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Blood.

Backing up into the stairwell, he stared at his door. There was a sunburst in the center of it, as if someone had had their head…But then he saw the broken dark green bottle. Red wine. It was just red wine. The drunken couple who lived next door had taken another fight out into the hall.

His shoulders eased.

“’Scuse me,” someone said from above him.

He moved aside and looked up.

John’s body seized.

The big man standing over him was dressed in black camouflage pants and a leather jacket. His hair and skin were utterly white, and his pale eyes had an eerie shine to them.

Evil. Undead.

Enemy.

This was his enemy.

“Some kind of mess you got on this floor,” the guy said before narrowing his gaze on John. “Something wrong?”

John fiercely shook his head and dropped his eyes. His first instinct was to run to his apartment, but he didn’t want the guy knowing where he lived.

There was a deep chuckle. “You look a little pale there, buddy.”

John took off, shooting down the stairs and out into the street. He raced to the corner, took a left, and kept going. He ran and ran, until he couldn’t go any farther because he’d lost his breath. Squeezing himself into the juncture between a brick building and a Dumpster, he panted.

In his dreams, he fought pale men. Pale men in black clothes whose eyes were soulless.

My enemy.

He was shaking so badly he could barely get his hand into his pocket. Taking out a quarter, he gripped the thing so tightly it dug into his palm. When he had his breath back, he leaned out and peered up and down the alley. There was no one around, no sounds of heavy feet hitting the asphalt.

His enemy hadn’t recognized him.

John left the Dumpster’s sanctuary and walked quickly to the far corner.

The dented pay phone was covered with graffiti, but he knew it worked because he called Mary from it a lot. He put the quarter in the slot and punched out the number Tohrment had given him.

After one ring, voice mail kicked in with a robotic recitation of the numbers he’d dialed.

John waited for the beep. And whistled.

Chapter Twenty-eight

It was right before dawn when Mary heard male voices out in the hall. As the door opened, her heart skipped in her chest. Rhage filled the frame as another guy spoke.

“Man, that was one hell of a fight as we left the bar. You were a demon out there.”

“I know,” Rhage muttered.

“You’re incredible, Hollywood, and not just with the hand-to-hand. That female you—”

“Later, Phury.”

The door shut and the closet light came on. By the sound of clicks and metallic shifting, he was disarming. When he came out, he took a shuddering breath.

Mary faked being asleep as his footsteps hesitated by the foot of the bed and then headed for the bathroom. When she heard the shower come on, she imagined everything he was washing off of himself: Sex. Fighting.

Especially the sex.

She covered her face with her hands. Today she would go home. She would pack her things and walk out the door. He couldn’t make her stay; she wasn’t his responsibility just because he said so.

The water shut off.

The silence sucked all the air from the room, and she grew out of breath while holding herself in place. Gasping, suffocating…she threw the covers back and bolted for the door. Her hands latched onto the knob and fought to free the lock, jerking, pulling, until her hair whipped around.

“Mary,” Rhage said from right behind her.

She jumped and wrestled harder with the door.

“Let me out. I have to get out…. I can’t stay here in this room with you. I can’t be here…with you.” She felt his hands come down on her shoulders. “Don’t touch me.”

She careened around the room until she bounced into the far corner and realized there was nowhere to go and no way to get out. He was in front of the door, and she had a feeling he was keeping the locks in place.

Trapped, she linked her arms over her chest and propped herself up against the wall to keep standing. She didn’t know what she would do if he touched her again.

Rhage didn’t even try.

He