eat for dinner, anyway, it certainly stank…oh, God, what am I going to do now? Danny.

Tears pricked behind Selene’s eyes. Quit it! Focus! She pictured the hallway leading into Danny’s living space, the foldout bed and salvaged wooden shelves of books and curios and the blood—

Her concentration guttered, came back; her ability to visualize under stress had plenty of practice. Don’t fail me now, she thought, and dropped through the floor of her own consciousness, into the place where she truly lived. Her breathing stilled, her heartbeat paused. An onlooker would have thought she was sleeping, or just sitting with her eyes closed, head tilted back, mouth slackly open. In shock.

She dove into a black blood-warm sea, her concentration narrowing to a single point. Pulled on the threads of the Power she’d spent warding Danny’s apartment. The defenses recognized her, left the place in the world where they had been bleeding free, and leapt for her.

Selene “caught” the energy, folded it deftly. The resultant mass shrank, a small bright star to her mental vision, taking on more mass as she compressed it. Selene’s body arched upward, gasping for air. The energy she’d taken from the hyped-up rookie drained away. Her skin was prickling and her lips wet, her hips rocking forward slightly, tensing, tighter, tighter, aching for release.

She couldn’t afford to let it spend. She had to find something physical to hold the Power until she could take a closer look. Her fingers dipped into her black canvas shoulder-bag and found smooth wood.

My athame. Christ. Here I am in the back of a police car with an illegal-to-carry eight-inch ritual knife. Why did I have to be born a tantraiiken?

Training brought her focus back and the star of Power drained into the knife, leaving her sick and shaking, her entire body aching for completion. The pain was low between her legs, and it would torture her all night unless she found some way to bleed off the pressure.

The whole event had taken less than five minutes. The rookie was gesturing to an ambulance crew. Lurid light from the cop cars and stuttering flashes from the ambulance painted the street in gaudy flickers. The entire street was now swarming with cops and emergency personnel. Selene slumped down against the cracked vinyl and peered out the window, her senses dilated, looking for a dark blot or a breath of anything that didn’t belong. Nothing. Not even a shimmer in the air.

Was Nikolai gone? She couldn’t be that lucky.

Danny. The numbness was still there. Whatever was locked inside her athame would give her a direction, somewhere to go…hopefully. At the very least, she would see how her brother died.

The how might tell her who, and once she knew she could start planning. There weren’t many things she could take on as a tantraiiken, she was worse than useless in a fight since pain and fear turned to desire and swallowed her whole.

But she could give it a try, couldn’t she? Nikolai wouldn’t help, he would be too interested in getting leverage on her. One more dead human wouldn’t matter, even if it was the brother of his semi-pet sexwitch.

I hate you, Nikolai. The hate was a bright red slash across the middle of her mind. She closed her eyes, set her jaw. Her fingers itched to unzip her jeans, slide down, touch the slick heat between her legs. Hate you. Hate you. She felt her face contort into a screaming mask, tears spilling down her cheeks.

The door creaked open, letting in a burst of chill rainy air. “Hi, princess,” Jack said. “Get your ass out. We got a hot date with some paperwork.”

Selene blinked, her fists curled at her sides. She let out the breath she’d been holding. Her cheeks hurt, so did her lower belly; her eyes were hot and dry.

Jack didn’t mean to be cruel, he was just used to treating her like one of the boys. If she had been waiting to join another investigation, he would have acted the same way. Selene would have had an equally brisk response for him. She searched for something sharp and hard as a shield to say.

Instead, her throat swelled with grief. “Danny?” she whispered. It was stupid, she knew it, Nikolai would not have lied and her own eyes had told her the truth. But still, she had hoped. Hope, that great human drug.

Jack’s face turned milk-pale. He was thin and stooped, except for his potbelly straining at his dingy white shirt. His lean hound-dog face under its gray buzzcut was almost always mournful, now it was actively sad. “Lena…Jesus, I’m sorry. Nikolai was supposed to keep you from seeing…any of that.”

I have a right to see what happened to my brother, Jack. Selene slid her legs out of the car. She had to catch her breath as the material of her jeans rasped against swollen tissues. She needed, and there was no way to fill that need tonight.

“Nikolai can go to hell,” she rasped around the obstruction in her throat. That helped—it sounded like the old Selene, the tough Selene. “I’m sure it’s where he’s bound sooner or later.”

She twisted her hands together. Her palms slid against each other, damp with sweat. The image of Danny’s apartment, framed by a shattered blood-painted doorway, rose up again. Numb disbelief rose with it.

Her jeans were uncomfortably wet, and she was starting to sweat under her arms. Her neck prickled, and she was suddenly aware of empty hunger. She was starving.

How can I think of food at a time like this? Jesus.

“I’ll do your report up for you. Come by, sign it in the morning. Look, Selene—” He offered her his hand and she took it, nervous sweat slicking her palm. He pulled her to her feet. The car’s windows were frosted with vapor. How long was I in there?

He also firmly took his hand away from her, tearing her fingers free.

Selene would have kept his hand, run her thumb along the crease on the inside of his wrist, wet her lips with her tongue. Her eyes met his. She needed, and he was male. Women were also good for what she needed, but there weren’t any around.

God. Look at me. Look at what I almost did. I’m a whore, and my brother is dead.

“I’m sorry,” Jack continued awkwardly. He was starting to sweat now, too, looking down until he realized he was looking at her chest, then staring up over her shoulder at the circus of lights and people in uniforms milling around. “Christ, I’m sorry. Lena…I’m so sorry.”

Selene crossed her arms, cupped her elbows in her hands. Jack took her upper arm, kicked the cruiser’s door shut, and steered her away from the hive of activity the street had become. People were starting to peek through their windows, lights were coming on. The cops were too busy to pay much attention to one lone woman being led away by Detective Pepper—especially when some of them recognized her as his tame spook, the woman that had broken the Bowan case last month. Just how she did it nobody knew—but then again, nobody wanted to know. The girl was just too weird. And Pepper was starting to look a little weird himself. The joke was that he’d apply for the new Spook Squad soon, just as soon as he could get his head out of a bottle and quit working hopeless freezer-cold homicide cases.

Selene shivered, hugging herself, their easy dismissal of her roaring through the open wound she was becoming. I’ve got to get home before I start to scream. I’m in bad shape.

“You’re pretty worn out,” Jack said, diffidently. “Look, go home. I’m sorry, Lena. I’m glad you called me. I wish you wouldn’t have gone up there.” He stopped near a pool of convenient shadow, and Selene looked up.

Of course.

Nikolai was there. Part of the darkness itself, his long black coat melding with the gloom that filled an alley’s entrance.

Jack faced her. Here, numb and shocked, with her shields thin and the aftermath of the Power she’d jacked and the magick she’d worked pounding in her pulse with insistent need, she drowned in what he was feeling.

Agonizing pain. Nausea. Sick aching in his chest, the heartburn that wouldn’t go away—she shouldn’t have to see this, shouldn’t have seen it.

Jack sighed, his shoulders slumping. “It’s bad, Selene. Something I ain’t never seen before. And Nikolai says it’s not human. Which means…” His brown eyes were almost black in the uncertain light. “Christ,” he finished, when she just stared at him, her mouth slightly open. Her breath rasped in the chill rainwashed air. “Just go home. Come by the station tomorrow to sign your statement. I’m sorry.”

Selene shrugged. “Great. Just go home, he says.” She heard the funny breathless tone in her own voice. She was close to the edge, so close—did Jack think she was numb and grieving? Or did he guess that she wouldn’t be able to grieve until the need pounding in her blood was blotted out?

Grieve, hell. There was something sharp as a broken bone in her chest. I’m going to get whoever did this.

Nikolai stepped forward. His eyes were depthless. “I will take her, Jack. Thank you.”

Jack nodded. “Go with—”

“Like a good little girl, right?” Her voice sounded shrill even to herself, it bounced off the alley’s walls and came back to her through a layer of cotton wool. “What I’m hearing is that you’re not going to work too hard, because it’s a P-fucking-C. Right?”

Jack’s shoulders hunched as if she’d hit him. “Paranormal cases are technically not the jurisdiction of the Saint City police force, until the new laws go into effect. They’re the jurisdiction of—”

“Of the reigning prime paranormal Power in the city.” She stepped away from Jack and his hand fell down to his side, releasing her. “Which means Nikolai. Which means I can kiss any hope of finding out who did this to my brother goodbye.”

“Not necessarily.” Nikolai’s eyes never left her. He moved closer, not precisely crowding her, but stepping past Jack without so much as glancing at the detective. “Cooperate with me, Selene, and I will see the killer brought to you, for your revenge. Will you take that bargain?”

Jack coughed, uncomfortably. “I’ve got to go. Sorry, Selene.”

You son of a bitch. Both of you. “Are you really,” she said, flatly, and turned on her heel. She put her head down, started to walk. At least she wasn’t staggering. Oh, God. Danny. What happened to you? Who did this to you?

Nikolai murmured something behind her—no doubt talking to Jack, something along the lines of women, irrational, what can you do, she’ll see reason in the morning.

It was too much. Rage and something like a sob made flesh draw tighter and tighter under her breastbone, and the tension snapped.

Selene ran.

CHAPTER 4

BY THE TIME SHE REACHED CLIFF STREET, SHE WAS stumbling. She’d fallen once, scraping her palms on pavement, and scrambled to her feet, looking up to see a shadow flitting over a rooftop above her. He didn’t even have the decency to try and conceal himself.

Her hands jittered. Her keys jangled, her scraped palms singing in pain. Her heart threatened to burst out of her chest. Sweat rolled down her spine, soaked into the waistband of her jeans.

She checked the street behind her, deserted under the orange streetlamps. It took her three tries to unlock the door to her apartment building, her breath coming high and harsh and fast, expecting to feel a hand closing on her shoulder at any moment.

The run up her own stairs took on a nightmarish quality, moving too slowly while something chased her from behind. Those had been the worst dreams when she was little, running through syrup while the monster snarled behind, gaining on her.

Doors. Her own door. She fumbled out her keys, tried to unlock it, made a short sound of agonized frustration when her fingers slipped.

Finally the key slid into the lock.

She twisted it, opened her door, yanked the key out, kicked the door shut with a resounding slam. She threw the deadbolt, then turned around and hurled her keys down her dark hall.

Nikolai plucked the keyring out of the air, his signet ring glittering. One moment her pretty, spacious one-bedroom apartment was empty—the next moment, a slight breeze brushed Selene’s cheek and she let out a strangled scream. The protections placed in the walls of her apartment and the whole building shuddered with a sound like a crystal wineglass ringing, stroked just right. Don’t worry, nobody will hear it, I’m the only Talent in the building. A merry little party, just Nikolai and me.

And whatever he’s going to do to me.

Selene whirled and started trying to unbolt the door. Her sweat-slick fingers slipped against cold metal. Christ why can’t he leave me ALONE?

“Stop.” He was suddenly there, laying the keys down on the small table by the front door. His fingers bit into her shoulder and he yanked her back, locked the second deadbolt with his other hand. The sound of the lock going home was the clang of a prison cell closing.

Selene heard her own harsh sobs, the low moaning sound of a strangled scream.

Nikolai slid the coat off her shoulders while he dragged her along. Tossed it over the back of the couch as he pulled her into the living room. Then he grabbed the canvas strap of her bag, wrapped it around his fist, and jerked it up over her head. Selene let out a short cry, cut off midway when he clamped his free hand over her mouth. He dropped the bag on the couch as well, and looked down at her.

Silence, except for the muffled sounds slipping past his fingers. Fire raced up her side, tearing through her ribs—the stitch in her side, getting worse. Her calves were burning too. Her lower back ached, and her palms were scraped raw.

Worse than that was the miserable, hot, prickling need slamming through her. The low, relentless burn between her legs, spreading through her entire body. Now that she wasn’t running, it returned. When would she start to beg?

He considered her, cocking his head to one side. A few soft strands of black hair fell over his forehead. “I told you not to look.” There was no inflection to his voice, it was a passionless murmur. “But look you must. Are you happy? Are you satisfied?”

Selene’s shoulders slumped. I could bite him. What would he do if I bit him? Would he hold me down and…

Nikolai let out a low pent breath. It was for effect—he didn’t need to breathe, did he? He only did it when he wanted to.

He slid one hand around her waist, flattened it against the small of her back. His fingers scorched through her sweater. “I forgive you much.” His hand exerted a little pressure, enough that she shifted back away from him, resisting. “I forgive you because you are young, and because you are unique, and because you amuse me.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Sometimes you even surprise me, which is rare. But sometimes, my Selene, I wonder if I forgive too much.”

She tried to twist free, but he had her, one hand on the small of her back, the other over her mouth. Tears trickled down her cheeks. He pulled her close to him, closer, until she could feel something very definitely alive pressing against her belly, through his jeans and her sweater. I could give a lecture on this, she thought hysterically. Vampire Anatomy: Dead or Alive? I never even knew a Nichtvren could get a hard-on—they didn’t cover that in the textbooks.

It was her effect on him—her effect on any man. Maybe it was pheromones, maybe it was only her cursed power making sure it could complete itself. Nikolai had known what she was the first time he smelled her.

Or so he said.

“Now,” he said, leaning down just a little, whispering in her ear. “You disobeyed me. You tossed my last gift to you away like a piece of trash. You also acted as a complete fool, dropping your defenses and working the Art while you sat in the back of a police car. And I saw where you found the Power for that trick, my sweet.” He was murmuring, and Selene shut her eyes. Her entire body shook now, straining against his, recognizing that here was something it needed. Something that could take the ache away. “I wonder how you’re feeling.”

He took a step, and let her move too, back toward the bedroom. Only the nightlight in the hall broke the darkness of her apartment, but that would present no difficulty to him. Not to a Nichtvren, who could see in complete dark.

“Well?” He moved, his legs bumping hers.

Selene’s body betrayed her. Her hips jerked forward and her hands came up, sliding along his arms to find his shoulders and clenching, trying to pull him forward. Her lips parted, and she sobbed in a breath behind his hand. Two.

I hate myself. It was the only clear thought in the straining welter of sensation she’d become, her curse awake and alive under her skin. I hate him and I hate myself. She tasted salt, and kissed his palm, her lips softening, unable to help herself.

“I see,” he continued, pitilessly. “The succubus needs her food.”

That’s not what I am! She wanted to scream, but his hand was still over her mouth.

“You are the only tantraiiken of adult age to walk the earth freely for five hundred years, and you do so because of my protection.” He moved her back a step at a time, toward the bedroom. “If I were cruel, dear one, sweet Selene, I’d chain you in a stone cell and let you suffer. Let you burn for a little while, until you better appreciated me and the liberty I allow you.” Then he gave a bitter little laugh, and Selene went liquid against him, relieved. She knew that sound.

He would give her what she needed. He would make it stop.

Then she could do what she had to do. Find out who had done…that…to Danny.

“Please,” she mouthed against his palm, before she could stop herself. “Nikolai.”

I am such a whore. Loathing filled her mouth like spilled wine, added another complex layer to the straining need pounding in her blood.

“Hush.” He pushed her through the bedroom door, kicked it shut. She flinched, shaking so hard she couldn’t walk, and he pushed her down on the bed. She landed hard, her head flung back, her back arching. The covers were still thrown back.

Danny, the part of her that wasn’t crazed with need sobbed. Danny. Oh, my God. My brother is dead, and what am I doing? God help me.

He stood there, watching her shake against the cotton sheets. Selene bit her lower lip. That was a mistake—the pain now fed the loop of sensation, fear and pain and lust driving in a circle that wrung shuddering little sounds from her.

Finally, he shed his coat, draping it over the chair set by the closet. Selene closed her eyes, twisting, her hips rising, falling back down. Her clothes were impossibly hot, confining, scraping against suddenly sensitive skin.

He knelt down, and worked her damp boots off, and her socks. Touched the inside of her ankle with a fingertip, under the damp cuff of her jeans. The touch sent a spark racing up her leg, through her entire body. “Selene.” Why did he have to sound so human, so soft and reasonable? “I wanted to save you that sight.”

“My brother,” she whispered, then moaned as the bed accepted Nikolai’s weight next to her. He propped himself up on one elbow and used the other hand to pop the button on her waistband. I’m going to kill whoever did that to him. Just get this over with so I can go on. She drew in a sobbing breath, her hips lifting helplessly.

“I would rather have you remember him alive.” Nikolai slowly unzipped her jeans. The sound of the zipper was loud in the dark stillness of her bedroom. Tears leaked out between Selene’s eyelids, and her sweater was drenched with sweat.

Addicted to this, but I have no choice. I never have a choice. The need would get worse and worse, a tantraiiken’s curse burning through her bones, until she was little more than an animal. She’d gone that far sometimes, when she was young and thought she could rule her own body, at least.

Before she’d learned how to use the curse for her own benefit. And before she’d met him. Since she’d come to Nikolai’s notice, she hadn’t needed to feed her curse in alleys or cheap hotel rooms. Even if she could forget it, he reminded her often enough. She owed him.

Owed, and was owned by. There wasn’t much of a difference where Nichtvren were concerned.

“Nikolai…” It was a long despairing moan. It wouldn’t take long before she started to beg. She’d drained her batteries and worked herself into a frenzy.

He slid his hand into her jeans, settling the heel of his palm against her mound. His fingers slipped down, and made a slight beckoning motion. Selene arched, her breath hissing in. But then, torture of tortures, he stopped.

“Why disobey me?” His breath was warm against her cheek. “Why, Selene? You leave me no choice.”

“Nikolai—” It was all she had left, the pleading. He would give her what she needed, and then she could think again, ponder, consider, plan. But how much would he make her suffer first, and how much of the suffering would she enjoy because of her traitorous body?

He took pity on her then, and made another little beckoning motion with his fingers, and another. He knew exactly what to do. It was all Selene needed, and she cried out, arching, her head tipped back and her entire body shuddering. It was like being dipped in fire, and the relief was instant.

Relief—and fresh need. She would need more. Much more. But now she could think, the first edge of her curse was blunted.

“Nikolai,” she said, when she could speak again. “You were in there, what did you see?” Give me something, you fucking suckhead. Get it, Selene? Fucking suckhead? You’re such a whore.

The image of Danny’s apartment rose in front of her eyes again, and she struggled away from Nikolai’s hand, curling into a ball, pulling her knees up while she hugged herself, making small sobbing sounds like an animal in a trap. Her wet clothes rasped uncomfortably against her skin.

Nikolai sighed again. He sounded frustrated. Good for him.

“Later, dear one. Right now you are in pain.” He sliced her sweater up the back—his claws, extended delicately, not even brushing her skin beneath the wool. Chill air met her wet skin. Then his fingers, skating down the muscles on either side of her spine. His claws were retracted, but she could still feel the strength in his hands. He pushed her hair aside—the elastic band holding her ponytail snapped—and his mouth met her nape. She shivered, curling even more tightly into herself. He stroked her shoulder, touched the two dimples down low at the small of her back.

The first edge of pain was gone, and the burning settled back into a low dull agony. Her Talent wasn’t like others, she had to fuel it with sex. It was the only thing that worked.

But Christ, do I have to let him touch me like this? He’s not human. Can’t he just fuck me and get it over with, leave me alone so I can do what I need to do?

The rest of her ruined sweater was discarded over the side of the bed. He worked her jeans free and tossed them away too, then took her in his arms. His own clothes were gone—how he did that she couldn’t guess, but it probably had something to do with his claws, and the fact that she was too busy trying to gulp down air and fight her body’s need to really pay attention to him.

She was paying for the magick she’d done earlier. No preparation, no patterning—she’d simply dropped her defenses and gone for it, performed a major Work without any thought of the consequences. No wonder she was shaking with need.

Everything has to be paid for. She realized she’d said it out loud. “Everything has to be paid for in magick, Nikolai, everything.”

“Do you think I do not know?” He pushed her onto her back, slid his hand between her legs. She was slick and feverish, damp with need. “Hush. Lie still.”

It took a massive effort to do what he said. It would be quicker if she just let him—if she submitted, if she gave in.

Selene erupted into wild motion, trying to fight him off. He caught her wrists, stretching them above her head, and pinned her to the mattress. She would have been screaming, but his mouth was on hers, catching the scream, killing it. She tried to kick him, straining, but he slid a knee between hers. Then all of his weight, and Selene felt the edges of his hips against the soft insides of her thighs. He was much warmer now, his skin almost scorching hers.

The energetic discharge of sex would feed him, too. That was why a tantraiiken was such a valuable paranormal pet.

Pet? Slave. It was frowned upon, of course, but paranormals and Talents weren’t that tightly policed, even though the laws were almost in effect to give them some protection and codify them. The higher echelons of the human world—the powerbrokers and politicians—knew about the slavery, of course, it was an open secret in some circles. But no newspaper would ever report on it, and no television anchor would ever talk about the things that went on under the blanket of normality. How sometimes, people born with certain Talents were lost to the night side of life.

He found the entrance to her body, thrust in, and his hands tightened around her wrists, the small bones grinding together. Selene gulped back another useless scream, relief spilling through her. His fingers gentled, threaded through hers. He murmured something—maybe it was Russian, she didn’t know, didn’t care, the only thing she cared about was that the agony had stopped. He was in her to the hilt, stretching her, her hips slamming up, silently begging.

He moved, again, and Selene closed her eyes. Pleasure tore through her, a dark screaming pleasure wrapped in barbed wire and dragging hot velvet laceration through tender flesh. Soon enough she would be able to think about grieving.

“Get…it…over…with.” She set her teeth together, even as her hips rocked and her ankles linked together at the small of his back. Her body betrayed her over and over again, that was the worst. Her body was an enemy, a traitor, it didn’t care who he was as long as he had what she needed.

“Oh, no,” he whispered into her ear, then caught her earlobe in his teeth, gently, delicately. A slight nip of razor teeth, and she sucked in a breath. He laughed, a low harsh breath against her cheek. “There are a few hours until morning.”

“I hate you,” she whispered back, even as her body shook and the blind fire took her again. And again.

CHAPTER 5

IN THE END, EXHAUSTED, SHE LAY LIMP AGAINST the bed, hugging a pillow rescued from the floor. Nikolai curled against her back, sweat slicking his skin so it slid against hers. Her entire body sparked pleasantly, and her shields were back up, thick enough to protect her again.

If Danny had been able to shield himself, would he have died? If he’d been able to run away from whatever had battered his door down, maybe he would have survived.

Don’t worry, Danny. Little sister’s on the job. I’ll get whoever did this to you. I promise. The words were a lump behind her breastbone, steel closing around her beating heart. I swear to you, Danny. I’m going to find who did this to you. I’ll do whatever I have to do.

That was one thing being a whore was good for. It let her contemplate doing just about anything to get what she wanted. What she needed.

Nikolai’s hand polished the curve of her hip, something cool and metallic sliding against her skin. He drew it up over her ribs, under her breast, until the medallion lay where it used to, half the chain spilling down to pool on the sheet. He fastened it at the back of her neck, one-handed, and flattened his other palm against the silver lying between her breasts. “There. This is important, Selene. Without it, you’re at risk. This gives you protection. You cannot throw it away. Understood?”

Shut up, suckhead. “Someone killed my brother.” Her throat rasped from choking back screams. “What happened? What was it?”

“If I tell you what I know, it would be nothing. If I tell you what I suspect, it will be confusing, because I suspect many things.” He yawned, burying his face in her hair, then spread one hand against her belly. He was warm enough to pass for a feverish human, metabolizing the jolt of sex into fuel. “If I tell you what I expect, we will be here for many hours, since I have learned to expect everything. It is too soon to tell.”

“My brother,” she said, tonelessly. His knees were behind hers, one arm under her head, the other holding her to him. A huge exhausted yawn took her unaware, threatened to crack her jaw. “Someone killed my brother, Nikolai.” If you won’t help me…

“Cooperate with me, and I will find whatever killed your brother,” He sighed again, relaxing against her back the way a cat might. A very big, very warm cat. “Dawn is approaching. Will you come with me?”

She should have known. The same offer as always, delivered as if she should be grateful for it. Leave it to Nikolai to use even her brother’s murder to try and get what he wanted out of her. “I have work tomorrow.” She watched the edge of her pillowcase, breathing shallowly. Leave me alone. You got what you wanted, now go away.

“Already attended to. You are not expected there for another two weeks.”

Jesus. “I can’t afford—”

“With pay.”

“I don’t want your money.” I don’t want to fuck you, either. See how well that works out?

“Mh. It is not mine; it is from the college. You may call it a gift. For my Selene.”

She closed her eyes. If he was human, what would I do? I’d ask him to help me and he might even do it without turning it into a power play. “Don’t call me that. I’m not yours.”

“You must belong somewhere,” he said softly.

“I belonged with my brother.” Poor Danny. Locked in his apartment except for those times he slipped the chain of his own body and went Journeying. How many times had Selene climbed the steps to his apartment to ask his help for the cases Jack Pepper brought her? How many times had she brought him meals, or little things he needed because he couldn’t stand to leave the wards Selene had made for him?

Danny had been immune to her pheromones, immune to her curse. He had been the only man capable of seeing her without her goddamn body complicating things.

I belonged with him plenty, you undead jerk. Now he’s gone, and you wouldn’t have even let me look at his body.

I hate you.

And he was so easy to hate, wasn’t he? A Nichtvren. Inhuman, for all that he’d been mortal once, however long ago. How old was he, anyway?

“He was under my protection too,” Nikolai said. “Come with me, Selene. You will be safer.”

Like hell I will. “No.”

“One day you will.” He didn’t push the issue, for once. “Jorge will come to offer you use of a car.”

“And to keep an eye on me? No thanks, Nikolai.” Selene bit her lower lip. It was bruised already. She tasted blood. She would ache tomorrow. It had been too long, she’d built up a heavy debt, and her body had exacted its toll with a vengeance. Not only had she cleared a poltergeist infestation and pulled the wards from Danny’s apartment, but there had also been the work for that witch over on Seventeenth Street.

She’d needed the money. She always needed the money. Lecturing didn’t pay nearly enough for both her rent and Danny’s. And by God, Selene never wanted to be poor again. She agreed with Scarlett O’Hara on that count, thank you very much.

Nikolai paused, and his hand tensed against her belly. She held her breath, but he didn’t move, just tightened his arm around her.

“This is not a request. Jorge will come, and if you leave this place it will be with him. If you do anything foolish I will be vexed.” Even his breath was warm against her hair. Does he breathe because he knows it makes me a little more comfortable? I suppose he has to breathe to talk, doesn’t he? I should ask.

Exhaustion crept in. If she fell asleep now she might be able to get a few hours of rest before…no. The fatigue blurred everything, made it difficult to think.

“Vex all you want, Nik,” she said, and his fingers tapped against her belly once, twice. Then he stopped. “I’m not your servant. I don’t take your orders.”

Yeah, Selene. If you lie often enough, you might even be able to halfway believe it.

He made a low sound against her hair, and Selene’s entire body leapt. The medallion gave one scorching burst of heat. “Of course, if Jorge is incompetent enough to lose you, I suppose he will need punishment.”

You bastard. I should have known. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would, Selene. I would also make you watch.” He sounded calm as if he was discussing a grocery list. “I dislike the thought of damage to you. I will take steps to avoid it.”

Everyone knows I’m your little pet. Nobody messes with me anymore, you jerk. I might even be able to use that to find out who killed Danny. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“Especially not with Jorge watching over you.” He sounded pleased to have painted her into a logical corner.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll wait for him. I’ll be a good little girl. Now go away and leave me alone.” So I can cry in peace. Leave me that, at least. Just leave me alone so I can cry.

Nikolai rolled away from her, his arm sliding out from beneath her head. She heard him moving, getting into his clothes. She could imagine him getting dressed, pulling his jeans up, pulling his t-shirt back over his head, running his fingers back through his hair to push it back out of his face. Then his coat. She heard the sound of the heavy wool moving.

Best of both worlds. He has to go home before dawn. Can’t stay to make things sticky. And he’s so fucking careful not to damage me. Though I can take it, can’t I? It’s hard to kill me. With sex, at least.

He leaned over the bed to pull the sheet and the blankets up, tucking her in gently and efficiently. Finally, when the covers were smoothed, he settled on the side of the bed and touched her hair. Ran his fingers through the heavy mass, lifting it slightly, and gathering it all up, pulling it back from her face. He stroked her cheek with his fingertips, delicately. His claws didn’t prickle, but she knew they were there.

Go away. I have to cry first, then I will figure out what to do. Oh, God. Danny. Selene kept her eyes shut. Her breathing evened out. She hugged the pillow. Her right hand was under the covers, and she made a fist, her nails biting into her palm. Squeezed. Tighter. Tighter.

Finally, Nikolai touched the corner of her mouth with a fingertip. Selene didn’t open her eyes—but she did peek out through her lashes. Under the bedroom window shade, a faint grayness showed. Dawn was coming.

There was a slight sound—a breath of air. A cold breeze touched Selene’s cheek.

Nikolai was gone.

Selene drove her fingernails into her palms and took in a shuddering breath.

Now, at last, she could cry.