Mortimer sat up in bed with a growl of frustration. He'd been having an incredibly erotic dream and Sam had been the star. He could still feel her slender body writhing in his arms, and it just increased the ache in his groin.

He peered down at himself, not at all surprised to see the erection he sported. He scrubbed his palms over his face, half in frustration, and half in an effort to force away the memories tormenting him. He could still taste Sam on his tongue, and feel her delicious body on his skin. There was no use denying it-it was most definitely starting to look like Sam was his life mate.

The funny thing was, Mortimer was starting to think that wasn't such a bad thing now that he was getting to know her. Sam still wasn't stacked like his fantasy Jessica Rabbit, but that hadn't hindered his attraction to her in their shared dream. He'd found her sleek, muscled body rather sexy then. It had reminded him of a cat. He felt little Mortimer twitch at the memory and shook his head.

Truly he was proving himself to be fickle and contrary. One moment he was moaning about her being a gangly Olive Oyl and not at all what he wanted, and now he was eager to see her again and perhaps find an opportunity to repeat the performance they'd experienced in the dream. But for real this time.

The woman had proven to be as passionate as she was intelligent in their shared dream. Her little moans of pleasure and the feel and taste of her had driven him wild and made him desperate to plunge his hardness into her moist heat... which he'd be doing now if she hadn't suddenly disappeared from the dream like a whiff of smoke.

It had been a connection dream, of course. His mind had reached out while they both slept, drawing her into the erotic conflagration. That, of course, was just another sign that she was his life mate. Unfortunately she'd obviously been woken, breaking their connection. She was probably just as frustrated as he was at that moment, he realized, and wondered if there was any possibility she'd go back to sleep. If she did, they could continue the dream.

The thought made Mortimer stiffen. It wasn't very likely. She was probably up and about, but the possibility that she might was enough to make him lie back on the bed and close his eyes. He was determined to return to sleep to find out, but now that he was awake, his hunger for her wasn't the only one Mortimer was suffering.

He should have had a bag of blood before retiring that morning, Mortimer acknowledged with irritation. He'd fed well before heading next door the night before, but he'd also consumed a couple of beers over the course of the evening, and the blood he'd binged on would have been used up countering the effects of the alcohol and removing it from his system. He was obviously in need of replenishing. The hunger was enough that he was actually suffering pangs, which meant he wasn't likely to sleep.

Muttering under his breath, he got up, tugged on his jeans, and quickly headed out of the room.

He'd have a quick bag and then try to sleep again, Mortimer told himself as he crossed the nearly pitch-black rec room to the refrigerator. They'd emptied out the tainted blood and refilled it with the blood from the cooler the day before. He now retrieved a bag, considered a second, decided against it for now, and then popped the bag he'd taken to his teeth as he moved to the blinds covering the wall of glass.

At the window, he used a finger to cautiously tug one vertical slat aside and then winced at the bright light that greeted him. It was still god-awful bright out there. Mortimer wasn't used to being up at midday.

After giving himself a moment to adjust to the glare, he shifted his gaze to the cottage next door. There was no one outside, but he thought he caught a glimpse of movement by the kitchen window and hoped it wasn't Sam up and about for the day. He hadn't given up hope of returning to bed to enjoy the completion of their shared dream. Neither had his erection. It was still flying at full mast.

A floorboard creaked overhead, and Mortimer let the vertical blind slat fall back into place. It was noon, but early for them. On leaving the women after the party they had spent several hours fruitlessly searching the nearby coffee shop and other places they'd hoped their rogue might frequent in his hunt for a quick bite. It had been dawn by the time they'd returned to the cottage. No one should be up yet.

Frowning, he drew the now-empty blood bag off his fangs and crumpled it in his hand as he silently crossed to mount the stairs. Mortimer stepped off the top step a moment later to see someone's butt and legs sticking out of the open refrigerator door.

It was Bricker, he realized, recognizing him despite the fact that his upper body was bent over and appeared to be crammed into the appliance. It looked to him like the younger immortal was trying to climb into the refrigerator to be with the food.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Startled, Bricker jerked upward and cursed loudly as he smashed his head into the bottom of the freezer. He backed out of the appliance and turned, a scowl claiming his lips when he spotted Mortimer.

"Eating," he answered, and then added accusingly, "We should have stopped for something to eat on the way back like I asked. Hunger pangs woke me up."

"It was too late. The sun was rising by the time we got back," Mortimer reminded him, and then frowned at the sight of the Polish sausage Bricker held in one hand and the hunk of cheese in the other. "Those aren't our groceries."

"I know, but we'll replace them as soon as the stores open." When that didn't make Mortimer's tight-lipped expression soften, he added, "I'm hungry."

Mortimer's frown did ease at that plaintive claim. Despite having fed, his own hunger pangs were still attacking him. The bag of blood hadn't touched his hunger. It seemed it wasn't what he hungered for. His stomach wanted more food to follow up on what it had enjoyed the night before. All his appetites had been reawakened. Certainly his sex drive seemed in full swing, something he hadn't been bothered by for centuries. Mortimer couldn't even recall the woman he'd last been with, but he was still flying at half mast at that moment for Sam.

"Do you hear the generator?" Bricker asked suddenly, and Mortimer frowned as he realized the loud roar of the engine that had propelled the lights and run the refrigerator since Decker had turned it on was silent. Now that he was thinking about it, he didn't recall hearing it on returning from the party last night either.

Bricker frowned down at the Polish sausage in his hand and said, "Everything in the refrigerator feels cold. The power must be back on... But..."

"But?" Mortimer asked sharply.

"I don't remember the generator being on when we returned from the Anderson party last night," he admitted reluctantly, and then added, "And the Polish sausage tastes a little off."

Mortimer peered down at the bag in his hand with sudden concern. It had felt cold to the touch when he'd taken it out of the refrigerator downstairs, but just because it was cold now didn't mean it had been all night.

And that was just bad. Blood had to be kept at a temperature between one and six degrees centigrade; otherwise it could cause cell lysis. He might have just downed tainted blood without knowing it.

That was the one downside of their method of feeding. Had he poured some in a glass to drink, he would have tasted if it was off and simply spat it out. Puncturing the bag with his fangs, however, prevented his tasting the blood.

A shuffling sound drew him from his worried thoughts to see that Decker was stepping off the stairs into the kitchen and scowling at Bricker and Mortimer as he moved to toss an empty blood bag into the garbage can. Obviously he'd stopped to grab a bag on the way up.

"What's going on? What are you two doing up? Besides waking me up, that is," he added dryly.

"The generator's not running," Mortimer said, ignoring his bad temper. "We think it might have died last night."

Immediately realizing the implications, Decker cursed and turned to head out the door. Mortimer tossed his own empty blood bag into the garbage and followed, aware that Bricker was close on his heels.

The generator was housed in a small shed behind the cottage. When Decker dragged the door open, the three men crowded inside to stare at the metal mystery that was the generator.

"It's definitely not running," Bricker pointed out.

There was a general nod of agreement and then silence as they all continued to stare at the machine. Mortimer didn't think any of them knew a thing about generators. They were hunters, chasing down rogue immortals and serving them up to the Council to punish. None of them was mechanically minded... except when it came to weapons, of course. Now if this was a flamethrower or something of that ilk, they'd have had it taken apart and put back together again and had it working in a trice.

His gaze shifted over the large engine before them. It didn't in any way resemble a flamethrower.

Decker moved closer to the machine, bent slightly, and cocked his head one way and then the other, appearing to examine the various gauges and buttons. After a moment of doing that, he straightened, paused, and then gave the generator a healthy kick. Nothing happened.

"I guess I'll have to call someone to take a look at it," Decker said finally, scowling at the recalcitrant machine.

Bricker groaned. "I ate tainted sausage."

"And I had some of the tainted blood," Decker muttered with disgust.

Mortimer sighed. "So did I."

While the tainted food and blood alone wouldn't hurt them, it would force their bodies to work harder to remove it... which meant they would need more blood, and all they had was a refrigerator full of tainted supplies.

"I'll call ABB and have them send out a fresh cooler," Mortimer muttered, turning toward the door, only to freeze when he saw Sam stumbling along the path between the cottage and the shed. The sight of her in the flesh after the dream he'd had was unsettling enough that he took a startled step back, stomping on someone's toes. Bricker's, he realized as he glanced back to mutter an apology.

"Good morning, or afternoon I guess," Sam said cheerfully, drawing his gaze as she reached them. A blush of color rose in her cheeks as their eyes met, and she looked away with an alacrity that made Mortimer smile. He suspected she was recalling their shared dream. He heard the way her heartbeat suddenly sped up as well, and that just reaffirmed his belief, as did the sudden difference in her breathing. It became shallow and fast as excitement coursed through her, an excitement he could actually smell.

"I thought I saw you guys heading back here." She sounded nervous, and while she was avoiding looking directly at him, was keeping him in her peripheral vision like prey trying to avoid drawing a predator's attention by looking straight on.

It made all of Mortimer's predatory instincts fire to life, urging him to move closer. Instead he backed farther away, forcing the other men back into the corner behind him as he fought the urges claiming him. The wash of desire in her scent made him want to smell her, to press his nose to her throat and inhale the scent gushing off her. It was nervous excitement, but more excitement than nerves.

"Is there something wrong with it? The generator, I mean?" Sam asked, shifting nervously away as if sensing what he wanted to do.

The question made him suddenly worry that she'd overheard their conversation on approaching, and he asked sharply, "Why? What makes you think that?"

"Because you're in the shed and the only thing in here is the generator," she said, as if that should be obvious.

"She didn't hear anything," Decker muttered quietly behind him, and Mortimer took a moment to scowl over his shoulder at him for obviously reading her thoughts.

"Would you like me to take a look at it?" Sam offered, sounding uncertain. When they all just stared at her blankly, she moved toward the generator, saying, "The power's back on by the way, so you don't need it anymore, but I could see if I can't fix the generator for next time."

"That's okay. I'll call someone in," Decker said, but she was already looking it over.

"I thought you were a lawyer not a mechanic?" Bricker teased.

"I am, but my dad was a mechanic with his own business. My sisters and I all worked in his shop as teenagers. He insisted on teaching us a few things so we wouldn't be helpless," Sam said and bent slightly, her attention on examining the gauges more closely.

As she did, Mortimer found himself examining her rear end. It was really quite nice. He generally went for women with a little more meat on such places; hips, butt, breasts, but there was something about her sleek lines that appealed to him. And the more he saw her smile, the more attractive he found every aspect of her.

"It's not her smile you're looking at," Decker said dryly under his breath, and Mortimer swiveled to scowl at him again, wishing he'd stop taking advantage of the situation and reading his thoughts.

"Hmm, I think I see the problem," Sam announced, and Mortimer turned back in time to see her straighten and turn to face them. She now wore a happy, satisfied smile and Mortimer found himself focusing on her lips as she explained what was wrong with Decker's generator. Mortimer didn't hear a word of it, he simply watched her lips move as he considered how clever she was turning out to be, and damn he wished he could kiss her right now as he had in his dream. He wished he could kiss her and touch her, scoop her up in his arms and carry her down to the beach where he would strip away the cream shorts and burgundy T-shirt she was wearing and-

"God, Mortimer, get a room for those thoughts, huh?" Decker muttered.

"What?" Sam asked with confusion, obviously not having caught what he'd said.

"Nothing," Mortimer said quickly before Decker could respond. "Ignore him; you were saying something about the... er... something or other."

Sam's lips quirked with amusement at his vague words. "You've been standing there with this glazed look on your face the whole time I've been talking. All of you have. Not one of you understood what I was trying to explain, did you?"

Mortimer glanced behind him to the men who were each shrugging helplessly. Turning back, he said, "No."

Sam nodded and then turned her gaze onto Decker. "Basically, your generator is old and you should probably replace it. You could have it repaired, but it would probably be cheaper just to get a new one."

"Right." Decker pushed Mortimer out of the way, forcing him up against Sam so he could slip through the door. "A new generator it is. Right after I call ABB."

"Sorry," Mortimer muttered, and tried to back up and give her some space, but Bricker just pushed him up against her again as he too escaped the small building. "Sorry," he muttered again, and then reached out to catch her arms to steady her as he nearly backed her over the generator.

Eyes wide, Sam grabbed at his shirtfront to stay upright, and then bit her lip and glanced away until they were finally alone and Mortimer was able to, reluctantly, back away. She released her hold on his T-shirt at once and quickly scooted past him to follow the men.

It was full-on daylight, the sun pouring down its damaging rays. They hadn't paid much attention to that in their rush to check on the generator, but now it made the other two men hasten to get to the shelter offered by the cottage. They moved swiftly, and in response, Sam hurried too, though Mortimer suspected that was because she was trying to avoid being left alone with him.

He could have rushed ahead with the others as his survival instincts were urging him to do, but found he couldn't be that rude. Besides, the path around the house was uneven, just a dirt path beaten into the ground by years of trampling feet, and he was concerned about the balance issue her ear infection caused her. So Mortimer followed Sam, staying close enough to steady her if her balance proved shaky.

"I was sent over to grab some sausage and eggs for breakfast," she announced a little breathlessly as they reached the stairs. "I was also told to tell you that you're welcome to join us for breakfast if you like."

"Ah." Mortimer glanced up, his eyes landing directly on her bottom and staying focused there, watching the way it shifted and moved as she mounted the steps.

"Ah?"

When she paused at the top and glanced back, he jerked his eyes up with a combination of confusion and guilt-the guilt for getting caught ogling her ass, and the confusion because he wasn't sure what she was asking.

"You said 'ah' as if that might be a problem," Sam explained, her face flaming pink.

"Well, it rather is," Mortimer admitted, taking her arm to urge her across the deck and inside. The more time he spent outside, the more he was going to suffer for it. It would be hours before a fresh supply of blood could be delivered. It wasn't going to be comfortable for any of them, and Mortimer wasn't willing to add to his suffering any more than necessary and wanted to get inside. But Sam was now digging in her heels.

"What is the problem with getting our food back?" she asked suspiciously.

"The generator's dead," he pointed out.

"Yes, I know. I just-Oh," she said with realization and allowed him to propel her into the cottage. Frowning, she asked, "How long has it been off?"

"We aren't sure. We don't remember hearing it last night when we got back," he admitted.

"You're right," Sam said thoughtfully. "I could hear the murmur of your voices from my room when you got back this morning. I wouldn't have been able to had the generator been going. It's quite loud."

Mortimer nodded, but his gaze had shifted to Decker who was standing on the other side of the counter, talking on the phone. He had no doubt the man was ordering fresh blood from ABB, the Argeneau Blood Bank. As for Bricker, he'd sprawled on the couch, a tragic expression on his face and a hand on his stomach as he contemplated the tainted sausage he'd eaten. Bricker could be a bit dramatic. It was his youth. At under a hundred he was still a baby.

"Have you checked the food, though? It might still be all right," Sam suggested drawing his gaze back to her.

"The sausage was tainted," Bricker said mournfully from the couch, drawing Sam's surprised expression.

"Bricker got into the sausage and cheese when he woke up," Mortimer explained. "We'll replace it, of course. In fact, we'll replace all of the food since it was ruined because of our generator."

Sam waved the offer away. "Don't be silly. It would have been just as ruined had we left it in our cooler. But I'd best get back and let the girls know. They're hungry. I suppose we'll have to go into town for breakfast and then pick up supplies."

"Breakfast in town?" Bricker asked with interest and sat up abruptly on the couch.

Mortimer glanced at him with disbelief. A moment ago he'd looked like he was ready to write his own memorial.

"Do you want to come?" Sam asked, and Bricker was off the couch at once.

"Oh yeah. I'm starved," the younger man said, hurrying to join them.

"Bricker," Mortimer said grimly, and then nodded his head toward the windows. Treated as they were against UV rays, there was no need to close the blinds. The bright sunlight outside was plainly visible.

Bricker followed the gesture, peered outside, and then shrugged. "We can take our SUV. The windows are treated."

"Treated?" Sam asked as Mortimer glared at his partner for the slip.

"Mortimer has a sensitivity to the sun. The windows on the truck are specially coated to help with that."

"Oh." Sam turned a concerned gaze his way. "What happens? Do you break out in hives or something?"

"Or something," he muttered, and then said to Bricker. "Even if we took the SUV we'd still have to walk back and forth to the store, and we don't have any... er... medicine here," he ended lamely, unable to say blood.

"It will be hours before the medicine can be delivered," Bricker responded. "Better not to be suffering from hunger too."

Mortimer opened his mouth to argue, but Bricker forestalled him. "You probably don't remember, Mortimer, but trust me, being hungry isn't going to help."

"Backer's probably right," Decker said. He had hung up the phone and was now moving around the kitchen counter to join them. "It's going to be dinnertime before the medicine gets here, and a nice rare steak and eggs might help. If things get too bad you can always take emergency measures."

Decker meant that if things got too bad he and Bricker could bite a mortal in town for the blood they needed. They were allowed to do so in emergency situations, and this situation could quickly turn into an emergency. Still, Mortimer was more concerned by the effect the words might be having on Sam and wasn't surprised when he saw the confusion on her face as she listened to their conversation. Between the talk of "medicine" and "emergency measures," she was probably wondering what the hell was going on.

Sighing, Mortimer ran a hand through his hair as he considered what to do. In the end, his decision was made based not on either Bricker's pleading look or Decker's argument, but on the simple fact that he'd rather go to town with Sam than stay here without her.

"Okay," he said, bringing a grin to Bricker's face. Mortimer ignored that and said to Sam, "We'll take our SUV though. You and your sisters are welcome to ride with us."

"I'll go tell them." Sam was through the door almost before the last word was spoken.

"While you're on your outing with the girls, I'm going to go buy a new generator," Decker announced. "And before you ask, no, I'm not interested in coming with you to do so. I like to get in, get what I need, and get out. Women like to lollygag when they shop. I'm not in the mood for lollygagging."

Bricker smiled with amusement, but merely said, "Why not leave that until after dark? The power's back on now so there's no urgency about it."

"I somehow don't think the Canadian Tire stays open until ten o'clock," Decker said dryly. "Besides, I won't have the blood arrive, the power go out, and this batch be ruined as well."

"Right." Bricker nodded. "Makes sense."

"Thank you, I have been known to make sense once in a while," he said dryly and then glanced from Bricker to Mortimer, his eyes narrowing. "You're already starting to looking pale. I suspect you're both going to have to bite someone in town."

Mortimer turned a firm gaze on Bricker. "Not Sam or her sisters."

"Scout's honor," the younger immortal said, holding up a hand as if giving an oath. He then moved to the window to peer out toward the cottage next door. "I hope they don't take too long, I'm-"

"-hungry," Mortimer and Decker finished for him at the same time.