Vince Cordova sat at a booth in a back corner of The Nocturne, idly sipping from a glass of what looked like red wine. He was new to this town, to this place. New to the nocturnal life. He looked at the wannabe vampires that filled the club. Men and women alike, they were all clad in black-black shirts or blouses, black pants or skirts, long black cloaks, some lined in white, some in blood-red satin. The women wore black eye shadow and eyeliner and wore matching lipstick. Here and there he caught a flash of fang-fake, of course.

Vince ran his tongue over his own teeth, felt the needle-sharp prick of his fangs. They were the real deal and he still wasn't used to them. Or the ever-present yearning for blood.

He stared into the glass in his hand. The liquid soothed the craving but he found no real satisfaction in it.

There was nothing like drinking from the source, inhaling the scent of it, feeling the warmth slide over your tongue and trickle down your throat. Damn! Just thinking about it stirred his hunger.

Draining the contents of his glass, he went to the bar for a refill.

Cara threaded her way through the crowd toward the bar, conscious of Di Giorgio entering behind her.

Sometimes she wished he would just disappear, although in a place like this, she was glad he was there.

She glanced around the room but she didn't see Anton. Maybe he had changed his mind, and maybe the fact that she felt relief instead of regret answered the question of how she felt about him. It was probably just as well that he hadn't shown up, she thought, since she was certain he had a lot more experience with women than she did with men. Still, she couldn't help glancing toward the door every now and then.

Upon seeing an empty bar stool, she sat down and ordered her usual, a virgin pineapple daiquiri. Her friends at work teased her because she didn't drink alcohol, but it was a taste she had never acquired.

Maybe it was because her parents didn't drink, either.

Sitting there, she ran her finger around the rim of the glass while she watched the couples on the dance floor. She really was out of her league here, she thought. As soon as she finished her drink, she'd go home. No more walking on the wild side for her.

"You get stood up?"

Cara looked at the man who had taken the seat to her left. He wore a black T-shirt, tight black jeans, and a pair of black leather boots, and he was far and away the most gorgeous man she had ever seen.

Thick black hair brushed his broad shoulders. His eyes were dark brown under straight black brows; his nose was thin and sharp. His lips were full and sensuous. She had the strongest urge to run her fingertips over them to see if they were as warm and soft as they looked.

"Are you talking to me?" she asked coolly.

"I asked if you'd been stood up. You keep looking toward the door."

"No, I haven't, not that it's any of your business."

He shrugged. "Sorry. Just trying to make conversation."

"I'm sorry, too," she apologized. "I didn't mean to be rude."

"No problem." He gestured at her empty glass. "Can I buy you another drink?"

"I guess so."

"What are you drinking?" She hesitated a moment, reluctant, for some reason, to let him know she didn't indulge. She was over twenty-one, after all. It wouldn't hurt her to have one drink.

He was watching her, waiting for her answer.

"A pineapple daiquiri."

Vince gave the bartender her order and asked for a glass of red wine for himself. It was not his usual drink of choice; ordinarily, he ordered a Bloody Mariah.

"I'm Vince."

"Cara."

"Nice to meet you, Cara."

"Thank you."

"You don't seem like the type to frequent this joint."

"Why not?"

"Look around, honey. I don't want to hurt your feelings, but you don't fit the profile."

She wanted to be offended, but how could she when he was right? She was the only one in the place who didn't look like they had just stepped out of a cheap horror flick.

"I just sort of stumbled into the place," she admitted. "Until last night, I never knew The Nocturne

existed."

He nodded. "You met someone here, didn't you? And you came back hoping to see him again."

"How did you know that?"

He shrugged. "I used to do the bar scene a lot."

"Used to?" She smiled at the bartender when he placed her drink in front of her. He winked at her, then moved on down the bar. She wondered what the wink was for until she tasted her drink. He had thoughtfully left out the rum.

"I've been a little off my game the last year or so," Vince said. "Been spending a lot of time by myself."

"Were you sick?"

"In away."

She found it hard to believe he had ever been ill. He looked the picture of health, strong and fit. His T-shirt stretched over a broad chest; his arms were long and well muscled. He reminded her of a bodybuilder except that he wasn't bulky. He looked solid, though.

He jerked his chin at the dance floor. "Care to take a whirl?"

Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of being in his arms. Nodding, she followed him onto the dance floor, felt her cheeks grow hot as he took her hand in his and slipped his arm around her waist.

Dancing with Vince was far different from dancing with Anton. Vince moved with a kind of fluid grace that made her wonder if he was a professional dancer. Her skin tingled where his hand rested on her waist, her whole body throbbed with an unfamiliar longing when she looked into his eyes. He didn't hold her too close, didn't say or do anything the least bit suggestive, and yet she was aware of him with every fiber of her being.

She hated to hear the song end, felt bereft when his hand fell away from her waist. No other man had ever made her feel the way he did. A smile, a touch, and she felt beautiful, desirable. When she looked into his eyes... it was like looking into the far reaches of eternity. For a moment, she forgot where they were, forgot that they weren't alone.

For a moment, she wished he would kiss her.

A wistful smile curved his lips, as if he knew what she was thinking. When he spoke, she wondered if he was reading her mind.

"I know," he said quietly. "I feel it, too."

Taking her hand in his, he led her back to the bar.

A man was sitting on her stool.

"Hi, sweet cakes," Anton said, smiling. "Sorry I'm late."

Cara glanced from Anton to Vince and back again. "Hi. I... I didn't think you were coming."

"Hey," Anton said, looking offended, "would I let a pretty girl down?"

Cara had never been in a situation like this before and she didn't know what to do. She had sort of a date with Anton, but it was Vince she wanted to be with.

Her upbringing made the decision for her. With an apologetic smile, she looked at Vince and said,

"Thank you for the dance."

"Anytime." Dropping her hand, he picked up his drink and walked away.

"Who was that?" Anton asked.

"I don't know. Just a guy who asked me to dance." Cara didn't like the look in Anton's eyes as he watched Vince settle into a booth in the far corner of the room.

"How about a late movie?" Anton asked. He checked his watch. "If we leave now, we can just make the ten o'clock show."

"No, I don't think so."

"You're angry because I was late."

"Oh, no," she said quickly. Quite the opposite, she thought. If he had been on time, she wouldn't have met Vince. She wondered if he came here often. Sitting on the stool next to Anton's, she sipped her drink, wishing she could think of a way to find out if Vince was a frequent patron.

With a sigh, she looked at Anton. "You never told me what you do for a living," she remarked.

"I'm part owner of a bookstore. That's why I was late. Something came up and I had to take care of it."

"A bookstore!" she exclaimed. "Sounds heavenly."

"I knew we had a lot in common when you told me you were a librarian," Anton said, grinning. "Who's your favorite author?"

"Oh, gosh, I have so many, I wouldn't know where to begin, but Tolkien is right up near the top."

" Lord of the Rings, eh? Got a thing for wizards and elves, do you?"

"Well, I have a thing for Legolas," she admitted with a grin. "And Aragorn, of course."

Anton smiled, wondering what she would think if she knew she was talking to a practicing warlock. His powers had come to him late, but his abilities were growing stronger and more proficient each day. Given time, he knew his magick would be as powerful as his father's had been, perhaps more so.

For a while, they talked about books. She liked fantasy, he liked science fiction; she liked humor, he liked murder mysteries. Somehow, it didn't surprise her that their tastes were so divergent, but no matter what they were discussing, Cara was always aware of Vince sitting in the back of the room. Even when he was just sitting still, there was something about him that drew her gaze again and again. Now and then, she caught him watching her. Each time that happened, a pleasurable tingle of awareness skittered down her spine.

She was acutely aware of Vince's gaze when Anton asked her to dance. Once again, she found herself comparing the two men and her reaction to them. Dancing with Vince was a sensual experience that had made her very much aware of the fact that she was a woman and he was a man. Dancing with Anton was just... dancing.

"Would you like another drink?" Anton asked when they returned to their seats.

"No, thank you. I've got to go. I'm a working girl, you know." She didn't start work until three in the afternoon, but he didn't know that, and it made for a good excuse.

"Come on," he said, "I'll walk you to your car."

She didn't want him to, but she couldn't think of any plausible reason to refuse.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Vince lift his glass in a farewell salute as she made her way toward the door.

Cara went up the outside entrance to her room when she got home. She felt a little guilty for not going in to tell her folks she was home and kiss them good night, but she wasn't in the mood to answer a lot of questions about where she'd been and what she'd done. Besides, Di Giorgio would give them a full report and let them know that she was home safe and sound before he retired for the night.

She often wondered about Frank Di Giorgio. Being her bodyguard didn't give him much time for a life of his own. He lived in a house out back. To her knowledge, he never had any visitors, he never took a vacation, and he rarely had a night off.

After undressing, she slipped into a pink T-shirt and a pair of comfy pajama bottoms, then opened the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony. It was one of her favorite places. During the day, she had a view of the backyard and the mountains beyond. Taking a seat in one of the two wicker chairs, she stared up at the sky. It was a beautiful night, warm and clear. Stars twinkled brightly overhead.

Moonlight bathed the leaves of the trees with a pale silver sheen.

The night. There was something mesmerizing about it. Her parents loved it. They went out for a walk together every evening; sometimes they were only gone for a short time, sometimes for hours. At home, they frequently sat outside in the gazebo, holding hands. Sometimes, her mother and father seemed so wrapped up in each other, Cara felt like an outsider in her own home. It was more than the fact that she was adopted. Sometimes, it seemed like they were communicating silently, sharing secrets she would never know. She told herself it was just a part of their being married, but she knew it was more than that.

She just didn't know what.

Sighing, she was about to go inside and go to bed when she had the oddest sensation that she was being watched. She glanced over her shoulder, thinking maybe her father had come upstairs to say good night, but there was no one there.

Rising, she looked over the balcony railing, then thought how foolish that was. Even if there was someone down there, it was too dark to see anything lurking in the shadows. Frowning, she leaned forward. What was that? Was she imagining things, or was that a pair of eyes-a pair of glowing red eyes-staring back at her? She might have thought it was a cat, but she'd never seen a cat with eyes that color!

Spooked, she turned on her heel and sprinted into her bedroom. She locked the door behind her and closed the curtains over the windows, then she stood there, breathing hard, one hand pressed to her heart.

That was how her father found her when he knocked on her door a moment later.

"Cara, may I come in?"

"Yes!"

Stepping into the room, he took one look at her face and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She gestured toward the balcony. "I... I thought I saw... I don't know what it was."

He moved toward the French doors, opened them, and stepped outside. "Think, Cara. What did you see?"

"I'm not sure." She went to stand beside her father, unafraid now that he was there with her. "It looked...

it looked like eyes. Red, glowing eyes."

He looked at her sharply. "Red eyes? Are you sure?"

"Yes, why? Does that mean something to you?"

He took a breath. "No, of course not." Putting his arm around her shoulders, he led her back into the bedroom, then closed and locked the doors. "Probably just a cat."

"With red eyes?"

"A trick of the moonlight," he said with a reassuring smile. "Di Giorgio tells me you went to The Nocturne again."

Nodding, she sat on the edge of her bed.

"Two men spoke to you tonight."

She tried to subdue her annoyance at having her every move watched and reported, but it came out in an angry breath. She was twenty-two years old! Was she never to have any privacy?

"Yes, Dad," she said irritably, "I saw two men. I danced with two men. They bought me drinks. I came home alone. Is there anything else you want to know?"

"I don't care for that tone, young lady."

"I'm sorry." She was instantly contrite, and a little confused by her growing resentment.

He sat down beside her. "I know having Di Giorgio follow you is wearisome. I know you don't fully understand or appreciate the necessity of having him there, but it's for my peace of mind and for..."

"My own good," she finished, having heard it all a hundred times before.

"Car a..."

"Dad, I'm twenty-two years old! No one's ever even looked at me sideways. What's the big deal? What are you really afraid of? I think I have a right to know."

"Perhaps it's time," he allowed. "I'll discuss it with your mother."

"You promise?"

"If you think it's necessary, then you have my word."

She smiled at him. "Thanks, Dad."

With a nod, Roshan kissed his daughter on the forehead, then left the room, closing the door behind him.

Brenna looked up when he entered the living room. "Is everything all right?"

"She's starting to chafe at having Di Giorgio trailing after her, and she's starting to ask questions." He shook his head, surprised that it had taken her this long.

"Maybe we're worrying for nothing. It's been over twenty years. Surely if the coven meant to take some kind of revenge, they would have done so by now."

"Maybe." Roshan sat beside his wife, his expression grim. "We should have moved years ago."

"I know, but I love this house."

He was as guilty as she. It was a big old place located on a quiet street in a respectable part of the city.

Once, it had been a dark and lonely place, but Brenna had changed all that. She had brought light and color into his home just as she had brought it into his life.

He blew out a sigh that came from the very depths of his being. "We can't hide the truth from her forever."

"I'm afraid," Brenna said, clutching his hand. "This isn't like telling her she was adopted. That's normal.

But what I am... what we are... what if she refuses to accept us? What if we disgust her? I can't bear the thought of losing her."

"I know." It was a fear he had lived with since the night Cara had wrapped her tiny, dimpled finger around his thumb and captured his heart and soul. He had rehearsed' ways to tell her the truth over and over again in his mind, but how did you tell your only child that her mother and father were vampires, and that her mother was a witch? Telling Cara the truth would only lead to more questions, questions with ugly answers. There were parts of his past that he wanted to forget, parts of his existence best left unmentioned. He could lie to her, of course, sugarcoat the truth, leave out the gruesome details, but there was always a chance, however unlikely, that she would learn about it later, and that would be even worse.

Vince stood in the deepening shadows across the street from a house big enough and fancy enough to qualify as a mansion. He had followed Cara home, not because of any dark or depraved intentions, but simply because he was bored and she was pretty and he was curious to see where she lived.

He had been surprised to find that he wasn't the only one who followed her from The Nocturne.

A man built like a bull had followed her out of the parking lot in a silver Lexus.

The jerk from the nightclub had followed her in a gray BMW.

Vince had brought up the rear in a hopped-up black Mustang convertible.

The first man had followed her through a wrought-iron gate and up to the house.

The jerk with the BMW was standing directly across the street from the driveway, studying the upstairs windows.

Vince stood a little farther down the road, his curiosity growing by the minute.

Keeping to the shadows, he crossed the street and vaulted over the wall that surrounded the property.

Dissolving into mist, he drifted up the driveway to the house. He was about to peer into one of the

windows when waves of preternatural power swept over him.

Apparently he wasn't the only vampire around.

He floated up through the air and hovered over a second-story balcony. He sensed Cara in the room beyond. Materializing, he listened at the door. He could hear her moving around inside, perhaps getting ready for bed.

He was about to leave when Cara opened one of the French doors.

For a moment, the two of them stood there, staring at each other.

"You!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"I followed you home," he said, thinking quickly. "I noticed two other guys following you out of the club, and... I wanted to make sure you got home safely."

"Two guys?" she asked, obviously not believing him. "What two guys?"

"A really big character and that jerk who stood you up." Mr. BMW had hung back far enough to keep from being seen by either Cara or the big guy in the Lexus.

Cara crossed her arms under her breasts. "He didn't stand me up," she retorted. "Anyway, I don't believe he followed me home."

"Believe what you want," Vince said with a shrug. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

She stared at him a minute, as if making up her mind whether to believe him or not, and then frowned.

"How did you get through the gate?"

Damn, he thought, she had him there. The wrought-iron gate was set in the high stone wall that surrounded the house. It could only be opened electronically, and it had been locked, so he'd vaulted over the wall, just like Superman.

"Well?" She tapped her foot on the floor, waiting to catch him in a lie.

"I ducked inside behind the big guy's car. Who is he, anyway? Not your father?"

"He's my bodyguard, and he'll break you in half if he finds you here."

"Then I hope you won't call him."

Cara laughed in spite of herself. "You're despicable."

"So I've been told."

He was too close. Even though they weren't touching, she was aware of the attraction that hummed between them. It was primal, sensual, and a little scary. He felt it, too. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in the tension that hummed between them, so thick it was almost palpable.

She should go back inside and lock the door. She should have him arrested for trespassing. She should call her father. She didn't do any of those things and she wasn't sure why, except that she was attracted to him in a way she didn't understand. Beyond that, she was grateful to him for bringing a bit of excitement into her otherwise unexciting life. You only had to look at him to know he was the kind of man mothers warned their daughters about, thereby making them more appealing-and he was very

appealing, with his long black hair and tight-fitting jeans.

"As long as you're here, you might as well sit down," she said, gesturing at one of the deck chairs.

"Thanks."

He sat where she indicated, and she sat in the chair across from him. She wondered what her father would do if he came to check on her again and found her sitting out here with a stranger, then shrugged her worries aside. Her father had already checked on her once; he wasn't likely to return at this time of the night.

Cara bit down on the inside corner of her bottom lip. Now that she had invited Vince to stay, she was at a loss for words. She was basically shy around strangers and had never been any good at making small talk.

Searching for a safe topic of conversation, she said, "Tell me about yourself. I don't even know your last name."

"It's Cordova," he said. "As for my life story, there's not much to tell. I'm a mechanic. I own my own shop. I've got three brothers, a sister, and a bad-tempered cat."

"A cat? Most guys don't like cats."

"I don't like this one, either."

"Then why do you have it?"

"Somebody ran it over. I found it in some bushes, half dead. I couldn't just leave it there." He didn't tell her that the cat had turned up the night after he'd been made, or that, driven by an unholy hunger, he had licked the blood from the cat's wounds. Surprisingly, the cat had recovered. "What about you?" he asked, glancing around. " It's obvious that your folks are well-off. I guess that explains the bodyguard."

She regarded him warily. What if Vince wasn't the nice, easygoing guy he seemed to be? What if he was only showing interest in her because he knew her father was rich? What if he had come in hopes of kidnapping her and holding her for ransom? What if he was a robber, or a murderer, or worse? Maybe she did need a bodyguard!

"I think you'd better go," she said, hating the sudden tremor in her voice. She told herself there was nothing to be afraid of. One scream would rouse the household and bring Di Giorgio and her father running.

"Did I say something wrong?" Vince asked, frowning.

"Why did you really come here?"

His gaze moved over her, as hot and tangible as a summer breeze. "Because I was afraid you might never come back to the club, and I'd never see you again."

At his words, Cara's heart skipped a beat.

"I know we've just met," Vince said, "and you have no reason to believe me, or trust me, but..." He shook his head. "I just wanted to see you again."

Right or wrong, foolish or not, she believed him.

Vince gained his feet. "I'm sorry if I was out of line. Go on back inside. I'll leave and you'll never see me again."

She stared up at him, her heart pounding, and then she whispered, "Don't go."