"Yes."
She lifted her head to reveal troubled green eyes. "And you can do that because you're a vampire?"
"Many demons possess the ability to heal all but the gravest injuries."
"And do you have to be a demon to do that?"
He frowned. "You believe me?"
She licked her lips, making Styx swallow a groan. "I believe you are something . . . supernatural. Is that the politically correct term?"
Politically correct? Styx gave a shake of his head.
The woman was the oddest creature he had ever stumbled across.
"I prefer vampire, or demon, if you must." He eyed her suspiciously. "You are . .. taking this better than I thought you would."
Her lashes lowered to hide the expressive green eyes. "Well, I've never been precisely normal myself."
"Not normal? What does that mean?" he demanded.
"I... nothing."
"Tell me." When she remained stubbornly silent he reached out to cup her chin in his hand. He intended to be severe. She was there to answer his questions. Unfortunately, her skin was as smooth as warm silk and he couldn't entirely suppress the desire to lean close enough to smell her flowery scent. "Tell me, angel."
"Fine." She sighed before lifting her gaze. "It will be easier to show you. Give me the knife."
He lifted his brows. Did she assume that he was so distracted by her fragile beauty that he would allow her to slit his throat?
Granted he was distracted. Far more distracted than he had been in decades. But not death wish distracted.
"You cannot kill me with it," he warned.
"I didn't think I could." Her head tilted to the side. "I suppose it takes the usual?"
"The usual?"
"You know, sunlight or a wooden stake through the heart?"
"Or decapitation."
She grimaced. "Nice."
"What do you want with the knife?"
"I don't plan anything nearly so spectacular as you." She held out her hand until he grudgingly placed the knife on her palm.
Prepared to fend off a futile attack, Styx was once again outmaneuvered as she instead clutched the knife and before he could react made a small cut in the pad of her thumb.
"Are you . . ." His furious words trailed away as he watched the sweet, human blood trail away to reveal the wound already closed. The cut was not deep, but no mortal could heal with such speed. He lifted his gaze to regard her with a searching curiosity. "You are not entirely human."
She didn't appear particularly pleased. It was almost as if she would have been happier to be just another mortal among the millions.
"I don't know what 1 am. At least not beyond the fact that I'm a certifiable freak." She gave a hunch of her shoulder. "You can't imagine how many foster homes I've been kicked out of after they watched my little healing trick."
Styx took her hand to raise it to his nose. He breathed in deeply, but once again he could detect nothing but the scent of flowers and very human blood.
"Do you possess any other unusual traits?"
She tugged free her hand and clutched at the blanket that had begun to slip in a tantalizing fashion. But not before Styx had felt the wild leap of her pulse.
He managed to hide his smile of satisfaction.
Good. A vampire shouldn't be alone in such a sharp, fierce awareness.
"A nice way of putting it," she muttered.
His gaze swept over her small, heart-shaped face. "Being a vampire allows me to accept what humans would consider strange."
"Vampire." She gave a tiny shiver and then her eyes abruptly narrowed. "Hey, wait, just how strange do you think I am?"
He shrugged. "You haven't yet answered my question. I can tell you nothing until I know more."
She bit her bottom lip before she grudgingly conceded the wisdom of his words. "I'm stronger and faster than most people."
"And?"
"And ... I'm not growing older."
That did surprise him. "What is your age?"
"I'm thirty, but I look exactly as I did at eighteen. It might just be good genes, but I don't think so."
Styx had to take her word. She looked young and innocent to him, but it was always difficult for a vampire to determine ages in humans. No doubt because time had no meaning to vampires.
"You must possess at least some demon blood," he conceded, with a frown. It was strange that he couldn't detect any hint of mixed blood. Mongrels rarely possessed the full abilities of their demon ancestors, but a vampire could still detect that they were not precisely mortal. It troubled him that he could not. "What of your parents?"
The pale features became smooth and unreadable. As if a mask had fallen into place.
"I never knew them. I was fostered when I was a baby."
"You have no family?"
"No."
Styx frowned. He was unfamiliar with this method of fostering among humans, but he assumed it must have something to do with her demon blood.
He also assumed it was the reason that Salvatore was so determined to get his hands upon her.
What he needed was a means of discovering precisely what sort of demon had spawned her, and what it could possibly mean to the Weres.
The abandoned hotel in south central Chicago was hardly the setting for royalty.
The roof leaked, the windows were cracked, and there was a lingering stench of human waste that was enough to turn the stomach of the most hardened werewolf.
On the plus side the mutant rats had disappeared only days after their arrival, and the few humans who were desperate enough to seek shelter among the ruins were easily frightened away by the "wild dogs" that roamed the narrow hallways.
They had their privacy ensured, if not their comfort.
Taking the largest of the rooms as his, Salvatore Giuliani had moved the heavy desk next to the window that overlooked the mean street below. The frigid air that managed to leak through the cracked panes didn't especially bother him, and he was a wolf who kept a close watch on his back. No one would be allowed to sneak up on him.
Across the room a large street map of Chicago was pinned to the wall, and nearer to hand he had a wooden shelf that held a vast array of shotguns, handguns, and wicked knives. Spread across the desk were a dozen photos of Darcy Smith.
He was a man on a mission. A mission that he would accomplish no matter how many wolves, humans, or vampires had to die.
Unconsciously stroking his hand over a photo of Darcy walking down the street with a faint smile upon her full lips, Salvatore abruptly raised his head as he caught the scent of an approaching cur.