Of course, like all of my wishes, this one turned out to be topped with a stink bomb instead of a cherry when it came true.

I'd seen his house many times, but when we pulled up and I got out, my breath still caught. Over four stories of gleaming white and gray stone towered above me, made even more imposing by the triangular turrets that rose from each corner. Ornate carvings adorned every pillar, balcony, and exterior window, while stone gargoyles kept watch on top of soaring towers. The limousine could've fit through the house's twelve-foot-high, fifteen-foot-wide doors with their ancient-looking dragon knockers, not that they were needed. As soon as our vehicle came to a stop, the doors opened wide and stayed open, a guard appearing on each side.

I was admiring how green all the trees had become when a petite girl with shoulder-length black hair came charging through the entryway.

"Gretchen," I said, both surprised and delighted to see my sister. "What are you doing he - ?"

My question was cut off by a ringing slap. Stunned, I gaped at her while cradling my cheek.

"How could you?" she shouted. "You let us think you were dead! Dad and I were planning your frigging funeral when he" - a wild wave at Vlad - "showed up to say you're alive and we have to come back here for our own safety! Then you don't call once and no one tells us anything until ten minutes ago when they say you'll be here soon!"

"Dad's here, too?"

"Yes, I'm here," a steely voice said from behind Gretchen.

I gulped, feeling like time rewound and turned me into a child awaiting punishment. A slim man with salt-and-pepper hair appeared in the doorway, his bearing erect despite leaning more heavily on his cane than the last time I'd seen him.

"You kept your word," my dad said, but he wasn't looking at me. He stared at Vlad.

"I always keep my word," he replied before striding by my father and entering the main hall of the house.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Gretchen demanded, yanking my attention back to her.

I opened my mouth . . . and nothing came out. What could I say? That I hadn't told them I was alive because I was afraid Vlad would use them against me if he was the one behind the bombing? It had seemed viable at the time, but fell flat now considering that Vlad had been the one to rush them to safety instead.

Guilt hit me harder than my sister's slap moments ago. I hadn't just let my family believe I was dead. I'd let Vlad believe it, too, and while I was off with Maximus doubting him, he was making sure my family was safe while searching for me.

The word sorry didn't even begin to cover this one.

"I didn't mean to hurt you" was what I said, and it sounded as inadequate as it was.

Gretchen gave me a withering glare. Then she turned on her heel and stomped away. Moments later, I thought I heard a door slam.

That left me with my father and the two vampires who continued to hold the massive front doors open, their faces expressionless. Hugh Dalton treated me to a long, wordless stare and then he sighed.

"Vlad said you probably thought you were protecting us by this deception. Is that true?"

"Yes." A lump rocketed its way up my throat. He knew why I did it, too. I couldn't have felt more ashamed.

"Well." My father gave me a wintry smile. "I'd say more, but I think Gretchen's slap covered it. Try to use better judgment next time, will you?"

I swallowed hard, regretting so many things that I didn't know where to start with the self-recriminations.

"I will."

A vampire named Oscar escorted me to the same room I'd stayed in before Vlad and I started dating. It was on the second floor, a full two levels below Vlad's room. The sight of the lace canopied bed, marble fireplace, enormous antique wardrobe, and indigo walls shouldn't have been depressing, but it was. Months ago, I'd dubbed this the Blue Room because of its color and the psychic impression I'd picked up from the crying woman who'd stayed here before me. Her relationship problems ended up being resolved, as I found out after meeting her and her husband. Mine were irreparable.

It was just after ten a.m., Romanian time, but convert that to Greenwich Vampire Time and it was practically the middle of the night. Therefore, I made no attempt to talk to Vlad. I might have slept on the flight over, but he could've been awake the whole time making sure my hand didn't short-circuit the jet. Besides, I wasn't sure what I was going to say.

I showered and changed into an outfit I selected from the packed wardrobe, not surprised to find it was my size. Vlad's house was always stocked with all the amenities. Then I went down to the first floor, passing by several magnificent rooms in search of one on the farthest eastern corner.

Once inside the kitchen, I was glad to see a familiar face.

"Hi, Isha," I greeted the rotund, gray-haired woman who was one of the house's several cooks. Vlad's guards were vampires and so was his staff, but he made sure that the human blood donors who lived here ate like kings. So did his guests. I could've ordered room service, but I didn't want to put on airs.

Isha stopped chopping. "Miss Dalton," she replied in her heavy Romanian accent. "How may I assist you?"

I blinked. It had been "Leila" before, and was it my imagination, or was she politely glaring at me?

"Don't mind me. I just came to grab some fruit and cheese."

Isha blocked the front of the huge refrigerator before I made it two steps into the kitchen.

"Miss Dalton, please indicate where you would like your breakfast served, and I will be happy to have it sent there."

Now I stared at her in disbelief. I couldn't count all the times I'd helped myself when I lived here, usually while having a pleasant chat with Isha or one of the other chefs.

"It's no trouble, I'll get it myself," I tried again.

Isha's gaze narrowed even as she smiled, crinkling lines that showed she'd been in her sixties when she was changed.

"Nonsense, it will be my pleasure. Shall I send a plate to your bedroom, or to the second-floor lounge?"

Her tone couldn't have been more civil. Same with her words, and still, I felt like I'd been reprimanded.

"The lounge is fine. Ah, thank you, Ms. . . ." Crap, I didn't know her last name. "Call me Isha, dear!" she'd said when we met, and we'd been on a first-name basis ever since.

She turned away without another word, going back to her cutting board. Faster than a machine, she julienned a pile of vegetables, the morning light glinting off her knife.

I left, but decided to take the long way back to my room. There was something I wanted to test first.

As I wandered around downstairs, I made it a point to greet every person I recognized. They were all impeccably polite, but people I'd once counted as friends now made Stepford Wives seem warmer by comparison. If I had undead senses, I'd bet the scent of disapproval would've clogged up my nostrils.

No great stretch to figure out why. Guess I'd done the unforgivable by breaking up with their Master. Even if they'd overheard my reasons, obviously they thought I should've been grateful to accept whatever crumbs of affection Vlad offered me.

Now I knew how a pinball in a machine felt - everything I touched seemed to bounce me away as fast as it could. His staff's coldness shouldn't bother me, but it did. My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn't eaten in over a day, but instead of going to the second floor, I went to the small stairway behind the interior garden. Then I followed it to an enclosed stone hallway and opened the second door past the chapel.

The gymnasium. I'd spent most of my childhood in one of these, so the pulleys, mats, weights, trampoline, and uneven bars meant more than exercise. They were time machines transporting me to a carefree past before I touched that downed power line. I went to the trampoline and started a series of flips, but they reminded me too much of my act with Marty. I jumped off and went to a mat, fighting a surge of grief.

There, I began to do the routine I'd perfected back when I was thirteen and had a shot at making the Olympic gymnastics team. My body wasn't as conditioned nor was I wearing the right clothes, but I did the entire set of floor exercises anyway. Then another one, and another. Soon my jeans and T-shirt were sweaty, but I didn't stop. Some days, if I pushed myself hard enough, I could almost hear my mother's voice.

Who's my little champion? I'm so proud of you, sweetheart . . .

"Leila!"

The feminine voice didn't come from my imagination. It came from a strawberry blonde across the room.

"Everyone, Leila's back!" Sandra called down the hallway. Then she rushed forward with a grin. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Her genuine happiness was like a balm on a stinging burn. If it wouldn't have electrocuted her to death, I might have hugged her for an hour.

"I, ah . . ." - was afraid I'd get yelled at or rejected again - "wasn't sure if you'd be awake," I finished lamely.

Sandra laughed. "I wasn't an hour ago, but that would have been fine. Why are you back? Did you and Vlad - "

"There she is!" Joe called, cutting off Sandra's question. In no time at all, I found myself saying hi to old friends and meeting the new live-in donors for the a.m. shift of the house's feeding schedule.

"Come, you must tell us everything," Sandra commanded. Then she grinned. "I didn't really want to exercise anyway."

I couldn't tell her everything, but I could give her some details. Besides, there was a kitchen down here, too, and unlike the one upstairs, it didn't have any vampires who held a grudge against me in it.

Chapter 19

After a pleasant couple hours where I caught up with Sandra and the others, I went back upstairs. There, I spent a not-so-pleasant couple hours with Gretchen and my dad, trying to explain that someone had planted the gas line bomb and that same person would've considered my family excellent bait if he - or she - realized I'd survived. My father, a retired lieutenant colonel, understood and seemed willing to forgive me. I wondered if Gretchen ever would.

At last, I went back to my room and took another shower. Once clean and redressed, I looked out my window at the darkening sky and tried not to wonder if Vlad was waking up. Out of all the people who were angry at me, he had the most right to be. Despite how coldly he'd ended our relationship and how hard it was to be near him, I still owed him an apology for believing that he'd been behind the carnival bomb. The next time I saw him, I'd pay up on that debt.

Until then, I distracted myself by wondering how Maximus was doing. I wasn't about to ask the staff, and asking Vlad might make him blow his lighter fluid. However, I had another way to see if Maximus had recovered.

I ran my right hand over my skin, finding the essence trail Maximus had left. Then I focused on it until the Blue Room vanished and complete darkness surrounded me. For a second, I was confused. Then I saw a green glow and heard Vlad's voice.

" - wasn't my preference. I'd rather kill you."

A heavy sigh. "Then why don't you?"

Maximus's voice. I still couldn't see him, but he sounded sane, to my vast relief. Where were they that the only light came from Vlad's eyes?

"Leila." My name hung in the stygian air. Vlad let out a short laugh. "She refused to tell me where she was until I swore an oath not to torture or kill you."

Maximus laughed, too, and it sounded equally humorless. "She left a few things out, like eternal imprisonment."

"She's young," Vlad said, "and it may not be eternal. In a century or two, I might get over my anger and let you out."

Something clanked together, and then another flash of green filled the blackness. Maximus's eyes, illuminating enough for me to see that his face was pressed against thick metal bars.

"She'll be long dead by then," he rasped.

Vlad's gaze gleamed brighter. "Will she?"

Now I knew where the two of them were, and rage shot through me. Maximus wasn't back at Mencheres's house. He was about a hundred feet below me in Vlad's underground dungeon!

"Leila refused your offer to turn her into a vampire." Maximus's tone hardened. "She's done with you, remember?"

Vlad's laughter rolled out, low yet relentless, like thunder during a spring storm. "If you believed that, you wouldn't have lied to me about her being alive. You must have guessed that I was letting her leave me, but I wasn't letting her go. That's why you kept her from contacting me by convincing her that I might be the one behind the bomb."

"You could have been," Maximus growled.

Vlad's hands flashed out, closing over Maximus's. Only those thick rods of metal separated their faces as he leaned in.

"That, you must want to believe," he said softly. "Otherwise, you betrayed me for nothing."

Their matching glowing gazes showed every nuance of their flinty expressions. Finally, Maximus's mouth curled and he yanked his hands out from under Vlad's.

"Oh, I wouldn't say it was for nothing."

My jaw dropped. His insinuation was clear, as Vlad's hands bursting into flames proved. Part of me was offended by the false intimation while the other cheered Maximus for scoring a hit despite his helpless circumstances.

Which I was going to do something about. Locking him away in a dungeon counted as torture in my book, especially since Vlad intended Maximus to stay there a century or two.

Vlad barked out something in reply, but the room swam around me, blackness giving way to an avalanche of blue as I lost the link. After I was reoriented, I felt dizzy and didn't need a mirror to know what the warmth trickling from my nose was. Fury made that irrelevant. Vlad might think he'd pulled one over on me, but I was about to show him otherwise.