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“My vampire nature is what it is.”

The Omega turned and faced Lash. After a pause, that distorted voice whispered, “Indeed. I find that to be true.”

“I’ll bring her to you,” Lash said, straightening from the wall. “To the farmhouse. Tonight. You turn her and I’ll have what I need.”

“And I cannot provide that to you?”

“You would be providing it to me. You induct her and I have the blood source required to give me power.”

“So you say that you are weak?”

Damn him to hell, but it must be obvious that he was. The Omega could sense things and surely it had been apparent for some time now.

When Lash stayed quiet, the Omega drifted forward until they were eye to eye. “I have never inducted a female.”

“She wouldn’t have to be in the Lessening Society. She would just be for me.”

“For you.”

“No reason to have her out there fighting.”

“And this female. You have chosen her already.”

“I have.” Lash laughed shortly, thinking of Xhex and the damage she was capable of. “I’m sure you’ll approve of her.”

“You are so certain.”

“I have very good taste.”

All around, the red flames trembled on their wicks as if a breeze had ruffled them.

Abruptly, the Omega’s hood lifted, revealing the shadowy, translucent face that had angles just like Lash’s flesh-and-blood version did.

“Return from whence you came,” the Omega pronounced as his dark, smoky hand rose up. With a stroke down Lash’s cheek, the evil turned away. “Return from whence you came.”

“I’ll meet you at nightfall,” Lash said. “At the farmhouse.”

“Night. Fall.”

“You want it later? How about one. We’ll see each other then.”

“You shall see me, indeed.”

“Thank you, Father.”

As the Omega drifted across the floor, that hood settled back into place of its own volition, and a panel slid open across the way. A moment later, Lash was alone.

Taking a deep breath, he rubbed his face and looked around at all the red flames and the spectacular walls. The place was kind of like a womb.

With a flash of will, he shot himself out of Dhunhd and back to the nasty little ranch house he’d had to use as a launching pad. As he came awake in his corporeal form, he hated the fact that he was stretched out on a couch that had cheesy autumnal leaves on its slipcover. And God, the nap of the fabric was like a buzz cut on a dog . . . and smelled the same, really.

Assuming said four-legged fucker had rolled in a damp ashtray.

Lifting his head up, he pulled his shirt to his neck. Still there. The lesions were still there and getting larger. And he felt like ass.

His hands shook as he got himself vertical, and when he checked his phone, he saw nothing from anybody. No voice mail back from Mr. D and no other slayers checking in. Both made sense. Everyone and everything was routed through his second in command so if the SOB had bit it, the Society couldn’t find Lash.

Maybe the little Texan had been too good as a PA.

With hunger spurring him on, he shuffled into the kitchen and peeled open the refrigerator door. Empty. Except for a box of Arm & Hammer baking soda that should have been used on that couch.

Slamming the Frigidaire shut, he absolutely despised the world and everyone in it—although that was mostly a function of not having his eggs and bacon already waiting for him.

Plus crappy real estate did that to a guy. The ranch house was a new acquisition and one he’d been to only once before—hell, not even Mr. D knew the Society owned it. The thing was, Lash had bought it out of foreclosure because they were going to need places to make meth and the POS had a large basement. Stunning that whoever had owned it hadn’t been able to cover the mortgage cost. The bitch was one step up from an outhouse.

Maybe half a step.

He headed out into the garage and it was a frickin’ relief to be back in the Mercedes . . . although it galled him to have to hit a McDonald’s drive-through for an Egg McMuffin and a coffee. He’d even had to wait in line along with a bunch of guys in trucks and moms in minivans.

As he went back to his brownstone, his attitude sank further into