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  It was past two in the morning when she heard a car pull up the driveway. Claire turned off the television; she hadn't been paying much attention to what was on for quite some time. She sat up on the sofa, listening intently. Sure enough, the noise of a key sliding into a lock was next, followed by the rattling of the door when it didn't open. She waited a few more seconds, both to make her point and to take a calming breath, then stood, clutching a small jewelry box and a few pictures in her hand.

  She opened the door to find a rather irate Jonas on the front step. She stood in the way, and did not move when he started advancing, forcing him to stop.

  "What the heck is going on?” he asked, frowning deeply. “What are those boxes? And why doesn't my key..."

  He trailed off when she handed the jewelry box to him. His eyes flew to her left hand at once, and widened at what he failed to see there.

  "Claire?” The uncertainty in his voice would have been delicious, if Claire had not decided that she wouldn't allow herself to be petty. “What ... what are you doing?"

  "Something I should have done three years ago.” Her voice was shaking a little, but she wouldn't back away now. She thrust the box a little farther toward him until he took it. “You're moving out."

  His laugh sounded forced. “Move out? Why would I move out? We're getting married in—"

  "Don't,” she snapped, the thin hold she had on her calm slipping away. “There won't be a wedding. I won't have you vow to love me for the rest of our lives when you're already cheating on me."

  He was a good actor, he had always been, and she could almost have believed the wide-eyed innocent look he gave her, or the pleading gesture of his hand reaching out to caress her cheek. She endured the touch and tried not to let the familiarity of it breach her defenses.

  "I'd never cheat on you,” he started, honey-voiced. “You know I wouldn't. You're the only one for me, my best friend, my only love, and I'd never do anything to hurt you. You know that, baby. I know you do."

  Without a word, she handed out the pictures to him, and watched, emotionless, as he flipped through them. The first ones were almost innocent, a man and a younger woman holding hands, laughing together, kissing. Those had been taken by daylight at or around the agency. The last ones, taken at night in a dark alley showed the same two people engaging in activities more suited for a bedroom. His face paled as he reached the end of the stack, or it could have been a trick of the flickering porch light above them.

  "I can explain,” he pleaded, looking back at her. His tone was filled with urgency, as though he understood that this time, it wouldn't be as easy for him to fix things. “It was just one time, an accident, and I—"

  "And I don't believe you,” Claire said, finding her words more easily now that she knew she had been right and that he wouldn't even admit to a fault. “I believed you last time. You won't fool me twice."

  He shook his head. She noticed he was standing straighter, emphasizing his height, the way he always did when he wanted to intimidate someone by looking down at them. She wouldn't let this cheap trick get to her, though.

  "I'm not leaving,” he said. The coldness of his words matched the glint of ice in his dark eyes. “We'll work through this. It doesn't mean anything."

  "Oh, I assure you, it does mean something.” Claire had to fight to keep the thread of fear that was curling around her out of her voice. This was why she had packed for him; if she flinched now, he would never leave. “You are moving out. Everything that is yours is out there, and you're not setting foot in this house again."

  The challenge in his gaze was clear as he opened his mouth to speak, but she was faster. She had thought he might refuse to leave and she'd been determined to deal with it if it happened. After what she had seen in his tally notebook earlier, she knew exactly what to say to convince him not to argue.

  "I looked through your notebook while I was packing your stuff. Interesting numbers. I was wondering if the S.E. liaison at the police station would find them familiar or if he'd be surprised by how many vamps you've been killing lately."

  She knew, before she had even finished, that she had guessed right. The brief look of panic in his eyes was enough, even if anger soon hid it.

  "It's bad enough that you've been messing with my things, but if you stole—"

  "I didn't steal anything. It's in one of these boxes, like everything else that belongs to you. But if you don't leave tonight, if you don't leave for good, then I will tell the police what you're doing. Are you ready for them to snoop around in your business?"

  Jonas’ closed fist hit the doorjamb. His expression was thunderous. Claire started and took an unconscious step back. He blinked at that, and the anger seemed to drain right out of him, replaced by surprise.

  "You're afraid of me?"

  When Claire didn't answer and merely stared at him, he shook his head.

  "You should know me better than that, Claire. I could never hurt you."

  Claire had to fight not to let tears come up to her eyes.

  "No, you wouldn't hurt me. All you do is lie and cheat. But it's over now. Really over."

  He reacted to the quiet words as he might to a slap, by taking a half-step back and looking at her as though for the first time. In a way, it was. She had never showed this determined side of herself to him. She hadn't even been sure it existed before this day.

  "Claire, I promise—"

  She never heard what lie he was ready to offer this time. She pushed the door shut in his face, and, with a flick of her wrist, locked it. She took a deep breath, suddenly realizing she was shaking. Lightheaded, she went to sit on the sofa and took a moment to calm down, her eyes shut tight as she listened to Jonas knock hard on the door and call for her. When she didn't answer, the knocking stopped. Claire continued to listen intently for the sounds on the porch, imagining Jonas picking up his things and carrying them to the back of his truck. After long moments, the motor roared to life and he drove away. Claire called Maggie.

  "It's done,” she said, hearing the relief and excitement in her voice but unable to feel either. “I can start a new life now."

  Only when she hung up on congratulations and wishes of happiness did she realize that she had no idea what kind of new life she wanted. For eight years, she had lived what she had thought was the perfect love story, only to discover it had been no more than a dream. The aftertaste was bitter, and she hurt enough that she wanted to curl into a ball and sleep until it was nothing but a memory. She wouldn't do that, though. She had taken a first step by sending Jonas away; she would continue on the same road and reclaim her life. And if she didn't know where that road led, it didn't matter all that much. She would figure it out.

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  Chapter One

  Claire's tight dress made stepping out of the cab a more complex affair than it should have been. Sliding over to the door, she pushed it open before swinging both legs out and carefully setting her high heels on the pavement. She hastily smoothed the black fabric down her hips as she stood.

  "Ten thirty, then?” the driver asked, his voice thick with an Eastern European accent.

  He had spent most of the ride telling her of the vampires he claimed to have fought back home almost since the cradle, it seemed. Claire had refrained several times from pointing out factual errors in his tales; as much as movies claimed otherwise, vampires could not grow back severed limbs, nor could they transform their features at will. She had wondered several times whether the man's usual customers fell for his stories, or if they, too, could spot the inconsistencies that made it all a boastful lie.

  She paid her fare and an advance for his return through the open window. “Ten thirty,” she confirmed. “Right here would be great.” It would be early, but she thought it would give her enough time. For months now, the knowledge that Jonas killed vampires illegally had pricked her conscience, making her wonder if she ought to do something about it. Seeing vampires up clos
e would give her the answer she needed, or so she hoped.

  The driver touched the edge of his cap with two fingers, and she could have sworn he said a quiet “Be safe” as he drove away.

  She stood on the sidewalk for a few seconds, reading the glowing sign over the entrance of the club. Starting as an icy blue, the letters shifted to a deep red even as she watched, spelling the name of the establishment in blood. Claire smiled. It was only fitting, seeing how On The Edge had a reputation as the friendliest club for vampire patrons in the continental United States.

  Very conscious that the heels of her black shoes were at least an inch higher than the highest heels she had ever worn before, Claire stepped carefully over to the entrance, a small, black clutch bag in her hand. If there was a way to walk in these heels without sashaying, she had no idea how. She had never dressed this way before, never been in a club like this one, and the novelty of the experience was becoming overwhelming. Then again, when she noticed some gazes sliding over her and following the curves that her dress emphasized rather than hid, she couldn't regret dressing up for the occasion. Maybe the salesperson hadn't just been trying to make a sale, after all, and maybe the sleeveless cocktail dress, with a high collar encircling her neck and a scalloped hem not quite brushing her knees, did flatter her figure.

  Another appreciative look from a man seated at a table across from a glaring woman convinced Claire, and the return of a tiny bit of self-confidence made her walk to the bar a little less awkward.

  She leaned against the counter rather than sitting on one of the high stools, and immediately one of the two bartenders came to her. He had dark hair and even darker eyes, but his smile lit up his whole face.

  "What can I serve you, lovely?” he asked in a decidedly flirty tone.

  Claire felt a flash of pride that she could answer without blushing or stuttering. “Something sweet, not too strong?"

  His hands flew over the bottles behind the recessed area of the bar, and within seconds he deposited a tall, thin glass in front of her. She counted at least five different layers, each a different color of red, pink or orange. She could only hope it tasted as good as it looked.

  "My specialty. Sunset Light."

  He grinned as he said it, and Claire smiled back. She started opening her purse to pull out some cash, but he shook his head, stopping her.

  "On the house,” he offered. “To celebrate your first visit to On The Edge."

  She raised the glass in a silent thank you before taking a sip—the taste was fresh, the hint of alcohol soft as velvet on her tongue—then looked at him questioningly.

  "How did you know it's my first time here?"

  His eyes seemed to glint with an amused flame for an instant. “You're nervous. That usually means first-timer.” His smile widened, and Claire blinked as she caught sight of a fang. “No need to worry,” he continued. “We don't bite.” He paused, just long enough for Claire to understand that it was more than a saying, then winked. “Not unless you make it clear that's what you want."

  Claire managed a weak laugh before the bartender—the vampire—turned away to serve another customer. The sip she took this time was a bit deeper, and it calmed her nerves a little. She had known there would be vampires when she had come to the club; that was why she had chosen it, after all. Yet she had not expected her first encounter with a vampire would be with a charming and very flirty bartender.

  Jonas had told her stories about this club, each scarier than the last, about how crazy humans got themselves ensnared by vampires and were bitten in plain sight of all the customers, only to end up dead by morning, or turned, which Jonas thought was worse. She had never understood how such an establishment could be allowed to remain open if that was the case. Now though, she could begin to see that those stories, like so many of Jonas’ words, had been less than accurate. She was glad she had come to see the club for herself.

  Glass in hand, she looked around the room. Because of the high ceiling, the space seemed larger than it really was. To the left of the entrance, a coat check stood in an open area, although with the unseasonably warm weather the attendant didn't seem to have a lot to do. The bar was in the center, set on a platform. It was open on all four sides, and lined with high stools to accommodate as many customers as possible. Around it, scattered over the floor, couples or groups sat at small round tables, chatting over drinks. The wall directly opposite the entrance and the one on the right were lined with booths, some of which gave an illusion of privacy with their drawn but sheer curtains. In the far left corner, large block lettering over two doors indicated the restrooms, while two more remained unmarked, maybe leading to offices, she guessed.

  Puzzled, Claire frowned, searching for the dance floor. She could hear music playing, but no one was dancing.

  On the left side of the room, past the coat check, she noticed a couple disappearing down a staircase. This had to be the way to the dance floor. She took a few steps that way before freezing. Her heart had just skipped a beat.

  Right there, coming up the same staircase and dressed in full Special Enforcer gear, was Jonas.

  The black pants and jacket were familiar enough, but she had rarely seen him with the strap of a crossbow across his chest and a leather belt holding stakes and vials of holy water resting low on his hips. The attire gave him a dangerous edge that she had known existed, but that she had rarely had the occasion to witness. It startled her enough that she remained immobile, her eyes still on him.

  She wondered, afterwards, if he would have noticed her, had she not been staring at him. When he first glanced in her direction, his eyes showed no hint of recognition. Only when she continued to stare did he take a second look at her. His brief frown transformed almost immediately into astonishment as his eyes ran over her, up and down, twice.

  Feeling self conscious, Claire raised her glass back to her lips and looked elsewhere. A few steps away, a man was looking at her with clear interest, reminding her that she had nothing to feel ashamed of, and she turned her gaze back toward Jonas just as he crossed the few steps that separated them. His expression still revealed his surprise, but there was a harder side to it that Claire couldn't recognize.

  "'Evening, Claire."

  She inclined her head briefly, responding to his formality in kind. “Jonas."

  His eyes traveled over her again, and that dark edge grew, accentuated by his words. “You look ... different."

  Without realizing what she was doing, Claire raised a hand to her hair and patted the loose curls that fell to her shoulders. Her hairdresser had been incredulous, then thrilled, when Claire had announced her intention to completely change her style. The first cut of her waist length hair had felt liberating.

  "It'll grow back, I suppose,” Jonas continued. “The dress is a bit much, though."

  The disapproval in his words poorly hid something else, and Claire tried not to smile in triumph at the realization that he was jealous. He had never shown much possessiveness where she was concerned, and to experience it now that they weren't a couple anymore was somewhat ironic.

  "I think it's pretty,” she said, trying to sound detached, and made a show of looking around them. “And I'm not the only one who thinks so."

  His face darkened as he came close to glowering. His voice dropped to an urgent whisper. “You shouldn't be here. It's dangerous. I'll take you home."

  He took a step toward her, his hand raised as though he wanted to take her arm. A flash of irritation made her fingers tighten on the glass. She shifted her body away from him and gave him a warning look. For the first two weeks after she had broken things off with him, he had called regularly and left messages until she had unplugged the answering machine. Every time, whether he had been apologizing, asking her for a second chance or telling her she was making a mistake, his words had dripped with the certainty that she was wrong and that he knew better than she did. It was the same tone he was using now, and she wouldn't let him get away with it.

 
"I'm not a child for you to baby-sit, Jonas.” With her high heels, she stood almost as tall as he did, and for once she could face him practically eye to eye. It added an extra ounce of strength to her words. “I am not going anywhere with you, and I neither want nor care about your opinion."

  The tightening in his jaw revealed how annoyed he was, as did the cold glint in his gaze. Claire met it calmly and without flinching. Once, she would have gone out of her way to avoid annoying Jonas. He had never threatened her in any way, but he was a much more pleasant man when things went his way. Those days were long past, though, and she couldn't have cared less if he was upset.

  "Even if we're not together anymore, I'm not leaving you here,” he hissed. “I know what can happen in this place, it's my job—"

  "You mean, it's your job to stake vampires without proof they've killed anyone?"

  Her voice was loud enough that the closest patrons turned toward them, some curious, others frowning. In a place like this, with vampires around them, this kind of accusation was anything but casual. From the corner of her eye, Claire could also see the bartender who had served her, standing very still by the bar, his attention clearly on her and Jonas.

  "You shouldn't joke about things like that."

  Jonas ran a hand over his shaved head, and his lips stretched into a forced smile that did not reach his eyes. Claire had never heard that wary tone in his voice before.

  "No,” she agreed. “Killing innocent people isn't something anyone should joke about."

  "I think we should talk,” he said more quietly. “Why don't we go to a safer place?"

  Shaking her head, Claire suppressed a small sigh. Jonas’ smile was still fake, but it had taken a hopeful turn. She couldn't understand him. He was showing more interest in her now than he had for years.