She fixed a glass of iced tea, then went down to the rec room, kicked off her shoes, and turned on the satellite screen. Picking up the remote, she flipped through the channels until she found a movie she hadn’t seen, then settled back on the sofa. Try as she might, she couldn’t concentrate on the screen. Instead, she kept glancing over her shoulder, expecting Rane to appear at any minute. Where was he? She drummed her fingertips on the arm of the sofa. Had he been injured worse than she thought? Maybe he lacked the strength to rise.

She sipped her tea, her anxiety growing with every passing moment. Where the heck was he? A sudden coldness clenched her insides. What if he had died in the night? No! She shook her head. That was impossible.

But what if he had?

She was thinking about going down to the subbasement to see if she could get into Mara’s private quarters when Rane walked into the room. She couldn’t help staring at him.

“I’d tell you it looks worse than it feels,” he said dryly, “but it would be a lie.”

“Are you all right, otherwise?”

He shrugged. Because he hadn’t trusted himself to be with Savanah until after he’d fed, he had gone hunting earlier, something made possible by the heavy cloud cover that obscured the sun. He had preyed upon four young men he had found camped a few miles farther up the mountain. They had all been strong and healthy, football players by the look of them, and he had fed, and fed well.

Still feeling the need to keep his distance from Savanah, he sat in the chair across from the sofa. He had never been vain about his looks; he knew women found him attractive, but he felt strangely embarrassed by his monstrous appearance. That in itself was odd, he thought, since he was a monster on the inside no matter what his outward appearance might be.

“What did you do with the Werewolf?” Savanah asked.

“I dumped his body in a deep ravine at the top of the mountain.”

“Did you know him?”

“No. Why?”

“I just wondered. I’ve never killed anyone before, you know.” She shrugged. “I didn’t even know his name.”

“His legal name was Samuel Jefferson, according to his driver’s license. Does that make you feel any better about it?”

“Of course not!” she retorted. “I killed a man. Taking a life may be old hat to you, but it’s a new experience for me.”

Rane dragged a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice gruff. “I didn’t mean…”

“It’s all right. I know you didn’t mean it. We’ve both been under a lot of pressure in the last few weeks.”

“That’s no excuse. I know how difficult this must be for you.”

“Do you?”

“Maybe not. I was no longer mortal when I made my first kill. It came easily to me,” he said quietly. “Perhaps too easily.”

“I’m not sorry for what I did,” she said, a note of defiance creeping into her voice. “He meant to kill us, but…”

“But it’s an awesome and troubling responsibility, the taking of a life.”

“Yes. But given the same circumstances, I’d do it again.”

Rane smiled in spite of himself. She had the face of an angel and the courage of a mama bear defending her young.

“I’ve decided to go home,” Savanah said.

“Indeed?”

She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Yes, tomorrow night. I’ll be needing my mother’s books, so I can pack them.”

“I see. And if I think you and the books should stay here?”

“I’m going home, Rane. My whereabouts are no longer a secret.”

“I haven’t done a very good job of protecting you, have I?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He regarded her a moment, the tension in the air building until it hummed like a hot wire between them. And then he blew out a sigh. “I’ll take you home, if that’s what you want.”

“Will you stay with me for a while?”

“Stay, as in stay in the city, or…?”

“Stay with me, at my house, only if you want to, of course.”

“What do you think?”

A flush rose in her cheeks. “I’m new to all this…Vampire hunting,” she clarified before he could say anything. “I could use your help.”

“Are you sure you want to team up with me?”

“I think we’ve done all right together so far. That Werewolf would have killed me if it wasn’t for you.”

He shrugged, reluctant to admit it even though he knew it was true. “He was after the books, wasn’t he?”

Savanah nodded. Maybe Rane was right. Maybe she should just burn the damn things. She stared into the distance, remembering the horror of the afternoon, reliving her fear, not only for her own life, but for Rane’s as well.

Rane drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I just wish I knew who sent him.”

“What makes you think he was working for someone else?” The idea chilled her to the bone. She wanted to believe that, with the Werewolf’s death, her worries were over.

“Just a hunch. I keep asking myself why a Werewolf would want the books, and why a Werewolf and a Vampire are working together.”

“So he wasn’t the Werewolf you smelled at my house?”

“No.” Rane ran a hand over his jaw. “I can understand why a Vampire would want the books, but a Werewolf…?” He shook his head. “Unless…”

“Unless?”

“I don’t know. Vampire hunters have been disappearing, but I haven’t heard of any Vampire or Vampires who’ve suddenly gone on a killing spree. For one thing, Mara wouldn’t stand for it. So that leaves the Werewolves and the shape-shifters.” He shook his head again. “I’d rule out the shifters, so that leaves the Wolves. Maybe they want to start another war. Maybe…hell, I don’t know.”

“You never answered my question,” Savanah reminded him after a moment. “Will you stay with me?”

Savanah felt a flutter of excitement low in her belly when he gained his feet and walked toward her, his movements slow and deliberate as he closed the short distance between them. He loomed over her, tall and dark and dangerous, his eyes glinting with desire. Her body warmed to his gaze.

“What do you think?” he asked again.

There was a lot to be said for being in love with a Vampire, Savanah thought as Rane lifted her into his arms. Cradling her to his chest with one hand, he slipped his other hand under her sweater to caress her belly. It sent shivers of anticipation racing down her spine. A moment later, her sweater was gone and he was kissing her breasts, his breath burning through her bra to warm the skin beneath as he carried her upstairs.

The bedroom was dark, the drapes drawn across the windows.

After setting her on her feet, he quickly divested Savanah of her bra, jeans, and panties; then, sitting on the edge of the bed, he drew her into the vee of his thighs.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

Reaching up, he cupped her face in his hands. Drawing her head down, he kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, the pulse throbbing in her throat, careful to avoid the chain around her neck. No doubt it would burn him when they made love, but he dared not ask her to remove it. His tongue swept over her lips, parting them, then delved inside. The touch of his tongue against her own filled her with a sharp stab of desire.

When she thought she might explode with needing him, he fell back on the bed. Drawing her down on top of him, he kissed her again, long and deep. She groaned softly, certain she would expire on the spot if he didn’t make love to her.

He showered her with kisses. His hands moved over her body as if for the first time, fondling, exploring, as if he had never touched her before. He worshiped her with his gaze, with his lips, each touch of his hands stroking skin that yearned for more.

Her own hands were trembling as she pulled his T-shirt over his head. She winced when her fingertips brushed against the ugly burn on his neck. After she dropped his T-shirt on the floor, he obligingly removed his sweatpants and tossed them aside, and then stretched out beside her, his skin cool against her heated flesh.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked. “It won’t hurt you to…”

“It will hurt more not to.”

She ran her hands over his shoulders and down his arms, careful not to touch his singed flesh, fascinated by the rock-hard muscles of his biceps. “It was a brave thing you did, coming outside when the sun was up.”

“I’d do it again, for you.” And so saying, he covered her mouth with his.

The touch of his lips on hers drove everything from her mind but the need to taste him, caress him. Tears burned her eyes when she thought of how close she had come to losing him forever.

“Hey, what’s this?” he asked, capturing one of her tears on the tip of his finger.

“Nothing.”

He drew back, his gaze moving over her face. “You’re crying. Why?”

“You could have been killed.”

“But I wasn’t.” He drew her into his embrace, his hand lightly stroking her hair. Her concern touched him as nothing else could. Since leaving home, no one had worried about him or cared whether he lived or died. Closing his eyes, he kissed his way along the smooth, warm flesh below her ear, cursed inwardly as his hunger flared to life.

Jackknifing into a sitting position, he turned his back to her. What was he doing? He couldn’t hold her, make love to her, and not taste her. And he was sorely afraid a taste wouldn’t be enough. Not now, when he hurt like hell. Perhaps never.

He flinched at the touch of her hand on his shoulder.

“Rane? What is it? What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “I can’t do this.” He shivered as her fingers stroked his nape. Her touch stoked his desire and his hunger. It would be so easy to take her, to sheathe himself in her softness, to bury his fangs in her tender flesh, to drink and drink…