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him just how well I can protect myself is drowned by the more rational desire to get home. I need to think through what happened tonight. I need to talk about it with Lance and see if he has an explanation for a human exerting such influence over me. I might have killed Black if Harris hadn’t appeared. I wanted to. Why? Because I knew he was a killer?
    How did I know?
    How could I have known? The smell of blood could have meant he was a victim not a killer. And yet, I had no doubt which he was.
    Harris is at the car, holding open the door, tapping his foot and frowning like an annoyed parent who caught his kid out after curfew.
    It takes all my willpower to resist the desire to grab his foot and dump him on his impatient ass.
    I shrug off the impulse.
    He’s a human. A cop, no less.
    And I can use the ride.
    “Okay, okay. Let’s go.”

CHAPTER 5
    H ARRIS DROPS ME OFF AT THE OFFICE. OUR ENTIRE conversation on the thirty-five-minute ride consisted of Harris asking me if I wanted to go to the office or if he should take me home.
    It was a long thirty-five minutes.
    At last I’m in the Jag and on the way to the cottage, away from Black’s strange influence and Harris’ annoying air of disapproval. I can think rationally about the night’s events.
    The rationality is slow to come.
    How could I have been so strongly affected by Black? He was human. Not that humans aren’t capable of evil—I’ve certainly met a few. But he projected evil. So strongly it caused a physical reaction. That’s a disturbing new twist.
    Evil. A primitive word.
    Why did I pick up on it? Why did I know he had spilled blood? What compelled me to want to kill him on sight?
    Maybe Lance can help me figure it out. He’s been a vampire a lot longer than me—seventy years. He’s helped me through other troubling times. The last three months, we’ve gotten closer. Especially after what happened with Williams.
    It’s been three months since Williams and I had a confrontation over the death of Ortiz, a vampire he loved like a son. Three months since his wife threatened me because I chose the well-being of another over her husband’s. I’ve stayed away from them both, withdrawn from the supernatural community and kept to myself. My only tie has been to Lance. And Culebra, to feed.
    I’ve been living as a human. Going to work every day with David. Going to movies with Lance. Simple things. A couple of weeks ago, I even flew to France for my mother’s birthday. A feat made possible by the fact that I own a private jet—the one part of Avery’s legacy I’ve accepted for myself. Selfishly. Avery was the first vamp I met as a newly turned. Even though he ended up trying to kill me and I’d vowed to accept none of the estate he’d left me, having a jet makes travel too convenient to pass up. Especially with family in Europe. No worries about someone noticing the lack of a reflection in a dark window or why on such a long flight I didn’t eat or drink or have to go to the bathroom.
    It was only a three-day visit—I didn’t want to push my luck—but it was wonderful.
    I enjoy the illusion of being human.
    Maybe that’s what has me upset. Tonight, Black shattered the illusion.
    I pull the Jag into the garage, next to Lance’s silver Aston Martin DB9. The top is down. I run a finger over butter-soft leather when I walk past. Such a boy’s toy. Warmth still radiates off the hood—Lance must have arrived just minutes before. I slip out of the garage and hit the remote on my keychain.
    The door is sliding shut when a blur catches the corner of my eye. From inside the garage, something propels itself toward me. Too fast. I’m hit broadside, thrown back. I recover, regain my balance, but not quickly enough. I feel the blade enter, just below the sternum, slash upward, scrape against bone. No pain at first. Just surprise.
    Then rage.
    The human Anna is gone. The vampire grabs the knife before it can strike again. I don’t know what I’m fighting.