At the bottom, she punched out a fire door and strode into the grungy lobby. Someone called after her, but it was not her name that they used, and she was not responding to the rude term. It was a relief to get outside, and that was saying something considering it was arctic cold and snowing.

Heading around the side of her building, she batted the falling snow out of her face and tried to ignore the wail of sirens and the sound of someone screaming far off in the distance. There was also a troubling, repeating banging sound, the kind of thing that she prayed was not a head going into a hard wall.

Closing her eyes, she thought of her shadow lover and it all went away. The memory of him made her feel as safe as if he were actually with her—and yet, as always, when she was fully awake, she couldn’t picture anything about him. Not his face, not his body, not his scent… only his existence was known to her conscious mind, not any of the details that she saw so clearly when she was asleep.

If I just knew his name, she told herself. It would change everything.

That was what was on her mind as she dematerialized, and it was a relief to scatter into a loose group of molecules and ghost away to a safer place. As she resumed her corporeal form behind Salvatore’s Restaurant, she released the breath she had been holding and stepped forward in the foot-deep snow. The parking lot was mostly empty, only staff cars crowded up by the rear entry of the building, and a plow was trying to keep ahead of the storm, pushing more of what was coming down from the sky into piles at the edges.

It was going to be a quiet night because of the weather, and that was probably why her absence had been noted, but fairly well tolerated. The grace period wasn’t going to last long, however. She had already been late once before because she’d overslept.

Stupid humans. Always pounding around above her.

Crazy dream. That wouldn’t leave her in peace.

On the approach to the back door, she stood up the collar on her parka, like that somehow might make her look less late than she was. Which was ridiculous. Pushing her way into the unadorned concrete hall, she stomped most of the snow off her boots and then hurried to the staff locker room. Peeling off her coat, she tossed it and her purse in her locker—

“Are you okay?”

She spun around at the sound of the male voice. Emile Davise was six feet four inches of human male, with blond hair, blue eyes, and a kind smile. Right from the beginning, he had showed her the ropes and a lot of patience—even though he had no idea what he was dealing with, or who he was working for. Sal’s was vampire-owned and -run, although humans were employed. Members of the species kept things very discreet, however.

“Oh, God, Emile.” She sat down and unlaced her boots. “I slept through my alarm again. They’re going to fire me.”

“They will not. I will quit if they do.” He held out a pressed half apron. “I got your tables ready.”

She stopped what she was doing and looked up. “Emile.”

“I had extra time.” He jogged the apron. “Come on, service is starting. We have two tables full, believe it or not.”

Therese hurried with the shoe change, swapping her heavy treads for black server shoes, and then she took what he gave her, folding and tying the apron around her waist and tucking everything in correctly so that her formal bow tie, white pressed shirt, black slacks, and the overlay were all smooth and orderly.

“How do I look?” she asked on the fly.

When there was a pause, she glanced at the human. His lids had lowered and a flush had come out on his cheeks.

Emile cleared his throat. “You’re beautiful.”

Therese opened her mouth to downplay everything—the moment, the attraction he was feeling, the subtle question that was in his stare but that had not yet come out of his mouth—but then she froze.

A Shadow loomed behind the man.

Therese’s pulse quickened, her body responding in a rush. And as the shift in her attention was noted, Emile pivoted around.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Latimer,” the human man said. “I was… er, I was just leaving.”

Emile glanced back at her, and there was regret in his face. As if he knew things he wished he didn’t. “I’ll see you out on the floor, Therese.”

“Thanks, Emile.”

After the human left, she looked up, way up, into the eyes of a male that she had not been able to get out of her mind. Trez Latimer was more than a vampire. He was a Shadow, his dark skin and black eyes integral to the venerable heritage of the s’Hisbe, his heavy shoulders and long powerful legs the kind of thing you never saw except in warriors.

He was extraordinary. In all ways.

And he was staring at her with a kind of intensity that she had never understood, but certainly could not question. From the moment he had first seen her, he had appeared to be captivated—which made no sense at all. Therese was a middle-of-the-road female, neither beautiful nor ugly, neither fat nor thin, neither brilliant nor stupid.

Yet to this incredible male, she seemed to be of unusual interest.

There had to be a reason. But self-preservation dictated that she not go any further with him. God knew she had enough on her plate already.

“Hi,” she said softly. “I wondered if you would be here tonight.”

CHAPTER FOUR

And I wondered if you were dead, Trez thought to himself.

But that was hardly the kind of opener he wanted to lead with. For one, as a vampire, Therese wouldn’t have been stupid like him and taken a car through the storm. She would have dematerialized here. For another, she was not his responsibility. Really. No, really, she was not.

And likewise he was not her curse.

Just because this female and his beloved Selena looked so completely similar did not give him the right to be behave as if Therese was his beloved shellan. So whether she was late to work on a snowy night, or if she didn’t come in at all, or if she were early or on time, none of this was his problem, his fault, or his concern. And for crissakes, this paranoia he was rocking with regard to her safety was annoying.

Come on, not every female he met or came into contact with was going to die on him.

If that were true, the Black Dagger Brotherhood would all be widowers by now.

Trez cursed and looked away. Looked back. Tried not to re-memorize that which had never left his mind.

“Yes, I’m here,” he heard himself say.

“Are you okay?”

Nope. Not even close. “I was just worried about you.”

Yeah, wow. That pep talk he’d given himself had really stuck, hadn’t it.

“That’s really kind of you.”

“The weather’s bad out tonight.” His voice sounded strange to his own ears. Tense and low. “Because of the snow.”

Plus, there’s that disaster zone you’re living in, he tacked on in his head. And God, he really had to shut up here. He was just digging a hole he wasn’t going to be able to climb out of.

“Oh, I’m fine.” She made a dismissive motion with her hand. “I’m self-sufficient.”

Next up: strained silence.

As the quiet persisted, Trez was aware he was staring, but his eyes refused to go anywhere else. Every time he saw this female, he found himself compulsively checking to see if he was right about what she looked like. To see if he had somehow misinterpreted something about her. And the fucked-up thing was that he couldn’t decide whether he wanted his perception to be right or wrong—although it wasn’t like he got a vote on that.