The marks suddenly opened between us like a floodgate. I was bathed in the scent of his skin and the distant musk of fur.

Roxanne hesitated in that maniac, skittering crawl. Her pretty face began to stretch outward as if a hand were pushing out from the inside. A muzzle bloomed in the middle of that human face, covered in human skin with a line of lipstick where lips used to be.

I reached down that line of power between Richard and myself. I wrapped the scent of him, the feel of him, the jittering play of energy. I could suddenly feel the moon in the daylight sky, and knew -- knew in every cell of my body -- that tomorrow night was it, tomorrow night I would be free. And for an instant, I wasn't sure whose thought that was, Richard's or his beast's.

I left the Firestar on the floor and got to my feet with the window behind me. I knew Richard wouldn't let her kill me, but I also knew she was going to hurt me. I'd thrown a werewolf through a window once upon a time. It had stopped the fight. It was all I could think of. Of course, Roxanne had to cooperate and run at me like a maniac to set herself up for the throw. If she came at me slower, it wouldn't work.

She came at me slower, in a limping run. I was out of ideas. One thing I knew: If she touched me with those claws or that mouth, I might be a lupa for real next month. Time was in that crystalline run, slow and fast, slow and glitteringly fast. I thought of several things to do and wouldn't be fast enough to do any of them. But I'd go down trying.

Richard was yelling, "No claws, Roxanne, no claws."

I don't think Roxanne heard him. She swiped at me with those monstrous claws, and I ducked under the swinging arm. I ducked blows that were too fast to see, avoided her like I knew where she'd be. It was Richard, the marks, but it was too confusing, too new for me to be able to fight with it. I could use it to avoid her, but only for so long.

I ended up on my back, on the floor, pointing the Firestar up at her. She was coming with claws and teeth, and I was out of options.

The door burst open, and Verne yelled, "Roxanne, no!" I felt his power crash through the room like the lid on a boiling pot, something thrown over the heat, to hold it, contain it, but it didn't stop it.

Ben and Roland were suddenly hanging onto Roxanne, dragging her back from me. If Verne had given an order to them, I hadn't heard it. Roxanne was cutting them up, slicing their arms open, and they were taking it.

Verne was still yelling, "I lied, Roxanne. I lied. She didn't proposition me."

Roxanne went very still in their arms. She spoke around that only partly human mouth, "What did you say?"

Lucy came in behind Verne, through the still-open door. She shut the door and leaned against it, smiling, enjoying the show.

"I said, I lied," Verne said. "I'm an old man, and you are beautiful and powerful and thirty years younger than I am. I told you when she marked my neck that she propositioned me. She didn't."

Roxanne relaxed in the grip of her bleeding bodyguards. You could feel the tension seep away, and with it her flesh. Her face, her hands, flowed until she stood human again. Her nose was bloody where I'd kicked her.

"You can let me go," she said. "I won't hurt her."

They didn't let her go. They looked at Verne.

"How about me, darling?" he said. "You going to hurt me?"

"When we get home, I'll kick the shit out of you, but not here, not now."

Verne smiled. Roxanne smiled. And both smiles were the same. It was more than lust, though that was mixed in with it. It was a look that couples have, like a secret language, a look that excludes everyone else and cannot be explained.

I looked at Richard. "They be crazier than we are."

He smiled at me, and the smile warmed me down to my Nikes. I smiled back, and realized with a jolt that tingled through my entire body that we had our own secret look. God, I'd missed him.

Lucy stalked into the room on a pair of platform shoes, purple short-shorts, and what looked like a lavender bra but probably wasn't. She sashayed up to Richard, slipping both of her arms through one of his.

"He's rejected me for you, sweetie," she said in a voice that was too pleasant for the anger in her eyes.

I looked at Richard. "I don't think he dumped you because of me."

She pushed away from Richard to stand in front of me. I had the gun in my hand. I figured I was safe. The marks with Richard faded, pulled back, replaced with the knowledge that we were a couple again. I valued that a hell of a lot more than the marks.

"I can do things for him in bed that your human body could never do. I can take every ounce of strength, every thrust, and it just feels good. It doesn't have to be gentle with me, careful with me."

Which hit a little close to home, which is my only excuse for what I said next. "Gee, Lucy, I don't know. He spends one night with me and drops you like yesterday's news. Either you're not that good a lay, or I'm better."

Her face narrowed down, eyes wide; for a second, I thought she might cry. I didn't want her to cry. That would spoil it and make me feel like a shit.

Lucy turned away from me, bringing her hands to cover her face. Damn.

I looked past her to Richard. The look on his face was not happy with me. I couldn't blame him on this one.

I didn't see Lucy turn, I felt it. I felt the air move as she whirled. Her hand caught me across the face. I had the sensation of falling, but if I hit the ground, I didn't remember it.

I woke to darkness and the smell of clean sheets. I blinked at the strange windows and the spill of moonlight on the floor. I didn't recognize the room. Once I realized I wasn't anywhere I'd ever been, tension filled me like water. I heard someone behind me, and that raised the tension another notch. I tried to lie still, but I knew my breathing had changed. If they were human, they might not have noticed, but I just didn't know that many humans right now.

"Anita, it's Damian."

I rolled over onto my right side, and it hurt. My right arm was bandaged from my palm to about the middle of my forearm. It didn't hurt that much, but I couldn't remember how I'd injured it. The vampire was sitting in a chair by the door. His long, red hair looked a strange pale brown in the dark. He was wearing the vest and pants of a very nice, probably tailored, business suit. It might have been black or navy or even dark brown. His skin glowed pale against the darkness of the cloth.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"You're the only one wearing a watch," he said.

I raised my left hand in front of my face and hit the little button that made it glow. The glow seemed brighter than it should have because of the darkness. "God, it's after eleven. I've been out for hours." I lay back on the bed. "Did it occur to anyone to take me to a hospital?"

"The sun's only been down for a little over two hours, Anita. I don't know what choices were made. When Asher and I woke, we were in the basement here. We fed, then I took Richard's place here by your bed."

"Where is Richard?"

"I think he's at their lupanar, but I'm not certain."

I glanced at him. He seemed somehow distant. "You didn't ask any questions?"

"I was told to stay here and guard your rest. What more did I need to know?"

"You aren't a slave, Damian. You're allowed to ask questions."

"I got to sit here in the dark and watch you sleep. What more could your pet vampire ask?" That last had a bitter edge to it.

I sat up slowly because I still felt wobbly. "What's that supposed to mean?" I tried to prop my back against the heavy wooden headboard but needed more pillows under me. I tried to push them under me with my right hand, and it hurt. It was a nice, sharp ache.