"Davis," I said quietly after a while. Davis was still in the kitchen getting a bottle of water out of the fridge.

"What, Lissa?" he straightened up—he'd been bending over to get his water off a lower shelf.

"Are werewolves susceptible to diseases? I mean, I worried every time Winkler brought home a girl from a bar."

Davis grinned. "Nope. Somehow, our system burns right through that stuff. So if his protection fails, he won't get sick."

"Can werewolves have children with humans?"

Davis shut the door to the fridge and opened his bottle of water, drinking a little then replacing the cap before answering my question. "Yeah. But none of them will be werewolves," he said. "Werewolves can only be born to a mated pair of werewolves. Sad but true. That's why Winkler is very careful about that sort of thing. He doesn't want any unscheduled children."

"In my understanding, there's only one way to make vampires," I said. "And it doesn't involve reproduction in the traditional sense."

"Yeah. I know that, too."

"Winkler needs to find someone suitable," I said.

"Yeah."

My life was just chock full of cheerfulness lately. I finished cleaning up the kitchen and went out the door, heading toward the guesthouse. Gavin must have been in his bedroom, he wasn't in the living area or the kitchen. Just as well, I didn't want to see him anyway.

* * *

"Honored One, I received information tonight that indicates the project is more than 75% percent completed and security is being increased. Primary is nearly healed and will return to work soon.

G."

* * *

Whitney wanted to go shopping in Dallas on the night of the fifteenth, so Winkler asked Glen and me to accompany her and Sam. The Galleria was her mall of choice and Sam was buying as well. Apparently, a new spring wardrobe was in the offing, to go with the old spring wardrobe Whitney had purchased a few weeks before. I'd never had that kind of money in my life and wondered what it felt like to spend it with abandon. We stopped at a jewelry store the very last thing as the mall was about to close. I think we had maybe fifteen minutes.

"Winkler said to buy you something here," Whitney was smiling at me. I just stood there like a dimwitted fool for a minute.

"No." I said. "Winkler doesn't need to buy me jewelry. Nobody needs to buy me jewelry. No." I flung out an arm and left the store, walking quickly into the mall. What was he doing? I was just about to explode from the duality of our relationship. He owned me, he'd blackmailed me, and he punctuated that with hugs, kisses and an offer to buy jewelry. I wasn't having it. What was I? A favored slave or something? A lapdog kept on a leash, wearing a diamond collar and told to sit, stay and roll over?

"Lissa, what's wrong?" Whitney trotted up beside me with Sam and Glen right behind. She didn't know. Of course she didn't. Well, Winkler could keep secrets from his sister if he wanted.

"I just don't want any jewelry. I earn a salary. That's sufficient." Whitney tried to coax me at first, but the mall was closing and I was walking toward the parking garage. We made it home without mishap and I didn't talk to anyone the whole time. Glen was driving and I sat up front with him while Whitney and Sam sat in the back.

"You upset Whitney." Those were the first words out of Winkler's mouth when he barged into my bedroom without knocking. I was huddled against the headboard of the bed, my knees under my chin, my arms around my legs, trying to come to grips with my life and my position and status within that life.

"Tell her I'm sorry. That wasn't my intention." I blinked up at Winkler. He looked ready to explode.

"Lissa, why? I offer to buy something you might want and you fling it away."

Whitney wasn't the only one upset, I could tell. "Sorry, Winkler. I just wasn't in the mood."

Winkler growled. I remembered then that it was the night before the full moon and the Wolves were a little touchy. "Winkler," I tried again. "We'll talk about this soon, okay? It was just such a shock and they were already making announcements to close the mall."

Winkler stared at me for a moment and then sighed. "Trust Whitney to leave it until the last minute," he said. "We'll talk about it later." He left my bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Four security guards drove Winkler, Phil, Davis, Glen, Leon, Whitney and Sam inside two SUVs the evening of the full moon. They were going to someone's ranch north of Dallas, where the run was scheduled. The human guards were instructed to drop them off and they all thought Winkler and Co. were invited to a barbeque. The SUVs and the drivers were coming back to the house until called for. Gavin was in charge of the guards while everyone else was gone and since I was a little bored and still upset over the whole jewelry fiasco, I decided to go to the roof and sit. There wasn't a good way to get up there without the guards seeing and freaking, so I turned to mist inside my bedroom, floated out of the guesthouse and up to the roof of the three-story house. The SUVs were driving through the front gate and I was about to turn back to myself when I caught movement a little way down the street.

If my blood hadn't been cool already, it would have chilled then. A semi was parked behind some of the nearby businesses, which wouldn't normally have caused any stir; trucks unloaded and loaded from there all the time. Now it was after hours, very dark, and all those businesses were closed. There were people swarming around the truck like termites and I watched in horror as they unloaded a vehicle that looked as if a tank and a hummer had a baby. That baby had a nasty-looking rocket launcher attached.

If I'd had a voice, I'd have screamed my lungs out. I didn't and the swarm was now driving their vehicle straight for Winkler's walls. The termites? They all had assault rifles. They were trotting alongside the attack vehicle, too.

Gavin, Gavin, Gavin, Gavin—if I could have expressed myself verbally, I would have been sobbing out his name. I sent it out mentally instead, as if he could hear me, somehow. Angling off the roof as mist, I swooped downward, flying toward the small army as swiftly as I could. As it was in North Dakota, I realized it would take precious minutes to change to myself—minutes I didn't have. Gavin wasn't the only one behind the walls surrounding Winkler's mansion. There were at least a dozen security guards there as well, many of whom had families who might never see their loved ones again.

I settled somewhere behind the attackers, who were making their way to the wall swiftly. I figured they intended to blast their way through the wall first and then open fire on whomever and whatever they found inside it.




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