magnet and it took every ounce of willpower to pry himself from her presence. His body cried out, wanting more, but his mind pulled him away.
He peeled off his shirt, thrust his head into the icy cold water, and pulled the tie from his ponytail. The rushing sound filled his ears and refreshed his head. Over and over he rinsed his mouth, trying to rid himself of her taste. He scrubbed his hair, his face, his neck, washing away her smell.
He rocked back on his heels, water dripping onto his bare shoulders, and he took a deep cleansing breath. He knew what he had to do. He was not going to end up like Alfonso. No way. He’d kill himself before he let what happened to his brother happen to him. His parents’ memory deserved more than that.
He doused his shirt in the creek, rubbed the fibers of the fabric together as if he had soap. Then he wrung it out and wrapped it around his nose and mouth like a makeshift bandanna.
When he scooped the woman up, his sudden strength stunned him. She was hardly a wisp of air in his arms. Her lips had a bluish cast to them and her pulse was weak, but she was alive. Thank God. He barely noticed that the agonizing pain from the silver bullet was gone.
There was no time to think about what a monster he was. That he was actually capable of such a despicable atrocity. He would deal with that later. Right now, he had to get her away.
With her scent all over this place, he had no doubt the Darkbloods would instantly abandon their search for him and focus on finding her instead. They’d go ape-shit when they smelled Sangre Dulce. And they had no qualms about killing. None.
He fished her keys from her tight leather pocket and stifled a bitter smile when he saw her juvenile key ring. Then, pausing to retrieve her camera, he cradled her body as gently as he could.
When her head rolled back, he saw two puncture holes on her graceful neck. He had backed away from her so quickly, he hadn’t sealed the wound. Without much thought, he lifted the shirt from his mouth and touched his lips to her skin.
When they drank from a human, they were never to leave an unhealed mark, no trace, no memory. He might be a rebel in the Agency, but he was no fool. Shock registered a moment later, when he realized he’d somehow controlled the urge to feed from her again. Good, maybe he could do this thing.
As he emerged from the forest into the sun of the dead, his pupils tightened and he dipped his head to shield his eyes. He started to step back into the shadows before he realized he felt none of the expected burn and no measurable energy drain. When had he last been outside willingly during this restless time of day when the sun died and his people awaited its disappearance beyond the horizon? Except as a vampire youthling prior to the Time of Change, maybe never. After that point, the cravings began and they lived out their lives away from the weakening effects of sunlight.
Just through the trees, the cemetery signpost leaned into the bushes, its wooden placard dangling in the wind, jeering, mocking him. He bit down on his defiance and strode past. There was a time when he would’ve made the sign of the cross and offered up a prayer, but not any longer. And certainly not today.
He glanced up the dirt road, expecting to see a sassy little sports car or even a truck. Not a freaking white motorcycle. Who was this woman with a Hello Kitty keychain?
Hell, this was going to be interesting.
CHAPTER TWO
MACKENZIE COULDN’T REMEMBER ever having a migraine this bad. Her temples pounded like mallets as blazing sunlight penetrated her eyelids. She rolled over, covered her head with her pillow, but the throbbing pulse continued over and over in her skull.
Oh God, she felt like puking.
She dragged herself from the bed toward the bathroom, sheets tangled around her, but she took only a few steps before her head began spinning even faster and her knees buckled. She expected to hit the floor, and weakly stretched out her hands, but somehow she fell onto the bed instead.
She must’ve slept again, drifting in and out of consciousness in an endless stream of time. Damp coldness touched her forehead and neck. It felt so good. Drops of liquid touched the back of her tongue and slid down her throat. The deafening pounding in her head receded beat by beat as the pain fibers loosened their grip from behind her eyes.
When she opened her lids, probably much later, the room was darker than before. But given the small amount of light filtering in through the margins of the closed blinds, she knew it was still daytime.
Hadn’t the blinds been open earlier? Stretching her arms up, she yawned and heard her shoulders crack. Was that migraine only a bad dream? She felt wonderfully refreshed now.
Several washcloths lay neatly folded on her nightstand and a glass of ice water sat on a coaster. That was strange. It wasn’t like Samantha to look after her like this. Her housemate kept strange hours and was rarely home lately.
She looked around but couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Everything looked the same and yet things felt … different. As though something had happened and she’d become aware of it after the fact. The little hairs on the nape of her neck prickled. Change hung invisibly in the air, like perfume lingering in an empty elevator.
How long had she slept? Glancing at her alarm clock, her jaw dropped.
What the … that couldn’t be right. Three o’clock?
She grabbed her cell phone and flipped it open.
A full day gone? She racked her brain for any detail, something that would remind her of how she’d spent the last twenty-four hours.
She remembered riding out to the lonely cemetery, but that’s where everything fogged. Crumbling headstones? Towering trees? Piles of leaves? Yes, she could almost feel them swirling around her legs, hear the wind rustling through branches.
She dug deep and massaged her scalp with her fingers, determined to loosen the memory. There had to be more. An almost faded feeling of dread and sadness wavered somewhere inside. And oddly enough, so did pleasure. She recalled taking a few pictures then … nothing. Could it all have been a dream?
She leaped from the bed, grabbed her camera and snapped the memory stick into the card reader of her computer. She sank into the chair and waited a few impatient moments for all the pictures to transfer. With a click, she opened her photo-editing software and sucked in a tentative breath. The first ones to pop up were of the old cemetery sign. Thank God, she hadn’t imagined riding out there. She blew the air from her lungs in a quick burst of relief.
One by one, she scrolled through the images then emailed them to her boss. Wow, they were pretty damn good. So why couldn’t she remember taking them?
She pinched her upper lip, massaged it between her thumb and forefinger, and rested her elbows on the top of the desk. There had to be a completely rational explanation. She paced around the room, then picked up her cell phone.
“Steve, yeah, it’s me. I just emailed you the pics I took of that location yesterday.”
She heard his fingers flying over the keyboard. “Got ‘em.” He paused and she held her breath. Would he like them or would he hate them?
“Hey, nice work. Are the specs here somewhere, too?” He spoke slowly, as if he were concentrating on the pictures.
The specs? Did she even take any measurements or assess the surroundings? “Uh, not yet. I had the mother of all migraines and just now got the chance to send the pictures. I’ll get the specs to you as soon as I can.”
“You’re not sick, are you?” He was probably thankful they were talking on the phone. He had a major germ phobia.
“I don’t think so, but … I sort of blacked out yesterday. I don’t remember taking any of the photos I just sent you.”
“Well, let’s hope the pictures are good enough, then.” He clearly wasn’t concerned about her missing time. “Talked to Patsy at the production company. Turns out they’re considering