Keeper of the Dawn

She actually smiled back at him. “I don’t really want a role in it, you know.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

He was startled when she rose up slightly on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Please, don’t worry about me. I am Elven. And I’m destined to be a Keeper of shapeshifters—somewhere, sometime. Mick and Declan have both told me that my progress in dealing with my powers is amazing. I’m begging you, have some faith in me.”

The music ended. For a moment they stood on the dance floor, just looking at one another. Then Declan came by and tapped him on the shoulder. “We’re going to call it a night. The Hildegards don’t seem to be coming out tonight and Barrie says she’s gotten some interesting information about—”

“We know. We heard,” Mark said.

“And tomorrow—” Declan began.

“There’s a lot to do,” Mark finished.

It still took them a few minutes to leave. Declan had to say his goodbyes to the staff and leave the place in the capable hands of his manager, a werewolf named Gregor.

But soon enough they were on their way out the door. And even then, Mark discovered, he couldn’t keep his hands off Alessande. He touched her arm to guide her, the small of her back just to let her know he was there.

It was all right, he told himself. He was simply behaving the way any polite escort would.

Except, of course, any escort wouldn’t be imagining the perfection of the woman as she lay naked, eyes alight, on a bed of silk, waiting for him....

He gave himself a shake.

And when they reached the House of the Rising Sun, he told himself that he was grateful when she went to Castle House, while he was a guest at Pandora’s Box.

He told himself—but he didn’t believe it.

* * *

She was dreaming again.

Except this time, the dream was erotic. So erotic that she could feel herself blush in her sleep.

And if a dream could have such a thing, it had foreplay.

She wasn’t sure where she was. The room had a massive bed with blood red silk sheets. There were open doors that led to a balcony, and a breeze drifted in. Sheer white curtains fluttered in that breeze, and she felt the cooling air against the fire of her skin.

She lay there feeling the luxury of the silk. She was tense and aroused by simple anticipation. Because he would be with her any second.

And a second later...he was.

He came toward her out of the shadows. In the moonlight that bathed the room in a soft glow, he seemed as sleek and agile as a jungle cat. His chest was muscled steel. He was bronzed and beautiful.

He moved up on the foot of the bed and over her until the heat of his body blanketed her with vivid and electric force. She was achingly aware of the gold sizzle in his eyes, the contours of his face, the hard and masculine feel of him. Then his lips touched hers....

And she knew that kiss....

Except that this time it went deeper, then deeper still. His hands moved along her naked flesh and, wherever he touched her, it felt as if a star exploded. With every brush of his fingers becoming more intimate, she burned and writhed beneath him, and touched him in turn....

“Alessande?”

She started and snapped up to a sitting position, completely confused.

It was morning, she realized quickly, reluctantly letting go of the dream.

She was at Castle House, with light pouring in through the guest room window, and Sailor had just tapped at the door, poked her head in and called Alessande’s name.

Alessande found herself praying that her arousal hadn’t been obvious—and that she wasn’t naked, as she’d been in the dream.

She was breathing heavily, and she felt a sheen of sweat on her body, but, thank God, she was clothed.

“I’m sorry—we have to be up and out. Auditions today.”

“Of course,” Alessande said. She made a pretense of yawning, and smiled. “I’ll hop in the shower and be right down.”

Sailor smiled and left her.

Alessande got up and headed for the bathroom.

Her shower was very, very cold.

* * *

Chelsea Rose was still in the hospital and quite possibly dying.

The doctors reported that she had not regained consciousness, and they feared that whatever she’d been given might prove to be fatal.

Meanwhile, Terry Steiner remained in jail, awaiting arraignment. And Mark and Brodie were sitting in front of Bryce Edwards’s desk and listened while he spoke with the district attorney’s office. They were discussing what charges to file against Steiner. If the girl died, he might find himself facing murder charges, with manslaughter as the minimum.

Edwards hung up and looked at them. “Where are you two on this?”

Mark reported the events of the previous night.

“Why didn’t you go after the source?” Edwards demanded.

“I needed to get Digger to trust me. Then he can lead me to the core of this thing,” Mark explained.

“Bring him in—he’ll crack,” Edwards said harshly.

“On the plus side, I got the pills. The lab has them now. As soon as they come up with an analysis, Alessande can get started on an antidote.”

“And where were you during all this?” Edwards asked Brodie.

“In the Snake Pit—chatting with every Other I could find,” Brodie said.

“Did you discover anything?”

“I did find out that the Hildegard family comes in several nights a week,” Brodie said.

“Great. An excuse for you two to spend your nights hanging at the Snake Pit,” Edwards said.

“Barrie interviewed Katrina Manville,” Brodie said.

Edwards arched a brow. “The costume designer? Because...?”

“She’s associated with the screenplay we found at the old Hildegard Studio,” Mark explained. “She’s doing costumes for the show. She said Hildegard wanted to do the movie but passed due to budget concerns.”

“So Hildegard isn’t making the movie. That doesn’t seem to get us anywhere,” Edwards said.

“But it does,” Brodie told him. “It means that Hildegard was very aware of the screenplay—he might even have started giving actresses copies of it before he decided to opt out of the bidding.”

“We’re going back to the Snake Pit tonight,” Mark chimed in. “There’s a connection here that passes right through the community of Others. The dead women followed a path that brought them to the House of Illusion and then right past—maybe into—the Hildegard Studio. The ceremony we broke up took place at the Hildegard tomb— in an old cemetery that was wholly owned by the Hildegard family at one time. Meanwhile, we’ve got an old Other-related drug suddenly being sold on the streets to anyone with the money to buy it,” he went on. “So Brodie and Rhiannon are going over to the old studio again this afternoon to see if there’s anything we’ve missed. Alessande and Sailor are reading for a role in Death in the Bowery right now, and Mick and Barrie are digging into the public records to find out who else is associated with the production.”

“This could get dangerous,” Edwards said, frowning. “And you’re involving a number of civilians.”

“Keepers,” Brodie reminded him.

Edwards was silent for a minute, pursing his lips. Then he looked at them sternly. “Why are you in my office? Get out there and get this stopped!”

“He’s in a great mood,” Brodie noted as they left.

“Yeah—it’s probably a good thing neither of us thought to remind him that he’s the one who asked us to sit down and give him a report.”