Dante's body surged with pleasure but not vigor. It was an odd sensation. He was sated, yet still groggy, weak. Maybe he had only dreamed the pleasures of release, of possession...

He lifted his head, blinked his vision clear. And frowned, more disoriented than before. He was on the floor, his back braced against the cool stone wall. And the lantern was burning. He didn't remember lighting it. He didn't remember waking.

He wasn't wearing his shirt. His jeans were undone and halfway down his hips. He tasted blood on his lips.

And then he saw her, lying naked in a puddle of white satin.

"Morgan!" Dante surged to his feet, only to sink to his knees again at the wave of dizziness that drowned him. One hand pressed to his forehead, he forced himself upright and walked on his knees to her. She lay on her side, curled into a fetal position, hair covering her face. "Jesus, Morgan... " He caught her shoulders, rolled her onto her back. Her hair fell away from her face, and he stared down in horror at her white skin, her closed eyes, her parted, pale lips. He had to force himself to look at her throat, at her body. And when he did, tears welled in his eyes. Tears. He didn't remember the last time he had cried for anyone, much less a mortal. Her throat bore the marks of his invasion. And there were more. Tiny pairs of pinpricks on her breasts and shoulders. Her belly and thighs. It hadn't been a dream. He had ravaged her. Taken her in every way. Her body. Her blood.

"God, Morgan, what the hell have I done?" He returned his gaze to her face, cradling her upper body in his arms, bending over her. "Please wake up. Please, Morgan, live. I can't have done this. Not to you." He listened for her breath. He felt for her heartbeat. He scanned for her life force... and sensed it, still there. Weak, but there.

Her eyes opened to the merest slits, and her lips curled somehow into a shadow of a smile. "Oh, my love... "

"Hush. Don't try to speak. God, Morgan, I'm sorry. I'm... "

"I... brought something for you."

He shook his head, not understanding what she meant, but she shifted her eyes and his gaze followed; he saw the books on the wobbly table.

"Your journals."

"My journals... " He searched his memory. "I left instructions with an attorney. They were to be shipped to a storage unit for safe-oh, hell what does it matter now?"

"It matters," she whispered. Her jaw clenched; she swallowed, began again. "The script, too. On a disk, there with the books. The one I've been writing. Destroy it, Dante."

He stared at her, shaking his head.

"You have to know you can trust me. I brought them all to you-to prove myself."

"You're worried about whether I trust you? My God, Morgan, look what I've done to you."

"You did what I asked you to do," she whispered. Weakly, she lifted a hand, touched his face. "Tears? Why are you crying?"

His hands trembled in her hair as he bowed over her, holding her head to his belly, shuddering with barely contained anguish. "How can you ask that? God, Morgan, I'm so sorry." His voice broke, and he shuddered with emotion as he held her.

"Fix it," she breathed. And she spoke now as if each word was an effort. "Feed me. Make me immortal, like you are."

Tipping his head back, Dante closed his eyes, clenched his jaw.

"Dante...please. You won't let me die. I know you won't."

A hot tear rolled off his cheek and fell onto her face as he lowered his head to look at her. "I can't transform you, Morgan. Not now. I'm too weak. You wouldn't survive the ordeal, and if by some miracle you did, you'd be little more than a mindless zombie."

She expelled a long, wavering breath. "I don't understand... I thought-"

"Sharing the gift takes a vampire at his strongest. And even then it drains him, weakens him. Last night I nearly bled to death before the day sleep healed my wound."

"But you drank from me."

He lowered his head.

"It's because I'm so ill, isn't it? My blood has barely any life left in it. That's it, isn't it?"

He nodded without looking her in the eye. "I've seen the effects of the gift gone bad before, Morgan. A vampire brought into this life with weak blood, or too little blood. Mindless shells with no reason, no thought, no personality, who exist only to feed. Monsters, truly monsters. I can't curse you to that kind of existence. I won't." Finally he met her eyes again. "I'm sorry, sweet Morgan. I'm so sorry."

"Well, you've done it again, haven't you, love?"

The voice was Sarafina's, and it came from near the entrance to his lair. Dante looked up at her. She wore red, full sweeping skirts of it, with a sheer black overskirt and enough jewelry to please a queen. "Tina. Thank God."

"Don't thank God for me, Dante. He has nothing to do with my existence." She narrowed her eyes on his face. "Are those tears I see? My God, look at you. Reduced to weeping over a mortal." When she tossed her head, her earrings jangled.

"You have to help her," Dante said. He saw Sarafina's anger, felt it like a red hot cloud around her, but he had to try. "She'll die unless you bring her over."

She released a burst of air, waved a dismissive, ring-bedecked hand, and her bracelets rang. "You want her so badly, bring her over yourself."

"I can't. I'm too weak."

"Oh, come now, Dante, you'd love her as an imbecile. She would obey your every whim. Be your slave forever, even better than a mortal one. They're so fragile, you know. She could hunt for you, serve you. Wouldn't you like that?"

He lifted his head. "You're the one with the penchant for mindless drones, not me."

"No, but you do seem to be the one more apt to fuck a mortal to death. This makes what, now? Two?"

"She's not dead."

"Give her an hour."

"Why won't you help me?"

Sarafina lifted her brows. "Because you've turned your back on me, Dante. You've decided, quite obviously, that I am no longer enough of a companion for you. That you need to bring in someone new. To replace me."

"That's not how it is."

"No? It's how I see it. I'll tell you what, Dante. If you really want my help, let me finish the little bitch off for you. I would so enjoy devouring whatever small amount of blood you left in that pale, weak little body."

Anger heated his blood, and Dante gently lowered Morgan's head and rose to his feet. Standing straight, he faced Sarafina. "I'll kill you first."

She flinched. He saw it, a short flash in her eyes. A tightening of her lips. "And that proves what I've said, doesn't it? You'd kill me, your life mate, for her?"

"You are not my mate. Or my wife or my partner or even my lover, 'fina."

"I made you," she whispered.

"And therefore you own me?"

She stood so tense and so rigid that her entire body trembled. And then she said, "Damn you to hell for betraying me, Dante! Damn you with the rest of my kin. I need none of you!" Then she whirled in a swirl of skirts and a clatter of jewels, and fled through the door, a blur of speed and motion.

Morgan's soft but desperate sigh drew his attention from Sarafina's pain-which he felt keenly. Logical or not, Sarafina was hurting. Now, though, he had no care for his dark mother's pain. Only for Morgan's.

"This is... all my fault," she whispered.

"Why did you do this, Morgan? Why?"

She shook her head. "You were so weak. I thought you might die."

"And it didn't even occur to you that you could die far more easily than I?" He knelt beside her, gathering her up into his arms, lifting her as he stood again. Then he shook his head. "No. No, you trusted that I wouldn't let that happen, didn't you?"

"This is my doing, not yours," she told him, leaning her head against his chest.

"I'm not going to let you die, Morgan."

She closed her eyes, but he saw her tears anyway, dampening and darkening her lashes from within. He carried her into the passage and along it, leaving the light far behind.

"The journals," she said suddenly. "You must bring them, Dante. And go to the house for the others."

"We can do that together, when you're well."

"They're in the safe, in the study. The year I found you-that's the combination. Nineteen ninety-seven."

"I'm not going to let you die, Morgan." He was weak, growing weaker by the second. But dammit, he could save her, save them both. He would.

"It's not your fault, Dante," she whispered.

He emerged from the cave and managed to hold her while climbing up the side of the cliff. Ordinarily he would have simply pushed off with his feet and jumped the distance. A small leap for one as powerful as he. But not tonight. Tonight he barely managed to clamber up the steep, stony path without dropping her, and when he reached the level ground, he was breathless, his muscles trembling with strain.

He started toward the house.

"Dante?" she whispered. "No! Don't take me back to them-I want to stay with you."

"You'll die without help, Morgan."

"Then I'll die in your arms. I'll breathe my last against your lips. Dante, don't make me go... "

He stopped walking and stared down at the woman who had risked her own life to preserve his. Who had trusted him completely and given selflessly. He had never believed anyone could love him the way this wraith-like creature must. His own family had turned against him. He'd lived his life trusting in no one. But he trusted her. And he realized, too late, damn him, that he'd known he could trust her before she had surrendered the journals or her work. Before she'd bled herself to the brink trying to save his worthless life. He loved her.

Leaning closer, cradling her head in his palm and lifting her face to his, he kissed her. Slowly, tenderly, he kissed her.

"Stay alive for me, Morgan. One night, so I can feed and grow strong again. One day, so the sleep can regenerate my power. Then I'll come for you. I swear I will. No army of mortals will keep me from you again."

He kissed her again, but this time her lips went slack against his, and when he lifted his head, hers hung limply and her eyes had fallen closed. He heard voices, saw her family and friends walking around the back lawn with flashlights, calling Morgan's name.

Lifting his chin, he called out to them. "Here. She is here."

"There he is!" someone shouted. "He's got Morgan!"

The gang of mortals came running toward him. Gently he laid Morgan down in the cool grass, bent to kiss her forehead and then, straightening, turned to flee. He had to live, to get strong again, so he could save her.

In three strides, the bolt penetrated his thigh. Pain beyond endurance shrieked through him as he tried to keep going. Weight on the leg intensified it even more, and he felt the blood pumping out of him. Three more steps. He went down hard, then tried to crawl, and finally, on his belly, he dragged himself toward the cliffs. Toward the edge. If he could pull himself over, maybe there was still a chance...

"Finally. You son of a bitch, I've finally got you." A hand clasped his shoulder and rolled him harshly onto his back.

The scarred man stared down at Dante. And then he smiled.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God... " Max knelt beside her sister. Morgan lay still on the ground, a white silk robe around her body, fresh puncture marks in her neck. No question now. "You see them, don't you? You see them, too, this time, don't you?"

Beside her, one arm around her shoulders, Lydia nodded. "I s-see them. I don't believe it, but I-I see them."

David said nothing; he was speechless, frightened to death.

Lou had his fingers on Morgan's wrist. He looked up, nodded once. "She's alive."

Max bent almost double, face contorting, sobs choking her, relief too powerful to contain. "Let's get her to the house."

Lou looked further along the lawn and frowned, getting to his feet. "Take her, David. I'll just be a sec."

Max followed his gaze to where Frank Stiles was leaning over the fallen form of the dark man who had done this to Morgan. Lou was striding over there, and Max got up, too. "Stay with her," she told Lydia, even as David gathered Morgan into his arms and started for the house. Then she ran to catch up to Lou.

Stiles said, "I've got you at last. You're not going to get away from me this time."

As Max looked beyond Stiles' vicious scowl to the man who lay on the ground, she caught her breath. He was exactly like the images Morgan had drawn-the ones that lined the walls of her study. "Dante, I take it?"

He nodded, but it was obvious he was in considerable pain. She looked him over, saw the blood gushing from around the metal bolt that pierced his thigh, and acted instinctively, dropping to her knees, tearing the denim fabric. "It must have hit an artery or something. My God, the bleeding... "

"His kind always bleed like that," Stiles spat. "Let him bleed out. He'll be dead in a few minutes."

"If I am," the fallen, dark man muttered through clenched teeth, "Morgan will be, as well."

"Don't you dare threaten my sister," Max whispered.

"I don't think it was a threat, Maxie," Lou said.

He dropped to one knee, clasped the bolt, glanced at Dante. Dante nodded once, and Lou pulled the arrow-like rod out in one smooth motion. As he did, Dante tipped his head back and howled in pain. Then Lou yanked his belt free of its loops, wrapped it around the thigh, above the wound, pulled it tight and watched as the bleeding slowed. He searched his pockets and emerged with a jackknife, then poked a hole in the leather so he could fasten the belt in place. He fastened the belt so tightly that Dante's thigh looked practically like an hourglass.

"I don't understand why you're helping him," Max finally said. "Why are we helping him, after what he did to Morgan?"

"No, no, Lou is right," Stiles said softly. "He's of far more use to my people alive."

Dante's gaze snapped to Lou's. And it surprised the hell out of Max to see what looked like the barest hint of fear in the vampire's eyes.

Lou drew her attention away from that, though, with his next words. "He brought Morgan to us. He called out to get our attention and got himself shot with that freaking crossbow of yours for his trouble. Where the hell did you have that thing, anyway, Stiles? I searched you before I let you in the house."

"It was in my car. I grabbed it the moment we realized Morgan was missing."

"He brought her back," Lou said. "He didn't have to do that. If he was trying to kill her, why would he have bothered?"

Stiles swore emphatically and rolled his eyes. "Doesn't matter. He's my prisoner as of right now. Get him out to my car and I'll take it from there. You people won't be bothered by him again."

Lou lifted his brows. "You're not taking anyone anywhere, Stiles. Get your ass to the house with the others or get the hell out of here."

"This is my project, Malone. I'm a fucking Federal agent."

"You're a former Federal agent, pal. My badge, on the other hand, is current, and unless you want to end up being my prisoner, I suggest you let me handle this."

Max saw Lou glance at her, his eyes searching. She looked at the creature on the ground, then at Lou again. Then she shook her head in disgust. She got up, gripped Stiles by the arm and tugged him along beside her back toward the house. He didn't fight her much. That worried her.

"You give that animal half a chance, he'll finish your sister off. Just like he did to your friend."

"Why don't you just leave and let us deal with this?"

"Oh, no. I'm not going anywhere."

"If you're staying, you're playing this our way. Otherwise Lou won't have to arrest you, because I'll do worse. You understand?"

Sneering at her in contempt, he nodded.

"Thank you," the vampire said.

"Don't thank me. I can't let you just walk away from this, you know."

"You have to let me go."

Lou shook his head. "What did you mean by what you said before? If you die, she'll die, too."

The vampire looked at him, searched his face. "I'm supposed to think you'll believe me if I explain it?"

"I don't believe any of this. But I do want to hear it."

Dante paused for a long moment, as if thinking. "I can save her. I'm the only one who can."

"How?" Lou asked.

Dante studied him, sighed. "I can't tell you that. Only that I need to heal, to get my strength back, before I can do a thing to help Morgan."

"Uh-huh," Lou said. "And how do you do that?"

The vampire looked away. "I have to feed."

"So you want me to let you loose so you can go bite some innocent and leave them as bad off as Morgan, or maybe worse?"

He helped the suspect up, drew one of the man's arms around his shoulders and started walking him toward the house. The guy was in some pretty intense pain, Lou knew that much. "I can't do that."

"I don't kill."

"And if you did, you'd admit it to me?"

Dante winced every time he put weight on his leg. "No. I suppose not."

"It's my responsibility to keep you in custody," Lou said, reasoning it all out in his mind as he went along. "That's the best I can do, just treat this like any other case. You're my chief suspect. From all apearances, you attacked Morgan. I can't book you and bring you up for a bail hearing-but I can keep you where you can't do any more harm until I figure all this out."

Dante sighed, and Lou wasn't sure if it was in compliance or despair. "Just keep her alive," he said.

"You know how sick she is, don't you? Even if she survives whatever the hell happened tonight, she's not gonna last much longer."

The vampire closed his eyes. "You just keep her alive. Promise me... "

Lou nodded. "I'll do my damnedest."

The vampire nodded. Then he said, "You seem like a decent man, for a mortal. Which makes me even more sorry... "

Lou frowned. "Sorry for wha-" He didn't get to finish. Something-a fist, he thought, though it felt more like a cannon ball-smashed into his head, and he went down in a heap.

Morgan's head turned back and forth as her body trembled. She was so weak, so incredibly weak. Max sat by her side on the sofa, doing her best to keep her sister still, as Lydia paced. David Sumner sat in a small chair in the corner, tears welling in his eyes.

Morgan whimpered and muttered. Every few unintelligible sounds she made were punctuated by one intelligible word. Dante. It was breaking Max's heart. She licked her lips, glanced up at the doorway when Lou came in. He was alone.

"Lou?"

"Sorry," he said, rubbing one side of his head. "He got away from me."

A string of curses polluted the room, and Max glared at Frank Stiles, who had been sitting in the shadows, observing everything. He snatched up his crossbow from the floor beside him and surged toward the door.

Lou stepped into his path. "It's not your place," he said.

"He'll kill again if you let him go. He has to, or he'll die himself. You saw how weak he was."

"I don't think he's gonna kill anyone," Lou said.

He looked past Stiles at Max and went on. "He could've killed Morgan. Hell, he could've killed me just now, if that was what he wanted."

"Lou, what if you're wrong?" Max whispered.

"What if I'm not?" Lou asked. "Max, he says he can save her. What if he's the one telling the truth here?"

"Oh for the love of-you honestly believe that? The word of an animal, for Christ's sake? Over me, one of your own kind?"

"Mr. Stiles, I don't think anyone in this room is one of your kind," Lydia muttered.

David Sumner looked at her, then back at Stiles. "Lydia, you can't be on the vampire's side in this. My God, look at Morgan."

"I am looking at her, David. And I'm listening to her, too. Are you? She loves him. She's dying, and all she can think of is him. Doesn't that say something to you?"

"It says she's in some kind of trance, just like Stiles told us."

"Or Stiles is lying and Morgan knows the truth," Lydia countered.

David jumped to his feet. "He put holes in your daughter's fucking throat, Lydia!"

She snapped her head up, eyes wide. Max thought her own heart stopped beating as she stared from David Sumner to Lydia and back again. "Wha-what did you just say?" Then, to Lou, "What did he just say?"

David dropped his face into his hands. "I'm sorry. It just-I'm sorry." His voice was muffled.

Max walked slowly to where Lydia stood. She stared at her for a long moment, searching her face, studying her features. Plumper than her own, more careworn. But suddenly there were similarities.

"You...you're...our mother?"

"I didn't ever want you to know," Lydia said, and it seemed as if she had to force the words through a space far too small.

"Why?" Max asked.

Lydia closed her eyes, shook her head quickly "Oh, come on. Is this your fantasy, Maxine? That your birth mother was a teenage runaway who sold her body on the streets to get by?"

Max's eyes filled with tears. "This is too much all at once. I can't deal with this right now." She blinked rapidly, brushed her eyes with the back of one hand. "Jesus, where the hell is that ambulance?" She paced away, looked out the window, then dropped the curtain and turned again. "Did you know this all along? Is that why you had Lou introduce us?"

Lou spoke before Lydia could answer. "She didn't know, Max. I... I had a suspicion. I knew your birthday was the same day Lydia always lights a candle and spends the day weeping for the babies she gave up. And that was why I put the two of you together So you could figure it out for yourselves."

Max stared at him, her face wet now. "You should have told me. How could you not tell me?"

"How could I tell you when I wasn't even sure myself?"

"Well, this is all very touching," Stiles said at last-stepping closer to the door. "But the longer I stand around listening to this soap opera, the farther that animal is getting from me." He started for the door.

Again Lou stepped into his path.

"Get out of my way, Malone."

"Give me the crossbow, Stiles."

Stiles smiled darkly, shook his head side to side. Take it, if you think you can." That implies that you don't think I can."

The man's smile widened, twisting his scarred face into a warped semblance of a sneer. "You're saggy, baggy, out of shape and tired."

"Well, yeah... " Lou shrugged, pulled his revolver, and pushed the barrel into Stiles's belly, all in one smooth motion. "But I have this."

Stiles shot his hands up over his head. Lou reached out and took the crossbow from one of them. "Now, go sit down."

Stiles glared at him, but he went back to his corner and sat. A second later a siren screamed outside, growing louder until finally its strobes of red and white light were chasing each other through the room from beyond the windows.

Lou put his gun away and turned to open the door as paramedics came inside carrying red boxes of equipment. Max stood, watching everything happen and seeing none of it. She was disoriented, confused and angry as hell.

And then Lou was there, pulling her close to him. "You look shocky."

"You should've told me, Lou."

"You had so much else to deal with."

"No shit." Mentally, she went over the shocks of the past few days. She'd found out that she had a twin sister, met that sister and learned she was dying. She had seen her best friend lying in a coma from which she might never recover. She had discovered that the ex-hooker with the heart of gold she had been jealous of was her mother. And tonight she had met her first vampire. Face-to-face. Jesus.

"Go to the hospital with your sister. Watch over her. Keep him away from her."

"Dante or Stiles?"

"Both. You shouldn't have to worry about Stiles, though. I'm gonna keep him with me."

"And where are you gonna be?"

"I have to go after Dante."

The paramedics were muttering over Morgan and strapping her onto a stretcher now. Max watched them for a moment. Then, "Lou, you just stopped Stiles from going after Dante-a move I could kick you for. Now you're going after him yourself and taking Stiles with you?"

"I stopped Stiles from hunting him down like an animal. Killing him-or worse. That's not what I intend to do."

"No, you're gonna hunt him down like a human being, aren't you? Read him his rights when you catch him, that sort of thing?"

Lou lowered his head. "Something like that."

"He tried to kill my sister. He's not a human being."

"I know that."

"Know this, too." She took the crossbow from his hands as they wheeled her sister out the door. "You can protect him all you want. But if he tries to get near Morgan again, I'll kill him myself. And I won't let anyone stop me. Not even you."

Then she turned away, only to bump into Stiles. He nodded as if in approval and tucked a business card into her hand. "My cell phone number. You're the only one seeing things clearly here. You might need me."

She shoved him aside and headed out the door after the paramedics, yanking a jacket off a hook on the way and draping it over her arm to conceal the weapon. She crammed Stiles' card into her jeans pocket. At the last moment she turned, glanced at Lydia. "You and David can follow in the car, all right? I want to stay with her, in the ambulance."

Lydia looked stunned, then relieved, as she smiled wetly and nodded. "We'll be right behind you."

Max faced forward again, started to leave. Halfway to the ambulance, she stopped. "Lou?"

He was there, only a few paces behind her. She'd felt him following. "Be careful, okay? Don't turn your back on that snake Stiles for a second. Or on Dante, either."

"Didn't plan to."

She turned her head, looked him in the eyes. She hated him for letting that animal go. No, she didn't. Not really.

"Ma'am?"

Max pulled her eyes away, turned toward the paramedic who'd called her. He stood holding the ambulance doors open.

"We have to go, ma'am."

Nodding, she hurried to the vehicle and climbed inside.

Lou watched her go, feeling like pond slime. He had let her down. That was betrayal he had seen in her eyes. She had expected him to take her side, avenge her sister. Hell, part of him had wanted to, but you didn't spend twenty years as a cop and not assimilate the training. It was who he was, a part of him. Something about Stiles wasn't right. Something about Dante didn't fit the profile Stiles had laid out. Something was off, he felt it right to his toes, and goddammit, his gut was telling him the monster was the good guy in all this.

It made no sense, but there it was.

As the ambulance drove out of sight, David and Lydia following close behind it in Sumner's Mercedes, Lou turned to go back inside.

But naturally, when he got there, Stiles was long gone.