I checked our exact coordinates. “We’re just a few degrees off of the location Mom and I found before.” I pulled out my county map to determine our location in reference to roads. “And we’re about twenty miles from the nearest house. This could be a hunting shack. Some guys around here lease a plot in the middle of a farm or old homesteads so they can hunt in peace.”

He gestured to the windowless little cube, which lacked the charming little touches hunters used to mark their territory. License plates from long-defunct trucks, wind chimes made of beer tabs, deer skulls sporting sunglasses and trucker hats. “Does that look like a hunting shack to you?”

“No. You don’t have to wait for a warrant or anything, do you?” I asked as we circled to the nondescript metal door. “Just in case we find something?”

He snorted, dropping to his knee to examine the door. It was fitted with a standard Master Lock, which Cal ripped off like it was some cheap papier-mâché decoration. “Ophelia’s more of a ‘solve the problem by any means necessary, and we’ll worry about paperwork later’ sort of administrator. You watch too much Law and Order.”

I grasped the door handle, and Cal grabbed my wrist.

“It could be rigged.”

“What sort of moron would rig a booby trap on the inside of the building where he couldn’t reach it when he needed to open the only door?”

“Good point,” he admitted.

“You watch too much Burn Notice,” I told him primly as I pulled the door open. Since we did not, in fact, blow up, I stepped inside to find drying racks, planting tables stocked with terra-cotta pots, organized shelves of pruning shears, spades, plant-food mixers—all the tools needed to run a remote operation like this. Unfortunately for us, there was no helpful sign on the wall saying, “This evil botanical lair belongs to …”

“I need pictures,” Cal said, taking out his digital camera. “Could you look around, see if you spot anything unusual or particularly interesting?”

“Well, the fact that this guy isn’t growing weed is pretty interesting,” I retorted as I studied the peat pots sprouting tiny seedlings.

Cal gave me an amused look, which I took as a prompt to continue.

“Why do you think our green-thumbed friend took so much time to camouflage this building? The chances of someone stumbling here on foot are pretty slim, but the state police do regular helicopter circuits, checking for marijuana patches. Growers who aren’t sophisticated enough to buy grow lights and hydroponic sets will sneak out at night and put in plants in the middle of nowhere. Sometimes farmers have a quarter acre of pot growing in some remote corner of their property and have no clue.”

“How do you know so much about the habits of marijuana farmers?” he asked.

I waggled my eyebrows at him. “Misspent youth.”

“Really?”

“No, I watch the news. I thought you were supposed to be a truth seeker. Dork.”

“I offer her the world, and she calls me a dork,” he muttered.

“I don’t recall being offered—”

The door slid shut behind us, an internal mechanism locking with a resounding snick.

We both turned toward the noise. Cal hissed, his fangs bared as he threw me behind him and crouched defensively. A metallic pinging, the sound of another padlock being looped through the outside brackets.

We could hear footsteps outside, shuffling. A vent opened over the door, above our heads. I could hear the faint electric whir of a fan. Air-conditioning seemed like a strangely thoughtful gesture for someone who was locking me into a small enclosed space with a vampire.

“Hey!” I shouted. “Whoever that is better open the door quick or …”

Before I could come up with a threat violent enough, a strange yellowish-gray dust began circulating from the vent in a swirling billow. I sneezed mightily, waving my hand in front of my face to ward away the pollen. The footsteps outside stopped. Either our host had wandered away, or he was waiting for something.

“This can’t be good.” I grunted, yanking at the door handle. I couldn’t budge it a millimeter. “You want to help me here, Mr. Superstrength?”

Cal nodded slowly, as if his head was fuzzy. He ambled toward the door. The moment he touched the handle, he hissed and yanked his hand back. The skin of his hand was sizzling and gray, like badly cooked meat. “Silver.” He hissed. “The handle is very pure silver.”

He stumbled back, holding his burned hands up as if to keep me away. “Well, who the hell would put a silver handle on the inside—” I grumbled. “Hey, are you OK?”

He shook his head. “I feel strange.”

“What can I do?” I stepped toward him, but he fell back against the drying racks, scrambling away from me.

“Stay away.” He growled, his voice guttural. His eyes were strange, flashing almost yellow, before the pupils flared and nearly overtook the irises entirely. “Iris, get away from me.”

“Cal!” I yelped, rattling the handle behind me as he advanced. His shoulders were hunched in a predatory crouch, the muscles bunching in a way that reminded me of a jungle cat.

“Cal, it’s me!” I cried. “Cal, please snap out of it. I know you don’t want to hurt me.”

His lips were pulled back from his fangs in a feral snarl. I bit my lip to keep a whimper from escaping as he lunged closer. His throat rumbled. His nose grazed my cheek as he inhaled deeply. His fangs scraped across my jugular, leaving tiny pinprick scratches that only hinted of blood.

As he continued to lick my throat, I slipped my hand toward the worktable. There was a stack of little gardening plaques with sharp wooden stakes attached. I wrapped my fingers around one, sobbing lightly as I wound my arm around his shoulder. He didn’t even notice the awkward posture as he feasted on the skin just over my pulse point. I pressed the stake against his back, just over his heart.

“Please, please, I don’t want to do this to you,” I whispered. Cal’s ears seemed to perk at the sound of my voice, and his head snapped toward my mouth. The blacks of his eyes were bottomless, soulless. There was nothing of my Cal there. This was the monster. I whimpered, my bottom lip tearing under the pressure of my teeth. I could feel the blood welling into my mouth.

Not good.

I pressed the tip of the stake into his back as he lunged. He claimed my mouth, lapping at the blood, pulling it from my torn flesh in deep drafts. Each pass of his tongue seemed to inflame and calm him at the same time. He purred, tugging my bottom lip into his mouth and pulling me flush against him. I scrambled against the door, winding my legs around his waist to keep from falling.

The slick, metallic taste of my blood didn’t bother me as much as I thought it would, the flavor adding a primal element to an already wild struggle. I tugged at his hair, trying to force his face away, but he only growled. I pulled harder, and his head snapped up, eyes wild and lost.

Palms up, submissive, I traced his cheeks with my fingertips. His dark eyes narrowed, blinking wildly as if trying to remember the identity of the silly human pinned under him. I tried to lower my legs to the ground, but he growled, and I froze immediately. Unable to stop the trembling of my hands, I clenched them into fists, my nails biting little half-moons into the flesh of my palms. I felt blood trickling into my palms. No, no, no. Not good.

My breath came in a ragged gasp as he loosened his hold and skimmed the length of my throat with his mouth. The scrape of fangs against skin sent a frisson of fear up my spine. The arm behind him tensed to strike. Instead of sinking those teeth into my throat, he caressed it with his tongue.

I stilled, every cell of my being focused on that small patch of skin. He ran that smooth feline tongue along the strained tendons of my neck. His fingers slithered down my rib cage to cup my rear, grinding his hard length against me. He nuzzled his nose against my cheek, purring softly, whispering kisses along my jaw. The stake clattered to the cement floor.

Snagging my right hand, he pressed the fingertips into his cool mouth, sucking the reddened digits lightly, drawing them in. Ripples of pressure, zipping straight to my dampening core, had me clinging to his shoulders. I ground against him, riding out the burning, delightful pressure. Purring, he pulled me closer, nipping my bottom lip. It felt like he was consuming me from the inside, pulling everything I was into his mouth, accepting me as no one ever had.

I freed him from his jeans, running my fingers carefully under his length. He ripped my shirt over my head, turning us toward the potting table.

I whined in protest when he set me on my feet. He tugged my jeans down my thighs, then pulled my leg over his hip and thrust forward, balancing my ass on the edge of the table. Seedlings hit the floor. I vaguely registered the sound of terra-cotta breaking. Lips curling back into a wicked smile, he rolled his hips, teasing me, rubbing just at the edge but not thrusting home. Whacking the back of my head against the table, I matched his movements, seeking some sort of friction as he slowly inched his way inside me.

His faded shirt gave way under my hands. Dropping the rags to the floor, I dragged my fingernails over his rippling skin. He thrust inside me, and I screamed out. My legs scrambled against his ass, trying to hold on under his thrusts. The rough table bit into my back as it slammed into the wall.

He bent his head, taking my bloodied fingertips between his lips. He looked up at me, eyes boring deep into mine as he licked and sucked at the digits. My orgasm burst through me like a thunderclap, loud, deep, and fierce.

Chuckling darkly, he crawled up my body, running his nose between my breasts, to my throat. The slip of fangs into skin was so quick I barely felt it. I sighed, sinking against the table as his movements sped up with each draw at my skin. I felt limber and happy as Cal shouted out his release and slumped against me. His mouth stayed latched at my throat, taking deep pulls of blood long after the last tremor.

“Cal,” I whispered, nudging at his shoulder.

He growled, clasping my jaw in his palm while he drank from me. My blood ran in a warm line down my chest, soaking into my bra. This was different from the drainer at Cal’s house. Cal wasn’t hurting me, but he was taking too much. My hands were cold and becoming too weak to push him away.

“Cal!” I yelled in his ear. He didn’t even flinch. I was using the “wake up Gigi on Monday morning” tone, and he was still snacking on my neck like it was a Baptist potluck. My hand fumbled along the table, finding a heavy terra-cotta pot. Using all of the strength left in my arms, I raised it over my head and brought it crashing down on him. He raised his head, his lips red and wet. His mouth drew into a frown before his eyes rolled back and he collapsed on top of me.

I slumped under his weight, unable to summon the strength to sit up. His knees gave way, and he sagged to the floor, pants around his ankles.

“Oh …” I groaned, hissing at the various pains as I sat up. “He is not going to be happy about that.”

—

I cleaned up the best I could, using some Wet Wipes in my backpack to erase the evidence of Cal’s nearly draining me dry. By the time he woke up, pants still around his ankles, I’d dressed, rehydrated, and taken samples and pictures of everything I could find. And I’d discovered that whoever designed this outbuilding clearly did not have escape of accidental prisoners in mind. There was no way out of the place, except for the door, which I wasn’t strong enough to yank open and Cal wasn’t able to touch.

This was like one of those Saw movies … only a little sexier.

Cal stirred at my feet, groaning softly.

“What happened?” he grumbled as I helped him sit up. He tilted my head gently to examine my bite mark and winced. “The last thing I remember is kissing you …”

“I’m OK.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, checking me over for other wounds. “I remember wanting your blood so badly. Then I got just the smallest taste of it. But I was able to pull myself out of it. I remembered it was you. I could hear your voice, smell your skin. And that seemed so much more important than being angry or hungry.”