Heather Graham - Keeper of the Dawn

Mark looked at his car. “No,” he said sadly. Still on the phone, he walked over to it. With an angry shove of his foot, he used his supernatural strength and sent it over the edge, crashing down into the bracken in the valley below.

“Don’t worry about the car. I got rid of it. It would have been too hard to explain. Come get me—I’m about two miles away on Mulholland—and we’ll head to the old studio, check it out, see what we can find.”

“Be there in five,” Brodie told him.

As Mark waited for Brodie’s arrival, he was worried, really worried. Someone knew that Alessande was on to something.

And that someone seriously wanted her out of the way.

* * *

“I know it’s nothing like your house, Alessande,” Sailor said apologetically as she got her friend settled. “I mean, Castle House is kind of Goth-gone-bad compared to your place. But it’s safer for you to stay here.”

Alessande was comfortably stretched out on the bed in the guest room, with the cousins keeping her company. She hadn’t had much strength when she had started to teleport, already exhausted from everything she’d been through, so she’d more or less crash-landed on the Castle House stairs, startling everyone who was still there. And before Sailor had led her up here, they’d been talking about her staying for days, maybe even weeks—and they hadn’t bothered consulting her. Worst of all, Mark Valiente wasn’t even around for her to blame anything on.

“You drank enough water, right?” Sailor asked, breaking into Alessande’s thoughts.

Teleporting could dehydrate the body to a dangerous extent. Alessande had consumed nearly a gallon of water since she’d arrived.

“I’m good, thank you,” she said.

“Alessande, we believe that you’re marked for extinction,” Brodie said firmly as he stepped into the room.

She shook her head, wanting to deny the possibility. “Have you heard from Mark?” she asked. He was a jerk, but he was the jerk who had worried about her safety first. And she’d never experienced anything like the feel of being in that car when it was attacked by a ten-ton taloned something.

“I’m on my way to get him,” Brodie said. He looked at Sailor. “You all sit tight and be careful. I don’t know if they will dare to attack this place, or if they’ve exhausted their resources for another night.”

Barrie, sitting in a chair by the window, rose. “I’ve got to call an emergency meeting of the shapeshifters. I know it’s a rogue individual or group behind this—most of my Others would be horrified by what’s happening.”

Rhiannon, rising from the foot of the bed, set a hand on Barrie’s shoulder. “Barrie, don’t take this on as if the weight of the world is yours and yours alone. We all know that Others, no matter what their race, are just like people. Most are law abiding and want nothing more than to lead good lives with decent people around them. No one is going to think that all shapeshifters are bad. We know better in this day and age.”

“And,” Declan said, walking into the room, “no meeting tonight, Barrie.” He walked over to stand behind Sailor, setting his hands on her shoulders. “I just talked to Mark. He wants people here, keeping Alessande safe tonight. I’ll stay with the women. Brodie, you and Mark can rest assured that everyone here will be protected while you check out the studio.”

“What about the Snake Pit?” Barrie asked Declan.

Declan owned one of the hottest nightspots in the city. It was very popular with the Others, especially vampires. Since Declan was a shapeshifter Keeper, they often stayed to enjoy it after-hours, when only Others were welcome. But the rest of the time both locals and tourists were free to enjoy themselves there. Declan had a talent for getting the next up-and-coming bands to play, and Rhiannon, who was a singer as well as a Keeper, performed there regularly. She also performed at the Mystic Café, where her boss was a werewolf Keeper.

“The Snake Pit can survive one night without me,” Declan said firmly.

Jonquil was waiting at the foot of the bed. He barked as if to reaffirm Declan’s statement.

“I’ll follow you down in a minute and lock the door behind you,” Sailor said. “The compound will be safe. Jonquil knows better than any alarm when someone gets near Castle House.”

“Don’t forget Wizard,” Rhiannon said. “He guards the grounds like a hellhound. We’ll be all right.”

Wizard did look like a hellhound, Alessande reflected. He was a mix of Scottish deerhound and something else humongous. If anyone even looked cross-eyed at Rhiannon, Wizard would take them down in a heartbeat.

Rhiannon left the room, presumably to give Wizard his instructions, and Barrie rose, as well. “Get some rest,” she told Alessande. “I’m going online to read the news reports and try to get a better grip on this.”

Sailor patted Alessande’s pillow. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked.

“I have tea and a lovely bed, and I’m being protected by some of the finest women in L.A., a ghost and two ferocious dogs. I feel like a hothouse flower,” Alessande admitted.

Sailor grinned. “Uncomfortable for you, I know. But even Achilles had his damned heel. I learned—with a lot of help from you—to handle responsibility and be brave. Now, from me, you can learn to trust in others and let them be your strength sometimes.”

Alessande smiled and nodded. “Okay. I think I’ll try to sleep. That teleporting thing is...draining.”

It was. Sailor left her, telling Jonquil to stay and stand watch, and Alessande found herself falling almost instantly to sleep.

It was strange, though. She was asleep, yet she still seemed to be aware of her surroundings. At first she knew that she was in bed in the guest room at Castle House. But then the bed seemed to grow hard beneath her, and the dust motes dancing in the air turned into a mixture of ash and fog.

She could hear music, something from an old movie she had caught on cable. She couldn’t quite place it, though—and then she did. It was from Franco Zeffirelli’s version of Romeo and Juliet.

There was movement all around her. She wanted to rise and see what was going on, but she couldn’t. Something was weighing her down, refusing to let her up.

The music was beautiful, and she tried to open her eyes. She managed to raise her lids far enough to see that she seemed to be in a church. There was a wedding going on, she thought. The Gryffald cousins were there, standing around where she lay. Handsome men in tuxes were seating the guests, and she saw that Father Gunderson—an Elven himself—was ready to officiate at the ceremony.

She couldn’t turn her head, but she caught sight of the long white sleeve on her arm.

She was wearing a wedding dress.

It was her wedding!

But something was very wrong. She should have been walking down the aisle, not lying on the altar. And everyone was beginning to scream in horror and shout to one another. And above all the noise, she could hear one voice.

It was the vampire cop. Mark Valiente. And he was screaming her name as if...as if he thought that if he shouted loudly enough he could wake her and save her from the horror that was about to take place.

Warned by his shouting, she realized that she had to break free from whatever was holding her there, frozen to the altar. She managed to turn her head and saw the red velvet runner than stretched from the altar to the door. Except that it wasn’t a runner. It was a river of blood.

She jerked herself awake. She was in the guest bedroom at Castle House. She’d had a nightmare and nothing more.

It was night, and she was safe.... She closed her eyes again.