I tackled the pile of files in my inbox instead. The morning crawled by, and the sensation that Rhoan was in trouble neither waxed nor waned. Which was odd. If he was in trouble, and unable to get out of it, surely the danger should build? What the hell did it mean when it remained at the same level?

At lunch, I grabbed a sandwich and cola from the machine in the foyer, then headed back to do some info searching on the mysterious, but oh-so-delicious, Quinn

There were lots and lots of yummy pictures—whoever started the myth that vampires couldn’t be photographed was either a loony or had never actually tried it. And there were lots of articles, which swung between calling him a monster and hailing him as a savior of small companies. One article was all about a dead vamp found on one of Quinn’s transport planes. Another mentioned expansions in his Sydney pharmaceutical company. And there was a small clipping about his engagement to one Eryn Jones—and a snapshot of the two of them together. She was a slender, brown-haired woman, and as pretty as hell. But then, I don’t suppose someone like Quinn would end up with anyone dowdy. I glanced at the date on the top of the article—January 9. Six months ago

He had to love her a lot, because vampires didn’t often commit themselves to one person. Kelly had once told me it was simply too hard to watch someone you love wither and die while you stayed eternally young. A vampire’s only other choice was to turn their lovers into vamps, yet few relationships survived the turmoil of turning. Vampires tended to be territorial and two vamps couldn’t often live in harmony

A few articles later, I found an interesting one about Eryn herself—or rather, her mysterious disappearance. Quinn had apparently been questioned by police, but released, and the inquiries were “ongoing.” Meaning the cops didn’t have a goddamn clue

Was this the reason behind the attack on Quinn? Did someone, somewhere, suspect that he was behind her disappearance? If so, why was he waiting at my place to see Rhoan? Was it something to do with the missing Eryn or something else entirely?

How did he even know Rhoan if he normally lived in Sydney?

Frowning, I did a search on his fiancée, but didn’t come up with much more than the fact she worked for a well-known pharmaceutical company—one Quinn had apparently bought, then dismantled, several months after her disappearance

Interesting, to say the least. Though God only knew how it connected to Rhoan’s current troubles

Jack came back in from his lunch break, and I got back to work. The afternoon crawled by, and though I kept glancing at the clock, no word came from Rhoan. Jack pretended to be totally oblivious to anything but whatever it was he was doing on his computer, yet I knew he was watching me. Knew he was waiting for me to say something. To ask about Rhoan and the possibility of a search and, of course, that pesky retesting

Which I wasn’t going to do until I’d exhausted my own avenues—and I intended to check them out as soon as I went home and changed. Unless, of course, the feeling of trouble sharpened dramatically

At six, I signed off and got the hell out of there. Given it was Saturday, and late evening to boot, most of the usual pedestrian traffic had already gone home. There was even breathing room on the train

Night was setting in by the time the train pulled into my station. I climbed out and walked up the platform to the exit. But the sensation that I was no longer alone crawled over my skin. I looked over my shoulder

As usual, half the lights were out. Shadows lurked along the fence line and crept skeletal fingers across the platform itself. No one had gotten off the train but me, and no one or nothing hid in the shadows. Not that I could sense or see, anyway. I glanced across to the platform on the other side of the tracks. No one there, either

So why did my skin prickle with awareness? An awareness I knew meant there was a vamp nearby, hiding in the shadows somewhere

Why couldn’t I pinpoint his location?

And why did the night feel suddenly hostile?

Frowning, I slung my bag over my shoulder and continued on up the platform. But as I neared the steps that led up to Sunshine Avenue, the sharp scent of musk, mint, and man teased my nostrils

Not the vampire, but a wolf. The male of our species tended to have a slightly sharper basic aroma than males of other species. Or maybe it just seemed that way because we females were naturally more attuned to them

I stopped abruptly. He stood to the left of the steps, hiding between the station’s wall and the ramp for disabled folk. He was absolutely still, something that is extremely rare for us wolves. Unless asleep, we tend to fidget if we stay in one spot for too long. The energy of the beast, barely contained, was Rhoan’s theory

“I know you’re there,” I said softly. “What the hell do you want?”

The shadows parted, and the wolf stepped out into the light. He was rangy, mean-looking, and so much like Henri Gautier it could have been his brother. Only, as far as I knew, Gautier didn’t have a brother

“Riley Jenson?” His voice was guttural, thick, and so cold a shiver traveled down my spine

“Who wants to know?”

“Got a message for you.”

My heart leapt. While I didn’t think scum like him would be a friend of my brother’s, I wouldn’t put it past Rhoan to use his like for a messenger

“What?”

“Die, freak.”

His hand blurred, and I saw the gun

I moved, as fast as I could

Heard the booming report

Then there was pain

Nothing but pain

“Riley?”

The voice was warm and familiar, but far away. Far, far, away

“Riley, tell me what’s wrong.”

Despite the pain engulfing me, the soft question sent heat shimmering through every nerve cell. It had to be Quinn. No one else I knew caused that sort of reaction. But why the hell was he there, rather than haunting the halls of my apartment building?

And what did he mean by what was wrong? I’d been shot, for Christ’s sake. That much had to be obvious, even to the simplest of minds

God, it hurt. Burned

“Is the bullet silver?”

Silver. The bullet was silver. That’s why it hurt so much

“Take… out.” Hurry

He swore. Amen to that, I thought weakly. My eyes refused to open, my arm was numb, and the numbness was spreading all too quickly through the rest of my body. The wolf had missed my heart, but in many respects, it didn’t matter. If Quinn didn’t get that bullet out of my shoulder soon, I was one dead puppy

I floated in a sea of molten agony, drifting in and out of consciousness, my body aflame and dripping with sweat

Yet his voice reached me, dragged me back

“I haven’t got a knife. I’ll have to use my teeth. It’s going to hurt.”

No shit, Sherlock. But the words stayed locked inside. The numbness had reached my neck and mouth, and breathing was becoming harder

My shirt was torn away, then lips touched my flesh, a brief caress that made my skin tremble. Then his teeth were slashing down, slicing deep. A scream tore up my throat but seemed to lodge somewhere near my tonsils. His mind surged into mine and, like a cool and gentle hand, cocooned me, soothing the ache, easing the fire

His teeth withdrew from my flesh, but were replaced by his fingers. There was no escape from the agony of his delving, no matter how much he tried to protect me. When he touched the bullet, moved it, I screamed again

Then the bullet was gone, the fire was gone, and in its place normal, peaceful pain

I reached to that magical place inside and called to the wolf. Power swept around me, through me, blurring the pain, healing the wound. But once I was back in human form, the world slid away