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He had been one of the men who'd stalked and murdered John Wentworth. One of the men who did security work at the Morrison Center for Psychic Research.
    Dayan lowered his prey to the ground, breathing deeply, forcing the beast under control. In the body of the leopard, his own hunger was doubly difficult to restrain. He moved quickly from the temptation, padding softly around the corner of the room into the hall on his cushioned paws. Corinne had been correct: The kidnappers were after them because John had gone to the center. Whatever her husband had told them, it had aroused interest in Corinne and Lisa as well.
    Once again in complete control of the beast raging inside him, Dayan began to stalk the other kidnapper.
    He was on the other side of the room, oblivious to his partner's fate. Twice he lifted a small corner of the curtain and looked out into the dark night. The leopard could smell him, hear his sighs, his movements giving away his position as he constantly shifted his weight back and forth in an attempt to ease sore muscles and keep himself alert. This man was stroking his gun, too, fantasizing about what he would do to the two women when he had them in his hands.
    The leopard padded forward until it was within several feet of its prey before it froze in position, sinking to the carpet in a low crouch. The cat remained perfectly motionless, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on its prey. The man turned and looked directly at the leopard without seeing it, without any awareness whatsoever. Dayan waited with all the patience of a thousand years of hunting. For him, the life cycle was endless and there was all the time in the world. He watched dispassionately as the intruder turned back to his post without seeing the body of his partner or the danger to himself.
    The leopard inched forward once again without even a whisper of movement to betray him. He had stalked prey countless times and defeated his enemies time and again. The merciless black eyes never once left their target. When he was within striking distance, he gathered himself for the attack, watching, waiting for the perfect opportunity. He struck hard, going for the throat, the quick kill, and this time he shifted shape as he did so, bending his head to drink as he took the man unaware.
    At once the rush of adrenaline-laced blood hit him hard, a fireball moving through his system. The forbidden. Addicting as any drug. He was hungry and he drank deeply, the beast rising, fighting for supremacy. Dayan calmly held the man's weight in his enormously strong hands and deliberately thought of Corinne. She anchored him, kept him safe. She was there to ensure he did not cross over to become the very thing this man was hunting. The vampire. The undead. Dayan was a Carpathian male, as old as time, one of the ancients walking the land in search of his lifemate. Without her he would eventually be forced to seek the dawn or choose to lose his soul and become the vampire.
    The blood was moving through his system, reviving cells and muscles and tissue, soaking into his body and giving him a false high. Everything in him demanded more, demanded he feed while the life force faded from the body. Corinne. He called her name in his mind for strength to resist the wildness. A cool breeze seemed to find its way to his hot skin. Corinne. He could see her face – he had memorized every inch of it. Her soft skin begging for his touch. Her moss-green eyes, the color as rare as she was. The light inside her, shining out of her. Corinne. He felt her with him and it was enough. He closed the wound with his healing saliva, allowing the man to die at his own pace. The beast inside him raged for a moment, fighting him, wanting more, wanting to gorge itself, but Dayan ignored the terrible whispers of power and concentrated on Corinne.
    Her mouth. The intriguing dimple that came and went. The way her lips curved into a smile. She was extremely kissable. He looked around the spacious house.