He’s wrong, I think as I drift back off.
* * *
This time, I struggle for consciousness, swim toward the surface against a strong current, determined to stay awake. Before I open my eyes, I listen.
A clock ticks. A bird sings. A dog barks. Under it all, the faraway hum of traffic.
Something else.
A heartbeat nearby. Soft breathing.
A human. Close.
Blood. I smell it.
Yet, it awakens no hunger.
Why?
I open my eyes.
Above me, tiled fresco.
Familiar. Lance’s room.
I turn my head toward the sound of the heartbeat.
A woman sitting on a chair near the bed. She’s asleep, I watch her chest rise and fall. I don’t recognize her. Why is she here?
I try to sit up. Something stops me. A glance down and I know why. A wide strap across my chest. It allows no movement.
Panic.
I pull at it and start to yell.
The woman jerks awake.
Her movement sends a sharp stab of pain into my right arm.
A flurry of footsteps from outside.
The door flies open.
“Lance?”
He’s at my side. He bends over, drapes his upper body over my chest to prevent me from moving. “Shhh,” he croons. “It’s all right. I’m here. Don’t try to move yet. Let me loosen the restraints.”
Restraints? Not comforting. I struggle harder.
He’s fumbling with something at the side of the bed. Another sharp twinge and my arm is free. Then he pulls at the strap and it falls to the side.
The woman in the chair is watching wide-eyed. Suddenly, Adele is at her side. She pulls something from the woman’s arm and slaps a piece of gauze where a small bubble of blood is blossoming.
“Hold your arm straight up for a minute,” she tells her. “And then you can go downstairs.”
I watch uncomprehending. “Lance, what’s happening?”
He is smiling and stroking my hair. “Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty,” he says. “How do you feel?”
How do I feel? I don’t know. I press my fingers against my eyes. How am I supposed to feel?
Suddenly, the touch of my fingers against my eyelids trips the memory.
My skin. On fire. The pain.
I hold up my hand, turn it back and forth, amazed at what I see.
The ravaged skin is gone. My hand is undamaged. I trail my fingers up my arm. Throw back the covers. I’m wearing a large T-shirt. Under it, the skin of my torso is smooth, flushed. Normal.
I choke out the words. “I’m healed.”
He nods. “You’re healed. And it only took two days.” He laughs. “And a dozen or so hosts.”
I glance again toward the woman. She has a Band-Aid at the crook of her elbow. Adele is walking her out.
“How did you do it?”
“Took a page out of a medieval text. You couldn’t feed, but you needed blood to heal. We set up an intravenous line between you and the donors. Worked like a charm, though we had to keep you doped up. Couldn’t have you thrashing about and pulling out the needle.”
I shake my head. “How did you come up with that idea?”
A voice from behind him, the voice I remember from a dream, spoke up. “It was my idea, actually.”
Of course it was. If I thought I could pull it off without falling flat on my face, I’d jump out of bed and hug the guy stepping around to join Lance at the side of the bed. But I can’t trust my legs, so I do the only thing I feel capable of. I hold out my arms and beam a smile. “I should have known. Who else would have the guts to tie me to a bed and force-feed me?”
Daniel Frey grins back. “Who else indeed.”
CHAPTER 18
Two hours later I’ve had a shower. With Lance’s help. A déjà vu moment, only this time, he’s supporting me. Two days flat on your back and even a vamp’s legs become wobbly. Then, dressed in shorts and one of Lance’s tank tops, I’m sitting by the pool on a chaise between Lance and my friend Daniel Frey.
Frey has shorts on, no shirt, no shoes, and is as unaffected by the blistering desert heat as Lance and I. It’s late afternoon, but the sun is still strong enough to bounce shimmers of heat off the pool deck in flickering waves. I tip my head back and soak it in. My arms and legs tingle with the kiss of sun on new skin.
Now if I could just get the smell of burned flesh out of my nose.
Adele placed a pitcher of iced tea on the table in front of us before disappearing back into the house. Lance told me she took charge of the women who donated blood to me: fed them, watched until she was sure they were strong enough to leave, and sent them home in a car with money and a certificate to the Armani shop. The hosts seemed pleased with the attention and the gifts. It freed Lance to stay by my bedside.
I don’t know how I’m going to repay her kindness—or her discretion. If she didn’t know what I was before, there is no doubt she does now.
My thoughts and attention shift to Lance. I reach for his hand. “What made you think to call Frey?”
“He was the obvious choice,” Lance answers. “After what happened a few months ago in Mexico. Frey saved Culebra’s life. I never thought your life was in danger, but I didn’t know what to do to speed the healing process.” He raises his glass to Frey. “He not only knew but came here and took charge. I owe him.”
“We owe him.” I raise my glass, too.
Frey gives a modest little smile, returns the toast.
He’s a handsome man, forty-something, dark hair touched on the sides with gray, a terrific build. He’s also a shape-shifter and a friend. We were lovers once, it happened not long after I was turned, when he came to my aid in a different way.
He’s watching me and the smile broadens, as though he senses what I’m thinking.
Lance does pick up on it. He skewers me with a raised eyebrow. Should I be jealous?
Frey, who is privy to Lance’s thoughts but not mine, answers before I can. “No. That was a while ago. Anna was just learning what it meant to be vampire then. She’s come a long way.”
Nice that he said that out loud. Shape-shifters and vampires can read each other’s thoughts. Unless you do something stupid like I did. Months ago, I bit Frey in a pique of childish frustration and concern over what I perceived as a threat to my niece, Trish. Frey was helping her. At the time, I hadn’t been sure. Once a vampire feeds from a shape-shifter, the psychic link between them is broken. It’s a wonder Frey still thinks of me as a friend.
A wonder and my very good luck. Which calls to mind the second question. Frey doesn’t drive. Something about having feline sight as his other form is panther. Cats see on the blue side of the spectrum. Gives them great night vision, but makes it difficult to distinguish a broad range of colors. Red, yellow and green, for instance.
“How did you get here?”
Another tip of the glass to Lance. “He provided transportation. Sent a helicopter.”
I grin at Lance. Of course you did.
Lance grins back.
Frey leans toward me, his expression turns serious. “Lance filled me in on what happened. Anna, do you realize the implication of this? You went into a burning garage and came out unscathed.”
“Unscathed? Hardly. You saw what I looked like.”
He shakes his head. “Okay, not exactly unscathed. But you survived when you should have gone up like a Roman candle. Vampires don’t walk through flame and live. You know that. You saw what happened to—”
He stops, maybe because he sees my shoulders tense, maybe because he realizes that by saying it, I’ll have to face the truth.
“Ortiz,” I say it for him. “I saw what happened to Ortiz.” I rub my eyes with the heel of my palms, trying to shut out the image and push away the guilt. “So Williams was right when he said I could have saved Ortiz. But how could I have known? Williams certainly didn’t tell me, and the bastard had a thousand
opportunities.”
Frey glances at Lance. “There’s something else we think you should know.”
The muscles across my shoulders grow even tighter. “What?”
“The garage fire.”
“What about it?”
Lance picks up the story. “My first thought was that it was an accident.” He reaches out a hand and places it on my arm. “But now, I’m not so sure.”
And I’m not sure I understand. I frown. “Then what?”
“I think it was deliberately set. A device rigged to go off ten seconds after the back door closed.”
“Wait a minute.” I’m remembering Saturday morning. How mad I was at Lance. How all I wanted to do was get away from him. “I went out that door. Why didn’t I trip it?”
“You didn’t close the door,” Lance replies. “You left it open. Probably didn’t even realize it. I came out after you were already gone, and I did close the door. Ten seconds later, the garage blew. The fire investigators say it was a gas leak from a water heater. Fueled by a spark when the garage door was raised. They’re writing it off as an accident. And I’m going to let them.”
He looks over at Frey, then back to me. “But that was a new water heater, and you had raised the garage door minutes, not seconds, before. Someone poured propane on the floor of the garage to make sure there would be fire. Lots of it. And set a device to go off when the back door closed.”
“So we were both targets?”
Frey and Lance exchange looks.
“What?” Irritation is bunching my shoulders even tighter. “Stop fucking around. Tell me.”
Lance says, “We think it was a test.”
“A test of what?”
As soon as I ask it, the answer pops into my head. I stare at Lance. “Someone wanted to see if I could survive fire.” Doesn’t take a genius to figure out who that someone is. Especially knowing that he and Williams were working together. “Julian Underwood.”
I’m right. I see confirmation in the eyes looking back at me. That Julian Underwood would risk Lance’s life, the life of someone he has known for decades, sparks such rage that I find only one way to express it. I hurl the glass in my hand across the patio with such force it shatters against the far wall, pulverizes, rains bits of glass on the flagstone.
My hands are shaking. I interlock my fingers. When I can at least control the anger in my voice, I raise my eyes to Lance. “He thought you and I would walk out that back door together. The fire would ignite. Either we’d both be dead, or only you’d be. Either way, he didn’t care. He didn’t care if he killed you. He only wanted to see if he could kill me.”
Frey leans forward. “And now he knows,” he says. “He knows what Williams has been saying is true. You are indestructible. The Chosen One.”
That stupid expression brings simmering anger boiling again to the surface. “Why does everyone always throw that at me? The Chosen One. Sounds like bad Buffy. There’s nothing special about me. I’d know if there were.”
“Then think.” Frey’s voice is hard, insistent. “How do you explain what you did? How do you explain pulling Lance out of those flames? Vampires can’t do that. Williams couldn’t do that. From the beginning, he recognized it.”
“Recognized what?” The volume of my voice escalates with frustration. “He’s done nothing but fuck with me. If he’s trying to win me over to some great cause, he sure as hell has a strange way of doing it.”
Lance looks at Frey. His expression makes me think they’ve spent the last two days discussing me. It’s pissing me off. “Okay. Will you stop acting like conspirators in a spy movie? What is it you’re not telling me?”
This time, Lance takes point. “I told Daniel about what happened in San Diego. How you were attacked. We think there’s a connection between that attack and the fire.”
“What connection? Williams wouldn’t be dumb enough to send a vamp to attack me unless he was damned sure that vamp was strong enough to kill me. He didn’t. And after I killed it, how could Williams know I’d bury it in the desert and come here with Lance? He couldn’t. No one knew. We made the decision on the spot.”
Lance’s gaze slides away. A wave of guilt emanates from him making me realize the reason for his remorse and regret. “I can’t be sure that Julian didn’t know. We have a powerful connection. Remember, Adele said he called the afternoon we arrived. That he was in town, too. It’s a pretty big coincidence.”
“No.” A vehement shake of my head. “I don’t believe it.”
“Well, there could be a simpler explanation.” Frey lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. “You could have been followed.”
Lance and I exchange glances. Now that’s an explanation I can accept. An explanation so obvious I can’t believe we didn’t think of it ourselves. “I didn’t pay much attention on the drive,” I admit. “There wasn’t a lot of traffic, but I wasn’t looking for a tail.”
“Neither was I.” Lance is visibly and emotionally relieved at the possibility that he hadn’t led Julian to us.
So am I. Until I realize the implication. Williams is here? Lance picks up the thread of my thought.
Williams and Underwood working together.
Again.
His face flushes. “It is my fault.”
“Christ, Lance.” I grab his arm and give it a shake. “It is not your fault.”
Frey looks from Lance to me. “I don’t understand.”
Lance is reluctant to admit to Frey how we came to be together, so I do. Briefly, unemotionally. Frey’s eyes never leave Lance’s face as I tell the story of how Lance and I met. Of the lie that it was Culebra who brought us together when in reality, it had been Underwood and Williams.
I wish I could read what Frey is thinking. I can’t. I see only a subtle shift in his attitude toward Lance. Not so trusting. A shadow of suspicion in his eyes, a tensed jaw muscle.
“Frey.”
He turns to me, eyebrow raised.
“I trust Lance with my life.”
Simple words I’ve never meant more seriously.
Frey is still and quiet. He looks at me for a long moment. Then he nods. “All right. Your instincts have always been good. I respect them.” He turns to Lance. “Maybe we should pay this guy a visit. Get some answers.”
Lance tries to hide his alarm at the suggestion. He manages to shield his actual thoughts from him, but Frey isn’t stupid. He senses Lance’s anxiety. Suspicion once again tightens the lines around his mouth. “Unless there’s a reason you’d rather not have us meet with him.”
Lance’s face mirrors his distress. But it’s not fear for himself I’m picking up. Frey has no idea how powerful and cruel Lance’s sire can be. Lance is afraid for Frey and me.
“No, not yet.” I draw Frey’s attention with a wave of my hand. “I’ll take care of Underwood when the time is right.”
“Anna, I don’t think you can wait too long.” A sense of urgency creeps into Frey’s voice. “In a few days, you will have been vampire for a full year. You may not want to accept it, but if what Williams and Julian suspect is true, you will come into your full powers on the anniversary of your becoming. That marks a transitional period for the Chosen One. They’ve tested you. They know you are the one. They are going to do everything they can to influence you. To channel your power to forward their agenda.”
I manage a wry smile, though the grimness of his expression sends an icy finger sliding along my spine. “They’re going to try to control me? Is that what you’re saying? How the hell are they going to do that? You’re being melodramatic, my friend.”
“I don’t think so.” Frey leans forward, his eyes devoid of all humor. “I have never known a Chosen One,” he says. “But I have known of them. They are charged with shaping the destiny of the vampire race. It’s a tremendous responsibility affecting not only vampires but all of mankind. There are likely to be more tests. You will be tried in ways you can’t imagine. But the end result will be the same. The fate of the world is lit
erally in your hands.”
CHAPTER 19
The fate of the world?
Frey is so solemn, so serious, it takes all my strength not to insult him by replying with a derisive laugh. Instead, I temper it down to a derisive snort.
“Frey, my friend, do you hear yourself? You know me. You’ve been through some of the worse times of my life with me. What makes you think anyone in his or her right mind would put the fate of the world in my hands?”
He closes his eyes for a moment. Shakes his head slowly. “You constantly denigrate yourself. But I have seen you at some of the worst times of your life and you always choose the right road, the moral path. This time, though, choices may not be so clear. Williams and Underwood are powerful vampires. They will try to influence or coerce you. You need to be on guard now more than ever.”
Listen to him, Anna, Lance’s own concern burns into my subconscious. You have to protect yourself.
“Protect myself? From what?” I look from Lance to Frey. “What do you expect me to do? How do I protect myself? Hide in a cave? Abandon everyone I care about? What?”
Lance and Frey have no answers. I see it in the worry that shadows their eyes, the grim set of mouths drawn tight with concern. I also see that it’s up to me to put an end to this nonsense. The Chosen One will have to wait. There is another more pressing problem to take care of first—Underwood has to pay for what he did to Lance.
I push myself away from the table and stand. “I suggest we go home. David is going to be wondering where the hell I am. Lance, will you come with me? Frey?”
The two men exchange looks, probably thoughts, but thoughts they keep from me. Lance gives in with a shrug. “When do you want to go?”
I pause, pretending to think about it when in reality, my path is already set. “Tomorrow morning, first thing. Lance, why don’t you take Frey into town for dinner? I’m beat. I think I’ll turn in.”
They look at me as if I am crazy to suggest they leave me alone.
Gives me a chance to throw the foolishness back at them. “Hey. You don’t think I can take care of myself? I walk through fire. The Chosen One, remember?”
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