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“Well, we got a brother who knows the damn things like the back of his hand. He’ll teach you.” The man smiled a little. “You’ll work. You’ll train. S’all good. And I’ve talked to my shellan. She’d be real happy if you stayed with us while you’re in school.”

John lowered his lids, growing wary. This sounded like a lifeboat in a lot of ways. But how come this guy wanted to save him?

“You want to know why I’m doing this?”

When John nodded, the man took off his coat and unbuttoned the top half of his shirt. He pulled the thing open, exposing his left pectoral.

John’s eyes latched on to the circular scar that was revealed.

As he put his hand on his own chest, sweat broke out across his forehead. He had the oddest sense that something momentous was sliding into place.

“You’re one of us, son. It’s time you came home to your family.”

John stopped breathing, a strange thought shooting through his head: At last, I’ve been found.

But then reality rushed forward, sucking the joy out of his chest.

Miracles just didn’t happen to him. His good luck had dried up before he’d even been aware he’d had any. Or maybe it was more like he’d been bypassed by fortune. Either way, this man in black leather, coming from out of nowhere, offering him an escape hatch from the hellhole he lived in, was too good to be true.

“You want more time to think?”

John shook his head and stepped back, writing, I want to stay here.

The man frowned when he read the words. “Listen, son, you’re at a dangerous point in your life.”

No shit. He’d invited this guy inside, knowing no one would come if he screamed for help. He felt around for his gun.

“Okay, take it easy. Tell you what. Can you whistle?”

John nodded.

“Here’s a number where you can reach me. You whistle into the phone and I’ll know it’s you.” The guy handed him a little card. “I’ll give you a couple of days. You call if you change your mind. If you don’t, don’t worry about it. You won’t remember a thing.”

John had no idea what to make of that comment, so he just stared at the etched black numbers, getting lost in all the possibilities and improbabilities. When he glanced up again, the man was gone.

God, he hadn’t even heard the door open and shut.

Chapter Twenty-one

Mary shot out of sleep with a complete body spasm.

A deep-throated yell thundered through her living room, shattering the early morning quiet. She bolted upright, but was shoved onto her side again. Then the whole sofa pitched away from the wall.

In the gray light of dawn, she saw Rhage’s duffel. His suit coat.

And realized he’d jumped behind the couch.

“The drapes!” he shouted. “Shut the drapes!”

The pain in his voice cut through her confusion and sent her racing around the room. She covered every window until the only light coming in was through the kitchen’s doorway.

“And that door, too…” His voice cracked. “The one into the other room.”

She shut the thing quickly. It was now utterly dark except for the glow of the TV.

“Does your bathroom have a window in it?” he asked roughly.

“No, no, it doesn’t. Rhage, what’s wrong?” She started to lean over the edge of the sofa.

“Don’t come near me.” The words were strangled. And followed by a juicy curse.

“Are you all right?”

“Just let me…catch my breath. I need you to leave me alone right now.”

She came around the corner of the sofa anyway. In the dimness, she could just vaguely make out the big shape of him.

“What’s wrong, Rhage?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, obviously.” Damn it, she hated the tough-guy routine. “It’s the sunlight, right? You’re allergic to it.”

He laughed harshly. “You could say that. Mary, stop. Don’t come back here.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want you to see me.”

She reached over and clicked on the lamp nearest to her. A hissing sound shot through the room.

As her eyes adjusted, she saw that Rhage was flat on his back, one arm cradled against his chest, the other over his eyes. A nasty-looking burn had taken root on the skin exposed by the sleeves he’d rolled up. He was grimacing in pain, his lips peeled back from his—

Her blood went cold.

Fangs.

Two