room. He understood this, as they both liked to feel hidden away somewhere during their dormancy. He walked over and cracked their door, just to check on them.
The room was dark, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. For some reason, the sight awaiting him sent a jolt through his body.
Philip was lying on the bed, on his back, wearing only a pair of jeans. Eleisha wore sweatpants and a tank top, but she was curled up against him with her head on his shoulder, her long hair tangled across his throat. Their chests did not move. They did not breathe.
They both looked dead.
Even dead they shared a connection he could not penetrate— with either of them. They were his only companions now, and yet he often felt like the outsider.
Still, he knew them, understood them better than they realized, although he kept such revelations to himself. He knew how it felt to feed on human blood, to kill to survive.
He had experienced this from Eleisha, Philip, and now Rose. He had felt the sensation of sinking one’s teeth into a human throat, watching memories, and drinking blood. But the act was starkly different for all three of the vampires he had lived through.
Philip reveled in killing.
Eleisha had found it regretful.
Rose felt open shame.
At this thought, a small portion of his resolution to become closely involved with Rose wavered.
He turned his eyes to Philip.
Yes, Rose appeared to be the lost victim that Eleisha had described, but was Philip’s caution wrong? None of them really knew Rose yet, she had certainly shown the ability to shut her remorse off when she grew hungry enough, and she had avoided getting too close to mortals she cared about for fear of feeding on them.
Wade could never forget he was a lone mortal among a growing number of the undead.
He straightened, pushing doubt away.
He would not abandon this path. In spite of his agreement with Philip’s caution, Eleisha’s passion to find others like herself and have him teach them to feed without killing provided a stronger pull.
It gave him purpose.
Suddenly, he realized he was hungry.
He walked back to the couch and put on his shoes. Then he headed for the front door.
“Where are you going?” a hollow voice challenged.
He half turned to see Seamus’ transparent form standing outside the guest room door. As accustomed as Wade had become to the reality of vampires, the sight of this Scottish ghost still left him unsettled.
“Out to find some food,” he answered. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
The suspicious expression on Seamus’ face vanished. “Oh, I’d forgotten you would need to . . .” He trailed off.
Wade turned fully from the door, not quite sure what to say as he realized Seamus wasn’t used to anyone being awake in the apartment during daylight hours. How alien this all must feel to him.
“Your aunt did the right thing,” he said finally, “writing to Eleisha.”
Seamus looked away from Wade and back through the guest room door. “I think so, too . . . now. I think it’s good she came, and you as well.” Then his eyes narrowed. “Except that she trusts him!”
At first, Wade wasn’t sure what this meant. More on impulse than a conscious decision, Wade reached out telepathically, not certain he could read a ghost but trying to pick up any thoughts. He sensed nothing, as if Seamus wasn’t there.
He took a few steps back toward the guest room and saw that Seamus was looking at Eleisha sleeping on Philip’s shoulder.
“Oh, you mean Eleisha trusts . . .” Wade struggled for words. “Of course she trusts him. He’d throw himself in front of a bus for her.”
“He’s a killer.”
“Eleisha has killed, too, many times. So has Rose.”
“They’re not like him.”
Well, that was true, and Wade could offer no argument. But Seamus was going to have to accept Philip if he wanted help from Eleisha and Wade. Philip came as part of the package—and he wasn’t a killer anymore.
Wade debated explaining how Eleisha and Philip fed now, but he knew Seamus was still reeling from an onslaught of radical changes in less than twenty-four hours.
“Why do you stay with them?” Seamus asked, his Scottish accent growing thicker and his voice growing sad. “You need not.”
Wade wasn’t certain how to answer—or even if he should answer. “Normal people don’t enjoy my company,” he began, “once they find out I see everything they’re thinking. Even if I promised not to . . . no one could know