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feed. Strength flowed through her. The exhaustion, the coldness, receded as his warmth,
his life, filled her belly. She felt the wound in her chest closing, flesh knitting. She kept
sucking, unable to stop.
She realized that he had grown limp and cold against her, and panic finally brought
her back to her senses. She pulled her mouth away from his throat, and Will slumped
against her, his eyes closed. He was very pale. Oh God. Will. Can you hear me?
He opened his eyes, and slowly, they focused on hers. It's okay. He tried to smile,
a weak twitch of his lips. I'll be fine.
Ashley looked down at her chest. Only a ragged hole in her shirt remained. The skin
beneath was smooth and unbroken, save for a thin, shiny white scar, almost invisible. She
touched it, awed. You saved my life.
Thank God. His eyes sank shut.
Will?
Tired& His voice was small and soft, faraway.
She slapped his cheek lightly, and his eyes flickered open. Don t you dare leave me
now. Stay with me, do you hear me? Now is not a good time to take a nap.
He nodded, his eyes hazy and distant.
She helped him to his feet and slung his arm around her shoulders. He leaned against
her, a warm weight. Come on. You need to lie down.
Kay.
Ashley led him to her bedroom and lowered him to the bed. She still tasted his blood
on her lips. She wanted to lick them clean. Instead, she grabbed tissue from the box on
the bedside table and wiped her mouth.
He looked up at her, his throat smeared with blood. Are you okay?
For a moment she thought she was going to laugh, or cry, but whichever it was, the
sound lodged itself in her throat. She'd nearly drained him, and he wanted to know if she
was okay. I'm fine. Her mind raced. What to do? Fluids, he needed fluids. Wait here,
I ll bring you some water. She filled a glass from the kitchen sink, brought it to him and
helped him drink. Water dribbled down his chin as he gulped. She wiped the dribbles
away with a tissue. Do you need anything else?
Cold, he murmured.
She pulled a blanket over him and tucked the edges in around his body. I m going
to call the hospital. You need a blood transfusion.
He reached out and grabbed her wrist with surprising strength. No.
Are you sure?
He looked up at her, his eyes clearer. Call Dr. Abel. Tell him about the assassin.
His hand dropped to his side. His eyes closed. I ll be fine. Just& need to rest.
She hoped he was right. She would have rather called an ambulance, but she d have
a hell of a time explaining how Will had lost so much blood. And, of course, there was
the decapitated corpse in the middle of the living room and the bloody knife with her
fingerprints on the handle. If the paramedics saw this, she d be finished. She could cloud
minds, tweak memories, but it would take more power than hers to make them forget
something like that.
Ashley took her cell phone from her pocket and dialed Dr. Abel s number. The
phone rang once, then someone picked up. Hello?
It's Ashley Hunt. We need some help. There's a dead body in my apartment.
A pause. Explain.
When we came back to my apartment tonight, there was a man waiting for us here.
He tried to kill us. I killed him.
Us? Is Will with you?
Yeah. I don t know which of us was the target. Could ve been both. The assassin
was mind-wiped. He might have been sent by Blaine, or a vampire.
I see. Wait there.
You think we should call the police?
No, don't do anything. I'll send some agents to clean up the body. Is Will all right?
He's fine. She hoped that wasn't a lie.
Wait there. My men will arrive shortly. He hung up.
Ashley shoved the phone into her pocket. She glanced at Will. He remained
motionless, eyes closed, his breathing slow and shallow.
* * * *
Ashley spent the next half hour pacing the apartment, checking Will every few
minutes to make sure his vitals were still steady. She gave him another glass of water,
wishing she had something more to offer him soup, juice, something with nutrients.
Someone knocked on the door, and she gave a start. Her hand flew to her Beretta.
Agent Burke and Agent Carson, said a deep, male voice. We re from the CPRI.
She opened the door. Two large men in gray suits stood outside, holding bulky
leather bags. Both were broad-shouldered, with big chests, mirrored shades and blank
expressions. One man was white, with buzz-cut blond hair, the other black, with a shaved
head that gleamed like a doorknob. The blond pulled an ID from his suit pocket and held
it up. The plastic card looked tiny in his sausage-sized fingers.
Come in, she said.
They walked past her. The bald man crouched beside the corpse, took a digital
camera from his pocket and snapped a few photos. If the sight of a mutilated, decapitated
man in a pool of blood bothered him at all, his face didn t show it. Any particular reason
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