TWO WEEKS PASS.

At first, there was a massacre every few days. Every coven has been affected, and they're in an uproar. The vampires that attend the local nightclubs are no help except to voice their anger at Gabriel for allowing this to occur in his territory. Alexander's people are no help either, stumbling over themselves as they try to figure out what business will be hit next.

Then the murders simply stop.

He could nearly believe that it's over, and whoever had been killing vampires and taking their organs had grown bored with their twisted game. But he's learned to trust his instincts, and they're telling him something has shifted.

When they leave the hotel, the predator in his blood is sure that someone is watching them. He's been vigilant to keep sharp whenever they're in public.

He's not proud of it, but he's begun to fuss when Alexander steps out of his sight. He counts the minutes with a knot in his stomach. He no longer stays in the car or hotel room and now follows Alexander on his excursions, mostly to grocery stores and coffee shops.

The man doesn't remark on his stoic shadow, nor does he seem bothered that Kiernan has taken to standing uncomfortably close and glaring coldly at anyone who comes near enough to raise his protective instincts.

Alexander's vulnerable. Humans are prone to dying when shot or stabbed. And if he were a sadist killer who wanted to deter them from investigating his wrongdoings, he'd have his vile gaze on the police officer. He doesn't know when that switch in his mind flipped from killing Alexander Cross to obsessively protecting Alexander Cross, but it's giving him a headache that won't quit.

"Shit," Alexander groans. He obeys Kiernan's fingers, applying gentle pressure under his chin, and tips his head back. He leans into the couch's cushions and blinks up at the ceiling. He sucks air through his teeth when Kiernan pokes at his nose. "That hurts," he whines nasally, but he doesn't do anything to get away.

Kiernan frowns. He would think so. Alexander's nose is broken, and he's bleeding from a gash in his forehead. "You're an imbecile." He takes the wet cloth that's left a seeping damp spot on the couch cushion and gently begins wiping away the smears of blood to better assess the injury.

"You must have meant, thank you, partner," Alexander drawls.

"No."

"You're welcome."

"I'm not thanking you. It was foolish of you."

They tried their luck at a nightclub on the west side of the Night District. They ultimately found nothing, just like all the others. He was recognized, which happens occasionally, but the growing hatred for Gabriel was turned on him by a young vampire that had at least a hundred pounds of bulk on him and a towering height. He would rather not have started a brawl in a Sinclair-owned club, so he paid the insults little mind, and that uncaring attitude only fueled the vampire, who was drunk and most likely on drugs.

Alexander, the cretin, stepped between him and a punch. The man's broken nose was from the vampire's fist, and the gash on his forehead was from the brick wall of the alleyway he'd careened into with a sickening thud. Somehow he'd managed to stay on his feet and try to retaliate, but he didn't need to because Kiernan showed the vampire what he earned for his brashness, leaving him in a bloody, pathetic heap.

"I'd do it again," Alexander says, smiling fondly because he's wholly irritating.

Kiernan dips his head to escape the man's gaze and tries to focus on laying the wet cloth over the slow-bleeding gash. His heart beats wildly. "I would have healed."

"So?" Alexander snorts. "Still would have hurt."

"Don't do it again."

"No promises."

"Doesn't this..." Alexander gestures to his bloodied face. "Are you uncomfortable?"

Kiernan cannot say that his mouth is not dry from the tangy scent. He's been sustaining himself on bagged blood since leaving Fawnhill. Even then, it's his usual diet. His home is far away from the city, and sometimes months go by before he sees another. The blood is warmed, and it's enough to keep him strong, but it's not the same.

Alexander frowns, and his concern gives Kiernan an unjust but tangible rage he's suddenly struggling to hold back. The man keeps treating him like he's breakable. Alexander's broken for that foolery.

He's not fragile, not even close.

The fingers that slowly curl around Alexander's arched neck are only given a hint of his strength. Even though Kiernan's cold gaze has surely shifted to pools of blackness, Alexander doesn't resist, his frown deepening, and his throat bobs on a swallow against Kiernan's palm.

"What does it feel like?"

"Alexander," Kiernan warns hoarsely.

"Come on. What's it like? I've always wondered. Probably kills. And I told you before, it's Axel."

"I told you before; I won't call you that."

Alexander smiles. "My sister called me Axel."

"I'm not your sister."

"No, you're not."

The flutter of warmth in his heart pushes Kiernan to squeeze, and Alexander softly gasps for breath but doesn't fight, infuriatingly.

Kiernan forces his voice to take on the dark purr that he implores for intimidation: "If I sunk my fangs into your neck? What would it feel like?" He can feel the rapid pulse against his palm and hear Alexander's heart beating a wild melody.

He doesn't wait for an answer because Alexander cannot give him one with the palm applying pressure to his windpipe. "However, I want it to feel, that is what it's like. If I want you to suffer agony, you will."

He nears, their noses nearly brushing. "I could make you feel comfort." He whispers lowly, "Pleasure that would drive you to the edge of madness only for you to beg for more. I could give you that."

He smiles, the one that peeks his fangs and has never failed to quiet a room.

But Alexander isn't afraid. There's no spice in the air to give away the vulnerability.

Kiernan's stomach churns.

Alexander is staring, not through him, at him, holding his gaze hostage. There's worry in the man's eyes that could buckle Kiernan's knees.

He's not aware that he's pulling away until his wrist is grasped by Alexander's large hand. And fingers shackle his other a moment later.

"Let go," Kiernan warns, but gone is his dark confidence, and in its wake is a damning shake to his voice that makes him want to die. He tries to free his hand from Alexander's grasp but can't. His strength is sapped. "Are you truly a fool? I'll kill you."

Alexander frowns deeply. "What is it?"

What is it?

Why does he want to kill this man more than he's ever wanted to kill anyone in his life but cannot? Why is he waging a war within to not throw himself at Alexander's feet and beg him to deny what has haunted Kiernan for a century? Why has he had the same recurring nightmare for the last two weeks?

The damning truth.

He'd stared into Dante's eyes for an entire year. He was begging his brother to see him with everything but words. To not look through Kiernan. To look away from their factories, fortune, and success for but a moment. To not remain willfully blind to what was happening in front of him-to his own brother.

The reason he did not seek his brother out, even after Mercalli's demise.

The handshake between Dante and Mercalli.

His brother knew.

That's why.

He can nearly believe that Alexander knows. Knows that Kiernan's was sold by his brother because that's all he's worth.

Why does he care what this man thinks of him?

He feels his mouth quiver and hates the vulnerability, but cannot stop it.

Alexander loosens his hold on Kiernan's fingers and wrist. He doesn't let go, and Kiernan feels silly with his body stiff as a board, but at the same time, he feels the warmth of comfort and doesn't want whatever this is to end.

"The last week, you've had a lot of opportunities to kill me." Alexander's eyebrows pinch. "You haven't tried to bite me either. So why now?"

Kiernan scoffs. "Because you asked what it felt like."

"No. That's not it."

"Tell me what I said during those phone calls." The drunken calls that lasted for over twenty minutes that Alexander had refused to reveal.

Since then, he's felt a shift-not that the man wasn't staring before. Now the gaze that keeps scrutinizing him uncomfortably is fonder.

Alexander gives him a gentle smile, but before the man can reply, the phone on the coffee table rings.

Letting go, Alexander leans around him to pick up his cell phone and answer the call with a curt greeting.

They both listen. Alexander with an elbow resting on his knee, fingers wiping the trickling blood from his nose, and Kiernan near the bed where he's fled, with his heightened hearing.

It's a fellow officer. There's been another massacre. The killer is starting up again, so it would seem. This time, it was a vampire-run storage facility on the east side of the city.

Then, the officer on the other end of the phone, with a gravelly voice, says, "There's a survivor."

Alexander's gaze finds his brows pinched and his lips set in a deep frown.

No one has ever survived an attack.

Why has the killer stopped abruptly and then come back a week later and leave someone alive?

It's more than unsettling.

The stretch of asphalt leading to the storage facility is remote. Flanking the roadway, soughing trees sway and rustle, blocking the twinkling lights of the city. The shadows are kept away by the high moon overhead and the beaming headlights of the car.

They'd taken his car. They usually do. He's not comfortable riding as a passenger for long periods of time. Alexander doesn't mind, and he has even voiced that he hates driving and welcomes the respite.

Kiernan grips the steering wheel tighter. It's a cold night, and heat softly whooshes through many vents. He usually enjoys silence, but right now, his instincts are flaring, and he's having a difficult time sitting still and focusing on the road.

He decides it's better to hold a conversation than to keep having his gaze flicker to the passing tree line like a madman. "The massacres only happen at night."

Alexander has a thick bandage covering the wound on his forehead, and his nose is an angry purple. "Yeah. You're thinking, vampire?"

"No. Maybe." Kiernan's heart is a wild beat in his chest. "The younger vampires are usually awake during the day, and the older you become, the lethargy from the sun lessens."

"Does it affect you? I've never noticed."

"It does. Not nearly as strongly, however."

Alexander hums tiredly. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Old."

"Weird."

"I don't feel old."

"You don't look it, either."

Kiernan gives Alexander a curious glance before looking back at the road. "How old do I look?"

"You don't want me to answer that."

"No, please."

"Twenty, something."

Kiernan parrots bitterly, "Something."

"How old do I look?"

"Thirty."

Alexander laughs. "Wrong."

"No. That is your age. Jane died when you were twenty-two. You became sergeant two months ago, and before that, you worked for eight years as an enforcement officer."

"Thirty-four."

Kiernan looks at Alexander sharply, shocked, and he's met with a wide smile. He feels irritation growing. He thought he knew everything. He questioned Alexander thoroughly.

The man lives alone in the familial home that he inherited when his mother died from a debilitating illness. His father was killed in a boating accident when he was a child. He's had two long-term girlfriends that didn't work out, and he doesn't take lovers. He eats healthily and goes to the gym daily. He prefers beer, which explains why he didn't drink the scotch.

Alexander explains gently, "I had four years after Jane died and before becoming a cop."

Kiernan isn't pleased that he was wrong. He is about to interrogate the man again, but then they drive around a curving bend of the road, and flashing blue and red headlights can be seen further down.

A police car has been pulled off to the side of the road.

"Pull off here," Alexander says. "It's a roadblock. The storage facility is further down. I'll flash my badge. They'll let us through."

He nods and slows the vehicle. The police car has its headlights left on, and its flashing lights cut through the shadows of the forest beyond. But that's not the reason he grips the steering wheel tighter.

The driver's door has been left wide open. And there's no sign of its occupant.

Kiernan stops the car abruptly. He stares at the abandoned police car and feels a shiver of warning ascend his spine. "This is a trap," he explains coolly at Alexander's shocked glance.

He could speed off and be done with this, but he's not sure if that's what their hunter wants. There could be spikes ahead of or behind them, ready to blow their tires.

Kiernan says, "That man you talked to on the phone..."

Alexander clicks off his seat belt with a soft whoosh and takes his gun from its side holster. "I was talking to him, shit." He takes his phone from his pocket and shakes his head. "No service."

Of course.

Kiernan reaches for his gun that's strapped to his lower back but stills at the sudden, black blur emerging from the trees. He frowns at the large, furry beast that's standing in the middle of the road.

Black fur blends into the shadows. It's not a werewolf. Much smaller, with a long snout and pointed ears. It's snarling, flashing jagged, saliva-dripping teeth.

"That's not a dog," Alexander says shakily. "Is it?"

"No, I don't think it is."

Kiernan looks out the passenger window sharply, hearing tires approaching at high speed. He sees a truck, with spikes on its hood, coming at them from the trees.

He doesn't have time to react except to grab Alexander's shoulder, pull the man down, and try to cover his body with his own.

The impact is violent, shoving the car off the roadway. Crunching metal and shattering glass are all he can hear.

Then, the vehicle hits a tree, and there's nothing.