"Keep your windows and blinds closed at all times,” he continued softly. “I don't want Kinnard spying on you."

She kissed him, then reached passed him, opening the small cabinet above the hand basin. Sitting right beside the toothpaste and toothbrush was a cake of soap. She grabbed it and tossed it into the water. It was better than nothing. “If you don't turn it off soon, that water is going to overflow."

"The water has bad timing.” He turned off the water and stepped into the bath. “What about your wound?"

"It wasn't bad, and I heal fast.” She unwound the bandage, and shifted her leg so he could see there was little more than a pink scar on her thigh.

"Unusually fast,” he commented and offered her a hand. “Coming in?" She tossed the washcloth into the water, placed her fingers in his and stepped in carefully. The water was almost too hot. She eased down, sighing softly as the water lapped at her breasts and began to relax her muscles.

He pulled her back against him, then grabbed the soap and began washing her breasts and belly. When she could stand the tortuous pleasure no more, she grabbed the soap and cloth from him and turned around.

"Your turn,” she said, and made a swiveling motion with her fingers. “Back first." The black markings on his back were thick and ugly, and more intricate than what she'd been told to expect. And the wound on his shoulder was red and angry looking. She took care of that first, easing away the scab, washing away the infection. Though he didn't say anything, he flinched a number of times, indicating the wound was sorer than he'd admitted. Once both ends of the wound were clean, she began working on his back, carefully scrubbing at the drawings.

He didn't give her long enough, though. Maybe it was the spell protecting itself and forcing him to move out of her reach, or maybe it was just desire. Either way, he turned around and took the soap from her, putting it on the edge of the bath. Then he grabbed her legs and slid her forward until she was sitting between his thighs.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. “This is nice,” she said with a grin.

"Not as nice as this,” he murmured, placing his hands against her butt and pushing her forward just a little more.

The heat of him slipped deep inside, and from that moment on, there was no more talk. He loved her long, stroking deep as he caressed and nipped and kissed. The pressure began to build low in her stomach, fanning through the rest of her in waves as warm as the bath water, until it become a molten force that flowed across her skin. It was a heat far warmer than the turbulent water, a heat that made her tremble, twitch and groan.

His breathing became harsh, his tempo more urgent. His fierceness pushed into her, into that place where only sensation existed, and then he pushed her beyond it. He came with her, his lips capturing hers, kissing her urgently as his warmth spilled into her and his body went rigid against hers.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then he sighed and kissed her neck. “Ah, Nikki,” he murmured.

“Eternity may come and go, but I will never be able get enough of you. She froze, holding on tight to the elation that wanted to race through her soul. “What did you just say?" Even as she asked the question, energy stirred, tingling across her skin where they still touched. The spell enforcing itself once more. Obviously, Dunleavy had set the spell to react to certain words, and maybe even certain thoughts.

He pulled back, blinking slightly. “As much as I am enjoying myself, I am here to catch a killer. I really should be going."

Damn, damn, damn . “Not until I put some salve on that wound."

"I'm a vampire. It'll heal.” He climbed out of the bath and grabbed a towel.

"That wound was caused by silver. The salve will help with the infection the silver caused."

"And how would you know the wound was caused by silver?" She followed him out of the water and began drying herself. “I'm a witch. We know these things." He cupped a hand to her cheek, his fingers warm against her skin. “You're a witch all right. I'm just not sure you're the kind that performs real magic."

She turned her face, pressing a kiss into his palm. “No?"

"No,” he agreed softly. “Though I'm tempted to think there's something close to magic happening between us."

"That's not magic. That's something far stronger."

He raised an eyebrow. “And what might that be?"

"Love."

"Love?” A smile touched his lips. “Woman, I barely even know you."

"You've known me far longer than you think. And why can't you remember my name?" He frowned, and dropped his hand. “I told you, it doesn't sound right."

"It sounds a hell of a lot better than being called woman all the time."

"This conversation is getting ridiculous. And I have a killer to hunt down before the sun gets too high.”

He began to dress.

She snatched up her shirt. “We have a killer to hunt, you mean."

"You cannot—"

"I will not be left behind.” She thrust her hands on her hips and glared at him. And damn if it didn't feel like old times. “No matter what you do or say, I'm going, so quit arguing and just accept the fact." Something flashed in his eyes. Anger perhaps. Or maybe even recognition. They'd certainly had this argument more than once in the past.

"I will not be responsible for your safety."

"I'm not asking you to be responsible for me."

He met her glare with one of his own, but after a few minutes he shook his head and stepped back. “On your own head be it, then."

"Fine.” She hesitated, then added, “The sun being up won't make a bit of difference to Dunleavy, you know."

"Why not? He's a vampire and younger than me."

"But he's also a sorcerer. He's using his magic to kiss the night good-bye."

"Then why can't he be found—by day or by night?"

"I don't know. Maybe he's shifting into other forms."

"Even in other forms, I'd see him with infrared. Shapeshifting would not alter a vampire's basic heat pattern."

"Then maybe he's using magic to hide his form."

"Magic to create the barrier that supposedly confines us. Magic that apparently controls me as well as everyone else in this town. Magic to hide Dunleavy's own form, and magic to feed his dark gods.” He raised an eyebrow. “Even for one as young and strong as Dunleavy, that's an awful lot of magic happening at one time. I doubt there'd be much left of him right now."

"Maybe that's why you can't find him. Maybe he can't move. Maybe Kinnard is not only the creepy sidekick, but Dunleavy's eyes and hands."

"Kinnard wouldn't be able to perform the sacrifice ceremony in Dunleavy's place, though."

"No. So maybe Dunleavy is conserving all his strength for the ceremonies, and Kinnard is doing everything else.” Which might mean it was Kinnard, not Dunleavy, who had torn that woman apart. Goose bumps fled across her skin, and despite the air's warmth, she shivered. She had a feeling the true extent of Kinnard's evil had yet to be revealed.

Michael studied her for a moment, eyes slightly narrowed. “Which would mean Dunleavy would be somewhere unlikely to be found very easily."

She nodded and zipped up her skirt. “Like deep inside a mine.” She hesitated, frowning. “You haven't searched any of the mines yet?"

He hesitated. “No."

She didn't bother asking why, because she had a suspicion the answer was simple—Dunleavy had no intention of being found by Michael, so he'd put some sort of diversion magic in the runes on Michael's back. Which would explain why they were so intricate—they had an awful lot of ground to cover.

"Then perhaps that's where we should start our search." His frown was deepening, and the tingle of energy was beginning to caress the air. She wished she understood exactly how the runes worked, and whether the magic was built to regenerate, or whether the energy needed for the runes to perform was siphoned from Dunleavy, as needed. Seline had been unable to help her on that one, simply because there were so many variations. All she'd been able to suggest was that Nikki keep pushing, because no magic was everlasting. Even blood magic, the most powerful of all and the one Dunleavy was probably using to sacrifice to his dark Gods, had its limits.

"We don't know for sure,” Michael said.

She remembered the mud she'd found on the mat in the ranger's house. “Wait a minute." She ran into the bedroom, strapped on her wrist knives and dug the dirt ball out of her jacket pocket.

"Here,” she said, dropping the mud into his hand. “What do you make of that?"

"It's clay from the mines,” he said immediately and met her gaze. “What of it?"

"It was all over the ranger's doormat last night."

"So?"

"So, if the ranger walked from the mines to the house, how come there's no reddish soil in the mix?" His gaze went back to the clay. “Because he didn't walk from the mine to the house."

"Exactly. Either he was carried, or there's another way to get from the mine to that house."

"The rat has one hole. Maybe he has a tunnel or two as well.” His gaze met hers again. “It was very observant of you to find this."

She grinned. “I'm an observant sort of girl. Shall we go investigate?" He hesitated, and in the silence, the buzz of energy was as loud as the whine of a mosquito. He dropped the clay to the floor and brushed his hands. “Let's go look,” he said, voice flat, yet full of determination. She shoved on her shoes and headed for the front door. “Since the mud was on the mat near the front door, the tunnel entrance has to be very close to the steps." He opened the front door and ushered her through with a gentle press of his hand against her spine. “As you said, he can't have flown in."

The day was almost overly bright, the sun hot despite the earliness of the hour. She squinted up at the sky. Despite the warmth, dark clouds gathered on the horizon. “Could he be using the mines to get around?"

But why would he bother if he could walk around in daylight unharmed? she wondered, even as she asked the question.

"Probably. It would certainly explain why I've been unable to find him." She glanced at him. “Meaning?"

"Meaning, I can't see through earth. No vampire can." She raised her eyebrows. “Why not?"

"Why can't we cross thresholds uninvited?” He shrugged. “It's just one of those things that is." As they approached the ranger's house, she returned her gaze to the sandy soil, briefly scanning for anything that seemed out of place. “How come, when all vampires know the rules, no vampire knows why ?"

His smile made her heart do a little dance. “How come some women just can't seem to stay out of trouble?"

"It's not polite to answer a question with a question."

"It is when I don't have the answer to the question." She grinned. “If you're not careful, I'll hit you with questions you can answer." He touched her arm, gently stopping her. “Like what?” He squatted down and swept his hand across the dirt. Red dust puffed, revealing wood.

"Like asking about your brother."

"How do you know I have a brother?"

His voice was distracted as he ran his fingers along the edge of the wood. After a moment, there was a faint click. He opened the door, revealing the darkness of a tunnel. Red dust flew as he let the door to drop to the ground.

She twitched her nose, fighting the urge to sneeze as she stared into the foul smelling darkness. There was no sound, no hint of life coming from the mine. Not that she really expected there to be. “I know you have a brother the same way I know you turned him."

"I wasn't the one responsible for turning him. I merely nursed him through it." Surprise rippled through her. “Really?"

"Really."

"Then where is he now?"

"On a boat, on his way here from England."

So he hadn't been in America long when Jasper killed him. But how had Jasper killed him when Jasper had to have been little more than a fledgling at the time? “Why is he coming here?" He glanced at her. “Because he misses his baby brother."

"Really?"

A smile touched his lips. “Really."

"Are you supposed to be meeting him, then?"

"Yes, in San Francisco, once I take care of this mess.” He frowned and shadows crossed his eyes. He didn't say anything, yet she felt the surge of anger and sorrow. Deep down, he knew Patrick was long dead, and all these years later, he still quietly grieved that fact. Was Patrick dead because Michael hadn't been there to meet him? Was that the reason for the anger she'd sensed in him when they'd first met? Had his need for revenge been fueled just as much by guilt as anger?

"Was Patrick much older than you when he was turned?" Michael scrubbed a hand across his jaw and, for a moment, looked as if he wouldn't answer. Then he glanced down at the hole and said softly, “No. He took the ceremony earlier than I. But he wasn't in such a hurry to die, and he didn't turn until his heart gave out when he was in his forties."

"He had a heart attack?"

"No. Living was tough back then, and forty was a fairly old age."

"And you were by his side?"