He frowned, but he knew his memory wasn't going to get any clearer until he did something about the runes. And for that, he needed the witch's help.
He made his way back down the street. The old whorehouse had almost burned to the ground, but no one seemed worried about it. He scanned the nearby buildings, noting the stir of life in several of them. The whores were still plying their trade with the few miners who were awake, yet the beat of life pounding through their veins spoke of stress rather than pleasure. He reached out with his thoughts, trying to touch their minds. Again, it felt as if he were trying to reach past a thick wall of molasses. This time though, he touched enough surface thoughts to realize he wasn't the only one being controlled. Those women weren't whores. Kinnard had snatched them from the street and brought them here to play that part.
And there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop it. Not when his psi abilities were being so illusive. He cursed softly, turned away and walked back to the witch's house. She was in the small kitchen area and glanced around as he entered, but her welcoming smile quickly faded. “What's wrong?"
He placed the bloody knife on the table and continued toward her. “Kinnard was waiting for me in the stables."
Her gaze skated down his body then rose again. “You're okay?"
"Yes. He merely came to give me a warning.” He stopped in front of her, cupping her cheek with a hand. “You have to leave."
She rolled her eyes. “Please, we've been through this a hundred times before."
"I don't give a damn if we have. Kinnard intends to come for you at midnight, and I'm not going to risk him getting past me.” He brushed his thumb across her lips and gave her a crooked smile. “I may not be able to remember your name, but I know I could not live without you."
"Nor I you.” She leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. She tasted of honey and butter and all the good things in life he'd longed for since his turning, and he had finally found them.
"But I can't—"
"You can, and you will."
"Michael—"
"No. If what you say about the ceremony is true, then by simply leaving, you destroy Dunleavy's plans."
"If I leave, he will begin killing off Circle members." Dread clenched his gut, even though he wasn't entirely sure why. “What?" She blew out a breath, puffing the blond-brown strands of fringe away from her forehead. “You and I are members of an organization known as The Damask Circle. Dunleavy has gotten hold of a list of our people. If I leave before the ceremony, he'll start killing the people at the top of that list and work his way down."
It was on the tip of his tongue to say he didn't give a damn about the list or the people on it, but he just couldn't force the words out. Because he did give a damn, even if he couldn't remember why.
"So he holds all the aces."
She shrugged. “He thinks he does. Me, I think we're in pretty damn good shape.” She hesitated, her gaze dropping to his thigh. “Well, I am, anyway."
He smiled and wrapped a hand around her waist, pulling her close. Her body was warm and familiar, the rapid beat of her pulse a siren's song that called to the man in him rather than the vampire. With her breasts pressed so snugly against his chest, he couldn't help being aware of her arousal, just as she was no doubt aware of his. He wished they were home—wherever home might be. Wished he had the time to give in to passion's flame and love her as thoroughly as she deserved. But that wasn't an option right now. Not when there were a couple of madmen running around... Or were there?
He remembered what she'd said earlier, remembered what Kinnard had just said, and frowned. “Have you seen Dunleavy at all?"
Her sigh was a sound of frustration. She stepped from his embrace and reached for the still steaming cup on the kitchen bench. “Once,” she said, “Just after he'd kidnapped you."
"But not since then?"
She shook her head and leaned her hip against the bench. The sunlight streaming in through the window behind her lent warm highlights to her hair, and in that moment he realized her natural color was brown rather than the blonde he kept seeing.
"Why?” she asked.
He crossed his arms. “Because I think it's odd we haven't seen him at all."
"I thought we'd decided that all this magic happening around us had him drained and basically immobilized?"
"We did. But what if that's what we were supposed to believe?" She sipped her coffee and said, “Even if that were true, how come we haven't seen him?"
"Maybe we have. Maybe we just haven't realized it."
"You're the one who said you'd be able to see Dunleavy if he was around. Are you telling me now that's not true?"
"No. I said if Dunleavy was here, I should be able to see him, because you cannot hide the basic energy readout of a vampire."
"And Dunleavy is definitely a vampire, so why haven't you spotted him?"