"Okay now?" she asked, looking up at his eye that gleamed as it met hers. He smiled. She felt the sweat pooling between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s as she read the desire in his eyes, smelled the need on his skin, and saw his thoughts.

"You have blood on your lip."

The words etched horror in her heart. She hadn't saved him so he could feed off her! She took two steps back. He didn't move. Could he? Would he? "You can't stand here naked! Get dressed!" She waved at the blue plastic bag on the floor, her chest heaving so fast she had to spit the words out.

"Your blood..." His eye flickered and faded as it fixed on her lip. Her heart raced. Surely even he could hear the thumping.

"I've got you some blood. Upstairs!" She turned and ran up the uncarpeted stairs.

The door slammed at the top of the stairs but nothing stilled the fear that hovered in the air around him. He'd acted like the monster she believed he was. She'd saved his life. Heaven only knew how. He'd been barely able to lift his head by the time Caughleigh and his cohorts arrived around midnight. The coming dawn he'd sensed through his fog of pain, and as the sun rose... He shuddered at the memory. Somehow Dixie had spirited him from the garden of h.e.l.l.

She'd brought him here to rest until dusk, removed the witch blade from his side, and he'd frightened the d.i.c.kens out of her by l.u.s.ting after her blood. He stared down at his recovering body. Abel! No wonder she'd fled. She probably thought he was going to rape her. He owed her a dozen explanations, and he could only spare a couple at the most. But first he'd better dress.

The blue plastic shopping bag lay on the floor where she'd dropped it.

She was right, it wasn't his style, but it beat nakedness. He took out the black sweatsuit. Reaching into the bag, he found underwear, socks and a pair of soft-soled cotton slippers. Bless her! She'd added a brush and toothpaste, a comb and a disposable razor, even travel miniatures of deodorant and shaving cream. The only one he needed was the comb. She had a lot to learn about vampires and the longer she stayed ignorant, the better for all of them.

"Dixie?" he called as he pushed open the door at the top of the stairs. He didn't want to scare her again.

"h.e.l.lo." She looked up and smiled. Her shoulders relaxed as he stepped through the door. Had she expected him to burst through naked? Probably.

"Thanks."

She smiled, as if unsure of what to say next. "I got you some blood." She nodded at the gla.s.s jug in the center of the scrubbed pine table.

His feast beckoned, the aroma heady and intoxicating. Driven by instinct, he hefted the jug in both hands and chug-a-lugged.

He savored the sweet taste on his tongue, as richness and nourishment flowed down his throat, warming his core. Renewed strength flooded to his extremities as he drained the last drops from the tilted jug, and his eye met Dixie's over the gla.s.s rim.

"Sorry. Should have done that in private. We're not an elegant species when it comes to feeding."

She nodded, her face visibly paler than before. "Want a napkin?" She handed him a paper towel. He didn't doubt he needed it.

As he sat down and wiped his mouth, a hideous thought shook him. "Was that your blood?" He'd had over a pint. How could she have... ?

"Chickens."

"You never got that much from a chicken.""No, I defrosted twenty-five pounds of chicken liver. I've done some odd things since I came here, but today's been positively surreal."

"It's not been an average day for me, either."

Her chuckle brought light and amus.e.m.e.nt to the tension that lay between them and reminded him of the gulf wider than humanity. "You look better. Your color's returning. You were so white..." She broke off and bit her lip as understanding clouded her eyes.

"I was pale because I needed to feed. Lack of nourishment combined with the torture nearly finished me." He reached across the table, his will urging her not to draw back. He closed her warm fingers between his cold hands. "I owe you my existence, Dixie. Anything you want, just ask." What else could he say? As if the rescue wasn't enough, she'd spent the afternoon defrosting liver to gather blood for him-and she couldn't bear the thought of eating a bacon sandwich.

"You could start by answering a few questions."

And he could end by putting her in danger when they discovered he wasn't dead. "You might be better off not knowing."

Eyebrows rose over those bright green eyes. Most mortals would flinch at the sight of his disfigurement. Not his Dixie. "I'll decide about that." She moved her hand from his. Cold filled his empty palms.

"Dixie..." he began.

"No. Listen. You're a vampire, right?"

He nodded. Safe enough question; he only confirmed what she'd undoubtedly worked out herself, hours ago.

"Who tried to kill you?"

"People who want me dead."

Her eyebrows almost met. "Smart-a.s.s, how about a nice, stra..." She stopped mid-syllable as the doorbell rang. She turned to the doorway, then back to him, her eyes creased with worry. "I'll see who it is."

The front door closed and Dixie came back, balancing a stack of blue booklets. "It was Emma. I got rid of her by agreeing to deliver parish magazines." She dumped the stack on the edge of the kitchen dresser and sat back down. He wished to heaven she hadn't. His hunger was piqued rather than eased by the blood he'd swallowed, and now he smelled hers. He heard it coursing under her warm skin. He imagined it warm against his tongue. The thought of her lifeblood sent his mind into a spin.

He wanted nothing more than to tip her head back, bury his fangs in her soft skin and drain her dry.

And probably kill her. He clutched the table edge, fighting back his physical need. He had to leave. Fast. Before Caughleigh and his cronies discovered the lack of vampire remains. Before someone knocked on the back door and found him in a tete-a- tete with Dixie. And before survival instinct overrode respect for Dixie's life. He'd flit right now, but he barely had the strength to stand, much less transmogrify-or even drive himself.

She reached across the table to him, her soft hand over his clenched fist. "You still look terrible, Christopher. Anything else you need?"

This was no moment for the whole truth. He paused. "I need your help. To get away. I can't stay here. For both our sakes."

Concentration replaced the worry in her eyes. "You want me to take you somewhere? You can hardly go back to your house."

"I need you to drive me up to town. To London." At Tom's he'd be safe. He'd worry later about Tom's reaction when he drove up to the front door with a mortal.

She didn't hesitate a second. "Right. I'll have to check the map Stanley gave me. Or perhaps you know the way."

"I know the way."

She drove carefully. Just as well. He slipped in and out of consciousness like a drifting leaf. "I'll owe you forever for this," he said.

"I'll collect when I need to."

"Tell me when we get to Hyde Park Corner," he said and slumped against the seat.

Dixie hoped they'd get that far. She was tempted to ignore his insistence and take him to the nearest hospital, but he was right.

She couldn't drive up and say, "I need help for an injured vampire." They'd lock her up.

Cold panic hit her at a roundabout, but she negotiated it and would have patted herself on the back except she needed both hands to maneuver a lane change. The traffic got denser with every mile. Stuck in a jam somewhere near Wandsworth, she glanced over at Christopher. He looked gray as doom.

The streetlights cast odd shadows, highlighting the empty socket and his sunken cheeks. She drove on through the ma.s.sed traffic. If this was evening, she didn't want to see rush hour.

"We're at Hyde Park Corner, Christopher."

He didn't open his eyes, but he'd heard her. "Go up Piccadilly." She had to concentrate to hear his voice above the noise of the traffic. "Now left here." She noticed the name, Half Moon Street. "Now left... Second right... To the end, then left." A narrow road turned abruptly by a pub at the corner, The Red Lion. "Through the gateway." There were high walls behind and houses in front, and at the end, another wall with a black garage door. "This is Tom's. You can park inside."

"How do I get in?" As she spoke, the door rose and closed behind her as she pulled to a halt in a small yard behind the tall, dark shape of a townhouse. A tall figure made a silhouette against the light in the open French windows.

"Kit?" The voice echoed with worry in the night air. He bounded across the yard and wrenched open her door. "Who the h.e.l.l are you?" he asked as Dixie stepped out of the car.

"I'm Dix..." She could have been Ivanna Trump for all he cared.

"Kit," he called, and then saw Christopher, slumped and unmoving in the pa.s.senger seat. "What have you done to him?" he demanded and vaulted over the car roof. Pulling the door open, he gathered Christopher in his arms. Fury sparked behind his eyes. "Be glad you're a woman. If you were a man, I'd tear you limb from limb for this."

"For what? For bringing him here? It's what he wanted. Do something, can't you? He called you his friend." Dixie yelled. She hadn't done all this to be griped at.

"Who are you?" The voice cut like a knife across the night as he strode towards the house, carrying Christopher as lightly as a plate of cookies.

"I'm Dixie LePage."

"Oh." He carried Christopher through the garden door. Taking that as an invitation, Dixie followed.

Christopher looked worse in the light. The color he'd gained earlier faded. He'd gone past pale to a green-gray color that suggested morgues and cold slabs. Her heart clenched cold in her chest. "Is he dying?" she asked Tom's fast-moving back.

"He's been dead four hundred years," he snapped without turning his head.

That did it! Half leaping, she caught up with him and grabbed the sleeve of his s.h.i.+rt and walked across the room beside him.

"You know exactly what I mean, smart-a.s.s! He said you'd help him!"

The man stopped mid-stride and turned a pair of onyx-hard eyes on her. Tears welled up behind her lashes. She forced them back. She wasn't crying in front of this b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Why had she ever come? If he did anything to Christopher, she'd clobber him.

"He's safe with me. I'd as soon harm myself," he said, his voice strangely gentle, "but it may be too late."

"No!" The word screamed like a tempest in her brain. "He said he'd be safe if I got him here."

"Safe is not the same as sentient. You brought him here. I thank you for that. You'd best leave."

"No way, Jose! How do I know he's really safe with you?" She parked both hands on her hips, standing square in front of him to block his way. He never spoke. Just looked as if searching her soul. The burr of traffic and the scent of some night plant outside the open door hovered in the background as they fought for Christopher.

"You wouldn't have brought him if you really doubted." He angled his head to the open French windows. "I'm taking him upstairs. There's nowhere down here to lay him." She couldn't argue that one. Wall to ceiling bookshelves, a ma.s.sive antique desk, a computer, and a pair of swivel chairs were the only furnis.h.i.+ngs. "Shut the door. I don't want the house full of mosquitoes or moths."

"He's dying and you're worried about mosquitoes?"

"And neighbors who might summon the law if you keep shrieking."

Was she shrieking? Probably. It was a wonder she wasn't screaming the house down. She took a deep breath. Before she exhaled, he spoke again, "Shut it, Miss LePage. Do you want me to waste energy that might save Kit?"

There was only one answer to that. But by the time she turned back from shoving the last bolt home, he'd disappeared. He wasn't getting away. She ran through the open door and up a wide, curving staircase. She ignored the three closed doors. In the fourth room, Tom bent over Christopher, two black shapes so close they seemed one through the blur of her tears.

Tom turned as Dixie approached. "Wait outside a couple of minutes. I'm getting him in bed."

"I'm staying." She closed the distance between them. Christopher looked worse, if it was possible. Moisture beaded on his face and neck. Sweat? "What's happening?"

Tom didn't even look up. "His life essence is evaporating. It won't be long now. He'll be gone before dawn."

Choking back tears, Dixie grabbed Christopher's shoulders; they felt like bits of chicken. Dead and lifeless. "Christopher, don't.

Not after everything!"

His eye opened, like the shutter of a camera without film. "Dixie, thanks." He never spoke, but she heard him clear as bird song.

Her hands were shaking as Tom lifted them away. She half-noticed his fingers were bent and twisted. "Go outside a minute. Let me get him ready. I won't be long."

Dixie wanted to laugh. Or scream. It hardly mattered. "It's a bit late for modesty. I think I've seen everything." He just looked at her. She was tempted to scratch out those piercing eyes. "I found him. Naked. And got him out of the sun. I also yanked the knife blade out, among other things..." "What blade?" His hand grabbed her wrist until it hurt. His hands might be deformed but his strength was-like Christopher's used to be.

"The one someone stuck in his ribs. And don't ask me who put it there. He didn't say."

"Where?" He pulled the sweats.h.i.+rt from Christopher's waist.

"On the side, roll him over." He did that as easily as turning a page. Dixie pushed up the sweats.h.i.+rt and stared. Now there was just a small knot and a shadow like a fading bruise. "There was a wound. A great gaping one. I didn't dream it. I swear."

His awkward fingers smoothed Christopher's side. "I believe you."

"What happened?"

"He healed and used up his last strength." If she opened her mouth, she'd bawl. Tom didn't comment as she helped pull the sweats.h.i.+rt over Christopher's head and the pants down off his cold feet. If he had, she'd have swiped him, vampire or not.

They pulled the covers up to his chin, the crisp-ironed linen making Christopher's face appear even grayer. Tom turned to her, his eyes softened. "There's a bed in the next room. This is your time to sleep. I'll watch and call you when the time comes."

"I'm not leaving him." To demonstrate the point, she sat down hard on the edge of the mattress. The bed sagged as he perched on the opposite side.

"It won't take long, he's fading fast." The choke in his voice made her turn. She wasn't the only one heartbroken. "Tell me what happened."

She condensed the wildest day of her life into half a dozen short sentences. "I thought bringing him here would save him," she spat out the words with anger and frustration.

"You did save him-from slow death by torture. Wouldn't you rather pa.s.s away surrounded by friends than scorched slowly by the rising sun?"

She shuddered hot and cold at the idea. "I thought vampires were supposed to be immortal."

"Didn't Kit answer that one?"

"We never got the chance to talk about it."

He shook his head, as if to shake away tears. "No, I suppose not. It's quite simple. We're beyond life and death, but that doesn't mean we can't be extinguished. If someone's determined and knows the way... With Kit, they took no chances: sunlight and an incision."

"But I took out the knife, and he slept all day in the dark. Why didn't that cure him?" She'd given up trying to hold back her tears.

"He was already weakened when they took him."

"How?" Shaking fingers tried to dry her cheeks but tears came as if her heart were draining. Maybe it was. He pushed a folded handkerchief into her hand. Another time she'd have appreciated the luxury of wiping tears with silk. "How was he weakened?"

she repeated.

"A combination. The immediate reason, it was the time of his borning, the anniversary of his transformation. We're always weakest then, and they knew that. They knew to pierce him and drain more strength that way. Also..." "Also, what?"