Whether or not he was really a vampire—Barrons didn’t seem to believe it—was anyone’s guess. All I knew for sure was that he was something more than human. Icy pale, tall with the slim, muscled body of a dancer, I’d watched him fling a nearly seven-foot, massively bulked bodyguard across the room, to his death, with a single backhanded blow. I still wasn’t sure how I’d survived the blow I’d taken that day in the Dark Zone, after I’d stabbed him with my spear.

“There was a memorial service at his compound last week,” Barrons replied.

Yes! This was what I’d been waiting for, his worshippers to mourn him! “So, he’s dead.” I encouraged him to say the words. Despite how certain his news made me, I wanted Barrons’ verbal confirmation that there was one less bad guy out there after me now.

He said nothing.

“Oh, why won’t you just say it? If you hold a memorial service for someone who’s undead then he must be no longer ‘un,’ which means he’s dead. Right? Otherwise they would have held a creepy welcome-back-to-life service, not a weepy we’ll-always-remember-you service.”

“I told you, Ms. Lane, never believe anything’s dead—”

“—I know, I know, until you’ve ‘burned it, poked around in its ashes, and then waited a day or two to see if anything rises from them,’ I shot back at him dryly, with a roll of my eyes. According to Barrons, some things couldn’t be killed. He’d strongly hinted that vampires fell into that category. Obviously Barrons hadn’t read Vampires for Dummies. According to the VFD’s authors, who’d allegedly interviewed hundreds of undead in their quest for the truth even dummies could follow (Mallucé was so famous they’d devoted an entire chapter to him), vampires were easily staked and tidily dispatched and subject to all kinds of worldly limitations and afflictions.

“His solicitor was at the auction, Ms. Lane, bidding heavily on several items, including the amulet.”

My hopes went flat as a tire on nails. “He’s alive?”

“It would be unwise to speculate. It could be that someone else is pursuing his interests, using his name and representatives as a front. Perhaps the Lord Master has assumed control of Mallucé’s finances and following. There would be little to stop him.”

That was a frightening thought. Whatever fanatic worshippers Mallucé had managed to acquire, I had no doubt the Lord Master could increase tenfold. Though I’d seen him only once, his face was permanently etched in my memory, in fine detail. I’d studied the photos that had been taken of him and my sister in and around Dublin, for hours. He was inhumanly beautiful, like a Fae, but not Fae. My sidhe-seer take on him had been as confused as my take on Mallucé. Human…but…not quite human.

Of one thing I was certain: On a charisma scale of one to ten, my sister’s ex-boyfriend was an eleven. Mallucé’s followers wouldn’t stand a chance. They’d fall on their knees, supplicant in a heartbeat. The night I’d stolen the OOP that Mallucé had been hiding from the Lord Master, I’d seen enough of his groupies to know they were so desperate for something to live for that they’d die to get it. That was more oxymoronic than jumbo shrimp in my book. Not to mention just plain moronic.

“Go put these on.” Barrons tossed a parcel at me.

I regarded it warily. Barrons’ clothing choices were never simpatico with mine. He and I could walk into the same store and shop all day, and by the end of it, I still wouldn’t have gotten around to selecting the one outfit that would have been his first choice. He goes for stark versus accessorized, dark over bright, jewel tone instead of pastel, carnal over flirty. I rarely recognize myself when he dresses me. Deep inside I’m still my daddy’s rainbow and pink girl.

“Let me guess,” I said dryly, “it’s black?”

He shrugged.

“Tight?”

He laughed. That was twice in one night. Barrons rarely laughed. I narrowed my eyes. “What’s with you?” I asked suspiciously.

“What do you mean, Ms. Lane?” He stepped closer. Too close. Was he looking at my breasts again? I could feel the heat of his big body, along with the energy that always seemed to roll off him, that strange electrical current that bristled, omnipresent beneath his golden skin. There was something different about him tonight. Control was Barrons’ middle name. Why then was I getting this feeling of…wildness…of an emotion I couldn’t identify but was surely kin to violence. And there was something more…