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“I can sense your agitation, Valya. Tell me what is wrong.”

Valya took a deep breath, trying to compose himself before he

responded.

“The Evil One is searching for Richelle, and for all our powers, we
have not been able to stop his evil nor find him.”

“You have faced adversity in your duties as Guardian.”

“Not like this.”

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“You have faced great evil before as Guardian.”

“Not like this!”

Valya’s eyes flew open, the bloodlust riding high in his thirst to find Luka, to destroy the Evil One before he destroyed Richelle. Before
he
destroyed Richelle. He threw his head back and shrieked into the night, demanding blood and vengeance. It was the rich, stirring voice of Nicolae that brought him back from the brink of madness.

“I feel your pain, Valya. Hear me. Open your mind and soul to me.”

Valya needed no further encouragement as he reined in his rage and allowed Nicolae to touch his mind, to probe the memories of the last few days, and enter into the increasing darkness of his soul. For the moment, he was filled with a sense of completion akin to the sensation when he was with Richelle. Not passionate, but intimate just the same, like an embrace from a close friend. And then it was gone, leaving the transitory sense of emptiness in its wake.

“You have left your life mate.”

Valya sighed in remorse, for both leaving his life mate and the reason why he had to, knowing that Nicolae had seen everything that had transpired. He tried to find consolation in gazing at the moon.

“You know I had to.”

“You are not to blame, Valya. The bloodlust resides in all Immortals.

Your reactions are not uncommon and are understandable.”

“I hurt her.”

“But you did not mean to.”

“I almost killed her.”

“There is always that risk.”

Valya recalled a fellow Guardian, too far gone in his despondency, who had accidentally killed his life mate at their first blood exchange. Grief-stricken and devastated, he had faced the dawn.

“I should have controlled my hunger, my lust.”

“The call of bloodlust is difficult to ignore. It is difficult to overcome.”

“You overcame it.”

There was silence. A weight hung in the air and the moon itself appeared to be weeping in unrequited anguish.

“At a price.”

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Valya did not ask what that price had been, for he knew Nicolae would not tell him. Nicolae, for centuries, had walked alone. While those who chose to face the dawn usually did so with a fellow Immortal present to bear witness of the Final Sacrifice, it was common knowledge Nicolae would face his death as he had lived…alone.

“Clear your mind and gather your strength. You will need all your
faculties to face the demons that await. I will join you tomorrow evening
and I will share what I have learned.”

“Thank you, Nicolae.”

“Do not thank me, Valya. We must all dance the tune the Fates choose
for us. But at the end of the dance, we must pay the musicians, no matter
what the cost.”

The all-powerful presence left, and in its wake, the earth seemed to come alive again, revolving as it had for eons through the cosmos. Valya felt the soft night air as it caressed his hair. He stood motionless, bathed in the moonlight, deep in thought over their conversation and the unspoken suffering behind Nicolae’s words.

Before he had found Richelle, he had hoped to be as strong as Nicolae to survive the centuries. But having found Richelle and discovered the joy of living that came in loving her, he recognized how desolate his life had been.

Valya reflected a moment on his words, trying to imagine the price Nicolae had paid, resulting in such quiet sadness and solitude.

Moreover, he couldn’t comprehend how Nicolae had survived the

inconsolable loneliness of wretched immortality. He couldn’t fathom centuries of endless nights without a life mate to hold and cherish, to make love with, and fall asleep in her embrace in perfect solace.

But survive Nicolae did, and now he was the last hope Valya had for finding the truth behind Luka’s obsession. He only hoped that the truth would not be too late in coming.

Suddenly, the night air changed, and there was a hateful surge, a vindictive and almost spiteful flow of energy filling the night. Jumping from the building top, he alighted upon the streets below as soft as thistle down, landing in a crouched position. From beneath hooded eyes, he scanned the area, sensing the nearness of evil and death. Finding none, he stood and began to walk the perimeter, following his senses to home in on his enemy.

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The presence of evil was strong, stronger than he had ever sensed before, filling him with an irrepressible rage. The further he searched, the more rage exploded through his being, pervading his mind. Frenetically, he searched alleys and shadows, trying to root out the inexplicable malevolence.

Without warning, he was struck from behind and went sprawling face forward on the pavement. A heavy pressure landed on his back, pinning him to the ground as blows and claws struck his back and head. With great effort, Valya pushed against the cement and threw his assailant off.

Dragging himself to his feet, he staggered to the building to brace himself.

Before he could turn, his attacker pounced and jammed him against the wall, raining blows into his body as claws tore into his skin. Again, Valya pushed against the hard surface and threw his attacker off as he spun to face a coward who would attack a man whose back was turned.

He stared into a grinning face not unknown to him. The attacker’s fangs were bared, and saliva and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. And his blue eyes bore through Valya like a red-hot poker with vehement hatred.

Valya stared incredulously at the Immortal now turned enemy, now turned Vampyre.

“You!”

* * * *

He wondered how much Richelle did remember. After what Valya had told him, he hoped she would never remember the night before. Memories were tricky things, especially short-term memories. The pheromones that Immortals used while feeding were potent, and how much memory would be suppressed would depend entirely on how many pheromones were released. It could suppress a few hours to a few days. There was just no way to predict.

He would have to tread slowly while he watched over Richelle. She had already been through much, and the last thing he wanted to do was frighten her.

Jonathan sensed he was already treading on borrowed time with the way that Richelle stared at him. He got the distinct impression that if she wanted to, she could read his every thought the same way schoolchildren read

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classroom lessons off a chalkboard. He bided his time, sitting quietly as she slowly sipped her coffee while all the time never taking her eyes off of him.

He could see why Valya had fallen in love with Richelle. She had an alluring beauty with her unique green eyes, luminescent, fringed with dark lashes that could hold a man captive in their depths. There was an undeniable air of royalty surrounding her, demanding acknowledgement. If there were a hundred people in one room, Richelle would still stand out among them.

He could have stared at her exceptional loveliness for a lifetime, but he was already going to have a hard time explaining to Valya how he caught a glimpse of her nudity. And Valya would know.

He had known Valya for years, working with him in bringing the guilty to justice. He had always been a stoic figure, impassive and detached in his duties as a Guardian. He had seen Val go after thieves, rapists, drug lords, and murderers with the same detached methodology of a detective. No hatred, no vengeance, no emotion. He merely saw it as his duty to protect the human race against evil, no more, no less.

The thought of another man being near Richelle, wanting her, touching her, would drive Val to the brink of insanity. Val spoke of Immortals who had lost control of their passions and killed their life mates accidentally while taking blood. How ironic to kill the one you love above all others with your love. He didn’t know how he would live with the guilt if he had killed someone he loved.

And now Valya was trying to live with that guilt—that he had almost killed Richelle in his inability to control his emerging emotions and passions. According to Val, she hadn’t even resisted him. She just lay back and accepted his passion. Damn! As a dominant male himself, he could understand how easy it would be to lose control. There was something addictive about a woman who would accept the baser nature of a man without resistance. It could tempt a lover to go too far.

And with someone as soft and vulnerable as Richelle… He could feel the tightening in his groin at the thought.

Damn those pheromones!

Their lure was potent but unnecessary as he was already enamored with Richelle. She was more than just a beautiful woman. She was strong—she wouldn’t let him give up as they hid from the Believers until help arrived.

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She was compassionate—she had cared for him until Nicolae came. And she

loved animals. Shadow had all but crawled
into her lap and she patiently stroked him.

Once the bonding ritual was complete, the effects of the pheromones would dissipate. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret. She was the type of woman he could fall in love with himself, but she belonged with Valya.

Valya was one lucky bastard.

“Excuse me?”

“What, um…” he stammered. Like a beguiled schoolboy with his first crush, he hadn’t noticed she had spoken to him. “I’m sorry, Richelle, what did you say?”

She didn’t seem to take offense at his inattention to her words as she repeated her question. “I asked you what your name was. I can’t seem to remember.” She blushed at her admission.

“Oh,” he replied shortly as he smiled. “It’s Jonathon.”

Richelle held out her hand and he took it. “It’s nice to meet

you…Jonathon.” She returned to petting the wolf’s back while sipping her coffee.

“That fellow is Shadow.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you too, Shadow.” She scratched behind Shadow’s ears as he lay his head against her hip. After a few quiet moments, Richelle asked, “So, how do we know each other?”

He cleared his throat again. He didn’t want to be the one to remind her of the incident at the carnival. “We have a mutual friend.”

She raised her brow at that comment. He was obviously uncomfortable at her question prior to his mentioning their
mutual friend,
but it had recalled a memory. Somewhere in the back recesses of her mind, she had a fuzzy recollection of a formless figure, both intimidating in stature and a dark foreboding she somehow recognized. A presence she

somehow…missed.

“Who?” she asked nonchalantly as she took another sip of her coffee.

“Who what?”

She gave him a
don’t be stupid
look.

“Who is our mutual friend?”

He hesitated for a moment. She deserved an answer to her question, but he wasn’t sure if she was ready to handle the reality. Her expression was

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unruffled as she awaited his answer.
She’ll learn sooner or later,
he reflected. From what he had learned, the effects from a second blood exchange were only temporary. It was only a matter of time before the confusion and memory loss dissipated. The only question was how long it would take.

“Valya cel Mare.”

* * * *

Valya
. The name drifted through her mind aimlessly. In a flash, without warning, the name found a face. The fog that had settled over her mind and clouded her thinking was lifted and she saw him. Masculine beauty, dark hair and eyes, chiseled features—the face of the man she loved. In the next moment, the memories of the night before appeared. She gasped, spilling her coffee.

Jonathon sprang to his feet and grabbed a few napkins from the breakfast tray trying to clean up the spill. She shrank back as his hand touched the fabric resting over her thigh. She could feel the heat from his hand penetrating through the downy coverlet, and she tensed.

The sporadic recollections of the heated argument with Valya, his anger, his threats, integrating with lingering reminiscences of passion and desire left her reeling with mixed emotions. Despite the nature of her memories, she wasn’t afraid of Valya or worried for herself. Despite Valya’s bestial behavior, she knew he would never harm her. With him she felt a love like she had never known. But Jonathon was a different matter as she heard his voice echoing in her mind.
I will kill
any
man who touches you.

She jerked her leg away from Jonathon’s hand, feeling badly when she saw the hurt expression on his face. She tried to relax in his presence, but her memories were returning in a rush, and she was having a hard time sorting through them. In her agitated state, the walls she had recently been able to erect around her mind to block out the thoughts of others were beginning to crack. She brought her fisted hands to her temples and closed her eyes, trying to block everything out—the memories, the thoughts, the emotions.

“Are you all right, Richelle?”

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She opened her eyes to see Jonathon staring at her. Confusion was etched in his expression, but his voice was laced with concern. Her slight wince had Jonathon sitting on the edge of the bed watching her, but he placed his hands at his side not attempting to touch her. She was jumpy as a leap frog as he wiped up spilt coffee. She hated to think what she might do if he actually tried to comfort her by placing his arm about her shoulders or offer her a hug.

Smiling weakly she slowly managed to reestablish the walls around her mind. She got up from the bed, trying to distance herself from Jonathon.