One curled into his arms, trembling and all but limp, as Damien struggled to put her clothes back into place. It wasn't easy. When he tried to rise away from her, she clamped her arms around his neck and fought not to let him go. When he gently removed them and stood back, righting his own apparel, he saw tears gliding silently down her cheeks.

"Ah, Shannon..." He gathered her up, standing her on her feet and holding her to his chest. But her legs seemed rubbery and weak. She sank once, then stiffened her knees as if by sheer will. She cupped his face between her hands, searched it through the pools in her eyes.

"It isn't true. I knew it. It's all just nonsense. Bachman's crazy." Her words tumbled over one another in their haste to break free. "You're no monster. No monster could make love to me the way you just did. Tell me, Damien. Say it." She kissed his mouth, his cheeks, his eyes. "I've never felt this way before. Not for anyone, Damien. Only you, so you have to tell me it's all a lie. A dream. Make-believe." Again she kissed him, his jaw, his neck. Desperation making her tremble. He caught her shoulders to stop the madness, but she rushed on. "Yes, make-believe. An illusion, just like in your act. That's all it is. Illusion. Say it, Damien..."

The trembling increased, and he felt her kisses heating. Not with passion, but with fever.

He caught her face, held her away from him just a little. Her skin glowed milky white, with those telltale apples beginning to shine in her cheeks. Her eyes already dulled and took on that unfocused quality.

"Dammit," he muttered. "Dammit, not again."

"Jus' hold me." Her whispered words slurred into one another. "I'll be all right... long's'you hold me." She melted against his chest.

He closed his arms around her, scooped her up into them. He stared down at her relaxed face, her hooded eyes" and he felt a pain beyond all endurance. Something cold and hot all at once, freezing and burning his heart until the organ split into a hundred bits. He couldn't stand to see this, to see her suffer this way, to watch her die.

He clenched his fists as he held her, and cried out loud in his agony, the words in the old language. One no living man could know. He cried her name, and Enkidu's, and he cursed the gods and the world and life and death and pain. And then he buried his face in her hair and he wept hot, bitter tears.

Her warm, satin palm rested softly on his cheek. "Don't cry. I didn't want this... didn't want... didn't mean to love you...."

He lifted his head, staring at her in shock. She smiled very slightly, "I wish... I didn't have to die... to leave you... like this." And then her amber eyes fell closed.

"Damien."

He turned slowly, but couldn't take his eyes from Shannon long enough to look at Eric Marquand.

"Damien, you must bring her away from here. There's danger."

"Look at her, Eric...." Damien shook his head fast, as if denying his own words. "It's different this time, darker. More insidious."

Eric stepped forward and bent close to Shannon. When he straightened again, his face was grim. "I'm sorry. Damnably sorry."

Damien looked up, brows lifted, the question he couldn't voice settling in his eyes.

"She'll slip into coma before this night is out. She won't wake, I fear. The end is close."

"No...." Damien's knees buckled. He fell onto them, clutching her limp form to him, bowing double as he held her, rocked her.

"Come, Damien. Bring her to the house I've rented. Bachman's been following you and Shannon, not me. I'm sure he knows nothing about the arrangements I've made tonight." Damien didn't move. "Come, at least we can make her comfortable, keep her warm."

Damien nodded, mute with pain, unable to speak.

Blasphemous bastard, it's less than you deserve!

He stopped in mid step, tilting his head and frowning toward Eric for silence. Pure rage filled his mind, the thoughts, bitter with hatred, rang clear in his brain. But from where, or whom?

Watch her die, you dog! Watch her die and wish for death yourself, for I'll bring it to you soon enough, Gilgamesh of Uruk.

Just as suddenly as it had come, the sensations flooding his mind vanished. Damien shook himself, then glanced at Eric. "Did you hear it?"

"Faintly. The message was directed to you."

"How many others... like us... are there here?" He hadn't believed there were any besides the two of them in Arista, until now. Now he wondered.

"None, Damien. We'd know if there were. They'd have no reason to hide their presence from us."

"But they could? If they wanted to, they could?"

One brow bunching lower than the other, Eric nodded.

"It was a vampire, Eric. I'm sure it was. One who knows me." Damien bolstered himself after being thoroughly shaken by feeling such a rush of pure hatred flashing through his consciousness. He focused instead on Shannon, and the pain overshadowed everything else. "I can't even take her home. Not with Bachman planning to raid the place in search of me."

"He won't come near until dawn. It's still early. We'll be secure enough for the night, at least. We can make other plans from there. Come."

Moments later, Damien tucked Shannon's pliable form onto the chaise in the circular room. He sensed she'd rather rest here, near the fire, than upstairs alone in the big bedroom. She liked this room. Eric bent to add logs to the fire, as Damien sat beside her and stroked her hair.

"Oh, my! What's happened to her?"

Damien glanced up, seeing Netty's worried face, forgetting her possible betrayal in his concern for Shannon. "She's sick, Netty. Very sick."

"She needs a doctor, she does." The woman hustled forward, quick steps bringing her beside the chaise. She reached for Shannon's hand and grasped it to her breast.

"There's nothing they can do for her." Damien's voice broke, and he let his head bow. His neck seemed too limp to hold it any longer.

"You mean, she's dying?"

He bit his trembling lips until he drew blood.

Eric turned away from the fire. "Netty, some blankets for her, if you will. We can only keep her warm and--"

Netty backed away slowly, her face a jumble of confused emotions. "No, sir. No, sir, this isn't right!" She shook her head fiercely. "He said she'd be all right. He said it was all on account of the spell you'd put on her--" She broke off, eyes going even wider. When Damien's head came up slowly, she searched his face. "But you didn't put this on her. I can see that now, you didn't. Oh, Lord, what have I done?"

Eric stepped forward, coming between Damien and Netty even as Damien rose to his feet. "You're talking about Bachman, aren't you?"

Netty nodded, her gaze meeting Damien's again. "He said no harm would come to you! He said it was all to save Shannon. He told me you were... you were..." She shuddered and looked at the floor. "Demon spawn. Said she'd die unless I helped him."

"And you told him about the secret room on the third floor." Damien could barely control his rage.

She bit her thick lower lip, tears coursing down her face now. "Bachman said she'd die if I didn't tell. I only wanted to help the girl!"

"I ought to tear your heart out--"

"Shut up, Damien!" Eric held one arm out to his side to keep Damien from walking past him. Not that he could have actually stopped him. "Netty, it's not too late to redeem yourself. I intercepted the note you left at the hotel--"

She groaned softly. "I phoned him later. He knows, he does."

"Tell us what Bachman is planning," Eric coaxed.

She nodded hard, still glancing every few seconds at Damien, fear mingling with the remorse in her eyes. "I was to let him in at first light. He wanted to look at the room where you sleep."

"What he wants is to murder me in my sleep, you foolish woman."

"I didn't know. I swear it!"

Damien glared at her, then turned again to resume his vigil over Shannon. "I can't think about this right now. I--" He broke off with a shake of his head.

"Is it true, then? What Bachman says you are?"

"Netty, what kind of idiot would believe such nonsense?" Eric asked, with a laugh in his voice. "Bachman is insane, a fan gone over the edge. Surely you've heard of this happening before, stalkers plaguing stars of all sorts." He paused, and Netty nodded, thoroughly engrossed. "So, Bachman has convinced himself that Damien's stage identity is the real thing, and cast himself in the role of vampire slayer." Eric stepped forward, touched Netty's arm. "He's dangerous, Netty. He really means to kill Damien."

"And I almost helped him do it!" she cried. She buried her face in her hands, sniffling loudly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Namtar."

He didn't care, didn't even acknowledge her apology. He was too enveloped in pain to feel anything else. "Just go. Go, both of you. Leave us alone."

Netty broke into tears and ran from the room.

Eric came and knelt beside him. "It won't be safe here beyond darkness. You know that."

"I'll take her out of here before then."

"And go where?"

Damien shrugged, staring hard at Shannon, thinking of the words she'd whispered to him before her eyes had closed. "I don't know. It doesn't matter, really."

"Shall I return for you--"

"No. You've done enough. Keep your distance now, Eric. I don't need an audience, let alone any help for this grief. It's an old, familiar companion."

Eric nodded once, and backed away.

* * * * *

So alive. He'd never known anyone to be as much alive as she'd been. The sparkle of mirth in her eyes. Her delighted laughter. Her ferocity when she felt cornered or bullied or threatened in any way.

It had been a very long time since Damien had shared laughter with anyone. He had with her, he realized dully. Over and over again, she'd made him smile. She'd filled his loneliness with her constant presence. She'd brought joy and tenderness back into his existence.

And now she was dying. Leaving him to walk alone, as Enkidu had done. Leaving him, just when it seemed their goal of finding her friend's murderer was within reach. Just when he'd learned of another, a fiercely angry, vampire in the city. One who hated him--

He blinked slowly as he realized the implication of what he'd just thought. Another vampire. One who hated Damien beyond all reason.

He'd been responsible for those deaths! And driven by his own demons had staged them to look like Damien's work. That had to be the answer.

A light flickered somewhere in the endless night of his soul. He wasn't a murderer. The thirst hadn't taken control of him. More proof of that lay in what had transpired between the two of them before she'd succumbed to this illness. He'd made love to her. Frenzied, passionate, obsessive love to her. But he hadn't tasted her life's blood. He'd remained in control, despite the lust for her that raged inside him.

His reason before for not transforming her had been simple. He'd been suffering with the thought that he might be a killer, and couldn't bear to see her suffer the same someday. That reason was gone now. His other reason had been a selfish one. He hadn't wanted to let himself love her. He hadn't wanted to risk the kind of hurt he'd known before.

But it was already too late to avoid that. And if she were immortal, maybe he wouldn't have to lose her at all.

He looked at her, stretched out on the chaise like an offering to a demon god. Would she want it? Would she have accepted the dark magic if he'd offered it to her while she'd been able? Could she bear a life without daylight, without the kiss of the sun? Could she abide the notion of her eternal soul bound forever to her eternal body?

He swore viciously and turned away. He couldn't make that decision for her. He couldn't! No matter how much he loved her, how it would tear him apart to see her die. He had no right.

Tears swam in his eyes. He didn't battle them. He buried his face in his hands and felt his shoulders quake with sobs. And then her hand rose, touched his back.

He turned, sliding onto his knees on the floor. He clutched her hand, kissed it, then bent to kiss her face.

"I'm... sorry," she whispered. "I should... have warned you."

"It wouldn't have changed anything. Shannon." He'd have loved her even if he'd known all along. He was certain of that.

She stared up into his eyes, her own damp, unfocused arid glittering with the firelight's reflection. She blinked at the tears, but more quickly flooded to take their place. This time she let them come and her hand clutched his tighter. "I'm so afraid."

He didn't know what to say. What could he say to comfort her?

"I've denied it, you know. Held my chin up, pretended to be this big brave person, but I'm not." Tears flowed freely, leaving angry red streaks on her skin. Her lips pulled tight, her teeth bared. "I don't want to die, Damien. I don't want to be brave anymore. I don't give a damn about dignity."

He stilled, staring down at her face. "Do you mean that, Shannon?"

Her face relaxed. Her eyelids drooped, and he knew the end was close. Her breaths came so shallowly, and so randomly. No longer regular. "I'd... I'd give anything..." she whispered. "Anything... if I could just live..."

Her eyes fell closed.

He cupped her face between his hands, shook her gently. But she was beyond reach now. Sinking into the coma Eric had predicted. She wouldn't wake again. But she didn't need to, did she? Hadn't she just given him her decision?

Not really. She's feverish, sick. She didn't know what she was saying, didn't realize I could actually do it...

All true. But did it really matter? Could he really bear to let her die? Could anyone, mortal or immortal, sit idly by and watch someone he loved slip away, knowing he had the power to save her?

No. No, that was beyond endurance. No matter how he tried to tell himself it was wrong, that she should have been given the option while she was still cognizant enough to make an informed decision, he couldn't turn away. He didn't have that much strength in him. He couldn't face the madness again, and he knew it would come. He felt it descending on him as he sensed her heartbeat slowing, her breaths becoming less and less frequent. He couldn't do it, dammit! He couldn't go on without her. He couldn't sit here and watch her die, when she'd just all but begged him to save her.

He lifted her, his palms sliding up to her shoulder blades. Her head fell backward, hair like a golden silk curtain. Sweet Sleeping Beauty. He was about to give her the kiss that would wake her from death's slumber. He was no prince. She deserved better. He lowered his head, and as his lips touched her skin, he whispered, "Inanna, forgive me. Enkidu, help me. Shannon, sweet Shannon... stay with me."

* * * * *

Anthar roared his rage aloud, forgetting his need for anonymity. It mattered little, for the heathen was too enamored with his precious morsel to notice. He'd noticed earlier, though. He knew there was another, one who wished him dead. He knew, and he'd be on his guard now. So much the better. The bastard would know why he suffered before he died.

But damn! To be robbed of watching Gilgamesh grieve for her death was a blow! He'd planned, waited so long. Of course, he'd wished to arrange it differently, to kill her himself and let the great one believe he'd done it. Then to watch Gilgamesh consumed by despair unto the point of taking his own worthless life.

All his plans were ruined.

Ah, but he would not give up his quest for vengeance. Siduri deserved to be avenged, and she would be. Anthar would simply have to kill Gilgamesh himself, and the woman, too. Her first, to increase the eternal one's pain. Perhaps he'd make Gilgamesh watch while he took her. Yes. She'd give little resistance, even with her newfound strength, she'd be a weakling compared with him.

And Anthar feared Gilgamesh himself, but little. He was nearly as old, the difference being a matter of minutes.

Anthar had followed Gilgamesh into the wilderness after Siduri's suicide. Followed to exact his revenge then. He'd caught up in the midst of Gilgamesh's meeting with Utnapishtim, the Enlightened One. The ancient wise man, it was said, had been made immortal by the gods in order to save him when the great flood ravaged the world. But he'd been charged not to share the gift, lest it become a curse instead.

Yet something about Gilgamesh must have touched the old man, for after great thought and much tormented arguing, he'd granted Gilgamesh's wish. They'd exchanged blood, and the act left Utnapishtim weak, and Gilgamesh strengthened.

"You will live forever now, my young friend," the old one had whispered, before sending Gilgamesh away.

Anthar slipped in right after, and took advantage of the old man's weakened state to force him to repeat the ritual he'd just witnessed. If Gilgamesh lived, so must Anthar. He must live long enough to have his revenge.

And so he had.

And so he would.

* * * * *

Shannon had no idea how much time had passed, when she opened her eyes. She felt a little foggy at first, as if her head were stuffed full of wet cotton. She struggled to sit up, but her bones felt heavy and uncooperative.

Strong hands helped her, eased her up, and she looked around, frowning. They were not in Damien's house. She glanced up at him, then remembered the way they'd made love, and she smiled softly. "How long have I been asleep?" Her brows drew together. Her voice sounded strange to her, somehow deeper and more resonant than before. But that was silly.

"All of last night, and all through today."

"It's night again?"

He nodded. His eyes were troubled, worried about something, and she had no idea what it could be, unless he was suffering over her sickness. Yes, that must be it. She'd had another attack right after that incredible sex on the desk in her office.

On the desk!

She lifted a hand to touch his face. She'd have to tell him the truth, prepare him for the eventuality that was unavoidable.

A low-flying bat swooped between them and shot upward once more, drawing her gaze. She gave her head a little shake and looked again. She could see every inch of its small body in perfect detail, despite the darkness. She could count the bones delineated in the thin black skin of its wings. Her eyes seemed to be working at high speed, because she could see each and every flutter of those wings, though they beat too rapidly for that to be possible. They ought to look like a blur. Then she bit her lip and her eyes widened even farther. She could hear each flutter, as well, and the piercing squeals, and their echoes bouncing back like sonar blips to tell the creature what lay ahead. And she could smell it. She could smell it. It was musky and ripe. My God, she felt the air currents stirred by those wings, passing by her face.

She shook her head slowly. "That's not possible."

"What isn't?" Damien leaned forward, gripping her hand, and she could count the lines in his palm just by feeling them. She looked up into his face, and saw the unearthly gleam in his black eyes in a way she'd never seen it before. She saw the pale perfection of his skin, and she knew his scent, erotic and enticing though it was, could not be human. His hair was too perfectly raven, too silken, too soft, to be human.

Or maybe she'd succumbed to an overactive imagination because of a lunatic named Bachman. Maybe she was having a breakdown of some kind. She licked her lips. "Damien, why are we outside?"

"We had to leave the house. Bachman planned to come for us today, so I brought you here."

"Where, exactly, is here?"

He smiled and glanced around. "A cave I know of, deep in the woods outside the city. You remember? We passed these woods in your car the other night. No one can find us here. You're safe."

The wind blew a perfect harmony. She heard notes she'd never heard before. Every rustle of every leaf, every branch as it bowed. "This is so strange."

"Tell me."

She looked at him again, shocked once more that he appeared so different to her, so obviously different from any other man. And so afraid. What was he afraid of? She shook her head. "No. There's something more important I have to explain to you, Damien. About... about this illness of mine."

He lowered his eyes.

"I'm..." She licked her lips. "I'm dying, Damien."

Without looking at her, he replied, "No, Shannon. You are not."

She gave her head a shake. He hadn't seemed surprised at all. No shock, no questions. Just a simple denial. He lifted his head. His black gaze stabbing into hers, he added, "Not ever."

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

...he wants to make you one of them. You'd be his prisoner, forever...

She tried to blink away her memory of Bachman's words, but they wouldn't leave. She shrank back a little. "Damien, what are you saying? What are you going to... to do to me?"

"It's done."

"What's done?"

He reached out, fanned his fingers in her hair, spread them wide, as if to feel more of it. "Do you remember last night, when death was so close you could feel its cold breath on your nape? Do you remember crying, telling me you'd give anything, if only you could live? Don't you feel it. Shannon? Don't you know?"

Her breath caught in her throat. She remembered very little after their lovemaking on the desk. Too little. Hadn't she decided that all of this talk of vampires was craziness? Some- one's insane fantasy? It couldn't be real. Hadn't she begged Damien to confirm that for her, right after they'd made love?

And hadn't he failed to do it?

There are no such things as vampires!

She stood up, feeling an unfamiliar strength seep into her. The fogginess in her brain had gone, leaving it sharp and alert. Her senses jangled with awareness, as though a zillion electrodes were pulsing tiny currents into her nerve endings. She felt energized, healthy, strong. More alive than she ever had.

She glanced down, opening and closing her hand and studying it as she did. Why did it feel so different? At last, she pressed that same palm to her throat, driven by some wild impulse, some impossible notion. And she felt the tiny indentations, two punctures, quickly healing over.

Her gaze flew to his. She shook her head in denial.

"It's all right. Shannon. There's nothing to be afraid of." He lifted a hand, took a step toward her. "You won't be sick anymore. You won't die. You'll never die."

"My God!" Another step away, and still he advanced. "My God, it's true, you are--"

"And so are you."

"No!" But even as she shrieked the word, she knew it had to be true. Why else were her perceptions so altered? She cupped her palm over the wounds on her throat, as if covering them could make them disappear. "How could you, Damien! How could you do this to me?" Tears crept into her voice. She choked on them, fought them down.

"Shannon, I had to. You were dying. I couldn't let you die when you kept telling me how much you wanted to live."

"You can't do this, dammit!"

He lowered his hands, stood where he was. He seemed to bear some silent devastation she was beyond caring about. "It's done." Like a judge handing down an irrefutable sentence. Two words with more meaning than any she'd ever heard.

"So, now what happens? You keep me with you forever? I turn to you for everything? Is that what you expect now, Damien? Because you know I can't exist this way on my own, don't you? You know I have no idea how to survive like this, what to do, where to turn. So I'm utterly dependent--is that the idea?"

She was terrified, terrified of what she was now. Alive or dead? Human or some other sort of creature? Natural or a freak? Immortal or damned?

He only shook his head, obviously confused. "Of course you can depend on me to--"

"The hell I will!" She shouted it, her voice too loud to be natural, so loud it hurt her own ears. She squeezed her eyes tight and forced herself to speak more softly. "What can kill us?"

"What?"

"What can kill us? Tell me, damn you."

He blinked slowly before answering. "Sunlight. The slightest touch of a live flame. Any injury that causes severe bleeding. We're like hemophiliacs in that way. If you can't get the bleeding stopped right away you..." His voice trailed off. "Shannon, why are you asking me this?"

"Because I need to know. Because I don't know if I want to live like this. Because..." She covered her face with both hands and turned away from him. She was a liar and a coward. She didn't want to die, and she knew it. But God, what was this alternative he'd given her? Blindly, sobbing, she took a few steps away, toward the mouth of the cave.

"Where are you going?"

"Away. Just away."

He followed, catching her shoulder. She jerked back from his touch. "Shannon, you can't just go off by yourself."

"Why the hell not?"

He stood there gripping her arm. "Please. Just sit down, give yourself time to adjust. Let me explain what all of this means...."

"Leave me alone!" She pulled away, stood facing him, breathless with shock and anger. "I swear to God, if you don't let me go I'll hate you forever. Does that even matter to you, Damien? Or was Bachman right about that, too?" She turned again, and raced off into the forest, into the night.

* * * * *

Damien didn't go after her. He couldn't. His grief over what he'd done, preserved her life, transformed her into something she couldn't begin to understand, his knowledge that he'd acted for reasons purely selfish, nearly paralyzed him with pain. He hurt, he ached, for her. For what she was suffering right now. The confusion. The fear. And yet he couldn't bring himself to regret what he'd done. He couldn't be anything but glad that she was alive when he rose tonight, instead of lying cold and lifeless, forever still on the chaise. That was the alternative. That was what he could have risen to see tonight, would have, if he hadn't acted.

So he didn't regret it. He only wished he'd done it differently, explained things to her earlier, before the decision had to be made, allowed her to choose.

He started after her, only to find his way blocked by a solid form. His eyes met Eric's and found understanding, even sympathy, there. "Let her go, Damien. She needs time. She has to explore this new realm she finds herself inhabiting, grow accustomed to it."

Damien shoved Eric aside and strode on. "How can I let her go? You said yourself what kind of bastard this Bachman might be. You think I want to see her captured for live study by that animal? And what about this rogue vampire that's on the rampage? How do you know she's safe from him?"

Eric kept pace easily. "I didn't say we couldn't watch her. We'll keep her in sight, but from a distance. Damien, you have to give her a chance to accept this on her own. You've forced it down her throat and she's choking. Can't you see that?"

Damien stopped. He turned to stare at the other man. Then felt his own shoulders slump in concession. "You're insightful, Eric. I'll give you that."

"I'm glad you think it. For I have a few other notions. I haven't wished to involve my mate in this for fear of the risk."

"Risk?"

Eric nodded. "I'd no idea what sort of temper you possessed when first I approached you, Damien."

"And now?"

"No worse than most. I believe Tamara can be of help to your Shannon."

"That might be true." Damien walked on, but his pace was slower. Part of his mind remained focused on Shannon, felt her tears, her confusion. Another part listened intently to what Eric suggested. "There's still Bachman, and this rogue we've discovered."

"I wouldn't bring her here if I had a choice, Damien. But the fact is, she's coming, whether I like it or not. She'll be at the house I rented within the hour."

Damien only looked at him, brows raised in question as he waited for Eric to finish.

"She worries about me. She found out about Bachman's presence here, and nothing could stop her from joining me."

Damien blinked, wondering what that kind of devotion must feel like. "You're a lucky man, Marquand."

"That I am."

"Go on to your house, then, and wait for your fierce protector. I'm going back to the mansion to watch over Shannon." At Eric's frown he added, "From a distance."