Now I was stuck in one form. My claws had extended, once, when I’d been in a fight for my life against the rogues. But since then, my cat had remained locked in the cold coil inside me. Dead.

I kicked off my party boots. “Let’s hunt.”

* * * *

Snow crunched under my bare toes, and my prey lifted its head, its long ears twitching. I went still, not even daring to breathe. Beside me, Bobby hesitated, his compact bobcat form disappearing behind a frozen shrub.

The snow hare’s ears twitched again, his whiskers trembling as his nose worked. Muscles bunched as he prepared to leap, and I sprang into motion.

Brittle, ice-encased twigs shattered as I broke through the frozen brush. My dash was noisy, but that didn’t matter now.

Not at the speed I was moving. I pounced, snatching the hare in mid-bound.

It screamed, a piercing distress call. I grabbed at its pumping back legs, but one slipped away. Pain flared across my collarbone as the hare’s back claws ripped through the thin material of my costume, tearing into the skin below. Not that the pain stopped me. I caught the leg with one hand, gripping the hare’s scruff with the other, and effectively immobilized it. Fur brushed my lips, then my fangs sank into the back of its neck. Liquid warmth filled my mouth, slid down my throat. Heat, life, filled my torso, spreading contentment toward my limbs.

Then the hare’s mind opened to me.

Panic raked across my senses, stabbing deep. Run, the hare’s instincts urged me. Every cell in my body knew I’d die if I couldn’t run. My heart jumped to my throat, making swallowing difficult.

A vampire bite caused euphoria in humans, but animals recognized death when it caught them. Still, even as the depths of the hare’s fear enfolded me, I had other instincts—darker, more demanding needs which kept my mouth working, my throat convulsing.

The small hare drew one last breath. Then the connection between our minds snapped. The sudden absence of its terrified presence left a gaping hole in my mind—an emptiness which didn’t fill as I regained awareness of myself and of the limp body in my fingers.

My hands trembled as I set the small corpse in front of Bobby. I swallowed hard. My tongue tasted like I’d been sucking on an old piece of copper, and I shivered despite the new warmth rushing through my limbs. This is natural. The way it should be. I’d been born a predator. A cat. I’d hunted with my clan all my life. This hare was prey, serving its function in the circle of life.

Bobby butted my knee with his tawny, bobcat head, his imploring, almond-shaped eyes watching me. My gaze refocused, and I realized I was still crouched over the dead hare, my thumb sliding along its cooling paw. I pulled my hand away and lunged to my feet.

Bobby stared at me a heartbeat or two longer. Then his paw lashed out, fast and precise, disemboweling the hare.

The animal version of field dressing—or an appetizer. A scream sounded in my head again, starting as the dead rabbit’s voice, then bleeding into a woman’s sobbing cry. I turned away, but it was too late.

Finding the beheaded body earlier tonight had been too much of a reminder of the rogues’ actions. Now, in my mind’s eye, I saw claws rip through flesh. The flesh was furless, pale, human, and very much alive. The woman’s scream redoubled in pain, and giddy amusement bubbled in me as I reached out to rip away more tender skin.

No, I won’t see this—won’t feel it. Not again.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but I couldn’t block out images playing behind my eyelids. Bobby’s feline call of concern grew distant; the first clue that I was running. My stride carried me effortlessly through the frozen forest, but I couldn’t distance myself from the memories haunting me.

And memories they were. They just weren’t mine.

I’d absorbed the memories when I’d tried to drain the rogue during our fight. My mind had touched his, had seen through his eyes, had felt the high that rushed through him when he killed. Now I had flashbacks that put me in a frontrow seat to the sense-surround biography of a sociopath. And those tainted thoughts I’d never be able to outrun.

Chapter Three

Running did little to clear my head, and I eventually forced myself to slow. Sticky blood seeped down the front of my costume from the hare’s deep scratch on my shoulder. I probably ruined the costume. At least I’ll never have to wear it again. Circling back to the cabin, I brushed the snow clinging to my bare feet on the welcome mat before stepping inside.

“Bobby? Nathanial? Anyone here?” I called as I pushed the front door closed behind me.

No one answered, but footfalls thudded in the hall—footfalls far too heavy to belong to a bobcat. I cringed as the double doors swung open and Nathanial’s Newfoundland trudged into the kitchen.

“Sit, Regan.”

The massive dog just cocked his head. He rounded the large table that monopolized the room, his black nose working as he approached. I pressed my back flat against the wall, my hand groping for the door knob.

“Regan, stay.” I peeled my free hand off the wall and tried to mimic the gesture Nathanial used to control the beast.

Regan didn’t pay attention.

He took another step forward. Phantom pain laced through my torso, tracing the path of old scars from an attack I’d barely survived as a child. The attack had been by a rogue wolf, not a dog, but dogs were still Canids, and close enough to wolves to make me uneasy.

The dog sniffed the air, his large muzzle lifting, and I shuffled sideways. Okay, maybe more than just “uneasy.”

Regan stopped, his floppy ears pricking like he heard something. Then his head swung to the door and his ears dropped, his hackles rising.

“Niiice doggy,” I whispered.

Regan’s lip rolled back in a silent growl, but he wasn’t looking at me. His gaze was fixed on the door. A loud ding dong sliced through the air.

I jumped. The doorbell? I hadn’t even known Nathanial had a doorbell. And who would visit out here in the middle of nowhere?

The bell dinged again.

“Let us in, little one,” a deep female voice called, the words heavily accented by a throat clearly more accustomed to pronouncing a harsher Germanic language.

Oh, this evening kept getting better and better. I knew that voice. It belonged to the vampire council’s enforcer, Anaya. And I was willing to bet, even though I couldn’t hear him, that her companion Clive was with her. I’d only met the pair of enforcers once before, but they’d gleefully delivered me to what they had believed would be my final death. I didn’t foresee us becoming friends.

“You’ll have to come back later. Nathanial isn’t here.”

“Open the door.” This time the voice was clipped and masculine. Definitely Clive.

Regan apparently didn’t appreciate the vampire’s tone either, because his silent growl became increasingly less silent.

My fists clenched at the growl, my fangs descending. He’s not growling at you, I reminded myself, repeating it like a mantra in my mind. The mantra didn’t help. A great, growling dog was between me and the door. He could have it.

I scuttled further away, sliding along the kitchen wall.

Regan fell silent, and if I hadn’t been listening so hard, I wouldn’t have heard the creak of the wooden stairs outside.

Anaya and Clive were leaving? Just like that?

Regan looked at me, his mouth falling open and his pink tongue lolling out one side. It was a happy expression, I knew it was, but I still shivered at the sight of all his big, white teeth.

“Uh, why don’t you stay here in the kitchen, and I’ll go somewhere else?” I asked the big dog.

He regarded me with shiny black eyes, and then plopped down on the tile.

I’ll take that as yes.

Pushing off the wall, I crept across the room, angling for the swinging doors in the opposite corner. Regan watched every halting step. I was a yard beyond him when a loud bang crashed against the door.

I leapt backward, slamming into the huge table. Regan also jumped to his feet, his hackles lifting, his long fur fluffing out like an excited porcupine.

“I think you lost something,” Anaya called through the door. She punctuated the statement with the sound of something hard hitting something meaty.

A pained grunt drifted through the door. I’d lost something that could be hurt?

Oh no.

Bobby.

Forgetting about the growling dog, I darted across the room and flung open the door. Anaya stood directly in front of the door, still dressed in the costume she must have been wearing at the party earlier—unless she normally dressed as an eighteenth century bar wench with a skirt far too short for the time period. Behind her, Clive was dressed as Napoleon—appropriate, given his height—but instead of hiding his right hand in his uniform, he gripped Bobby’s once again human wrists. Clive’s other hand curled in Bobby’s shoulder-length tawny hair, controlling Bobby’s head, pulling it back to expose his naked throat.

My knuckles turned white where I gripped the doorframe.

“Let go of him.”

“Let us in,” Anaya said. I stepped aside, waving my hand to include the open entrance. She shook her head. “You are forgetting. The words, child.”

Right, vampires had to be invited inside the first time they visited a residence. Which means Nathanial has never let them enter before. My hesitation was miniscule, only long enough to consider that if I allowed them to enter Nathanial’s home, the invitation couldn’t be rescinded. Then Clive tilted Bobby’s head at a sharper angle. The short vampire bent forward, his fangs aimed at Bobby’s throat.

“Come in, damn it,” I said. “Come in.”

A happy-crocodile smile crawled over Anaya’s face. As she crossed the threshold, she held out her hand for her companion’s, who released Bobby. I slipped outside as the two enforcers surveyed the kitchen.

“You okay?” I whispered, reaching out to help Bobby to his feet.

He took my offered hand, but only as a gesture, putting no weight on me as he rose stiffly. He wore only his blue jeans, and those were not even fully zipped. No sign of his shirt or shoes.