She blinked, then whispered, “Duncan,” and spun around clumsily.

“Emma,” Miguel called. “Get over here.”

She was there before he snarled the last word, tears filling her eyes as she saw Duncan lying on the floor, eyes closed, blood pooling beneath him. “Is he dead?” she asked, her voice catching on a sob.

“No,” Miguel said shortly. “But he needs blood.”

She looked up in confusion. “Blood?”

The dark-haired vamp gave her an impatient look. “Christ,” he swore. “He’s a vampire. He’s wounded. He needs blood.”

“Oh! Of course,” she shook her head at her own stupidity. She handed someone her gun and began stripping off her jacket. “Do you have something—”

Miguel was already handing her a knife—a short, fat switchblade with a fancy handle, which he snapped out and handed to her grip first.

“Be careful,” he warned. “It’s sharp.”

Emma stared at the blade, then shook her head, handing it back to him. “You do it,” she said, holding out her wrist. “I don’t think— Ow!” She gave Miguel a dirty look. “A little warning would be nice, dude,” she muttered, but quickly eased Duncan’s head onto her lap and held her bloody wrist to his mouth. Did she need to rub it over his lips? Or maybe stroke his throat to get him to— Yikes!

Duncan latched onto her wrist, his fangs sinking into the flesh. It hurt, but only briefly as the euphoric in his bite did its magic and Emma began to feel . . . wonderful. Duncan’s hands came up to hold her wrist in place, and she leaned her upper body over his, needing to get closer to him, but also wanting to conceal the obvious signs of her growing desire. She only hoped Duncan would stop before too long, otherwise, she was going to—

“Emma.”

She opened her eyes to find Duncan gazing up at her. He was no longer sucking at her wrist, but the heat in his eyes told her he was aware of her arousal and returned it in spades. He licked her wrist slowly and thoroughly, the coagulant in his saliva sealing the wound while the feel of his tongue against her skin did nothing to cool her hunger for him.

He gave her a half smile, then reached up and brushed his knuckles over her cheek.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered, holding on to him tightly.

“No,” he murmured. “I have too much to live for.”

“My lord,” Miguel said, reaching out to place a hand on Duncan’s shoulder.

“Right.”Duncan put Emma gently aside and accepted the hand-up his lieutenant offered, while Baldwin lifted Emma to her feet and began wrapping her arm in one of the ever-present white handkerchiefs. They were no sooner on their feet than Miguel was hustling them out of the house to the waiting SUVs.

“Ari,” Miguel called. “You drive. Baldwin will go with you. We’ll clean up here, my lord,” he added to Duncan, “and follow in the other truck.”

Duncan paused on the front steps long enough for Emma to catch up. He took her hand as she emerged from the house, then he slid into the backseat of the SUV and pulled her in with him.

Two minutes later, they were racing through the night, heading back to the house in D.C.

“What happens now?” Emma asked, anxiously. “I mean what about all those other people, and—” She shuddered slightly. “—Grafton’s body?”

They didn’t need to worry about Phoebe’s body or those of her vampires. They were already just so much dust on the floor. No one would even notice it amidst the wreckage from the fight between Phoebe and Duncan. Emma still didn’t understand how that worked, but those questions could wait. On the other hand, Grafton’s body needed to be taken care of now.

“Duncan?” she said, when he didn’t answer.

“One moment,” he replied, and Emma realized he wasn’t talking to her. He was on his Bluetooth to someone, probably one of the vamps who’d stayed back at Grafton’s. He turned, pulling her against him more tightly, tucking her head into the curve of his shoulder. “Rest, Emmaline. Everything is taken care of, you’ll see. This is nothing we haven’t dealt with before.”

“So I’m not going to jail for killing a senator?” she asked drowsily, thinking it must be blood loss that was making her so tired.

Duncan chuckled. “No, you are most certainly not going to jail. What would I do without you?”

Emma yawned, then frowned, wondering if he’d done something to make her sleep.

“It’s the adrenaline,” Duncan said, reading her with his usual accuracy. “It’s a rush, but when it crashes, it crashes hard, and so do you.”

“Mmmm,” she said, snuggling against his broad chest. She felt Duncan’s lips as he kissed the top of her head, and then her eyes closed and she slept.

Chapter Thirty

“What are you reading?”

Emma managed to keep herself from jumping in surprise. Duncan moved so quietly sometimes, it was as if he appeared from out of nowhere. He kissed her bare shoulder in apology and she knew she hadn’t managed to conceal her reaction after all.

Lying on her stomach on the bed with her laptop in front of her, she sneaked a peek through the heavy fall of her hair, watching as he settled next to her and sat cross-legged to work with his own laptop. As always, his presence created a strange pressure in her chest, like there was something inside that was too big to stay there. She recognized the feeling, even though she’d never experienced it before meeting Duncan. She was in love. Hopelessly, madly in love. But he was just so . . . wonderful. Not only his looks, though sitting there with his chest bare, blond hair hanging loose over his shoulders, and nothing but a pair of loose, gray sweatpants keeping him decent, he certainly looked scrumptious enough. But it was more than that. He was a good man in every way. And he was hers. She knew that for a fact. Duncan kept his emotions tightly in check most of the time, but not with her. He loved her. He told her so all the time, and he showed her in a million different ways.

She still had trouble believing it sometimes. She’d wake up and put her hand out, expecting to find the space next to her empty, expecting to discover it was all a dream. But he was always there, always ready. She smiled to herself.

“Emma?”

She blinked, startled out of her fantasies of stripping him naked and having her wicked way with him.

Duncan grinned knowingly at her. Not bothering to wait for her answer to his earlier question, he leaned over and scanned the screen of her laptop for himself. “Want ads?” He frowned. “You don’t need a job.”

“Of course I need a job. Even if I move in here—” His teeth closed gently on her shoulder in warning. “Even though I’m living here with you,” she amended, and he kissed the same spot he’d bitten. “I still have expenses.”

“You can work for me then,” he said, as if that settled the matter. And as far as he was concerned, it probably did. He was so used to making all the decisions, giving orders and having everyone snap to. But Emma wasn’t one of his vampires, and she wasn’t a charity case, either.

“And what exactly would I do?” she asked skeptically.

Duncan shrugged. “The same thing you did for that limp dick congressman you worked for.”

Emma snickered at his description of Guy Coffer and asked, “You get a lot of constituent complaints from vampireland?”

“No. But I am the representative of vampireland to the American government, and most of that business takes place during the day. You could be my daytime face in the halls of Congress.”

Emma turned her head sharply to regard him. “Seriously?”

“Of course.Why not?”

Emma considered it. Why not indeed? She was certainly qualified to do something like that, and wouldn’t it chafe Sharon Coffer’s ass to see Emma roaming the marbled halls of the Capitol again? She smiled to herself and Duncan chuckled.

“That’s a very sinister smile you have there, Emmaline.”

“I’ll take the job.”

“Excellent,” Duncan said, absently skimming something on his laptop, probably one of the many daily reports he received from his various employees, everyone from that vampire builder Alaric to Jackson Hissong and Miguel. “We can discuss . . . well, hello there!”

Emma actually looked over to see if someone had walked into their room, then realized he was reacting to something on his computer screen. “What is it?” she asked, stretching up and trying to read over his arm.

“Tammy Dietrich is back,” he said, leaning forward to read more closely.

Emma sat up. “How do you know?”

He indicated the report on his screen. “I’ve had someone watching her office. She showed up there early this morning, looking very furtive. Big hat and sun glasses, but it was definitely her. Apparently she heard about Max’s untimely death and decided it was safe to come home.”

Emma suppressed a flutter of fear. “What’s the latest from the police on that? Max’s death, I mean.”

“They’re calling it a home invasion gone bad, with Grafton shot and killed defending his family.”

“The police are buying that?”

Duncan snorted derisively. “None of Max’s heirs want the authorities digging too deeply into old Max’s extracurricular activities, and especially not his finances. They’ve decided to let him die a hero.”

“Bastard,” Emma said, pretending it was only anger making her stomach clench.

Duncan wasn’t fooled, of course. He gave her a searching look and said, “You did the right thing, Emma.”

“I know that. He was trying to kill you. And he did kill Lacey.”

“And yet his death bothers you.”

Emma frowned. “Not that he’s dead, it’s just—”

“It’s all right, Emmaline. Killing a man should never be easy.” He studied her face as if trying to decide something. “I could take it away, you know. Make you forget.”