"But not just one of your plain old, garden variety vampires,” Nikki said softly. “He's one of the vamps who attacked us in the warehouse."

And judging from the way he was bent over slightly, as if he had stomach cramps, he was the vamp she'd stabbed with the knife. He looked different under the harsh lights—scrawnier, somehow.

Michael took the bags from the carousel and dropped them onto a cart. “It can't be a trap of any kind. The booking's been made under my name, not an alias, and Seline would have contacted me had there been any inquiries."

"But if he sees me, he'll know who I am.” She met Michael's dark gaze. “Is this what Seline meant when she said if I came here alone I would die?"

"I doubt if a lone vampire intent on vengeance would pose much of a threat to you these days.” He touched her shoulder lightly, his fingers burning heat through her soul. “Stay here. I'll just go and have a nice little chat with him."

"Why do men always say ‘stay here'?” Irritation bit through her words, despite her best efforts to remain calm. “Don't you know by now it's only an open invitation to do the exact opposite?"

He placed a finger against her lips. “Will you please be quiet and just wait? I'll be right back."

His eyes were filled with the promise of death. She shivered and crossed her arms, watching him walk away. The other vampire chose that moment to turn around. Recognition widened his gaze for a second, then he looked from her to Michael. How he knew they were together she wasn't sure, but the sudden fear in his eyes was visible even from where she stood.

He ran for the main entrance and out into the night. Michael ran after him. Nikki cursed under her breath. Damn it, she wasn't going to be left behind like some good little wife ... even if that was exactly what she was supposed to be.

She grabbed the cart with their luggage and ran after them. The night air was cool and the wind held only the faintest memory of the day's heat. She stopped and looked around. People pushed past her, heading for the waiting cabs and buses. Headlights spotlighted the night as other passengers climbed into cars and drove away. She couldn't see Michael or the other vampire, but she didn't really need to. Not when the presence of the younger vampire itched at her skin.

She wheeled the cart toward the parking garage. Darkness soon engulfed her, broken intermittently by the wash of brightness from the overhead lights. The noise and bustle of the airport faded, and the silence became blanket heavy.

Her gaze swept the silent rows of cars. Someone was close, even if she couldn't see them. Her skin was itching so fiercely it felt like it was burning. Noise scuffed to her left. She jumped slightly, half turning, then a prickle of awareness ran across the back of her neck. He was behind her.

She swung, seeing only darkness, yet knowing the night lied. Air stirred, flushed with heat and anger, rushing toward her. Fear squeezed her throat tight. She jumped back, but before she could lash the night-cloaked vampire with energy, Michael dove in from the left. He hit the unseen vampire hard, driving him to the ground with a thump that made her wince.

The shadows abandoned the vampire almost immediately, revealing a gaunt, pain-ravaged face and wild blue eyes. He reminded Nikki of the feral kids she'd met so often in the days when she'd lived on the streets herself. He even fought like them, spindly arms and legs going everywhere but with little effect. There was no real strength or method in his movements, just desperation to get what he wanted—which in this case was her.

Michael sat on the vampire's chest, then grabbed his arms, crossing and pushing them toward the ground. The vampire had no choice but to stop fighting or risk breaking both his shoulders.

"Why are you here?” Though Michael's voice was soft, there was a deadliness to it that chilled her. There was no compassion in his words, no life.

"I'm a chauffeur, man.” Sweat was beginning to bead the vampire's forehead. “What do you think I'm here for?"

"And does the resort often send vampires to greet their guests?"

"No."

"Then tell me why you are here.” Michael punctuated his soft words by pushing a little harder on the vampire's crossed arms.

The vampire yelped. “To meet with a guest and his wife and take them to the resort. I swear, that's all."

Sweat was trickling faster down his face now, and his cheeks were beginning to glow with heat. She rubbed her arms. There was something more than fear happening here.

"And the name of this guest?"

The trickle had become a stream. Water dripped from the young vampire's face, pooling near the back of his neck. Dark stains were appearing under his arms and across his stomach.

"Rodeman,” he said, voice high and cracked with pain. “Some old dude and his new wife."

She met Michael's glance and smiled grimly. “Want to bet that this Rodeman is number sixteen on the disappearing list?"

"Too much of a chance, given the publicity caused by Hutton's recent disappearance."

The vampire's eyes widened even further at the mention of the actor's name. He looked like an owl—all white face and huge eyes. He also looked gaunter than he had in the terminal—almost skeletal.

"You some kind of cop?” he asked.

"Some kind,” Michael agreed. “Would you like to tell me what you intended to do with Rodeman once you'd picked him up?"

The vampire licked his lips—lips that were so dry they were beginning to crack and bleed. “Drive him to the resort. That's all, really."

"No stopping for midnight snacks along the way?” Michael said, his voice deepening sharply.

"No. I swear..."

Smoke was beginning to curl from the vampire's shoes, and the pungent aroma of roasting meat fouled the night air. Her stomach began to churn. Jasper had smelled that way the day the sun had burned him out of existence. A chill raced across her skin.

"Michael, get off him."

"I'm in control, Nikki.” Though his voice was even, his anger ran sharply through the link.

Smoky tendrils had crept up to the young vampire's ankles and were creeping towards his knees. “That's not what I meant. Get off him, now!"

He glanced at her, then released the vampire's arms and climbed quickly to his feet. She grabbed his arm, pulling him away. The vampire didn't move. Couldn't move. His eyes were wide and glassy, bloody mouth open, as if he were screaming. Water was pooled under his entire body, and the steam was rising from both legs.

She held a hand to her mouth. “It's like he's melting,” she said, swallowing heavily. “Like he's wasting away from the inside."

"I think he is."

Michael clasped her hand, but the warmth of his touch did little to ease the coldness creeping through her. “How is something like that possible? He's a vampire—I thought you guys were impervious to just about everything."

"We normally are, but I think we can safely say this goes beyond the realms of what can be considered normal."

The vampire's body was closing in on itself, collapsing as quickly as a tent. Steam was rising from most of his body, and the stench of burning flesh was thick enough to carve. Though his face was little more than a skeleton, his eyes were alive with horror.

Whoever or whatever was doing this to him hadn't had the decency to take that awareness away. He was little more than a puddle, and yet he could still think. Could still feel.

Bile rose in her throat. She wrenched her hand from Michael's and stumbled away, losing behind the nearest car what she'd eaten on the aircraft. He touched her back, holding her gently until the shudders had passed, then offered her a handkerchief.

"You should have stayed in the terminal, like I asked,” he chided softly.

She straightened and wiped her mouth. What she needed now was a drink and an explanation, not an I-told-you-so. “Did you honestly expect me to wait?” she muttered.

He smiled, a warmth she felt deep inside, and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. His fingers trailed heat across her chilled skin. “I guess I didn't."

"What just happened? How can someone simply melt away like that?"

Though his dark gaze was emotionless, his unease surged briefly down the link between them. “They say the human body is ninety-percent water. I guess melting is not beyond the realms of possibility."

"Obviously, seeing it just happened.” Sarcasm bit through her words. She crossed her arms and glared at him. “But my real question is how? Melting is not something often attached to the human condition, you know."

He shrugged, studying the empty uniform and puddled water, all that remained of the younger vampire. “I think we're dealing with some form of black magic."

She blinked. “Magic?"

He nodded. “I'll have to talk to Seline, since she's the expert in that field. But it really happened too quickly for it to be anything else."

"Magic?” she repeated dumbly.

He glanced at her, amusement flitting through his eyes. “It's as real as vampires, and just as dangerous."

Fear rose, squeezing her throat tight. “Then whoever's behind all this knows we're here. They killed him to stop him talking."

"I doubt it. Even in the terminal, he didn't look well. Whatever happened to him was happening then, I think."

"But why send a vampire—and a sick one at that—to greet guests? That doesn't make any sense."

"And probably won't until we discover exactly what is happening at the resort."

She thrust a hand through her hair. “I don't like the feel of this, Michael."

"Then go home."

She snorted softly. “Go home. Keep safe. Is that your answer to everything?"

"It's only sensible. You're out of your league on this one."

Yeah, right. And wouldn't sending her home suit him right down to the ground—at least then he wouldn't have to worry about her hanging around upsetting his precious resolves. “And you're not? You've already admitted black magic is not a field you're familiar with. Besides, I made a commitment to find Matthew Kincaid, and I have no intention of going anywhere until I do.” And no intention of going anywhere once she did.

Annoyance stirred around her. She frowned, wondering why the link surged to life only when his emotions got the better of his control.

"Matthew may not even be at the resort,” he said steadily.

"Then I'll use his watch to discover his exact position and rescue him.” She raised an eyebrow. “You're not going to get rid of me that easily, you know."

"So you keep saying.” He sighed and gestured toward the airport terminal. “We'd better get back and see if we can find our chauffeur."

"And what about him?” she said, pointing to the wet remains.

"Let his employers worry about him.” He grabbed the cart then lightly touched her arm. “Let's go."

They walked back to the terminal. There were fewer people around this time. Most of their fellow passengers had obviously found transportation to whisk them from the airport. Michael grabbed a soda from a dispensing machine and handed it across to her. She sipped it warily, not wanting to upset her stomach but needing to get rid of the bitter taste in her mouth.

Just inside the main doors, a chauffeur dressed in blue and red waited, holding a sign with the name Kelly marked on it. With him was another couple—a man in his mid-sixties and his much younger, very busty, blonde wife.

"I'm Kelly,” Michael said. “Sorry we're late. My wife was feeling sick and had to get some fresh air."

The driver nodded. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, his plain face suntanned and bored looking. “Would you mind if we take Mr. and Mrs. Rodeman with us? It appears their chauffeur has disappeared."

"Really? Well, sure, that's no problem.” He held out his hand to the older man. “Michael Kelly."

"Lucas Rodeman and my wife, Ginger."

There was more than a hint of pride in the old man's voice. He touched his wife's arm, patting her gently. It reminded Nikki of the time Jake had won the amateur's trophy at the local golf club. He'd caressed the trophy in much the same manner—as if he couldn't quite believe his luck and just had to keep touching it to ensure it was real.

"Hello,” Ginger said, her voice throaty and mellow.

She held out a limp-looking hand. Michael shook it quickly, then touched Nikki's back, his hand sliding a little, as if wiping away the feel of the woman's fingers.

She held out her hand. “Nikki.” She shook Lucas's hand and moved on to Ginger's.

The blonde's fingers wrapped around hers—cold, clammy, and holding little strength. Yet heat rushed up Nikki's arm at her touch, burning through her body, her mind. She stared at the blonde's vacant blue eyes and saw only fire. Fingers of red heat reached out, flooding her mind with images. A figure in black, chanting words that compelled. Ghostly forms that were nothing more than flame rising from the rocks, bending before the will of the words. Anger and humiliation and a hurt so deep it burned the air around it...

The blonde's eyes widened slightly. Under the harsh brightness of the terminal lights, a myriad of scars seemed to cobweb the left side of her face and neck. Nikki wrenched her hand away, her legs suddenly weak.

Michael's hands went around her waist, steadying her. “Are you okay?"

Concern filled the air, and his voice seemed to be a million miles away. She didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Her throat was so dry it felt like it had been burned. Darkness whirled through her mind, and her whole body was trembling as if her strength had been sucked away by heat.

As consciousness slipped, she stared into the blonde's eyes and knew one thing.

Ginger Rodeman wasn't human.