M.

elly knew Julian was right, so she whirled and ran. Leaving him was one of the hardest things she had ever done.

If Justine slipped out of Julian's hold and came after her, the Vampyre could move so much faster, she could catch Melly in a matter of moments. Melly tucked in her chin and sprinted as hard as she could.

Her delicate ballet shoes had never been meant for the kind of treatment she had put them through, and they offered almost no protection now. Stones and uneven pavement bruised the soles of her feet. She forced herself to ignore the pain.

Meanwhile the sky continued to lighten with brilliant, deadly streaks of sunshine. She had thought nothing could ever be as bad as her nightmarish run through the tunnels, chased by ferals, but she was wrong. With every second that passed, she expected to feel Justine's hands slam down onto her shoulders.

What was happening between Julian and Justine? The attack had occurred so fast, but Melly was almost positive she had seen Justine stab Julian at least once. Please gods, don't let her kill him.

Still surrounded by silent buildings, she came to a T-section, turned right and kept running.

Then another intersection. Right again. Keep track of your turns, Melly.

Ahead, a rocky hillside rose up, strewn with bits of trash, signaling the end of the warehouses. As she reached the end of the buildings, she paused only long enough to glance both ways.

When she saw what looked like the shoulder of a real road to her left, she bolted toward it.

Her breathing came hard now, and she was forced to strike a balance between pacing herself while still running as fast as she possibly could. When she reached the road, she looked around. Small houses dotted the unkempt landscape. Several of the houses had boarded-up windows.

Three blocks away, a glaring blue neon light shone at the front of a shabby one-story building.

The illuminated letters read: ROADHOUSE OPE.

No N.

Even though dawn was breaking, at least a dozen motorcycles were parked underneath the sign.

Motorcycles. Not a single car was anywhere to be seen. Damn it.

She raced toward the building, slammed through the front door and didn't come to a stop until she was several feet into the main room of a bar.

Judas Priest rocked over the speakers. Bikers dotted the room. Some slouched at the bar, while a few played pool. Several were deep into some kind of card game that involved a pile of cash sitting in the middle of a table.

Most of the bikers were human, but there were a few ghouls as well. As she glanced around, she saw beards and black leather jackets everywhere.

Heads lifted at her precipitous entrance. As they all turned to face her, silence fell over the room. The bartender reached under the bar, and the song cut off.

"Well, damn," somebody said. "That's unusual."

She could only guess what she looked like. She was wearing at least three days' worth of grime and blood. Her trouser outfit, originally a stylish cream color, had turned gray and was covered with streaks of brownish red. The bruises on her arms and throat had bloomed into full Technicolor, her cuts and scratches were covered in dark scabs, and while she had finger combed her hair, her attempt at keeping it tidy had only served to make each individual curl spiral out in every direction.

Chairs scraped as everyone in the room stood. Eyes wide, they began to advance on her.

She retreated a couple of steps, her chest heaving as she fought to catch her breath.

She said, "I'm Melisande Aindris, and I've been kidnapped. I'll pay someone thirty thousand dollars for a bike with gas in the tank, along with a jacket and a helmet, and a cell phone..." She had to pause to suck more air. "And does anybody have a gun?"

There was a concerted rush toward her. The bartender leaped over the bar, joining the rest as they jostled and shoved each other. Disoriented and overwhelmed, Melly backed up.

When all the movement finally stopped, Melly found herself pressing back against a wall, and every biker in the place extended a gun toward her, handgrip forward. Two were sawed-off shotguns. As she stared at them, a bearded fellow extended his other hand, offering a switchblade as well.

One of them said, "I realize this might not be a good time, but sometime when you're having a better day, can I get your autograph?"

Another man snapped, "Seriously, George. Not appropriate right now."

The first one whispered, "I know, I know, just when am I ever gonna get the chance to ask?"

Blinking rapidly, she told the man named George, "Sure. You can have my autograph later." Focusing at random on a semiautomatic pistol, she grabbed for it. As the owner relinquished his hold on the weapon, she asked, "How many rounds?"

He said, "Twenty. It's fully loaded."

She asked, "Do you have a PayPal account?"

He nodded, his dark eyes intent.

She met his gaze. "I have no time right now. My friend is in big trouble, and I have to go help him. As soon as I know he's all right, I'll transfer the money into your account. Okay?"

Rolling one big shoulder in a laconic shrug, he reached inside his leather jacket and pulled out another gun. "I'll come with you. Gotta protect my investment."

Big and dangerous as he looked, he was still human. If he came up against Justine, he would be dead meat, but she wasn't about to waste precious moments arguing with him, not when Julian's life might be in danger.

She told him, "Fine, but we've got to go now."

As they strode out the door, they were followed by a stampede of the other bikers, including the bartender. Her biker led her to a late-model Harley. He tossed a helmet at her, and she jammed it on her head, while he mounted the bike, started it and revved the motor.

"Climb on," he said.

She leaped on behind him and grabbed handfuls of his jacket. "What are the others doing?"

He sent an amused glance over his shoulder. "Famous blond bombshell walks into a bar and mentions a shitload of money, guns and trouble all in the same breath. They would die before they stayed behind. Where are we going?"

Tucking in her chin, she told him. With a mechanical roar, he pulled onto the street, followed by the rest.

With transportation, it took only a few minutes to retrace her steps. When they neared the tunnel entrance, she looked around frantically. She knew it was the right place. She recognized it. The heavy iron grate was still pushed out of place, but neither Julian nor Justine were anywhere in sight.

Her biker pulled to a smooth stop several feet away from the hole. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the growl of all the motorcycles. "You sure this is it?"

"Yes," she snapped. Dismounting, she tore off the helmet and ran over to the tunnel entrance.

Inside, part of her screamed, no, no, no. Desperately, she searched the ground as several of the bikers joined her.

Would she be able to tell if Justine had staked Julian, and he had turned to dust? Had he been carrying anything metal on him?

With a quick glance upward, she noticed the bright, hot line of sunshine that bisected the nearby warehouse. When she had left, the wall had been entirely in shadow.

Taking in a deep breath, she shouted, "Julian!"

One agonized heartbeat. Two.

As the noise from the motorcycles died down, Julian's gravelly reply sounded clearly. "Here."

His voice came from below, down the open mouth of the tunnel. The relief that washed over her was inexpressible. Melly lunged toward the hole and leaped into it, ignoring the alarmed exclamations that followed her. She landed with a thud that jarred her teeth.

After being outside for so long, the shadows in the tunnel seemed impenetrable. Despite that, she stumbled forward blindly, until with a small click, Julian turned on the flashlight to light her way.

He sat several feet away from the daylight streaming in through the open hole, his long legs stretched in front of him. She fell to her knees at his side, and he hooked one arm around her neck, snatching her close. After hugging him, she sat back and ran her anxious gaze over his torso.

"What happened? I saw her knife you. How badly are you hurt?"

"I'll live," he said. "I broke both of her collarbones and tore up her clothes. She wasn't able to get any strength behind her blows, and without adequate sun protection, she decided she had an urgent appointment elsewhere." He looked behind her and coughed out a laugh. "I see you brought back reinforcements."

She glanced behind her in time to see her biker, along with two other men, drop into the hole. With the addition of three large males, the already tight quarters grew even more cramped. Julian's arm tensed, but he didn't move. She knew if he had been uninjured, at the very least, he would have placed himself between her and the other men. That alone told her how bad off he was. He certainly wouldn't have remained sitting.

Her biker took in an audible breath. He said to her, "When you said you had a friend in trouble, you didn't mention he was the Nightkind King."

She told him, "I was in a hurry."

Without preamble, Julian said, "I need blood. Are you, or any of your men, willing to donate? I'll pay."

Her biker came forward to kneel on one knee. "You're on the hunt for those responsible for killing all those people, aren't you?"

"Yes." Julian watched the other man with a guarded expression.

The biker held out his wrist. "I've given blood to a Vampyre before. No need to pay me. Ms. Aindris will be compensating me very well already. But if you need more than I can give, you might have to pay the others."

Julian took his wrist. "Do you take drugs? Don't bother lying. I'll know if you do."

The biker shook his head. "Never. I did indulge in too much Southern Comfort last night. Is that a problem?"

Julian gave him a faint smile. "Not at all."

Melly startled as one of the other men touched her shoulder. "Ms. Aindris, why don't you come outside now? It'll give us a little more room to maneuver down here."

He was one of the older bikers, with long gray hair pulled back into a ponytail. His simple kindness brought a flood of moisture to her eyes. Uncertainly, she turned back to Julian, who said in her head, Go on, baby. I'll be out as soon as I can.

Sniffing, she nodded and rose to her feet. After such a massive dump of adrenaline into her bloodstream, she felt suddenly bereft of energy and direction, and she stumbled. Taking her gently by the elbow, the gray-haired biker steadied her as they walked back to the tunnel opening.

Several faces peered down at them. "She's coming up," said the gray-haired man. "Help her out."

Two men reached down. She took their offered hands, and they hoisted her up. As her feet left the tunnel floor, she said, "I need my bag."

"Is it a purse?" The gray-haired man looked around.

"No, it's a grocery bag." Her voice wobbled.

"I'll hand it up to you," he promised.

Outside, she managed to stay mobile until she could collapse in a heap against the warehouse wall. Somebody handed her the grocery bag. Somebody else tucked a leather jacket around her shoulders. The interior lining was still warm from being worn, and she huddled into it gratefully, shivering while she dug into the bag for the two remaining bottles of water. She drank until she couldn't hold any more liquid.

Now that the most urgent of the drama had eased, the bikers gave her plenty of personal space. They grouped together nearby, looking her way often, several of them smoking cigarettes as they talked in low voices. A few left. Others climbed down into the tunnel to donate blood to Julian.

Melly searched the cloudless sky overhead. It was going to be a bright sunny day. She had never seen anything so beautiful in her life.

A shadow fell, and her biker squatted beside her. He asked, "You okay?"

"Yeah," she said. "I'm taking a moment."

He dropped something in her lap. She looked down. It was a smartphone. He told her, "It's unlocked and the bill's paid until the end of the month. No contract, unlimited phone and text. I think there's about half a gigabyte left on the web."

"Thank you." Her fingers closed over it too tightly. When her hand started to shake, she forced her grip to ease. The phone wasn't going to vanish into thin air.

His dark gaze lingered on her white-knuckled grip. He heaved a sigh. "Leonard is trying to convince me that I have a conscience."

Looking in the direction of his gesture, her gaze connected with that of the gray-haired man, who gave her a nod while he drew on a cigarette.

She asked her biker, "How's that working out for you?"

"It's inconvenient." He rubbed his face. "Look, I know you were in a bad way and desperate to find help. You don't have to pay me the thirty grand you promised."

She nodded and looked up at the sky again. After a moment, she said, "I made a deal with you, and I'm willing to stick by it. After all, you've lived up to your end of the bargain. I do have a phone and a loaded gun."

"You're also wearing my jacket," he pointed out.

She pulled the collar close. "It's my jacket now, right?"

"I guess it is." He exhaled in a silent snort and nodded toward the Harley. The helmet she had borrowed was perched on the saddle. "You know, at a generous estimate it's worth maybe fifteen grand. I've used it hard, but I've also kept it well maintained."

"Good to know. How much gas does it have?"

"Three quarters of a tank."

That was more than enough fuel. Riding the bike, she and Julian could be at his house in Nob Hill in twenty minutes or so, depending on traffic.

If it weren't for the cloudless, sunny morning.

She looked up at the sky again. "How about twenty instead of thirty? You'll still be making a good profit."

"Sounds good to me."