appeared.
âWhoâs doing this?â she shouted, panic threatening. Who could move so fast that even she couldnât see them?
âI canât stay,â he whispered, blood painting his teeth and staining his lips.
âWhoâs doing this to you?â she repeated urgently. âHow can I help you?â
He shook his head. âYou canât. I canât believe you would even want to, knowing . . .â
âKnowing what?â
He grunted as another bone snapped.
âZach!â
His eyes rolled back as his knees bent.
Lisette dropped her swords and thrust her arms out to catch him as he sank toward the ground.
A warm breeze washed over her as he vanished inches before they touched.
Shaken, she stared down at her empty arms. âZach?â
Turning in a circle, she waited for whatever unseen force had attacked him to turn its attention on her and begin inflicting wounds.
It didnât.
âZach!â Lisette jerked awake, her frantic gaze taking in her surroundings. Heart racing, she sat up and reached over to turn on the lamp beside the bed. Though she could see clearly in darkness, she had never managed to abandon the comfort light had given her as a mortal and appreciated the dim glow that now illuminated the familiar basement bedroom of her two-story home.
A dream . It had all been a dream?
âSo real,â she whispered. Looking down, she discovered that her hands shook.
What had just happened? It had been a dream, but . . .
The fact that she had been fighting vampires didnât surprise her. When one hunted and slew vampires every night for two hundred years, one tended to dream of little else. But Zachâs presence . . .
She frowned. Elder telepathic immortals like Seth and David maintained complete control over their gift and didnât hear other peopleâs thoughts unless they chose to. Younger telepathic immortals like Lisette and her brother Ãtienne, who had only lived roughly two hundred and thirty years, had far less control over their gift and automatically heard the thoughts of everyone around them unless the telepaths consciously blocked them. Since she lost that ability once she fell asleep, Lisette often found herself pulled into the dreams of those with whom she was in close proximity. As did Ãtienne, who had walked into her dreams countless times over the centuries. She had learned very quickly to discern who was a natural part of her dream and who wasnât. When Ãtienne walked into her dreams, she knew it.
Only Lisette and Tracy, her mortal Second, slumbered in the house. And Tracy sure as hell wasnât dreaming of Zach. Tracy didnât even know Zach existed. No, a quick peek told Lisette Tracy dreamed of swimming in a lake near her childhood home.
âThe dream was mine,â Lisette said, trying to understand. But Zach had not been indigenous to it.
He must have walked into her dream.
Which meant he was nearby.
Excitement flared. Tossing back the covers, she sped upstairs, disabled the security system, and dashed out the front door.
Sunlight seared her.
Spewing French epithets, she darted into the heavy shade of the nearest tree.
How could she have forgotten it was morning?
Her skin pinkened with a sunburn as she wished for the millionth time that she possessed elder immortalsâ stronger tolerance for the sun.
Turning around, she looked up at the roof, expecting to see Zach perched atop it as he had so often perched atop Davidâs.
Nothing.
Clinging to shadows, she circled around to the back, again looked up, and found nothing.
Disappointment snuffed out excitement as she glanced around.
No need to worry about neighbors seeing her in her nightgown. Chris Reordon, head of the East Coast division of the human network that aided immortals, had built her house upon a nice, large tract of land so no one could live close enough to her for her to hear their thoughts or experience their