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Chasing Midnight
Susan Krinard


Manhattan, 1924 – the Charleston, clandestine cocktails…and a seriously sinister secret lurking beneath the streets… By day, Allegra lives among the artists of 1920s Greenwich Village, in search of adventure. By night, she haunts New York’s back alleys and seedy speak-easies, driven by a more primal hunger. And amidst the glitz and glamour of the jazz age, even a vampire can fall prey to the temptations of the flesh, especially when those temptations take the shape of golden-eyed Griffin – half-man, half-wolf and altogether forbidden.Yet as a powerful vampire master’s jealousy condemns their new-found desire, can Griffin and Allegra’s dream of an eternity of passion withstand the threat of an on-coming war?







He wrapped his fingers behind her neck, pulled her against him and kissed her, hard.

She gave him exactly what he wanted, melting into him with a little gasp of admiration.

“There’s more where that came from,” he said, rising from his chair. “You stay right where you are.”

He strutted off like a peacock, all broad shoulders and jutting chin. He thought he’d won the prize with his natural charm and good looks. Men like him always assumed that any girl, even the most sophisticated flapper, would fall for them if they so much as crooked their fingers…


Dear Reader,

What is it about the nineteen twenties?

For me, the fascination began with my first viewing of the movie Chicago, starring Catherine Zeta-Jones. Before then, I’d never given the decade much thought. I knew about Prohibition, of course, and flappers, but it all came alive when Ms Zeta-Jones performed “All That Jazz.” I was hooked.

The Roaring Twenties was a remarkable period. It was the time when the old rules of Victorian America gave way to the new rules of the twentieth century. It was the age when women first began to vote, when the “working girl” came into her own, when music and art were undergoing startling transformations. The West was still recovering from the trauma of the Great War, finding its way into a strange new world. In New York and Chicago and the other great cities, mobsters made fortunes from bootlegging. There was a flourishing underworld of clubs and speakeasies where the daring and fashionable could quench their thirst for alcohol and excitement.

What better place to set a story about werewolves and vampires in conflict but Prohibition-era New York, where the mobs of three very different races compete for dominance? The first image that immediately sprang into my head was one of a vampire flapper with a Louise Brooks bob, dressed in a short skirt and highheel pumps…a young woman who couldn’t be bothered with the restrictions of either human society or her own vampire clan. And who should her romantic interest be but a rather old-fashioned and chivalrous werewolf who has his own issues with the loups-garous of New York…and who finds himself falling for a girl who seems to be doing everything possible to drive him crazy?

With those characters and situations firmly in my mind, Chasing Midnight was born. I’ve seldom had so much fun writing a book. I hope you’ll give the Roaring Twenties a try; I’ll be revisiting them in my next paranormal romance novel for Mills & Boon


Super Nocturneв„ў, which will be arriving on book shop shelves in December 2009.

Susan Krinard




CHASING

MIDNIGHT

BY SUSAN KRINARD











www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/)




Prologue


New York City, 1924

SHE WOKE TO THE SOUNDS of the street: the honking of horns as taxicabs, sedans and roadsters jockeyed for position; the rattle and rumble of trucks bearing cargo both legitimate and illicit; the shouts of the newsboy on the corner, trumpeting the scandalous details of the latest police raid on Joe Bocelli’s Club Desirée.

She lay quietly for a moment, eyes closed, trying to decide what was different. It wasn’t only that the sounds were so distinct, falling on her ears like drumbeats, or that she could feel the shift of every current of air as it brushed against her skin. It wasn’t only that, for the first time in so many years, her body didn’t hurt.

With a groan of pleasure she extended her arms over her head, feeling muscles stretch and bones pop. Her toes tingled. She wiggled them, delighting in the touch of the satin sheets against her skin.

And then she froze as the realization struck her so hard and fast that it stole her breath.

She had moved. Not with stiff, painful jerks, her limbs refusing to obey her simplest commands. Not with withered muscles wasting away, prisoners in a cage of flesh. She had moved easily, smoothly, strength flowing through her like cascades of fresh cool water.

Slowly she opened her eyes. The room should have been dark; no lamps were on, and the shades and curtains were drawn over the windows. But she saw everything with crystal clarity, as if the entireworld were bathed in light. Every detail of the Persian carpet stood out in elegant relief. The pattern of the wallpaper seemed to dance a geometric ballet. And the man in the chair…

Alice sat up, her heart bounding beneath her ribs. The man in the chair gazed at her with a faint smile, his pale eyes reflecting a dim red glow.

“Alice,” he said, “do you remember?”

She rubbed her eyes, caught by a wave of dizziness that made the bed roll and heave beneath her. An hour, a week, a year ago, she had been lying in this same bed, her limbs like dead weights among the sheets, her mouth filled with words she could barely speak. He had been there, looking down at her with an expression both kindly and grim, and she had been afraid.

“There is always a risk,” he’d said back then. “Especially to one in your condition. But the rewards…” He’d gestured at her twisted body. “The rewards are beyond calculation.You will walk again, Alice.You will be free.”

And alive. If she should awaken from the long sleep he had told her about, she would no longer be facing imminent death at the age of twenty-four. Shewouldn’t spend another year in bed, her legs no longer able to support her body, her hands too weak to hold a book, listening to the sounds of life passing by her window. There would be a new existence awaiting her, one she could scarcely imagine. She would be better than before, even better than if she’d grown up without the disease that had stolen her friends, her family, her hope.

“You will have a new family,” he’d told her. “The old loyalties will fall away, the old rules by which you lived. You will never be able to go back.”

She’d shivered. “I have…nothing to lose,” she’d said, pushing the sounds past the thickness in her throat.

He’d nodded, as if he had expected no less from her. “Make no mistake,” he’d said, “you will die.You will no longer breathe. Your heart will cease to beat. If a doctor were to enter this room, he would pronounce you deceased.”

Tears had leaked from the corners of Alice’s eyes. “I understand.”

“I doubt that you do,” he’d said sadly, “but there is no other way for your body to undergo the change. Either you will wake in this bed, or…”

Or she would not wake at all. But she would have died knowing that she had taken the ultimate gamble and spat in the eyes of all the pitying, privileged “friends” who had deserted her to the slowdescent into hell.

Mother won’t even know I’m gone, she’d thought. And if she ever comes looking for me…

Alice had smiled, her mouth too stiff for laughter. “I’m ready.”

He’d taken the chair beside the bed and looked into her eyes. “There will be no pain. You will become very sleepy. Don’t fight it, my dear. Let it take you.” He’d bent close, his not-unpleasant breath drifting over her cheek. “Close your eyes and dream of paradise…”

Alice snapped back to the present, her hands shaking on the bedsheets. She clenched her fists and listened to the steady, strong beat of her heart…her heart, still doing what hearts were supposed to do. Her lungs still took in air. Except for the easy movements of her limbs and throat and face, she seemed to be the same as before.

“To most humans you will seem normal,” Cato said. “Despite certain fairy tales to the contrary, you are not �undead.’” He rose from the chair, came to her bedside and took her hand in his, checking her pulse like a kindly physician. “You may eat and drink in moderation, so long as you do not neglect your most essential needs. You may walk in daylight so long as you wear tinted glasses and cover your skin. Even brief exposure will result in serious burns. That is why most of us prefer to conduct our public business after sunset.”

Alice stared at the window. Only the tiniest sliver of light entered past the heavy curtains. “How—” she cleared her throat, startled by the smooth, musical sound of her own voice “—how long was I…”

“Dead?” He patted her hand. “Two weeks. I was not entirely certain that you would wake. But now…” He stood back. “Rise and walk, AliceCharles.”

Her mouth as dry as cotton, Alice began to move. She slid her legs along the mattress and cautiously let them drop over the side of the bed. The ground seemed very far away. She flexed her feet on the carpet.

“Your body has the strength,” Cato said. “Far more strength than you need to walk across this room.” His words took on a strange hum, like some powerful generator crackling with energy. “Prove that you are worthy of this gift. Walk!”

Compelled by a force far stronger than fear, Alice pressed her weight down, felt her muscles tighten and grow firm at her command. She stood, swayed, straightened. She took one step, and then another. Her legs carried her to the opposite wall and back again without a single stumble.

I can walk, Alice sang silently. I can walk, I can walk, I can walk…

“Yes,” Cato said, a distant look in his eyes. “I need no further proof.” He took her shoulders and steered her toward the huge mirror that dominated the wall above the dressing table. “Look,” he urged. “See what you have become.”

She looked, though she had not viewed her own reflection in many years. The face that stared back at her was almost unrecognizable, as if some skilled and prudent sculptor had taken her features and rearranged them into something that was partly AliceCharles and partly something…other. Something beautiful. The lines of her features were clean and regular, her skin smooth, her brow unlined over vivid aqua eyes. Her hair, black and shining, hung downher back like ebony silk. Andher body, clearly outlined by the sheer drape of her night robe, was both strong and intensely—unmistakably—female.

“Lovely,” Cato said, lifting her hair in his hands and letting it sift through his fingers. “So much more than I had hoped.”

He gestured Alice back to the bed and sat down beside her. “There is still a great deal for you to learn, my dear, and I will be your teacher until you have passed beyond your infancy…shall we say.” He lifted her chin with his fingertips. “Do you remember what we discussed?”

Alice nodded. There was more than one price to pay for this miracle, and she had resolved to settle the debt without complaint. She began to remove her nightgown.

Cato laughed. “My dear, you misunderstood. It is quite true that we are now bound by blood…as you will learn should either of us find ourselves long separated or in a life-threatening predicament, unlikely as that may seem. But I am far too old to find the prospect of rolling about between the sheets in the least appealing.”

Alice released her breath. “Then how can I repay you for what you’ve done?”

He held her gaze, and she felt the power of his great age work its way into her mind. “You shall make a new life,” he said. “You will have all the money you could possibly require, all the freedom you have lacked since the coming of your illness. I ask only that you protect your secret, as our kind must, and come to me when I call you.”

Alice angrily scrubbed at her cheeks. “Why? Why have you helped me?”

“Your father and I were friends, brothers in science in spite of our obvious differences. He never learned of my true nature, but he would have appreciated my intervention in more ways than one. And I…I consider your Conversion one of the great achievements of my latter years.” He kissed her forehead and rose. “Rest now. It will be a few days before your instruction can begin. You mayspend the time composing a name for yourself. Until then, everything you need will be supplied by my servants.”

He left, closing the door behind him. Alice lay still, half-afraid that if she moved she might wake to find it had all been a dream. But the moments passed, and nothing changed. After a while she got up again and wandered about the room, stopping before the mirror once more.

Perhaps this was what she might have been like if the disease hadn’t claimed her at so young an age. Perhaps she might have attended parties and outings with other young people on Long Island, gone riding and sailing, even married.

Or perhaps they would have snubbed her anyway, knowing that all she and her mother had left was the decaying mansion and two servants to manage the entire estate. She couldn’t have afforded the expensive frocks or given the right kinds of soirées.

No, she would always have been an outcast among the fashionable set to which her mother had once belonged. Alice smiled at herself, imagining Lucy Shearer and Wilson Hinds, Johnnie Macklin and Oralie Gray, all the neighbors and former friends who had found even pity too taxing an emotion. Outcast they had declared her, and outcast she would remain. To hell with them all. She would learn to live in a way they couldn’t begin to imagine.

Tossing her hair over her shoulders, she turned toward the window. Cato had reminded her of one of the basic rules of her new existence: one must not walk in daylight without layers of protective clothing. A rule that must be obeyed. A law that meant survival.

Just another set of chains to choke and bind.

She walked slowly toward the window, her gaze fixed on the sliver of light at the edges of the shade. She passed her hand through the narrowband of illumination. There was no pain. With a swift jerk she drew back the dark, heavy curtains. The shade was triple thick, utterly safe. Alice raised it with a sharp tug on the cord.

Heat and light flooded into the room, bathing Alice’s face and hands, penetrating her thin gown as if it were tissue. She braced herself for the burning, the punishment she had risked by daring to defy the rules.

Strangely, nothing happened. Her skin remained smooth and unmarred, with no blisters or blackening, no agony as the world of humanity took its toll. Only the soft and gentle caress of warmth stroking her cheek like a long-absent lover.

She pressed her palms to the window and looked down into the street. Fewof those people passing on the sidewalks were aware that they shared their city with beings that looked very like them but were not human. None of them knew what had transpired in this room today. They had never heard the name Alice Emil Charles.

That would change. She would choose a new name, and New York would come to know it, rules or no rules. She would have fun. And she would laugh…laugh so long and loud that even the snooty debs and fancy chaps would hear her in their pricey mansions.

Alice turned her face up to the sun. Let them try and pity her now. Let them keep their rarified world of knowing the right people and wearing the right clothes. She wanted no part of it.

She would never go back again.




Chapter One


New York City, 1926

GRIFFIN DURANT STEPPED out of the elevator, strode across the polished lobby floor and slipped through the revolving doors, fortifying himself for the assault of smell and sound that crouched on Broad Street like an attentive predator awaiting its next victim. He pushed his hat lower on his head, wrinkling his nose against the acrid blend of gasoline, fermenting refuse and human sweat. His ears buzzed with the grinding of engines and the wildly varying pitch of human voices…but, as always, it was only a matter of moments before he was able to bring his senses under control and face the world with reasonable calm.

“Mr. Durant?”

A hand tugged at his coat, and he looked down at the smudged, familiar face of the corner newsboy.

“Paper, Mr. Durant?”

Griffin reached inside his pocket and pulled out a coin. “Here you are, Bobby,” he said, tucking the paper under his arm.

Bobby stared at the coin and gave a joyful whoop. “Gee, thanks, Mr. Durant!”

Griffin sighed. It took so little to make a difference in this boy’s life, yet he was only one of millions who called this city their home…teeming multitudes cast up on the shores of the biggest city in America. A metropolis that was rapidly becoming a place of corruption, violence and sudden death.

You could have chosen another city, he thought.

A city without such a thriving bootleg trade, for instance—though one couldn’t escape the traffic in illicit drink anywhere in the United States. New York’s business was simply bigger and more notorious than in any other municipality except Chicago.

You could have stayed in England. But then Gemma might never have come to know her native country. And he would never have escaped the reminders of the Great War that haunted him every time he read the latest news from Europe.

Griffin shook off the crawling sensation that raised the hairs on the back of his neck, took a firm grip on his briefcase and flagged down a taxi to take him to East Forty-second Street near Grand Central Station. The cabbie let him off a few blocks from the dressmaker’s shop. As he walked, Griffin dispassionately examined the women with whom he shared the sidewalk: soberly dressed dowagers with small dogs clutched in their arms; working girls in conservative suits; tycoons’ daughters in afternoon frocks from Worth or Chanel…and the flappers in their brazenly short dresses, daring anything male to gawk at their rolled stockings and rouged lips.

Frowning in disapproval, Griffin averted his gaze. Thank God Gemma had only left her English boarding school a few months ago and hadn’t yet been exposed to what passed for fashion among the fast set. The gown he’d ordered for her birthday was elegant, expensive and eminently tasteful. He had meant to commission a frock from Molyneux, but there simply hadn’t been time to have anything made overseas. With any luck, Gemma wouldn’t notice the difference.

A short walk brought him to the couturière’s. He summoned up a smile for the salesgirl who hurried to meet him.

“Mr. Durant,” she said, “you’ve come for the gown?”

“I have, Miss Jones. Is Madame Aimery available?”

“Of course, Mr. Durant. If you will excuse me…” She vanished through the back door, leaving Griffin alone with the shop’s other customer.

The young woman was slim and pretty, her warm brown skin a pleasant contrast to the pale green of her frock. Griffin tipped his hat to her, and she smiled in return.

“A very pleasant day, Mr. Durant,” she said.

Griffin started. “I beg your pardon…have we met before?”

She laughed, a soft, rich chuckle. “I heard Miss Jones speak your name…and who hasn’t heard of Mr. Griffin Durant?”

“Am I as notorious as all that, Miss…”

“Moreau. Louise Moreau.” She offered her hand, and he took it. Her grip was firm. “Your notoriety is of the salutary variety, Mr. Durant. I—”

She broke off as Madame Aimery emerged from the back room with Miss Jones and another assistant, both assistants laden with ribbon-tied boxes.

“I beg your pardon for the wait, Monsieur Durant,” Madame Aimery said in her light French accent.

“No trouble at all,” Griffin said. He glanced at Miss Moreau. “Please attend to this young lady first. I’m in no hurry.”

Madame Aimery gestured to her assistant, who approached Miss Moreau with three wide boxes. “Good afternoon, Miss Moreau,” she said briskly. “Would you care to examine the dresses?”

Miss Moreau smiled slightly, matching Madame Aimery’s almost imperceptible coolness. “That will not be necessary. I’m certain that Miss Chase will find the dresses very much to her liking.”

“Mademoiselle Chase must not hesitate to call if we may be of further service.”

“I shall so inform her.” Miss Moreau took the boxes and tucked them under her arms. “Thank you for your time, Madame Aimery.”

The couturière nodded and signaled Miss Jones to fetch the remaining box. “Monsieur Durant—”

“A moment, if you would. Miss Moreau…”

The youngwoman paused at the door. “Mr. Durant?”

“May I call a taxi for you?”

She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Thanks so much, Mr. Durant, but I’m to meet my employer at a café down the street. The boxes aren’t heavy.”

He moved to open the door for her. “If you’re quite certain…”

“I’m stronger than I look.” She winked at him and swept through the door.

Madame Aimery gave a discreet cough. “Monsieur Durant, if you are ready…”

Griffin accepted Gemma’s gown, paid in full and escaped into the cool breeze of twilight. Tall buildings cast long shadows that darkened the streets well before the sun went down, but for Griffin it was still as bright as noon. He considered hailing a taxi to take him to Penn Station, but he found that he, like Miss Moreau, preferred to walk.

With the coming of dusk, the dark-loving creatures crawled out of the woodwork: bootleggers and racketeers strutting out on the town with their painted floozies; truck drivers whose innocuous-looking vehicles contained a wealth of contraband cargo; laughing young men and their short-skirted dates seeking the latest hot spot to indulge in their passion for illegal booze; crooked policemen patrolling their beats, ready to lend their protection to the “businesses” that so generously augmented their meager salaries.

Griffin remained relaxed but alert, sifting the air for the scents of those denizens of night he preferred to avoid. He almost missed the faint cry from the alley as he passed. The smell of fear stopped him in his tracks; he tossed Gemma’s box among a heap of empty crates at the alley’s mouth and plunged into the dim canyon, unbuttoning his coat as he ran.

Two men in dirty clothing were circling a slight figure crouched between a pair of overflowing garbage cans, knives clenched in their fists. One of them looked up as Griffin approached. He grabbed his companion by the sleeve. “Joe,” he hissed, “we got company.”

Griffin slowed to a walk, keeping on eye on the muggers as he edged toward the garbage cans. “Are you all right?” he called.

“Yes,” came the muffled female voice.

Joe’s friend glared at Griffin, passing his knife from hand to hand. “What we got here, Joe? Some cakeeater who’s lost his way to the Cotton Club?”

“Sure looks thatway, Fritz,” Joe said. He rubbed his thumb along the ugly scar that ran from the corner of his eye to his chin. “Listen, chump, and take some friendly advice. Get outta here and mind your own business.”

“That’s right,” Joe said with a grin, “or me �n’ Fritz’ll carve you up real nice.”

“It seems we’re at an impasse,” Griffin said. “But I’ll give you one chance to avoid possible serious injury. Leave now.”

Joe and Fritz exchanged incredulous glances. Fritz dropped his shoulders and hung his head as if in defeat. Joe lowered his knife. They held their submissive poses for all of five seconds before Fritz attacked.

Griffin closed his eyes. It would have been so easy then to become the wolf, and take these hoodlums down with teeth and claws and sheer lupine strength. So easy to lapse into the killer’s mind that had so often consumed him during the War, when he had taken revenge on those who’d slain his men in battle.

But he wouldn’t give in. Not this time. Not while he had the safety of the civilized world around him.

Griffin caught Fritz’s arm on its downward swing, applied a little pressure and neatly snapped the hoodlum’s wrist. Fritz’s shriek filled the alley like a siren. Griffin kicked his knife away and gently sidestepped Joe’s charge. He slipped up behind Joe before the mugger could catch his balance, seized his waistband and collar and tossed him into a thick heap of refuse piled in the corner.

“I’ll kill her!”

Griffin looked up. Fritz was standing with one arm hanging limp at his side and the other wrapped around the young woman’s throat, the edge of a switchblade pressed against her delicate skin.

The victimwas none other than Miss Louise Moreau.

She met Griffin’s gaze, her eyes brave and calm in spite of her precarious situation. Griffin nodded slightly and returned his attention to Fritz.

“Let her go,” he said softly, “and I may let you live.”

Fritz tried to laugh and only managed a squeak. “Make one move,” he growled, “and I’ll slit her throat.”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” Griffin said. “You see, you’re much too slow to stop me, Fritz. I’ll reach you before you can so much as twitch your little finger.”

“You’re crazy.” Fritz licked his lips. “I’ve got—”

He never finished his sentence. Griffin crossed the space between them in one leap, wrenched the switchblade from Fritz’s hand and flung him against the brick wall. Fritz slumped to the ground. Griffin grabbed Miss Moreau just as she began to fall and guided her to one of the empty crates.

“Sit down, Miss Moreau,” he said. “I’ll make sure these men are incapable of any further mischief.”

Miss Moreau took a deep breath. “Thank you so much, Mr. Durant.”

He squeezed her arm and walked back into the shadows, his legs shaking with reaction from the fight and the memories it had evoked. Joe still lay unconscious in the refuse heap; Griffin found a bit of rope and tied his hands behind his back. A moaning Fritz lay where he’d fallen, nursing his wrist. He wouldn’t be molesting anyone soon.

Just as he finished tying Fritz’s ankles together, Griffin sensed a sudden, unexpected motion behind him. He jumped to his feet and found himself staring into the concealed face of awoman, her head and body swathed in dark veils and a black velvet coat that fell to her ankles. Her tantalizing scent seeped into Griffin’s skin and raced through his blood like a dangerous drug.

“Lou,” the woman said, crouching to take Miss Moreau’s hands, “are you all right?”

Miss Moreau passed a shaking hand over her hair. “I’m fine, Allie. Thanks to this gentleman.”

The woman—Allie—scrutinized Miss Moreau’s face and touched the narrow line of blood at the base of her neck. “They hurt you.”

“It’s nothing. I’d just like to go home.”

“Of course. Just give me a minute.” Allie rose, glanced toward the hobbled men and then fixed her attention on Griffin. “I owe you one, mister,” she said in a voice half silk and half steel, “but I can handle it from here.”

Griffin shook himself—hard. “I beg your pardon, Miss—”

“You don’t have to beg anything. Just leave the rest to me.”

His equilibrium somewhat restored, Griffin turned back to Miss Moreau. “Is this the employer of whom you spoke?”

“Yes.” She began to rise. “Mr. Durant, may I present Miss Allegra Chase. Allegra—”

“Sit down, Lou, before you fall down,” Miss Allegra Chase said sharply. She faced Griffin again. “What’s your name?”

He tipped his hat, not without a touch of irony. “Griffin Durant.”

“Oh, yes…the morally upright multimillionaire.” Her mockery belied her terse thanks. “Well, Mr. Durant, if you’d like to keep playing the gentleman, you could do me a favor and escort Lou out to the street until I’ve finished here.”

Griffin’s bemusement turned to foreboding. “Finished with what, Miss Chase?”

“Merely what you started. Making sure these hoodlums don’t try this kind of thing again.”

Griffin stood very still, studying Miss Chase with astonishment. Such a casual reference to confronting a pair of street toughs would ordinarily have seemed absurd coming from a female swathed in a trailing black coat and tottering on high-heeled pumps. She was petite, her head hardly reaching his shoulder, yet the swiftness of her appearance and the way she’d taken him by surprise spoke volumes; he’d been caught off guard thatway only a few times in his life, and never by an ordinary woman.

Nevertheless…

“I would prefer not to leave you alone, Miss Chase,” he said firmly.

The blue-green eyes behind her veil glinted red. “Are your kind always so protective of people they’ve never met?”

Your kind. So she knew, as she must realize that he recognized her inhuman nature.

“I don’t regard a situation like this as a matter of species,” he said. “I wouldn’t leave any woman with men such as these…not even one of your kind.”

Miss Chase feigned surprise. “My kind, huh? What do you suppose he means by that, Lou?” She took Griffin’s elbow, sending an almost electric current through his arm, and drew him aside.

“Come on, Mr. Durant,” she said, purring his name. “Do you really think I can’t put a scare into a couple of humans?”

Griffin shivered as he felt the stirrings of physical sensations he usually kept under strict control. He remembered when his father had told him howleeches attracted their prey: something in their smell had an overwhelmingly erotic effect on humans, enticing them as certain carnivorous plants lured hapless insects into their gullets. Griffin had never had occasion to witness the phenomenon himself, but now it was all too evident that what worked on humans could also affect loups-garous.

His mind, however, was still clear enough to recognize that Miss Chase’s seductiveness was a pretense. She couldn’t help herself, any more than she could help preying on hapless humans. As little as Griffin knew about the female of the vampire species, he presumed they were driven by the same instincts as their male counterparts.

Oh, this one could definitely put a scare into Joe and his companion. But she might not stop at that. Miss Chase undoubtedly possessed ten times the strength of the strongest human, quite possibly greater than Griffin’s own. And she was surely more than capable of the casual violence that lurked beneath the handsome appearance and elegant demeanor with which so many of her breed deceived the world.

Unless, of course, she was discouraged from proceeding any further.

Griffin carefully freed his arm. “Better leave justice to the authorities, Miss Chase.”

Her easy manner vanished. “Sure,” she snapped. “That will work. Because if these guys work for a boss, they’ll get off in no time.”

“I have a contact in the police department. He can see to it that they don’t escape so easily.”

“A cop who isn’t corrupt? That I’ve gotta see.”

He held her gaze through the netting of the veil. “You’re too young for cynicism, Miss Chase. Your soul won’t profit by it.”

“How do you know how young I am? And what makes you think I have a soul?”

“A hunch, Miss Chase.”

“And how did you come to be so wise?”

“When you’ve lived a few more years—”

“Until I become a doddering old graybeard, like you?”

“I trust you’ll never grow a beard, Miss Chase. It would not be an improvement.” He tested the steadiness of his hand and extended it to her. “Come along…”

She slapped his hand aside. Her coat flew open to reveal long legs in flesh-colored silk stockings, exposed from ankle to knee by her short dress. He was momentarily distracted by the brazenness of her garments and the flash of bare skin at her upper thigh.

“Enjoying the view?” she taunted. “Want a better look?”

With one slender hand she lifted the veil from her face, and he finally saw the mysteries he had only guessed at before.

She was beautiful. Fair skin, so pale that it rivaled the moon at its whitest. Full lips enhanced with dark lip-rouge, contrasting vividly with the rest of her face. Aqua eyes, large and expressive, rimmed with kohl. Dark brows beneath the bangs of sleek black hair cut in a Louise Brooks bob just at the level of her stubborn, dimpled chin.

Griffin’s breath stopped. He knew the leeches tended to be handsome creatures, their appearances enhanced by transformation and the power of their natural magnetism. But in his rare dealings with them, he’d never met one quite so magnificent.

“Seen enough?” Allegra Chase demanded.

“More than enough.” He turned and offered his hand to Miss Moreau, helping her to her feet. “You and your mistress are leaving now.”

Allegra detached Miss Moreau from Griffin’s light hold and put her arm possessively around the other woman’s shoulders. “This isn’t over, Durant.”

“It is for you, Miss Chase.”

“You…you son of a—”

“You may regale me with every curse in your vocabulary, but it won’t do you any good. Even if you believe yourself capable of harming these men, which I seriously doubt, I won’t permit you to follow your less admirable proclivities.”

“Permit?” She laughed again. “You think I want your permission, much less admiration?”

“No. Nor do I require yours.” He caught her eyes. “Trust me. I’ll see that these men are sent to jail.”

“Ha.” She brooded for a moment, and then her posture loosened like that of a cat pretending disinterest in a careless bird. “Isn’t it a shame, Lou, that the world won’t know of our savior’s admirable chivalry?”

Miss Moreau glanced from Allegra to Griffin, frowning. “I doubt that Mr. Durant requires the world’s approbation.”

“True,” Allie purred. “He’s known as a recluse, isn’t he? Not the sort to seek publicity.” She leaned close to Griffin. “The gossip columns love to speculate as to who you really are under that straitlaced reputation. Wouldn’t they just love to know what you are?”

Griffin clung to his patience. “They’d be highly unlikely to believe such a story, Miss Chase.”

“Bet it would cut down on the list of scheming gold diggers hot on your trail.”

“I haven’t met these gold diggers. They must be chasing another man.”

“No fiancée? No lover?”

“That’s really none of your concern.”

Her expression softened. “You’re truly alone, aren’t you?”

“Miss Chase, this is hardly—”

“Is that why you spend your time rescuing damsels in distress?”

Griffin looked pointedly toward the street. “I suggest that you see a doctor at once, Miss Moreau,” he said. “If you and Miss Chase will—”

“Your hands are shaking,” Allegra interrupted. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

Cold sweat trickled under Griffin’s collar. “I’m perfectly well.”

“Could have fooled me. Still, it doesn’t seem—”

The sound of an engine drowned out her words. Griffin glanced up to see a battered delivery truck backing into the alley. Instinctively he placed himself between the ladies and the vehicle.

“What is it?” Miss Moreau asked.

“Bootleggers,” he said. “No doubt here to make a delivery.”

Allegra Chase moved up to stand beside him, her body tense and alert. “What perfect timing,” she murmured.

No sooner had she finished speaking than a pair of hatchet men jumped from the back of the truck, took up positions facing the street and stoodwatch while several other men began to unload crates into the alley. A door near the mouth of the alley opened to receive the shipment.

The last of the crates had just been passed into the building when another man, dressed from head to toe in black wool and leather, emerged from the truck and spoke to someone inside the door. After a moment the door shut, and the man turned to look at Griffin. His upper face was completely covered by his black fedora and sunglasses.

Griffin advanced a dozen paces, his hands loose at his sides, and stopped a few yards from the man in black. He felt the leech’s eyes on him, eyes as keen in the dark as his own.

The leech’s lips curled. He signaled to a pair of henchmen armed with tommy guns.

“You shouldn’t be here, dog,” he said.

“It wasn’t intentional, I assure you.” Griffin spread his hands. “We have no interest in your business.”

“You are pack—”

“My name is Griffin Durant. I don’t belong to the pack.”

The leech made a sound of disbelief and glanced toward Miss Chase. He hissed through his teeth.

“Allegra.”

The lady in question strolled past Griffin and assumed an insolent pose, pushing her coat away from her dress to expose her shapely legs, one hip thrust out, her hand perched at the curve of her waist.

“Bendik. How nice to see you.”

Griffin stepped in front of her again. “A friend of yours, Miss Chase?”

“A friend? That’s a laugh.” She returned her attention to her fellow vampire. “Quit your glaring, Bendik. No one here’s going to cause any trouble, so why don’t you just wander on home?”

The leech looked Miss Chase up and down with scarcely less hostility than he’d shown Griffin. “What are you doing with a dog?”

“He’s woman’s best friend. Or hadn’t you heard?”

“Raoul…”

“Worried he might not approve? Too bad he can’t decide who I spend my time with.”

“You’ll go too far, Allegra. I look forward to the day Raoul puts you in your place.”

She yawned, stretching her body sensuously. “I’ll see you at the funeral, Bendik. Send him my best wishes.”

Bendik lingered a moment longer, looking as if he would have dearly loved to spray the alley with bullets, then retreated with an audible snarl. His henchmen jumped back into the truck, and the vehicle pulled out of the alley.

Griffin faced Allegra, his palms slick with perspiration. “That was very foolish, Miss Chase,” he said.

“Why? Did you think I was in danger?”

Anger choked him. “That…man was clearly not well disposed toward you.”

“He’s one of Raoul’s lieutenants, and Raoul isn’t happy with me these days.”

Griffin had heard the name Raoul more than once. The leech ruled the city’s vampire clan, but the authorities naturally assumed him to be human.

“Raoul is your patron,” he said.

“No!” Allie’s vehemence made it evident that she was telling the truth. “My patron…he’s nothing like Raoul.”

Griffin almost asked her to explain but stopped himself. He had no desire to become involved in vampire politics.

“A pity your patron isn’t here to caution you against your habit of imprudence,” he said.

“Ha. You don’t know anything about my habits. I—” She paused, regarding him through narrowed eyes. “Hey.You’re as white as a sheet.” She lay a hand against Griffin’s cheek. “Your heart’s beating like a jackhammer.”

Her touch wasn’t cold, as he’d expected a vampire’s would be. He moved away. “I didn’t savor the prospect of further violence, Miss Chase.”

“Don’t tell me you were scared. Bendik and his men would as soon have shot you as looked at you, but you were ready to take them on single-handedly.”

He stepped away. “Only if every other method failed.”

She shook her hair beneath the veil. Silky skeins settled about her face like black feathers. “So modest, isn’t he?” she said to Miss Moreau. “A paragon of virtue.”

Refusing to dignify Allegra’s provocation with a reply, Griffin gathered up his and Miss Moreau’s packages and asked the ladies to wait while he hunted down a policeman. Much to his surprise, Allegra and Miss Moreau were still in the alley when he returned with an officer of the law.

After the patrolman had briefly questioned Miss Moreau and taken the hoodlums into custody, Griffin flagged down a taxi and handed the ladies into the backseat. Allegra gave the cabbie an address that made Griffin raise his brows. It was one of the finest apartment buildings on Fifth Avenue, directly across from Central Park.

Miss Chase leaned out of the cab, her eyes unreadable behind the veil. “Thank you, Mr. Durant,” she said coolly, “for Lou’s sake.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Chase.” She began to close the door, but he locked his fingers around the handle, holding it open.

She lifted the veil and gazed up at him, dark brows high. “Well?”

“May I telephone you? At your convenience, of course.”

She grasped the card he offered between two slender, red-nailed fingers. “Why?”

“To inquire after Miss Moreau’s recovery.”

“Ah. Of course.” She smiled slyly. “Do you like me, Mr. Durant?”

Her blunt question left him mute. There was no sensible answer, no response that was more than witless babble. They’d only just met. They were of different breeds, races that had been enemies far more often than not. All the prejudices of his species should make Griffin regard her with suspicion and loathing.

But Allegra Chase had a subtle charisma that was something more than the glamour others of her kind possessed…something complex and passionate beneath the brash, seemingly careless exterior. She was fiercely protective of her employee, a quality that must be rare among creatures who viewed humans as servile inferiors. She was brave…and dangerously reckless.

The fact that she belonged—quite literally—to another man had oddly little impact on Griffin’s heart. He hadn’t felt such an instinctive attraction to any woman in nine long years. It was utterly mad. And undeniable.

“It isn’t real, you know,” Allegra said softly. “It’s just what we do.” Abruptly her features changed, taunting him with an air of casual indifference. “It’s a good thing for you that I have obligations that can’t be broken. You don’t want to know me, Griffin Durant.” She let his card fall into the gutter. “You must have a nice, quiet life. Don’t let anyone complicate it for you.”

He backed away from the cab, his throat tight under the knot of his tie. “I should certainly not wish to interfere with yours.”

“You already have. I hope you’re far away next time I want to have a little fun.”

She closed the cab door, and he caught only a brief glimpse of her face before the automobile drove away.

Deeply shaken by the fight and what had come after, Griffin walked aimlessly until well past sunset. Only then did he remember that Gemma would be wondering where he was. He stared at the slightly dented box in his hands and thought of the sweet, pristine dress inside it.

Gemma would never know a woman like Allegra Chase. And that was just the way Griffin wanted it. Miss Chase had done him a tremendous favor by reminding him just how untouchable she truly was.




Chapter Two


THE CEREMONY wasn’t anything a human would have recognized as a funeral. There were no clergymen, no pallbearers, no weeping relations. There would be no eulogies, no flowers thrown on the grave. The members of the clan stood in silent rows, sinister in their stillness, and draped in dark clothing that made them indistinguishable from the night sky and the black silhouettes of oak and chestnut trees.

Allie wore red. Cato would have appreciated her choice. She stood apart from the others, as befitted the one who’d been closest to the old scientist; she would scatter the ashes and speak the final words. And when it was over, not a single strigoi in the city could tell her what to do or how to do it.

She let her gaze wander away from her fellow mourners and drift to the buildings with their hundreds of windows glittering like stars. If any of the people in those buildings should wander into Central Park tonight, they would be in for a bit of a shock. Not that they would be killed; there were less drastic ways of dealing with inquisitive or thoughtless humans. Of course, Boucher didn’t have to conduct his cremation ceremonies in Central Park; he did it because it was his way of claiming his part of the city. At night, the park belonged to the clan.

A cool breeze ruffled the fringed hem of Allie’s dress. Her skin prickled, and she looked up to meet Raoul’s stare. He held the vessel out to her. She took it, careful not to touch his skin, and hugged it to her chest.

So this is all that’s left of a lifetime, Cato. How many hundreds of years, reduced to ashes.

How did you die, my friend? Raoul says it was the weakness left by the influenza that killed so many of us after the War. I don’t believe it. You would never tell me what you were working on, that secret research for Raoul. But you gave me a great gift, and I still wonder if that had anything to do with your passing…

She remembered the moment when she’d felt his death…the terrible, devastating shock that had washed through her like molten lava, a monster that ripped her heart from her chest with jagged steel claws. The blood-bond had been severed, yet the ghost of it had lingered, leaving her helpless while her world shattered and slowly reassembled itself again.

Cato is dead.

Grief made a hard knot in her chest, but she didn’t weep. She’d learned not long after her rebirth that vampires didn’t—couldn’t—cry, another one of those “anatomical changes” Cato had warned her about. But that was all right. The last thing she wanted was for Raoul to see her weak.

She nodded to the Master, reached into the vessel and gathered a handful of ashes. They felt dry and cool in her palm. She withdrew her hand, spread her fingers and scattered the ashes on the breeze, letting them fall where they might. No one made a sound. The others were here because Raoul demanded it, not because they cared that Cato was gone. They didn’t like being reminded that even strigoi could die.

Allie emptied the vessel quickly and let it fall. She faced the clan members with a raw-edged smile.

“Catowasmy patron,” she said. “But hewas also my friend. I know that doesn’t mean much to most of you. The funny thing about Cato was that he hadn’t forgotten that there are a fewgood parts about being human.”

Someone hissed, a sound of derision and contempt. Raoul’s head snapped around, seeking the source of the comment. The ensuing silence was deafening.

Allie laughed. “I always did enjoy a good argument.” She grabbed her wrap from the tree branch where she’d hung it and threw it over her shoulders. “Rest in peace, Cato Petrovic.”

She’d walked halfway to Fifth Avenue when a man stepped out from among the trees along the path and gestured to her frantically. She paused as she recognized his face, pursed her lips and went to join him.

“Elisha Hatch,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

The human looked right and left, his nervousness palpable. “I watched,” he said. “Cato was my friend, too.”

Friend? Perhaps, Allie reflected. But Elisha had primarily been Cato’s laboratory assistant, the one human her mentor had trusted to help him in his mysterious work. He remindedAllie too much of a mouse…or more likely a rat, with his beady eyes and furtive movements. Not every human could live comfortably among vampires.

“What is it?” she asked, eager to be gone.

He rubbed his arms repeatedly, though the night was warm. The tattoos on the back of his right hand jumped and quivered. “Did Cato…did he give you anything before he died?”

The question caught her unawares. “What do you mean?”

“There was something…something he was supposed to leave to me if anything happened to him. It’s missing. I thought you might have it.”

Allie narrowed her eyes. “If something happened to him?”

Elisha risked a glance at her face. “The old weakness, you know.”

Just as Raoul had claimed, but Allie was far from satisfied. “Was he in some kind of danger?”

“No, no. Nothing like that.”

“And what was he supposed to give you?”

Once again Elisha looked carefully about them. “Papers,” he said. “Notes from his research. He didn’t want them to be misplaced if he…if he couldn’t work on them anymore. He knew I was the only one who could understand them.”

Allie weighed his answer. It seemed reasonable enough. “Why do you think he would have given them to me?”

Elisha shifted from foot to foot. “Maybe he thought they’d be safe with you.”

“Safe from what?”

But Elisha had scarcely begun a hesitant reply when he saw something that shut him up fast. He melted back into the trees, leaving Allie to wait alone for Raoul.

The Master glanced toward the trees as Allie returned to the path. “Talking to someone?” he asked.

“I thought I saw an intruder hanging around.”

“And did you?”

“I must have imagined it.”

Raoul regarded her with a half smile. “Your imagination is as troublesome as your impertinence, Allegra.”

“Impertinence? Is that what they call it?” She began to walk, and Raoul fell into step beside her, his shoes soundless on the path.

“Impertinence,” he said. “Rashness. Foolhardy defiance.”

Allie yawned behind her hand. “Glad I made an impression.”

“Oh, you most certainly did.” He moved almost imperceptibly, and suddenly he was in front of her, walking backward with casual ease. “I had hoped you would stay for a little chat.”

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about, Raoul. Not anything we haven’t discussed before.”

Raoul’s handsome, ageless face altered before Allie’s eyes, becoming more animal than human. “I’m not satisfied with the outcome of our discussion.”

“I guess even the great Master will have to get used to the occasional disappointment.”

With a flash of white teeth, Raoul came to a stop. Allie caught herself in midstride. They stood face-toface, inches apart, gazes locked.

“I think not,” Raoul said. “I’ve ruled the clan for thirty years. I have no intention of allowing a rogue protégée to foster anarchy and disrupt the organization I’ve built here.”

“I’m not a protégée any longer, Raoul.”

He leaned closer, bathing her face with his breath. “You will submit. There is no other way for you.”

“I know the law as well as you. No one, not even the Master, can compel me to accept a new patron once I’m free.”

“Free to spend your nights among humans.”

“With anyone who doesn’t think that the last good hooch was distilled during the Roman Empire.”

“Does that include dogs?”

She remembered Bendik and his threats. “So what if it does?”

For a moment his eyes glinted red, and his body seemed to lift off the ground. Then he relaxed, the muscles under his perfectly fitted suit smoothing out with supple grace.

“You’re afraid, Allie,” he said. “There is no need for fear. If you give yourself to me, I will care for you. You’ll want for nothing. You will belong.”

Allie gazed into his eyes, feeling his power like hot, fresh blood flowing over her tongue. It would be so easy to agree. One bite, and she would be bound to Raoul as she had been to Cato…his offspring, his student, his property. She would be part of the strigoi hierarchy in which every member knew his or her place, virtually incapable of challenging the Master’s control. No need to make decisions or worry about spending the long centuries alone. No need for anything but obedience…

She shook her head, casting off Raoul’s subtle influence. “Nice try,” she said. “But I’m not likely to want for anything with the money Cato left me. And by clan law you can’t touch it, as long as I pay the settlement.”

“You think that’s enough?” He grabbed her arm and tightened his grip until she felt her pulse pound beneath her skin. “You’ll never leave this city or rise from your lowly rank.You won’t ever be permitted to create your own protégés, Allegra…not if you live a thousand years.”

Allie pulled his hand away. “You think that’s the ultimate ambition of everyone like us? To make more? It may be the only way to gain status in the clan, but I don’t care. Get it? I don’t care.”

She pushed past him and continued toward Fifth Avenue, bracing herself for another assault. But Raoul didn’t follow. That didn’t mean he’d given up, not by a long shot. She would have to keep fending him off until he got the message, even if it took the rest of the century to do it. Of course, there was always the possibility that he would resort to illegal force, but that was a chance she was willing to take.

And how far are you willing to go, Allie? She slowed her angry stride, her thoughts returning to the strange encounter earlier that evening. Funny that she was still thinking of Griffin Durant. She should have been able to put him out of her mind easily enough; she’d spoken no less than the truth when she’d told him that he wouldn’t want to know her. She’d done the right thing by implying that she was still blood-bound. One look at Griffin Durant and anyone would realize he was the old-fashioned type, still clinging to his Victorian morals, chivalrous to the core.

The problem was that she’d taken more than one look, and he had somehow become imprinted on her mind. There was no doubt he was handsome, and not in the pretty-boy way of so many among the pampered rich set. His slightly wavy dark brown hair tumbled over his forehead as if he hadn’t the patience to slick it down into the usual style. He had a small scar on his chin. His wolf-yellow eyes had been haunted with some past suffering.

He was the right age to have served in theWar, and that would explain a great deal. Allie couldn’t imagine that many werewolves had volunteered to fight. Certainly no vampire would have done so. But Griffin Durant wasn’t a member of the pack, and that in itself was highly unusual. The pack could be every bit as jealous as the clan. The fact that he’d kept his independence hinted at a powerful will and considerable courage.

Allie frowned as she stepped into the street and crossed to her building. Griffin Durant was a bit of a paradox. But then, so was she. Someone who didn’t know better might have thought they were much alike, but they were worlds apart.

You wanted to protect me from myself, Mr. Durant, she thought. You said I was too young, as if I couldn’t know my own mind. But you’re the one who’s naive. No one can save anyone else. All of us, breeder and dog and leech…we all go through this life alone.

With an impatient toss of her head, Allie dismissed Durant from her thoughts. She smiled at the night doorman and took the stairs all the way up to the eighth floor, relishing the exercise after the unpleasantness with Raoul. Almost the moment she touched the doorknob to her flat, the door swung open.

“Lou!” Allie said, shocked by the look on the other woman’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Lou retreated, letting Allie into the flat. “Something has happened, Allie…someone has—”

“Sit down, for God’s sake.” Allie grabbed Lou’s arm and led her to the nearest chair. “I should never have left you alone. Let me get you a drink, and then you can tell me what—”

“I’m all right.” Lou took a deep breath and clasped Allie’s hand. “Someone has been in the apartment. I lay down as you suggested, and I must have fallen asleep.”

She made a mute gesture at the room, and Allie looked. At first glance there didn’t seem to be anything wrong, but then she noticed the chair sitting off kilter, the pictures hanging crooked on the walls, the knickknacks scattered across the floor. A glass vase lay shattered beside the sofa.

“I didn’t move anything, in case you wanted to call the police,” Lou said. “I didn’t know where to find you, or I’d—”

“I know. You did the right thing, Lou.” Allie pounded her fist on her thigh. “For you to suffer two attacks in one day…”

“They weren’t after me. It’s obvious that the intruder was looking for something, something he wanted very badly.” Lou rose and took a few agitated steps toward the hall. “I think I woke up when the vase broke. I must have interrupted the thief, because he had barely started in your bedroom.”

Allie clenched her teeth. “How did he get out?”

“Your bedroom window was open. He must have climbed up somehow.”

“What did he take?”

“Only a few pieces of jewelry, as far as I can tell.” Lou turned in a slow circle, her arms folded tightly across her chest as if she were fighting the urge to clean, scour and polish until every trace of the trespasser was consigned to the dustbin. “I’m so sorry. If only I’d woke up sooner…”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Allie put her arm around Lou’s shoulders and steered her into the kitchen. “I’m glad you didn’t, or the bastard might have hurt you.”

She pushed Lou into a seat at the small dining table and searched the cupboards for the tea Lou preferred to anything stronger. Once she’d prepared a steaming cup and left Lou to enjoy it in peace and quiet, she made a thorough examination of the flat from door to bathroom.

Lou had been right; it didn’t seem that much had been taken. Allie’s jewelry box had been upended and the contents scattered over her dressing table. The closet door stood open, boxes strewn and spilling mothballed clothing and last year’s hats across the carpet.

Allie opened her window and looked out. There was just enough of a ledge for a very skilled acrobat to make his way to the fire escape.

A very skilled acrobat.

Allie sat on the edge of the mattress, working her fingers into the quilted satin bedspread. After her conversation with Elisha, she couldn’t help but suspect that the “papers” he was looking for might be of interest to Raoul, as well. Elisha had said Cato had willed these mysterious papers to him purely because he was the only one who could understand them. But in the park he’d been scared to death that someone would see him. What exactly had those notes contained?

And who had been in Allie’s apartment?

Was it you, Raoul? Do you want something else from me besides my submission?

If Raoul was behind this invasion, he’d obviously had reason to make it appear as if a common thief were responsible. Whatever it was he hoped to discover, she intended to find it first.

If you’re spoiling for a fight, Raoul Boucher, she thought, you’ll get it.

Because Griffin Durant was wrong. If it came down to choosing a soul or survival, she would pick survival every time.

“I CAN’T GO BACK.”

The Master heard Elisha Hatch’s puerile excuses with a calm that the human had every reason to mistrust. Hatch cringed, his defiance a matter of one fear pitted against another. The Master could spare him no sympathy.

“I must have them,” he said coldly, holding Hatch still with the power of his gaze.

The human swallowed. “I tried. I asked her. She wasn’t lying…she really doesn’t know.”

“Why should I trust your judgment?”

“I’ve known her ever since she was Converted. She’s never been like the rest.”

“Skilled at prevarication, you mean?”

The human blanched. “I don’t intend any offense.”

“Naturally not.” The Master leaned back in his chair. “Even if she knows nothing of the papers, they may still be in her possession. You must finish searching her apartment.”

“I think I was seen. They’re looking for me already. If I go back now, they’ll find me and question me, and then I won’t be of any further use to you.”

A certain slyness had entered the human’s voice, a pathetic attempt at negotiation he had no hope of carrying off. “Let me wait a couple of weeks,” he said, “so they think I’m really gone. He’ll have enough to worry about soon enough, and then I can slip in with no one the wiser.”

The Master traced his finger over his lower lip. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “But if he gets the papers first, I will hold you entirely responsible.”

Hatch literally shook in his shoes. “I…understand.”

Of course he did. All the Master’s human employees were well aware of the penalty for failure. They were tools to be used and discarded, their petty dreams of wealth and power destined to end along with their short and miserable lives.

“Leave me,” the Master told Hatch. “Stay out of my sight until you’re prepared to complete your task, or I may lose my patience.”

Hatch bowed. “I understand, My Liege.” He scrambled from the room. After a moment the Master rose and went to visit the laboratory, reminding himself that what he sought was almost within his grasp.

Patience, he thought. You have waited thirty years. You can wait another few weeks.

A few weeks, a taste of ambrosia, and the new age of glory would truly begin.

“I JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND what’s happened to her, Grif,” Malcolm Owen said, dropping his head into his hands with a sigh. “It’s been three months since I’ve spoken to her. Three months! I don’t care what De Luca says…she wouldn’t just give me the brush-off like that.”

Griffin steepled his fingers under his chin, regarding his friend with sympathy. “You’re absolutely sure her father didn’t send her away?” he asked, signaling for Starke to refresh Mal’s drink. “Just because he didn’t object before, that doesn’t mean he approved of your plans. It’s one thing for you to take his daughter out to nightclubs and speakeasies, and quite another to marry her.”

Mal laughed bitterly. “You talk as if De Luca was a real father to her instead of a mobster more interested in his profits than any genuine human emotion. He could have stepped in long ago if he’d wanted to put the kibosh on our engagement.” He leaned forward, meeting Griffin’s gaze. “Margot wanted it as much as I did, Grif. She was sick of being a bootlegger’s daughter. She was ready to throw it all away…the furs, the jewelry, the automobiles, everything.”

And live happily ever after in your humble apartment off Washington Square, scraping by on a playwright’s income, Griffin thought. If she was that much in love with you, my friend, why did she disappear?

He frowned. Mal was a passionate lover, just as he was passionate about his plays and music and art and life itself. He threw himself into every scheme with a wide-eyed enthusiasm and guilelessness that belied his experiences overseas. There had been times during the War when only his high spirits and optimism had kept Griffin sane. Mal had been sixteen then…hardly more than a boy, but as courageous as they came.

He was nothing at all like Griffin, but there wasn’t much Griffin wouldn’t do for the man who’d saved his life.

Mal snatched up his glass and downed half his brandy in one swallow. “I don’t think I can go on without her, Grif,” he said. “She’s everything to me.” He ran his hands through his fair hair. “Should I go back to De Luca and grill him again? He doesn’t scare me. I’d do it in a second if I though it would make any difference.”

“I doubt it would help,” Griffin said. “The best you can hope for is that he’ll throw you out on your ear, and the worst…” He shook his head. “No, Mal. Recklessness won’t get you anywhere.”

“Then what will?” The young man’s eyes snapped with indignation. “I’m certain something has happened to her, and I won’t sit idly by if she’s in trouble.”

Griffin got up and walked to the window, pulling the heavy drapes away from the mullioned glass. Late-morning light beat a path over the aged Persian carpet but did little to brighten the study, encumbered as it was with dark paneling and heavy oak furnishings.

“I doubt she’d be in the kind of trouble you’re envisioning,” Griffin said. “De Luca has too much power.” He debated whether or not to speak his mind and decided to err on the side of mercy. “From all you’ve said, I still think it most probable that her father sent her away. And since he isn’t likely to tell you anything more…” He turned away from the window. “Let me look into it. I have a few…connections in the city. Someone may know more than De Luca is telling.”

Mal’s eyes filled with hope. “Would you, Grif? That’s awfully good of you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. It may take me a few days to track down my sources.”

“These sources…are they—” Mal cleared his throat “—are they like you?”

“The less you know about that the better.”

“But you will tell me as soon as you hear anything?”

“Of course.”

Mal grabbed Griffin’s hand. “You’re the best pal a guy could have, Grif.”

Griffin stepped back and gently freed his hand. “Will you stay at Oakdene tonight, or should I have Fitzsimmons drive you to the station?”

“Thanks for the invite, Grif, but I have that play to finish…and I think I might actually do it now that I know you’re on the case.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Griffin gestured to Starke. “Uncle Edward, will you please ask Fitzsimmons to—”

“Mal!”

Gemma’s voice cut across Griffin’s like sunlight through shadow. She bounded into the room, flashed Starke a smile of apology and came to a halt before Mal.

“Why didn’t you tell me Mal was coming, Grif?” she demanded. “He must think I’m terribly rude for not greeting him.”

“Nothing of the kind, Gem,” Mal said with a fond grin.

“It was just business…nothing that you would have found of interest,” Griffin said. “Are you already done with your lessons?”

Gemma took a sudden interest in the toes of her sensible shoes. “Miss Spires had a headache,” she said.

“I see. I wonder what brought that on?”

Gemma glanced up at him from under her thick brown lashes. “I’m making excellent progress.”

“I hope so. I’d hate to think that I made a mistake in extracting you from that boarding school.”

Gemma shuddered. “Mal, tell my brother how much I love America, and that I never want to go back to those horrid—” She broke off and put on a prim expression. “I’ll be forever grateful for the education I received in the convents and boarding schools, but I am nearly seventeen. Isn’t it time that I should see something of the world?”

“If that’s your aim,” Mal said helpfully, “New York is the place to do it.”

“Thank you, Mal,” Griffin said dryly. “Gemma, don’t you think you should take some tea up to Miss Spires? It might make her feel better.”

Gemma pulled a face. “Tea.” She looked toward the sideboard. “Brandy would do her more good, or maybe whiskey…”

“You know very well that Miss Spires doesn’t drink.”

“Only because she’s an old—” Gemma bit her lip. “Don’t you think I should be allowed to try it, big brother? My birthday is in less than a week.”

“Out of the question.”

“Why?”

Mal stared at the ceiling. Griffin sighed. “You’re too young, Gemma, and alcohol is illegal.”

“It’s only illegal to sell it, not drink it. And anyway, you keep it here.”

“Only for guests. You know I don’t drink.”

“You shouldn’t keep the stuff around just for my sake, Grif,” Mal said.

“Thank you, Mal. Your concern is appreciated but entirely unnecessary.” Griffin turned back to Gemma. “I’m not going to argue the merits of the Volstead Act with you, Gemma. You aren’t to drink in this house.”

Gemma glared for a moment, turning undoubtedly rebellious thoughts about in her head. It was amazing how quickly she’d gone from obedient schoolgirl to willful young woman. Griffin could still remember the day of the fire, when he’d held a wailing two-yearold in his arms and watched, helpless, as their parents and elder brother were consumed by the flames. She had been so tiny then, so desperately in need of his protection…

“You can’t keep me locked up forever,” Gemma said in a deceptively calm voice. “In a few more years I’ll be able to make my own decisions, and then…”

“Gemma, Gemma—” Griffin cupped her chin in his hand “—why are you in such a hurry to face the world? It’s not as pretty as you imagine.”

She met his gaze. “I know how hard it was for you…in the War, I mean…all the things you had to do—”

He dropped his hand as if she had burned it. “You know nothing about it, and I never want you to learn. You’ll have a good life. Nothing will ever hurt you, Gemma. That I promise.”

“A good life.” She flounced away from him, banging her heels on the carpet. “You mean, a life among the stuffy, boring, proper members of New York society. You want me to marry an ordinary man and become a good, obedient wife who gives respectable teas and occasionally plays tennis with the other young matrons.” She swung back to face him. “What if I don’t want that kind of life? What if I want jazz and dancing and fast motor cars? What if I want to be free?”

“Gemma…”

“Don’t you see? We aren’t like other people, Grif! We can’t just pretend we are. What would happen if I married some nice, upstanding young man and he found out what I really am? Or will I have to hide it for the rest of my life?”

Griffin looked away, knowing she had hit on the one point he could not refute. He thought of anotherwoman who would probably represent Gemma’s ideal of the liberated, modern woman: a certain long-legged vamp with a black bob and aqua eyes and a throaty voice made for whispering seductive promises; a brash and brazen youngwoman who considered herself the equal of any male, human or otherwise—who’d made Griffin remember that he was still very much a man…

“Why can’t you just let me meet the others in New York?” Gemma demanded, cutting into his thoughts. “Why can’t we be with our own kind?”

“The pack would hardly permit you the freedom you crave,” he said.

“How do you know what they’d permit? You say you don’t trust them. I know it has something to do with what happened in San Francisco, but that was a different place. They aren’t the same!”

“They’re bootleggers,” Griffin said grimly. “They break the law every day.”

“But that isn’t—”

“Please go to your room, Gemma.”

She opened her mouth, closed it again and retreated with the air of one who had suffered only a temporary defeat. Griffin gave Mal a weary smile.

“I’m sorry about that little contretemps,” he said. “You shouldn’t be subjected to our family squabbles.”

“It’s nothing, really,” Mal said. “You should have seen me and my sisters.”

“I don’t enjoy such disagreements,” Griffin said. “She’s so much younger than I. She never knewour parents.”

“You had to raise her yourself.”

“Starke took care of us after the fire, until I was old enough to assume responsibility for the administration of our inheritance.”

“That’s why you call him Uncle Edward?”

“He was like a second father to us.” Griffin glanced away. “Afewyears later came theWar. After that, Gemma spent more time with governesses or away at school than with me.” He walked with Mal toward the door. “It’s my own fault if she doesn’t see things as I do.”

“It’s not your fault, Grif. Change is in the air. It’s not the way it was before the War. There are so many girls just like Gemma…girls who won’t go back to the way our mothers lived.”

Griffin stopped at the foot of the staircase. “Gemma won’t be that kind of girl, not as long as I have anything to say about it.” He gripped the newel post, tightening his fingers until they ached. “My life has no purpose if I can’t protect my sister.”

“No purpose?Your money does plenty of good in the world.”

“What I do is a drop in the bucket.” The newel post creaked under his hand. “Gemma has no resources to face the harsh realities of a mad and violent world. I intend to see that she reaches womanhood with her innocence unspoiled.”

Mal glanced at the floor and then back at Griffin, his expression guarded. “I hope it turns out the way you want it to, Grif, but don’t blame yourself if it doesn’t. Gemma isn’t an ordinary girl, and not even you can control everything.” He scuffed his shoe on the parquet floor. “I know it isn’t any of my business…”

“No. It isn’t.” He heard the harsh tone of his own voice and managed a smile. “Don’t worry about us, Mal. You have enough problems of your own, and I intend to help you as best I can.”

“You know I’m grateful.”

“There are no debts between us, Mal…not now and not ever.”

They continued on to the door, where Fitzsimmons could be seen waiting in the drive with the limousine. Griffin sent Mal off to Manhattan and returned to his study, his thoughts bleak and troubled.

Despite what he’d told Mal, he wasn’t at all confident that he could control Gemma. She had abilities far beyond those of a human girl her age. She was also far too inexperienced to fully grasp the consequences of employing them recklessly.

Griffin picked up the brandy snifter and swirled the liquor around and around, flaring his nostrils at the strong, sweet scent. Gemma would have been delighted to drink what Mal had left, but alcohol was the least of the dangers she faced. Maintaining Gemma’s respectability would be easy in comparison to holding her wolf nature in check. For Gemma, just like her brother, could become an animal in the blink of an eye.

And once the animal was free, there could be no certainty of restraining it.

The smell of the liquor went sour in Griffin’s nostrils. He’d been speaking no less than the truth when he’d told Mal that his life’s only remaining purpose was to protect Gemma. God knew, nothing else seemed very important. Any competent businessman could take his place administering the Durant estate, charities and commercial holdings. He had little interest in politics and even less in high society, beyond what was required to secure Gemma’s future.

And as for women…

He closed his eyes, drawn once again to the alley and his unconventional meeting with Allegra Chase. “You’re truly alone, aren’t you?” she’d said. “Is that why you spend your time rescuing damsels in distress?”

Her question had been intended as a gibe, but somehow she’d sensed that he’d cut himself off from the opposite sex, unwilling to embark on empty liaisons with the kinds of women who gave themselves freely for a handful of expensive trinkets or a few months of sexual gratification.

Allegra Chase was exactly that sort of woman, or would have been if she were human. She had her “obligations,” her powerful ties to the vampire who had Converted her, as well as to the rest of the clan—literal ties of blood even more binding than those that governed the world of the pack.Yet Griffin was still thinking about her, still remembering the fire in her eyes and the curves of her shapely legs. He’d dreamed of her last night, and awakened this morning hard and aching with need.

It was ridiculous. Allegra had been honest enough to warn him that the attraction he’d felt wasn’t real when he was too muddled to think for himself. She obviously had no more interest in him than she might have had in an African ape.

He should have been grateful. At the time, he’d thought she’d done him a favor. Allegra Chase was only a fantasy, and such visions eventually faded.

But this one hadn’t. If the attraction hadn’t been real, it surely would have died a quiet death by now.

Griffin scowled with self-disgust, nearly cracking the snifter in his hand. The only cure for these irrational thoughts and feelings would be time…time and the inevitable distance ensured by two very different lives.

Time and distance made no difference to Mal, he reflected. Once his friend had given his heart, nothing would shake him from his course. And that was why Mal deserved his happiness, he and the dreamers like him. No one—except for a few ambitious debutantes and their mothers—would notice or care if Griffin Durant cut himself off from the society that had kept him civilized.

Shaking off his grim mood, Griffin picked up the telephone receiver and gave the operator a number he hadn’t called in far too long.

“Kavanagh,” the man on the other end answered.

“Ross?”

“Griffin? Griffin Durant?”

“Hello, Ross. I know it’s been quite a while—”

“Hell, man. Far too long. How is life among the polo players and stuck-up debutantes of the North Shore?”

“The same as always. Nothing much changes here.”

“So I’ve heard. How is Gemma?”

“Her seventeenth birthday is just around the corner.”

“That old? You must be watching her like a hawk.”

“I do what I can.”

“And the pack? They aren’t giving you any more trouble?”

“No more than usual. I can handle them.”

Ross Kavanagh laughed, an edge to his voice. “Yeah. I’ll bet.”

“And you?”

“I’m dead to them. They leave me alone, and I don’t tell the other cops or my friends in the Prohibition Bureau about their little operation.”

“Good.” Griffin sat in the chair next to the telephone stand, forcing his muscles to relax. “Listen, Ross…I have a favor to ask.”

“What is it, brother?”

Succinctly Griffin recounted the situation with Margot De Luca. “Mal’s already been to see her father, and asked around every club he and Margot frequented, all with no success. If you could keep your ear to the ground, I’d appreciate it.”

“Sure. Mal’s a good kid.”

“Honest, honorable and the bravest man I’ve ever known.”

“That’s saying a lot, coming from you.” Griffin heard the sound of a pencil scratching on paper. “I’ll give you a call if I turn up anything.”

“Thanks, Ross.”

“Don’t be such a stranger, Grif.”

As he hung up and walked to the window, Griffin wondered if he would ever be anything but a stranger. He had chosen his course, and he had no one to blame but himself.

With a snap of his wrist, Griffin closed the drapes and let the darkness enfold him.




Chapter Three


LULU’S WAS JUMPING tonight, and the hottest table in the joint belonged to Allie Chase.

She relaxed in her chair, an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips, and watched Pepper Adair dance the Charleston on the tabletop, red hair bouncing to the jazz band’s hectic rhythm. Bruce and Nathan were clapping in time, shouting encouragement as the tempo increased, while Nikolai stared into his drink with a feigned air of gloom and pretended he wasn’t having a good time. Sibella scribbled furiously in her sketchbook, deftly working to capture Jimmy McCrae in action as he balanced an empty glass on his nose.

“It is all so meaningless,” Nikolai said in his heavy Russian accent. “Must we always fiddle while Rome burns?”

Allie laughed. “Is there a fire somewhere I haven’t heard about, Kolya?”

He gazed at her from dark, soulful eyes. “There is the one in my heart, which only you can extinguish.”

“Oh, knock off the mushy talk, comrade,” Jimmy said, tossing his glass from hand to hand. “You know Allie ain’t interested.”

Allie smiled sweetly. “What would I do if I didn’t have you to tell me all about myself, Jimmy?”

“Good question.” He grinned and loosened his collar. “What I don’t get is why you haven’t fallen for me.”

“Because she has better taste than that,” Bruce said. “Such good taste, in fact, that I doubt any guy will meet with her approval in the foreseeable future.”

“Don’t listen to him, Allie,” Nathan said, his gentle face achingly sincere. “Sometimes he just likes to hear the sound of his own voice.”

Bruce snorted. “Allie would be the first to agree with me.”

The music had stopped. Pepper jumped down from the table and plopped into a chair, her face flushed and her eyes bright. “What are y’all talkin’ about?” she demanded. “Come on, tell!”

Allie signaled to the waiter to bring another round of drinks. “It’s nothing very interesting, really,” she said lightly. “Just a discussion of my love life.”

Pepper leaned forward, the neckline of her frock falling open to reveal a sliver of her fashionably flat bust line. “How excitin’! Who is he, darlin’?”

“Nobody, Pep,” Jimmy said. “Just the usual string of one-night stands.”

“That’s right,” Allie said. “I believe in keeping things uncomplicated.” She accepted a whiskey from the waiter and took a long drink. “I’m not the kind to settle down like Bruce and Nathan.”

“Who says I’ve settled down?” Bruce said.

“Don’t you be mean to Nathan, darlin’, or you’ll regret it. Won’t he, Allie?”

Allie gave Bruce a long look, and he acquired a sudden interest in his drink. Kolya heaved a great sigh. Sibella chewed on her pencil, oblivious. The jazz band struck up another number.

Pepper seized Jimmy’s hand and hauled him onto the dance floor. After a moment, Bruce and Nathan wandered off together, while Kolya began to feel the effects of his drinking and sprawled across the table. Allie smiled fondly and ruffled his dark hair.

“Look after him for me, Sibella,” she said. “I’ve got some business to attend to.”

Sibella mumbled agreement, and Allie strolled away from the table. She felt the eyes on her…covetous eyes, hungry eyes, eyes that saw a length of leg in a rolled silk stocking, the sway of hips beneath a low-waisted black satin dress, and thought nothing of the woman to whom they belonged.

That suited her just fine. The men who watched her, who assumed she was a hot little number who would jump into bed with the first big six to pass her a line…they were her rightful prey. The boldest fish were the easiest of all to hook.

She allowed her gaze to wander from table to table, seeking the most likely mark. A young man in Oxford bags, his face as yet fresh and unblemished by years of dissipation, tried to catch her eye. She ignored him and passed on, pretending boredom as she examined the darkest tables in the back of the room. An otherwise appealing mobster grinned in her direction, but when he lit his cigarette she crossed him from her list.

At last she found the perfect donor: a good-looking man in his early thirties, his cynical expression hinting at experience, his body firm and fit. She sauntered toward him, dipping her finger in his gin and slowly licking it clean.

“Buy me a drink?” she asked, sliding into a chair beside him.

He looked her up and down. “What’ll you have, baby?”

She picked up his half-empty glass, drained it and gave him a heavy-lidded stare. “Whiskey and soda,” she drawled. “And make it fast.”

He ran his fingertip from her bare shoulder to her wrist. “Why’re you in such a hurry?”

“I don’t believe in wasting time when I find what I want.”

“I can see that.”

“Then let’s have that drink.”

He signaled to a waiter, his attention focused on Allie. When the waiter failed to appear at the table, he glanced reluctantly toward the bar.

“Promise me you won’t go anywhere, baby,” he said, an edge to his voice.

She stretched luxuriantly, letting him glimpse several inches of bare thigh. “Now, why would I do that?” she purred.

He wrapped his fingers behind her neck, pulled her against him and kissed her, hard. She gave him exactly what he wanted, melting into him with a little gasp of admiration.

“There’s more where that came from,” he said, rising from his chair. “You stay right where you are.”

He strutted off like a peacock, all broad shoulders and jutting chin. He thought he’d won the prize with his natural charm and good looks. Men like him always assumed that any girl, even the most sophisticated flapper, would fall for them if they so much as crooked their fingers.

Let him keep his illusions. He would awaken from their encounter believing he’d had the best sex of his life, which meant that she could come back for more and he would be happy to oblige.

Allie rolled her toes inside her pumps and let her thoughts wander to yesterday’s fruitless search. She and Lou had practically turned the apartment upside down looking for the papers Elisha—and obviously someone else, as well—believed Cato might have given her. They hadn’t found anything but dust and a pair of earrings Allie had thought she’d lost last winter.

In a way, their failure had relieved Allie. She hadn’t solved the mystery of why those notes were so valuable, but at least she could honestly say she didn’t know where they were if someone questioned her again. And that might buy her time to keep looking into the circumstances of Cato’s death.

The watch on Allie’s wrist ticked out the minutes, and lover boy still hadn’t returned. She glanced toward the table where she’d left Kolya and Sibella. Kolya had fallen asleep over his vodka; Sibella was still sketching the various speakeasy patrons, her tongue between her teeth. Beyond them, at the entrance to the club, the doorman had just admitted a single girl in a cheap, overlarge yellow dress and a long string of very expensive-looking pearls.

Allie tapped her fingers on the tabletop. During her two years of hunting in Manhattan’s various clubs, speakeasies and dives, she had learned how to read people with almost perfect accuracy. For someone in her position, such a skill was essential. She’d used it to pick friends, like Bruce and Nathan and Pepper, who weren’t apt to question her peculiarities, and she relied on it to help her select her donors.

Now she looked at the girl in the yellow dress, all wide eyes and red lipstick, and knew exactly what was about to happen.

Get out, Allie thought. Get out while you still can.

The girl took a few steps farther into the room, staring about her with an expression that practically begged the worst of the roués and lady-killers to go for the throat. Fresh meat…that was all she would be to them. Easy to get drunk, since she’d probably never tasted anything stronger than near-beer, if that. Easy to win over with compliments and pretty words of admiration. All a man had to do was appeal to her desire to be daring and rebellious, and soon she would be eating out of his hand.

And then…

Hissing between her teeth, Allie folded her arms and turned away. It wasn’t any of her business if inexperienced girls who thought they wanted a fast life came slumming where they didn’t belong. The pearls suggested that this one had come from a privileged background. She’d probably never known a single day of suffering in her entire life.

Pampered and spoiled, Allie thought. She’s nothing like I was.

But Allie’s rationalizations didn’t improve her unexpectedly dark mood. She swiveled to watch as the girl walked up to the bar with an air of forced bravado and ordered a drink. The bartender asked her a question; she tossed her head and laughed. With a shrug, he moved to fill her order.

A moment later the first of the tomcats arrived…a handsomeValentino with slicked-back hair and a smile too full of teeth. He sidled up to the girl and engaged her in conversation, not quite touching her, playing the good old pal for all hewasworth. The girl picked up her glass, gingerly sipped and nearly choked on the liquor, her fair skin turning scarlet with chagrin. Valentino laughed companionably and gave her a brotherly hug. She gazed at him with gratitude and the beginnings of real interest.

Lousy taste, Allie thought. At least find someone closer to your age. Like that boy in the Oxford bags…

But the girl wouldn’t be interested in some collegiate type. She wanted the bad men, the dangerous ones her parents wouldn’t approve…just like the ones who were beginning to circle the bar like sharks smelling blood.

Maybe she’ll get out of it all right. Maybe she’s smarter than she looks…

“Miss me, baby?”

Allie’s own chivalrous suitor set a fresh pair of drinks on the table and settled into his seat beside her. “Where were we?” he drawled. “Oh, yeah…you were saying that you don’t like to waste time.”

“That’s right. I’m a regular bearcat when my interest is aroused.”

“No kidding.” He licked his lips, as his hand snaked under the table and came to rest on her knee. “I admire a doll who gets right to the point.”

Suddenly Allie was sick of his clumsy lovemaking. She stopped his hand in its progress and pulled him out of his seat. “Let’s go.”

He gaped at her. “Now?”

She smiled mockingly. “Having second thoughts?”

“Don’t you even want to know my name?”

“Why? You don’t know mine.”

“Sure I do. You’re Allie Chase. Everyone knows you.”

“Isn’t that nice.” She ran her fingernails up the length of his sleeve. “Are you coming or not?”

He surrendered to her tug and followed her to the back door. “Where are we—”

“The alley.”

“You want to do it there?”

“Why not?”

He grinned, excitement replacing surprise. “All right, baby. Fast and hard it is.”

Allie had barely stepped out into the alley when he lunged at her and pushed her against the brick wall, one eager hand pushing the skirt of her dress up to her hips, while the other fumbled with his trousers. She felt the hard bulge of his cock pressing against her belly. With a little sigh she pressed her face against his neck and kissed him, unbuttoning his shirt and loosening his collar. By the time he had worked her step-ins down around her thighs, she had pulled his coat and shirt away from his shoulders.

The hunger swept over her, demanding immediate relief. She kissed him at the juncture of his throat and shoulder, finding the veins closest to the skin. He forced her thighs apart. She bit him—gently, so gently that he would feel no more than the slightest pinch. She licked the small wound in his neck, tasting blood and releasing the chemicals her own body produced, waiting while they went to work…drew back and watched in astonishment as the slack face before her began to change, taking on strikingly different lines, brown eyes changing to gold, alight with fierce desire.

Allie swayed, startled by the sheer power of her own imagination. Her body grew hot and wet; she could almost feel Griffin Durant’s hands on her flesh, stroking, exploring, touching her breasts and her thighs. His mouth was on hers, savage and possessive; he pressed against her, demanding entrance, and she could think of nothing but taking him inside, making him a part of her for all time…

Her nameless prey gave a soft groan and let go of her shoulders. Griffin Durant vanished. Seized by desire that had become a raging thirst, Allie shook off her confusion and focused on the reality of the man in her grip. While he stood smiling in an erotic stupor, she took what she needed. The blood was both tart and sweet on her tongue. She felt new strength seep into her bones and muscles and organs, the first rush of euphoria that always came with a good feeding but was all too often so quick to evaporate.

When she was finished, she steered him to the wall and let him slump there while his wound began to heal. “That’s all, friend,” she said, patting his stubbled cheek. “You just sleep it off right here.”

His knees buckled, and he slid to the dirty pavement. Allie stepped over his sprawled legs and tapped on Lulu’s back door. A waiter opened it, glanced past her at the body and hastily stepped aside.

Everything was much as Allie had left it. Pepper was up on the table again; the jazz band was playing “Sugar Foot Stomp.” Allie found herself searching the crowd for a yellow dress with a string of pearls. She didn’t have far to look.

It was a lot worse than she’d thought. Valentino had been ousted from his favored position by a notorious womanizer who was known to prefer rape to any sort of consensual sex. Jake Greco was one of Carmine De Luca’s hatchet men, a bully of the worst kind—immensely handsome, ruthless and consummately capable of deceiving any woman naive enough not to know his reputation.

Miss Yellow-Dress had been completely taken in. Several empty glasses stood before her on the table she shared with Greco, and she had another in her hand. She giggled as she drank, nearly dropping the glass when she attempted to put it down. Greco laughed and dabbed at her mouth with his handkerchief. She draped her arms over his shoulders and whispered in his ear.

Whatever she’d said gave Greco the encouragement he needed. He groped at her small breasts. She squirmed, still half smiling as she made some mild protest. Greco didn’t listen. He pulled her hard against him and kissed her roughly. She braced her hands on his shoulders, trying to pull away. He made some comment that penetrated the girl’s inebriated haze. Suddenly her smile was gone, her pretty face aghast with the dim realization of what she had done.

Allie ran her tongue over her teeth. She knew what came next: Greco would strong-arm the girl out of the club, and he would get away with it, because the few people who might give a damn wouldn’t risk provoking his anger.

From the look of her, the girl wasn’t going to go quietly. Greco clamped his hand around her arm and started for the door; she leaned away with all her insubstantial weight, the heels of her pumps scraping along the floor. The jazz band played on with furious abandon, and every pair of eyes in the place was focused on something as far away from Greco and his victim as possible.

Every pair except Allie’s.

She strolled to her table, pulled her compact and lipstick from her tiny beaded pocketbook and carefully reapplied the vivid color. Jake Greco and the girl were halfway to the door. Allie fluffed her hair, gave her body a little shake and walked directly into Greco’s path.

“Why in such a hurry, handsome?”

He stopped, briefly startled by her abrupt appearance. “Allie Chase,” he said, digging his fingers into the girl’s tender skin. “What do you want?”

Allie examined her nails. “Oh, nothing. I was just wondering why you always go after half-grown schoolgirls who can’t fight back.”

A look of pure fury crossed his face, and then his mouth twisted in a smirk. “Why would any girl want to fight me?” He yanked Miss Yellow-Dress around to face him. “They all love me. Ain’t that true, doll?”

The girl averted her eyes, every muscle in her thin frame straining against him. “Let me go,” she whispered.

Greco laughed. “They always say that. It don’t mean nothing.” He fixed Allie with a hard stare. “Get outta my way, bitch.”

“Give me one good reason why I should.”

He raised his fist. “I’ll give you five.”

She lifted her hand to her forehead and feigned a swoon. “Oh, deah. Whatevah shall Ah do?”

Greco swore and barreled forward, shoving Allie aside. She spun around and seized the back of his collar, jerking him to a halt.

“Come on, Jake,” she said. “You can do better than that, even if you do like to rape little girls.”

In one motion he released Miss Yellow-Dress and swung on Allie, his fist slicing the air like a meat cleaver. Allie moved lightly out of the way, grabbed Jake’s arm and twisted. With a cry of pain, Jake fell to his knees. Allie held his arm behind his back and kicked him in his posterior.

“Want to try again?” she asked.

He snorted like a bull, his face beet red. “I’ll kill you, bitch.”

“No, you won’t.” Bruce came to stand beside Allie, Nathan at his back. “Allie’s got too many friends, and you’ve got too many enemies.”

“That is right,” Kolya said, his heavy-lidded eyes flat with hostility. “You had best find another place to do your hunting, svoloch.”

“And remember you ain’t the only one who carries protection,” Jimmy said, patting his coat suggestively. “Them that live by the sword die by the sword, so they say.”

Allie’s heart warmed at her friends’ support. She didn’t need their help, but it meant something that they were willing to give it.

“You heard them, Jakey,” she said, blowing her breath into his ear. “You can get up and walk out of here…alone. If you pull your gun, you’ll never make it to the door.” She glanced up. “Pepper?”

“I’m here, darlin’.”

“Look after the girl, will you?”

“I’ll do that little thing. Come on, sugar.”

Allie heard the tap of two pairs of pumps moving away. When she was certain the girl was out of harm’s reach, she released Jake. He scrambled to his feet and thrust his hand inside his coat. Allie struck him across the face so hard that he crashed into the nearest table.

“One last chance,” she said. “Get out.”

Jake pawed at the broken table and hauled himself up, swaying like a drunken bear. Allie could see the thoughts plodding through his head as he weighed his chances. In the end he must have decided that Allie Chase was too strange a creature to fight. He staggered out the door.

Allie brushed at her dress and muttered a curse when she noticed the run in her left stocking.

“Send Jake the bill,” Bruce suggested. His eyes twinkled with appreciation. “That was quite a show, honey. Hard to believe a little thing like you can fight so well.”

“You did it for the girl,” Nathan said, glancing toward the table where Pepper sat with Miss Yellow-Dress.

Allie smoothed her hair. “Jake needed taking down a peg, that’s all.” She kicked off her pump and removed the ruined stocking. “Get me a drink, Kolya, would you?”

Kolya sauntered off, and Allie went to join Pepper and Miss Yellow-Dress. It was obvious that the girl had been crying, and Pepper was doing her best to comfort her. The girl’s long hair had fallen out of its pins, and her rouge was smeared. A fresh drink sat on the table before her.

“It’s all over now, sugar,” Pepper was saying. “That bad man won’t hurt you again. Allie made sure of that.” She looked up with a smile. “And here she is now.”

Allie slid into a chair opposite the girl, pushing aside the empty glasses. “You mind giving us a little privacy, Pep?”

“Sure thing, darlin’.” Pepper went off to join a friend at a nearby table, leaving Allie alone with the girl.

“Are you all right?” Allie asked.

Miss Yellow-Dress met her gaze, and for the first time Alley saw that her eyes were a rich combination of brown, gold and green, large and expressive and filled with confusion.

“I…” She swallowed. “Thank you so much for what you did.” Her voice held the slight trace of an accent, made somewhat indistinct by the lingering effects of alcohol.

But Allie barely heard her. She was struck by a realization that had utterly escaped her until this moment, an awareness that made her skin prickle in a way it hadn’t done since a certain meeting in an alley off East Forty-second Street.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

The girl hesitated. “Ruby.”

“Ruby what?”

“Du…Dubois. Ruby Dubois.”

Kolya arrived with Allie’s drink, and she took a fortifying mouthful before she spoke again. “This is your first time at a speak, isn’t it?”

“Y-yes.”

“How old are you, Ruby?”

“Six…almost seventeen.”

“Do you understand the risks you took tonight?”

The girl stared at Allie’s glass. “Yes.”

“Does your family know where you are?”

“No.”

“Then hadn’t you better call them and let them know?”

“No! I mean…” Ruby hunched her shoulders. “I don’t want him to find out. Anyway, I’ll be home before he knows I was gone.”

“He?”

“My brother. He’d kill me if he knewI’d come here.”

I’ll just bet he would, Allie thought. “Why didn’t you fight harder when Jake tried to take you out? You could have overpowered him, just as I did.”

“I beg your—”

“I know what you are, Ruby.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “You do?”

“Sure. Amazing how easy it is to tell once you’ve got the knack.”

“Then you…you’re one of us?”

“Try again.”

“Oh.” Ruby flushed with mingled fear and excitement. “You’re a—”

Allie pressed her finger to Ruby’s lips. “You’re the only person here who knows.”

“Not even your friends?”

“That’s right.”

“But the way you fought…Didn’t anyone notice?”

“It’s amazing what people will accept if you act casual enough about it.”

Ruby considered that for a moment, chewing on her lower lip. “If you’re…one of them, why did you help me?”

“You mean, those old, outdated prejudices?” Allie buffed her nails on her thigh. “They bore me.”

“Oh.” Another thought captured her attention. “Do you know any other loups-garous?”

Once more Allie thought of golden eyes and a strong, grave face. “Not many.”

“I’ve never met anyone from the pack,” Ruby said eagerly. “My brother won’t let me.”

“Your brother?”

“Gerald. Gerald Dubois.”

“Don’t know him. Anyway, I thought all werewolves belonged to the pack.”

“Not us.” She sighed. “My brother doesn’t trust many people. He likes living alone.”

It was painfully obvious that Ruby was desperate to confide in someone, desperate enough that she would reveal all sorts of personal information to the first person who seemed to be on her side. Allie found herself prepared to encourage the girl for reasons she couldn’t quite acknowledge.

“What’s he like, your brother—besides being so eager to protect you?”

“He’s always serious. He almost never laughs. I know a lot of it’s because of the War. He was my age when he went over. I hardly remember what he was like before.” She ran her finger through a puddle of whiskey on the table. “He wants me to marry a rich man and become a member of New York society.”

“Human society?”

“He thinks I’ll be safer that way.”

“Because he doesn’t trust other werewolves.”

“Yes.”

“But you want to be one of them.”

“I want to be free.”

Allie felt an unwelcome stab of pity. She knewwhat itwas like to feel trapped, confined to a narrowlife with the obliviousworld going past you day after day. She’d been confined by her own body. Ruby was being asked—by her own kin, no less—to deny her very nature.

They had more in common than Allie cared to admit.

“Don’t worry, kid,” she said gently, “when you’re a little older, you’ll find a way to become what you were meant to be.”

Ruby sat straighter in her chair, as if bracing for an argument. “Will you teach me?”

“Teach you what?”

“To be like you.” She scooted forward, the pulse beating fast at the base of her throat. “To be beautiful and sophisticated and free.”

At another time Allie might have been amused, but the situation was beginning to get far too complicated. “I don’t take apprentices,” she said. “And your brother…”

“But he doesn’t have to find out! I was careful. Miss Spires is on my side. We’re not far from the train station, so it’s easy for me to get here.”

“And easy for you to get into trouble.”

Ruby lifted her chin. “It’s better to take risks and try new things than spend your whole life afraid of anything different.”

Like your brother is afraid, Allie thought. She leaned back in her chair. “You’re right,” she said, “you can’t spend your life running away.”

“Then you’ll let me stay, just for tonight? I promise I won’t be any bother.”

“Oh, let her, Allie,” Pepper said, returning to the table. “No one is goin’ to bother her now.”

“Sure,” Jimmy said, sprawling into an empty chair. “Poor kid probably never has any fun.” He grinned at Ruby. “Where d’you live, infant?”

“On Long Island,” Ruby said, gazing at Jimmy’s platinum hair.

“There you go,” Jimmy said. “Give her a break, Allie.”

Sibella pulled up another chair and took the pencil out of her mouth. “I’d like to sketch her,” she said.

“And I,” Kolya announced, “shall compose a poem on the death of innocence. She must remain as my inspiration.”

Allie frowned. It wasn’t as if Ruby—if that was really her name, which she doubted—would suffer any real harm from remaining with the group for a few more hours, now that she’d gotten through the worst of the night. And if “Gerald Dubois” really did have her future planned out for her—which Allie didn’t doubt in the least—she wouldn’t deny the girl the chance to experience a little precious freedom beforehand.

“All right,” she said. “You can stay. As long as you don’t give me any grief when it’s time to go home.”

Ruby grinned. “I won’t, I promise!” She practically danced with excitement, all memories of her ugly encounter with Greco happily forgotten. Everyone crowded close to welcome her into Allie’s circle.

The night was loud, bright and raucous. Pepper set about teaching Ruby the Charleston, whileKolya drank vodka and scribbled scraps of poetry on his notepad. Allie showed her howto apply lipstick with a fewquick strokes of the finger and coached her in how to kick a troublesome skirt chaser in the groin. The girl learned quickly, her innocent charm and unfeigned pleasure a surprisingly welcome change in such a jaded atmosphere.

Allie had been naive in many ways when Cato had Converted her. Ruby aroused feelings she’d almost forgotten…just like Griffin Durant. And maybe that wasn’t such a terrible thing after all.

By 3:00 a.m. Allie was beginning to regret that she would have to send Ruby home. She pushed through the gang of admirers who had become a permanent fixture around the girl and found Pepper standing over Ruby with a pair of shears in her hands. Half of Ruby’s luxuriant brown tresses lay on the ground at her feet; the other half still hung over her shoulders.

“There, now,” Pepper said. “We’re halfway there…”

“Pepper!” Allie snatched the shears out of Pepper’s hands. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Pepper’s small pink mouth dropped open. “Why, I…Ruby wanted a nice little bob, and I’ve had some experience with—”

“With angry brothers?” Allie stood in front of Ruby, hands on her hips. “This was your idea?”

Ruby was utterly unrepentant. “I hate my hair. I want it to be short, like everyone else’s. What’s wrong with that?”

“I thought the idea was to hide tonight’s adventures from your brother? That won’t exactly be possible now, will it?”

“I’ll tell him I just went to a barbershop.”

“In the middle of the night? I’m sure that will appease him.” Allie weighed the shears in her hand. “You don’t mind if I finish it, Pepper?”

Pepper stepped back, and Allie took her place behind Ruby. She was just putting the finishing touches on Ruby’s new bob when a sudden commotion began at Lulu’s front door. The doorman and a couple of bouncers were attempting to prevent a man from entering, but it was quickly obvious that they were having little success. The man cast them off like a dog shaking water from its coat and charged into the room, looking sharply this way and that.

Ruby let out a soft gasp and started up from her chair. Allie didn’t have to study the newcomer to know who he was or why he was here. Her heart began to race with unaccustomed anticipation.

She steered Ruby back to the table, took her own seat and waited while her friends settled around her. An instant later the newcomer’s eyes found Allie—yellow eyes filled with startling intensity and seething emotion—and then focused on Ruby. He strode toward them, long legs eating up the distance, and came to a halt beside Allie’s chair.

“Miss Chase,” he said, “what in God’s name are you doing with my sister?”




Chapter Four


ALLEGRA CHASE STOOD UP SLOWLY, undeniably majestic in spite of her scandalously short dress and painted face. She met Griffin’s gaze without flinching, and he felt alarm and astonishment give way to very different feelings over which he had not the slightest command.

He had never expected to see her again, and certainly not like this. Oh, he’d known at their first meeting that she was wild—a true child of the bold new generation, no matter when she’d been Converted. But he’d assumed that she had briefly escaped the authority of her patron and would soon return to the protection of her own kind.

He’d clearly been wrong.Whoever her patron might be, he must have no objection to his protégée making a spectacle of herself in a very human public place.And Allegra Chase was a spectacle, flaunting her nearly naked legs, commanding the attention of every male in the room. Griffin understood at once that she ruled this seamy hotbed of Bohemians, dissipates and addicts.

It would have been disconcerting enough to meet her again under such circumstances, but to find her with Gemma was nearly inconceivable. What were the odds of such an occurrence?

What were the odds that Allegra Chase could plunge him into confusion with a single glance of those remarkable eyes?

“Your sister is perfectly safe,” she said, her voice cool and reasonable, as if nothing were at all out of the ordinary. “Why don’t you join us, Mr. Durant?”

He steeled himself against the powerful allure of her nearness. “Did you bring Gemma to this place, Miss Chase?”

She lifted one dark, sculpted brow. “I never met her before tonight. She walked in on her own. My pals and I just happened to be here at the time.”

“Yet you don’t seem surprised to see me,” he said, keeping a tight rein on his anger.

“Ruby—Gemma—mentioned that she had a brother, and I put two and two together. There is a family resemblance, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“You knoweach other?” Gemma said in a small voice.

Griffin’s glare silenced her immediately. “Our acquaintance has been brief, Miss Chase, but I had assumed you to be an intelligent woman. If my arrival has failed to surprise you, you must have guessed that I would hardly approve of my sister coming to a dive in the middle of the night. Or are you so accustomed to the habitués of such sordid environments that you mistook Gemma for one of them?”

A muscular young man rose from the table. “Hey, you—”

“It’s all right, Bruce.” Miss Chase toyed with the oddly old-fashioned locket that was her only jewelry, swinging the chain between her fingers. “It’s no wonder she has to sneak around, Mr. Durant, if this is the way you treat her. And anyway, since she’d already gotten here by herself, I didn’t figure she would become much more corrupt if she stayed for a few hours.”

One of Allie’s “pals” smothered a laugh. Griffin gazed at the faces about the table, men and women who considered illegal clubs their natural homes. Gemma, in her flimsy dress and bright-red lipstick, did indeed, look just like one of them.

A woman like Allegra Chase would draw Gemma to her as a blossom lures a bee. She was beautiful, witty, willful…and obviously contemptuous of the civilized standards that gave life its structure. It would be an easy matter for her to lead an innocent girl like Gemma to her ruin, even if she weren’t a vampire.

Griffin circled the table, ignoring Miss Chase, and stood over Gemma with folded arms. “Miss Spires admitted everything,” he said. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Gemma sank down into her chair. “I…I didn’t mean—”

“Do you know how many places like this Mal and I have searched tonight? I was beginning to think you…” He took a steadying breath, remembering that he mustn’t let any of them, his sister least of all, see him lose his composure. He picked up one of the numerous empty glasses on the table. “How much have you been drinking, Gemma?”

“We haven’t given her a thing,” Allegra said.

Gemma cast Allegra such a look of gratitude that Griffin was sure she was lying. He carefully replaced the glass and stared at Gemma until she lowered her gaze. “Where did you get that dress?”

“I…I ordered it two weeks ago. Griffin—”

“And your hair. How did that come about, might I ask?”

“I cut it for her,” Allegra said. “I think it’s very becoming.”

Griffin swung toward her, his tongue tripping on harsh words he couldn’t bring himself to speak. “You had no right,” he said. “She is my sister. My responsibility.”

Miss Chase continued to gaze at Griffin through half-lidded, kohl-rimmed eyes. “What bothers you most, Mr. Durant, Gemma’s clothes and hair, or the fact that she slipped out of your control for a few brief hours?”

“I beg your—” He broke off, refusing to take her bait. He cupped Gemma’s chin in his hand. “Do you have any conception of the trouble you’ve caused?”

“I…I didn’t think it would be dangerous…”

“You could have been hurt, Gemma. Don’t you understand that?”

All at once the noisy room seemed very quiet. Gemma set her jaw. “Allie wouldn’t let anyone hurt me.”

Griffin hesitated. Perhaps Gemma didn’t know what Allie was. Not all loups-garous could recognize strigoi by sight or smell. “Did you go out tonight expecting you’d find someone to take care of you? Is that it?”

“She didn’t come running to me,” Allegra said. “But if she were to find herself in a position where she couldn’t fight back, whose fault is that?”

“I don’t believe I take your meaning, Miss Chase.”

She shrugged, as if to dismiss her own comment, but the redheaded woman across the table snorted loudly and pulled a face. “You ought to know, sugar, that if it hadn’t been for Allie, you’d have had a real reason to worry.”

Griffin’s mouth went dry. “Gemma,” he said, “did someone…bother you tonight?”

“Allie took care of it,” said the man called Bruce, his mouth twisted in contempt.

“That’s why she took your sister under her wing,” said the slender man seated next to Bruce. “None of us meant any harm, Mr. Durant.”

Griffin well remembered how Miss Chase had been prepared to take on the muggers for the sake of her maid, but he found it hard to believe that any of these people knew of Allie’s true nature. “Who was this person?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Allegra said. “He’s gone, and he won’t be back.”

“I see.” He held her gaze. “It seems I owe you an apology, as well as my thanks, Miss Chase.”

She smiled with familiar mockery. “I accept your apology.”

“I hope you’ll allow me to repay the debt.”

“Let’s just say we’re even now, Mr. Durant.”

He looked away so she wouldn’t see how much he’d felt the sting of her rebuff. “In that case,” he said stiffly, “Gemma and I will be leaving.”

He helped Gemma out of her seat and draped his overcoat around her. She shivered in the crook of his arm. As he started for the door, he heard raised voices outside the building, and suddenly the men standing guard at the entrance turned and dashed for the bar. The bartender and waiters scrambled toward the darkened rear of the speakeasy. Men and women at the tables shouted questions and craned their necks to determine the source of the disturbance.

Allegra appeared beside Griffin. “It’s a raid,” she said. “The cops won’t arrest any of us, but you probably don’t want Gemma involved.”

“A raid?” Gemma said. “I want to see—”

“Out of the question,” Griffin said. “Do you have any suggestions, Miss Chase?”

“Come with me.”

She started at a fast pace toward the back of the room, leaving her friends chattering at the table. There was a scarred wooden door behind the bar, barely visible behind stacks of seemingly innocent fruit crates. Allegra opened the door and moved aside, ushering Griffin and Gemma into an unlit alley. The sour stink of urine struck Griffin with the force of a storm. A drunken man lay sprawled across the filthy ground; Griffin lifted Gemma in his arms and carried her to the end of the alley, setting her down on the sidewalk.

“You don’t have anything to worry about now,” Allegra said. She pushed a stray lock of hair out of Gemma’s face. “Your brother is right. You’ve had enough adventure for one night.”

Gemma tried to assume a sophisticated air, but it dissolved in a helpless yawn. Allegra’s eyes sparkled with a devastating combination of mischief and sympathy. Griffin looked at her and did his best not to let his body control his mind.

“Once again I owe you a debt of gratitude,” he said. “Even if you refuse to accept my obligation.”

She laughed. “You wouldn’t like it if I held you to that obligation. Anyway, Gemma made the evening considerably more amusing.”

“Is that truly all that matters to you, Miss Chase? Amusement?”

“What else is there?”

Her insouciant response troubled him past all reason. He’d seen plenty of evidence that she was a most unusual vampire, but he’d also begun to realize that she was not as lacking in character as he had at first chosen to believe.

“May I ask you a personal question?” he said.

“Shoot.”

He began to walk in the direction of the street, where Fitzsimmons waited a few blocks away with the limousine, supporting a sleepy Gemma with his arm about her waist. “There weren’t any other vampires at Lulu’s when I came in.”

“So?”

“So where is your patron, Miss Chase? It was my understanding that vampire patrons are notoriously jealous of their protégés and hardly encourage them to wander loose around the city.”

She fell into step beside him. “That may be true of most protégés, but not me.”

“How is it that you have a choice?”

She hesitated, obviously weighing her answer. “My patron’s dead.”

Griffin missed a step. “But you told me—”

“I know. It got rid of you, didn’t it?” Her voice lost a little of its lightness. “Even when Cato was alive, he let me live as I chose. And that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“How long since you were…altered?”

“Two years. And you don’t have to dance around the word. It doesn’t offend me.”

And why should it, Griffin thought, when she so obviously hadn’t suffered from the transformation? “So now you choose to associate with humans rather than your own kind.”

“Just like you.” She cast him a sideways look. “You’re curious, aren’t you…about how we live and what we do? Even though you hate us.”

“I hardly hate you, Miss Chase.”

“But it disgusts you, the blood drinking and all. That’s one of the reasons you were so upset that I was with Gemma.”

Griffin glanced down at Gemma’s tousled head, regretting the direction the conversation had taken. “Surely you couldn’t Convert her.”

“Couldn’t even if I wanted to. We’re of different species, after all, and I’m not mature enough to create my own protégés. That usually takes a few years.”

“But you could have…taken her—”

“Blood? That would have been a novel experience. But I’d already fed, and we don’t have to drink more than a couple of times a week.”

“I see.” He tugged at his collar, reluctant to hear any more such confidences. “Whatever your personal habits, I don’t think Lulu’s is an appropriate venue for my sister.”

“You really think bobbed hair and a short dress will ruin her?”

“Rebellion for rebellion’s sake is not an admirable quality.”

They walked half a block in silence. “She guessed what I was, you know,” Allegra said. “She wasn’t afraid.”

“I’m hardly surprised, Miss Chase. Gemma has no experience of your worlds, either of them.You were compelled to rescue her from someone who meant her harm. That’s proof enough that she doesn’t belong here.”

“Only because she doesn’t know how to be what she really is.”

Gemmamuttered a garbled protest and subsided back into her half sleep. Griffin lowered his voice. “She isn’t an animal, and I don’t intend to let her behave like one.”

“An animal? Is that what you think you are?”

Griffin remembered how tempted he had been in the alley…tempted to Change and rid the world of two humans the city would never miss. “I prefer civilization, Miss Chase.”

“Civilization as in the rich snobs on Long Island.”

“If you like.”

“Then you do plan to keep Gemma locked away.”

“Is that what she told you?”

“Isn’t it true?”

“I dislike being rude, Miss Chase, but—”

“You’d prefer I kept my nose to myself.” She shook her head. “Where did you get such a hard view of the world, Mr. Durant? Was it the War?”

Griffin forced himself to keep walking. “What drives you to waste your life on fleeting pleasures and unthinking nonconformity?” he asked.

She said nothing. The sound of her footsteps stopped, and for a moment he thought he had driven her away with his inexplicable rudeness. But then he heard the tap of her heels coming up behind him, and her sweet, earthy fragrance swirled about his head.

“I know what it’s like to live in a small room with no hope of escape,” she said. “I swore I’d never go back to that room.” She caught the sleeve of his coat. “What’s your cage, my friend?”

Her question left Griffin mute. He estimated the distance left to the limousine. Once he had Gemma safely transferred to Fitzsimmons’s care, he would wait for Mal at their rendezvous site on Sixth Avenue. Miss Chase would surely become bored with baiting him and go back to her friends. They would go their separate ways once and for all.

He would find nothing to miss in her unfeminine frankness, her brazen choice of clothing, the firm curve of her calf, the obsidian silk of her hair, the sparkle of aqua eyes…

His thoughts stuttered to a halt. He lifted his head, detecting the faint scent that threaded its way among the city’s common odors of gasoline, steel and refuse. The hairs on the back of his neck stood erect.

“What is it?” Allegra asked. “What’s wrong?”

He took her wrist in a rigid grip. “Stay close to me,” he said. “Don’t interfere.”

“But—” Her eyes searched the darkness as she sensed the others’ approach. Gemma’s face emerged from Griffin’s overcoat.

“Griffin?” she murmured.

“It’s all right, Gemma,” he said. “Keep still.”

“Good advice,” a voice said.

A tall figure rounded the corner of a narrow tenement building, his shadow preceding him. At his side loped two enormous canines, eyes reflecting yellow from a distant streetlight. They ran ahead and came to a stop a few dozen feet from Griffin, pacing back and forth with lolling tongues.

Griffin pushed Allegra behind him and shook out his shoulders, flexing his muscles and breathing deeply. “Ivar,” he said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Ivar strolled forward. “I came to talk business, Durant,” he said, “but not with that around.”

Allegra brushed against Griffin, air hissing between her teeth. Griffin forcibly restrained her with one arm, holding Gemma close with the other.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand you, Ivar,” he said. “Perhaps it would be more convenient if we meet at another time and place.”

Ivar laughed. The wolves stopped their pacing and faced Griffin, lips pulled back from ivory fangs. “Since when did you start consorting with leeches, Durant? You think that’s better than us?”

“You want me to show you, dog?” Allie purred. A cloud of hostile scent rose from her body. It struck Griffin full force, and even Ivar blinked.

“Easy,” Griffin whispered. He met Ivar’s gaze. “It’s none of your business what company I keep,” he said.

“Oh, yeah?” Ivar snapped his fingers, and the wolves sat on their haunches, ready to lunge at the slightest provocation. “It is our business if what you do endangers the rest of us.”

Griffin gently turned Gemma and passed her, coat and all, into Allegra’s arms. “Keep her safe,” he said. “No matter what you have to do.”

“You’re going to fight?”

“I may not have a choice.”

Allegra nodded, though her eyes blazed with fury. She backed away, half carrying Gemma with her. The wolves leaped up and circled behind the women, giving Griffin a wide berth.

“You should know how little Garret approves of your attitude,” Ivar said.

Griffin stalked toward Ivar, black anger churning in his belly. “Sloan isn’t here.”

“He takes my advice, and you’d better take mine. You’re like a man walking down the middle of Broadway on a Saturday night, thinking he’ll never get hit. It’s a very dangerous way to live, brother.”

“If you want to discuss my life, that’s fine with me. But let Gemma go. This doesn’t concern her.”

“Oh, but it does.” Ivar glanced toward the wolves, who continued to pace around Allegra and Gemma. “It has everything to do with her.”

“If it’s a fight you want, Ivar, I’ll be happy to give it to you.”

“And bring the whole pack down on your head? I think you’d rather listen to what I have to say.” Ivar withdrew a silver case from his pocket and selected a cigarette. “You’ve been out looking for Gemma all night, haven’t you? She slipped her leash and got all the way to Fifty-second Street before you even knew she was gone.” He put the cigarette in his mouth and produced a lighter. “Some of us picked up her scent and followed her to Lulu’s.We sawhowyour sisterwalked right into the place as if she had nothing to hide.” He sucked on the cigarette. “Very bad form, Durant.”

Griffin clenched his fists, sickened by the thought that the pack had found Gemma before he did. “Gemma didn’t do any harm.”

“But she could have.” Ivar blew a curl of smoke toward Griffin, smacking his lips. “All she had to do was reveal her strength or speed or one of our other useful talents, and someone might begin to ask questions. The kinds of questions we don’t like.”

Despite Ivar’s bluster, the threat he represented was very real. Griffin fought to subdue his rage. “It won’t happen again,” he said.

“On your word of honor?” Ivar chuckled. “Maybe that’s not good enough anymore. If you can’t control your own kin, maybe it’s time someone else did it for you.”

Gemma fought Allegra’s hold. “I can speak for myself,” she said, facing Ivar with naive courage. “It’s my fault, not Griffin’s.”

Ivar looked her up and down with an open leer. “You want to save your brother a lot of trouble? Come with us right now. We’ll take good care of you.”

Griffin snarled. “Get back, Gemma.”

“But, Grif—”

“Back.” He bared his teeth at Ivar. “You think you can take her, you slinking jackal?”

“I’ll take her, all right. And she’ll beg for more.”

For an instant Griffin stood poised between man and beast, the man begging him to remember all his fears for Gemma, his solemn vows to civilization and peace. But the beast was aroused and would not be denied. He removed his tie, kicked off his shoes, shed his shirt and trousers and tossed them aside.

“Go ahead,” he taunted. “I’m waiting, bellyscraper.”

Ivar’s eyes narrowed in fury. He lifted a hand. “Tibor. Caleb.”

The wolves answered to their names, closing in on Allegra and Gemma. Griffin Changed, spun around and raced toward them. The larger of the two pack members faced him with tail high and ears flat, ready to spring. Griffin charged. He caught Caleb’s thick mane in his jaws and twisted hard, forcing his opponent to the pavement. With sheer strength he held Caleb down, enduring the furious scrape of nails that sliced through his fur. Fangs snapped within inches of his face. He didn’t flinch, staring into Caleb’s yellow eyes until the loup-garou’s struggles slowed and finally ceased. Caleb whined and licked Griffin’s chin, going limp in Griffin’s grip.

He released Caleb and turned to face the smaller beast, preparing himself for another fight. Tibor turned his head from side to side, tucked his tail between his legs and stretched his mouth in a grimace of submission. Griffin quickly Changed again and hurried to join Allegra and Gemma.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Why shouldn’t we be?” Allegra said. “You did all the fighting.” She looked him over, keen interest in her eyes, and Griffin was suddenly very much aware of his nudity. Far worse, however, was his shame at what he had been forced to do. He left Allegra with Gemma and returned to Ivar, who had thrown his cigarette into the street and looked seconds away from Changing himself.

“Very impressive,” he said. “You’ve made your point, Durant, but don’t think you did yourself any favors.Your deal with the pack can be canceled anytime. The minute your lone wolf act becomes a threat to us, it’s over.”

“And the minute that happens,” Griffin said, “the moment anything happens to Gemma or me, the generous remittance the pack receives from my estate will dry up forever.”

The toe of Ivar’s highly polished shoe struck the discarded cigarette, sending it rolling across the street. “I came here to warn you, Durant. Next time you won’t get off quite so easy.” He turned on his heel, striding away until his silhouette was swallowed up in darkness. The wolves loped after him, their bodies low to the ground.

Griffin closed his eyes and felt the tension drain out of his muscles. He’d bluffed his way through this time, but things could easily have gone the other way. He could have killed in defense of the ones he loved.

The ones he loved. He shivered at the slip, gathered his wits and looked for his clothes.

Allegra already had them in her arms, an ambiguous smile curving her lips. “Very impressive,” she said, her gaze lingering a little too long on the area below his waist. “I’ve never seen one of your kind Change before.”

The wolf was still very close to the surface. Griffin snatched his trousers away before his body could betray him.

“You really don’t like fighting, do you?” she asked quietly.

His fingers fumbled at the buttons. “No.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He ignored her and pulled on his shirt. She placed both hands on his chest before he could fasten the shirt.

“No wounds,” she said.

His breath came faster. “The Change heals them.”

“We heal fast, too. Something you and I actually have in common.”

He pushed her hands aside and buttoned his shirt. “Gemma…”

His sister slunk toward him, her head low. “I’m so sorry, Grif,” she said. “It’s all my fault.”

“I’m glad you recognize that actions have consequences.” He took her face between his hands. “Now you see why we can’t trust the pack. Why we can’t give in to our other side.”

“But you had to do it. Allie’s right. There was nothing wrong with—”

“There is nothing romantic in becoming a beast, Gemma.” He lowered his voice. “You must promise me never to come to Manhattan again.”

“Oh, lay off,” Allegra said. “You can give her the lecture after she’s had a good day’s sleep.”

Griffin let Gemma go and faced Allegra. “Miss Chase, your interference is—” He stopped, clearing his throat. “It seems I owe you another debt of gratitude.”

“I don’t remember doing anything to be grateful for. The least you could have done was let me handle that idiot Ivar.”

“And risk sparking an all-out war between vampires and werewolves? The truce is fragile enough as it is.”

“That’s just an excuse. You really wanted to make sure we helpless females were kept out of harm’s way.”

“If that was my intent,” he said grimly, “I failed.”

“If you’d only teach me how to fight,” Gemma broke in, “I could help you next time. You wouldn’t have to protect me.”

“There won’t be a next time.” Griffin took her firmly by the shoulder, eager to forget what had happened. “Miss Chase, my driver is waiting a few blocks away. The least I can do is take you home…unless you would prefer to return to the club.”

Allie shrugged. “My friends will have cleared out by now.”

“Then we should hurry. It’s nearly dawn.”

Allie glanced at the sky. She had lost track of the time…an easy thing to do when she had no schedules to keep or responsibilities to tie her down. Griffin had provided certain other distractions, as well. He naturally believed that she was as vulnerable to daylight as any other strigoi, and she didn’t see any reason to let him in on the secret. Not yet.

“I’ll take the lift,” she said.

Griffin nodded, firmly gripped Gemma’s hand and set off again. They had gone another couple of blocks when they were accosted once more, this time by a thin young man with earnest features and wavy blond hair.

“Grif!” he said. “Thank God you found her. I’d finished searching the—” He broke off, his gaze settling on Allie. “Allegra?” he said. “Allegra Chase?”

Allie stepped forward. “Mal,” she said. “It’s been a long time.”

Griffin looked from her to Mal and back again. “You know each other?”

“Mal used to frequent some of the same clubs as my friends and I,” Allie said. “Sometimes he and—” She caught herself, remembering that there were some topics it was wiser not to mention. “We saw quite a bit of each other.”

“The good old days,” Mal said with a cheerless smile. “How’ve you been, Allie?”

“Grand, thanks.” She didn’t ask Mal how he was; one look at him told her all she needed to know. “I didn’t realize you knew Mr. Durant.”

“It never occurred to me to mention it. Your world and Griffin’s…they always seemed miles apart.”

That, Allie thought, was an understatement. “Funny how these things happen,” she said. “Mr. Durant and I met by chance a few days ago, and then Gemma showed up at Lulu’s tonight.”

Mal raised a brow. “What was Gemma doing at Lulu’s?”

“Biting off more than she could chew,” Griffin said. “Miss Chase intervened when one of the patrons accosted her.”

“I’m not surprised. Allie likes to pretend she’s a world-weary cynic, but she’s not nearly as hard-boiled as she makes out.”

“You’re going to ruin my reputation,” Allie said, then looked pointedly toward the eastern horizon. “We’d better keep going, don’t you think?” she asked Griffin.

“Of course. You’re welcome to return with us to Oakdene, Mal. Stay for a few days if you like. Gemma’s birthday party is on Saturday—”

“You mean, you’re still going to have the party?” Gemma asked. “Even though…even after what happened tonight?”

“If you give your word not to come to Manhattan alone,” Griffin said, “I’ll consider tonight’s folly to be an isolated lapse of judgment.”

Gemma nodded, but her expression didn’t suggest any particular pleasure at Griffin’s leniency. Allie could imagine what such a party might be like if Griffin had the planning of it.

And no wonder. Griffin’s so afraid of the wolf part of himself that he goes too far in the other direction.

Allie had never heard that werewolves were intrinsically more violent than humans—or vampires, for that matter—but in Griffin’s case, it was as if he would prefer to deny his inhuman nature entirely, as he seemed bent on denying Gemma’s. Being old-fashioned and forcing his sister to associate only with humans lets him convince himself that his “civilized” side is in control. Conservative, safe, hemmed about by rules and traditions.

Still, he’d proven again tonight that he was willing to get rough when the situation demanded it…and Allie couldn’t help but feel that the wolf was much closer to the surface than hewould ever admit.Nowthat she’d seen Griffin in action, she’d begun to grasp what it must feel like to turn into an animal. If it had happened to her, she wouldn’t be afraid. So much power, beauty and strength…

None of which he was willing to accept as the gift it was.

What would it take to teach you to glory in what you are, the senses and the speed and the freedom?

Allie laughed. That sort of project seemed far too much work for anyone but the most devoted martyr. And anyway, why should she care? She’d tried to get rid of Durant at their first meeting by warning him that his attraction to her wasn’t real. That should have been that.

But it wasn’t. The joke was on her. She’d thought she would be able to forget about him. She hadn’t been, although it seemed he’d taken her advice very much to heart. He certainly hadn’t done much to encourage their further acquaintance. He was able to resist her, and that was a new and not entirely pleasant experience.

So, Allie Chase. What are you going to do about it? It’s been a long time since you’ve had a real challenge.

They began to walk again. The smells of morning crept into the city air: baking bread; stale seawater from the docks; exhaust from milk and produce trucks making their first deliveries of the day. Men and women staggered, laughing, from hidden doorways as they ended their night’s revels and prepared to retire to their comfortable beds on the Gold Coast. Longshoremen yawned as they left their tenements for a day’s work at the docks. Ragged boys lingered on street corners hoping to gain employment, legal or otherwise, for a few hours or a day. Gunsels on mysterious errands patrolled the sidewalk, their coat collars turned up about their ears, and bootleggers’ vehicles idled in alleyways.

This was Allie’s world—more than the cold, beautiful mansions owned by Raoul and his most favored vassals, far more than the gilded, exclusive milieu of the Hamptons. It was, as Mal had said, miles away from anything Griffin Durant judged desirable for himself or his sister.

“Here we are,” Griffin said, interrupting Allie’s reflections. He indicated a handsome limousine, whose uniformed driver stood beside the passenger door awaiting his employer’s instructions.

“Ladies,” Griffin said, gesturing Gemma and Allie into the backseat.Gemmaclimbed in first.Allie slid onto the seat beside her, not bothering to adjust the hem of her dress when it inched well above her knee. She knew Griffin noticed; he stared for a dozen heartbeats, then hastily looked away. Mal joined her and Gemma in the rear, while Griffin took a seat beside his driver in the front.

Whatever Griffin might think of certain parts of Manhattan, he employed a driver with an obvious talent for finding the most direct routes through the city. They stopped first at a street off Washington Square, where Mal took his leave and promised to attend Gemma’s party. In a remarkably short time—just as the first streaks of sunlight were beginning to sift among the buildings—the limousine pulled up in front of Allie’s apartment.

Griffin jumped out and asked Gemma for the return of his overcoat. He removed his hat and offered it and the coat to Allie as he helped her from the car.

“The fit is hardly ideal,” he said, “but they should provide adequate protection for a few moments.”

She placed the overlarge hat on her head and wrapped the coat around herself, enveloped in Griffin’s masculine, earthy scent.

“Can she come to my party?” Gemma said, leaning out of the car. “Please, Grif. I promise I’ll behave.”

Griffin looked as if he’d been cold-cocked by an invisible fist. He stared past Allie’s shoulder, muscles flexing under the skin of his jaw.

“Doubtless a woman of experience like Miss Chase would find a Long Island party extremely uninteresting,” he said.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Allie said. “After all, you’d be there. What more fascinating entertainment could a girl ask for?”

He cast her a dark glance. “In that case,” he said flatly, “we would be pleased if you would join us.”

Allie performed a mocking curtsy. “I would be delighted to accept your generous invitation, kind sir.”

Griffin bowed like a heel-clicking aristocrat out of a moving picture. “May I escort you to your door, Miss Chase?” He offered his arm, and Allie accepted it. The night doorman, about ready to surrender his duties to his daytime counterpart, hardly blinked at her masculine attire.

Griffin accompanied her into the lobby and stopped beside the elevator. “I…hope the night’s events have not proven too troubling for you, Miss Chase,” he said.

“Troubling? Because of Ivar? Or because I saw you turn into a wolf?”

“I regret that you were compelled to witness such unpleasantness.”

“I’ve seen plenty of that on the vampire side of things.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

“You are, aren’t you?” She removed the hat and twirled it around on the tip of her finger. “Do you really think I’ll go wild and attack all your boring human friends?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“At the party. Is it because of Gemma that you don’t want me there, or because I’m a leech?”

If he was taken aback by her bluntness, he managed to hide it. “You obviously have excellent control over your…needs, Miss Chase.”

“At least you must admire that quality in me.” She chuckled at his expression. “We don’t exactly go around assaulting humans in public places. If we were that indiscreet, we’d hardly survive in a human world…any more than your kind would if you changed shape in the middle of Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.”

He flushed and glanced at his shoes. “I apologize. My personal experience of vampire behavior is somewhat limited.”

“And what knowledge you do have is tainted by prejudice.”

“You’ve expressed some pride in being unlike other vampires, Miss Chase.”

“You just said you didn’t know much about vampires. Anyway, I didn’t say I approve of everything my fellow strigoi do. I don’t take responsibility for them, only myself.”

A glimmer of some emotion she couldn’t identify flickered in Griffin’s eyes. “In that case, perhaps we should call a truce.”

“I’m all for that, bub.”

His shoulders relaxed as if he’d just released an intolerable burden. “The party will be held out of doors, in the afternoon…but you may certainly remain inside the house without attracting undo attention. If you dress for travel in daylight, I’ll send Fitzsimmons to collect you on Saturday at 1:00 p.m.”

“That’s most convenient, thank you.” She touched her finger to his chin. “Very gallant of you to worry so much about my safety.”

“You didn’t seem to welcome it before.”

“Maybe I changed my mind.”

“Why do I find it difficult to believe you?”

“You mean, you still don’t trust me, after all we’ve been through together?”

He looked away. “Miss Chase—”

“Don’t you think we should be on a first-name basis by now…Griffin?” She reached up and set his hat on his head, remaining on tiptoe so that her face was very close to his. “Say my name,” she whispered. “Say it.”

“Miss—”

“Why are you so afraid of a little word?”

His gaze met hers, embarrassed and angry. “Allegra.”

“My friends call me Allie.”

He stepped back abruptly, looking for all the world like a man who had nearly tumbled over a precipice. “I must take my sister home,” he said. “Saturday, Miss Chase.”

“I’ll be there.” She tossed him the coat and laughed as the elevator doors opened.

He hesitated, pulled his hat lower on his head and strode briskly toward the door. Allie stepped into the elevator as the attendant gaped at her sleepily.

“He should know by now that he’s no match for Allie Chase,” she said to the boy.

He grinned at the bills she pressed into his hand. “Yes, ma’am!”




Chapter Five


“I HOPE YOU LIKE IT,” Griffin said, presenting the beribboned box to Gemma.

She examined the box with excitement she did her best to conceal, convinced—as were so many girls her age—that any outward sign of enthusiasm would betray a lingering attachment to childish things. She untied the ribbons with deliberate slowness, then slipped them off the box and laid them in a neat pile on the sofa. Her eyes sparkled as she lifted the lid.

“Oh,” she whispered, stroking the soft yellow georgette with her fingertips. Abruptly she removed the dress from the box and stood, letting the silk tumble down over her body.

There was a moment of silence as Gemma examined the gift. The moment stretched far too long, and even before she looked up Griffin knew she was disappointed.

“It’s lovely, Grif,” she said, smiling with only a hint of strain. “The silk is…lovely. And the color…” She smoothed the long skirt over her legs. “Shall I wear it to the party?”

He returned her smile, knowing how embarrassed she would be if she suspected that he’d seen through her pretense. “That’s your decision,” he said.

She folded the dress, replaced it in the box and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. “Of course I’ll wear it,” she said. “In fact, I think I’ll go upstairs and try it on right now.”

“By all means,” Griffin said. “You have plenty of time before the first guests arrive.”

With a brief, self-conscious move, she touched her short hair. “Griffin, do you think—” She shook her head, gathered up the box and headed for the staircase.

Griffin rose from his chair. “Gemma…”

She paused at the foot of the stairs. “Yes, Grif?”

“I hope you understand why I don’t want you to go into Manhattan alone.”

Her gaze dropped to the floor. “Sure. I understand.”

“Members of the pack believe in their absolute right to behave like animals when it suits them. I will not have that become your fate.”

“It’s not as if they go around killing people.”

“But the temptation is always there.”

Gemma pushed the toe of her foot against the carpet runner and sighed. “If you say so, Grif.”

“I do.” He waved his hand. “That’s all. Go and change.”

She ascended the stairs with elaborate dignity, leaving Griffin to stare after her with sadness and frustration. Only recently had Gemma taken up the idea that she had to radically change in order to claim her adulthood. She lacked a mother who could give her the counsel he wasn’t equipped to provide…who could explain that the sort of dress she might have liked to wear on her birthday would not be in the least appropriate.

He walked to the window, looking out at the preparations Starke and Brenda, the maid, were making for the party. The lawn was a vivid green, the formal garden was in bloom and the weather could not have been more perfect. Soon the limousines would begin to arrive, spilling out the socially desirable young men and women who would be Gemma’s peers when she married. Their parents had also been invited, though Griffin didn’t expect many of the fathers to put in an appearance. They weren’t the ones who generally made the crucial decisions about marital alliances.

Starke entered the room and inclined his head. “Everything is on schedule, Mr. Durant,” he said. “Shall I ask Fitzsimmons to collect Miss Chase?”

Griffin rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose you’d better. I’d rather that she showed up early than make a grand entrance in the middle of the party.”

Starke, who had been told something of Gemma’s escapade and Miss Chase’s part in it, assumed a sympathetic air. “I quite understand, sir. I deeply regret that I was not aware of Miss Durant’s plans that evening, and that I failed to hear—”

“I told you not to blame yourself, Uncle Edward. Any culpability belongs to Miss Spires, who was willing to accept a bribe from a child.” And to me, for failing to be an effective guardian. “I expect Miss Chase to spend most of her time indoors, so perhaps we can encourage the other guests to take advantage of the fine weather.”

Starke nodded and left to find Fitzsimmons. Griffin dropped by the kitchen to look in on Demetria, who was up to her elbows in tea sandwiches and hors d’oeuvres, and then went upstairs to change his clothes. He didn’t ordinarily spend a great deal of time on his appearance, at least not beyond what was required to look neat and respectable. But now he couldn’t seem to concentrate on the simplest activities. His collar refused to stay in place, his tie wouldn’t knot and his hair flew every which way no matter how carefully he brushed it.

It was all because of Allegra Chase. He couldn’t forget the way she’d stood so close to him that night…the throaty sound of her voice as she’d challenged him to speak her name…the fact that she was about to show up in the one place he would have thought safe from her and her wild ways.

Seeing her again had simply confirmed what he’d been afraid to admit even to himself: he still felt the same overwhelming desire as he had that evening in the alley. Even his anger with her hadn’t quenched his hunger. But she seemed to have changed her mind about him between their first and second meetings. Instead of fobbing him off with cynicism and prevarication, she was making an active attempt to seduce him.

And that made it all the more vital that he resist her blandishments. She had seen the worst of him; he had no desire to see the worst of her. In any case, everything she did was obviously a game to her, so he would simply refuse to play.

Committed to his fresh resolve, Griffin finished dressing and went back downstairs to read the Times and wait for Fitzsimmons and Miss Chase. Presently Gemma came down to join him, wearing the disappointing tea dress that fell so decorously to her ankles.

The limousine had still not returned when Mrs. Betancourt and her daughter, Clarice, arrived from Kings Point. Clarice was two years older than Gemma and had already made her debut; Mrs. Betancourt viewed Griffin with a predatory eye as he and Gemma ushered them into the garden and offered refreshments. There were any number of mothers who still considered Griffin fair game; he wasn’t married, he was rich, and—as far as anyone knew—he had no peculiar proclivities.

As always, Griffin was unfailingly polite, but also careful not to give the girl and her mama the least bit of hope. The musicians finally made their appearance, and Starke supervised their disposition on the walkway between the lawn and garden. One by one the other guests drove up, elegantly alighted from their vehicles and left their gifts with Brenda to be displayed on one of the tables outside. Mal walked in at half past three. Almost everyone had arrived by four, and there was still no sign of Fitzsimmons and Allegra Chase.

Griffin instructed Starke to inform him immediately upon Miss Chase’s arrival and did his brotherly duty, circulating among the guests. He asked Mrs. Dearing about her prize-winning rose garden, complimented Miss Groves on her afternoon frock, shared a mild joke with the elderly Mr. Nordstrom and had a brief discussion of polo ponies with young David Scribner. Gemma smiled and laughed and accepted birthday wishes with the poised bearing of a well-bred young lady. The women stared at her hair, but no one offered a comment on its altered appearance. The string quartet played Lehar waltzes in the background, while Starke and Brenda replenished the punch bowl and kept the trays of sandwiches and hors d’oeuvres continuously supplied with fresh delicacies.

Two hours after the party began, Starke approached Griffin with a too-blank expression on his impassive face. “Fitzsimmons has just pulled into the drive,” he said. “Shall I detain Miss Chase in the hall?”

“I’ll be right there, Starke.” Griffin smoothed his expression to match Starke’s for sheer blandness, offered some excuse to the matron with whom he was speaking and hurried back into the house. He’d passed through the summer parlor and was halfway to the vestibule when he heard her voice.

“Don’t apologize, Fitzy. I don’t mind being late, and I’m sure Mr. Durant feels the sa—” She stopped as she saw Griffin, and a grin spread across her face. “Speak of the devil.”

Griffin came to a halt, his mouth gone dry. “Miss Chase.”

She wagged her finger. “Allie, remember?”

“Allegra.” He examined her from the crown of her dark head to the high heels of her scarlet patent leather pumps. His first response was dismay at her choice of garments: an elaborately beaded, sleeveless red party frock that actually fell above the knees, rolled fleshcolored stockings, and a blazing orange bandeau embellished with an enormous aigrette. But he was horrified by his own reaction to the sight of her—the violent rhythm of his heartbeat, the almost unbearable awareness of her warm, womanly fragrance, the hungry stirring of his body…

“Cat got your tongue?” Allegra asked, her smile even wider than before. She noticed Starke and pressed a pair of small, elaborately wrapped boxes into the butler’s hands. “I hope I haven’t missed all the fun!”

Fitzsimmons came up behind her. “I’m sorry for being so late, sir,” he said to Griffin. “There was an inordinate amount of traffic—”

“And I wasn’t quite ready when Fitzy arrived at my place,” Allegra said. “Like my new dress?” She spun around, lifting the already short hem even higher. “I wore it just for you.”

Griffin went hot and cold by turns. “Miss…Allegra,” he said hoarsely, “I hope you realize that this is a young lady’s birthday party, not a—”

“Two-bit dance hall?” She strolled toward him, the fringes along her hemline swinging with every step. “Scared that my obviously bad breeding will send the old biddies and their offspring straight to the fainting couch?”

Griffin held himself very still. “I apologize if I’ve offended you.”

“I’m not offended. You invited me against your better judgment, but you did it anyway.” She walked around him, her heels clicking on the parquet floor. “I think you wanted to see me again.”

Griffin had no ready retort. After a long silence he said, “Most of the guests are outside, but Starke will see that you receive everything you might require in the summer parlor.”

Allegra stopped in front of him. “Convenient, isn’t it? The desirable guests are outside, and I have to stay indoors.”

Griffin wanted nothing more than to seize her arms and give her a good shake. “You won’t be left alone. Either I or Gemma will keep you company.”

“Ah. Now I understand.” She looped her arm through the crook of his elbow. “Takeme to this summer parlor of yours. I can’t wait to see how the other half lives.”

Together they walked through the hall and the music room to the summer parlor. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows and French doors. The guests in their airy dresses could be seen circling about the refreshment tables like flocks of gaudy butterflies. Allegra paused where the edge of the light crossed the carpet.

“Very nice,” she said, gazing about the room. “I’d expected horsehair sofas and clawfoot tables.”

“Even I have become aware that we live in the twentieth century.”

She smiled up at him. “There’s some hope for you yet.” She threw herself into an antique Stickley chair. “Well? Where’s the birthday girl?”

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll let her know you’re here.” He signaled to Starke, who waited in the doorway, and then stepped out through the French doors into the garden. No one who greeted him would have guessed he was less than tranquil. As soon as he informed Gemma about Allegra’s arrival, she broke off her conversation with the Pemberton boy and rushed into the house.

Griffin began circulating again, the back of his neck prickling at the thought of his sister alone with Allegra. Ten minutes passed, then fifteen. Hewas just about to go in and fetchGemmawhen the French doors swung open wide and Allegra sauntered out onto the garden walk.

“Ah,” she said, stretching her arms above her head, “what a beautiful day!”

Seldom had Griffin felt so astonished or so gripped with sheer terror. In his mind’s eye he saw not smooth, pale skin but blistering flesh, red as Allegra’s frock, turning sere and black in the harsh light of day. He abandoned Mrs. Higgenbotham and charged toward Allegra, ready to cover her body with his own and push her back inside the house.

Her face, cool and unmarred, turned toward him. He skidded to a halt seconds before he reached her, his legs trembling with reaction and relief.

There was nothing wrong with her—no burns on her cheeks, discolorations of her hands or peeling skin on her bare arms. She regarded him with a half smile as if to ask what the fuss was all about.

“Allegra,” he said. “What—”

“When can I open my presents, Grif?” Gemma asked, emerging from the house to take Allegra’s arm.

He stared at his sister, trying to make sense of her words. The party came crashing down around him like rotted timbers in an abandoned house, all chattering voices and screeching violins. The smells of human sweat and rank perfume overwhelmed his senses.

“Oh,” Mrs. Dearing cooed next to his ear, “is this the entertainment, Mr. Durant? Are we to have a Vaudeville show?”

It took Griffin a moment to realize that Mrs. Dearing was referring to Allegra, who examined the curious guests as a tigress might study a herd of plump, pampered deer in a royal park. “I’d be happy to give a little performance,” she said, licking her lips. “What would you like to see?”

Mrs. Dearing started, as if she hadn’t expected such a creature to speak. Her daughter, Elvira, drifted to her side, staring at Allegra with open fascination. Several of the young men began to converge around the garden walk. A group of Gemma’s friends whispered and exchanged looks of amazement and distaste.

Mrs. Higgenbotham approached with her neck extended like a goose about to snap up an insect. She raised her lorgnette to her faded blue eyes.

“Do I know you, dear?” she asked Allegra. “You seem very familiar…”

Griffin came back to himself. “Mrs. Higgenbotham,” he said, “may I present Miss Allegra Chase?”

“I do know that name,” the older woman said. “Or something very like it. It was in Huntington, wasn’t it? Yes, I do believe—”

“You must be mistaken,” Allegra interrupted. “I’ve never been out here in my life.” She made a show of admiring Mrs. Higgenbotham’s overly snug Vionnet tea gown. “What a lovely dress.”

“Thank you.” Mrs. Higgenbotham’s gaze fixed on Allegra’s bare knees. She made a faint choking sound, and Griffin found it advisable to lead her to one of the chairs under the awning. As soon as she was gone, others arrived to take her place. One of the boys gave a low whistle, while Jane Pomeroy looked Allegra up and down with the subtlest of sneers.

“The poor thing ran out of fabric,” Jane said in a stage whisper to a pair of her favorite confidantes. “Do you think we should give her enough money so she can finish the dress?”

Gemma stepped forward, fists clenched. “There’s nothing wrong with her dress,” she said. “So you can keep your catty remarks to yourself, Jane Pomeroy.”

Jane fell back in affront. Her mother dragged her away toward the tables. Griffin watched them go, his vision hazed with anger that seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere at all. He turned in a slow circle, his gaze traveling from face to face. The young men who’d been ogling Allegra with wolfish grins had the sudden urge to return to the punch bowl. The matrons with their cold, rigid faces beat a dignified retreat.

Griffin would have been glad to banish them all. Instead, he moved closer to Allegra, close enough to drown in her intoxicating scent.

“Gemma, go join your guests,” he said.

“Did you see how they looked at Allie? I—”

“This would be a good time for you to open your gifts.”

Gemma blew out her breath and stalked away. Griffin stood toe to toe with Allegra, his heart beating madly against his ribs.

“Are you mad?” he demanded.

She met his gaze with a raised brow. “They all survived the sight of me, didn’t they?”

He gripped her arm. “You know what I mean.

You’re in full sunlight. You could have been—”

“Mr. Durant!”

Mrs. Julia Pomeroy strolled up to join them, the crepe georgette skirt and sleeves of her mauve gown fluttering about her arms and legs as if to emphasize the youth she had lost and sought so desperately to recover. She linked her arm through Griffin’s and pinned Allegra with a hostile smile.

“Oh,” she said, her voice honeyed with malice, “did I interrupt? Do forgive me.”

Griffin bore the woman’s assault with all the calm he could muster. “As a matter of fact, Mrs. Pomeroy—”

“You weren’t interrupting anything important,” Allegra said, returning Julia’s smile with one that would have sent a less hardened woman scurrying for cover. “We were just discussing the beauty of the day.”

“How nice.” Julia’s gaze dropped to Allegra’s ankles and swept up to her knees. “There is a bit of a breeze off the Sound, though…are you certain you won’t catch cold, my dear?”

Allegra smoothed her dress over her hips with an insolent shimmy. “I’m very hot blooded,” she said, then looked at Griffin from under her thick black lashes. “I always find ways to keep myself warm.”

Julia’s lips twitched. “I don’t doubt it.” Her grip tightened on Griffin’s arm. “You won’t mind if I borrow Mr. Durant, will you, Miss Chase?”

Allegra concealed a yawn behind her hand. “Not at all, Mrs. Pomeroy. Just make sure you bring him back in one piece.”

If Griffin had been in wolf-shape at that moment, neither woman would have had any doubt as to his feelings at being caught in the middle of their spiteful games. As it was, he could only give Allegra a stare promising that their discussion was far from over.

He let Mrs. Pomeroy lead him away, forcing himself to attend to her wheedling conversation.

“Where did you find that…young woman, Mr. Durant?” she said. “I confess that I’ve never seen her before…certainly not anywhere on the North Shore. She’s a friend of Gemma’s?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

Julia laughed. “Dear, dear Gemma. She has always been so broad-minded and kind toward those less fortunate. Didn’t she rescue a stray kitten this winter?” She patted Griffin’s arm as if to let him in on her joke. “Where did she meet Miss Chase?”

Griffin had no desire to get into a protracted conversation about Allegra’s life and origins. He certainly had no intention of informing Julia Pomeroy of Gemma’s escapades in Lulu’s.

“One meets with awide variety of people in the city,” he said. “As you said, Gemma has never been swayed by prejudice against those different from herself.”

“So true. You must sometimes worry that her natural generosity might…lead her into awkward situations.”

“I am perfectly capable of protecting my sister from any detrimental influences.”

“I’ve no doubt of that. And it’s only to be expected that an elder brother should occasionally indulge his sister when she begs him to bring one of her little pets into the house.”

Griffin stopped. “You refer to Miss Chase?”

“Why, Mr. Durant, whatever put such an idea into your head?” She studied his face, her eyes narrowed like those of a cat with a bird in its sights. “Still, you can hardly approve of that young woman’s appearance.”

“Surely her appearance can do little harm to anyone, Mrs. Pomeroy.”

She laughed again, brittle and harsh. “Spoken just like a man. We mothers know better. You’ve no idea what a negative effect these �jazz babies’ have on our children. Why, my Jane was telling me just the other day that Roberta Tidwell was caught accepting a delivery of gin at her parents’ summer house and Evie Hemming has begun to smoke…Can you imagine?”

“Gemma neither smokes nor drinks.”

“Of course not. And yet…Gemma would benefit so greatly from having a more mature young lady close at hand…one who could set an example she might easily follow.”

Griffin dropped his arm, forcing her to release it. “What did you have in mind, Mrs. Pomeroy?”

“You are still young, my dear Mr. Durant. Surely you’ve considered the advantages of a good marriage, especially in setting an example for your sister.”

“And you have a bride in mind for me.”

She had the sense to look abashed and dropped her gaze. “I would never presume. But Jane and Gemma have been acquainted for some time, and I can’t help but feel…”

The sound of her voice continued, but Griffin no longer listened. He could not, as a gentleman, tell Mrs. Pomeroy what he thought of her blatant scheming. In truth, it wasn’t much worse than what the other matrons with eligible daughters had tried at one time or another. And he found that he was far more angry with her unsubtle gibes at Allegra.

He looked back across the lawn toward the French doors and the garden room. Allegra was nowhere to be seen. Gemma had finished opening her presents and was making her thanks to the boys and girls gathered about the gift table. As Griffin watched, she snatched up one of the opened boxes and dashed into the house, trailed by several of her young guests. Jane Pomeroy and her cronies declined to follow.

“…does so admire what you’ve done for the dear little orphans in Hell’s Kitchen,” Julia rattled on. “He has been looking for a partner in a new financial venture that holds a great deal of promise, and he feels quite certain that you…”

Griffin waited, a strange sense of anticipation building in his chest. Except for Mrs. Pomeroy’s droning voice, everything seemed very quiet. The adult guests barely spoke to one another. The string quartet whispered and sighed as if the musicians had lost all interest in their work. The setting could not have been more ideal for the sudden blast of drums, horns and bass issuing from the summer parlor.

Julia Pomeroy broke off, her head snapping toward the house. Matrons gaped, and the handful of mature gentlemen in attendance muttered and shook their heads. Even the imperturbable Starke looked vaguely startled.

One by one the older guests and the few younger ones who had remained outside converged on the house like sleepwalkers under some sorcerer’s spell. Griffin left Mrs. Pomeroy and strode ahead of the others, already suspecting what he was about to find.

Every shade and curtain in the summer parlor had been drawn back to let in the sun. The oriental carpet had been rolled up and pushed against the wall, and a jazz recording was spinning on the turntable of the flattop Victrola, while a dozen young men and women clustered around Allegra Chase, clapping in time to her gyrating body and flying feet.

Griffin stood transfixed in the doorway, held captive by the music and the woman who danced with such abandon. Francis Spaulding began to copy Allegra’s movements, knobby arms and legs flailing. Elvira Dearing lifted her skirts above her knees and gave a few hesitant kicks, and then Tansy Higgenbotham threw herself into the dance with a little squeal of delight.

Allegra looked up at Griffin with a smile that he knew was meant for him and him alone. You see? she seemed to say. What’s the harm in a little fun?

Gemma laughed, her face glowing with happiness. Across the summer parlor, leaning against the doorjamb, Malcolm Owen gave a wry smile. Don’t ruin it. Let them be kids a little while longer…

“My God!” Mrs. Higgenbotham gasped in Griffin’s ear. “Is my Tansy…is that one of those horrid jazz dances?”

“Oh, my. Oh, my,” Mrs. Dearing murmured.

“Disgraceful,” Julia Pomeroy hissed.

“Come out of there at once, young man!” Mr. Spaulding bellowed at his son. He plunged past Griffin and reached for Francis, knocking into Gemma, who in turn bumped into the Victrola. The needle skidded off the record with a screech that brought everything to a violent halt.




Chapter Six


GRIFFIN STEPPED into the room and pulled Gemma out of the way. “Mr. Spaulding,” he said sharply, “I’ll ask you to watch where you’re going.”

“And I’ll ask you, Mr. Durant, not to expose my son to this vile mongrel…” He made a sound of disgust and dragged Francis from the room. The other young people looked at each other in stunned silence.

“What are you afraid of?” Allegra said to the parents, her body like a defiant shout. “Do you really believe that a little music and high spirits will turn your children into monsters of sin and depravity?” She met Griffin’s gaze. “Do you?”

“Well, I never!” someone choked.

“Disgusting!” another voice barked from the rear of the crowd.

Julia Pomeroy pushed forward, facing Allegra with a look of such hatred that it seemed her brittle face was about to crack under the strain. “You and your kind,” she snarled, “are destroying this great country with your filth and immorality. If I had my way—”

“If you had your way, madam,” Griffin said, “no one would be allowed to live in this great country but people exactly like you.”

Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Mr. Durant! I—”

“You would suffer a very great shock if you were to discover the extent of your ignorance of the world, Mrs. Pomeroy. There are far worse things than jazz and lipstick.”

His words shook the room like thunderclaps. For a moment no one stirred, and then everyone moved at once. Julia Pomeroy swayed as if she were about to faint. Distraught parents snatched their children from the jaws of corruption and scurried to safety. Mrs. Higgenbotham bellowed at her cringing daughter. Elvira Dearing hung back, resisting Mrs. Dearing’s limp tug.

“That was simply the bee’s knees, Miss Chase,” she said. “If I could only—”

Mrs. Dearing found unexpected strength and hauled Elvira away. Within two minutes the room was deserted except for Allegra, Griffin and Gemma, who stared after her friends with anger and bewilderment.

“Don’t they have any guts at all?” she demanded. “And you think I should marry one of them?”

Griffin held on to his calm by a thread. “This is hardly the time to discuss such matters, Gemma.”

She wrenched out of his hold and snatched her record from the Victrola. “It’s ruined,” she said, as if the gift were the only casualty of the afternoon’s fracas. “I only got to play it once.”

Allegra glanced at Griffin, her expression almost subdued. “I’m sorry, Gemma.”

“It isn’t your fault.” Gemma hugged the scratched disc to her chest. “It was the best present anyone could have given me.”

Griffin raked his hands through his hair and looked out the window. The lawn was deserted. The guests had undoubtedly found their way to the drive and their limousines. The party was most definitely over.

“Aren’t you going to go after them and apologize?” Mal asked from the hall doorway.

Griffin was in no mood for Mal’s gentle mockery. “Apologize?” he snapped. “Apologize for what? This is my home, and my sister. I won’t tolerate any selfrighteous criticism about how Gemma conducts herself or whom she chooses to invite to her own party. If those dried-up old prunes can’t bring themselves to crawl out of the nineteenth century…”

He stopped, aware that Gemma was staring at him in astonishment. Allegra watched him with an expression he couldn’t interpret. Mal lifted his glass in salute.

“Do you really mean it, Grif?” Gemma said, uncertainty in her voice. “The things you said to Mrs. Pomeroy…”




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