For several seconds Nikki could do nothing more than lie there. The simple act of breathing had become a struggle, and fire burned through every fiber of her being. Her muscles thumped and quivered, as if someone was kicking and punching her. And she knew what she was feeling was merely an echo of what was actually happening to him.

Michael? She thrust the link wide and called with every ounce of strength she had.

There was no response. His mind wasn't shuttered, simply lost in a fog she could not traverse. A fog she'd felt once before—when Jasper had drugged her to stop her using her talents to contact Michael.

If she'd sucked away his strength, if he couldn't use his talents because his mind was warped by drugs, he couldn't protect himself—not in any way.

Panic tore through her heart. He couldn't die ... not now, not when there were so many things left unsaid between them.

Tears stung her eyes. She took a deep breath and tried to regain some sense of control. Don't think. Don't feel. React.

She pushed to her knees and grabbed the cell phone from her pocket, quickly dialing Jake.

"Where are you?” she asked, the minute he answered.

"Down at Fisherman's Wharf.” He hesitated, and concern touched his voice as he continued. “Why?"

"Because Michael's in trouble. Meet me near the Hard Rock on Van Ness Avenue."

She hung up and climbed to her feet. She thought briefly about catching a cab but knew it was probably faster to run, even though the peak of rush hour had come and gone. So she ran. The fog slapped wetly against her skin, soaking her hair and dribbling down her face. Or maybe that was tears. She didn't know. Didn't care. Her heart pounded a rhythm that was as fast and fearful as every step, yet deep inside she knew no matter how fast she was, it was never going to be enough. Not to save Michael from the damage Farmer was inflicting.

Maybe not even to save his life.

A sob escaped her lips. She put a hand to her mouth and kept on running. The streets, the lights, the people still out and about, blurred around her. All she wanted—all she could think about—was Michael.

She swung onto Van Ness. Heard rather than saw the Hard Rock. Did see Jake, pacing impatiently out front. She slowed, then stopped.

He took one look at her face and swore softly. “Where is he?"

"Not here.” She bent, leaning her hands against her knees, her entire being shuddering as she sucked in great gasps of air. “But close."

"If there's any hope of rescuing him, we have to hurry, Nik."

They didn't have a hope of finding him let alone rescuing him. Not right now. She knew that without a doubt. But they had to try. She'd never forgive herself if she didn't at least try.

She pushed upright and studied the night. The pull of his presence came from up ahead. “This way,” she said.

"What's happened?” Jake's quick steps seemed to echo against the sidewalk while hers made no sound at all. It was almost as if she were part of the night, as silent as the breeze.

Or Michael.

Her breath caught somewhere in her throat. Don't think. Don't feel. Not yet. “I don't know exactly. I just know I can't touch his mind, and that Farmer has beaten the crap out of him."

"Drugged?"

She nodded tightly and wondered how in hell something like that had happened. He was usually so careful ... but then, maybe it was a little hard to concentrate when someone you loved had just threatened to walk out of your life. Guilt swirled, but she pushed that away, too. She had no time for guilt or fear or anything else beyond determination.

She'd save him from Farmer. Find him, save him, and somehow kill Farmer in the process. She swung right and made her way down a smaller street. An old restaurant came into sight, its windows boarded up but door gone.

This was it. This was where they'd been. Where they no longer were.

Jake stopped beside her. “Anyone there?"

She shook her head, her gaze searching the street, trying to catch some sense of where Farmer had taken Michael. Instinct suggested they were heading northwest. But it also suggested they shouldn't follow. Not yet.

Jake looked around, then stepped past the shattered doorway into the old restaurant. She followed him inside.

He bent and studied several dark smudges on the floor. “Blood.” His voice was as grim as his expression when he looked up.

She swallowed bile and somehow managed to say, “He's alive, Jake. Farmer wants to use him as bait."

"So what the hell are we going to do? The two of us are pretty much next to useless when it comes to fighting a vampire and his horde."

"Maybe.” She moved past him into the deeper darkness. There was something here that teased the outer reaches of her psychic senses. Something she had to find. “There are ways we can protect ourselves, at least."

"I thought garlic and holy water didn't work."

She edged forward and held out her hand. Energy tingled across her fingertips, warning she was close. “It doesn't. But silver does. Wooden stakes do."

"So does shooting the bastard's head off,” Jake said. “I'd rather be armed with a gun any day."

"Gun's don't frighten vampires. They tend to think they're beyond them.” She knelt and brushed her fingers against the old tiles, touching a sliver of metal.

It was the cross she'd given Michael when they first met. Farmer must have torn it from his neck, because Michael would never have left this here willingly. Michael knew she'd use it to follow him—and that was something he'd never want.

She wrapped her fingers around it. Though her palm tingled, no images rushed from the cross's silver heart. He was still unconscious, and there was no telling yet just how badly he'd been hurt.

But if the muted ache pounding through her brain was anything to go by, his wounds were serious. Maybe not enough to kill, but certainly enough to maim him longer than any of them had before they faced Farmer.

She walked back to Jake. “We should go back to the hotel and plan what we're going to do next."

Jake's expression was shocked. “You're not going after him?"

She held out her hand and showed him the cross. “Michael would never have left it. We both know he wouldn't want me to follow him, no matter how deadly his situation. Farmer took it off. He's the one who wants us to follow."

"And if we don't, he might just kill Michael."

She took a deep breath. It didn't calm the churning in her stomach or the fear pounding through her heart. “He won't until he gets his hands on me. So we keep away until we have a surefire way of killing the bastard."

"That's not going to be easy. For a start, we don't even know what he looks like."

"I'll know him when I see him.” If only because the scent of evil was never easily disguised.

Jake nodded. “Then let's get back."

He led the way out the door. They walked quickly through the damp night, and while she could find no scent of evil in the darkness that swirled damply around them, it was a huge relief when the warm lights of the hotel finally came into sight.

The woman manning the reception desk looked up as they entered. “Miss James? A parcel has arrived for you."

Jake raised an eyebrow. “You expecting anything?"

She shook her head. “But Michael was. Seline was sending him a charm of some sort."

"Ah, the mystery lady who runs the Circle. We ever going to get to meet her?"

Nikki gave him a dirty look as she picked up the small, wrapped box. “I can't even get him to talk about her—which is one of the things we were arguing about."

"Ah. Sorry, Nik."

She shrugged. Their argument wasn't what mattered right now. Getting Michael back safely was.

"You want something to eat?” Jake continued as they made their way across to the elevators.

She shook her head. “I very much suspect if I eat anything right now, I might just throw up."

He looked at her, then touched her elbow and drew her into his embrace. “He'll be okay,” he said softly. “Michael's survived for more than three centuries. It'll take more than a psycho like Farmer to destroy him."

She closed her eyes, fighting tears. She couldn't cry. Wouldn't cry. Not until Michael was safe. A bell chimed into the silence, announcing the elevator's arrival. She didn't move and neither did Jake, and for that she was glad. In many ways, he'd become almost a father to her, and right now, she needed a father's comforting. Needed to be held. Needed to be told it would turn out all right—even if the words were nothing more than a lie.

It was several minutes before she sniffed and pulled away. Forcing a smile, she said, “Thanks."

He nodded, thumbing a tear from her cheek. “Michael's a survivor. Remember that, if nothing else. And there's no way on this Earth he's going to give up life until he's had a chance to tell you off for walking out on him like you did."

Her smile became warmer, but no less strained. “You're probably right."

"There's no probably about it. I was with the man. Believe me, annoyed doesn't begin to cover it.” He hit the elevator button again and the door slid open. “You going up to your room?"

She shook her head and followed him in. “Neither of us is going anywhere alone from now on. If you want something to eat, I'll follow you into the dining room. I can grab a coffee, if nothing else."

"Nik, you can't fuel you talents on nothing but coffee, you know."

"You've been hanging around Michael far too much."

He smiled. “He's only echoing what I've been saying for years."

She snorted softly. “This from the man who didn't believe in my talents for how many years?"

"I didn't disbelieve, you know."

The doors slid open again, and Jake led the way into the dining room. She waited until the waiter had taken Jake's order then placed the box on the table and began unwrapping it. Inside was a single braided rope bracelet, similar to the one she'd worn to stop Cordell's magic from touching her. Only this one had several tarnished charms woven through the thick red, yellow and blue cords.

"What is it?” Jake said, when she held it up.

"From what Michael said, it's supposed to break the link Farmer has with me.” She slipped it over her wrist and up under her sweater. The rope was slightly scratchy against her skin and oddly warm.

"A piece of rope and a couple of old coins are supposed to do that?” Disbelief edged his voice.

She grinned. “Yeah, I know. But her charm worked the last time I tried one, and I'm not about to discount this one. We need all the breaks we can get."

"Amen to that."

Her coffee was brought to the table, then his meal. Jake thanked the waiter then attacked his steak with a gusto that made her look away. She might have to eat to fuel her talents, but right now just watching him was almost more than she could bear.

"So is it?” he asked, waving his knife at the charm hidden under her sweater.

"I don't know.” She leaned back in the chair, frowning as she searched for internal changes. The bracelet's pleasant warmth was beginning to flush through her, and for the first time since she'd arrived in San Francisco, she felt an odd sort of peace. It was as if she'd stepped into a cone of silence, without having realized before then just how much noise there was around her. “Maybe."

"Will that thing affect your ability to find Michael?"

She wrapped her fingers around the cross in her pocket. Warmth pulsed through her fingers and shadows crowded her mind. He was regaining consciousness—but if those ghostly, distant images were anything to go by, he was still heavily drugged.

"No, it won't.” If only because their connection went far deeper—and was far stronger—than any of her talents. She would have been able to find him even without the aid of the cross and her psychometry skills.

"So what's the game plan?"

She sighed and rubbed a hand across her eyes. “I don't know. I just know we can't rush in and try to rescue him because that's what Farmer wants."

"And if he doesn't get what he wants, he'll try something else."

"I know."

Jake finished his steak then pushed the remaining vegetables away and leaned back in his chair. “First things first. Weapons?"

"You've got your gun, and we've got that rifle we confiscated."

He nodded. “I also took several knives from the kitchen, but I won't guarantee how much silver there is in them."

"Probably not a lot, but Farmer's younger in vampire years than Jasper, and a silver kitchen knife certainly helped do him in.” She frowned, trying to remember everything Michael had said about vampires over the past few months—which was not a lot, in reality. “What about wood?"

"As in stakes?"

She nodded. Wood in any form was supposedly deadly to vampires—not that she really wanted to confront Farmer armed only with a sharpened piece of wood. That would be nothing short of foolishness.

"I can get some."

"Good."

A waiter approached and refilled their coffee cups. Jake waited until he'd left then said, “You know he's not going to be alone."

"I know.” And she didn't know how they were going to handle a harem of fledglings plus Farmer. “I wish we were back in Lyndhurst. At least we could call in MacEwan."

Jake's smile was wry. “Bet you never thought there'd come a day when you'd be saying that."

"No.” MacEwan had been the bane of her existence as a teenager, and one of the biggest decriers of her talents on the police force. Yet, oddly enough, he was one of the few cops they could go to for help, no matter what the situation, simply because he'd known them long enough to trust them. Up to a point, anyway.

"We could call him,” Jake said. “Ask if he's got free time. At the very least, he might get us some credibility with the cops here in San Francisco."

"I've got a feeling we haven't that sort of time.” Which was not exactly the truth. What she was really feeling was that, as of five minutes ago, they'd totally run out of time.

Her gaze drifted to the maître d', and a chill ran down her spine. Something had happened. Something more than Michael. The phone rang shrilly, and her heart lodged somewhere in her throat. The maître d’ answered it then glanced their way.

"Oh great. Just what we need right now—another of your little feelings.” Jake's voice seemed to be coming from the end of a great hollow.

She couldn't answer. Could only watch as a waiter bought the phone over to their table.

"Mr. Morgan? Phone call for you, sir."

Jake accepted the phone with a nod of thanks then said, “Hello?"

There was a long silence, and in that brief moment, Jake seemed to age twenty years.

She closed her eyes. Knew without being told what had happened.

Jake hung up the phone and placed it on the table. For several minutes there was nothing but silence. It was as if the whole world had faded away, leaving an echoing void with only them in it.

His chair creaked as he slumped back. She bit her lip, fighting tears.

"That was Anna.” His voice was remote. Empty. “Mary never made it to Long Beach."

Voices whispered. Sharp, excited voices, heated by lust, spiked with desperation. At first, Michael wasn't sure whether they were real or just a result of the feverish pain pounding through him.

More cries touched the night—the sound of fear mingled with ecstasy and lust and hunger. The darkness in him stirred and his canines lengthened. Anticipating. Wanting.

He tried to force his eyes open, but they seemed glued shut. Tried to move his arms, only to have a red wall of pain rise up his left arm and knock him back into unconsciousness.

When he stirred a second time, the voices were gone, replaced by the stink of evil.

"So the dead awakens.” Farmer's amused tones seemed to be coming from a great distance. “And here I was thinking I might have been a little too harsh with the boots."

His voice was coming from the far left. Michael turned his head that way. Beyond the stink came the tantalizing aroma of fresh blood. The darkness in him came to life again. He needed to feed. Needed the sweet strength of human life to help him heal...

No, he thought. Not human. He could kill Nikki if he drank from her again...

Nikki. Her image jumped into focus through the fogginess enshrouding his brain, and fear swelled. But she wasn't here. It wasn't her whose death he could smell. Wasn't her blood Farmer had all over him.

Relief washed through him, a river that cleared some of the confusion from his brain. How much time had passed since Farmer had kicked him unconscious and dragged him down here? And where, exactly, was here?

"I'd offer you some sustenance,” Farmer continued. “But I'm afraid my fledglings and I overindulged, and there's not much left of the poor girl."

The smell of death mixed with a damp, slightly fishy odor, indicating they were in the sewers again. But beyond that, there was a sea-weedy, salty sort of tang. In the distance came a continuous, thumping roar, like that of ocean pounding against rocks. They had to be near an old outlet to the sea, even though those had been blocked many years ago.

But why here? Especially when it was such a long way from where they'd found the other two victims? What was Farmer up to this time?

"I know you're awake,” Farmer continued, his tone less jocular. “Feigning unconsciousness in the hope of getting me closer will achieve nothing. You're chained, in case you didn't realize it."

He shifted his right arm carefully. Heard the clink of metal. Normally, chains wouldn't hold him. Farmer knew that and so did he. Which meant he was hurt far more than the pain pounding through his body would suggest.

"This won't—” The words came out a cracked, almost unintelligible whisper. He stopped and ran his tongue around his mouth. Three teeth were chipped, his top lip was split, and the bottom half of his face seemed horribly swollen. Farmer obviously hadn't been overly careful on where he'd placed his boots. It hurt to breathe, let alone talk. “—get you anywhere,” he finished.

"Interesting you should say that, because I really did expect the witch to come rushing to your rescue. She hasn't, and I'm wondering why."

Because she's smarter than you think. Smarter than I think. “Argument,” he ground out.

"Well, that's just downright inconsiderate of you. How bad?"

"Split up.” It hurt to say those words. Hurt more than any of the wounds Farmer had inflicted on him. And if he got out of this situation alive, he was going to ensure she stayed in his life. There had to be a compromise that suited both of them. Had to be.

And if there wasn't?

Then he'd do what it took—even if that meant walking away from the Circle, from everything and everyone else he loved. Her leaving him this afternoon had allowed him to glimpse the future, and it was as he'd long suspected. Life without her was a long, dark tunnel. He'd been through that tunnel once. He had no intention of going back.

Farmer tsked. “Very inconsiderate. Still, maybe she has no idea yet that you're my captive. Maybe she failed to find that damn cross of yours."

She would have found it. Of that, Michael had no doubt. But why she hadn't yet tried to rescue him he couldn't honestly say. Maybe all the arguing they'd been doing over the past few days had actually done some good. Maybe she was thinking instead of simply reacting.

Which wasn't really a fair thought. Especially when it was part of what he loved about her.

"Perhaps I shall send her a little souvenir and let her know."

Over his dead body. “Great ... idea."

The silence seemed to stretch. He could feel Farmer's confusion, even if he couldn't yet see it.

"It worries me that you so readily agree with me,” the younger vampire said eventually.

It was supposed to. Obviously, Farmer wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, and at least that gave Michael himself some advantage. Right now, he needed every little bit of help he could get. He shifted his right hand and carefully rubbed his face. Blood crusted both his eyes. He wiped it away and opened his eyes—or eye. The left one remained swollen shut.

Farmer was a blur of red heat fifteen feet away. Farmer's left arm was heavily bandaged, indicating Michael had been successful in at least one aim. Behind the younger vampire were four others—the fledglings he'd heard feeding earlier.

"Why do you want me to send her such a reminder when it is your flesh I'll be taking?” Farmer continued.

"How...” His voice faded, and he coughed. The action sent pain slicing through him, and the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He swallowed it. Blood was blood, and right now, he could not afford to lose any more than he already had. “...would you react?"

"I'd be hysterical. Then I'd want revenge.” Farmer paused again. “Which is exactly the reaction I want."

"Go for it."

Farmer crossed his arms, expression wary. Puzzled. “You're just trying to psyche me out of it, aren't you?"

"Yes."

The puzzlement on Farmer's face deepened. “And now your just agreeing with everything I say and trying to confuse me."

"Yes.” At this stage, there wasn't much else he could do. Not until the pain ebbed a little.

"Perhaps I should try to contact her first. Give her a little taste of what I intend if she doesn't come to your rescue.” Farmer glanced at his watch. “In the meantime, I have a pressing engagement with another prisoner.” He turned, then hesitated. “And don't bother trying to escape. My boys will be more than a match for you in your current condition."

The boys in question stirred restlessly. None of them were particularly old, three of the four probably little more than eighteen or nineteen. The taste for young flesh was something he had never been able to understand. Even in the darkest days of his early years as one of Elizabeth's fledglings, he had always chosen older victims to feast on. The destruction of such young life was something he'd always abhorred.

As Elizabeth had often said, he never did make much of a ‘proper’ vampire.

Farmer left. The Loop milled uncertainly for several seconds, then followed their creator. But they didn't go far. Their restless movements and hungry, blood-crazed thoughts stirred the darkness from just around the corner.

If Farmer wasn't careful, these four would soon slip the leash. They were too new to their condition, too crazed by the urgency pounding through their veins. And that could lead to a blood bath on the streets above. Not that Farmer would particularly care, except for the fact it might put a dent in his plans for revenge.

Plans Michael still had every intention of stopping. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply and taking stock. The pain was centered in three areas—his ribs, his left arm and his stomach. His legs were undoubtedly bruised and battered, but he could move them without great walls of agony hitting him, so nothing was broken. His arm was broken—every twitch sent hot lances arrowing into his brain. His ribs and stomach were almost as painful, but neither of those would hamper his escape as much as his useless left arm.

He reached out to the link and tried to contact Nikki. Nothing but a haze of gray came back to him. It was something he'd felt once before—when Jasper had kidnapped and drugged her. Farmer had undoubtedly done something similar to him. He'd felt the full force of Michael's mind strength in the cafe. He wouldn't risk being captured like that again.

Michael glanced at the metal cuff around his right wrist and tried to kinetically pry the attached links apart. The fog swirled sluggishly, and the metal links remained stubbornly locked together.

No relying on his psychic skills, then.

He edged carefully onto his back, but the movement still jarred his arm. Sweat broke out across his brow, and he hissed, battling waves of nausea and the threatening tide of unconsciousness.

He couldn't slip back. He didn't trust the fledglings not to attack him. And he needed to get out of here, away from Farmer, before Nikki did come looking for him.

He continued to breathe deeply until the pain had subsided once again, then turned to study what held the chains. It wasn't the wall he'd expected, but a rusting metal ladder. His gaze followed it up into the darkness. The cover looked as if it hadn't been moved in some time, but that didn't mean it couldn't be moved. It was certainly worth a try.

But first, he had to do something about his arm.

He looked down at the limb in question. Bone gleamed whitely in the darkness. One break, close to his elbow. It would heal with time but, right now, time was the one thing he didn't have much of. He looked back at the ladder. Muck and silt had built up over the years, and the bottom rung was half buried and looked rustier than the rest of the ladder. If he could break it off, it would make a good splint.

He wrapped his fingers around it, took a deep breath, then pulled with all his strength. It came away with a snap that jarred every part of him. A scream tore up his throat, but became nothing more than another hiss of air through clenched teeth. Sweat stung his eyes, and for several seconds, everything went red. He wasn't sure if it was blood or pain.

Gradually his vision cleared, and he saw he was clenching a one-foot section of the rung. What in hell was he going to tie it with?

He stared into the darkness and listened to the restless stirrings of the fledgling's. They'd attack soon. Farmer had obviously stepped past the distance from which he could control them—or perhaps he wasn't even aware there were such limits. Either way, the blood-craze was stirring the ‘boys’ into a frenzy of lust and wanting. And he was fresh meat all too close, all too tempting.

He slipped off his shoes then edged off his socks. Hooked them, one at a time, between his toes and held them up so he could grab them with his good hand. He positioned the rung on his chest then carefully took hold of his broken arm and eased it towards the pipe. He knew it would hurt and it did.

When the red haze had once more cleared, he clumsily secured his socks around both his arm and the rung. Then pulled the bottom of his shirt from his jeans, undid the bottom button and pulled it up over his arm, reattaching it to one of the top buttons. As slings went, it wasn't the best. But it was the best he could do.

He turned his attention to the chain holding him captive. It was thick and strong, but the ladder to which it was attached wasn't. He carefully edged into a sitting position, thrust his bare feet against the ladder, grabbed a fist full of chain and pulled back hard.

Against the strength of his desperation, the ladder had little hope. The rusted side gave way with a snap that sent him sprawling backwards. Through a haze of pain he heard the sudden silence, felt the surge of panic and lust.

Saw the red glazed eyes of the fledglings as they rushed towards him.