One

It gets cold in Las Vegas at night, especially if you are alone.

But after working all night in a casino designed to resemble a hyped-up Tales from the 1001 Arabian Nights, called the Scheherazade, shlepping drinks in instruments of torture masquerading as high-heeled shoes, fending off ass-pinchers, watching newlyweds lose their nest egg on a single roll of the dice, sometimes, the cold, thick darkness is exactly what I crave.

Tonight was one of those nights.

Besides, I'm used to being alone.

"G'night, Candace," the night doorman said as I left the Sher through the employee exit that leads to the parking garage.

I got into my car and drove home slowly through the neon-lit streets. This is the hour when the night is at its coldest, at its darkest—the hour just before dawn. The time that normal, everyday people dread, when their eyes suddenly fly open in the darkness and it occurs to them to wonder if this will be the day when the sun declines to rise.

I never worry about this myself. When you've seen the things that I have, you know the truth: Truly major shit doesn't give a damn about the time of day, and it sure as hell doesn't go by anyone's alarm clock. If it's coming at you, all you can do is duck. Or run. And even then, chances are more than a little good it's going to get you anyhow.

I pulled the car into my driveway, then, draping a long woolen coat over my shoulders, I started walking. My feet made absolutely no sound on the sidewalk.

Down my street, past another, and suddenly, it's there before you: the Mojave Desert, nestling at the feet of the Spring Mountains. You can smell the desert long before you get there, just the faintest tang of sage on the air. It can find you when you least expect it, even on the Strip. Las Vegas is pure boomtown, spreading into the desert in a constant invasion that lasts for miles. But the desert is a worthy adversary. It does not give up. Between the condos and the malls and the brand-new developments that seem to sprout up overnight, the Mojave is always there.

It was exactly what I needed tonight.

I chose my favorite spot—a small hollow in what, later in the day, would be the shade of a boulder—and sat down, letting the coat fall back behind me. I pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapped my arms around them, and gazed upward. You have to know how to look to see the Vegas stars at night. But I was good at it. I ought to be. I did it often enough. A bittersweet pleasure, a test I insisted upon giving myself. I closed my eyes, then opened them again. The stars were still there, and so was my reaction to them.

Where are you tonight, Ash? I thought.

Ashford Donahue III, the man I loved. The vampire I hated. Just my luck that he was both. The first time I met him, I could have sworn the stars were in his eyes. The last time I saw him, he was walking out. He had sworn not to come back. If I wanted him, it was my move. And I hadn't made it. Not in six long months. On nights like this, I wondered why. Nights like this made me want to forget the pain, the past, the blood. On nights like this, I still wanted Ash. The taste of his skin. The feel of his mouth.

"You shouldn't be out here alone." A voice in the darkness made me jump up; instinctively, I pulled out one of the sharp silver wands I wear in my hair. But I wasn't frightened. What I felt, and tried hard to conceal, was a completely different emotion: joy.

Joy. Because Ash was here, with me in the darkness of the desert night….

"Ash! What the hell are you doing here?" I demanded, trying to conceal the powerful feelings Ash provokes in me. Feelings I am not particularly proud of, by the way. I have fought against them over and over, long and hard. I've lost every single time.

"Do you have to ask?" he said, stepping out from around the boulder. "You're starting to develop patterns, Candace. That can be dangerous, you know."

I slid the silver wand back into my hair. There was no sense calling attention to it. I don't think Ash knows what I do in my spare time. I hunt down vampires and kill them. Not just any vampires. The ones like Ash, who, by virtue of their high rank in the vampire hierarchy, feed on live human blood. He was the one who inspired this particular hobby, in fact. He once tried to drink mine. The truth is, I'm lucky to be alive.

"Do you watch me, Ash?" I asked now. "Is that what you're saying? If I want you, I have to come to you, but in the meantime you like to watch?"

"No, Candace. That's not what I like," he said as he took a step closer. He was standing beside me now. In the predawn darkness, his eyes seemed to kindle with their own light.

Copyright © 2006 by Parachute Publishing, LLC.