Chosen

I choke out the words. “I’m healed.”

He nods. “You’re healed. And it only took two days.” He laughs. “And a dozen or so hosts.”

I glance again toward the woman. She has a Band-Aid at the crook of her elbow. Adele is walking her out.

“How did you do it?”

“Took a page out of a medieval text. You couldn’t feed, but you needed blood to heal. We set up an intravenous line between you and the donors. Worked like a charm, though we had to keep you doped up. Couldn’t have you thrashing about and pulling out the needle.”

I shake my head. “How did you come up with that idea?”

A voice from behind him, the voice I remember from a dream, spoke up. “It was my idea, actually.”

Of course it was. If I thought I could pull it off without falling flat on my face, I’d jump out of bed and hug the guy stepping around to join Lance at the side of the bed. But I can’t trust my legs, so I do the only thing I feel capable of. I hold out my arms and beam a smile. “I should have known. Who else would have the guts to tie me to a bed and force-feed me?”

Daniel Frey grins back. “Who else indeed.”

CHAPTER 18

Two hours later I’ve had a shower. With Lance’s help. A déjà vu moment, only this time, he’s supporting me. Two days flat on your back and even a vamp’s legs become wobbly. Then, dressed in shorts and one of Lance’s tank tops, I’m sitting by the pool on a chaise between Lance and my friend Daniel Frey.

Frey has shorts on, no shirt, no shoes, and is as unaffected by the blistering desert heat as Lance and I. It’s late afternoon, but the sun is still strong enough to bounce shimmers of heat off the pool deck in flickering waves. I tip my head back and soak it in. My arms and legs tingle with the kiss of sun on new skin.

Now if I could just get the smell of burned flesh out of my nose.

Adele placed a pitcher of iced tea on the table in front of us before disappearing back into the house. Lance told me she took charge of the women who donated blood to me: fed them, watched until she was sure they were strong enough to leave, and sent them home in a car with money and a certificate to the Armani shop. The hosts seemed pleased with the attention and the gifts. It freed Lance to stay by my bedside.

I don’t know how I’m going to repay her kindness—or her discretion. If she didn’t know what I was before, there is no doubt she does now.

My thoughts and attention shift to Lance. I reach for his hand. “What made you think to call Frey?”

“He was the obvious choice,” Lance answers. “After what happened a few months ago in Mexico. Frey saved Culebra’s life. I never thought your life was in danger, but I didn’t know what to do to speed the healing process.” He raises his glass to Frey. “He not only knew but came here and took charge. I owe him.”

“We owe him.” I raise my glass, too.

Frey gives a modest little smile, returns the toast.

He’s a handsome man, forty-something, dark hair touched on the sides with gray, a terrific build. He’s also a shape-shifter and a friend. We were lovers once, it happened not long after I was turned, when he came to my aid in a different way.

He’s watching me and the smile broadens, as though he senses what I’m thinking.

Lance does pick up on it. He skewers me with a raised eyebrow. Should I be jealous?

Frey, who is privy to Lance’s thoughts but not mine, answers before I can. “No. That was a while ago. A

Nice that he said that out loud. Shape-shifters and vampires can read each other’s thoughts. Unless you do something stupid like I did. Months ago, I bit Frey in a pique of childish frustration and concern over what I perceived as a threat to my niece, Trish. Frey was helping her. At the time, I hadn’t been sure. Once a vampire feeds from a shape-shifter, the psychic link between them is broken. It’s a wonder Frey still thinks of me as a friend.

A wonder and my very good luck. Which calls to mind the second question. Frey doesn’t drive. Something about having feline sight as his other form is panther. Cats see on the blue side of the spectrum. Gives them great night vision, but makes it difficult to distinguish a broad range of colors. Red, yellow and green, for instance.

“How did you get here?”

Another tip of the glass to Lance. “He provided transportation. Sent a helicopter.”

I grin at Lance. Of course you did.

Lance grins back.

Frey leans toward me, his expression turns serious. “Lance filled me in on what happened. A

“Unscathed? Hardly. You saw what I looked like.”

He shakes his head. “Okay, not exactly unscathed. But you survived when you should have gone up like a Roman candle. Vampires don’t walk through flame and live. You know that. You saw what happened to—”

He stops, maybe because he sees my shoulders tense, maybe because he realizes that by saying it, I’ll have to face the truth.

“Ortiz,” I say it for him. “I saw what happened to Ortiz.” I rub my eyes with the heel of my palms, trying to shut out the image and push away the guilt. “So Williams was right when he said I could have saved Ortiz. But how could I have known? Williams certainly didn’t tell me, and the bastard had a thousand opportunities.”

Frey glances at Lance. “There’s something else we think you should know.”

The muscles across my shoulders grow even tighter. “What?”

“The garage fire.”

“What about it?”

Lance picks up the story. “My first thought was that it was an accident.” He reaches out a hand and places it on my arm. “But now, I’m not so sure.”

And I’m not sure I understand. I frown. “Then what?”

“I think it was deliberately set. A device rigged to go off ten seconds after the back door closed.”

“Wait a minute.” I’m remembering Saturday morning. How mad I was at Lance. How all I wanted to do was get away from him. “I went out that door. Why didn’t I trip it?”

“You didn’t close the door,” Lance replies. “You left it open. Probably didn’t even realize it. I came out after you were already gone, and I did close the door. Ten seconds later, the garage blew. The fire investigators say it was a gas leak from a water heater. Fueled by a spark when the garage door was raised. They’re writing it off as an accident. And I’m going to let them.”

He looks over at Frey, then back to me. “But that was a new water heater, and you had raised the garage door minutes, not seconds, before. Someone poured propane on the floor of the garage to make sure there would be fire. Lots of it. And set a device to go off when the back door closed.”

“So we were both targets?”

Frey and Lance exchange looks.

“What?” Irritation is bunching my shoulders even tighter. “Stop fucking around. Tell me.”

Lance says, “We think it was a test.”

“A test of what?”

As soon as I ask it, the answer pops into my head. I stare at Lance. “Someone wanted to see if I could survive fire.” Doesn’t take a genius to figure out who that someone is. Especially knowing that he and Williams were working together. “Julian Underwood.”

I’m right. I see confirmation in the eyes looking back at me. That Julian Underwood would risk Lance’s life, the life of someone he has known for decades, sparks such rage that I find only one way to express it. I hurl the glass in my hand across the patio with such force it shatters against the far wall, pulverizes, rains bits of glass on the flagstone.

My hands are shaking. I interlock my fingers. When I can at least control the anger in my voice, I raise my eyes to Lance. “He thought you and I would walk out that back door together. The fire would ignite. Either we’d both be dead, or only you’d be. Either way, he didn’t care. He didn’t care if he killed you. He only wanted to see if he could kill me.”