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His pulse began to beat against my palm like a second heartbeat. That heartbeat pushed the blood out of him faster than it should have, as if my power, or our power, called it. The cut wasn’t that deep, but the blood poured over our hands in a hot wash.

“Oh, my God!” The only female voice, so that was the court reporter. Men cursed, and someone else was making sounds like he might lose his dinner. If this bothered them, then they’d never make it through the zombie part.

I let go of Micah’s hand, and the moment I did, the blood flow slowed. Slowed to what it should have been. Something about our combined energies had made it flow faster, hotter. He watched me back away from him with the dripping machete. I started walking the circle, dripping his blood along the way, with my gaze still tied to his. There were no dead whispering in my head now. The night was too alive for that. I walked the circle suddenly painfully aware of how much I’d been missing in that nightscape. I could feel the wind against my skin in a way that I hadn’t a second ago. There were so many scents, it was like being blind, and suddenly being given sight. Smell was something we humans didn’t really use at all, not like this.

I knew there was something small and furry in the tree over the grave. Before I’d smelled only that dry autumnal scent of leaves. Now I could smell different leaves, different scents of the individual trees. I didn’t know what each scent was, but I could suddenly pick out dozens of different trees, bushes. Even the ground underfoot was a wealth of scent. This wasn’t even a good night for scent, too cool, but we could hunt. We could—

“Anita,” Micah said, his voice abrupt and startling.

It made me stumble and brought me back to myself. It was almost like waking from a dream. It had only been recently that everyone realized that some of my new abilities, though they came through vampire marks, made me more like a lycanthrope than a vamp. A new lycanthrope that didn’t always have the control you might want in public.

I was almost back to Micah. I’d nearly walked the complete circle, as if my body had gone on without me while my mind tried to cope with a thousand different kinds of sensory input. Moments like this gave me an entirely new sympathy with dogs that were nose-deaf. It wasn’t that the ears didn’t work but that the nose was working so much more that nothing mattered but the scent. The scent you were tracking. What was it, where was it, could we catch it, could we eat it?

“Anita?” Micah made it a question, as if he knew what I’d been sensing. Of course, it was his sense of smell I’d been borrowing. He did know.

My heart was in my throat, my pulse singing with that rush of adrenaline. I looked down at the ground and found I was only a few blood drops away from completing the circle.

But I hadn’t concentrated at all. I’d walked circles with just naked steel and my will. Was the blood enough with me on automatic pilot? There was really only one way to find out. I let the blood drip from the machete and took those last few steps. I took my last step, but it was that last drop of Micah’s blood that held power like the hot breath of some great beast. That power slid over me, over him, and out into the night, as that last drop of blood fell.

It had that feel that sometimes happens in emergencies where everything slows down, and the world becomes hard edge, like everything is carved of crystal. Painfully real, and full of sharp edges.

I realized in that crystalline moment that I had never used the blood of a shapeshifter to do a power circle, and the only time I’d used the blood of a vampire, the magic had gone horribly wrong. But that vampire had died to complete the circle, and Micah was alive. Not a sacrifice, only blood, but magically there wasn’t as much difference between the two as we’d all like to believe. Cut yourself and it is a small death.

It was as if the power circle were a glass and power was poured into it, held in that small space. When I’d accidentally killed a