"I won't breathe a word," I promised, my heart thundering. "I'll never return. I swear!"
"I believe you," said Patsy. "But it doesn't much matter. You know too much about Broken Heart that we can't make you forget."
I couldn't form a response. I had no doubts Patsy and her friends would keep me here. Fear skittered through me. I hated not feeling in control.
"You can't hold me hostage," I said. Anger pulsed low and heavy. The fire blazing so close to me just added to the heat filling my body. "People will notice I'm gone."
"Will they?" asked Patrick.
I realized then that, even though their glamour didn't work on me, I got the impression that they'd had lots of success with others. Would PRIS forget me? My parents?
The ball of anger refused to dissipate. The ugly emotion threatened to consume me. I glared at Patsy. "I'm not one of your subjects! You can't tell me what to do!"
Patsy's gaze hardened. "What are you, twelve? Put on your big-girl panties and deal with it."
Rage surged through me. I grappled with its ferocity, trying to get it under control. Clenching my fists, I stared at the floor, listening to the fire's swelling music.
I hadn't lost my temper in a long, long time. I was furious. At myself. At the circumstances. At everything.
"Do you see that?" asked Patsy.
"Yes," said Gabriel. "What is it?"
"Jay-sus," muttered Patrick.
Heat pulsed in my every nerve ending. I felt as though the very air around me was spinning. I felt hot. The whirling air felt hot, too.
Gabriel grabbed his wife by the shoulders and tucked her behind him. Patrick went to stand next to his friends. They all stared at me.
"You can't make me stay here," I said. My voice sounded odd. Deep and raspy. Even my words felt like they were on fire.
"Demon possession," suggested Patsy.
"No. Something else," said Gabriel. "She's mortal. I've never seen anything like this."
"Gabriel, I think it's wise to get Patsy out of here."
"Are you kidding?" asked Patsy. "I'll blast her or something."
"Don't argue, sweetheart," said Gabriel. "Think of our babies."
I heard their conversation, but I no longer cared what they said, what they thought, what they did. I watched Gabriel and Patsy retreat. My vision was dark around the edges, as if I were viewing the world through binoculars. The music rose, triumphant.
"Libby," said Patrick, his voice low and calm. "We didn't mean to upset you."
What a liar. Electric heat crackled along my limbs. My fury was a powerful thing, nearly alive. I had no control . . . whatever-this-was controlled me. It was almost as if I floated outside myself, watching some scary woman wield a terrible ability.
The air twisting around me picked up books from the end tables, tossed lamps to the floor. The coffee table exploded. Shards flew everywhere. Mangled wood joined the debris zipping around me. The couch detonated. Batting filled the air like snow.
I looked down, dispassionate, and saw flames licking my skin. I knew I should be afraid, but I wasn't. This was part of me. Part of who I was now. The fire told me the truth, and I embraced it. I couldn't see Patrick. He'd probably left, too.
The next burst of energy hit the hearth. Stone shattered. White dust plumed. The fireplace cracked in half and fell inward, dousing the cozy fire. I felt my power wobble.
"Libby!"
Ralph's voice cut through the roaring symphony in my head. I turned toward the doorway. He stood there, the cup of tea in his hand falling to the floor.
He walked into the maelstrom, his anxious gaze on mine. Loose book pages flapped at him. Debris pummeled him. He didn't stop. He didn't look away.
The minute his hands clamped onto my shoulders, I felt my quaking power drain. I collapsed, or would have. Ralph scooped me up and held me close. I felt his lips press against my forehead.
"It's okay," he murmured. "It's okay."
I don't know how long he stood there holding me. Long enough for the dust to clear. Long enough for me to see the damage I'd done. Long enough to realize that Patrick hadn't made it out of the room.
"Oh my God." I scrambled out of Ralph's embrace. He was so surprised at my sudden, frantic movements that he let go. I fell to the ground and immediately crawled to Patrick, lying so still on the floor. My insides quivered coldly.
Wood and stone shards were embedded in his body. Most of the projectiles were small, all except the one piercing his heart. The fragment sticking out of his chest was large, probably what was left of a coffee table leg. Blood spattered his clothes. His eyes were closed and he was so limp. Dead. Really dead.
"I killed him." I started plucking out all the pieces. I was no longer worried about leaving Broken Heart. I was worried about leaving the earthly plane. No one I'd met so far struck me as the forgiving types.
"Libby." Ralph crouched beside me and covered my shaking hands with his. "It's not like in the movies. A stake to the heart doesn't kill the undead."
"Are you sure?"
"I told you. The only way to kill us is to remove our heads. Or get us into very bright light." Ralph's gaze was kind. And he wasn't freaking out, so I had to believe that Patrick would be okay. "Stay here, Libby. I'll get help."
I nodded. I looked at Patrick. I didn't know him. Hell, I didn't even like him. I hadn't meant to do this. Yeah, I could try to run. But even if I managed to escape the vampires tonight, it didn't mean I'd escape them forever. They had pushed me and, in a way, they'd unleashed whatever scary thing had happened. But I couldn't go. I needed to fix my mistake. I figured there was one sure way to help a dying vampire. I grabbed the stake I'd unintentionally jabbed into Patrick's heart and yanked it out. Blood burbled out of the jagged hole. Oh, God. I took off my sweater and pushed it against the wound. Finding a sharp object was easy enough. I grabbed a sliver of stone and slashed my wrist. It stung like hell, but I'm sure it hurt a lot less than getting stabbed in the heart. I held my bloodied flesh against Patrick's mouth. Seconds passed and nothing happened. When Patrick's lips finally moved against the offering, I yelped. His fangs dug into my wrist; the pain was excruciating.
He drank and drank. After a while, I felt light-headed and dizzy. My vision grayed. My hand slipped away from the sweater I'd been pressing against his injury. The material fell off and I could see that the hole was gone. Relief flooded me. He would be okay.
His eyes popped open, those silvery orbs filled with accusation. He freed my arm and sat up, then rubbed his mouth, as if to get the taste of me off his lips.
I didn't blame him. Not after what I'd done.
"I'm sorry," I said.
I scooted away from him, feeling dizzy and strange. Closing my eyes made my head spin worse, so I stared at the floor. Loud voices, scurrying feet, banging and cursing and scraping infiltrated my mind. Somewhere in the noise, I heard Ralph's voice. "Damn it, Patrick. What did you do to her?"
"What did I do to her ?" he yelled. "She damned near killed me!"
"Looks like she saved you, too. What's wrong with her wrist? It's still bleeding," Ralph asked, ignoring Patrick's ire. "Your saliva didn't heal her. Hey! Why is her sweater off? She's only in her bra!"
"Who are you? Her mother?" This voice was Patsy's. "Did she give you blood, Patrick?"
"Of course she did, otherwise I wouldn't be talking. Her blood is strange. It tastes metallic." I heard the grimace in his tone. "She's got a helluva temper."
"We pushed her too far," said Gabriel. "None of us would accept being a prisoner so easily."
Huh. I hadn't expected understanding from Mr. Grumpy. I looked up and tried to focus. No good. I couldn't figure out how many people were in the room. I felt hands on my shoulders. Ralph. Suddenly, I felt better. It was like energy flowed into me, healing what was injured. I looked at him. He was removing his shirt. Wow. He had nice abs. Crisp brown curls feathered his chest and arrowed down to his jeans. He helped me put on the shirt and then buttoned it for me.
"What the hell happened in that cemetery?" Patsy's blue eyes studied me and then Ralph. Patrick said, "It seems Ralph was set on fire."
"So was Libby," said Ralph. His eyes were on mine. He nibbled his bottom lip, distracting me from the conversation. "The dragon took human form and kissed her. They were both on fire, but neither one burned."
"I'm burning now," I said. I waved my hand in front of my face and smiled seductively. "I'm really hot."
"Me, too," said Ralph. He scooted closer to me. His scent was stronger and so was his aura. It shined brilliantly.
"What do you think this all means?" asked Patrick.
I didn't think he was asking me. And I was right.
"Whatever's going on, it seems to be connected to Ralph, too." This was Gabriel's observation.
"We need to rouse Stan," said Patsy. "C'mon. We need to get you both down to the lab."
"The lab?" I heard concern edge Ralph's voice. "What for?"
"Don't make me play the queen card, damn it. I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I'm hormonal."
Ralph picked me up, and I closed my eyes. "Welcome to Broken Heart," said Patrick. "Looks like you're walking evidence of the paranormal."
I glared down at him, not quite brave enough to tell him to shut up. I don't remember passing out, but I do remember waking up. I was lying on an examination table. I scrambled off so fast I ripped the waxy paper covering it.
Ralph sat in a chair next to the table, watching me. "You're safe."
"Yeah, right." I walked to the door and yanked on the handle. Locked. I turned around and glared at him. "What's going on?"
"The doctor is going to run some tests."
"Why?"
"Because we need to figure out why you went all Firestarter out there."
"You're not exactly fire-free, buddy." I rubbed my arms. I was cold. I didn't like it. I also didn't like the silence. There was no singing in here. No warmth.
"It feels like they turned on the air-conditioning."
"They did. Dragons don't like the cold, and if your new self is related to what the dragon did to you . . ."
He trailed off, avoiding my gaze.
It seemed the air-conditioning had also managed to chill the odd attraction between us. Although he was still number one on my yummy-man list, I was grateful I didn't have the uncontrollable urge to jump his bones.
"Just relax," said Ralph. "I'm in here, too. We can be lab rats together."
"Oh, hell no." Once again, I turned to the door and pounded on it. "Let me out! Let me out now !"
"Libby."
My name held soft reproach. I leaned my forehead against the white metal door. "I don't want to be a lab rat. What's this doctor's name? Frankenstein?"
I hated white, sterile rooms like this one. Other than the chair Ralph occupied, there was no other place to plant my butt. I returned to the table and sat on its edge.
"Dr. Michaels is nice, and he's very smart. As a bonus, he's also human."
"We'll see about that," I said. I couldn't pinpoint any particular reason why I didn't like physicians or hospitals. I always got the creepy-crawlies. And I had them bad right now. The door opened. A man entered. I had a nice view of his balding head since he was looking at a clipboard. He was short and paunchy and, overall, he reminded me of a sad-eyed beagle. Then he lifted his head, his smile reassuring.
I didn't think anything else could shock me.
I was wrong.
I nearly fell off the table. "Uncle Archie! I thought you were dead!"