He pushed the curtain aside and kicked the window with his boot, shattering the glass. The fresh air that rushed in fuelled the flames, creating a back draft that hit him instantly. Not losing a second, he jumped out of the window, Portia pressed tightly to him.

Zane landed amidst a few bushes that cushioned his fall. However, his injured shoulder gave out on impact, making him release his hold on Portia. Thankfully, she had her arms slung around him so firmly, she remained glued to him despite his slip.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his breath deserting him.

He felt her nod.

An explosion rocked through the night. Instinct made him scramble to his feet, reassert his hold on Portia, and jump several yards away from the house before he turned.

Flames shot from several windows on the second floor, and the roof was catching fire too. Zane could only assume that a gas line or something else highly flammable had exploded as a result of the fire in the bedroom.

The old Victorian, built entirely from wood, burned like kindling.

Portia buried her head in the crook of his neck, and he suddenly felt tears trickle onto his skin.

“I’m sorry, baby girl.” Then he swallowed, because the next words he said were the hardest of his long life. “Your father loved you after all.” In his own way, even if it had come almost too late.

A floodgate opened, and Portia sobbed against his chest.

“I love you, baby girl. Always.”

***

By the time Portia’s tears stopped flowing minutes later, she sensed the approach of other vampires. Her spine stiffened.

“We have to run,” she urged Zane, looking up at him.

He gave her a faint smile, and only now as she pulled away from him did she notice blood gushing from one side of his neck. There were slashes on his shoulder, which he held in an awkward way.

Panicked, she grabbed his arm, but he stood firm. “Friends.”

With a sigh of relief, she turned toward the approaching vampires and instantly recognized one of them: Quinn. More came running from the burning house behind them. She focused her eyes. Eddie dragged an injured Thomas from the house, trying to keep him upright but when Thomas’ knees suddenly buckled and his head fell forward, Eddie swiftly picked him up and carried him.

One authoritative vampire with raven-black hair bellowed orders into the night that the others followed without question. He could only be the leader of Scanguards, Samson.

“Get the injured into the vans! Amaury! Gabriel! Damage control.”

She watched as two vampires approached Samson, both with long dark hair.

“Keep any humans away. Wipe their memories. We can’t risk exposure.”

“All because of me,” she whispered to herself.

Portia felt Zane’s hand on her chin, tilting it up and making her look at him.

“It’s not your fault.” He motioned to the burning house. “They needed to be taken down, either way. We couldn’t allow what they were planning.”

Before she could answer, Samson ran to them.

“You’re injured,” he stated matter of factly, running his eyes over Zane.

“I’m fine. But Portia needs blood. Her father was starving her.”

“I’m all right,” she protested. “Zane needs blood.”

She sensed Zane wanting to protest again, but Samson cut him off. “You both need blood. Bottled blood will be sufficient for Portia, but Zane needs fresh blood.” He looked over his shoulder and scanned the garden, before he waved. “Oliver! Over here.”

Portia suddenly remembered the conversation she’d had with Oliver only a few days earlier, how he’d told her that he let the vampires feed off him in emergencies.

Oliver ran toward them, giving her a smile as he approached. Immediately, Zane pulled her closer. She felt his possessiveness physically, and it sent a wave of heat through her body.

“Zane needs you,” Samson explained. Then he reached into the bag that hung from Oliver’s shoulder and pulled out a bottle with red liquid. He handed it to Portia. “Here, drink.”

The moment she put the bottle to her lips and let the blood run down her throat, she realized how starved she’d truly been. Zane had been right. His blood had given her a short boost, but it hadn’t lasted long. When she removed the empty bottle from her lips and looked in Zane’s direction, she saw that he’d dug his fangs into Oliver’s arm.

But his eyes were open, watching her, telling her with that longing gaze that what he truly wanted was to lodge his fangs in her. Not wanting to dissolve into a puddle of need, she turned toward Samson.