“You should get comfortable because…” He threw an arm around her shoulders before she could protest, drawing her to his side as he stroked soft fingers along her arm and the drowsy haze started falling again. “Time for a nap, darling.”

“Don’t call me darling. You’re a liar. I…” She fought to stay conscious, but her eyelids fell. “Ha…ate you.”

“I think you might actually mean that.” Was it her imagination, or did he sound sad? The heaviness fell over her like a warm blanket. It was almost as if the fingers on her arm feathered over her whole body, bringing with them a gentle pressure. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. She imagined a kiss on her forehead as the car slowed at the border crossing, and she thought she heard him whisper.

“I never lied.”

When she woke, she was in a warm, windowless room, still in her dress and lying on luxurious silk sheets. She blinked and sat up, shaking her head to clear the weird and sadly familiar hazy feeling from her head. She pinched her eyes shut, shook her head, then opened them again to see a crisp white note sitting on the edge of the night table. Near it, a duffel bag from her closet was sitting next to her shoes, which were lined up perfectly with her old white sneakers. She looked back at the note, which in clear, precise letters read:

It was not a dream.

“Well, shit.” She unfolded it to read the inside.

Natalie,

You are not a prisoner here, but you’re not free to go, either.

“That’s pretty much the definition of a prisoner, asshole.”

I will wake at dusk. Please make yourself at home in my house. I packed a few items from your closet…

“Are you kidding me?” She stood, tempted to rip the note to tiny shreds. “You went through my stuff?”

…And some extra shoes. Anything missing, I will be happy to procure for you.

…Anth="18">Baojia

P. S. Your butler is waiting.

Natalie stormed out of the room, surprised the handle turned on her first attempt, only to be met with the most stunning view of the Pacific Ocean she’d ever seen from inside a house. It stretched wide, a solid wall of glass framed by sleek modern pillars in white marble. Turning in place, she saw that her room opened up to a huge living room with a small kitchen in one corner. It looked like the guest suite of a very fancy hotel. And on one soft leather couch sat Luis, paging through a copy of the Tribune.

“This report on the hotel robbery is good. I don’t really read the paper, but I noticed a stack of them downstairs, so I picked one up. You’re a good writer.”

“Thanks. Are you supposed to be my butler?”

“Haha. Such a sense of humor the vampire has,” Luis said. “But yes. I’m stuck in here as long as you are. ‘See to her wishes, but don’t let her leave.’ I believe that was the job description.”

“Don’t let me leave, huh?” Natalie cast her eyes around the room. “We’ll see about that.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Baojia was practicing his forms to the melodious background noise of Natalie banging on the door of the guest suite, calling him every vile name she could think of. As suspected, she had a rather vivid imagination.

Cross. Thrust. Center. Draw back. Center. Sweep.

Center.

Center.

Center.

He took a deep, meditative breath, trying to still his mind from the flurries of information all begging for attention.

Rory had called at dusk.

Then Paula.

Then Ivan’s people.

Luis had called from the house phone to tell him Natalie had spent all day inspecting windows and air-conditioning vents for means of escape before she had taken to simply banging on the door incessantly until she was let out so she could go home. His assistant had also been subjected to a rather thorough interrogation about the vampire world.

I thought she was going to waterboard me!

He was insane. There was no way any of this was going to end well.

Cross. Draw. Center. Sweep.

Humans were dying in the desert and he had no idea who was behind it. His sire was still angry with him and wanted him cooped up in San Diego. A human reporter had discovered not only that vampires existed, but also that San Diego’s premier nightclub was owned by them. The same reporter was locked in his guest suite, and the electronic lock system keeping her there was due to release in—he glanced at the clock—five, four, three, two…

He heard the click followed by the tumble, followed by the rush of feet that ran down the stairs to—

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

Center.

Baojia turned, swiveling in his stance until he faced her, still practicing his forms in nothing but a pair of loose pants. She noticed.

“Good evening, Natalie.” He’d picked excellent clothing for her. The dark jeans hugged her hips and the blue-green shirt matched her eyes.

Focus. There Vmemer. Twas an angry human in his practice room.

“I said, who—”

“I am Baojia, oldest son and chief of security for Don Ernesto Alvarez, immortal leader of Los Angeles and its territories.” The corner of his mouth lifted as he stood in a rigid stance. “And sometimes known as George. Welcome to my home.” He finished the combination, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes for a moment. Seeing her awake in his home put him in an oddly good mood. He tried not to wonder why. His introduction had taken a bit of the wind out, but he could tell she was still angry. “I apologize for not giving you a tour last night. You were rather exhausted.”