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fell over his shoulders. He didn’t seem stressed out or in pain from the experience, but I would think that shifting from one being into another wasn’t exactly a pleasant sensation.
    “I’m dreaming, right?” I asked Dove.
    “Well, if you are, you have some fucked-up dreams.” Dove blinked, then said, “Whoa.”
    “Whoa” was an understatement.
    Werewolf man was naked.
    Very, very naked.
    He walked over to the guy bleeding in my tent and knelt down. He grabbed the guy’s head and twisted. An ugly snap echoed in the tent as he wrenched the head off. The fedora fell off and rolled toward Dove’s cot. The man tossed the head next to its body.
    The vampire—body, head, and blood—turned to ash. All that remained were the fedora and the duster.
    Dove and I shared a
holy-shit-did-that-just-really-happen
look.
    While my heart tried to claw its way out of my chest, I watched the wolf—er, the man—claim one of my discarded T-shirts lying near the foot locker and rub his face. I realized he was wiping off the vampire’s blood.
    “I call the duster,” said Dove in a strangled voice.
    “Fuck you,” I said, my voice hoarse with disbelief. “That baby’s mine.”
    “Then I want the hat.”
    “Whatever, Indiana,” I muttered. Like either of us would even deign to wear the duster or hat. How was one supposed to get vampire ash out of those clothes anyway? I mean . . . OxiClean can do only so much.
    “Are you all right?” The naked man walked toward us, then stopped on the other side of the cot, his expression a mask of concern as he studied our faces. He had the most amazing jade green eyes. I didn’t even know eyes could be that color.
    He was gorgeous.
    I probably should’ve mentioned that before, but I was distracted by all the morphing and the vampire killing. But now that he was less than a foot away, looking at us with a mixture of curiosity and empathy . . . well, I could focus on him.
    He was huge, well over six feet tall. And muscled. And beautiful. Blood that streaked him from neck to. . . .
    I gasped, and Dove followed my line of sight, and gasped, too.
    “Is that real?” asked Dove in a reverent voice. “Because that’s the biggest dick I’ve ever seen.”
    “He can hear you,” I whispered harshly. Then in a lower voice, I added, “Don’t you even think about taking dibs, you bitch.”
    “Riiiiight,” she whispered back. “You want me to call ahead to the hospital, tell them to expect you and your injured vagina?”
    “Then you are okay,” he said dryly. He grabbed the blanket from my cot and wrapped it around his waist. “My name is Drake.”
    “Moira Jameson,” I said. “This is Dove.”
    “
Just
Dove,” she said severely, as she always did to forestall any questions about a last name. Like last names were even relevant. Werewolf man didn’t seem to have one—or he hadn’t offered one.
    He inclined his head, his green eyes flashing with humor. “You handle yourselves very well. Not many humans are so . . . accepting of parakind.”
    “Parakind?” I asked.
    “A general term. But in this case, I speak of the
droch fola
,” he said, pointing at the pile of ash that was currently messing up my new duster. “And me, of course. The werewolf.”
    “I didn’t read about werewolves,” said Dove. “Damn.”
    Drake cocked an eyebrow at her. “Perhaps having a conversation with a werewolf is better than reading about him, hmm?”
    “Depends on how the conversation ends,” she said.
    “Wow. Awesome. Just another day in the desert,” I said. I was starting to get the shakes. See, I was great at crisis-in-the-moment. But the aftershocks got me every time.
    “Ah.” He tilted his head and offered a wicked grin. “It’s really too bad.”
    “What is?” I asked.
    “You will not remember anything that happened tonight.” He gave me a long look, one that gleamed with regret. “And you will not remember me.”



Chapter 5
    “V ampires,” I said flatly. Dove