Moonlight fanned across the darkness, lifting the shadows and touching the face of the second creature as it lumbered back into the room. For an instant, it almost looked pretty. Nikki backed away. What on earth were these things?

It snarled, and any illusion of prettiness shattered. The creature took one ponderous step forward, then stopped. Nikki readied another kinetic lance. The glimmer of pain in her head became an ache. She was going to have a hell of a headache tomorrow—if she survived tonight. Blood ran past her clenched fingers and dripped to the floor near her feet. She had no choice but to ignore it. One move, no matter how small, and the creature would attack. Why wasn't it attacking now? It simply stood in the doorway, shaking its head and snarling softly. It was almost as if the creature was fighting a leash of some kind.

She had absolutely no desire to find out just who, or what, held the end of that invisible leash. The creature snarled again, an angry, sullen sound. Then turned and leaped out the nearest window. The retreat sent a chill up her spine. She waited tensely for something else to happen. The breeze stirred the dust from the corner shadows, and the heavy silence returned. After several heartbeats, she sank down against the wall and drew her knees close. For a minute she simply sat there, breathing deeply and letting the silence run over her. Why had the creature retreated? The desire, maybe even the need, to shed blood had been all too evident in its eyes. But it had left.

Because it had been ordered to.

Moonlight played across the glass that lay scattered all around her. Glass that was stained with bright splashes of red. She wasn't sure if the blood belonged to the creatures or to her, and knew in the end it wouldn't really matter. He would come for the blood. He would smell it and come for her. Who he was, she didn't really know. Or care. She had to get out of this crazy house, had to escape, while she still could...

The thought stalled. What about Monica? Did she really want to leave the teenager to face fate alone?

Yes.

No.

She took another deep breath and pushed upright. At sixteen, Monica had barely begun to live. She had so much yet to learn, so much more of the world to see.

Ten years before, Nikki had left another teenager to his fate. He'd been a hell of a lot more capable of taking care of himself than Monica ever would be, and still he had died. This time around, she was not letting fate get the upper hand.

She eased off her jacket and studied the wound on her forearm. While the three gashes bled profusely, the creature's talons obviously hadn't severed anything vital. She could still move her fingers, even if it did hurt like hell. Digging a handkerchief out of her pocket, she wrapped it around the wound. Hopefully it would stem the flow of blood long enough to find Monica and get out of this house. Putting her jacket back on, she walked across to retrieve her flashlight, only to discover it no longer worked. She gave it a quick shake and heard a slight tinkle coming from the globe area. It must have smashed when she'd dropped it.

"That's just great,” she muttered, thrusting it back in her pocket. Now she'd have to cross the threshold of utter darkness with only instinct to guide her.

Instinct that had proven somewhat unreliable in the past.

The hallway was quiet. Her gaze was drawn to the darkness at the far end of the hall. Monica had to be down there somewhere. But so was the presence that tasted so evil. She took a deep, calming breath, then walked back to the T-intersection. A tingle of awareness ran across the back of her neck as she neared the stairs. She hesitated, studied the shadows that hid the staircase. The stranger had entered the house. Michael Kelly, Nikki thought. His name is Michael Kelly. Nikki rubbed the back of her neck. Why could she read this stranger's mind? And why had he entered the house? Was he here to help her, or did he have something more sinister in mind?

No answers came from the darkness, and the spark of awareness flickered and died. Nikki frowned but continued on. The rapid beat of her heart seemed abnormally loud in the strange silence. Her senses warned of another door, even though she couldn't see it. She ran her fingers along the wall and touched a door frame, then the cold metal of a doorknob. Stopping, she listened to the silence. Evil was near, maybe even in the room beyond this door. She clenched the doorknob so tightly her knuckles practically glowed, and wondered why in hell she was doing this. The answer was easy enough to find. Monica reminded her of Tommy, the teenager she'd left to die so long ago. To appease his ghost, to appease the guilt in her heart, she'd follow Monica through the flames of hell if that's what it took to save her soul—simply because she'd been unable to save Tommy's. Swallowing, she opened the door. Laughter greeted her, laughter that was young and sweet, and yet somehow cold.

Monica.

The teenager stepped out of the shadows, her smile easy to see despite the shadows that hid her face.

"If you wish to talk to me,” she said, her voice melodious, yet holding a touch of menace. “First you must follow me."

She turned and walked into another room. Instinct told Nikki not to follow—told her to run as far and as fast as she could. Told her Monica wasn't worth dying for.

Told her if she ran, Monica would die in her place. That was a weight she just couldn't bear. Taking a deep breath, Nikki followed the teenager.

Straight into the arms of the devil himself.

Chapter Two

The creature moved too fast to avoid. Michael slammed a fist deep into its gut, but the blow failed to halt its charge. The two of them went down in a fighting tangle of arms and legs. Michael swore viciously. Every second he wasted with these creatures left Nikki James another second closer to death. The little fool had entered the room. His enemy's hunger was palpable, a beast that filled the darkness.

Anger surged through him; a deep, dark fury he desperately tried to control. He needed a clear head, not a mind ruled by blood rage. The creature wrapped its hands around his neck and squeezed hard. Michael laughed harshly; the stupidity of these things was beyond belief. He reached up and wrenched loose its fingers. Holding them away from his neck, he gave a quick thrust with his knees, throwing the creature back over his head. It smashed through the front doorway and disappeared down the steps. He scrambled to his feet, then swung, sensing the approach of a second creature. Instead of charging, the beast slithered to a halt—in that instant he saw the silver blade the creature held. He backed away. The beast followed him, the blade an argent flame promising death. Foreboding ran through him. He had no time for this. The web of darkness was closing in around Nikki. He should have stopped her in the park, should have seized control of her mind and ordered her away from the child and this house.

But she was different from most others. While he could read her surface thoughts easily enough, he doubted he'd be able to reach far enough into her mind to achieve any sort of real control. Her gifts were too strong—for him, and more than likely, for Jasper. But after death, it was a whole new ball game. Jasper had the ability to call his victims from the grave. Death wouldn't kill her abilities. Not while there was flesh on her bones, at any rate.

The creature lunged at him. Michael dodged the thrust of the knife then grabbed the creature's wrist. Squeezing tight, he forced the blade from its grip, then thrust an elbow into its face, shattering its nose. It howled, a high keening sound of distress. Michael cursed softly. The creature was an abomination, but who was the greater horror? The dead or the man who forced them from their graves?

He might not be able to kill Jasper right now, but he could give this creature final peace. Gripping its head, he snapped it hard sideways, breaking its neck. It fell to a lifeless heap at his feet. One down, five to go, if he included Jasper and the teenager.

Michael kicked the blade away with his foot then retrieved the can of gas. Undoing the lid, he sloshed the contents round the floor and up the walls. Anywhere and everywhere. It didn't matter, as long as it burned.

Throwing the empty can into a corner, he dug a box of matches out of his pocket. The old house was tinder dry. With the gas he'd splashed around, it would ignite like wildfire. But there was no one in the house except the four of them. Jasper wouldn't burn—he'd run the minute he smelled the flames. If Monica was too stupid to follow, then that was just too bad. Nikki was the one he had to get out. She'd be too dangerous a weapon in Jasper's hands.

Michael lit the match and flicked it in the direction of the can. Then he turned and ran for the stairs.

* * * *

The door slammed shut behind her. Nikki spun but knew there was no escape. Childish laughter echoed through the silence, mocking her.

Monica, in league with the devil himself.

"You have done well, my pet."

The soft voice was powerful. Hypnotic. It filled the room with its warmth, and yet her skin crawled in terror of its touch. Instinct warned her not to move, told the slightest show of fear would quickly bring death. But the beat of her heart was a drum that filled the silence. He had to know—had to feel—her fear.

The air stirred. She stepped back quickly. The presence laughed, a low sound of amusement. Nikki clenched her fists. Energy tingled across her fingertips, but she didn't release it, instead retreating another step. Her back hit the wall, but she felt no better for its protection. If she could get to the door...

"There is no escape for you now.” The stranger's tone was oddly gentle, yet filled with the certainty of death.

Nikki edged sideways, one hand outstretched, searching desperately for the doorknob. It had to be close; she hadn't walked that far into the room, for Christ's sake.

"Look at me,” The voice changed, became deeper, more alluring. “Look at me..." Blue fire flared in the darkness. Nikki stared, mesmerized, as the flame grew brighter, transforming itself into a pair of sapphire eyes.

So beautiful.

So very deadly.

Nikki swallowed and tore her gaze away. Her fingers touched the doorknob, clenched convulsively around it.

"No,” he whispered. “Stay with me."

His words wrapped around her, seductive and compelling. Blue fire pinned her. She couldn't tear herself free of the commanding beauty of his gaze.

"Be mine."

Memories rose unbidden, and Nikki saw another time, another man, uttering the same words.

"No,” she said and flung out her arm, releasing the pent-up kinetic energy. The sapphire gaze disappeared, then something heavy hit the far wall.

Anger hissed across the darkness. Nikki slammed the door open and ran for the hall. Smoke swirled through the darkness, a stench that caught in her throat, making her cough. Christ, there's a fire somewhere . But she couldn't stop. Not with evil so close to her heels. She reached the door leading out into the hall and flung it open.

Only to be greeted by hell. Wallpaper dripped fiery tears to the floor, and the stairs were lost to an inferno of red heat. Smoke curled around her, stinging her eyes and making it difficult to breathe. She coughed, and dashed the tears away from her eyes. What was she going to do now?

Wood creaked behind her.

Run, she thought, and leaped into the hall, slamming the door shut behind her. The heat was fierce, scorching her clothes and searing her skin. Heart pounding with fear, Nikki spun, not sure where to go. The smoke did a mad dance around her, making it difficult to get her bearings. If she couldn't use the stairs, she'd have to run down the hall ... but which way was safest?

"This way,” a voice said behind her.

Nikki jumped then turned. A figure emerged from the swirling darkness. Something deep within quivered in recognition. This was Michael Kelly, the man she'd sensed earlier. "Trust me,” he said and held out his hand.

She hesitated, despite the danger of doing so. The dancing brightness of the flames revealed the finely chiseled planes of his cheeks, and a nose that hinted of exotic blood. It was a handsome face. A haunted face. One she could trust—at least for now.

She placed her hand in his. His fingers closed around hers, wrapping them in a heat that was fiercer than any flame.

He led her quickly through the fire and into another room. She kicked the door shut, then saw the only exit was the large window to her left. They'd have to jump.

Shit. Nikki thrust kinetically at the window. The glass burst outwards, glittering like a thousand bright stars as it fell earthward.

Wind rushed into the void, slapping her face like a bucket of cold water. She blinked, and looked at the ground far below. It was a long, long way down...

As if sensing her sudden reluctance, Michael grabbed her, swinging her into his arms.

"No!” she screamed, then shut her eyes as he ran toward the window. He leaped out into the night. The wind whipped around them, and, just for an instant, it felt as if they were flying. The illusion shattered when they hit the ground. The impact wrenched her from Michael's hold and pitched her roughly forward. She rolled down a slight incline and through several plants before coming to an abrupt halt against a fence, rear half buried in the garden bed and legs pointing skyward. For several seconds she just lay there, too stunned to move, just thankful to be alive. She'd bitten her tongue sometime during the fall and could taste blood in her mouth, but other than that, everything seemed in working order.

At least she was free from the house, and the immediate threat of evil. But the man with the hypnotic sapphire eyes was still near—she could feel his presence, hunting her. She'd better get away from this area—fast.

She slowly lowered her legs from the fence. Pain shot along her back, and she groaned softly. No doubt she'd have a colorful array of bruises to parade tomorrow.

"Take my hand."

Every nerve in her aching body jumped. Her heart in her mouth, she glanced up. Michael's form flowed out of the night and found substance. Just like a ghost, Nikki thought with a shiver. Her gaze swept from the blackness of his clothing to his face. Instinct might be telling her to trust this man, but there was something in his eyes that made her wary.