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anything about me—‖
    ―I don‘t expect this is easy for you to understand. I‘m trying to explain as gently as I can. I owe you that much now. You see, you are a Breedmate, Tess. That‘s something very special to my kind.‖
    ―Your kind?‖ she asked, growing weary of his game. ―Okay, I give up. Just what is your kind?‖
    ―I am a warrior. One of the Breed.‖
    ―Right, a warrior. And breed, as in... what kind of breed?‖
    For a long moment, he just looked at her, like he was weighing his answer. ―As in vampire, Tess.‖
    Holy Moses on a pogo stick. He was beyond crazy.
    Sane people did not go around pretending to be bloodsucking fiends—or worse, actually acting out their perverted fantasies, like this guy had with her. Except there remained the fact that Tess‘s neck bore no trace of injury, even though she was certain—really, bone-chillingly sure—that he had chomped into her throat with razor-sharp fangs and swallowed quite a bit of her blood.
    And then there was the incredible fact that he was standing here, walking and talking with no effect whatsoever of the tranquilizer that should have laid him low well into next week.
    What could possibly explain any of that?
    Distant police sirens wailed from someplace outside, the steady whine seeming on the approach to the clinic‘s section of the city. Tess heard them, and so did the psycho-ward escapee holding her hostage. He cocked his head slightly, his whiskeycolored eyes never leaving her for a second. He smiled wryly, just the barest curve of his broad mouth, then cursed low under his breath.
    ―Sounds like your boyfriend phoned in some backup.‖
    Tess was too anxious to answer, uncertain what might provoke him now that he knew the authorities were on the way.
    ―Brilliant way to fuck up an evening,‖ he growled, seemingly to himself. ―This isn‘t the right way to leave things between us, but right now it doesn‘t appear I have much choice.‖
    His hand came up near Tess‘s face. She flinched to evade his touch, expecting the crush of a hard fist or some other brutality. But she felt only the warm press of his large open palm against her forehead. He leaned in to her, and she felt the feather-soft brush of his lips against her cheek.
    ―Close your eyes,‖ he murmured.
    And Tess‘s world went dark.

    ―No signs of any suspicious activity, folks. We checked all points of entry around the building, and everything looks tight and in order.‖
    ―Thank you, Officer,‖ Tess said, feeling like an idiot for creating all the fuss at such a late—or, rather, early—hour.
    Ben stood next to her in her office, his arm slung lightly around her shoulders in a protective, if a bit territorial, stance. He‘d arrived a short while ago, not long after police sirens woke her out of an unusually deep sleep. She‘d been working too late, evidently, and had dozed off at her desk. Somehow, she had knocked the phone and activated the speed dial for Ben‘s cell. He‘d seen the clinic number come up on caller ID and worried that she was in some kind of trouble.
    His subsequent three A.M. call to 911 sent two officers out to the clinic on a drive-by.
    While they had not found any cause for alarm as far as break-ins or late-night intruders, they did find Shiva. One of the cops had questioned them on where the tiger had come from, and when Ben insisted that he‘d found the animal, not stolen it, the officer was quietly skeptical. He allowed that with it being Halloween night, advertising mascots were unusually high targets for adolescent mischief, a fact that Ben was quick to assure him must have been the case with Shiva.
    Ben was lucky he hadn‘t ended up in handcuffs. As it stood, he‘d gotten off with a warning and a stern suggestion that he return Shiva to the gun shop first thing in the morning, just so nobody got the wrong idea and wanted to press charges. Tess slid from under the weight of Ben‘s arm and held her hand out to the officer. ―Thanks