The cracked vinyl of the truck bench stuck to Danii's heated thighs, disgusting her even further.

Her hands were clenched and a steady stream of lightning trailed her as she and Farmer Ted bounced along a pitted road, closing in on Val Hall, the manor that housed the New Orleans coven of Valkyrie.

Earlier, once she'd trudged a mile from the mill, in the heat of a Louisiana noonday sun, she'd eventually stumbled onto a desolate county highway - and an old farmer driving by in an even older truck.

After dashing in front of him in the road, begging for a ride, she'd promptly deduced that Farmer Ted was a man of no words, communicating solely by strategic spitting of his tobacco chew.

With one healthy splat out of his truck window, he'd agreed to drop her near home. At least, she'd translated that as an agreement. Before he could argue - that would just get untidy - she'd clambered into the cab. The one without air-conditioning that reeked of taxidermy and Levi Garrett tobacco.

If Valkyrie ate, Danii would be vomiting right now.

All because of that vampire. The only thing getting her through this ordeal was the belief that Murdoch would regret what he'd done.

And the fact that she'd left him a special number for when he returned.

The second he'd vanished, she'd rushed to the mill's garage, agreeing that she needed to leave, stat. Rule to live by: If a vampire warns you he's coming back to attack and possibly kill you, then you listen.

Inside, she'd found a classic Porsche, refurbished and lovely, with a new Maserati Spyder beside it. She'd been eager to steal and trash either one, already planning to return the vehicle with a UV bulb in the overhead light. But she couldn't find the keys.

She'd tried to call for help on his sat-phone, but the service was code-locked.

Rather than stay and wait like an unwitting bag of O positive, she'd scribbled her note and set out in her bloody boots, wearing damp underwear, the vamp's T-shirt, and a cloak of rage that only a two-thousand-year-old Valkyrie could pull off.

For so long, those in the Lore had noted the differences between Danii and her sisters - including Danii. But in truth, she had just as many Valkyrie traits as she had Icere.

Most notably, Danii possessed the Valkyrie's notorious pride and need for retribution. Like her sisters, if she was wronged, then gods help the subject of her wrath.

I've so been wronged. By the first vampire in history not to want his Bride. She didn't know if that said something about him - or about her. If anyone found out she'd been cast away by a Forbearer, she would never live it down. Her only hope was that no one ever discovered her disgraceful morning.

To add insult to injury, she'd also remembered him interrogating her. While she'd been filled with poison, he'd been filled with questions.

Her supposed white knight had taken advantage of her, and she couldn't recall how much she'd told him. Surely she hadn't revealed any critical secrets or weaknesses...

Stop thinking about him. You have things to do. Like fleeing the city.

Since none of the assassins from last night would be reporting back, King Sigmund would soon send another Icere contingent. He wouldn't stop until he'd killed her.

Just as he'd murdered the true queen of the Iceren, Svana the Great, Danii's mother.

Danii had to get home and pack, but she grew weary merely thinking about returning to Val Hall, weak and shamed, a vampire informer. Via Farmer Ted. How could she face her sisters now?

Myst was still getting razzed for hooking up with Nikolai five years ago, even by other Lore factions. Having the aggressively omnisexual nymphs ridicule one's choice of lover was about as low as one could get. Mysty the Vampire Layer was the butt of many a joke.

Who was worse? Myst, who'd dabbled with a vampire, or Danii, who'd dabbled and had desperately wanted more?

Murdoch dreamed.

Sometimes he dreamed of the sun, sometimes of old battles. Now he dreamed of his father, of walking in on him wet-eyed, clutching a portrait of Murdoch's mother on the fifth anniversary of her death.

Murdoch had loved his mother, though she'd been zealously religious, and he'd grieved her loss, but his father had been left a broken shell of a man.

At first, Murdoch had pitied him. Then he'd scorned the father who had scant time for his family, who'd all but orphaned his four young daughters with his neglect.

By this time, Murdoch had been enjoying women for years, knew that they were always about when he needed one. His father could have enjoyed the same - as a wealthy aristocrat, he could easily have found a woman to replace his departed wife.

"Get another one," Murdoch had finally demanded, unable to comprehend what kind of hold the woman had over him. His father had refused to move on, obsessed with her.

A woman's death had broken a strong man...

The dream began to change. Murdoch found himself with Daniela in a strange room made of ice walls. But he felt no chill from it, no discomfort.

He placed his palms on either side of her ethereal face - without giving her pain. When his thumbs brushed her delicate cheekbones, she smiled up at him, but her countenance was different. Everything about her had changed.

Wisping ice crystals had formed in half-moon shapes at her temples. More crystals spiked her lashes and tangled in her wild, shimmery hair. Her skin was even paler, her lips tinged with blue. Delicate cobalt-colored designs laced around her wrists and descended over her hands. In his dream, he knew they ran across her lower back as well.

Her eyes seemed to be filled with an ancient knowing, and they glowed as if banked with a blue fire.

She looked otherworldly. Like a completely alien being. She is otherworldly...

"Do you want me?" she whispered on a frosty breath, leading him to a bed in the center of the room.

He'd never wanted anyone more. "I have to have you."

"Then take me, Murdoch."

He was about to give her his standard warning, that this was only for a night. He wouldn't be interested in more. But she pressed her chill lips to his, stunning him with the cold - and with the pleasure. Perfection. Delicious.

He lost track of what he'd been about to say.

As they kissed, he slipped her skimpy dress from her, then pressed her back on the bed. He tugged her panties down, left her heels on.

Sweeping his hands up her thighs, he spread her legs. Now that he could, he made a feast of her body for hours, licking her in secret places. Instead of her own fingers delving into her sex, his now thrust inside her.

He tormented her, first keeping her from coming, then forcing her to, over and over.

In his dream, he knew she'd never been with another man. He painstakingly prepared her body for his, determined to spare her pain as he claimed her virginity.

When he'd been human, he'd never been interested in virgins. Back then, much was taboo in his conservative country. Deflowering a maid one never intended to marry was virtually blasphemous.

So why was he continuing with Daniela, positioning his hips between her pale thighs? Why was he kissing her soft breasts, rubbing his face against them, sucking on those stiff nipples? Did he want to be bound to her? One woman. For more than even a mortal lifetime. Possibly forever.

These thoughts left him when the head of his cock found her wetness.

She softly cried, "Murdoch..." Lightning fractured the night, the thunder booming all around them.

With a groan, he slowly rolled his hips up, pressing the crown inside her untried body... the tightness, the connection.

When she gasped in his ear and made little whimpers of pleasure, he ran his mouth against her neck, licking her sweet skin, knowing he'd take her blood this night.

He rode her harder, faster, shocked when she met his frantic thrusts with a hidden strength. She dug her heels in to lift her hips, seating him even deeper inside her.

She told him she was about to come, and he was desperate to feel it.

Her sheath began squeezing his throbbing cock, and the power of her orgasm sent his seed climbing. The pressure would soon make him mindless. His cock ached; his fangs ached. No amount of will could prevent him from bucking his hips to lose his semen... or from piercing her neck.

With a yell, he sank his fangs into her tender flesh. And it was like coming home.

"Murdoch!"

He felt her crying out as her blood filled his mouth, coursing through every cell in his body.

Connection.

As the overwhelming urge to come inside her grew, he slammed his body between her legs. Growling against her neck, he began to ejaculate, spending so hard he knew she felt it inside her. Still sucking her blood, he flooded her womb.

Once he was spent at last, he collapsed atop her, releasing his bite. Afterward, as their hearts pounded, he couldn't seem to stop kissing her neck and murmuring praise in her ear. This new bond between them was like nothing he'd ever known.

Yet she began fading, disappearing from him.

"Murdoch, what's happening?" The fear in her eyes was like the night before - stark, filling him with dread.

"No! Daniela, don't go... "

A strange voice in his mind whispered, "How badly do you want her? What would you sacrifice?"

He woke to his own yelling, tracing to his feet. With her number still in his hand, he snatched up the phone, staring at one, then the other as he caught his breath.

He shook his head hard. What the hell was this? Like a spell on him, making him behave in ways he normally wouldn't.

Calm yourself. Think this through. You have bloodlust for her.

He couldn't control it. He acknowledged that. Yet he kept remembering his brother's contentment. Murdoch's mind seized on the rightness of being with Daniela in his dream.

Think, just think.... As he debated, he stalled, tracing to the kitchen to drink blood, though he had no appetite, then showering. He took time selecting which clothes he'd wear for the night - in case he decided to meet her again.

In the end, Murdoch found it impossible not to call her. To hell with it.

He was strangely nervous as he picked up the phone. After all, he'd never contacted a woman for an assignation. They'd always come to him.

He'd have to smooth-talk Daniela, since he'd left it so badly today. That wouldn't be a problem. He'd been called silver-tongued by more than one lover in the past.

Eight-six-seven-five-three-oh-nine -

"Kristoff wishes to see you," a male said from behind him.

He hastily disconnected the call, then cast a scowl over his shoulder. Lukyan, a Russian Forbearer, leaned negligently against the doorframe.

Murdoch didn't trust the former Cossack. Not bothering to hide his irritation, he said, "Can't it wait?"

"It's about your brother. You're to go to Blachmount."

"What about him?"

Lukyan's expression was studiously blank. "He's probably about to be executed."