“This entire estate, including the residence inside and out, is on video surveillance during the day. The man who started the fire is already in custody.”

“The police have him?”

“Not the police, Emma. As you pointed out to Stavros, this estate is vampire territory. You may have been bluffing with our local fire captain, but as far as the vampires are concerned, this is vampire business, not human. Lord Duncan will do the questioning and no one else.”

“What if . . .” She swallowed, reluctant to say the words. “What if Duncan . . . can’t do it?” she finally managed, staring up at Hissong.

“Then God save us all, because Lord Raphael will be out for blood.”

“Raphael? You mean Duncan’s Sire?”

“The very same. Come on, Marlon’s got the garage open.”

Marlon stood at the open side door waiting for them. “Should I hit the lights, Jackson?” he asked.

“No,” Emma said quickly. She didn’t know what would happen when the sun set, but if it was bad, if the worst happened, she didn’t want her grief spotlighted for everyone to see. “I don’t want to call any attention to us or to what we’re waiting for.”

“Right,” Hissong said.

They stopped a few feet inside the door, leaving it open. Emma could smell the fire, a scorched, acrid scent that stung her sinuses and made her eyes water. She knew her face must be coated with black, that her hair must be greasy and gray with ash. No wonder Stavros had doubted her credentials. She probably would have too.

With a rumble of sound, the ground shook beneath her feet. Emma froze, staring at the burning house. All around her conversation ceased. Despite the steady roar of the equipment, the absence of voices was as palpable as if the night had been perfectly still. And then the house itself shivered.

“What is that?” Emma whispered, more to herself than anyone else, but Jackson Hissong was at her ear.

“You ever see a really powerful vampire get angry, Emma?” She shook her head silently. “Well, you’re about to,” he added.

“It’s coming down!” someone shouted. And then everyone was yelling again, rushing to pull back personnel and equipment for fear the house was about to collapse.

Emma watched it all with growing distance, feeling like a spectator at a play, as if this was all unreal. There was a mounting pressure on her brain, a presence that she couldn’t quite touch, as if she only needed to open a door and there would be . . . Duncan?

The sun hovered over the horizon, moments from dropping below the edge. Duncan raged, trapped in his mind as his power stirred, coiling with him, straining to get out, building like an explosion that would take down the house and everyone around it. The very air trembled, the ground shaking, the ancient timbers of the house creaking ominously. He fought for the control that had always come so naturally for him. But this fury was far greater than any he’d ever felt, his power aching to break free and avenge the wrong done to him and his people, to . . . Emma.

The thought of her banked the hunger of his power. It withdrew, curling deep inside, waiting. He had to remain calm. He needed information. Where was Emma? Had she been here when the fire hit? Was she lying injured, dying, while the humans fought the blaze, not knowing she was inside? He let his mind roam free, his thoughts searching outward. His vampires slept all around him, some already beginning to gain awareness, others too young to wake while the sun still hung in the sky.

He searched farther, beyond the confines of the dreary basement beneath the east wing, where he and his vampires had slept since moving into this unsuitable, old house. He found nothing but fire. Its heat surrounded them, greedy flames eating up the timbers like a ravening beast, drawing ever closer, threatening the primitive sleeping quarters Alaric had thrown together as a temporary measure. There were humans all around. Duncan could feel their presence too, far too many for just his daytime security. Their emotions—fear, excitement, curiosity—bombarded him, making it difficult to weed out any one person, to determine how bad it was. A strong mind flashed through his awareness and he grabbed onto it. This one was energized, rather than excited, and determined. A man of some authority, although it was impossible to say whether he was one of the firefighters or a policeman, or maybe even a powerful neighbor watching from the street. Whichever it was, Duncan slipped his own consciousness into the human’s brain, weaving the two seamlessly until he could look up and see—

His heart nearly stopped when he saw the damage to the house, the fire still raging around what must have been the focal point of an explosion—his bedroom, the bedroom where Emma slept. His power roared back and it had only one goal.

“Emma!”

“Duncan?” Emma whispered. She whipped her head in the direction of the house.

“What is it?” Hissong asked intently.

“I don’t know. I thought I heard—”

“What?”

“Duncan’s voice . . . in my head. He called my name. It doesn’t make any sense, but—”

“It makes perfect sense. Where did the voice seem to come from?”

“Be quiet!” she snapped, and then more quietly, “I’m sorry. Let me concentrate.” Emma felt foolish. Duncan had told her he couldn’t read her thoughts, but he’d also said that the more they exchanged blood, the closer their minds would come. And Emma liked to bite. She’d taken a little of his blood every time they made love. Was it possible?

“Duncan?” she whispered in her mind, and then she shouted, “DUNCAN!”

“Emmaline,” his voice came back to her, warm with feeling and as strong as if he were standing next to her. But then it faded, and Emma doubted for a moment that she’d heard anything at all. Until she felt a surge of emotion that tasted like Duncan. It surrounded her—calm and strong, just like he was. Emma closed her eyes against a wave of relief, leaning against the open door for support.

“Well?” Hissong demanded.

“He’s alive. They’re all alive, I think.”

“Fuck me,” Hissong swore. “We’ve got to—” He looked up, eyes narrowing as he stared in the direction of the house. Emma stepped far enough out of the doorway to see what had drawn his attention, her heart leaping at the possibility. But it was only a group of unfamiliar men storming across the backyard and heading directly for the three of them in the shelter of the garage.

“You,” the first man called. “Hissong, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir,” Jackson said, stepping out into the yard. “Alaric?” he said, clearly recognizing the man.

Emma blinked as the vampire contractor she’d seen around the house strode closer. They’d never been introduced, but she’d heard Duncan on the phone with him.

“Where’s Duncan?” Alaric demanded.

“That’s my question for you,” Jackson replied. “They’re alive in there somewhere, but I don’t know where—”

“Basement of the east wing, but nothing’s finished, and I got a good look at that blaze on the way here. The main section’s fully engulfed, and the whole place is gonna burn.” He swore viciously and stared into the distance, thinking. “All right. Best we can do is try to make it easier for Duncan. Come on, lads,” he called and started across the backyard. “You, too, Hissong, and anyone else you can spare. We’ve got some digging to do.”

The sun finally surrendered, dropping below the horizon and freeing Duncan to act. He opened his eyes and immediately woke his vampires with a blast of power, pulling even the youngest of them out of sleep and into complete wakefulness. The fire was all around them, the main part of the house completely impassable, but even the east wing above their heads was burning now, the ancient timbers growing hotter by the minute. With a loud crack, a piece of the ceiling gave way and a tongue of flame dipped hungrily into the basement. Duncan swore as one of his vampires cried out.

“Everyone to me,” he shouted, putting enough power into the words to make it a command. The room was abruptly hotter, as if that small break in the ceiling brought the full heat of the blaze along with it. He was drenched in sweat, his hair, his clothes, and as he looked around, he could see all of his vampires were in the same condition. They gathered around him, their emotions a battering ram of fear and tension pounding at the wall of his control. They were looking to him to save them, to come up with a plan to get them out of here in one piece.

“Miguel?”

“Yes, my lord,” Miguel said, appearing at his side.

“We’re taking the tunnel.”

“Sire? It’s not finished yet. There’s nothing there but—”

“Trust me, Miguel. Let’s go.”

“Yes, my—” The rest of Miguel’s words were buried under the crash of burning timbers as the entire floor above them gave way.

“Now!” His power thundered forth, holding the collapsing floor at bay while his vampires ran for the tunnel. He glanced after them long enough to be certain everyone was safe, his power casting the bronze glow of his eyes into the shadows to rival the flames themselves.

Once the last of his people was safely past, he released the burning timbers, using his vampire speed to escape as the first floor crashed into the basement. Following his vampires, Duncan sped for the minimal safety of Alaric’s unfinished vault. It was a new construction, concealed beneath the backyard and reached via a tunnel from the residence. If completed, there would have been a reinforced door connected to the basement of the east wing, and another equally secure door to the vault itself. It would have been expansive, with enough room for every vampire to have his or her own small chamber.

But that had all been for the future. Alaric had finished the tunnel and the concrete enclosure for the vault, but it was still just a big box in the ground. And with the east wing burning and the electricity off, it was a big box with no exit and no air.