Shapeshifter

At home, she changed clothes, loving the feel of jeans and a t-shirt, ran through a few chores and was thinking about trying to sleep when her phone went off.

"Sama? What is it?"

"They just came in. You have about half an hour."

"On my way."

With no time to waste, she sprinted down the path and made a beeline for the commissary. The family was indeed there having a meal and with no decorum at all, Roxy skidded to the side of their table.

"Greetings, I am Roxanne Nelson, Inventory Master of this station and I realize it is rude, but I need to ask a question."

Taken aback, the father spoke, "I am Retingar, this is my mate, Ashla, and our daughter, Minara. What is the question that you would ask?"

She nodded her head to each as the introduction was given. "What is the significance of the song in the night?"

The three Drai blinked at her and the male raised his wings slightly in surprise. "Where did you hear of the song?"

"It doesn't matter. What is it?"

Minara grimaced. "The song of an ancient Drai calling to his mate. That is why we are here. There is a dragon sleeping on this world and he is about to wake. When he wakes, he will start the song and I will go to him."

"So, if you hear the song, he is calling you?" She was having trouble dodging the crux of her problem.

"That is the history. I have not heard it yet and we have been here for some weeks." Minara shrugged.

"Thank you for the answer. I am sorry to have disrupted your meal." She started to turn and leave, but then had to ask, "What if he is waking, but he is calling someone else?"

Minara blinked, so her father filled in, "Then we will simply leave. There is none who should stand between a dragon and his true mate. It would be an insult that might cost a life."

"Ah. Well. Good luck then."

She was almost to the door when Ashla called out, "How long has it been going on then?" Her tone was amused. She had heard what Roxy had not been saying.

Roxy turned her head and said over her shoulder. "A month."

"Then I would go in search of him soon, or he will come to you. If that is the situation, then the entire base may be in jeopardy. The shifters were said to be patient only to a limit before they take their mate hunt into their own hands." She was chuckling.

Roxy hazarded a quick look at the table where they sat. Retingar was shocked, Ashla amused and Minara relieved. She gave them a quick nod and left the commissary.

She sprinted to her house and closed her eyes the instant that she lay down. She was fully clothed. If she needed to follow his song to find him and shut him up, she would do it.

She desperately needed a good night's sleep.

Vran watched the various emotions flicker over Mona's face. He was sure she had no idea how much her expression gave her away. Most people didn't. Took a lot of practice to hide how one felt.

Something small and dark swooped past her and she flinched. Nala rose and gazed with interest into the darkness.

"You'll never catch a bat," Mona chided. "Not with their radar. Besides, what would you do with one if you did catch it?"

Nala slanted her the scornful glance of the born hunter.

"The thrill for all predators is in the pursuit and catch," Vran commented. "Ask any human--we're all predators."

"Men more than women," Mona said.

"Genes. Hunters and gatherers. Genes go way back. To the time of dragons."

"You mean you think that somehow our ancestors inherited a genetic memory of dinosaurs, so invented the dragon to account for it?"

"Not at all. Dragons aren't mythic dinosaurs. Nor modified ones either." He deftly inserted a charcoal-crisp hot dog into a bun. "Care for the results of today's hunt?"

Between bites, she asked, "Why do we keep talking about dragons?"

"Why are your cousins coming?"

She slanted him an impatient look. "She invited them. I'm hoping one of them can solve my great-aunt's secret. I have no idea what the solution is."

"Dragon heart is dragon stone," he said.

She stared at him. "That's the first line of the secret verse. Did Great-aunt Enid teach it to you, too?"

"You asked why we kept circling back to dragons--that's why."

"Do you mean you learned the verse from Enid? You talk around questions rather than answering them."

"I came here to protect you," he added. "If you don't like the word protection, think of me as an observer who's on your side." He slipped a roasted hot dog into a bun for himself and gestured toward an ice chest of soft drinks. "Help yourself."

Mona opened a can of orange and sat on Nala's log.

"The flicker of the flames turns you into a mystery woman," he murmured. "Your eyes hold secrets no man can fathom."

"I doubt mystery women ask for seconds on hot dogs."

He was reaching to hand her one when Nala dived into her lap, huddling against her as a soft whoosh of wings came from overhead.

"That was no bat," Mona exclaimed.

"Owl," Vran said. "A big one by the looks of him." He handed her the hot dog, scooped Nala from her lap and loped toward the cottage with the cat.

He returned without Nala, saying, "I won't let her out after dark again. Of all people, I should have remembered the night predators."

When they'd eaten all the marshmallows either could handle, he sat next to Mona on the log and asked her to sing Puff, The Magic Dragon with him.

He watched as Mona stared into the fire as they sang, seemingly half-transported into that magic kingdom by the sea. They fell silent for a time, and he found the swish of the waves on the sand lulling his apprehension.

 "Mudway-aushka," she said softly. "The Chippewa word for the sound the waves make. Do you know Longfellow's poem about the shining big sea water?'"

"As a boy I was brought up on Welsh poetry such as Peacock's." He threw his head back and intoned:

"The mountain sheep are sweeter,

But the valley sheep are fatter;

We therefore deemed it meeter

To carry off the latter."

"Obviously a raider's tale."

He didn't deny it. "Welsh tales are full of battles won and battles lost, until the time came when there were no more wins--all were losses--and so we became a reluctant part of Great Britain."

"While we here in the colonies revolted and broke away."

"You had the advantage of distance." He pivoted on the log to look at the dark lake. "And vast spaces. There's still wilderness to be found here. I love America."

Mona turned so that she, too, faced the lake. Far out over the water, a string of lights twinkled.

"A ship passing," he said.

"No, actually it's a boat. Great Lakes tradition has it only boats sail these inland seas. And I was told in town it's rare to see the big boats anymore since the mines all closed."

He glanced at the sky. The rising moon, lopsided, touched the dark water with silver and leached the color from Mona's eyes as he looked at her. "The moon is waning. In ten days we'll have moondark."

She continued to gaze into his eyes. He knew he should glance away. "They say whoever looks into a dragon's eyes becomes his slave," he warned.

"Then I'm lucky you're not a dragon."

"Are you?" He heard his voice change into a croon. Damn, he had to stop this.

He saw her attempt to speak, to look away, saw her fail. Did she want more? He sure as hell did.

Vran couldn't help himself. If only he hadn't sat next to her on this damn log, he could have kept his cool. But this close to her, his head filled with her seductive scent, he was rapidly losing his reason. He felt far more than the simple allure of an attractive woman, this was an all-out sensual raid.

Gema raised her hands and closed her eyes. Littered on the chamber floor were rose petals and dried nightshade. The witch swirled her hands into the air and the clutter at her feet began to swirl. The petals melded with the deadly nightshade and rose upward, gathering about Gema's legs and the hem of her long gown.

The candle in the center of the room flickered, waned, then regained its bright yellow-tipped flame. The rose petals and nightshade rose to swirl around the candle base while Gema chanted her spell and raised her arms. The mixture rose as the flame elongated on the candle. The mix rose upward and circled the flame, then drew the blaze to the tips of the petals. A fragrance of sweet essence fused with the smoke created by the fire. The red petals singed, gave off their aroma, then became engulfed in the blaze.

The deadly nightshade swirled around the room, hovering near the candle, twirling in the acidic smoke of the flame before gathering at the open window and disappearing into the murky darkness. Gema lowered her arms, leaned on the table. The fire went out, throwing the room into total darkness. The witch snapped her fingers and the overhead light illuminated.

"You're very good at casting spells, Gema," the Metta remarked, slipping inside the room. She flew to the window seat and stretched out, her cylinder-shaped form draped across a plush pillow. "Did you speak with your mother?"

"Yes," Gema replied, scrutinizing the old creature. "And how was your flight? I trust you did not annoy any of the townspeople while you were out."

"No, dear. I merely flew to one end of the town and then the other, although I was tempted to investigate the Scottsdale mansion before I returned. Derrick's Uncle Leonard is busy with party decorations. He has his servants working in the main ballroom."

Gema shrugged. "Derrick said it would be quite a celebration. He's seems very excited about it." Her brows drew together. "Mother warned me about Uncle Leonard. And I suppose I should warn Derrick."

"I smelled the rose petals on the breeze and saw the nightshade slip out the window. Is your spell for Derrick or his uncle?"

"Both." Her cheeks pinked. "I cast a two-fold spell, Midnight. I desire to keep Derrick safe and to deter any ill plans his Uncle Leonard might have in mind."

"I'm certain the deadly nightshade will do its job, Gema. It is the most powerful herb we have as witches."

She cocked her head. "I have no intention of allowing Leonard Scottsdale to harm Derrick."

The Metta nodded, making her amber hair swish lazily. "I understand mortal love is a wonderful thing. Should you desire I tend to Uncle Leonard--"

"I wish him no harm, Midnight."

The worm-like creature smiled, displaying fang-like teeth behind pale pink lips. "You may change your mind, my dear, when you learn what Leonard Scottsdale has in store for your beloved Derrick."

"If you know, why don't you tell me?"

The Metta wagged one thin finger. "I am here to protect you--not Derrick Scottsdale."

“Abby. Abby, close the mirror.” The voice seemed so far away and she was trapped in the cupboard.

A sharp jolt to her hand and the viewer snapped shut. Abby blinked in astonishment at what she had seen, felt and heard. “Holy crap.” He leaned over her and took the viewer from her hand. Contact was minimal, but she still managed to keep her power to herself.

“I am surprised that it took you that powerfully.”

He still kept his hands free of her as she wobbled to her feet and that act of separation made her grit her teeth. “I had to jump start the mechanism, it may be a little stronger now until you work the charge off it.” She settled back in on the sofa and took another slug of the lemonade. “Who knew that a seal could be that angry?”

He was putting the viewer back and turned to her in shock. “A seal?”

“Yeah. It was a seal’s soul trapped in that painting. A small magus sealed it in there after he found the seal almost dead on the beach. He then had a clown painted on the treated sealskin. He wanted people to be as scared of clowns as he was.” She relaxed back and let the images she had seen wash over her. It was a small child’s frustration and humiliation that drove him to create that painting. That he had control of enough magic to do it was just another tool for his plan.

“Seriously? A child did that?”

“Yeah, in the late sixties or so.”

“Do you know who it was?”

“No. But with the upped charge, you should be able to investigate. And the reason he attacked Laura was that she smelled a bit like a piece of herring. What seal could resist?” She kept her eyes closed as she heard him pick up the viewer and move to the painting again.

A few short moments later he closed the tool with a snap. “Sonofabitch. It was so simple and yet I couldn’t see it.”

“I am betting that it happens a lot with older mechanisms that rely on magic. But back to the reason I am on your couch. I need to know about what I am.” She didn’t have any room to put her feet up on his coffee table so she kicked off her shoes and curled her feet up on the couch.

“You are a Nexus.”

“Yeah, but why did the council put all of you here?” This question had been bugging her. “And who the heck is on the council anyway?”

“The council is a group of elected officials from the differing magical races that have survived to modern day.” He answered the second question first and crossed his own legs in the lotus position on the other couch.

Oh, he is limber. This has possibilities.

“The last few times a Nexus has been found, it has been drained dry by whoever found it and has died shortly after. We didn’t want that to happen to you.”

“We? Who is we?”

“Your new neighbours here on Oak Point Way. Each of us volunteered to be here as a type of an honour guard. If you can learn to control your dispensation of magic, you will live a long and healthy life.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You will sputter and burn out like a candle and there will be nothing we can do to help you. You carry the seeds of your own survival or destruction within you.”

Abby took a deep sip of her lemonade. “Wow, that is a heavy conversation killer. Okay. The next question is, why is the energy signature on my gnomes changing color?”

“Really? So quickly?”

“Uh, yeah. So. what is doing it?”

“As living things take on your energy, they convert it for their own use. The more they live, the faster they change. The tree for example will metabolize the energy that you gave it and your magic will be irretrievable from that point on.”

“Okay. So as long as it is still my energy, I can pull it back?”

“That is the theory. I don’t know of any cases where the Nexus was able to do it extensively though. That is why you need the training that I am offering you.”

She sighed heavily. “What exactly would this training entail?”

“Every morning when your energy is at its peak you will come over and I will give you exercises to enhance your control over your energies.“ Xander rose and moved to a side cabinet, the drawer that he opened yielded a seven-foot strand of pearls. “These pearls are a good outlet for your extra energy. You can fill them up one at a time and use them to relieve the overflow to prevent accidents like the one that struck Laura.”

Abby wrapped the pearls around her hand and hefted them. They were not light. “I am supposed to haul these things around with me?”

“Well, they will give you a place to put your extra energy. It’s your choice.” He crossed his arms and scowled.

How could she not find that sexy? Her power ramped up again and she filled three pearls in a few seconds.

Then three more as he stated, “I want to see you first thing in the morning, every morning until we get this under control.”

She would like to see him first thing in the morning, after they had spent the night tangling the sheets. Five more pearls. “Fine. I will be over here first thing in the morning tomorrow.”

“Excellent. I look forward to working this out with you. I will be here to help you out as long as it takes.” He took her hand in his and looked deeply into her eyes.

Ten more pearls. Oh, to hell with it. She jumped forward and locked her lips with his. It was just as fantastic as the first time, but this time she had him at a disadvantage and he took a moment to react. He reacted with passion and she was halfway through the necklace before she was able to break the contact. “Wow. Okay. We can’t do that again. Or we can’t do that again today. But I would definitely like to do that again. But not when we are working on extending my expiration date.”

His grin was devilish. “Done. The instant that you are firmly in control of the power, we have a date.”

She extended her hand and he shook it. “We have a deal. What is your official job title by the way?”

He was escorting her out and he gently pinched her backside as he gave her a light shove out the door. “I am the Safety Warlock. Do you feel safe?”

As Talia got dressed, she thought about her upcoming meeting with Victor. He was a strange man. And she was almost sure something was going on between him and his office manager, Caroline Thomas.

For some reason, Talia sensed that Caroline didn't like her, although she couldn't recall doing anything to offend the woman. She almost acts jealous of the attention Victor gives me.

She ran a brush through her hair and applied a smattering of lipstick. She needed little else to make herself look presentable. Her skin was clear and smooth, with just a few freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose.

A knock at the cottage door startled her and she jumped. When she saw her visitor though the screen door, she muttered, "That will teach me to close both doors."

Craig Lynch smiled a greeting from the small stone stoop, which served as a front porch. "Hey, Tally, want to come out and play?" he finally said, the grin widening.

"No comment," Talia responded. She did not open the door or invite him inside.

"Good one, very funny. Actually I'm here in my capacity as a reporter. I want to do a story about you and the upcoming art exhibit for the paper. Need to set up a time. How about over dinner tomorrow night. You pick the place."

He was, she would guess, somewhere in his mid-thirties. He was partially balding and slightly built. His pale blue eyes ogled her from behind a pair of rimless glasses.

"I'm just on my way out, Craig. Call me later," she said, opening the screen door. She remembered she didn't have her purse or keys. She went to grab them from the coffee table, and when she turned around, he was standing right behind her.

"Nice dress, by the way," he said, reaching out to touch the silky skirt. He rubbed the fabric between his thumb and forefinger.

"I have to go, Craig. As I said, call me and we'll set up a time for me to come by the newspaper office and do the interview."

Craig had been flirting with her since she'd moved to town and it hadn't taken her long to grow tired of it. However, he never seemed to get the message that she wasn't interested. In fact, something about him almost repulsed her.

He let go of her skirt and moved his hand to her hip. Sidestepping, she walked around him and went to the door, opening it wide.

He followed her. "Need a ride?" he asked, his thin lips curling up in a half-smile. They both stepped outside.

"I'd rather walk into town. It's a great day and I like being outdoors," she said as she locked her door, then strode past him and down the cobblestone walk.

When Talia entered the art gallery, the first person she saw was Caroline Thomas, hovering over an older, middle-aged couple who were studying a bronze sculpture.

She looked around for Victor, but didn't see him so contented herself with examining some of the pieces that were propped against the far wall. In fact, most of the paintings that usually hung on the walls had been removed and the place smelled of fresh paint. Victor was obviously sprucing things up for the upcoming show.

"I'm going to use easels for a lot of the paintings, especially yours," Victor said, from the mouth of the short hallway that separated the showroom from the offices.

Funny, she could have sworn he hadn't been in there when she'd looked for him a few moments ago.

He came to her, then reached out and took both of her hands in his. "You look beautiful as always. So what do you think of the place?" He beamed proudly.

It did look good. The new, lighter shades made a world of difference. "It's perfect." She smiled at him, thinking that he really looked more suited to big city life. So why had he tucked himself away in this little village so off the beaten path?

Caroline joined them, looking Talia up and down, before turning her attention to Victor. "The Swansons want that sculpture. I'm sending it out tomorrow, but they want a word with you."

As Victor went to talk to the Swansons, Caroline leveled her gaze on Talia. "Victor is quite enthused about your paintings. They will be ready, won't they?"

The other woman's animosity was obvious. "They'll be ready," Talia replied coolly.

"See that they are. I wouldn't want to see Victor disappointed," Caroline said before walking away.

Suddenly, the hair at the nape of Talia's neck stirred and she shivered. I'm being watched, but from where? Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a fleeting glimpse of someone staring in the front window. But when she turned to look, there was no one there.

Talia stirred, muttered something, then became fully awake. She sat up, clutching the down comforter around her naked body and looked at the other side of the bed.

Empty.

She glanced at the bedside clock. It read just after midnight.

She listened for movement, hoping she would hear him walking around in the living room, or bathroom. Nothing. She was alone in the house.

Where is he at this hour?

Memories of their ferocious lovemaking came back to her in a rush. She'd been like a woman possessed. Was it because she saw the attention he'd been paying to Abby Stewart?

Lucas had explained the scene she's walked in on and she believed him. There was something innately conniving about that woman.

Talia glanced at the French doors. It was then she noticed they were not locked. Getting quickly out of bed, she went to them and pushed the white curtain aside, peering out. Satisfied that no one was lurking around, she opened one of them and stepped out into the night.        

The air smelled fresh and clean. She looked up at the moon and felt a stirring deep within her that had nothing to do with sex. Then she recalled the way she'd felt earlier when she'd begun to change, to transform. Fear slithered up her spine.

Lucas said we could control it, that we wouldn't turn unless we wanted to. We promised one another we'd never transform again. Not after the awful things that happened in the spring.

All at once, she knew where he was, and she felt sick inside.

Talia settled into the hot bath water and sighed. Lucas, standing at the bathroom sink was trimming his goatee. "I'm starting to resemble a sailor who's been at sea too long," he said.

"I sort of like the shaggy look, gives you an aura of mystery," she said, with a smile. She sighed and laid her head back against the cool porcelain.

"What are you doing under those bubbles anyway? You're doing an awful lot of cooing," he asked.

"You're a pervert. Besides, if you're so curious, why don't you join me and find out?"

He turned and looked at her. "I think I just might take you up on that," he said, stripping off his under-shorts and walking toward the antique claw-foot tub.

Once he was settled opposite her, his feet wrapped around her hips, he said, "Bliss. Pure bliss."

"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet," Talia promised, feeling a sense of contentment she hadn't experienced in a long time. She'd been a real bitch at the shop earlier, she realized that. Rachel Lewis was just a young woman trying to earn a living and had been fortunate enough to come across Lucas's ad. Of course she was enthused and felt good about herself--she had a job she liked and was good at. Jealousy was an evil monster and Talia had made a vow tonight to never let it get the better of her again. "I'm thinking we should have Rachel over for dinner soon. She's probably not rich by any means, having just gotten the job at the shop and could probably use a free meal now and then."

"What changed your mind about her?"

She met his gaze. "I didn't have any particular mindset about Rachel, Lucas. I just was surprised by her, that's all. Now I want to get to know her better."

Lucas shrugged. "Sure. Let me know when and I'll ask her. But right now, I have other things on my mind."

Talia smiled. "Oh, like what?"

"Guess."

She bent her knees and scooted toward him. "Meet me halfway?"

He still was unsure. "What of Aaliyah?"

"It's a teen dance. McNiel's too old," Sif said, waving his paw off handily.

Eli didn't answer. His face contorted in a doubtful scowl. He sat at the table and pondered their words. Aaliyah, too old? No, she was only what…twenty-five, twenty-six? No, that was when they had first met. Now she had to be well into her thirties. Until now, the age difference had never mattered. Why should it now? Yet twenty years was a big difference. And Melissa was his age, and here, and was one of his best friends. Why not ask her to the dance? Even if they went as friends, it was better than going alone.

Leaning back, he stared at the ceiling. Maybe this was for the best. If Aaliyah was hiding from him because she no longer loved him, then he couldn't keep grieving and making himself sick with worry. The big game was on his birthday and the school dance a few days after, it would be good for him to move on. Perhaps find someone new.

"Cleo, what do you think?" The level headed cat was the best at judging what he should do.

But Cleo's natural calmness broke into hysterics. "Go! Go! Ask her out for crying out loud!" he practically shouted, jumping at his young master.

Bewilderment gripped him as both familiars started encouraging him at once. It was rare to see the two agree on anything let alone his private life. But they were both jumping up and down as if they had been waiting all their unnatural lives to be asked this question. A warmth he had not felt in ages grew inside him as Raven's creations started gabbing about the big night and how he should ask Melissa today so she could design herself, rather than Alexis, an outfit. The decision was practically made for him.

More giggles came from the living room. They had heard their conversation! Eli realized to his embarrassment. He put his head in his hands. If he went back in there, he knew he would have Miao snickering at him and the others watching his every move. And if he waited, they would beg him nonstop until he asked her. This was just horrible timing. He wished he could just make everyone disappear, but Melissa. If his magick level was back to normal, he probably could have, but right now he would not dare such a thing.

Sighing, he got up.

"You're moving too slow!" Cleo complained, transforming to his true form. He pushed his head into the small of Eli's back, forcing him back into the living room.

"Cleo!" Eli protested, stumbling into the well-furnished room. He gripped the edge of the black grand piano to keep from falling.

"Everyone but Melissa, out!" the winged panther ordered.

There was a bunch of laughter and giggles as the three filed out of the room. Nathan placed a reassuring hand on Eli's shoulder as he walked by and gave a small wish of good luck. The light in his eyes and smile were so perplexing, Eli wished he could read the man's mind. If only he could focus for more than a few seconds.

Once the room was empty except for him and Melissa, Cleo shoved him to the couch and practically on top of the girl.

"Cleo!" he yelped, up righting himself. He glared at the feline who simply gave him a lopsided smile and trotted back to the kitchen. Hanging his head, Eli laughed. "You've got to love him."

She giggled. "He's very persistent."

"To say the least."

Silence filled the space between them, the only sound coming from the entertainment centre. Eli kept his hands clasped in his lap. He felt so awkward. First, he woke up beside her, which was innocent enough, they were both fully clothed, and now he was trying to figure out how to ask her out. He could not keep the heat from his face. Was this how Miao felt around Alexis before they started dating? Like a deer in the headlights of a Mack truck? Nervously, he took off his glasses and began cleaning them.

"Eli, do you like me?"

The question caught him off guard. "O-of course."

"How much?"

Good question. She was such a sweet girl, loving, caring, pretty, but not Aaliyah. He mentally kicked himself. Forget about Aaliyah, he chastised himself. "Uh…I…" His face must have deepened by two or three shades because she also blushed.

Leaning forward, she placed a kiss lightly on his lips. "You said you owed me," she teased, pulling back.

Eli's mind became mud. He wasn't sure how to react. Her lips had been so soft, so delicate, like butterfly wings. He touched his lips, mentally comparing the kiss to Aaliyah's. Melissa's had so much innocence and yet to be discovered passion.

"So I figured we can go to the dance together."

He was nodding before he knew it. "Sure."

"Yeah?"

"Why no--" He forgot his glasses as she jumped him, knocking him flat on his back on the old sofa. His glasses fell to the carpeted floor, luckily not breaking. His lungs felt trapped in his throat as he stared up at her. How such few words brought so much happiness, he would never fully understand. Even in Selena's clothes, which were a size or two too big, she looked elegant. He bit his lip as she folded her arms against his chest and leaned against him.

"Thank you, Eli."

Seeing her so joyful and knowing he was the cause, made his heart sing. "You're very much welcome, Melissa."

"Hmm…I like the way you say my name. I love your accent." Her smile grew, revealing perfect white teeth. She suddenly grew serious. "Eli, I was wondering, would you--"

"Yes." The word came out before she even finished her question, but he knew it was the right response. Yes, he would go out with her. Yes, he would be her boyfriend. Yes, he would forget about Aaliyah. Yes, he would get on with his life. Yes. Yes. Yes. Aaliyah…

Her lips claimed his in a passionate kiss. Her delicate hands held his cheeks, long fingers stroking his hair. Her warmth filled him. For a moment, the fear of betraying Aaliyah, his first love, gripped him, but it quickly disappeared as Melissa pushed herself into him, her breasts pinned between their bodies. His arms wrapped around her small body, one hand cupping the back of her head. Her satiny black hair draped around their faces, making it seem like they were the only two people in the world. It was the best feeling in the entire universe.

"What the hell!"

Or so he thought.

Ipswich, England 1942

Anthony Sinclair raced down the long white corridors of the hospital. The world was a blur, his mind focused entirely on his destination. This couldn’t be happening, he told himself over and over again. He rounded the corner and paused. Henry Griphan, his best friend and closest confidant, sat in one of the hard wooden chairs, his arms folded across his chest and head between his knees. He looked utterly miserable and covered head to toe in guilt.

No, it couldn’t be.

“Henry,” he breathed as he neared him.

The former General of Her Majesty’s Army looked up with tearful eyes and, for a moment, there was no recognition. Then he blinked and the haze slowly moved out of his dark grey eyes. Henry struggled to his feet, still unsteady with his new prosthetic leg. He’d only got it a month ago and still could not seem to function at his former level.

“Andy? Andy, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I tried to save her. I—” he babbled almost incoherently.

Anthony grabbed the taller man’s arms and shook him. “Where is she, Henry? Where’s Xyan?”

Henry gazed to the door he was seated next to with a forlorn look, but said nothing. He didn’t need to. Anthony let him go immediately and headed for it in a long, determined stride. He ignored Henry’s apologizes as he opened the door and stepped inside and stopped.

The room was private of course, he paid for nothing less, after all, his family sponsored the hospital and even helped in its construction over a century ago. Such favors were rarely forgotten, even today. The only occupant of the room lay on a sterile metal bed in the center of the room, her head propped up on numerous pillows. A lone sheet covered her pale petite body, her tan long gone by the shock of the accident. Whoever pushed her down the stairs would pay, Anthony silently guaranteed.

He moved cautiously toward the bed, fearful to awaken the small woman, yet unable to stop himself. This wasn’t his beloved. This wasn’t his beautiful wife who never harmed a soul in her life. Her ebony black hair was limp and covered in sweat. The pallor of her flesh was tinged with hints of blue. She looked deathly pale, but there was no doubt she’d given birth and he feared for both his wife’s and child’s well being. Nonetheless, Xyan was still breathtaking.

“Xyan,” he whispered as he stroked her cheek.

Her brows bunched together before her chocolate brown eyes opened. She smiled tiredly up at him. “Antonio…what took you so long?” she teased. Her eyes closed and for a moment Anthony feared she passed out, but then they reopened and she winced in obvious pain before she smiled past it. “So, what’s a hunk like you doing in a place like this?”

Anthony smiled softly at her. Despite her obvious pain, Xyan kept upbeat. For his sake more than her own, he suspected. He brushed her sweat soaked hair from her eyes. “Checking on my baby.”

Her eyes sparkled in mischief. “Naomi’s in the nursery.”

“You know what I mean.”

She sniffed and tried to stretch, only to cry out in pain. Instantly, Anthony bent over her. She shook her head. “No, Antonio. I’m – I’m all right. I just hurt.”

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked gently.

Xyan reached up and touched his chiseled cheek. His long blue-black hair fell over his shoulder to brush her arm. Her smile broadened. “No, my love. The damage is too severe, even for magick.”

“But—”

Her fingers brushed his lips to silence him. “Our best healers have tried. It is a curse we cannot counter so there is no point to fight it.”

“Xyan,” he breathed. Tears burned at the back of his eyes.

“Lay with me,” she pleaded. For the first time since she awoke, there was real fear in her voice and tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

Nodding, he took off his glasses. He placed them on the small nightstand next to the bed, then placed his jacket on the chair. Climbing under the sheet with her, he gently pulled her near, fearful of her internal injuries. Xyan cuddled up close, her head tucked under his chin as he wrapped his arms around her petite frame and drew as close as their bodies would allow. Her slim form shook in his arms, but she said nothing in complaint. Xyan was one of the strongest women Anthony knew. If only he could take her back to Spain, back to her parents so she could be surrounded by her family, but there wasn’t enough time and he didn’t possess the power to teleport her such a distance. He didn’t know what to do.

Her aura fluctuated and patches of black appeared here and there, a sure sign she was poisoned and soon her aura would deteriorate and then her soul would leave as well. This was no mere accident. There must be something he could do to save her, something his magick could do.

She gazed up into his tri-blue eyes and caressed his cheek. “Hey lover, what are you thinking?”

“How much I love you.”

“Liar.”

He laughed but it sounded hollow. “I was, too. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She lifted her lips to his in a gentle but tantalizing kiss. She pulled back but only for a moment. “Make love to me.”

His eyes widened. “We’re in a hospital.”

“So, let’s get out of here.” She winked suggestively. “I was thinking some place warm and secluded. Just you and me.”

Anthony was so tempted. She looked so wanton, so needy and utterly gorgeous no matter how exhausted she appeared. He cupped her cheeks and kissed her forehead. “What about Naomi?”

“She’s safe. Please, Antonio, I need you. I want you. One last time.”

Anthony closed his eyes. He wanted to say no, but he could never deny her. She was his wife, his life and if he was about to lose her, he would see to it she received her heart’s desire before she passed on to the next life. With barely a thought, he teleported them away from the hospital to a small clearing in the woods just outside of town where they picnicked only a week ago. They lay together under an old oak and listened to the sounds of life all around them.

Anthony’s mind worked franticly for a spell to cure his beloved as he slowly stripped her of the plain hospital gown she wore. She lay beneath him and smiled lovingly up at him as she tried to assist in disrobing him, but she was already tired and weak. He stripped off the last of his clothes as she watched with an appreciative eye. She often teased him about his football player build, how perfect his broad shoulders and slim waist were and how pale of skin he was, so unlike his cousins from Spain. Now Anthony felt more awkward than he did the first night they made love. But Xyan only smiled and opened her arms to him with a sultry smile of encouragement.

They made love slowly on the cool, damp grass on into the night with all the passion of any young couple. Anthony made sure to kiss every square inch of her, to bring her as much pleasure as humanly possible and then some. He made it last for hours and her cries of need and pleasure were like music to his ears. She writhed beneath him, clawed at his back and begged for more until finally there was no more to give and they lay curled together on the soft bed of grass.

Xyan’s head rested on Anthony’s chest as they fought to catch their breath. Her breathing was shallow and, if Anthony didn’t know better, he would have thought she was about to fall asleep. But she didn’t. She held him as tightly as she could, but grew weaker and weaker by the moment. He pulled her as tightly to him as he dared and fought the urge to crush her to him.

“We’ll meet again,” he whispered against her hair. “I’ll find you and we’ll be together again. I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she breathed, her eyes closed. “It may be life times before we find each other.”

“I will find you, Xyan,” he promised.

She sighed in agreement before her body went limp in his arms and her soul fled. Anthony continued to cradle her lifeless body nonetheless, and repeated the oath over and over again like a mantra. He would find Xyan again, even if it took lifetimes.

A dream gripped Eli.

Duncan Porter sat in his wheelchair at the top of his condominium in London. Michael Sinclair stood next to him, eyeing the street far below. His face was a mixture of awe and remorse as he watched the people and cars passing by.

Porter watched him carefully. He, too, seemed very remorseful, as if his plans had gone array. "Are you certain you wish to do this? I may not be able to reverse the process after it has begun."

Michael smiled smoothly. "Of course, Mr. Porter. I understand there's no turning back."

Porter licked his lower lip and gestured for Michael to kneel before him. The youth did so without question. Porter placed his fingers along his temples and began chanting softly.

Eli couldn't make out the words, but was able to see the sudden changes in their auras. The holes that were in Michael's were filling in while Porter's was beginning to deteriorate.

After a few moments, Michael pulled back, his hands gently covering Porter's. "How do you feel?" he asked.

Porter was looking around as if caught in a trance. He blinked and looked at Michael. The elderly man smiled. "Different. It's not so noisy."

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Michael stood and smiled. His whole aura was different, as if he was no longer the same person. "Good. We have a second chance of finding the Key."

Porter only nodded and began eyeing the street below. "You'll find him. You have the power to help him."

Michael was no longer looking at him, but at the starry night sky and the waxing moon. "I hope. Chaos's power is far stronger than I thought and he has learned to tap into it."

Porter wheeled his chair closer to the edge. "You can do it. I've already seen the future."

Michael glanced over his shoulder in confusion. His eyes widened as Porter suddenly pushed his chair over the edge.

"Michael, no!"

But it was too late for even magick to come to his aid. Michael fell to his knees at the edge and watched in horror as Duncan Porter slammed into the concrete below.

However, it wasn't Porter's death that pulled at Eli. He had heard about the warlock's suicide months earlier. It was Michael's aura that drew him as he followed the older boy running down the stairs until he was outside cradling the warlock's broken body. It was no longer Michael Sinclair's it was--

"Eli?"

He turned his face away from the bright sunlight. An alluring soft purr made him smile. The urge to bury his face in his Familiar's soft fur pulled at him. But he couldn't wake up yet, he had to figure out why Michael's aura was so odd. It was right there at the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't bring it to reality. What did Duncan do before killing himself?

"Master Eli, wake up," Cleo's familiar deep voice called more urgently.

Small paws tried shaking him. His arms were extremely heavy as he tried to roll over. He practically could not move them. That seemed odd, but he was willing to let it go for a few more hours of sleep.

"Eli!"

He moaned and hid his face under the blanket.

"Elijah Hawke, get up now or so help me--"

"All right, all right. I'm getting up," he murmured, forcing his eyes open. Cleo burrowed under the covers and was in his direct line of view. His bright teal eyes shone with a fear he had never seen in him before.

Fear gripped him as he read his lifelong friend. The night before had not been part of the dream. Michael, Henry, everything. They were real. The weight he felt were the large heavy cuff and chains imprisoning him to the bed. His heart sank at this knowledge. But if Cleo was with him, what of the others? He tried sensing for Alexis and Miao, but found nothing. That meant very little. A spell could be used to shield them from him.

Seeing his fear, Cleo rubbed his head affectionately under his chin. "Are you all right?"

He wrapped his heavy arms around the small animal and drew him close. "I…Cleo. He…I…oh, Gods, I wish I knew." Swallowing the sob that threatened to overpower him, he petted the cat's head. "You? Are you okay?"

"He cast a binding spell on me. I can't transform."

The chains were long enough to let him sit up comfortably. They were thick and extremely heavy. A spell to increase his power would be the only way to break them, but that would not keep Michael and Henry out. Looking around, he lifted the heaviest pieces of furniture with his mind and piled them against both the bedroom and bathroom doors. That would not keep them out for long, but at least it would slow them down. Hopefully enough for him and Cleo to escape.

That small use of magick almost drained him. He couldn't understand why. Telekinesis was one of his most natural gifts. It never tired him, but for some reason took more concentration than normal. He had to take a moment to gather his strength once more. He tried covering an unexpected yawn. "Why am I tiring so easy?" he asked Cleo. "It's like he just took my power. I feel so weak."

"I don't know," Cleo confessed. He rubbed against him, offering what strength he could.

Taking a deep breath, Eli cast a power spell. His strength increased, but not to the degree he had wanted. The chain barely budged when he pulled. Frustrated, he yanked harder, throwing his entire weight into it. The metal bit into the butt of his hands. He winced in pain, but continued pulling.

"They've been charmed," Cleo muttered, stating the obvious. His ears perked and he gazed at the barricaded bedroom door. "Damn!"

"What?" Eli grunted, pulling even harder. He braced a pain-filled foot against the headboard, and pulled even harder. Then he felt it. The aura he had felt the last few nights. It was a unique mix of Sinclair magick and something else. He could not help but stare at the door in fear. He could not remember ever feeling so much fear in his life. His body trembled against his will as he revealed this to his familiar. "Cleo?" he whispered ever so softly. "I'm really scared."

Cleo nodded. "I am, too."

The door handle jiggled, causing them both to jump despite themselves.

A sickening crack filled the small spilt level house, followed by the tearing of flesh. It was a glorious sound he could have sung to. The feeling of raw flesh brought back the blood lust he had not felt in ages. It came like an old friend you would never turn away. He yearned for more. The feel, the taste. The smell was intoxicating and arousing in a perverse sort of way. The man, if you could call him a man any more, quivered in his arms, his shattered spine allowed only his neck to move in a jerky shiver of muscles. He would die soon, leave this world as he came, crying for mercy. Sinclair was as pitiful as those who came before him.

"Michael, please! I'm your father!" the middle-aged French man cried. He was podgy around the sides, years of limited exercise and tobacco taking its toll. He was perhaps the most pitiful of the great line of magicians.

His cries for freedom fell on deaf ears as the man, once his son, leaned close to his throat. "Michael's dead," the vampire purred, slowly licking his jaw line. "My name is Henry."

Sinclair sobbed as he was fed upon, his magick and strength being stripped of him. In this form, Henry was not as large as he had once been, not by half. His soil drenched tuxedo made him appear like the devil himself. Long brown hair clung around his shoulders. It was a style Henry had always despised, but beggars cannot be choosers. The smaller form had the strength of the gods. He was a god.

Henry held Sinclair close, allowing their bodies to touch as he pulled every last drop of power from within the dying man. His lips made their way to Sinclair's throat. He felt the large man stiffen as he pierced the flesh with his teeth. Henry almost stopped. He really didn't want it to appear like a vampire attack.

It would alert the wrong people. But a frenzied hunger gripped him. First, he would drink from the husband and then his perky little wife who was cowering across the room.

He felt his loins tighten at the thought of her blonde hair.

Dropping Sinclair's lifeless form on the bloodstained beige carpet, he crawled on his hands and knees toward Mrs. Sinclair. She was young, too young to be Michael's mother. The body hosting his spirit was eighteen. Sinclair's wife could only be in her late twenties or early thirties. She was such a small thing, golden blonde hair, and petite body. It was her chest that must have caught Sinclair's attention. She was well endowed and had the feel of a cocktail waitress or former stripper. It was possible then, more than one Sinclair had fallen for such girls. Nevertheless, there was magick within her. Not as strong as her husband's, but still there. She was a seductress, using her gifts to gain money, fame, and love.

Henry's new senses told him all this in less than a heartbeat. When Michael was alive, he had resented her and at the same time, secretly desired her. Today, those dreams would come true, even if Michael were no longer alive to enjoy the fruits of his labour.

She did not scream, to much shock even to think clearly. It was how Henry liked it. He was a wolf stalking his prey. The boy would not be like this. No, the child would fight, so would his friends. Nevertheless, one by one, they, too, will become his. The faery and angel will bow before him. They will lay under him, crying out his name in passion, and he would give them a pleasure they could never have dreamt.

The woman whimpered as he reached her. It was impossible to believe she could ever have mothered the body he now inhabited. She was so young, so very tasty. He nuzzled her neck, drinking in her fear.

"Please, Michael. Don't do this," she sobbed as he undid her soiled blouse.

 "Lynda. May I call you, Lynda?" He grinned down at her as he sat on the edge of the bed and caught her leg before she could pull away. "That's a very pretty name. I guess you know by now your husband's dead and I'm not Michael. Well, not any more at least. And no, I'm not a demon, not quite at least." His hand started to travel up her naked thigh. "We're going to be very close for the next few weeks. Very close. You see, I've been dead this past week. A coma of sorts. A crazed Warlock switched bodies with me at the last moment." He indicated the closed bullet hole on his forehead. "Should've killed me. I'm not quite sure why it didn't or why Michael's memories led me here, but there's a purpose behind everything, I suppose. Now I'm just hungry. Very, very hungry."

She screamed then, long and as loud as the gag would allow her. Henry smirked as he lowered himself upon her. "I like my food lively," he teased before striking. Soon Elijah Hawke will scream in agony as he, too, lost all his loved ones to Henry Griffin.

"What happened here? Are they what I think they are?"

"Probably." Daniel assisted her into a standing position. "Come on. Talk later. Move faster. They are still hungry." He urged Katarina to move as Stefan began to stir with a shake of his shaven head and blink of his bleary, bloodshot eyes.

"I can't go any faster," Katarina replied, out of breath, her mind still fuddled with the fog of Niko's tricks.

"Then hold on to me. Tightly."

Daniel had no idea how flight would affect Katarina as his passenger. He focused on the swirling, dense cloud cover that twisted at the edge of the midnight sky. His coat blurred, as if the fabric dissolved into separate particles and hovered around him like murky steam until it melted with the midnight clouds. This undulating miasma coiled and coated them in the spectral mist.

Stefan looked on with a perplexed expression not too different from his usual confused appearance.

* * * *

Wrapped in the hazy coverlet of vapour, Katarina gripped tight to Daniel. Her fingernails dug into the fabric of his coat as her heart dug into his. His thin, muscular arms wrapped around her like a lifebelt holding her safe. She nestled her hands into the cool crease of his elbows. She laid her face, against the firm slab of his chest. No warmth was available to comfort her, but without it she was still secure, even when her feet were no longer upon the ground. They whirled together in the blurred ribbons of fog, spiralled away on the mysterious zephyrs to the furthest edge of the park, away from danger. Giddy, light as a feather, but not nauseous, Katarina would have believed anything, even that time had stopped. Beneath them was the blackness of the whirling cloud. His gaze, vivid and sparkling, held her steady. It pierced her core. The reality of a nearby housing estate seemed to them to be part of a different world while they searched one another's souls in the spinning colours of their eyes.

Once more their feet touched ground. Under the safety of an ancient yew tree, Katarina looked at the pale face before her, a princely shade of white. "How did you do that? No, don't answer. Just, thank you for saving me." She glanced around to ensure Niko hadn't followed and turned back to him, too bashful to hold the gaze of his vivid irises.

"We are safe here," Daniel spoke with tenderness.

"How do you know?"

"I just know."

"Niko, is he…a vampire?"

"He wasn't always. But yes, he is now."

"What was he before?" She realised they were very close and had their hands upon one another's forearms.

"He was my cousin," Daniel answered.

"And you?" Katarina sighed, fearful of his reply. "What are you? You can't be a vampire, can you? I'm not afraid of you. But you feel cold." She released his arms.

"I'm a dhampir, a half vampire. I mean you no harm."

"I know that," she answered and lifted his hands. "Somehow."

Marko had led him unwittingly to the fox's corpse whose eyes were beginning to fog over with the first advances of death. Daniel pitied the dying animal whose mouth had frozen open in a cry of pain, but Marko's presence was taking away all of his compassion. Drained him of it ounce by ounce. Marko picked the creature up by the scruff of its neck and it dangled like a useless piece of meat in a butcher's window. Its glorious tail hung thick and full between twitching legs. Daniel marvelled at the myriad of colours in the pelt, orange and red with flecks of gold, its black tail as if dipped in ink. Delicate white cheeks painted his petite face.

Blood dripped from the bullet wound. Marko held the injury before Daniel's eyes. Blood dribbled down the coarse hairs, changed the colours of the pelt, running free and warm like rich ruby claret. Marko's canines slithered from their shields. His face creased into heavy bunches around his eyebrows. His cheeks emptied of any plumpness. Marko revealed his inner beast.

"Taste it," Marko demanded in demonic tones.

"No," Daniel replied, but could not avert his eyes from the droplets of blood.

"You have been a slave to humans for too long. It's time to rediscover your destiny. Become one of the family. Say yes to your true fate."

* * * *

For a long time, Daniel glared at the fox. Pity glowed in his eyes at first, but his countenance darkened. Katarina noticed dark shadows cover his brow which deepened in circles under his eyes. She had never witnessed his vampire side until this moment when a grotesque mask covered his beautiful features. Wrinkles furrowed his skin. His paleness tinged with grey. Animalistic teeth erupted past the lips she loved to kiss.

Katarina floated away. Hid behind a tree. Turned her face and wept. She wanted to disappear. Yet she knew, if she deserted him, he would be lost forever.

Daniel prowled closer to the fox. He sniffed around the body as saliva drooled in a string from his lips. Shaking, he lengthened a finger and reached for the seeping wound.

I daydreamed and stared out the window above the sink, but too many things twirled in my head to concentrate on anything specific.

I shivered as a chill flashed across the back of my neck and I spun around.

Demetri stood right behind me, his cool breath poured down the back of my neck. Glaring at me, he didn't speak or respond to my startled reaction. He held his empty wine glass and I moved back as he leaned around me to put it in the sink. The gentle brush of his arm against my side made me woozy and my stomach flip-flopped.

"I... I didn't see you there."

"You didn't hear me either."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me. I'm not the one at risk because you aren't paying attention. You are," he declared with a cold matter-of-fact tone.

"I, um... I'm not used to everything yet."

"I know that, but still, you should have developed the most basic survival skills within the first twenty-four hours."

His intense stare bore through me and filled me with a mix of fear and defensive instincts.

"I fed within the first few moments, even though I was alone."

"A reptile can do that, Stray," he hissed.

His hostility stirred something deep in the pits of my gut.

"A reptile can be lethal at birth, too," I snarled back at the unwarranted insult.

His eyes widened.

I couldn't believe I'd snapped at the magnificent creature.

"Is that so?" He growled.

"Ye--"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his hand come at me. I deflected the blow, but he grabbed my arm and spun me away from him. He twisted and pinned it taut behind my back. Demetri pushed against me hard, his head bent over my shoulder. I watched his reflection in the windowpane as he growled in my ear. I was trapped.

"You're such a child," he snarled. "You won't last long if you can't predict when and where an attack may come."

"I don't plan on putting myself in a position to need protection."

He loosened his grip, but didn't release me. "With that scent, Stray, you won't have a choice."

I trembled at the thought that flashed through my mind of Quinton and what Porscha said about him tracking me to claim his creation. A profound shiver of fear rushed through me like a roller coaster.

"Quinton," I whispered.

He jerked me around, grasped my shoulders and almost lifted me off the ground. I winced, prepared for another attack.

"What did you say?" He hissed. His stone cold black eyes locked onto mine with a sinister gaze. I was terrified.

"I...I said Quinton."

"What about Quinton?" He moved his snarling face close to my neck area and inhaled deep. His breath was cold. Although his scent was like nothing I'd ever smelled before, my instinct to survive was more prevalent than my urge to succumb to him.

"I don't know who I am, my memory's gone." I began to explain. "Porscha said there was a possibility my creator may have been Quint--"

He pushed me back and rubbed his jaw. Tension radiated from him. "Are you saying that Porscha thinks it was Quinton who..." His voice trailed off as he paced and stared at the floor.

"She doesn't know and I can't remember anything from that night at all."

I calmed a bit, as he came across more concerned with what I said than he was about me in general.

"Nothing? You remember nothing?"

"I don't even know my name, hence the nickname Stray." Sarcasm returned to my voice. I had a natural urge to remain guarded in his presence.

"Oh, right." He looked up. "Well, if he is...and I'm not saying that he is, you're going to have a fight on your hands."

"I never thought it would really come to that. I guess so much has happened, he slipped my mind." I stepped forward, but he moved back with his jaw clenched.

"You can't ever forget the danger. Being a vampire doesn't make you immune to death." He spoke in a quieter voice, but his gaze remained distant.

I thought of his wife and hoped he hadn't realized I knew how she'd died. It felt like an invasion of privacy. I slowly lowered the wall for a moment, as he appeared so vulnerable.

"I understand. I'll be careful." I promised. I meant it but at the same time, I was no match for a thousand year old vampire sure to have powers like nothing I could fathom.

"You must learn, Stray. You may not have time to wait for skills to develop."

"How?" I didn't even know what my instincts were much less to understand and act.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I guess, if Porscha plans to keep you, I could show you a few things." He ran his fingers through his neatly kempt hair. "I'm not saying it'll keep you alive, but maybe it'll help." The tension eased a bit, but remained noticeable.

"If he's my creator, is it even possible for me to resist him if I can't escape?"

His eyes cut away for a second, as though he pondered the question, then much to my delight, his gaze returned to me. "The best scenario would be to make sure you never come face to face with him. That would be best for everyone."

"That would be nice. Thank you, Demetri."

"Don't thank me yet."

Beauty radiated from him. Even through his anger and the way he'd lashed out, I sensed an unquestionable connection. He was like no man I'd ever imagined. I didn't have my memory, but the inexplicable feeling was deeper than any memory could be.

He could very well be everything I thought he was the first moment I'd laid eyes on him, possibly much more. I hoped he continued to come around so I could figure out what it was about him that got to me.

Somehow, I thought I saw something he may not have wanted anyone to see. I didn't know what it was, but my attraction was undeniable.

Although unrequited, it didn't lessen the flutter of butterflies swarming in my stomach. It was apparent, the more I was around him the closer I came to losing myself.

Whatever the risk, loss, discovery or outcome, life as a vampire was my reality and I began to embrace it without much effort.

Terrified and perhaps even angry about the unknown events that led to my creation, for the first time I saw a silver lining as the tides appeared to turn in my favor. Who would have thought that the cold glare of a man I didn't even know could affect me in such a profound way? I couldn't help it, I liked it.

"Er--I'm looking for Re Hamadi," she told him.

He peered at her with an arched eyebrow, "You're lookin' for Re." It was a statement on his part rather than a question. "Now why would a pretty little thing like you be lookin' for an old dog like him?"

Chelsea blinked at him blankly for a brief moment before hauling in an impatient breath, "Yes. That's what I said. Is he here or not?"

The bartender shook his head and pointed to a man at the far end of the bar. He was looking up pensively at the television screen just across him.

'Thanks," she spat, tugging at the hem of her suit jacket. Lifting her chin, she walked over to him and cleared her throat. He didn't turn and once again, she cleared her throat. "You Re?"

"Depends on who's askin'," he still stared at the screen. "Ah come on, Ump! What was that!" he tossed his hands up before turning on his stool to face her.

He lounged backward with his elbows against the bar, a glass in one hand.

She bit back a gasp and tried to hide the stunned look on her face. He was absolutely breathtaking. His green eyes darkened at her.

He shoved long fingers through his long hair that had fallen into his face when he looked slightly down at her.

She took a reflexive step backward. "I'm Dr. Chelsea Morrigan," she told him. "I need to talk to you."

"Doctor, is it?" his voice was a slightly husky whisper.

There was a hint of an accent now--one she couldn't quite place. He lifted the glass to his lips and took a long swig.

"Never did like that term. Well, I guess since you won't be telling me to turn my head and cough, it should be alright. What's on your mind?"

"Can we talk somewhere else?" she wanted to know, shivering slightly. "We kinda need quiet."

His kissable lips tugged upward slightly at one corner and his eyes narrowed, "Lady, you don't need quiet to take advantage of this body. I'd give it to you anywhere."

Heat danced around Chelsea's cheeks. She could see him doing just that, too--on the hood of her car, against a wall, bent over the rail on a balcony--but she couldn't lose her head. She lifted her chin even higher, "That's not what I want to talk to you about. I just need about ten minutes of your time."

His eyes bore into her, his face expressionless and it felt like he stared at her for an eternity. Finally he slipped from the stool and dug in his pockets. Slamming money on the counter, he placed his glass atop it just before the long, black coat he wore flopped about his ankles. He glanced at the screen again and for a moment she thought he would send her away to watch his game.

"Alright we can talk outside," he told her. "That's the best I can do."

Chelsea nodded and turned for the door with a few of the bar's patrons whistling at her.

"Knock it off!" Re's voice thundered and instantly the men turned once more to whatever it was they had been doing.

She hurried through the doors and once fresh air hit her face, she inhaled greedily. Re found her with her face tilted upward, her eyes closed, hauling in air.

"What is it that was so damned important that you have to take me away from my game?"

"Your team was losing anyway," Chelsea's chin lifted.

"Well, you're taking me away from precious yelling at the screen time."

"Like I said, I'm Doctor Morrigan, an archaeologist--"

"Oh boy. I already don't like this conversation."

"Why is that?"

"Archaeologists have a damn nasty habit of sticking their noses where it doesn't belong--digging up things that should have been left buried--want me to continue?"

Chelsea groaned, wondering if she had made the right decision coming to find this man. Her mentor told her if anyone could help her find the book and not get killed in the process it was Re. With that thought, she reined in her temper and folded her arms across her chest, "My team and I were in Cairo last month at this dig. We were only allowed in if we showed them everything we found. But, ah--"

"You took something you shouldn't have and you didn't show it to them. Okay, look, lady, this would go a lot smoother and faster if you told me what you took and where it is."

Chelsea wanted to cry, "We took a book--"

He chuckled, but the mirth didn't reach his eyes. It was more of a sound of disbelief than a chuckle really, "What book?"

"Of Secrets--"

"The only book of secrets that I know that has anything to do with Egyptians is the--no one is that stupid!"

"Yes, but we didn't know how to open it. I was going to study it and bring it right back."

"So it was you?"

"You know about the stolen book?"

"Lady, there are very few things happening to the Bubasti that I don't know about. Where is the book now?"

"It was stolen--I don't know how it happened because it was under lock and key and I had the only key to it, but it's gone."

"You have got--" he stopped and sniffed.

Chelsea looked at him, wondering what grown man ever did that. He turned his head, his long hair dancing with his movement. She felt a little paranoid at him looking around and glanced over her shoulders before eying him, "You alright?"

"Do you have a number I can reach you?"

"Yes, why?"

He held out his hand.

Chelsea dug through her purse for a business card. She dropped it in his large palm.

"Now get in your car and go," he told her. His voice was calm with a hint of ice to it.

"Why?"

"Go now!"

Fear gripped her insides as she remembered what Chance had told her. She turned toward her vehicle. She was halfway to it when she saw him reach beneath his coat and pulled out what resembled a short staff. She wondered where that was before for she hadn't seen it while they were inside the pub. He did something and the staff instantly elongated. As she sped away, Chelsea glanced into her mirror and could have sworn she saw a rather large animal, leap from the dark at Re.

Dolphins chased the ship, frolicking in the waves. A few whales came up close, attracted by the magical vibrations the ship was giving to the water. She shook her head and let the wind play with her hair, the blue strands lifting and mimicking the waves.

"Are you thinking of jumping in, Haily?" Her mother came up behind her, sipping at her own drink.

"Of course not, Mom. You know I wasn't allowed swimming lessons."

"There were reasons, Haily. Underwater shockwaves could have killed other swimmers nearby. You know how unpredictable your talent is."

"Yes, Mom. I know." Of course, she knew. It was the binding rule of Haily's existence. She was one step away from being locked up by the ruling councils every single day. It was difficult to live with since she was never allowed to forget it.

Her mother's voice dropped to a whisper. "Thank you for coming, Haily. April, May and June might meet the men for them on this cruise."

"I know. And it's why I am here. This is the time of the year to focus on family, isn't it?"

Morag chuckled and gave her daughter a one-armed hug. "Thank you for understanding."

"I understand, Mom. Better than anyone can guess. All for the family, that is my motto."

Her mother faded back into the social scene and when the sun began to set, Haily returned to the party as dinner began to appear on the buffet.

She sat with her parents and their friends as her sisters took up positions with men of similar ages and power levels. A few brave souls tried to engage her in conversation, but as soon as they asked her if she was seeing anyone, the chill in the air could have frozen them in place.

The party began to roar after dinner when more alcohol and a number of magical beverages came out. Morag winced at the noise when the music kicked off and leaned over, "Haily, can you watch them? Make sure that they get to bed alone?"

She turned to look at her sisters, one blonde and two brunettes. "I will watch them. But if I have to blast their butts into bed, I will."

Eduard shuddered and patted her shoulder. "If you must, you must. Have a nice night, Hail." He pressed a kiss on her forehead and patted her on the shoulder again.

He always called her Hail. It was his way of rubbing it in to her mother that he had been allowed to name their firstborn after the weather on the day she was born. He wanted to name April Sunny, but he had been vetoed and had to be satisfied that he got Hail in. She was the moment of her father's triumph and every time he said her name, she knew it.

She watched them wander off, arms around each other as they returned to their room for some…lord, she did not want to think about it. Parents having sex was creepy at any age.


The party was in full swing and like dozens of magical parties before, some of the morons started showing off with light displays and flashes of power.

Haily's sisters were slow dancing, making out with a young wizard and raiding the dessert bar respectively. They would be safe for a few minutes while she caught some fresh air.

The waves were dark and threatening, but under the dancing lights of the cruise ship, they looked miles away.

"How am I going to plan a life when I can't even be trusted among my own family?"

Her words were answered by a drunken magus inside screaming, "Watch this!"

She turned to look into the party to see what he was referring to and was struck in the chest by a rainbow-hued fireball and thrown into the silent waves.

The shuttle pilot carefully did not touch her as he escorted her out of the small ship.

“Thank you, Nef. Where to next?”

“You are expected in medical. Please follow me.” He didn’t offer to carry her bag, so she knew immediately that the young Azon had met a reader or two before.

Medical was bustling but organized. A physician met her at the door, showed her where to stow her baggage and her clothing, then led her to a series of injections that left her dopey for the insertion into a tank to allow for the remainder of the treatment to take place. It would take weeks for her transformation to conclude and the IV of fluids to deliver their altered genetic payload.

Mayden was well aware of the reason they put her in the tank, not only was she insulated from contact, but they couldn’t hear her screaming as the pain of her organs realigning took her over. The sedatives kept flowing, but she went through a world of blackouts and agony.

Time ceased to have meaning, but the waves of pain finally receded and Mayden became aware of the steady throb of the engines as it matched her heartbeat. The visitors in front of her took on a steady wave. The doctors, medical assistants and a variety of attendants gave way to military personnel and a woman with rainbow hair who used a scanner on her from head to toe.

The woman was wearing a bodysuit with a tool belt attached and had a concerned expression on her face until the doctor spoke to her in depth. The man beside her seemed to be a male Selna, but Mayden had never seen one before.

There was another visitor in the shadows just beyond her range of vision. She could feel him more than see him, but she knew he was there. He came to visit every night when the crew was at the lightest population. A strange sort of music played in her head whenever he was near, but she was peculiarly grateful for the company.

Even when she couldn’t see him, the faint song rang through her mind, lulling her into a relaxed state as she hung in the oxygenated fluid.

Eiwyn threw the covers back. The rustle of the sheets seemed loud in the quiet of the room. Slowly, she placed her feet on the cold wooden floor and slid out of bed. Draven rolled over, his hand resting on her pillow. Heart pounding, she tiptoed her way to the door. Grabbing the knob, she thanked everything holy that she hadn't latched it when she came to bed.

Draven let out a long snore. His hand moved over her empty pillow as though searching for her. Please don't let him wake up. Eiwyn opened the door a little more than a crack and slipped through. If she woke her husband, he would see to it that she went nowhere. She couldn't let him stop her. She knew he would try. He had put his foot down and she was sneaking under it.

Barefoot, she padded her way down to the room they reserved for opening their portals. Two months ago, she'd had a vision, one she couldn't ignore. If what she had seen was true, the future of the entire universe was at stake. Now was the time to act.

Someone, somewhere, played with forces they didn't understand. One couldn't jump from dimension to dimension willy-nilly without consequences. Her people could, but they were the only exception. They didn't need the help of machines, energy or chemicals to open a dimensional rift. They merely needed the power stored within their bodies since birth. Yet, someone had started to do just that and it was ripping holes in the very fabric of the universe. She had to do something and with her sight, she may be the only person who could.

Entering the room, she closed and locked the door. The thick wood wouldn't keep Draven out, but it would slow him down just enough. Waving her arms nervously, she hummed a soft tune and the air rippled in front of her. Soon, the other side of the room blurred as the transparent rift opened before her.

A loud roar had her looking toward the door with tears in her eyes. It would be years before she would see Draven again. Yet, Eiwyn knew what she must do. It was for the good of all. The entire universe depended on her ability to escape her home and jump to the correct world. Eiwyn blew a kiss toward the door. Tears filled her eyes as she heard the pounding of her husband's feet upon the wooden floor. "I'll be back, my love…eventually."

She stepped through the rift confident that the energy would take the path of least resistance directly to the world she needed to visit. One jump, one world, a few decades and with luck, all would soon be put right.