"Swearing our love at dusk, on the night of the full moon, will take away the emotional desire for others, but it doesn't actually kill the ability to have sex with anyone else. But the lack of desire might prove a problem considering you can't live entirely off my blood and you prefer to take blood during sex."

"Prefer, not must. And if swearing to the moon brings you and me together as one, then I will top up my blood the regular way - donations via the arm or neck of willing participants - or via that revolting synth stuff."

I frowned. "I thought you didn't like the blood whore clubs?"

"I don't. But there are certain establishments that cater to those who prefer their donations from those who aren't hooked on the giving, or who prefer little or anonymous contact."

I raised my eyebrows. "How can a donor be anonymous when you're sucking their neck or arm?"

"By the careful placement of screens."

"How come no one knows about these establishments?"

"Because their whole purpose is to cater to the rich and/or the famous - those who don't want to be seen consuming in public, and who can afford to pay for the privilege of anonymity."

"Ah. These things always come down to money."

"Of which I have plenty," he said. "So, how swish do you want our wedding?"

I laughed. "A werewolf ceremony is a simple one. You, me, close family - because we sure as hell won't be swearing anything without letting Rhoan and Liander in on the action - and the moon. Clothes are optional."

"Now, why am I not surprised about that?"

"It also involves sex."

"Given it's a werewolf ceremony, I'd be surprised if it didn't." He paused, and said reflectively, "Maybe that's why the ceremony with Eryn didn't work. We said the words but didn't go through the motions."

Eryn Jones was the wolf he'd been engaged to before I'd met him. Only, she'd used an experimental "love"

drug to snare him and had been after little more than his money. He'd caught her exercising her werewolf nature with several willing wolves, and he'd made her pay by snatching her memory and giving her a new life - that of a hooker.

He wasn't a man you ever wanted to betray.

"Well, all I can say is thank God, because otherwise we would not be here today."

He smiled. "So maybe I should start forgiving her?"

"Might be an idea."

He nodded, his expression somewhat distracted as he trailed his fingertip down my neck.

I licked my lips, and said, "So you're happy to go with the werewolf ceremony?"

"It's what you've always dreamed of, isn't it?"

"One of the things, yes."

"Then that's what we'll do. Although I wouldn't mind exchanging rings. I'm a big believer in those oldfashioned things."

"Something for me, something for you. It'll be perfect." I kissed his fingertips as they trailed back up and across my lips, then snuggled my body closer against his. Felt the hardness of his rising erection, the excited pounding of my pulse. "And do you know what would be the perfect way to celebrate our upcoming nuptials?"

"I think I can guess," he murmured, a heartbeat before his lips claimed mine.

From that moment on, there was little talking, only kissing and caressing and lovemaking.

And it was perfect.

* * *

I t was nearly four by the time we got to Mickleham. There was little traffic on the roads and few lights on in any of the houses. Our target was situated in the Mount Ridley estate, which was basically dozens of mini-farms ranging in size from two acres to eight. There weren't a whole lot of trees or cover to be had, but given the time, I doubted there'd be too many people up and about to notice us.

Quinn slowed the Porsche and all but crawled past the property.

"Three life-forms inside," he said softly.

I glanced at him. "You can see that from this distance?" There had to be a good acre between us and the house.

He smiled. "You may have infrared, but you don't have a vampire's blood hunger. That makes all the difference when it comes to sensing life within walls."

"I guess it does." I looked back at the house. In the darkness, it looked like a squat and ugly box, but it was two stories high and dominated the skyline. There were no lights on in the house, and there didn't seem to be any animals grazing or sleeping in the paddocks.

"I'm betting it's not as peaceful as it looks. They wouldn't be that careless."

"There will probably be alarms on the house, at least," he agreed. "And we also have the problem that, as a vampire, I can't go into the house. Not without an invite, and I very much doubt they're going to extend one."

"So, we need a distraction." I paused as we cruised past the boundary of our house and another - slightly prettier - one came into sight. A light shone in one of the rooms on the first floor. Night owls were not what we needed right now - not when they were right next door to a house we needed to break into. I glanced at Quinn.

"How well can you act?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Did you know I was once a very sought after actor in Elizabethan times?"

Amusement ran through me. "Weren't Elizabethan actors considered rogues and treated with suspicion?"

"Only initially. Once the queen began granting licenses to the aristocracy for the maintenance of troupes, acting became more regulated and the actors' popularity increased greatly." He smiled, almost wistfully. "That was a very enjoyable period of my life."

"Meaning there were lots of women to be had, no doubt," I said with a grin.

"Of course," he said, amusement warming his words. He swung the car into a driveway and turned around.

"Although it's been a while since my stage days, so my acting skills are probably rusty. But I think I could manage a passable drunk looking for his lover's house. If I make enough noise, it'll hopefully distract their attention."

"It's extremely difficult for vamps to get drunk," I said doubtfully. "Given that the men inside that house won't be human and will sense what you are almost immediately, do you think they'll buy the drunk act?"

"Just because it's difficult doesn't mean that it doesn't happen." He shifted the gear into first and drove back past the house. "Besides, there just happen to be several bottles of Dom Perignon sitting snugly in the backseat. I'll tip a little over me for increased verisimilitude."

I gave him a look of utter horror. "And waste such fine champagne? That's criminal."

He chuckled softly. "I said a little. The rest we can save for later."

"Well, that's all right then."

He drove back past the house and continued on to the end of the street. Once there, he pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. "How long do you think you'll need to get to the house?"

I glanced at my watch. "Five minutes should be enough. I doubt they'll have much in the way of sensors or alarms in the paddocks - the wildlife would play havoc with them. I'll just have to be more cautious near the house."

He nodded then handed me a cell phone. "Take this, because you may need to prove who you are to Lyndal. And be careful. I don't want my wife-to-be getting too messed up before our wedding night."

"Trust me, I've had more than enough excitement lately to last me a lifetime." I returned his kiss briefly, then opened the door and climbed out.

The night was crisp and cold, and the darkness somehow more intense with the absence of street lighting. I ran across the road and climbed through the wire fence. It was tempting to simply run down the road, but if someone was up in our target house, then a lone runner at this hour of the night was going to raise all manner of suspicion.

Not that someone jogging across paddocks wasn't.

Of course, I could wrap myself in shadows and run along the road that way, but there was no guarantee that both of the guards were wolves. Blake knew I was Directorate, knew the Directorate would be involved in any search for me, so he'd surely have more than wolves as backup. And he would have figured out a way to get a vamp guard past the threshold restriction - and rented houses did have restrictions, even if public places didn't. It was still somebody's home, and that was the difference.

I kept close to the tree-lined boundary fences - though the trees themselves were small and shrubby, and didn't really provide much in the way of cover. But they at least gave me deeper shadows to hide in.

Somewhere off to my right, a dog began barking, the sound more friendly and excited than one of warning. I slipped through the wire fence dividing the two properties and ran forward, once again keeping to the fence line until I was near the house. There was very little in the way of cover around it, but there were garden beds with white stones along the length of the side I could see, and a covered patio area around the back. A garage dominated the right side of it, and it had motion sensor lights attached to the front. I cursed inwardly and scanned the roofline, and saw more lights jutting out from the corners of the house. The minute I went near it, those damn things would come on.

Which left me with one option - the roof. It was a basic, red tile roof, the sort that could be seen on millions of houses all over Australia. And tiles - unlike the iron roofing often used these days - were easy to move. I called to my seagull shape and took to the sky. As I landed, a car turned into the road, tires squealing as Quinn took the corner too fast. High-beam lights turned the shadows into day, and music - heavy, thumping rock - blared so loud that I could hear it from here.

I'd wanted a distraction, I thought with a grin. Quinn was certainly giving me it.

As the car drove up the driveway and the bright lights pinned the house, I shifted back to human form and carefully began sliding tiles to one side. Given they were concrete, it was difficult not to make noise, but I hoped the steady thumping beat of music would cover any sound I was making. By the time Quinn had pulled to a halt outside the front entrance, I'd created a big enough hole to get through. I didn't drop into it, however, wanting to make sure the guards' attention was on Quinn rather than what else might be going on within the house.

"Hey, Emma?" The voice, though Quinn's, was loud and slurred. "Why did you leave me, baby? Come out and talk to me."

The lights came on around the house, then a booming voice said, "There's no Emma here. You've got the wrong house."

"Who the hell are you?" Quinn said, with all the belligerence of a true drunk. "And why the hell are you in Emma's house?"

I grinned and dropped down into the roof space. It was - not unexpectedly - dark, so I switched to infrared and carefully began crawling along the rafters, dodging the air-con vents and various pipes and wires that seemed to breed up in roof spaces.

Outside, the rumble of voices was getting louder - not so much on Quinn's part, but certainly that of the guard who'd answered the door. His frustration over the "drunk's" refusal to believe he was in the wrong house was increasing. He hadn't yet ventured out - his voice was still coming from the same position - but maybe if he got angry enough, he would.

He'd be Quinn's the minute he did, which would leave me with only the one. And while I'd coped with more than one assailant many times, I was still sensible enough to prefer one at a time.

Unlike my brother, who often seemed to think the more, the merrier.

The trapdoor was located in the far corner. I crawled through a final strut and grasped the latch handle. There was no sign of body heat in the room immediately below, and little in the way of noise to give away the position of the second guard. Not that much else could be heard over the racket erupting from the front.

I pried the cover up and looked down into the white-tiled bathroom. The air here smelled warm and moldy, and there was a pile of damp towels thrown into the corner near the shower. Obviously, the guards weren't into washing.

There was no one in sight. I listened for any indication of where the other guard might be, but the house was quiet - if you ignored the music and two men yelling out the front, anyway. I flared my nostrils, drawing in the more distant flavors, trying to find some hint of the other man's location. Cabbage and cooking meat were the most intense scents filling the air, but underneath that ran the foul scent of vampire.

It wasn't strong, meaning he was probably several rooms away, but that was close enough to hear me - or, rather, hear my heartbeat. So why hadn't he come running?

Maybe Quinn was doing a better job of distraction than I'd thought.

Praying that it kept that way for a few seconds more, I grabbed the sides of the manhole and dropped down lightly, my rubber-soled shoes making little noise as they hit the tiles. I stayed in that half-squatting position, my heart racing as I listened again for any hint of movement.

Again, there was nothing. I crept forward, still half crouched. My barely healed leg protested, and pain slithered through my muscles. I ignored it and continued on.

The scent of vampire was stronger near the door, and seemed to be coming from the right. I couldn't see the blur of his body heat in the immediate vicinity, though, which was odd.

I risked taking a quick look into the hall. It was empty of life and unlife. There were three doors to the left, two of them open, the other dead-bolted. No need to guess who lay behind that door, I thought grimly. The only real surprise would be her condition. I had no idea what Blake's orders would have been for Lyndal, but given that he probably had measures in place to kill us all the minute anything went wrong, he might not have cared what the men did to her as long as she remained able to talk to Evin.