He studies me a moment longer before closing his eyes again. A few moments, and he’s drifted away. As much as I want to sit here and gaze at him, I can’t stay any longer. My heart aches as I stand and collect my things.

Quickly, silently, I step into my dress and sandals. I search everywhere, but I can’t find my thong. It must be wound up with him in the sheets. I’ll have to leave it.

My lips throb with desire to kiss him one last time. My fingers tingle with wanting to slide through his soft, wavy hair. I can’t take the chance he’ll wake. Instead I go to the door and slip out, down the hall, down the stairs, into the pre-dawn night.

People roam Bourbon Street even at this hour. It’s the darkest hour before dawn, but I’m not afraid. I’m the most dangerous thing they’ll encounter tonight.

Not in a hurry to return to my hotel, I take Toulouse Street, away from the bars and the dying noise of revelry, toward the river. I walk slowly up the damp alley, under balconies of black wrought iron. Dark-green ivy climbs the sides of hotels and apartments, transforming their hard edges into rounded black shapes.

If my night vision weren’t so acute, they would look like hulking monsters, swaying toward the levee. The air is heavy and damp, and even without the sun it’s warm. Could it be another reason so many of my kind come to this city? The heat disguises the cold of our skin. Only, my skin isn’t cold yet.

My eyes… I’m not sure what my eyes look like this morning. I drank his blood, so it’s possible they have a faint red hue. Oh, god, I hope they don’t. I’m not sure I can handle seeing that, and it won’t help me with Elaine and Mariska. A shiver passes over my shoulders, and I hug my arms across my chest. I’ve never felt so alone in my life.

I wonder if Elaine is in our room. Somehow I know she isn’t. We’d been walking back from dinner at Antoine’s last night when she asked to take a detour through Bourbon Street. I had no desire to be around loud, rowdy drunks. Still, I went with her to the crowded street.

She was looking for someone, but she wouldn’t tell me who. I watched as she followed the voice in her head—or the sensation of a voice. I’m not sure how her power works. I’ve only watched her use it since we were little girls. When we arrived at the place, she left me to go to him.

It was the same man she met in Maspero’s before lunch, and I had the same sickening response to his presence. My stomach roiled, and I couldn’t enter. I could only hide behind the pane of glass and watch them talking, her touching his arm. He was incredibly attractive and seemed very sure of himself, yet when she touched him, he stilled as if she had some influence over him.

My brow lined as I focused on them, not understanding what was happening. Then Derek appeared, and I forgot Elaine. I forgot everything but him. For a moment, I close my eyes and savor the memory of last night. All of it is as vivid as the sunrise in my mind.

Turning west, I walk back toward our hotel. When I reach the Hotel Monteleone, a pale glow is just lighting the edge of the horizon. My eyes are heavy. Our room is empty as I suspected. Digging my phone out of my bag, I see a text from her. She sent it hours ago, when I was still blissfully wrapped in Derek’s arms.

Am with Patrick. See you tomorrow. Lunch with Mariska.

Crawling into my bed, I study the words. Patrick. The man from the bar. She’ll want me to meet him, and I’ll have to say no. I don’t even know why his presence makes me so violently ill. I don’t know anything about the changes happening inside me. Again, waves of loneliness consume me.

Lunch. Mariska. If only she has answers. A yawn surprises me. The sun streams through our windows, and with a groan, I pull myself out of the bed to close the heavy blackout drapes. I barely make it back before I fall into a deep sleep.

Derek

Stuart sits across the booth from me studying his menu with a frown. I touch the lip of my coffee cup, but I’m not thirsty. I’m not hungry. I’m angry and frustrated and miserable. I opened my eyes this morning and Melissa was gone. No note, no number, nothing.

The last I remember is waking to see her sitting in the silvery moonlight looking like a goddess. She told me I was dreaming, but no dream of mine was ever that beautiful. I wanted to take her, carry her back to bed and make love to her, but strangely, sleep overwhelmed me. When I opened my eyes again, she was gone. After everything we said last night, everything we did, she still walked out.

I want to forget her. I want to say fuck it and wash my hands of the situation. The problem is I can’t. I’m drawn to her in some inexplicable way. She’s like a drug, and being apart from her leaves me hollow. Without thinking, I rub my stomach.

“What’s wrong with you?” Stuart snaps.

I sniff and raise my eyebrows, sitting straighter in my seat. “Didn’t sleep well last night. I was pretty fired up after… what happened.”

It’s not entirely a lie.

Stuart nods, accepting my excuse. “Where’s Patrick?”

“He’s with a woman.”

“Big fucking surprise. You didn’t stop him?” Stuart cuts angry hazel eyes at me, but I’m in no mood.

“What Patrick does on his own time is his business.” My tone matches his in sternness, but it changes when I add the last part. “Besides, I think this one’s different.”

His brow lines. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I was with him when he met her. It was strange.” I think back to last night, the pretty girl who walked straight up to him as if she were reading his mind. “She had some kind of… power over him.”

“Are you trying to say he’s imprinting?”

I cut him a look as our waitress appears, and we pause our conversation.

“What can I get for you two?” She gives Stuart a little wink, but he’s not receptive.

“Steak and eggs with a side of bacon. Hold the toast.”

She does a little smirk. “In the mood for some protein, I see.”

He only grunts and hands over his menu.

“I’ll have the house omelet with wheat toast,” I say, with a slight smile. It earns me a wink.

“You got it, sugar. And I’ll keep the coffee coming. Let me know if you need anything else.”

She sashays away, and Stuart leans forward against the table. “We need Patrick to get his ass here now. Did you call him?”

Shaking my head, I lift my coffee. “He’ll be here.”

If I’m right about what’s happening to him, I don’t have the heart to disturb him, especially after my disappointing wake-up.

“Well, I’m not wasting time. Tell me what happened.”

“He got a lead on Alison’s killer.” Leaning forward in the booth, I lower my voice. “It was an ambush. We walked into a nest. I had to shoot us out.”

A low whistle, and he lifts his coffee. “How many?”

“Couldn’t say. We were led to believe it would only be one. We saw three, and one of them was... Old.”

Stuart makes a disgusted face. “The older they get, the weirder they get.”

“No shit. I can still see that fucked-up grin.”

Patrick’s breezy voice interrupts us. “Morning, ladies! Captain Asshat. I assume you’re here to bust my balls.”

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“Heaven, big brother.” He drops into the booth beside me, his player grin in full effect. “I have been in heaven. And it smells like honeysuckle and tastes like sugar.”

“You smell like you’ve been eating honeysuckle all night,” Stuart sniffs.

“Jealous?”

Our waitress is back, and she’s more than happy to see our new addition. “Hey there, darling.”

“Hey, Polly,” Patrick beats her to the wink, and I am not surprised he knows her name. “Can I get the Spanish omelet with a side of bacon?”

“Sure thing, handsome. Coffee?”

“No thanks. O.J.”

She smiles and heads for the kitchen, and he turns back to me. “Have you filled him in?”