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“You’ll be safer here,” Abe had insisted when he brought me to this hidden outpost earlier tonight. “Adonis has cloaked the compound. If the Ivanovs try to track you, this is the last place they’ll be able to sense you.”

I hadn’t argued. The practical part of me knows he’s right—my safety is paramount if we’re going to rescue Callahan. But the rest of me chafes at being hidden away while he remains in Dmitri’s clutches, learning God knows what twisted version of the truth about his origins.

Sleep eludes me despite the late hour. I’ve been pacing the small bedroom, occasionally pausing to look out the window at the sliver of ocean visible between the canyon walls. The moonis high and bright, casting everything in silver that seems to glint off the windowpane. It would be beautiful if I weren’t so consumed with worry.

The search for the Ivanovs’ location had yielded frustratingly little today. Abe and the others had called in every favor, chased down every rumor, but Dmitri and his clan had gone to ground after the debacle at the Crimson Clover. Most of Cohen’s men were keeping their heads down too, making it impossible to follow that connection. I’m not sure that Cohen knows that he has vampires working for him, but either way he seems to be keeping under the radar.

Another dead end in a day full of them.

I sink onto the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands. I’ve never felt this helpless, this useless. I should be out there, hunting, not hidden away like some dainty dame. Yet I know the Ivanovs are hunting me too. My blood makes me a target, the final piece in their twisted puzzle.

I run my hands over my face, about to get up and pace again, when I pause.

The air in the room feels different all of a sudden—heavier, charged with a subtle electricity that makes the hair on my arms stand on end. I lift my head, senses instantly alert.

I scan the room, seeing nothing out of place. But the feeling persists, that instinctive awareness of danger that’s kept my kind alive for centuries.

Then I catch it—the faintest shift in the shadows by the window, a deeper darkness against the night. I’m on my feet in an instant, positioning myself with my back to the door, ready to flee or fight as needed.

“Who’s there?” I demand, my voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through my veins.

The shadow moves, separating from the darkness with fluid grace, and my heart stops.

Callahan.

But not Callahan as I know him. Not the man I’ve come to love. This creature crouching in the window frame is all predator—eyes glowing red in the darkness, fangs fully extended, face a mask of hunger and rage. His clothes are torn and bloody, his skin smeared with dirt as if he’s traveled great distances on foot, through brush and bramble, tracking me like a bloodhound.

“Victor?” I whisper, hope warring with instinct.

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even seem to recognize his own name. Instead, he launches himself across the room with supernatural speed, slamming into me with enough force to drive the air from my lungs.

We crash into the opposite wall, plaster cracking beneath the impact. His hands close around my throat, pinning me in place as a snarl builds in his chest. The scent of him is wrong—still Callahan underneath, but overlaid with something else.

Madness.

Dmitri’s done something to him.

“Victor, stop.” I struggle against his grip, fighting the instinct to match his violence with my own. “It’s me. It’s Lena.”

His snarl deepens, face inches from mine. There’s no recognition in those crimson eyes, nothing of the man I know. Just hunger and rage and something else—desperation, as if part of him is fighting against whatever control Dmitri has placed upon him.

I have seconds to make a decision. I could fight him—I’m strong enough to at least create distance, to call for help. Abe and the others would come running if they knew there was a struggle. But there’s a chance I wouldn’t get that far. If I run, he’ll run me down, his predator instincts will fire on all cylinders. He’ll kill me…and I have a feeling that’s not what he came here to do.

Or I could try something else.

Something riskier.

I’ve seen Callahan integrate his vampire side before, seen him find balance between the predator and the man. And I know what helped him do it—connection, blood, and, very specifically, me.

His hands tighten on my throat, strength just shy of crushing. I meet his gaze directly, one hand moving slowly, carefully to touch his face.

“Come back to me,” I whisper. “I know you’re in there, Victor. I know you can hear me.”

For a heartbeat, nothing changes. Then his grip falters, just slightly. Just enough.

I seize the opportunity, surging forward to press my lips against his. The kiss is violent, desperate—nothing like the tender moments we’ve shared before. His fangs nick my lower lip, drawing blood that mingles between us.

The taste of my blood sends a shudder through him. His hands release my throat, sliding instead to my waist, gripping hard enough to bruise. The kiss deepens, becomes something primal—a claiming, a recognition.