A figure moves inside the car.

Lance.

A dry heave racks my body as a sickening flashback to another vampire caught by flames propels me back.

Ortiz in a warehouse. A burst of light as his body ignited.

The vampire retreats.

I couldn't save Ortiz.

I can't save Lance.

Can I?

Another flash. Williams face. Distorted. Angry. You could have saved Ortiz. Flames can't hurt you.

Lance is pushing at the door, pounding on the window. Neither yields. He can't seem to break free. His strength should be enough. Is it his terror of the fire? Fear that even if he gets out of the car, he has nowhere to go?

The floor of the garage is a sea of flame. Something in the garage exploded, not the car. The flames haven't touched Lance yet. But they're creeping toward the car. They could ignite the cloth top or the gas tank sitting in the undercarriage.

Adele at my side, screaming.

"Help him!"

Lance claws at the roof of the car, trying to rip it open.

He hears Adele, looks back, sees me. When our eyes meet, he stops fighting. He drops his hands, shakes his head. He resigns himself to death. Like Ortiz. He welcomes it because-

Reparation.

He doesn't want me to risk my life for his. It's there in his thoughts. Sorrow and regret.

No.

I won't lose him.

The need to save him is stronger than the fear. The animal is stronger than the human. I need vampire. She is reluctant to come back. Flames are one of the ways we can die. She remembers Ortiz, too.

I force her to come. We have to try. She relinquishes control with a snarl and a cry.

I crouch, leap through the fire toward the car like a lioness through a burning hoop. I'm at the car. Hands grasp scorched metal, pull. Flames lick at my skin, my clothes. Pain rips into me. I hop on bare feet, first one then the other, to keep from howling with it.

The door is stuck. I gather all my strength, heave and pull it from the hinges. I toss it away, reach in, pull Lance out. I scoop him up, cradle him against me, leap again. One minute we're in hell and the next, we're lying in the grass at the side of the driveway.

Then a whoosh and another burst of light and heat as the gas tank of the MG catches. The car is consumed in a fiery ball.

Too close.

Sirens. From the highway.

I look over at Lance. "Are you all right?"

Adele looming over both of us. "My God, Anna. You saved him." She reaches out a hand, stops herself, pulls it back, blanching.

What's wrong with her?

Lance speaks then. You came back.

There is so much gratitude and surprise and puzzled astonishment in those three words that, in spite of the anger I felt-what, two minutes ago?-I now find myself smiling. I'm still mad at you.

He reaches out a hand. I can live with that.

Adele squats down. "The police are coming. What do you want to do?"

Lance climbs to his feet, reaches down, pulls me up with him.

Gently. For the first time, I see the way he's looking at me, too. With great concern. "What?"

But he's speaking to Adele. "We'll answer their questions. Not much else we can do." He looks at me. "But you. I'm not sure how we can explain . . ." His words trail off, his eyes sweep the length of my body.

I glance down. My clothes are scorched remnants. Tattered shorts and what's left of a T-shirt. But my skin.

My skin.

I hold up a hand. Blackened skin is already flaking and beginning to peel away. My legs. My torso. The healing process has begun. But the realization that I'm burned over most of my body brings with it consciousness.

First, pain. The shock of it. Great debilitating waves of pain.

Blinding. Searing. It buckles my knees. Lance catches me, eases me to the ground.

Then. Comprehension.

Lance's eyes, watching, reading.

He understands.

I went through fire.

I went through fire.

Ironically, I think Williams was right. In a way. Flames don't kill me. But hurt me? You bet your ass.

Another siren joins the chorus.

"We have to get you away from here."

Lance's voice reaches out, pulls me back.

"If the police see you, they'll insist you go to a hospital."

Adele. "Take her to my room. They'd have no reason to go to the back of the house."

The sirens grow louder. I glance at the garage. The flames burn themselves out. The MG is reduced to a charred metal hulk. But the garage itself, the structure, and the adjoining house are curiously untouched.

Lance picks me up and runs through the front door, Adele at his heels. Where his hands touch my skin, the pain is so great, I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. He feels it. He trembles at the thought that he's causing me so much agony.

I try to smile. It hurts too much.

Adele's room is off the sunroom in the back. Lance carries me inside, lays me on the bed.

Someone is pounding on the front door.

Adele shoos Lance out with a wave of her hand.

"I'll take care of her. You go speak to the authorities."

Lance leaves quickly. Adele moves to the side of the bed. "What can I do to help you?" she asks.

Open a vein and let me drink, the vampire inside me says.

"Nothing," the human says. "I'll heal. It may take a while. Go help Lance with the cops. Tell him to come when he's finished. By then, maybe I can move up to his room. Give you yours back."

"Don't worry about that," Adele says. "There are plenty of extra bedrooms in this house."

She moves toward the door. "Are you sure I can't get you anything?"

She's having a hard time looking at me. I've seen enough CSI programs to know what a burn victim looks like. If she didn't know I wasn't human before, she sure as hell knows it now. It must be awkward having to talk to a piece of charred meat.

"Maybe some water?" I reply.

She's happy to run any errand that takes her away from me. When she returns with a bottle of water, she holds it out. "Do you need help drinking?"

"No. Thank you. Go see what's going on outside. I'll be fine."

She leaves and I take a long drink. I'm not feeling nearly as confident as I let on. I hold up a hand, flex my arm. I don't seem to have lost bone or muscle mass. Only skin. I touch my face. Not much damage there. At least not that I can feel. My hair? Dry on the ends, but I still have hair. That's got to mean something.

My arms, legs and torso are burned the worst. And the balls of my feet.

The pain isn't as bad.

I let my body relax, let my head drop against Adele's pillow. The scents of lavender and baby powder tickle my nose.

Subtle undertones almost drowned out by the putrid smell of burned flesh.

My burned flesh.

I close my eyes. Weariness washes over me. I fight it. There are so many things I should think about. So many questions to ask. So much uncertainty to puzzle through.

But the need of the body to escape pain is stronger. I can't fight it.

One moment I'm conscious, the next I'm not.