Scooting closer, Mariska wraps a slim arm around my shoulders. “You don’t have to run anymore. You’re here; we’re here. You’re safe.”

The word feels more powerful than all these herbal remedies, still I don’t know if I can believe it yet. I only smile and thank her. The afternoon is growing late, and Demeter is waving us in to dinner. I haven’t heard from Derek, and my chest aches with worry.

Automatically, my mind resumes its silent chant. My entire body longs for him. Please come back to me, my love. Please come back…

Derek

The empty warehouse flickers with shadows. Columns of dust-filled light stream through the space. The large windows above face east, and it won’t be long before it’s completely dark.

Stuart and I are dressed for combat—or at least I am. Stuart’s dressed for shifting in loose cotton pants and a thin white tank. He bends an elbow, and our witch openly admires his muscles.

Star is dressed in black jeans and a white tank. A black leather jacket covers the ink on her arms, and instead of the usual beehive, this evening she wears a black leather cowboy hat.

My partner only distracts her a moment before her attention returns to me, and a smile curves her red lips. “You want me to hypnotize you.”

I’m impatient with games, and I don’t have time for repeating myself. “We need information.”

Taking off her hat, she shakes her straight, dyed-black hair, before removing her jacket as well. “I’m not used to men like you willingly putting themselves in my power.”

“Men like me?”

“Perhaps I should say I’m not used to seeing men like you afraid.”

“I’m not afraid.”

A thin black eyebrow arches. Sitting here, thinking over what she’s saying and what I’m asking her to do, I revise that.

“Fear isn’t the right word—at least not in the traditional sense. I’m concerned for the safety of another person. I need to find the… Thing that poses a threat to her.”

“The thing?” The witch begins moving around the empty space, first drawing a large, chalk circle on the dark wood floor around us both.

“He’s facing one of our kind.” Stuart’s deep voice cuts through the quiet.

She glances up at him. “Surely you can track another shifter without my help.”

I answer for my partner. “We’re not after a shifter. We’re after a vampire. I’ve got its blood in my veins. I want to try and track him through me.”

Silence fills the room, and Star’s lips press into a thin line. She doesn’t speak as she continues making a large pentagram inside the circle on the floor, and I step away to avoid blocking her progress. Without a word, she goes to an armoire hidden in the back corner.

She returns with two white pillar candles, each about a foot in height. “So you’re hunting a vampire, and you’ve somehow taken its blood.”

I watch as she places the candles at two points and returns to the armoire for three more.

“You realize what could happen, I’m sure.” She finishes arranging the candles, and the explosion of a match illuminates her face with yellow light.

“He knows what could happen.” Stuart is impatient. I’m a bit impatient as well, because while I know Melissa is hidden, I don’t know when the vampire might find her.

Her black eyes flash at him. “I want to hear him say what he knows.”

“We don’t have time for this,” I growl. “I know what can happen if I’m killed with vampire blood in my veins.”

“Fastest route to immortality I know of.” Her voice is wry.

Candles lit, she places a chair in the center of the pentagram. Her slim, ink-covered arms are bare. One hand on her hip, she gestures to the chair. “Let’s get started.”

Putting myself in the power of a witch is not the smartest thing I’ve ever done. If I hadn’t encountered that thing in the street, the idea would never have entered my mind, but the truth is, Star is right. I’m afraid. Melissa’s maker is powerful. He wants her back, and the existence of me is infuriating to him. I’ve got to find him before he finds her.

“I need you to focus now.” Star’s voice has become monotone, slow and rhythmic. “May I call you Derek?”

“Yes.” My insides are tense, but I know to relax, let it happen. I have to let go of my control.

“How well do you know the city, Derek?”

“I grew up here. I can walk it in my sleep.”

“Speaking of sleep, let’s name the streets starting at the river and working toward midtown. I’ll start. Decatur… Chartres… Royal…”

My mind relaxes as we mentally walk the blocks, and I begin speaking with her. “Bourbon… Dauphine…”

“That’s right,” her voice soothes. “When we reach Rampart, you’ll be asleep. “Burgundy… Rampart…”

Darkness.

I don’t need light to see in the dark. I don’t need heat. I do need shelter.

My room is classic New Orleans. Washed brick walls with wood and beam ceilings. A curved, leather headboard adorns a large bed that won’t be used. To my right is a green velvet settee. A mahogany desk is situated in a corner. Thick, silk curtains hang over square windows overlooking a brick courtyard. Dozens of staircases and balconies with white bannisters.

None of it matters. The only thing that matters is finding her, finishing her transformation. Pacing, I focus my thoughts straight out toward the river like a radar gun. I slowly turn toward the west, toward the French Market… Toulouse, Wilkinson, Jackson Square… Something flickers, but it’s too far off to be her.

She said she’s here on a girls’ weekend. She came here with Elaine. Elaine would want to shop, dine out, and possibly have drinks. I continue my arc, focusing my attention toward the north, Chartres to Bourbon Street…. Nothing.

Where are you? My voice is a furious hiss. You can’t run from me.

The rage in my chest bubbles like a cauldron. You’ve been naughty. You’ve taken a lover. You’ve drunk his blood without killing him.

Jealousy consumes my thoughts. All my vampire emotions focus on reclaiming what belongs to me then punishing her for running away.

Another turn and I’ve made the sweep to Canal, searching all the expensive stores and boutiques on that wide thoroughfare where sprawling palm trees fill the medians.

An infuriated growl roars from my chest. My fingertips graze a leather-bound book, and I throw it with all my strength against the opposite wall.

WHAM! A black dent is left, and the book disintegrates into sheets. It’s only a fleeting satisfaction.

She will suffer for this. She will cry. She will thirst, and I won’t let her drink. Human hunger is a pitiful sight, but a starving vampire is abhorrent. I will relish her screams.

In my mind’s eye, I see a narrow box with heavy black locks all around the edges. It’s long enough to fit a human, but so narrow the one trapped inside is unable to move.

Yes, our predecessors had uniquely clever ways for handling insubordination among our kind. Their devices of torture are like art. My studies have put them all at my fingertips.

I see her locked in the box, flat on her back, unable to move right or left. I see the tomb where I’ll keep her. I hear her screams, hear the slap of her palms against the wood as she begs to be let out. I see her clawing faster and faster, until her nails pop off, until she’s consumed with panic, until she’s broken.

Anticipation of that day hastens my search, moving my sight toward the river, toward Magazine, Tchoupitoulas, South Peters, to…

The skin on my neck crawls. WHAT THE FUCK?

Fury explodes through me—an inferno of wrath, and in that moment my mind splits. I’m in the small hotel room searching, yet I see myself sitting in a chair in a dark warehouse, posture straight like a good little soldier.

How the FUCK did you get in my mind, little soldier?