“She came to our attention during her pregnancy,” Chris went on. “Her boyfriend’s parents insisted on a paternity test to prove John’s father really was his father before the two married. DNA samples were taken from both Jenna and Bobby.”

“And hers was different,” Richart murmured. “More advanced.”

“Much more advanced. Call-in-the-media-it’s-a-fucking-miracle advanced. Just like yours. We had to run damage control, alter medical records and quite a few memories. We’ve been keeping tabs on her ever since.”

“But she doesn’t have any special abilities.”

“She doesn’t get sick,” John said.

Chris nodded. “Exactly. You’re a gifted one, too, you know.”

John’s eyebrows flew up. “I am?”

Chris nodded. “You guessed something was wrong with your mother before Richart did, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a gifted one in Virginia who is uniquely accurate at diagnosing patients without running any tests. Considering how well you’re doing in school, I’m guessing you’ll be the same. You and your mother are probably descended from healers.”

“How do you know I’m doing well in school?”

“As I said, we keep tabs on all gifted ones who come to our attention, often orchestrating things to keep them close in case another incident should arise.” He looked at Richart. “Don’t tell the other immortals that. If they knew just how many gifted ones we’ve guided to this area, they’d try to turn the network into a dating service. And I can’t do my job with that kind of drama surrounding me.”

Richart’s heart began to pound. Elation flooded him, along with relief so great it practically lifted his feet off the floor. Spinning around, he burst through the door to the infirmary.

Still seated on the exam table, Jenna jumped.

Dr. Lipton smiled. “I heard. Congratulations.”

“Congratulations on what?” Jenna asked, fear and despair battling for dominance in her eyes. Dr. Lipton hadn’t softened her prognosis, and Jenna was clearly doing her damnedest to hold it together.

“You’re a gifted one.” Richart closed the distance between them and swept her into his arms.

She wrapped her arms around him and held him close. “No, I’m not. I can’t be. I don’t have any special abilities.”

“John said you never get sick.”

“I got food poisoning last month.”

“That wasn’t food poisoning. That was the virus beginning to go to work on you.”

“But—”

“Sweetheart”—Richart leaned back and grinned down at her—“you’re a gifted one. This is good news.”

“I just don’t see not-getting-sick as an ability. It isn’t something I do. Not willfully.”

“You’re likely descended from healers,” Richart explained. “Healers have remarkable regenerative capabilities. Remember how swiftly my wounds healed after Sheldon transfused me?”

“Yes.”

“Healers can do that even before their transformation. It’s what enables them to heal others. But the more their DNA has been diluted with ordinary human DNA over the millennia, the weaker their abilities. Were you born a hundred or even fifty years ago, you might have been able to heal with your hands. Instead, your body can fight off any illness to which you’re exposed, save the vampiric virus, and probably recovers from injuries abnormally fast.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I did recover from childbirth quickly. But . . . you’re sure about this? How do you know I’m not just really healthy? Dr. Lipton hasn’t done any blood tests yet.”

He told her about the revelations that had arisen from the paternity test years ago.

Her lips began to tilt up. “So I’m not going to go insane?”

“No.”

She threw her arms around him and squeezed him tight, then leaned back. “But I am transforming.”

He glanced at Dr. Lipton.

“You’re transforming,” Dr. Lipton confirmed. “The fact that your body is reacting the way it is tells me that if we try to halt the transformation, you’ll end up with no viable immune system. Your best option at this point is to let us give you a rapid infusion of infected blood to speed and complete the transformation.”

Richart willed her to choose the latter. The only alternative was death.

John, who Richart hadn’t even realized had followed him back into the room, drew in a breath and held it.

“I’ll transform.”

John surged forward and hugged Jenna before Richart could embrace her again.

Richart met Dr. Lipton’s gaze. “Call Roland.”

Raising one eyebrow, she left the infirmary.

Jenna stared up at Richart, who smiled as John’s hug went on and on and on.

“I’m sorry,” John murmured.

“Why?”

“It’s my fault.”

She frowned.

Richart shook his head. “It’s the vampire’s fault.”

“Right,” Jenna said, not sure what her son was thinking. “Besides, I’m going to be immortal. That’s not such a bad thing, right?”

John actually laughed. Straightening, he backed away. “Right.”

Jenna couldn’t seem to wrap her mind around it. She could potentially live forever. Forever young. Forever strong. Perhaps with Richart?

How often had he told her that he loved her? Did forever with her sound good to him?

His smile said it did.

“Does this mean Mom is going to be hunting vampires?” John asked.

Sheesh. She hadn’t even thought of that.

Richart shifted uneasily. “Probably. The way things have been going lately . . . I would be very surprised if Seth didn’t want you to train and fight alongside the rest of us.”

“You don’t look happy about that,” she said, unable to imagine it herself.

“Times are more dangerous than ever. I don’t want you to get hurt. I’ll speak with Seth and obtain permission to train you myself. Perhaps by the time you’re ready we will have eliminated this latest threat.”

“My mom, the vampire hunter,” John said with a grin. “That. Is. Awesome!”

Jenna laughed.

“It pays very well, too,” Dr. Lipton said as she returned. “Roland is on his way.”

“Good.”

“You know you’re going to have a fight on your hands, right?”

“You didn’t tell him why I wanted him to come?”

“No. I just said you needed him. He thinks you’ve been injured.”

Roland, nearly a millennium old, was a powerful healer. And notoriously antisocial when it came to everyone but his wife, Sarah. She alone could coax smiles and laughter from him.

While they waited for Roland to arrive, Richart and Dr. Lipton explained what Jenna could expect from the rest of her transformation. Constant migraines. Intensifying nausea and vomiting. A dangerously high fever. And “the worst freaking toothache of your life,” as Dr. Lipton put it. Richart had forgotten that part. His own transformation had taken place so long ago, he had difficulty remembering the details.

The door slammed open and Roland Warbrook strolled in, Sarah at his side. Both wore the standard hunting garb of immortals and were splattered with blood.

“What happened?” Roland demanded, scowl in place, his usual dour appearance hampered by the fact that he held Sarah’s hand and tenderly stroked the back of it with his thumb.

A foot shorter than Roland, Sarah had no difficulty keeping up with his brisk pace and eyed Richart with concern.

Roland noted Richart’s pristine appearance, took in Jenna, John, and Dr. Lipton, looked again at Jenna, and narrowed his eyes. Drawing in a deep breath, he held it, then glared at Richart. “Oh, hell no. You did not summon me here to transform your girlfriend.”

“First, how did you know she’s my girlfriend?” Richart demanded.

“Almost every time I’ve seen you in recent weeks, you’ve carried her scent.”

Oh. Right. “How did you know I want you to transform her?”

“I can smell the virus on her.”

“Wow,” Jenna said, “you guys really know how to make a girl feel self-conscious.”

Sarah laughed. “It takes some getting used to, doesn’t it?”

Richart shook his head. “Why couldn’t I smell the virus on her?”

Roland shrugged. “Her gift must dampen it. My senses are sharper than yours and I’m a healer, so what may have escaped your notice, wouldn’t escape mine. The point is moot anyway. I’m not going to change her.”

“You already know my arguments. Younger immortals are always weaker than those who are older. Sarah is far stronger than she should be because you transformed her. I don’t know if it’s because you’re older or a healer, but if you transform Jenna—”

“Not in my job description.”