The next night, my eyes opened to the sight of Philip’s red flaked chest. Where were we? Peeling my hair off his body, I felt brittle and light, like Chinese paper. Maggie’s cellar surrounded us.

I must have passed out on Philip’s shoulder. He was a mess.

Dominick lay dead upstairs.

“Philip?”

Amber eyes flickered faintly. “Where . . . ?”

“The basement. Your throat looks better.” I smiled weakly. “It’s really over.”

He pushed himself up off the mattress, lost and disoriented. “Are you hurt? Your skin is too white.”

“No, I’m okay. The bullet went through my shoulder. I just couldn’t get you to stop feeding once you’d started.”

“Once I . . . ?”

Recent events must have flooded back because he suddenly grew embarrassed and turned away. “We should get cleaned up.”

Nodding, I tried to follow. My bones made hollow cracking sounds.

“I’m going to need to hunt pretty soon,” I said.

“Can you walk?” he asked, turning back.

“Maybe. Give me a sec.”

Struggling up, I limped after him for the stairs. We both ignored Dominick’s cold body and headed for the nearest bathroom.

“We don’t have to look perfect,” Philip said. “Just good enough to get around in public.”

“You’re the vain one, baby, not me.”

“Get in the shower.”

Pulling my shirt over my head seemed an effort. “Could you go to Maggie’s room and find me something to wear? I’m not up to climbing more stairs.”

“Yeah, be right back.”

I finished undressing and stood beneath a steaming spray of water. Once all the dried blood had been washed away, my shoulder sported only an inch-wide hole. Our bodies hold together well. A bullet from a .357 Magnum should have taken my shoulder off. The wound had been much larger last night, though. I was regenerating quickly, my undead condition striving to resume the form it had been turned in—a blessing and a curse. We never change.

Philip came back in and started messing around with Maggie’s bottles and hand mirrors. I could hear him outside the shower curtain. Maybe he was making a place to lay my clothes, but he was still being far less talkative than usual. He’d never been shot before—that was pretty clear—never seriously injured by a mortal. He thought himself a lion, indestructible, and I had fed him from my wrist. Not that it really mattered anymore. We were free from Dominick. Perhaps Philip would listen to me a little better in the future. I stepped out of the shower.

“Your turn.”

He handed me a towel. “I brought you a dress. Will that do?”

I would have preferred a clean pair of jeans, but the dress was simple enough, black and sleeveless.

“Designer?” I joked.

“Yves Saint Laurent.”

“You’re serious? You actually looked at the label?”

“Don’t you?”

Teasing him made the soreness in my arms less noticeable. I hadn’t felt this weak since getting off that ship at Southampton. Philip stepped past me into the shower, his expression troubled.

“Eleisha?”

“Mmmmm?”

I got dressed, noticing he’d laid out his own pants and the flannel shirt I’d given him the night before. Maybe he couldn’t find anything else that fit.

Behind the curtain, he stayed silent, not finishing his question, probably searching for words long forgotten.

“It’s all right,” I said. “You don’t have to say anything. Let’s just finish up and book a flight.”

“Not yet. Not tonight.”

I went cold. “What?”

“Julian’s in the country by now, probably in this city. We can’t leave, or he’ll think we’re running.”

“We are running! Is that a news flash to you? No way. There’s no way I’m facing down Julian. And look at you. You couldn’t take out a cat like that.”

“There won’t be a fight if we face him. We don’t have to go anywhere, except maybe find a hotel room. I know his cell phone number. He’ll come to us. Honor demands he look into this. But if not for Katherine, William would have died years ago. Julian may be pleased his abomination is gone.”

“William wasn’t an abomination.”

“We just tell Julian I need to help you for a while,” Philip said. “He’ll believe that. He already thinks of you as crippled, that you can’t function alone. But he sees you as no threat.”

Could it be that simple? Could Philip convince Julian to leave me in peace?

“What if he wants me dead anyway?”

Sensing victory, Philip smiled slightly and shrugged. “I don’t know. We could use Dominick’s big gun. Another inch to the right, and I might have flown off to hell.”

“That isn’t funny.”

 
Two hours later, we checked into the Bellevue Red Lion and settled into an attractive suite of soft tans and yellows—but too many windows with thin drapes. I ordered extra blankets and hung them carefully over the curtain rods.

Philip might have been shaken by his near-death experience, but he considered the event a fluke. I had been hoping he’d let me rent a car and drive fifty-five to the hotel. No dice. He ripped off an old Charger right in front of Maggie’s house and ran two stop signs in the first mile. When a policeman flashed his siren, Philip stopped, knocked the officer unconscious, pulled his body inside the car, and told me to feed as if we were at a McDonald’s drive-through window. This all took place on a busy downtown street. The really weird part was that nobody else stopped or even noticed.

My companion’s disturbing nature seemed a small thing tonight, though.

Now that we’d checked into the hotel, there was only one thing left to do.

Philip made a quiet—very short—phone call to Julian. He spoke in French, but I picked up a few words . . . like the name of our hotel.

Torn between true freedom and fear of how it might be achieved, I tried not to listen while I paced about the hotel suite, fussing over the drapes.

“Is he coming?” I asked once Philip hung up.

“Soon.”

I glanced away, not sure whether to be frightened or relieved.

“You know,” Philip said suddenly, “once we settle this matter with Julian, we don’t have to go up north. We could go to France.”

“Even Paris?”

“Anywhere.”

I’d never been to Paris. The thought calmed me, made me smile. “What’s it like?”

“Good hunting. Few rules.” He seemed about to go on when something unreadable shifted his expression.

“What’s wrong?”

He turned pale, his features twisted, and he stumbled on an ottoman. Before I could move to help, Wade pushed inside my head.

Where are you, Leisha?

Stay away! I’m not alone.

Philip regained composure and snarled, then bolted for the door. I darted in front of it, blocking his exit. “Wait. Just listen to me.”

“That’s your little pet, isn’t it? You’ve been lying! He’s completely psychic, isn’t he?”

“Not like it seems.”

“That black-haired cop was psychometric, eh? And I believed you. You’ve been telling this little friend of yours all about us, haven’t you?”

“No, and I didn’t lie. But if you had known Wade could read minds, you would have killed him that first night.”

“Of course! As you should have!”

“He helped me. Just meet him. Just talk to him.”

“You aren’t serious.”

“Please don’t hurt him. He aimed a gun at his partner for me.”

“Well, isn’t that what you do? Get weak-minded men to slay dragons for you?”

Cold, cruel, and inhuman, Philip’s eyes flashed rage at me. He possessed so many different sides. Could I ever keep up? This was a worst-case scenario, defending one person who mattered from another person who mattered.

Someone knocked.

My legs froze. “Wade, is that you?”

“Open the door.”

Philip brushed past me, jerked the door open, and grasped Wade’s throat. This was too much.

“Philip, I fed you last night!”

He stopped, hand now up in Wade’s white-blond hair.

“Don’t do it,” I said. “Just let him in. For me.”

He stepped back slowly, as though with great effort. I knew the only thing holding him back was his strange desire that I remain in his company. The room felt small with all three of us standing in it.

A wave of anger swept through me. What did Wade think he was doing?

“You ditched me without a word,” he spat.

Incredible. With a blood-crazed six-foot vampire standing right next to him, he wanted to argue about forgotten good-byes?

“Is that what you’re here for?” I asked. “An explanation?”

“To start, yes.”

“After everything I’ve done to try and save you? Who was stupid enough to give you a PhD?”

Our familiarity disconcerted Philip. Unlike Maggie, he’d probably never spent more than a few hours with any one mortal. “Your partner’s dead,” he snapped. “Staked through the heart. Quite poetic.”

Wade didn’t even flinch. “I know. I just buried him.”

“Where?” Philip asked.

“In Maggie’s backyard, behind the trees. I buried his gun, too, and I washed the living room floor. Then I moved his car four miles away.”

“What possible reason could you have?”

“Eleisha.”

I flinched. I had no response to Wade’s actions. My instinct had been to leave the body on Maggie’s floor and let the police try to figure out what happened after we left the country. Maybe Wade was right to bury the evidence? It also occurred to me that Wade himself would certainly be picked up for questioning . . . and I had not thought of that before. So was he working to save himself or me?

Looking up at his face . . . I believed he was protecting me.

But no one asked for his help. No one asked him to hang around and clean up my mess. And it must have hurt to see Dominick like that. Nevertheless, he’d done it, and now he was standing up to Philip—not an easy feat.

“If you’ve been at the house burying Dominick all this time,” I asked, “how did you find us just now?”

He hesitated. “How much does golden boy know?”

That struck me as half humorous, half dangerous. “His name is Philip, and I wish he knew you a lot better than he does.”

Philip’s eyes softened, some of the cruelty fading. “This won’t work, little one. He has to die. You know that.”

“No, he doesn’t. Just sit down on the couch, both of you.” I was desperate. “Wade, let him read your past, what Dom used to be like. Show him how, like you showed me.”

Both of them jumped slightly, stunned speechless. I looked to Wade. “Burying Dominick means nothing. No one asked you to do that. But do this for me. Please, do this thing for me.”

Without a word, he walked to the couch. I almost sagged in relief.

But instead, I whirled back around. “Philip, it’s easy. You don’t have to touch him. Just sit down and look inside his head.”

“No,” he said harshly. “You kill him, or I will.”

“Just look at his thoughts!”

“Why?”

“Because if you do, I won’t care what happens next. If you do this for me, I’ll let you tear his throat out and not blame or hate you.”

He tensed, staring down at me uncertainly. I’d just offered him the one thing he wanted.

This was a bet, a gambit on my part. If some higher power had let me choose any two companions in the world, I must admit my choices would have been Edward and Maggie. But they were gone. Mourning or missing them didn’t help. Somehow I thought if Philip became psychically involved with Wade—and vice versa—the two of them might be okay together, not friends exactly, but not enemies.

Besides, Philip needed a glimpse of humanity. He had long since stopped thinking of mortals as sentient beings, viewing them as little more than toys in his personal playground.

“You ask too much,” he said quietly, “more than you know.”

“I won’t enter your thoughts,” Wade said. “And if your ability works like Eleisha’s, you’ll be able to block me after the first second or two anyway.”

“Don’t speak to me until asked.” Philip wouldn’t even look at him. “You should have been dead five minutes ago.”

This was getting us nowhere. What was Philip so afraid of? I’d known him only three days—an intense three days. He didn’t strike me as the type to back away from something new. Last night I’d actually used my psychic ability as a weapon against Dominick. Until experimenting with Wade, a mental attack would never have occurred to me. This new gift could be useful. But for some reason, instinctive perhaps, I hadn’t told Philip the extent of my growing telepathy, or even mentioned it to him. Why?

“Do this one thing for me,” I repeated. “Please.”

“Afterward, when I kill him, you won’t hate me? Once we see Julian, you’ll forget all this and come to France?”

“Yes.”

How did Wade feel, hearing his life discussed as a bargaining chip? His face was unreadable.

Philip walked slowly to the couch and sat down, looking disgusted and uncomfortable. “What do I do?”

“Look at me,” Wade answered. “Imagine your eyes are fingers pushing inside my head, searching for pictures.”

They stopped speaking. With rapt interest, I watched Philip’s face. Could he do it?

Expecting both their expressions to go blank, I was stunned when Wade began crying. Philip, of course, had no tear ducts, but a sobbing choke escaped his mouth. Is this what Wade and I had done while lost down histories past? Did we feel each experience in our forgotten bodies?

Their faces both shifted into faint smiles. What were they seeing now? Perhaps I was wrong to observe this private exchange. Wade had unselfishly given up the core of his most hidden self simply because I asked him to.

Telling myself every few moments to get up and leave them alone, I stood there for over an hour, gauging every flicker, every twitch, wondering what memory had passed by.

A Japanese vase overflowing with freshly cut red and yellow flowers sat on the table behind them. Wade’s near-white hair contrasted sharply against the bright tones, and Philip’s blended perfectly. Bizarre pair, these two men. One ruled by unrealistic concepts of right and wrong, the other by incomprehensible physical drives. Maggie would have laughed at them.

Without warning, Wade grabbed Philip’s wrist and looked away.

“No more. It hurts.”

Instead of jerking his hand back, Philip sat with chattering teeth. I went over and crouched by his leg. “Do you see now? You won’t hurt him?”

“Such an existence,” he whispered. “Spending every day in the same building. Typing on computers . . . walking in the sunlight. I’d forgotten what the sun looks like.”

“That felt different than melding with Eleisha,” Wade said, still trying to get his breath. “I kept showing you darker emotions, uglier scenes.”

Philip carefully drew his wrist away. “A sad life. Alone, like us.” He gazed down at me. “But we have to run now. No more truce with Julian.”

I blinked, confused. “You said he’d let me go.”

“Not now,” Philip answered. “If he finds us now, we are all lost . . . and your pet.”

Too much. Too fast. I thought to solve Philip’s fear, his hatred. How could things be worse? “What are you saying?”

“A nightmare from the past, something long over. When I sought you out, wondered about the company of my own kind again, I had doubts. Would my gift affect you? Would you even want me? Could I hunt with someone else? But not this, never this.”

“Never what?”

He looked so sad, defeated. I hated it. Philip feared no one, not even Dominick. Why was he doing this?

“Can you see inside of me?” he said. “Read my thoughts?”

“I don’t know. Can’t you just tell me what’s wrong?”

He turned to Wade, almost politely. “I have to show Eleisha something private. Will you go into the bedroom for a while?”

Wade opened his mouth as if to argue and then closed it. Keeping secrets from him seemed pointless. He knew so much already. But his manner with Philip had changed drastically since an hour ago. Finally, he nodded. “Call out when you’re finished.”

“Yes.”

I remember noticing that Wade was wearing a thick canvas jacket—probably something he’d bought on his shopping excursion— and he hadn’t taken it off. Since the room was warm, I thought this odd, but events were moving so quickly, I never bothered asking about it.

The bedroom door clicked shut behind him.

Philip pulled me up to the couch, and I turned all my attention to him. Not waiting for words, I slipped inside his eyes, finding access almost too easy.