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feeling a shock of something, like static electricity.

    Conrad’s body drifted through hers, making her gasp and him shudder.
    He stumbled to his feet. Confusion appeared to mount within him. “Someone’s here. Real?” His voice sounded even raspier than last night.
    â€œConrad, be calm,” she said slowly.
    His eyes glowed a deeper red. “Show—yourself!” Could he possibly be responding to her words? Or did he merely have some kind of vampire’s sense that he wasn’t alone?
    With a low growl, he backed against the wall as he worked on the manacles. Finally he looped his bound hands under his feet to bring them forward. Seeming to relish the chance to fight, he intently scanned the room for an enemy, for a kill.
    As Néomi hovered about him, waving her hand in front of his face, his eyes darted wildly, his head jerking right, then left. Frowning, she brandished her forefinger, stabbing his eye, passing straight through it.
    He didn’t blink.
    She floated backward as if pushed. He can’t see me. Heavy disappointment settled over her.
    Beautiful female? Just the ramblings of a madman. She’d seized on the words no matter how unlikely they were because she’d been desperate.
    The elation of the night had set her up for the bitterest disappointment. She gave one last frantic wave at his eyes—
    He snapped his teeth, the sound like a bear trap; she reacted with a startled cry and raised her hands, shoving him away, sending him like a cannonball into the high-backed chair. When the chair slammed into the opposite wall, it collapsed from the impact, exploding into a cloud of splinters, tufts of upholstery filler, and plaster.
    Battling to be freed from the shambles, he yelled in a foreign language, what had to be oaths. Yet he appeared to like the violence—or at least to be accustomed to it.
    â€œConrad… wait !” she managed to bite out. Where are the brothers? With their syringes? Yes, the three men were in and out, but they were never gone long.
    Once he made it to his feet, he began tearing through the room, banging on the walls with his chained hands, knocking holes in the brittle plaster.
    â€œStop hurting…my house!”
    He didn’t. Instead, he snatched up the fireplace tools and swung them round, chucking them with so much force that the poker embedded itself into the brick of the fireplace, bobbing there. When his frenzied gaze landed on the defenseless nightstand, she said, “No closer.”
    Conrad charged for it. Without thinking, she swept him up to the ceiling. He closed his eyes tight, then opened them, seeming astounded to be still regarding the floor.
    He thrashed and fought her hold. He was strong, and soon she was forced to drop him, more hastily than she’d intended—he landed flat on his face. When he rose, she saw that his forehead was gushing blood into his eyes and alongside his nose.
    She hadn’t meant to hurt him! “Dieu, je regrette!”
    â€œConrad!” Nikolai yelled from downstairs, appearing in the doorway a split second later. He swept a baffled glance over the chaotic scene. “What the hell are you—”
    Nikolai never finished his question because Conrad swung his bound arms at him. As though hit by a battering ram, Nikolai flew out of the room and over the landing to the first floor.
    Conrad charged out the door with a wide-eyed Néomi right behind him. Though his speed was still superhuman, he was slower than he’d been last night—even with his ankles free. They’d already weakened him drastically.
    As Nikolai lumbered to his feet, Sebastian stood on the stairs, arms outstretched. But Conrad planted his chained hands on the railing and leapt down, evading any contact. When he turned toward the front entry, he found Murdoch barring his way.
    Nikolai yelled, “Conrad, it’s impossible for you to leave! Damn it, the sun!”
    What would happen to