He lifted his arm to look at the wound. "A war has started between the Vamps and the Malcontents, or you could say the good vampires and the bad ones."

Brynley snorted. "Since when are there good vampires?" She glanced at Vanda. "No offense."

Vanda ignored her. She was too upset at seeing Phil's beautiful skin all cut up. Too upset that her own sister could have caused one of the wounds. "Phil, you can't do this again. Vampires are too fast and strong for mortals like you. It's a wonder they didn't kill you."

"Mortals?" Brynley narrowed her eyes.

"Are there any bandages here?" Phil asked. "I need to get back to business."

"What business?" Brynley opened a cabinet and pulled out a box of Band-Aids in assorted sizes. She handed a few to Vanda.

"Urgent business." Phil pulled the cell phone from his pocket. "Like I said, we're at war."

"The vampires are at war," Brynley corrected him. "It has nothing to do with you."

Vanda stiffened. "Phil is a very important member of our society. We couldn't manage without him." She stuck a Band-Aid over one of his cuts.

"Enough." He stepped back and punched a number on his phone.

"But you still have cuts," Vanda protested. "And that long one on your side might need stitches."

"It's nothing." His eyes glistened with moisture. "This is nothing. I saw a lot worse."

Vanda's skin chilled. Had one of their friends died? "What? Who?"

"Dougal." Phil grimaced. "His hand was cut off."

Vanda gasped. "But - But they can sew it back on, right? It'll heal during his death-sleep."

Phil shook his head. "It was completely sliced off. It turned to dust."

Vanda doubled over as nausea slammed into her stomach.

Brynley touched her shoulder. "I'm sorry. He's a good friend?"

Vanda took deep breaths. "I've known him a long time." He'd been a guard at Roman's townhouse for over thirty years, always shy and quiet, except when he was playing the bagpipes. Now, he'd never be able to play again.

"Howard?" Phil spoke into his phone. "Have you heard what happened?"

Phil launched into a description of the events in New Orleans. Vanda could tell his sister was listening carefully, for she gasped at all the appropriate moments.

For the first time, Vanda had a chance to check out the cabin. It consisted of log walls and a stone fireplace like Howard's cabin, but it was smaller and more primitive.

The water over the kitchen sink had to be pumped. There was no refrigerator, just a big ice chest. As far as she could tell, there was no electricity at all. A fire and a few oil lamps illuminated the room. A tank of propane gas was hooked up to a stovetop. No curtains at the windows. No rugs on the wide-planked wooden floor. No staircase. A wooden ladder led to the loft.

"Where are we?" she asked quietly.

"Wyoming," Brynley answered. "This is Phil's cabin."

"I didn't know he had a cabin."

"Yeah. Well, there's a lot you don't know about him." She frowned at Phil. "But I guess the same goes for me. I had no idea he was involved with vampires."

"He's a day guard," Vanda explained. "We're vulnerable during the day when we're in our death-sleep."

Brynley regarded her curiously. "And who are you, exactly?"

Vanda shrugged. "No one special."

"And yet Phil seems to be risking his life to keep you safe. Are you some kind of vampire...princess?"

Vanda scoffed. "Far from it."

Brynley picked up the whip Vanda had set on the counter. "You're fighting in the war."

"Only because I have to. The Malcontents want to wipe us off the planet."

Brynley handed her the whip. "Why? What did you do?"

"We invented synthetic blood so we wouldn't have to bite mortals. We took jobs so we wouldn't have to steal money from mortals." Vanda wrapped the whip around her waist and tied it off. "We just want to blend in and pretend we're normal. I guess that sounds strange."

Brynley frowned. "No, not really." She wandered toward the ice chest. "I brought some bottled blood. Would you like one?"

"Yes." Vanda heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank you." She accepted a bottle and unscrewed the top. It would be cold, but a whole lot better than biting her hosts.

"All right, Howard." Phil finished relating the news. "Call me if you hear anything." He closed his phone and glanced around the cabin. "The place looks good. Have you been keeping it up, Bryn?"

"Yeah." His sister settled in an old worn armchair and propped her cowboy boots on the coffee table. "I've been coming here every now and then."

"Thanks. I owe you." He began to pace up and down the room.

Vanda sat on the old couch and sipped from her bottle. Phil's sister wasn't so bad after all. She obviously didn't like vampires, but she was loyal to her brother. Vanda couldn't claim any loyalty from her sister Marta.

Damn. She rubbed her brow. How could her sister do this?

"I wonder where they went," Phil muttered. "I wonder how Dougal is doing."

Vanda shuddered. "He must be in shock. And a lot of pain. You don't know where they teleported to?"

Phil shook his head. "It's not like they could tell me when the enemy was all around us."

"Oh, right." Vanda sipped more blood from her bottle. It had been close to dawn in New Orleans, but here in Wyoming she'd acquired more time of darkness. "I heard Colbert tell his coven members to go to their country place."

"He's the guy in New Orleans?" Brynley asked. She'd obviously learned quite a bit from listening to Phil's conversation with Howard.

"He's the Coven Master of New Orleans," Vanda explained.

"And who's your Coven Master?" Brynley asked.

"Roman Draganesti. He's head of the entire East Coast region. And he's the brilliant scientist who invented synthetic blood." Vanda lifted her bottle.

Brynley looked impressed. "That synthetic stuff saves thousands of lives every year."

"They must have gone to Jean-Luc's." Phil pressed a button on his cell phone.

"Who's Jean-Luc?" Brynley asked Vanda.

"Jean-Luc Echarpe. Famous fashion designer."

"Oh, I've seen his stuff." Brynley nodded. "Really nice, but really pricey. Isn't he in Paris?"

"Texas." Vanda sipped more blood. "He's hiding out so the media doesn't figure out he's a Vamp."

Brynley's eyes widened. "Sheesh."

"Billy?" Phil spoke on the phone. "Did the guys come there?" He listened as he paced. "Great. And Dougal, is he going to be all right?" He glanced at Vanda. "They're okay. The sun just rose there."

Vanda nodded. If Dougal was in his death-sleep, he would no longer be in pain. And the wound would heal.

Phil stopped in his tracks. His face paled.

Vanda sat up. She'd never seen him look so stunned. A frisson of fear prickled her skin with goose bumps.

"Are you sure?" Phil whispered.

Vanda's hand trembled as she set the bottle on the coffee table. Brynley set her boots on the floor and sat up.

"Maybe he went somewhere else," Phil said. "Did you check?"

Vanda stood. "What is it?"

Phil swallowed audibly. "I understand. I-I'll get back to you." He closed his phone slowly. He looked at Vanda, his eyes glimmering with pain.

"What is it?" She rushed toward him.

"Robby...he's missing."

Vanda halted as if she'd been knocked in the chest. "He - He teleported somewhere else."

"No, they checked. Zoltan and Phineas called all the major covens in the West. No one's seen him. And besides, he's Jean-Luc's personal guard. He lives there in Texas. He would have gone there."

Bile rose in Vanda's throat. "You think he's dead?"

Phil shook his head. "Everyone remembers seeing him alive. We...we think he was captured."

Vanda pressed a hand to her mouth. The cold blood she'd just imbibed churned in her stomach. Oh God, no. The Malcontents would torture him.

"I'm sure Casimir considers him a great catch," Phil continued. "He's the only living relative of Angus MacKay, the general of the Vamp army."

Vanda's eyes filled with tears. She wanted to hit something. "I hate war! I hate this! I never wanted to go through this again."

Phil pulled her into his arms and held her tight. "It'll be all right."

"No, it won't." She wrapped her arms around his neck.

"It was almost daylight there. They can't...hurt Robby if they're in their death-sleep." He kissed Vanda's brow. "We have to keep faith."

She nodded. "What can we do?"

Phil stepped back to call another number on his phone. "We'll think of something."

He paced away, talking into the phone. "Howard, it looks like Robby MacKay has been taken prisoner."

Vanda winced. She could hear Howard's booming voice raised in anger.

"Howard, listen up," Phil demanded. "How far along is Laszlo on that tracking device?...That's not good enough. Call Sean Whelan. Get some military experts over there and make them finish it. Then get it inserted in the prisoner while he's in his death-sleep."

There was a pause while Phil listened. "Okay, I realize the army can't tell if the device can be heard by vampires. Listen to it yourself. If you're not sure, use the damned Stay-Awake drug on a Vamp and test it on him. We have got to get it ready today. Then, as soon as the sun sets, you let the prisoner escape. Hopefully, he'll teleport straight to Casimir and that will lead us to Robby. Keep me apprised."

He snapped his phone shut and looked at Vanda. "It's a long shot, but I think it's our best chance at finding him."

She nodded. She'd never realized till now what a born leader Phil was. He was incredible. Strong and decisive, loyal and brave. And so beautiful, even with his torso covered with cuts. "I love you so much."

His blue eyes softened. "I love you, too."

"Oh my God," Brynley whispered.

An hour later Vanda scowled at the old horsehair blanket on the cellar floor. Things were already bad enough with Robby captured, Dougal wounded, and her sister Marta fighting with the enemy. But now Phil's sister was treating her like she'd suddenly grown two heads.

Brynley had lashed out at Phil, but he'd simply told her to hush. He would discuss it with her later.

Brynley had ignored that and blurted, "How can you possibly love her?"

"I do," Phil had replied with a stern look. "And we will not discuss it now."

Brynley had sat in her armchair, pouting, while Phil took Vanda down to the cellar to make sure it was safe for her death-sleep. He boarded up the one small window. Then he'd found the horsehair blanket and spread it on the floor.

"She doesn't like me," Vanda whispered.

"She's not marrying you. I am."

Vanda stared at him, agape.

"Oh, sorry." His mouth twitched. "Guess I forgot to ask. Will this be okay?" He motioned to the blanket.

She nodded. Phil seriously wanted to marry her? Why would a mortal want to marry a vampire? Sure, some of the Vamp guys were marrying mortal women, but the women would probably change over eventually, and for now they could give the guys children. She couldn't give Phil anything. She wasn't rich and charming like the Vamp guys. She was a neurotic, barren Vamp with purple hair and a nasty temper.

She felt the first tug of sleepiness as the sun neared the horizon. "I'm tired."

"Good night, then." He kissed her cheek. "I'll check on you every now and then."

She hugged him tight. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I love you, Vanda."

How can you possibly love her? His sister's words echoed in Vanda's mind. "Good night."

She watched him climb the ladder and step through the trapdoor onto the cabin's ground floor. He hauled the ladder up, then lowered the trapdoor shut. The cellar turned pitch-black.

In a moment Vanda's eyes adjusted and she scowled at the scratchy blanket. If Phil married her, they could never share a bed like a real couple. Unless he didn't mind sleeping next to a corpse.

How can you possibly love her?

Vanda paced across the small cellar. She had no doubt that Phil loved her. For now. But what if he discovered her darkest secrets? What if he learned about her terrible sins? He hated the Malcontents who fed from mortals, killing them in the process. He hated the Malcontents enough to risk his life fighting them.

But she'd done the same things a Malcontent did. Good Lord, he would hate her, too.

Another pull of sleepiness swept through her. She trudged toward the blanket.

Then she heard Brynley's voice overhead, loud with anger. Phil responded, much more quietly. It was a private conversation, none of her business.

But they were talking about her. Damn. She moved underneath the trapdoor, then levitated close to the ground floor.

"You can't marry her," Brynley said with an urgent tone. "Dad will never accept her."

"I don't give a damn what he thinks," Phil replied. "He has a narrow mind, and a narrow vision of the world."

"He's got a lot of power."