t was another endlessly boring night at the dental clinic. Shanna Whelan leaned back in the squeaky office chair and gazed at the white ceiling tiles. The water stain was still there. What a surprise. It had taken her three nights to conclude that the stain was the exact shape of a dachshund. Such was her life.

With another loud creak, she straightened in her chair and glanced at the clock radio. Two-thirty in the morning. Six hours left on her shift. She turned the radio on. Elevator music droned forth to fill the office, an uninspired, instrumental version of "Strangers in the Night." Yeah, like she was going to meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger and fall in love. Not in her boring life. Last night, the pinnacle of her evening had been when she learned how to make her chair squeak in time with the music.

With a groan, she folded her arms on the desk and pillowed her head. How did the saying go? Be careful what you ask for because you might get it? Well, she had begged for boring, and boy, did she have it. In the six weeks she'd been working at the clinic, she'd had one customer. A young boy with braces. In the middle of the night, a wire had come loose in his mouth. His frantic parents had brought him here so she could reconnect the wire. Otherwise the loose wire could have stabbed the inside of the boy's mouth, resulting in.. blood.

Shanna shuddered. Just the thought of blood made her woozy. Memories of the Incident swelled in the dark recesses of her brain, gruesome bloody images that taunted her, threatening to come into the light. No, she would not let them ruin her day. Or her new life. They belonged to another life, another person. They belonged to the brave and happy girl she'd been for the first twenty-seven years of her life before all hell had broken loose. Now, thanks to the Witness Protection Program, she was boring Jane Wilson, who lived in a boring loft in a boring neighborhood and spent every night at a boring job.

Boring was good. Boring was safe. Jane Wilson had to remain invisible and disappear into the ocean of countless faces in Manhattan for the sole purpose of staying alive. Unfortunately, it seemed that even boredom could cause stress. There was just too much time to think. Time to remember.

She switched off the music and paced across the empty waiting room. Eighteen chairs, upholstered in alternating hues of dusty blue and green, lined the pale blue walls. A framed copy of Monet's Water Lilies hung on one wall in an effort to inject calm serenity into nervous patients. Shanna doubted it worked. She was as edgy as ever.

Usually busy during the day, the clinic was a lonely place at night. Just as well. If anyone came in with a serious problem, Shanna was no longer sure she could deal with it. She'd been a good dentist before the.. Incident. Don't think about that. But what would she do if someone actually came to the clinic with an emergency? Just last week, she'd accidentally nicked herself shaving her legs.

One tiny drop of blood and her knees had shaken so badly, she'd been forced to lie down.

Maybe she should give up dentistry. So what if she lost her career? She'd lost everything else, including her family. The Department of Justice had made it clear. Under no circumstances was she to contact any family members or old friends. Not only would it put her own life back in jeopardy, but it would endanger those she loved.

Boring Jane Wilson had no family or friends. She had one assigned U.S. marshal she could talk to. No wonder she'd gained ten pounds in the last two months. Eating was about the only thrill left to her. That and talking to the handsome young pizza delivery guy. She quickened her pace as she circled the waiting room. If she kept eating pizza every night, she'd puff up like a whale, and then the bad guys might never recognize her. She could be safe and fat for the rest of her life. Shanna groaned. Safe, fat, bored, and lonesome.

A knock at the front door brought her skidding to a stop. Probably the pizza delivery guy, but even so, for a second her heart had lurched in her chest. She took a deep breath and ventured toward the front windows. She peeked through the white mini-blinds she always kept closed at night so no one could see inside.

"It's me, Dr. Wilson," Tommy called. "I've got your pizza."

"All right." She unlocked the door. The clinic might be open for business all night, but she still took precautions. She only unlocked the door for legitimate customers. And pizza.

"Hey, Doc." Tommy sauntered in with a grin. For the last two weeks, the teenager had made a delivery every night, and Shanna enjoyed his adolescent attempts at flirtation as much as the pizza. In fact, this was the highlight of her day. Jeez, she was on the fast track to becoming pathetic.

"Hi, Tommy. How's it going?" She went to the office counter to locate her purse.

"I've got your giant pepperoni right here." Tommy tugged on the waistband of his loose jeans, then let go. The jeans slid slightly down his narrow hips, revealing three inches of silk Scooby Doo boxer shorts.

"But I ordered a small one."

"I wasn't talking about the pizza, Doc." Tommy gave her a big wink and set the pizza box on the counter.

"Right. Well, that was a bit too cheesy for me. And I don't mean the pizza, either."

"Sorry." With pink-tinted cheeks, he gave her a sheepish smile. "A guy's gotta try, you know."

"I suppose so." She paid for the pizza.

"Thanks." Tommy pocketed the money. "You know, we make a jillion kinds of pizza. You ought to try something new."

"Maybe I will. Tomorrow."

He rolled his eyes. "That's what you said last week."

The phone rang, splitting the air with its shrill sound. Shanna jumped.

"Whoa, Doc. Maybe you should switch to decaf."

"I don't think I've heard that phone ring since I started working here." The phone jangled once again. Wow, a pizza guy and a ringing phone at the same time. This was more excitement than she'd seen in weeks.

"I'll let you get to work. See you tomorrow, Dr. Wilson." Tommy waved good-bye and swaggered toward the front door.

"Bye." Shanna admired his low-slung jeans from the back. She was definitely going on a diet. After the pizza. The phone rang again, and she lifted the receiver. "SoHo SoBright Dental Clinic. May I help you?"

"Yes, you may," the man's gruff voice was followed by a heavy breath. Then another.

Oh, great. A pervert to brighten her evening. "I believe you have the wrong number." She started to lower the receiver when she heard his voice again.

"I believe you have the wrong name, Shanna."

She gasped. It had to be a mistake. Yeah, and Shanna is such a common name. People were always calling places, asking for Shanna. Who was she kidding? Should she hang up? No, they already knew who she was.

And where she was. Terror jolted through her. Oh my God, they were coming for her.

Calm down! She had to remain calm. "I'm afraid you have the wrong number. This is Dr. Jane Wilson at the SoHo SoBright Dental��"

"Cut the crap! We know where you are, Shanna. It's payback time." Click. The call was over, and the nightmare was back.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no." She dropped the receiver in place and realized she was mumbling louder and louder, working her way up to a full-fledged scream. Get a grip! She mentally slapped herself and punched in the numbers 911.

"This is Dr. Jane Wilson at the SoHo SoBright Dental Clinic. I.. we're under attack!" She gave the address, and the dispatcher assured her a squad car was on the way. Right. With an ETA of ten minutes past the time of her murder, no doubt.

With a gasp, she remembered the front door was unlocked. She sprinted to the door and locked it. As she dashed through the clinic to the back door, she grabbed her cell phone from her lab coat pocket and punched the number of her assigned U.S. marshal.

First ring. "Come on, Bob. Pick up." She reached the back door. All the deadbolts were secure. Second ring.

Oh no! What a stupid waste of time. The entire front of the clinic was glass. Locking the door wouldn't keep anyone out. They'd simply shoot through the glass. Then they'd shoot her. She needed to think better than this. She needed to get the hell out of here.

The third ring was followed by a click. "Bob, I need help!"

She was interrupted by a bored voice. "I'm away from my desk at the moment, but leave your name and number and I'll get back to you as soon as possible."

Beep. "This is bullshit, Bob!" She ran back to the office for her purse. "You said you'd always be there. They know where I am, and they're coming for me." She jabbed the END button and dropped the phone back into her pocket. That damned Bob! So much for his saccharine assurances that the government could protect her. She'd show him. Why, she'd.. she'd stop paying her taxes. Of course, if she was murdered, that would no longer be a problem.

Focus! she reprimanded herself. This sort of jumbled-up thinking would get her killed. She skidded to a stop at the desk and grabbed her purse. She'd escape out the back and run till she found a taxi. Then, she'd go.. where? If they knew where she worked, they probably also knew where she lived. Oh God, she was so screwed.

"Good evening," a deep voice rumbled across the room.

With a squeal, Shanna jumped. A gorgeous man was standing by the front door. Gorgeous? She was really losing it, if she was checking out a hit man. He held something white against his mouth, but she hardly noticed it, for his eyes caught her attention and didn't let go. His gaze swept over her, his eyes a golden brown and tinged with hunger.

A spurt of frigid air jabbed at her head, so sudden and intense, she pressed a hand against her temple. "How.. how did you get in?"

He continued to stare at her, but with a slight movement of one hand, he motioned toward the door.

"That's not possible," she whispered. The locked door and windows were intact. Had he managed to sneak in earlier? No, she would have noticed this man. Every cell in her body was aware of this man. Was it her imagination, or were his eyes growing more golden, more intense?

His shoulder-length black hair curled slightly on the ends. A black sweater accentuated broad shoulders, and black jeans hugged his hips and long legs. He was a tall, dark, and handsome.. hit man. My God. He could probably kill a woman just by giving her wildly erratic heart palpitations. In fact, that was probably what he did. He wasn't carrying a weapon of any kind. Of course, those large hands of his��

Cold pain pierced her head once more, reminding her of the times she'd slurped down a frozen Slushee too fast.

"I have not come to harm you." His voice was low, almost hypnotic.

That was it. He lured his victims into a trance with his golden eyes and honeyed voice, then before you knew it�� she shook her head. No, she could fight this. She would not give in.

He frowned, dark brows drawing closer together. "You are being difficult."

"You better believe it." She fumbled in her purse and whipped out her .32-caliber Beretta Tomcat. "Surprise, sucker."

No shock or fear registered on his rugged face, only a slight hint of irritation. "Madam, the weapon is unnecessary."

Oh, the safety catch. With trembling fingers, she switched it off, then pointed the gun back at his broad chest. Hopefully, he hadn't noticed her lack of expertise. She widened her stance and used both hands like she'd seen on cop shows. "I've got a full clip with your name on it, scumbag. You're going down."

Something sparked in his eyes. It should have been fear, but she could have sworn it was amusement. He stepped toward her. "Drop the gun, please. And the dramatics."

"No!" She gave him her best and meanest glare. "I'll shoot. I'll kill you."

"Easier said than done." He took another step toward her.

She raised the gun an inch. "I mean it. I don't care how incredibly handsome you are. I'll splatter you all over the room."

His dark brows rose. Now he looked surprised. Slowly, he inspected her once more, his eyes darkening to the color of hot, molten gold.

"Stop looking at me like that." Her hands trembled.

He stepped toward her again. "I will not harm you. I need your help." He lowered the handkerchief from his mouth. Red splotches stained the white cotton. Blood.

Shanna gasped. Her hands lowered. Her stomach lurched. "You.. you're bleeding."

"Put the gun down before you shoot yourself in the foot."

"No." She raised the Beretta again, and tried not to think about blood. After all, if she shot him, there'd be plenty more.

"I need your help. I lost a tooth."

"You��you're a customer?"

"Yes. Can you help me?"

"Oh, Sheesh." She dropped her gun into her purse. "Sorry about this."

"You don't normally greet your customers at gunpoint?" His eyes twinkled with more amusement.

Oh, God, he was gorgeous. Just her luck that the perfect man would waltz into her life two minutes before her death. "Look, they'll be here any second. You'd better get out of here. Fast."

His eyes narrowed. "You're in trouble?"

"Yes. And if they catch you here, they'll kill you, too. Come on." She grabbed her purse. "Let's go out the back."

"You are concerned for me?"

She glanced back. He was still hovering by the desk. "Of course. I hate to see innocent people killed."

"I am not what you would call innocent."

She snorted. "Did you come here to kill me?"

"No."

"Innocent enough for me. Come on." She headed across the examining room.

"Is there another clinic where you can help me with my tooth?"

She turned and caught her breath. He was right behind her, though she hadn't heard him move. "How did you��"

He opened his hand, palm up. "This is my tooth."

She flinched. A few drops of blood had pooled in his palm, but with effort, she managed to focus on the tooth. "What? Is this some sort of sick joke? That's not a human tooth."

His mouth tightened. "It is my tooth. I need you to put it back in."

"No way am I implanting an animal tooth in your mouth. That's just sick. That.. that thing's from a dog. Or a wolf."

His nostrils flared, and he seemed to grow three inches. His fingers curled around the tooth, forming a fist. "How dare you, madam. I am not a werewolf."

She blinked. Okay, he was weird. A little psycho, maybe. Unless.. "Oh, I get it. Tommy put you up to this."

"I don't know a Tommy."

"Then who��" Shanna was interrupted by the sound of cars screeching to a halt outside the clinic. Was it the police? Please, God, let it be the police. She edged toward the office door and peeked out. No siren, no flashing lights. Heavy footsteps pounded on the sidewalk.

Her skin crept with cold sweat. She hugged her purse to her chest. "They're here."

The psycho customer wrapped his wolf tooth in the white handkerchief and stuffed it into a pocket. "Who are they?"

"People who want to kill me." She ran through the examining room to the back door.

"Are you that bad of a dentist?"

"No." She flipped the deadbolt locks with trembling fingers.

"Did you do something wrong?"

"No, I saw something I shouldn't have. And so will you, if you don't get out of here." She grabbed his arm to push him out the back door. A trickle of blood oozed from the corner of his mouth. He quickly wiped it with his hand, but it left a red smudge along his chiseled jaw.

There had been so much blood. So many lifeless faces, coated with blood. And poor Karen. The blood had pooled in her mouth, choking her last words.

"Oh God." Shanna's knees wobbled. Her vision blurred. Not now. Not when she needed to run.

The psycho customer grabbed her. "Are you all right?"

She looked at his hand, firmly gripping her upper arm. A red smear stained her white lab coat. Blood. Her eyes flickered shut as she sagged against him. Her purse tumbled to the floor.

He lifted her in his arms.

"No." She was fainting away. She couldn't let this happen. With one last feeble attempt, she opened her eyes.

His face was close. The world was fading away, and still he studied her, his eyes slowly starting to glow.

His eyes were red. Red like blood.

Dead, she would soon be dead. Like Karen. "Save yourself. Please," she whispered. Then all went black.

Unbelievable. If Roman didn't know better, he'd swear she wasn't mortal. In more than five hundred years, he had never met a mortal who could resist his mind control. He'd never met a mortal who wanted to save him instead of kill him. God's blood, she even believed he was innocent. And incredibly handsome��those had been her words.

But she was mortal. Her body felt warm and soft in his arms. He dipped his head lower and inhaled deeply through his nose. The rich aroma of fresh, human blood filled his senses. Type A Positive. His favorite. His grip tightened. His groin swelled. She was so vulnerable in his arms, her head dropped back to expose her virginal white neck. And damn if the rest of her didn't look just as tasty.

As much as he craved her body, her mind intrigued him even more. How the hell had she managed to block his mind control? Every time he'd attempted it, she'd slapped it back in his face. The struggle of minds hadn't angered him, though. Quite the contrary. He had still managed to read a few of her thoughts. Apparently she was frightened by the sight of blood. And her last thought before fainting had been about death.

But she was very much alive. She shimmered with heat and vitality, pulsed with vibrant life, and even unconscious, she was giving him one hell of an erection. God's blood. What was he going to do with her?

His extra-sensitive hearing caught the sound of male voices on the front sidewalk.

"Shanna! Don't make this hard on yourself. Let us in."

Shanna? He noted her fair skin, pink mouth, and light sprinkling of freckles across her pert nose. The name suited her. Her soft, brown hair looked dyed. Interesting. Why would a lovely young woman hide her true hair color? One thing was certain. VANNA was a poor substitute for the real thing.

"That's it, bitch! We're coming in." Something crashed through the front of the clinic, splintering glass. The mini-blinds rattled.

God's blood. These men truly meant to hurt her. What could she have done? He seriously doubted she was some kind of criminal. She'd been too inept with her revolver. And too trusting of him. In fact, she seemed more worried about his safety than her own. Her last words had begged him to save himself. Not her.

The sanest course of action would be to drop her and run. After all, there were other dentists out there, and he rarely involved himself in the mortal world.

He looked down at her face. Save yourself. Please.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't leave her to die. She was.. different. Something in his gut, an instinct that had rested dormant for centuries, flared within him, and he knew. He was cradling a rare treasure in his arms.

More glass shattered in the front office. God's blood. He'd have to move fast. Luckily for him, that wasn't a problem. He hefted her over one shoulder and grabbed her strange handbag with pictures of Marilyn Monroe printed on each side. He cracked open the back door and peered outside.

The buildings across the street were jammed together with metal fire escapes zigzagging up the walls. Most of the businesses were closed. Only a restaurant on the corner was still lit up. Cars dashed along the busier street, but this side street was quiet. Parked cars lined both sides. His extra-sharp senses detected life. Two men behind the parked car across the street. He couldn't see them, but he felt their presence, smelled the blood pumping through their veins.

In an instant, he pushed the door open and swooshed to the end of the block. As he zoomed around the corner, he saw the two mortals just starting to react. They ran toward the open door, their pistols drawn. Roman had moved so fast, they hadn't even seen him. He rounded another corner to the street in front of the clinic. There he hid behind a parked delivery van and watched the scene unfold.

Three black sedans blocked the street. Three, no, four men were there��two acting as sentries while the other two smashed their way through the glass storefront. Bloody hell. Who were these men who wanted Shanna dead?

His arms tightened around her. "Hang on, sweetness. We're going for a ride." He focused on the roof of the ten-story building behind him. A second later, they were there, and he was looking down on the group of thugs.

Shards of glass littered the sidewalk, crunching beneath the shoes of Shanna's would-be killers. Only jagged stalagmites remained of the clinic windows. One of the thugs reached a gloved hand through the broken glass door and unlocked it. The others drew pistols from their coats and entered the clinic.

The door banged shut behind them, causing a shower of glass bits to rain down onto the sidewalk. The mini-blinds swung back and forth with a metallic rustling sound. Soon the scrape and crash of furniture could also be heard.

"Who are these men?" he whispered, but received no answer. Shanna lay still across his shoulder. And he felt stupid, standing there holding a woman's purse.

He spotted some plastic patio furniture on the roof��two green chairs, a small table, and a chaise lounge left in a flat, horizontal position. As he lowered the dentist onto the chaise, his hand glided down her body and knocked into something hard in her pocket. Felt like a cell phone.

He set her purse down and removed the phone from her pocket. He'd call Laszlo and have him return with the car. It was possible to contact other vampires mentally, but telepathic communication didn't always guarantee privacy. Roman was in a dilemma he didn't want accidentally overheard by another vampire. He was short one fang and had just kidnapped a mortal dentist in worse trouble than he.

He zipped back to the building's ledge and peered over. The thugs were leaving the clinic, six of them now, since the four in front of the clinic had been joined by the two from the back. They gestured angrily. Their muttered curses filtered up through the air to his extra-sensitive hearing.

Russian. And they were built like defensive linemen. Roman glanced over his shoulder at Shanna. She'd have a tough time surviving with these gorillas on her trail.

Abruptly, the men halted. Their voices hushed. Out of the shadows, a figure emerged. Damn, so there was a total of seven thugs. How had he missed this one? He could always sense the flowing blood and heated body of a mortal, but this one had completely escaped his notice.

The other six men slowly gravitated toward one another, as if they felt safer in a huddle. Six against one. How could six hefty thugs be afraid of one man? The dark figure moved to the front of the clinic. Stripes of light shot through the ravaged blinds and lit his face.

Bloody hell! Roman stepped back. No wonder he hadn't sensed the seventh man. He was Ivan Petrovsky, coven master of Russian vampires. And one of Roman's oldest enemies.

For the past fifty years, Petrovsky had divided his time between Russia and New York, keeping tight control over Russian vampires worldwide. Roman and his friends always kept themselves up to date on this old enemy. According to the latest reports, Petrovksy was making good money as a paid assassin.

Hiring oneself out as a killer was an age-old tradition among the more violent vampires. Murdering mortals was easy, even enjoyable for them, so why not get paid for the pleasure of going out to eat? The logic obviously appealed to Petrovsky, and he was making his living doing a job he could really love. And no doubt, he excelled at it.

Roman had heard that Petrovsky's preferred employer was the Russian mafia. That would explain the six Russian-speaking, gun-toting mortals in his company. God's blood. The Russian mafia wanted Shanna dead.

Did the Russians know Petrovksy was a vampire? Or did they merely think he was a hired assassin from the Old Country who preferred to work at night? Either way, they clearly feared him.

They had reason to. No mortal would stand a chance against him. Not even a gutsy young woman with a Beretta hidden in her sequined Marilyn Monroe handbag.

A moan drew his attention to the gutsy young woman. She was wakening. God's blood, if the Russians had hired Ivan Petrovsky to kill Shanna, she wouldn't live through another night.

Unless.. unless she was under the protection of another vampire. A vampire with enough power and resources to take on the entire coven of Russian vampires. A vampire with a security force already in place. A vampire who had fought Petrovsky before and survived. A vampire who badly needed a dentist.

Roman approached her quietly. With a groan, she lifted a hand to her brow. Her struggles against his mind control had probably given her a headache. Still, just the fact that she could resist him was amazing. And since he couldn't control her, he had no idea what she would do or say next. It made her a dangerous commodity to deal with. It made her.. fascinating.

Her unbuttoned lab coat had fallen open, revealing a baby-pink T-shirt molded perfectly to her breasts. With each breath of air, her chest expanded. His jeans grew tighter. Her heated blood pumped through her veins, drawing him closer with each pulse. His gaze swept down to her tight, hip-hugging black pants. She was so beautiful, and she'd be so delicious. In more ways than one.

God's blood. He wanted to keep her. She believed he was innocent. She believed he was worth saving. But what if she found out the truth? If she discovered he was demon, she'd want to kill him. He'd learned that too well with Eliza.

Roman straightened. He couldn't make himself vulnerable like that again. But would this one betray him? She seemed different somehow. She'd begged him to save himself. Her heart was pure.

She moaned again. God's blood, she was the vulnerable one. How could he leave her to that monster Petrovsky? Roman was the only one in New York who could protect her. His gaze wandered down her body and back to her pretty face. Oh, he could protect her, all right. But as long as his body howled with hunger and thrummed with desire, there was no way he could guarantee she'd be safe.

Not from him.