"Did you drink deep of this? Or just taste it and run away?"

He then force-fed Neil those hours he and Britt had spent as captives in Peter's house. Roger enveloped the other vampire in the miasma of hate, fear, and grief that had hovered around Peter like a fog over a swamp. The vision of Peter's fixed stare, eyes red- rimmed from weeping for his sister, his hair and skin clammy with sweat, his hand squeezing the revolver, sprang to life. And then the moment of his death, his head crashing into the window.

"I didn't kill him for pleasure," Roger told Neil. "I knew how he felt. I know what it is to face losing a person who means everything to me." He revived the terror of the void that threatened to engulf him when Peter aimed the gun at Britt.

Neil shriveled like an undersea creature washed up on the sand at high noon. A ratlike screech: "Get away from me!"

Roger shrugged off the feeble spasm of resistance. "Hardly. I have the strength now. You are weaker because you're alone. I have an ally."

"Your pet!"

"No. She provides for me out of love. Something you'll never know."

Unless you choose to reach out.Roger didn't bother projecting that thought. He knew the renegade would never take that risk.

"You've seen too many sensational movies, picked up distorted ideas of what we should be. You believe that nonsense about satanic autonomy. The fact that we're solitary predators is only part of the truth. The blood-bond sustains us. Without it, we wither away."

Roger visualized the emerald cross, refulgent with light that pulsed like a heartbeat, in his grasp. He extended it toward the other vampire. "Take it. Let it heal you." The radiance burned Neil like sunlight. With a last despairing wail, what was left of Neil Sandor fled into the darkness.

The world heaved as if racked by an earthquake. When Roger's vision cleared, he was lying on the ground next to Neil. Probing, he touched no sentience. He heard no hiss of air in the lungs, saw no expansion of the chest. A few seconds of concentrated listening, however, brought the stutter of a feeble pulse to his ears. Before second thoughts could rise up to sap his resolution, Roger clamped his hands around the renegade vampire's neck. With a single twist he broke the spine.

Panting as if he had run across town on foot and battled for hours instead of a few minutes, he staggered to Britt and leaned over her. She lay face up, her eyes closed, still holding the jeweled cross to her breast.

He touched her, both physically and mentally. He felt nothing.

Heaving a sob, he gathered her into his arms. He felt himself falling into blackness. For a timeless interval it deafened and blinded him.

What drew him back was the flutter of her heart against his chest. She was only unconscious, not-not gone. He carried her to the car and laid her on the back seat. Crouched beside her in the cramped s.p.a.ce, he rested both hands on her head. "Britt- wake up." He whispered to her and simultaneously spoke inside her mind. Nothing. He hadn't realized how deeply he'd drained her life- force to fuel the attack.

"Dear G.o.d, Britt, why didn't you stop me?" He plunged into her mind.

Again the void swallowed him. He had never seen darkness before, only the luminous gray other people called "dark." But this time he would not yield to the emptiness. He clung to the certainty that Britt lived-somewhere. His eyes strained through the blackness until he glimpsed a tendril of light. He floated toward it. He grasped it like a golden thread to guide him through this labyrinth.

For the place had now become a maze, no longer a featureless darkness. He traced the thread through tunnels like the corridors of a dungeon in a Gothic tale, their stone walls coated with frost. At the center of the labyrinth he found Britt lying on a bed of stone; around her hung icicles glimmering with an internal blue light of their own.

One segment of his mind knew this was not a real place, only an imaginary construct to help him lure Britt out of her retreat. He thought,How archetypal can you get? She would love this!

He stepped through a veil of cold that resonated in his bones like a musical note pitched too high for mortal ears. Britt looked and felt like a statue of ice. He pressed his lips to hers.

At first he felt no response. With a dim idea of restoring the life-force he had taken, he bit his lip to warm her cold mouth with his blood. He poured his soul into a plea for her to waken. An echo of her normal vitality answered him. He fed it, lavishing his energy upon her, nourishing her as she always nourished him. He felt his heart beat with hers, his life flowing into her as if they shared a single bloodstream.

Abruptly he found himself in the car, holding Britt and kissing her. He discovered he actually had bitten his lip, and somehow his teeth had scratched Britt, too, for he tasted her blood mingled with his like a sacrament. Except for the abysmal fatigue that weighed upon her, she felt normal to his psychic touch.

"Beloved, can you forgive me-"

"Don't!" She placed a finger on his lips. "I did what I wanted to do-what we had to do."

He strapped the seat belt around her and got out his car keys. "You're so cold-I have to get you home."

With a faint smile at his solicitude, she said, "I appreciate the thought, but we aren't finished yet."

He arched his eyebrows interrogatively."Sandor," she said. "You only broke his neck, didn't you?"

Roger understood at once. Hurrying back to the Kovaks' yard, he found the renegade's body where he had left it, dusted with a fine layer of snow. He lifted it over his shoulder and carried it away from the garage, into the woods. What now? Though he knew he had to finish the job, he couldn't bring himself to decapitate Neil. The thought of dismembering a body-even Neil's-as Sylvia had been dismembered revolted him.

Besides, if the body were found, that mutilation would attract more official interest than a less exotic murder would.Excellent excuse, Roger, he chided himself. But it did have the merit of truth. A further complication came to mind: If at all possible, he must make sure the body wasnot found, at least not until it decayed too far for reliable autopsy results.

He recalled what he'd been told about total destruction of the brain. Without giving himself further time for reflection, he opened the side garage door with a handkerchief wrapped around the k.n.o.b and rummaged among the tools for a suitable blunt instrument.

Sledgehammer-perfect. Hefting the weapon, he returned to the apparent corpse. Roger's stomach churned at the thought of what he had to do. He ordered it to shut up.There's no consciousness here. Think of this as wrecking a machine.

He raised the hammer and slammed it down on the other vampire's skull.

After one glance at the crushed ruin, Roger averted his eyes. Apparently Neil's system had shut down, withdrawing into suspended animation, for the blood only oozed instead of splashing. Swallowing nausea, Roger used his foot to turn the body face down.I can't leave this half-finished! He repeated the operation on the brain stem. To make absolutely sure, he swung the hammer again-and again-and again- Sick and shaken, he finally stopped the battering and steeled himself to take one more look. Good enough-the vampire could not possibly retain enough intact neural tissue to guide regeneration.

Grasping the body by the belt, he lifted it just high enough to prevent drag marks on the ground. The awkward grip made his arm ache by the time he reached the riverbank, but he couldn't stand the thought of touching the corpse any more than necessary. He ripped off Neil's shirt, wiped the handle of the sledgehammer, and looped one sleeve of the torn garment through Neil's belt. After knotting the shirt to secure it to the belt, Roger tied on the hammer. He forced himself to work carefully instead of rushing through the job the way his revulsion tempted him. The knots mustn't come loose; the body had to settle to the bottom of the South River and stay there.

He gave the hammer one last swipe with the handkerchief, which he then stuffed in Neil's jeans pocket. Heaving a deep breath, Roger lifted the body over his head and flung it as far into the river as his inhuman strength allowed. It sank with a dull splash. With luck, by the time someone discovered the corpse, if ever, decomposition would preclude any questions about its species or the cause of death.

Snowflakes continued to fall, lightly but steadily.Please, keep up long enough to hide the footprints and the blood . Luckily, there wasn't much of that to worry about. Back at the house, he used a spray of pine needles to brush snow over the stain on the ground. Fortunately, if the police paid a return visit, they would have no reason to search the grounds for traces of Sandor. They didn't know he had ever been there.

Waiting in the car, Britt sat up in the back seat, her face strained and tight-lipped.

"You didn't watch that, did you?" He was appalled at himself for not raising a mental barrier against her.

"I needed to," she whispered. "Witness. Let's go home."

He drove to his place on automatic pilot, thankful for the instincts that enabled him to negotiate the spa.r.s.e traffic with only a fraction of his attention. The snow was growing thicker by the time they reached the townhouse. Breathing a prayer of thanks, he led Britt inside, helped her out of her wraps, settled her on one of the paired couches, and covered her with a blanket.

"Why here?" she murmured.

"Because I want to take care of you." "Okay." Her eyes drooped shut.

Though he hated to leave her, even for a minute, he had to scrub his hands before he could bear to touch her again.

Returning to the living room with a brandy-laced gla.s.s of milk for Britt, he found her lying face down with her head pillowed on a cushion. She turned sideways to look at him as he sat beside her. He ran his hand down her back, eliciting a faint ripple of response.

"Hold me," she whispered. He pulled her into a sitting position and drew her close, chest to chest. Her skin felt as chilled as his.

She began weeping quietly into his neck.

"Don't, beloved, you'll make me cry, too."

She drew a shivering breath. "Why should we deny ourselves a natural catharsis?"

So he cried with her until they were both exhausted. Some time later they half-reclined on the sofa, with Britt nestled into the curve of his arm, drinking her spiked milk. "I put you through that with him," Roger said. "Forgive me-I never meant to drain you that way."

She gave him a hard squeeze around the midriff. "Stop apologizing! Face it, colleague, we're a team."

"Do you think I did the right thing?"

"WE," SHE CORRECTED. "We made the only acceptable choice."

"I killed again."

"You executed a man who'd been sentenced to death. According to vampire ethics, you did exactly right. Do you have any regrets?"

He searched his thoughts. "No. Not this time. No thrill of victory, either. Just relief."

"Then we did the best we could in the circ.u.mstances. The police will have an unsolved case, but the murders will stop. That's the important thing. No choices are perfect."

"I think I agree with you."

"Wonderful," said Britt with a trace of her usual astringency. "About time you started listening to me."

The peace he felt surprised Roger. Only by drawing on both vampire and human traits had he managed to deal with the threat. His two sides did not undercut, but enriched each other.

Following his thoughts, Britt said, "Satisfied that you aren't a monster? Anyway, if you are, you'remy monster."

He settled gratefully into the shelter of her embrace. "I think I can live with that."