Special Investigations hadn’t been able to send Marc everything he’d asked for by the time he’d arranged to meet Dr. Richard Brand at the county morgue, but they’d come through with a substantial background. The info on Brand had been squeaky-clean—not even a speeding ticket to his name, or an indication of a payout from Bronner in his financials. For a man of sixty, that perfect record was a hell of an accomplishment, and enough to raise Marc’s suspicions a little more. Demons with fake identities often kept their backgrounds spotless.

At four o’clock in the morning, no one was around to question how Marc and Radha traveled from Riverbend to the county seat without a car. Silver-haired and robust with health, Brand met them at the morgue’s receiving doors. His mind was shielded.

For a moment, Marc considered blasting through those mental blocks to see if a demon lay beneath. He held out his hand instead.

Beside him, Radha tensed and stepped forward, leaving behind an image of the suited Special Agent Bhattacharyya. Demon or not, Brand wouldn’t see the crossbow she called in, her slick movement, or the bolt she held an inch from the man’s temple when his hand extended to Marc’s. Ready to fire, if Brand attacked.

He clasped Marc’s hand, shook. Warm skin, not hot like a demon’s, not cold like a vampire’s.

Human.

Damn it. Marc glanced at Radha, and with a sigh, she backed down and returned to the position that her illusory double stood in.

Through wire-rimmed lenses, Brand studied Marc’s face. “You’re not cold enough to be a vampire. What are you?”

If the man already knew about vampires, no harm in telling him the rest. Especially since Marc might have reason to work with him again in the future.

“A Guardian,” he said, and when Brand looked to Radha, she formed her wings and added, “Me, too.”

“Guardian,” Brand repeated softly, his gaze tracing the arch of her wings before she vanished them again. “My grandfather always said you were out there. I wasn’t sure whether to believe him.”

“Your grandfather?” Marc asked.

“Abram Bronner.” The man must have seen Marc’s surprise. “He didn’t tell you.”

Some of the lines on the man’s face weren’t just age, Marc realized, but grief and exhaustion. “He said you took a payout.”

“Ah, well.” Turning, Brand preceded them inside and down a short corridor, hard-soled shoes slapping against the concrete floor. “He probably said that to protect the family, so that no vampire could use us against him if they decided to challenge his leadership. We always protected him in return—a Brand tradition, with one of us always in position to help keep the community hidden. My granddaughter would have been next, to her dismay. After tales of Guardians, she was more interested in becoming one of you . . . and especially when she heard that one came to town a few months ago. That was you? My grandfather said you killed the demon.”

He’d slain a demon shortly afterward. He wasn’t convinced it was the demon who’d murdered Jason Ward.

“I was here for a bit,” Marc said. “I took a look into Jason’s coffin, made certain he had been a vampire.”

Brand shook his head. “I’ll admit, the one time I ever really became angry at Jess was when I found out she’d been telling the Ward girl that her brother had been transformed. Teasing her with it, I think, knowing the girl wouldn’t believe her.”

Jess . . . ? Marc put it together. “Jessica—she’s in high school and drives a Cherokee? She’s your granddaughter?”

“Miklia’s friend?” Radha’s surprise echoed his.

“That’s her,” Brand said. “And I was angry at first, but after Jason was killed, I kept the truth from the Wards. By then, though, Miklia knew what he was . . . there was no one else for her to go to but Jess. And Jess was shocked by it, too, needed some reassurance of her own.”

And now his granddaughter was more interested in becoming a Guardian. That explained the training, then, and the books they’d been reading at Perk’s Palace—and how Miklia had become friends with the girls she’d once called the Brainless Bitches. Jessica must have shared the truth with Ines and Lynn, too.

“Not that it matters now,” Brand continued. “They’ve both lost any connection to the community—Miklia to her brother, and Jess to . . .” The lines in the old man’s face deepened. “You saw the remains? You’re sure it was him?”

“We found his ring.”

At Marc’s mention of it, Radha called Bronner’s ring and his partner’s jewelry into her palm from her cache. She carefully wiped them free of ash before showing them to Brand.

With watery eyes, the man nodded. “That’s his. So let’s try to find out who did this.”

He led them into a small examination room. Concrete floors, a long metal table, instruments, and recorders. Paperwork covered a small desk. Brand must have already finished his examination. All that remained was the smell of blood, death, and disinfectant.

“Were you able to identify the woman?”

Brand nodded. “Marnie Weaver. She’s a local. My grandfather paid her to come in twice a week, and she has been for the past twenty years. Nice girl—woman now. I’ve known her since she was just a young one. She never asked questions, but I don’t know. Maybe she’d figured it all out.”

“Were you able to get a fix on the time of death?”

“Not the time you’re looking for. Sunrise this morning was at seven-oh-four. Considering how cold my grandfather always kept the house, I’d put it anywhere between six and eight.”

Damn it. That time couldn’t tell him definitively whether a vampire or human had been responsible. But he realized Brand had more to tell him.

The old man sank into a chair, heaved a sigh. “A neighbor saw her car pulling up to the house this morning, though. At seven thirty.”

After the sun had risen. Marc glanced at Radha, saw the dismay in her eyes. A human, then. Someone that he and Radha couldn’t physically catch or kill—someone they couldn’t even touch if the person didn’t want to be touched. Not without breaking the Rules. Exposing that person, however . . . that they could do. As soon as they knew who the hell it was.

Unfortunately, Marc thought he did know.

“I know what that means.” Brand looked from Marc to Radha. “It wasn’t a vampire hoping to take over the community. Tell me that you’ll catch this demon bastard.”

A demon couldn’t have done it, either. “If a demon killed this woman, he’s already be dead,” Marc said. Rosalia and Deacon would have slain him by now—but they’d also have let Marc know they’d been here. “Do you have any idea who else might have known about the vampire community?”

“Anyone else . . . you mean, people?”

“A human, yes.”

Brand sat speechless for a moment, shaking his head. “No. Everyone who knows, they’re related to the vampires by blood. They have just as much reason to protect any vampires here.”

“All right,” Marc said. If the man didn’t want to see, he wouldn’t—especially if that meant looking at his own blood. “You’ve helped me. Thank you.”

Brand nodded. “I hope you’re wrong about it not being a demon.”

Marc hoped he was, too.

Not now, though. That weary expression came over him again, the burdens of the world. They exited through the receiving door, into the dark, icy parking lot. Without a word, he formed his wings and launched up—but didn’t go far. He landed on the roof of the nearby courthouse, standing at the edge to look down at the empty street below. Radha landed next to him.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said.

He didn’t have to explain. She took his hand, loving the strong, warm clasp of his fingers. “Using a stake to kill a vampire is the mark of a demon trying to set a scene . . . or the act of someone who doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing. It’s difficult, inefficient.”

“They learned quickly, though. All the others, killed while they were sleeping, then dragged into the sun.” Jaw clenched, as if he still wanted to deny it, Marc shook his head. “Miklia was late to school yesterday morning. You remember Sam mentioning that?”

“Yes.”

“Late because they were killing vampires, killing a woman. And not a one of them walked out of the school looking like they killed anyone that morning, even accidentally. Did they?”

No. And that was disturbing. They’d shown no remorse, no guilt, or any other emotion. With the vampires, Radha could understand it, a little. She didn’t feel remorse or guilt for slaying demons. They were evil, pure and simple.

The girls must have believed the same thing about vampires—even though those vampires had been one of their brothers, their grandfathers.

Somewhere, they’d gotten the truth twisted around. Maybe a book they’d read, something they’d overheard, a movie or television show they’d seen. Maybe they’d heard of a vampire like the one who’d killed Radha, and that convinced them. Maybe when they discovered that the Guardians’ mission was to slay demons and to protect humans, they mixed it all up, thought vampires were the demons, or that the vampires were possessed. Something.

Whatever it was, they’d taken it too far.

She gently squeezed his hand. “We both know how belief can be warped, so that people think they’re doing something good—when in reality, they’re just destroying other good people.” Guardians and vampires were basically the same as they’d been before their transformations. Their personalities didn’t change; only their abilities did. “But to kill a woman, and not feel any remorse—that means they feel justified destroying anything standing in their way. And it’ll happen again.”

“I know,” Marc said. “And if it had just been the vampires—hell, it’s not right—but I’d have just set them straight about vampires, make them understand who they killed . . . and then make them live with what they’d done.”

“Maybe not punishment enough, but still punishment.” And if the other option was turning the girls over to the vampire community, and letting them dispense justice or punishment . . .

That wasn’t even an option. Maybe in some circumstances. Not this one.

“Yes,” he agreed. “But for what they did to Marnie Weaver, that’s not our decision to make.”

No, it wasn’t. That was for the human courts to decide, and he knew this territory and the law of the land better than she did. “What will you do?”

“Most likely, I won’t have to do anything. There will be evidence. Someone will have seen the Cherokee. The girls will have left a fingerprint. There’s no chance that four teenagers got in and out of there without leaving some kind of trace. So I’ll wait. I’ll head back to Riverbend and keep an eye on them, make certain they don’t slay any more vampires. And if it seems like the sheriff isn’t getting anywhere in the investigation, I’ll point him that way. Maybe send him those text transcripts when SI puts them together.”

“That’s probably the best way.” Radha rose up onto her toes, softly kissed his mouth. “This is one of the harder ones. It’s not just the vampires, not just a woman—those four kids threw their lives away, too.”

He nodded, focusing on her lips. Maybe thinking of the kiss she’d just given him so easily. “You have to go back?”

“Not right away. Rosalia and Mariko are covering the news for me. Nothing has popped up yet.”

And that was the most efficient way of hunting most demons. They stumbled across some demons, so regular patrols around a territory were necessary, but almost all of the other demons Radha found came from a mention of something odd in the papers, a detail that didn’t make sense, or a half-heard rumor flying around a city. It was all a lot easier now with computers, and with Special Investigations digging up leads from all around the world. Still, Radha had recently spent two months in London on another mission—and though other Guardians had covered her territory, she wasn’t ready to leave it again for more than a day or two at a time. Anything else felt like ignoring her responsibilities.

So, maybe another day here . . . and then he could come to her in another day or two, when everything in Riverbend had been settled.

She looked up at him. “We’ll work this out, won’t we?”

His eyes sparked with green light. His kiss was hot and thorough. The perfect answer.

Until his phone rang. Marc groaned, held her for another long, scorching second before pulling away. Radha grinned, appreciating his reluctance to break away almost as much as the kiss.

“Hopefully SI with those transcripts,” he muttered, glancing at the screen. He frowned. “Local.”

“Someone you gave a card to?”

Humans, vampires. How many people had he talked with? But if someone called at five in the morning, it was most likely a vampire.

“Probably.” He brought the phone to his ear. “Revoire.”

Radha had no trouble hearing the other end of a telephone conversation from this distance, but to begin, there was only a brief silence. Then a young female voice: “Agent Revoire?”

“Speaking. May I help you?”

“My friend Sam said you talked to him yesterday. About Jason.”

Marc’s brow furrowed. “Miklia?”

“Yes,” she said, before continuing with obvious uncertainty. “I wondered . . . if I could talk to you. About . . . a few things. If you could talk to me and my friends.”

His face stilled, a quietly dangerous expression hardening his eyes. “About what you did yesterday morning?”

Another silence was followed by a long, indrawn breath. “Kind of. No. My friend said . . . said you might be a Guardian.”

Had Brand already told Jessica, and she’d passed it on? Maybe.

She saw the same question in Marc’s eyes, but his voice didn’t betray it to Miklia. “I’ll talk to you. What do you want to know?”

“Not on the phone. Not where someone might overhear.”

“Where would you be comfortable? The library?”

“No. It’s . . . it’s closed.”

Radha met Marc’s gaze. The girl broke into a vampire’s house, but worried about a closed library?

“The football field,” Miklia said. “No one’s here right now. And it’s open.”

Wide open, a public space, free of witnesses—and apparently, the girls were already there. Radha’s instincts were telling her that something was off.

“When?” Marc asked.

“Can you be here in ten minutes?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll be here. Thank you.” The girl rang off.

Radha shook her head. “You’re in their way. And you can’t touch them, defend yourself. Not without breaking the Rules.”

Marc grinned. “And they’ll stake me?”

All right. Put that way, her worry was ridiculous. He wouldn’t let them get close enough to stake him—and humans simply couldn’t match a Guardian’s speed. He could run across that football field faster than any of those girls could blink.

His grin faded. “This might be the only chance to set them straight. If not for that, I wouldn’t bother. I’d just wait for the sheriff to catch up to them. But once he does, no one will tell them the truth about vampires and Guardians. It will all be cast aside as nonsense.”

True. “I’m going with you.”

“Of course you are—though I’d prefer they don’t see you. If they brought a gun instead of a stake, and they get lucky enough to knock me out with a head shot, I’d like someone to pull me out of there.”

Because a bullet anywhere else would hurt like hell, might slow him down, but it wouldn’t kill a Guardian. A bullet to the brain wouldn’t kill him, either—but lying unconscious on a football field probably wasn’t how Marc wanted to start the day.

“So I watch over you?” She liked that.

“If you have to. But I think it’s more likely that we’ll just need a few of your illusions to back me up.”

Either to drive a point home to the girls or to scare them straight. Radha grinned. “That sounds fun.”

“I hoped you’d say that.” His own smile faded quickly. He tilted his head back, closed his eyes. “A demon could have impersonated her voice.”

“And that’s what you’re still hoping for?” Radha had to admit that she was, too. “That he’s trying to lure you there?”

“Yes. Or that maybe of all the girls, just one of them is. But if one of them is a demon, he shouldn’t have chosen to face me on a football field. He should have chosen the protection of the library, of concrete and stone.”

Because of his Gift. And when he turned his face toward her again, Radha almost didn’t recognize the change that came over him. That quiet, dangerous look—but intensified. Marc, the Guardian warrior. Hardened with experience, determined to win.

So damn sexy. And, thank the heavens—no longer celibate.

She’d make sure he was even less celibate when they were done with the demon and she got her hands all over him again. Forming her wings, Radha leaped off the building’s edge.

“Let’s hurry, then.”

“All human,” he said softly. “And no one else is here.”

Damn.

But, human or not, Radha wasn’t messing around, either, and she wasn’t taking any chances. Marc could speak to these girls, he could do this his way . . . but he wouldn’t be where they thought he was. Even Marc might not realize that she’d concealed his body and created a perfect double of him, an illusion that immediately mirrored his voice and movements—except that it landed five feet closer to them than he truly did.

Radha settled gently onto the ankle-deep layer of crunchy snow covering the field. This illusion required her to watch Marc continually, so that she could perfectly mimic his actual movements. By standing off to the side and even with Marc’s double, she had a wide enough view to see both him and the girls, standing shoulder to shoulder at the midfield line.

Or what would have been the midfield line in real football, Radha supposed. She didn’t know what they called it in American football.

The little blonde closest to her was Miklia, she remembered. The slim, dark-haired girl had been driving the Jeep—so she was Jessica, the coroner’s granddaughter. The two other girls were Lynn and Ines, but Radha wasn’t certain which one was the tall, dark blond teenager and which one was the redhead with the faint orange tan.

None of them carried weapons, unless they’d managed to stuff some beneath their puffy coats or under their knitted caps. They definitely didn’t have any room to hide something in their tight jeans.

Marc didn’t vanish his wings. With mouths half open, the girls stared at them—or at the double’s wings, in reality. That’s right, Radha thought. Be impressed, you little murderers. She added a subtle glow to the white feathers and his skin, then let a hint of a complex, spicy scent drift toward them. Different, exotic.

And that was laying it on thick, but these girls needed to understand right away that they had no real understanding of anything a Guardian was or did. And that when Marc told them, they needed to listen.

He waited, giving them the opening. If they dared to take it. Tall and strong, arms crossed over his broad chest and legs braced apart, he clearly intimidated them.

And he was clearly so hot.

Swallowing hard, Miklia reached for Jessica’s hand, seeking support. Kind of sweet. Too bad they were deluded murderers. “You’re a Guardian?”

“Yes.”

“And you know . . . you know what we’ve been doing?”

“Yes.” Marc’s expression turned dark and forbidding. “I know you killed your brother. Why?”

Miklia’s face fell. Disappointment and dismay leaked through her psychic shields. “You don’t think we should have?”

“Guardians only slay demons. Not vampires, not unless they deserve it. Did your brother hurt anyone?”

Her jaw set; her lips formed a stubborn line. “He wasn’t my brother anymore.”

“Yes, he was. The body changes, but the soul doesn’t.” His gaze moved to meet Jessica’s. “Abram Bronner, too. The same man. The same good man.”

Jessica’s chin lifted. “Can you prove it to us?”

“Yes.”

She blinked. They all looked startled for a moment. Then Jessica collected herself, glanced at the redhead next to her. “Ines, you and Lynn need to be watching on each side of the field now, making sure no one is coming.”

Ines looked at Marc again, her gaze lifting to the apex of his wings. “But—”

“We talked about this, Nessie,” Jessica snapped, cutting off her protest. Clearly the leader. “You got to see him up close. Now you have a responsibility to uphold—or will you fail us and leave us all exposed, like you almost did when you left your book open for everyone to see?”

Oh, guilt trip, because someone might have seen a book open. This was a hard-core little group.

Ines’s lower lip trembled. “No one did.”

No one except for Gregory Jackson. But Radha noticed that Marc didn’t point that out—probably to protect the kid. These girls would probably go after him if they knew he’d seen a few titles and drawings.

“Only because someone is looking out for us,” Jessica claimed. “The book said a door would open, and it did, didn’t it? We’re on the right path, but only if you take the needed steps—and right now, those steps are not standing here. So, go. And you, Lynn. Now.”

No more arguments. The girls took off in opposite directions, heading for the stands. So they had worked it out in advance—probably using the highest bleachers on each side as a lookout point.

Jessica looked to Marc again. “So where’s your so-called proof?”

“You have it,” he said. “It’s your memory of everything they’ve ever done. Has any of it been evil? Name one thing.”

They apparently couldn’t. Angrily, they simply stared back at him.

“What have they done? Tell me why they deserved to die. Just one thing.”

“They hide their evil.” Miklia found her answer and immediately warmed up to it. Fists clenched, she tossed out, “They lie!”

“They lie,” Jessica echoed. “Just as demons do. Isn’t that true?”

“Vampires aren’t demons.”

“And demons sow doubts. Don’t they?”

Oh, Radha saw where this was going. Marc wanted them to doubt their actions. Therefore, he was obviously a demon. Marc must have seen the direction they were taking, too. With a sigh, he shook his head.

“And they can take any form! Isn’t that right? But you can’t hurt us. So we’re not afraid of you!”

“I’m almost sorry for that,” Marc said, and he glanced at Radha. Debating whether to try something else, she knew, or just leave.

Leaving seemed like the most sensible option. These girls weren’t going to be talked or scared into anything—and certainly not into accepting any truth but the one they already believed. Nothing she or Marc did would change that.

The sensible option wasn’t any fun, but that was sometimes the life of a Guardian.

Jessica crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you really have anything to tell us?”

Was there anything they’d listen to? As if tired, Marc rubbed the back of his neck. Yes, completely done with this whole scene. Radha was, too.

“Just try not to hurt anyone,” he said. “That includes vampires. That’s all I can tell you.”

“That’s all?” As if stricken, Miklia fell to her knees. “Then you can’t be a Guardian. A Guardian would have supported us, no matter what.”

So much for the power of glowing wings and a mysterious spicy scent. She met Marc’s eyes, gestured upward, and concealed her voice from the girls. “Ready to go?”

He nodded, but a movement in the bleachers across the field tore Radha’s gaze away from him. Not long enough to affect the illusion she’d created, but—

What is that redheaded girl doing with a crossbow? Ripping pain slammed through Radha’s wing and shoulder from behind. She cried out, stumbling forward from the impact.

“Radha!” Almost instantly, Marc crossed the distance between them and swept her up before she fell. He knelt, cradling her against him, his big body shielding hers. Face white, his gaze dropped to her shoulder. “God damn them. Are you all right?”

Through gritted teeth, she forced out, “Fine.”

A bloodied arrowhead and shaft jutted through the front of her right shoulder. It hurt—a lot—but that was what happened when a Guardian was stupid enough not to keep her eye on a deluded human: she got a surprise crossbow bolt.

It didn’t matter. She’d had worse. Still, it would hurt more before it got better. “Tear it out,” she told him.

Jaw clenching, he nodded, broke off the jutting arrowhead. Behind Marc, Jessica and Miklia stared at them, mouths hanging open. Her illusions had shattered, Radha realized. Another unfortunate consequence of a surprise crossbow bolt through the shoulder.

Jessica came out of her shocked stupor. “There’s two!” she shouted. She fell to her knees beside Miklia.

“Bl . . . blue.” Miklia was staring at Radha, stuttering from astonishment. “And wings.”

“Shut up! And hurry!” Jessica shouted at her, ripping off her gloves and digging through the snow. “Ines! Come on, shoot!”

“It’ll hurt.” Marc reached for the feathered shaft still sticking out the back of her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

So was she. But it was the fastest way—she’d begin healing as soon as it came out. “Do it quickly.”

He yanked. Radha screamed.

The ground shivered. Eyes glowing, the power of his Gift slipping through his shields, Marc looked over Radha’s head to the bleachers behind her. Lynn was still back there, Radha realized—the girl had shot the crossbow at her. Aiming for the illusion of Marc, but an invisible Radha had been in the way.

Aiming for Marc. And Ines was still in the other bleachers—

A wet, horrifying thunk. Marc jolted forward. His arms went limp. Radha tumbled from his grip, onto the snow. A crossbow bolt was embedded in his upper back. He hadn’t been struck through the brain, but through the spine.

Almost as bad. He couldn’t walk. She couldn’t fly.

“Grab them, Miklia!” Jessica shouted—and dragged a sword up from beneath the snow. “If you hold on to them, the Rules say they can’t get away!”

They couldn’t. And these girls knew exactly how to slay them. They’d planned it perfectly. Her own sword in hand, Miklia scrambled toward them, her determined gaze narrowed on the back of Marc’s neck. No wooden stakes now, because to kill a demon—or a Guardian—they needed to cut through the heart or chop off the head.

Marc’s power shook the ground. Unable to move, but still able to use his Gift. Yet if he hurt these girls with it—even inadvertently, while taking Radha and himself away from here—he’d break the Rules. He’d break them protecting her.

“No need,” Radha whispered to him.

Rising to her knees, she circled his shoulders with her uninjured arm, easily supporting his deadweight. Miklia and Jessica were almost on them. Not fast enough. Radha could form a hundred illusions before they took another step.

She usually didn’t like to remember past hurts, but Marc had a bolt sticking out of his back—and her illusions were always best when based on something real.

Radha and Marc burst apart in an explosion of putrid gases, maggots spilling out of rotting flesh. With a shriek, Miklia skidded to a halt, began gagging. Jessica didn’t waver.

Too quickly to avoid, a blade sliced through the air, through Jessica’s wrist. Blood spurted, melting the snow. Eyes widening in terror, she stared at the exposed flesh and bone. Then disbelief vanished, and she began to scream.

Her sword dropped from her real—and still attached—hand.

In the bleachers, Ines was reloading her crossbow, but Radha had a brand-new wound to share. Surprise crossbow bolt through the shoulder. The girl cried out, dropping her weapon. A moment later, Lynn did the same.

For thirty seconds, she let them scream and cry—and wanted to cry herself when she tore the bolt from Marc’s back. She gathered him close, then vanished the illusions.

Always fun, except for when it was horrifying.

“Go,” she told them. “Run now, straight to the sheriff, and confess what you’ve done. If you don’t, I’ll hunt you down, and I’ll give you nightmares that a demon couldn’t dream of.”

They only stared at her, sobbing. Enough. She rose up, thirty feet tall, eyes blazing down on them with the fires of Hell. Lightning streaked the sky behind the whirlwind of her hair. The ground shook beneath her steps.

Her voice thundered. “GO!”

They ran.