“Fine.” Dahlmar’s voice was cutting, making it clear that he didn’t like being on the sidelines and hinting that there would be nasty repercussions if things went south.

Ivan still didn’t say a word. He just looked at me, and I knew if this went badly, if anything happened to his king, he would make sure he lived long enough to kill me himself, as slowly and painfully as possible.

Peachy. Just . . . peachy.

Bubba came out of the store, laden with groceries. He loaded them into the truck bed, then strolled over to join us.

I turned to introduce him to everyone. “Bubba, you know John. This is—”

“Robert.” Ivan extended his hand. Okay, secrecy was fine from the bad guys, but for God’s sake . . . Bubba might look like a hick. He sometimes acts like a redneck. But he is well-read and he’s nobody’s fool. He knew from the international newspapers who King Dahlmar was. But Bubba shook Ivan’s hand without a word. “And this”—I gestured toward Dahlmar—“is—”

“Michael.” Dahlmar extended his hand out the open window. “But you may call me Mike.”

Bubba smiled and made nice. When the formalities were finished, he turned to me.

“What’s the plan?”

“I’ve got to get some holy water, to refill the gun I just used, and some liquid food. After that we go to the marina, get on your boat, and go to the island.”

“Are we expecting trouble while we’re on land?”

“I hope not. But it’s a possibility.”

“Fair ’nuff.” He nodded. “Let’s do it.”

I gave him a sunny smile. He’d earned it. Because while everybody else was being macho, arguing with me, and being general all-round pains in my ass, Bubba just trusted me to know what I was doing. How refreshing.

“Who’s with me?” Bubba asked.

“Robert and I will ride with you in the truck,” Dahlmar said. “No insult to you, Mr. Creede, but your vehicle is not meant for three.” He climbed out of the car and stretched. I heard a couple of the joints in his back pop.

“Fine. Bubba, give Creede directions while I go do my shopping. I won’t be long.” I walked toward the store entrance, half-listening to Bubba telling Creede where they would be heading next. I saw movement from the corner of my eye just as I reached the door and my heart skipped a beat. It was a bat, swooping under the light—but it was just the furry mammal sort, not the evil, undead sort.

I stepped inside the brightly lit store, trying to get my emotions and my blood pressure under control. I didn’t want to think about Bruno, but being here brought back the memory of that horrible night, of Matty hurt and bitten and Bruno holding his broken body. It had worked out all right in the end, but it had been touch-and-go. The events of that night were part of what had drawn Bruno and me back together.

I shook my head. I needed to stop thinking about him. If I kept this up, my emotions would get the best of me and I wouldn’t be able to think clearly enough to do the job.

Have you ever tried to not think of something? The problem, is if you’re thinking about not thinking about something, it’s already on your mind.

It didn’t take me long to go through the aisles and get what I needed. I was trying to decide which baby food I was least sick of when one of the clerks came up to me.

“Hi.”

I looked up at the same kid who’d waited on me right after I was attacked—who was, not so coincidentally, the selfsame kid we’d later saved from Lilith and her companion.

“Hey.” I smiled at him. “I’m a little surprised you’re still willing to work nights.”

He grimaced. He was a bright kid, smart enough to know just how close a call he’d had. It didn’t make much sense for him to be here. “My dad lost his job. Right now I’m the only one bringing money into the house.”

Ouch. Didn’t that just suck. But it explained him being willing to take the risk. Still, I noticed he was wearing a very conspicuous cross around his neck.

“Well, be careful, okay?”

“Oh, I’m being careful all right. And the store’s doing their part, too. The manager’s arranged for the wards to get recharged every week now.”

“Good.”

He shuffled his feet. I didn’t blame him for feeling awkward. I did, too. “Look, I didn’t get the chance to thank you.”

“It’s okay, really.”

“I mean, I know your friend got hurt real bad and all. And I’m really grateful, so, thanks.” He smiled again. It was a nice smile. He was a good kid. Seeing him here, alive and well, made me feel good, like I’d done at least one thing right.

He changed the subject. “So, baby food and liquid protein shakes. Doesn’t look particularly appetizing.”

“It’s not,” I admitted, “but it’s what I’m stuck with, at least for now.” I pushed the cart up to the cash register with him at my side. He introduced me to the girl behind the counter as the woman who had rescued him. He made me sound really impressive. It improved my mood when I’d thought nothing could. In fact, I was actually feeling pretty good as I paid my bill and took my bags. The good feeling lasted right up until the automatic doors whooshed open.

The parking lot looked empty.

It wasn’t.

I could smell them. There were three of them. One wore cheap aftershave and I tried to remember who I knew who favored that scent. It mingled with the smells of gun oil, fresh shoe polish, and stale beer. There were other smells, too, but those were the most prevalent . . . until a man stumbled out of the shadows, covered in blood.

My pulse pounded. My vision shifted into hyperfocus; I could see every pore of his skin, that there were no actual injuries under the shredded T-shirt, that the mouthwatering blood he wore was not his. It was the blond cop from court . . . Officer Clarke. I felt a growl escape from between my lips. He would be easy prey. He believed he had the upper hand here and his fear when he realized he didn’t would make his blood taste all that much sweeter.

I looked around for Creede and the others. No surprise Bubba’s truck was gone, but where had Creede got to?

I forced myself to turn back into the store, shouting at the girl at the nearest cash register, “There’s an injured man in the parking lot. You need to go help him.” The clerk I knew started to run past me, but I grabbed him by the arm. I whispered urgently in his ear, “It’s a setup. Someone’s trying to frame me for this. I need to get out of here. Back door?”

His eyes widened, then narrowed in anger. He pointed toward the swinging doors at the back of the store, then dashed out the front after his coworker. I didn’t waste any time, racing toward the back, plastic bags of groceries banging against my leg as I ran. Yeah, I should have dropped them, but what good is surviving if I’m still hungry when I get to safety? That really would endanger the client.

I have to admit I was proud of myself for thinking of that while running for my life.

I burst out of the back door onto the loading dock, moving at vampire speed. All of my senses were ramped up—which was a good thing, because they’d thought to put reinforcements on the back exit. Gerry, nice guy Gerry, who now apparently thought I should be put down like a dog, shouted something to the other two as he reached under his jacket for his gun. I didn’t dare hit him—they wanted me to fight, wanted the excuse to execute me. I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. But the monster within me was very close to the surface now that I’d smelled fresh blood. So I gave Gerry a gentle shove, intending to throw him off balance, keep him from clearing his weapon. But adrenaline and vampire strength gave more oomph to the move than I intended. He went flying, body slamming against the building with a sickening thud and a crunch that I hoped wasn’t his spine breaking.

I didn’t slow, just kept running, leaping right off the edge of the dock between two trucks. There were gunshots and I felt a sharp stinging in my legs. But it didn’t hurt enough to be a gunshot wound, so I kept going. I spun, making a sharp right, putting a parked car between me and the shooter. Seconds later I heard more shots and the explosion of car glass shattering.

A hard left took me up a driveway and into the welcome embrace of the shadowed alley between a pair of boxy warehouse-style buildings. I passed a vampire feeding on some hapless drunk. I only caught a glimpse of his shocked expression before I was out the other end of the alley, pelting down Ocean View.

I glanced backward as a squeal of tires and the roar of a high-performance engine raced past me in a blur of red and the scent of gasoline. A familiar Ferrari pulled to the curb just ahead of me, the passenger door swinging open before it was even stopped. I caught a whiff of Creede’s distinctive cologne and felt his magic rake over my skin. I hurled myself into the car, slamming the door shut. As we peeled away from the curb, I caught sight of four armed men converging on the spot where I’d just been.

13

I didn’t get a good look at the boat as we went on board, what with trying to keep the scent of my own blood from making me leap on Creede and suck on that amazing-smelling neck. I’d taken a previous fishing trip with Bubba and knew that Mona’s Rival was a really nice boat. Bubba was telling King Dahlmar all about her.

“She’s a 1986 Chris-Craft Catalina, but I put in a custom hardtop and upgraded the motor and dinghy. My wife decorated the mess and the stateroom.”

I was lying on my stomach, facedown on the pillows in said stateroom, trying not to scream or break something as Creede used a sterilized knife and tweezers to pull fragments of baby food jar and shake-can shrapnel from my calf. That’s what the pain had been. A shotgun blast had shattered the jars and exploded the cans, which had sliced right through my jeans and embedded in my leg.

He had to reopen the wounds over and over again to dig out the bits because my skin kept healing over. I was watching television and trying to pretend that he didn’t have his hands all over my bare legs. Because it felt really, incredibly good. Until it hurt, that is. But then it went back to feeling good.