t twenty minutes till eight, Emma spread dead leaves over the ground to hide the rope. She was in a wooded area of Central Park, secluded enough that she didn't need to worry about innocent people blundering into her trap, but close to the place where she'd met Angus MacKay the night before. Her black jeans were topped with a bright red sweater to make her easier to find. She stashed her bag of stakes under a nearby rhododendron and wedged four stakes under her belt.

Fifteen minutes till eight. Would he be on time? The minutes stretched out, ticking by at an incredibly slow rate. What would it be like to have an eternity of nights? Or the ability to teleport somewhere in an instant? With their superior abilities, Emma could understand why vampires considered themselves superior. But in her experience, all serial killers considered themselves superior.

That's all vampires were, really. Serial killers with superior abilities that made them harder to kill. The only good thing about them was that they were already dead. She didn't have to capture one and wait for a slow justice system to deliver a satisfactory ending. No delayed gratification here. When she found one, she killed it.

Ten minutes till. She circled the oak tree where the rope was anchored. She needed to keep her muscles warm and her senses alert. She'd have to act quickly. Not think about how handsome he looked in a kilt. Not think about witty, clever conversation. Her mission was two-fold. Discover his status��human or monster. Then kill him if he was the latter.

She cringed at the thought of watching the sparkle die in his lovely green eyes. She'd never talked to a vampire before killing one. The four she had killed had been in the process of attacking and raping a woman while they fed from her. The sight had been so horrid and repulsive, she'd had no trouble delivering justice.

She couldn't imagine Angus doing that to a woman. He'd seemed offended by the flasher. And he'd lectured her on safety. What vampire would act that way? Oh God, she prayed, don't let him be a vampire. Let him be the queen's hero and the grandson of a knighted war hero. Let him be the man of her fantasies��a fierce, honorable warrior who could fight evil by her side.

"Good evening, Miss Wallace."

She whirled toward the deep voice but could barely discern his dark silhouette in the distance. Her heart raced. He looked wonderful. He looked dangerous.

He stepped toward her, and his kilt swirled around his knees. "Thank ye for coming. We need to talk."

"Yes, we do." She put her psychic defenses up. If he was a vampire, he could try to manipulate her mentally. She edged toward the middle of the small clearing. All he needed to do was walk straight toward her, and he'd step into the trap. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

"I am a man of my word."

But are you alive? That was the real question. If he was undead, he wouldn't know the meaning of honesty. Or honor.

He sauntered toward her, close enough that she could see him more clearly. His kilt was the same blue and green plaid he'd worn the night before, but tonight's jumper, or sweater as the Yanks called it, was blue. There were no leather straps crossing his chest like last night. He hadn't brought his sword. Her gaze lowered to his socks. He wasn't completely unarmed. His sgian dubh was in place beneath his right sock.

He paused, tilting his head to study her. She held her breath. Did he suspect something? With two more steps he'd be in the trap, swinging upside down. She knew good and well a vampire wouldn't stay trapped for long. He'd simply teleport away.

"Ye have stakes in yer belt."

She shrugged one shoulder. "Better safe than sorry."

He frowned. "Ye are safe with me, lass. I would never harm you."

"You have a knife."

He glanced down. "A mere habit. I usually have my claymore, too, but I left it behind so ye'd know I meant ye no harm."

"Are you confessing to being my enemy?"

"Nay. I could be a... good friend."

He looked so sincere. What if he really was a champion for the queen? What if he risked his life for his country, asking for no recognition or credit in return? He could be a hero. He could be everything she'd ever dreamed a man could be.

"Miss Wallace?" He stepped toward her.

A surge of panic swept through her. Suddenly she didn't want to know the truth. She wanted to believe that strong, gorgeous men in kilts were heroes, not demons. She held up a hand. "Stop!"

Too late. He stepped right into the center of the noose. It snapped tightly around his ankle. He shot her a look right before the rope jerked him off his feet.

That look had hurt. Shock, anger, betrayal��she'd felt it all in his eyes. Shit! It couldn't be helped. She had to know if he was friend or foe. She whipped a stake from her belt. If he was a vampire, she'd have to act quickly.

She looked up. And her mouth fell open. The stake tumbled from her hand. Good heavens.

Angus MacKay was hanging upside down with the hem of his kilt dangling around his neck.

Emma blinked. Good Lord, she'd never been mooned by such a heavenly body. Narrow hips, muscular buttocks, smooth skin kissed with silvery moonlight. The tree branch overhead swayed from his weight, causing his body to bob softly up and down. She matched the rhythm, nodding like a bobble-headed toy to stay focused on his glorious bare bum.

"Miss Wallace? Can ye hear me?"

She jerked herself from the rump-induced hypnosis. How long had he been talking to her? "Excuse me?"

"Or shall I call ye Emma, since apparently ye're better acquainted with me now?"

Heat invaded her face. How long had she stood there, ogling his rear end? And good heavens, what was she doing staring at his backside when she could get the full panoramic experience by simply walking around him?

He twisted, trying to look at her. "Why have ye strung me up like a smoked ham? Surely we could have a wee chat, face to face."

It wasn't his face she was thinking about. "Feel free to talk." She edged slowly around. So far, he hadn't attempted to escape. Did that mean he was human? Hallelujah!

Of course, this meant she owed him a big apology. Emma smiled to herself. She could certainly help him get over this.

He wiggled like a hooked fish. Her breath hitched. Oh yes. She would be very apologetic.

A soft, scraping noise drew her attention. His wiggling must have loosened his knife from its sheath, for it was sliding downward. He doubled over, reaching for his sock. His fingers curled around the hilt.

"No!" She ran toward him. With a flying kick, she knocked the knife from his hand. It flew through the air. She landed, then quickly jumped out of Angus's reach. While he muttered curses, she sprinted to where the knife had fallen.

"Nay!" he shouted behind her.

She dove for the knife, rolled over, and sprang to her feet, the hilt grasped in her hands. She pointed the sharp, seven-inch blade toward him.

He was gone.

Her heart froze. Quickly she spun about, looking for him. The rope remained dangling from the tree limb, uncut. A crushing sensation squeezed her heart. No hero. No man of her dreams. He'd failed the test and teleported away. He was the enemy.

She'd have to kill him.

She tamped down the growing ache of disappointment within her. She couldn't afford sentimentality. The battle had begun, and he could see better than she. He was stronger, too, but she had his weapon.

She advanced slowly toward the center of the clearing, revolving in a circle to look for him among the trees. The woods were quiet but for the sound of her accelerated breathing. There! Was that him? Yes, she could make out his dark silhouette. The bastard was leaning against a tree with his arms and ankles crossed like it was just another day at the office.

She pointed the knife at him. "Now I know the truth about you."

He adjusted the folds in his kilt. "And I know about you. Some women will do anything to look under a man's kilt. Did ye enjoy the view?"

She scoffed. "That's quite beyond the point. I know you're a vampire."

"I know ye're the slayer." He pushed away from the tree. "'Tis time for ye to stop."

He meant to kill her, the thought shuddered through her. She widened her stance and prepared for an attack. "Tonight you die by your own weapon."

He shrugged. "I died once. Dinna care for it much." He stepped toward her.

She raised the knife so the blade was even with his neck.

He gave her an annoyed look. "Put the knife down so we can talk. Ye're no match for me in battle."

"Come a bit closer and find out."

He regarded her silently, then nodded as if he'd reached a decision. "Verra well. I'll give ye a demonstration."

She blinked as his body zoomed past her on the right. She spun to keep him in view.

He halted on the other side of the clearing. "Ye missed."

Vampires were such an arrogant bunch. But she could use his over-inflated pride against him. "I didn't think you'd run like a coward."

His brows shot up. "Ye expect me to stand still while ye stab me in the heart?"

"I expect you to face me like a man."

"So to prove my manhood, I should act like a lamb before the slaughter?" He chuckled. "Ye slay me."

Her mouth twitched with amusement. Damn him. Why couldn't she find a live man this charming and attractive? Apparently all the good men were married... or dead.

He zipped by her again, but she was faster this time and swatted his rump as he passed by. He laughed and kept dashing about the clearing like a pinball racking up points.

"All right, I get it. You can move really fast." Maybe she shouldn't complain. After all, he hadn't attacked her. Yet. But she was getting dizzy, whirling about to keep him in view. Was that his plan��to totally disorient her before he attacked?

She halted. His body was a blur as it swept past. "Coward! Be still."

Suddenly he grabbed her from behind, pulling her hard against his chest. His hands locked down on top of hers on the knife. She gasped. His breathing was fast and stirred the hair by her temple. His chest moved against her back with each breath he took.

He lowered his head and whispered in her ear. "Is this still enough for you?"

She shivered. "Let me go."

"Not only am I faster than ye, but I'm stronger." He forced her arms to bend. She resisted, her arms shaking with effort, but he soon had the knife up to her neck.

She swallowed hard. Normally, in this situation, she would stomp on the assailant's foot while doing a back jab into his ribs with her elbow. But she couldn't move her arms. He had her hands pinned beneath his.

"Ye see how easy it is, lass," he whispered in her ear.

"I won't let you kill me."

"Sweetheart, I only want to talk to ye." His breath wafted across her neck, causing little hairs to stand up.

"Don't you dare bite me!"

"Emma." His hands dropped. "Ye wound me."

She jumped away, turning to slash him with the knife. He dodged her attack, then yanked the knife from her hands and flung it to the side. It spun through the air with a whirring noise, then the blade embedded itself into a tree with a thud.

She grabbed the second stake from her belt and charged.

He seized her by the wrist and ripped the stake from her hand. "Sweetheart, 'tis difficult to have a wee chat if ye keep trying to kill me."

"There's nothing to talk about." She backed away, breathing heavily and rubbing her wrist.

"Och, did I hurt ye? I dinna mean to."

She snorted. "Like you care. You've been feeding off humans for years. How many people have you killed?"

He threw her stake far into the woods, then faced her, scowling. "I have killed more than I wish to remember, but I only kill in battle."

Like tonight. Her blood chilled. "If you have any honor, you'll give me a fair fight."

"Lass, ye've already decided I'm evil. Why would an evil man have any honor?"

He had her there. She swallowed hard. He hadn't even bothered to deny his evilness. She crouched in a defensive position, watching. Waiting. She ripped the third stake from her belt.

"Bugger," he muttered. He folded his arms across his broad chest, frowning. "Ye're a black belt in Tae Kwon Do?"

"You should know. You read my personnel file."

"Aye. Put away yer stake if ye want a fair fight." He glanced around, then pointed to his left. "We'll fight over there. The ground is softer for yer fall."

She huffed. "I'm not falling. You are."

"We'll see." He turned his back to her as he sauntered over to the area he'd chosen.

Arrogant vampire. She wedged the stake under her belt, then charged. After a few running steps, she leaped into the air and caught him square in the back with a flying kick. "Aagh." It was like hitting a brick wall.

She landed on one foot and scrambled to a defensive pose. Meanwhile he merely stumbled forward one step. Damn him.

He turned with a smile. "An eager lass. I like that."

She snorted. "Typical vampire arrogance. It's your greatest weakness, and you're too arrogant to even know it."

He affected a wounded look. "Sweetheart, be fair. I was an arrogant bastard long before I became a vampire."

She was tempted to ask how old he was, but his personal history didn't matter. He was like all the others. An evil murderer. She assumed her favorite attack posture. "A fair fight. No cheating."

The corners of his mouth tilted up. "On my honor."

She attacked with a quick series of kicks and punches. He blocked each one.

She jumped back and prepared for another round. Damn, he was good. "Where did you train?"

"In Japan. I've been going there for lessons for the last two hundred years."

Her mouth fell open. Good heavens. The things he must have seen. "How old are you?"

"Five hundred and twenty-six years, if ye include my time as a mortal."

She gulped. He was a walking museum. He'd lived through the Renaissance, the Restoration, the Age of Enlightenment. He'd worn the clothes, walked the muddy streets, seen history unfold before him.

"Och, the stories I could tell ye," he whispered.

She stiffened. He'd read her personnel file. He knew she'd been a history major at the University of St. Andrew in Edinburgh. She'd been totally immersed in the mysteries of the past until that cold night when her parents' murder had snapped her into harsh reality. She'd put away the books and her dreams, and had changed her studies to law, martial arts, and firearms.

"Damn you." She lunged forward, kicking and spinning to kick again.

He blocked each move. She danced back and assumed another pose. He waited. And that's when it struck her. He was only defending himself. Not that she should complain. If he did attack, she'd be sore pressed to stay conscious. Still, he was so arrogant, she couldn't help but goad him. "Why don't you attack, vampire? Haven't you worked up an appetite?"

He planted his hands on his hips, looking annoyed. "I havena fed off a mortal in eighteen years. I take my meals from a bottle."

"Well, isn't that noble of you? I believe that leaves about five hundred years unaccounted for."

"Aye, I fed when I needed to, but I never killed for food." His gaze wandered down her body, then back to her face. "In fact, I left the lassies feeling... verra satisfied."

Her skin tingled. She could almost believe him. "It was a false feeling for your victims. You used mind control on them."

"To give them pleasure, aye." He stepped toward her. "A great deal of pleasure."

"Stop right there." She yanked the third stake from her belt. "Are you controlling the queen's mind? Is that why the British government thinks you're some kind of hero?"

"Och, ye've done some research on me. I'm flattered."

"Don't be." She raised the stake.

He sighed. "Sweetheart, can we no' talk without ye threatening me with yer wee stick?"

"Stop calling me sweetheart and answer my question. Are you controlling the queen's mind?"

"Nay. I have always been a loyal subject." He shrugged slightly. "Except for the time I was a Jacobite. But I have always served whomever I believed was the rightful king."

Did he actually know Bonnie Prince Charlie? Good heavens, the questions she would love to ask. But he was tempting her on purpose, luring her in, no doubt, to make her easier prey.

"I read that yer parents were murdered," he whispered.

Her hand squeezed tight around the stake. "It's none of your business." She was wrong about him using temptation. That was too gentle a word. This was an outright psychological attack. The bastard.

"And ye lost yer brother. And yer aunt." His gaze was full of sympathy. "I know how it feels to lose loved ones."

Rage boiled within her. Pity from a vampire? He was the same kind of monster as the fiends who had murdered her parents.

"Shut up!" She charged at him. One way or another, she'd take him down and use her stake. She kicked at his groin.

He jumped back into a crouch and spun, knocking her legs out from beneath her. She fell back.

"Bugger." He dove for her with amazing speed. Her rump hit the ground as he landed beside her, reaching a hand behind her head.

"What?" She stared at him, dazed. For some reason, he was lying beside her, cradling her head a few inches above ground.

He leaned over her, so close she could see the reddish glint of whiskers along his jaw. His massive chest pressed against her. What was he doing? Examining her neck?

"Stop!" She swung the stake toward his back.

"Enough!" He yanked the stake from her hand and tossed it into the woods.

She had only one stake left in her belt. She'd have to be careful. Catch him by surprise. For now, she'd act calm, subservient.

He leaned over her again, fiddling with something behind her head. His breath wafted across her face, surprisingly sweet. In fact, his whole body smelled surprisingly good. Clean and masculine. How could that be?

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

Slowly he lowered her head to the ground, but kept his hand on the back of her neck while he rested on his elbow. "I dinna want ye to fall on this." He showed her a sharp rock in his other hand. "'Twas on the ground where yer head was about to hit." He tossed the rock into the woods.

"You��you were trying to protect me?"

"I apologize for making ye fall, but I was a wee angry after ye tried to kick me below the belt." He frowned at her. "Whatever happened to yer fair fight?"

"You're faster and stronger. I had to do something to even the odds."

"Ye're a fierce fighter." His gaze wandered to her mouth and lingered there. "We're more evenly matched than ye think."

A shiver coursed through her. Had he actually tried to protect her? But there was no such thing as a nice vampire. This had to be part of his psychological warfare. "What do you want from me?"

His gaze lowered to her neck.

"If you bite me, I swear I'll kill you."

"Ye have so much rage trapped inside." His gaze drifted downward. He placed a hand lightly on her thigh and dragged it up to her hip. "There are other ways to find release."

Her heart thudded. She was wrong again. He was using more than psychological warfare. He meant to seduce both her mind and her body. And it didn't help that his gentle touch was igniting a trail of sparks along her thigh and hip. She sucked in a shaky breath. Okay. She could play this game, too. And once he was thoroughly distracted, she'd use her one remaining stake.

She placed her palms on his forearms and glided up and over his bulging biceps. Good heavens, no wonder he wielded that heavy sword so easily. "I suppose you're just the man to help me." She slid her hands onto his shoulders and gave him what she hoped was a seductive look.

She gasped. His eyes were red. And glowing. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. Shit, this had to mean he was hungry. She needed to act fast. Remain calm. She forced her fingers to relax and slid her hands down his chest.

"Ye're so beautiful," he whispered, brushing her shoulder-length hair away from her neck.

Oh God, he was preparing her neck. But she was ready. Her hands had reached his waist. She fisted one hand and punched him in the gut while she whipped the final stake from her belt and aimed for his godforsaken heart.

"The devil take it, woman." He yanked the stake from her hand and slammed it into the ground beside her head.

With a gasp, she turned her head to look. Only an inch of the stake showed above ground. She'd be dead if he'd impaled her with it.

He placed a thumb on the rounded end of the stake, and with a growl, he pushed it so far into the ground, it made a hole. He glowered at her, his eyes still red but less luminous. "I was a fool to think ye could like me."

For some strange reason, she actually felt bad about disappointing him. "I had to defend myself. You were going to bite me."

"Nay, I only wanted to kiss you."

She snorted. "Right. A kiss with teeth. You were looking at my neck. And your eyes were red and glowing. You were hungry."

"Ah, lass." He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, they were turning back to their usual forest green. "'Tis a hunger of another sort."

What did a vampire need besides blood? Her question was answered when he shoved his sporran aside and lay close beside her. She gasped. He was pressed against her in a big way. Very big. Very swollen. Very hard. How could a cold, dead creature be so turned on?

And why did her hands itch to touch him? He had to be playing with her head. "You��you must be controlling my mind."

The corner of his mouth quirked. "Are ye having naughty thoughts?"

"No! I... " She didn't know what to say. Or think. She was supposed to be killing vampires, not lying next to one with a hard-on. She glanced over at the rhododendron bush where her bag of stakes was hidden. She'd never reach it in time if he attacked her. "If you try to rape me, I'll hunt you to the��"

"Emma." He sat up with a jerk. "I would never harm you."

"You wouldn't have to. You would take control of my mind to make me willing. That's how you turn a woman into a victim."

"I have no desire to make ye a victim. I admire yer strength and fiery spirit."

Did he really? No. Emma rejected the warm, fuzzy feeling. Nothing was warm and fuzzy when it came to the Undead. "You're trying to confuse me. I won't have you playing games with my head."

His mouth twitched. "Can I play with yer body then?"

"No! I want you to leave me alone."

He nodded, his face growing sad. "Ye're right. Nothing good could come of this." He hefted himself to his feet.

She felt suddenly cold without him next to her. She sat up slowly and hugged herself for warmth.

He wandered to the tree where his knife was embedded. "I'll leave ye alone if ye agree to one thing." He yanked the knife loose. "Ye'll give up slaying."

"Never." She scrambled to her feet. "Your fellow vampires are murdering people. I have to protect the innocent."

"I know about evil vampires, lass. I've been fighting them for centuries."

"Yeah, right." She scoffed. "Then how come there are so many of them? You haven't been doing a very good job." As if she believed him in the first place.

"They have us outnumbered, that is true." He slid his knife into the sheath beneath his knee sock.

"Then I'm helping to even the score. I know what I'm doing."

"Nay, ye do not." He straightened, scowling at her. "Ye'd never survive a real fight. I lost count of how many times I could have killed ye tonight."

She raised her chin. "You can't make me stop."

"Then I'll need to be more persuasive." The look he gave her made her heart pound. "I'll see ye tomorrow." He picked up the stake she'd dropped by the trap. Then he strode over to the rhododendron and grabbed her bag of stakes. "Face the facts, Miss Wallace. Ye're out of business."

"You can't stop me. I have more stakes at home."

His wide mouth curled up in a smile. "Then perhaps I should drop in for a wee visit. Ye live in SoHo, aye?"

She swallowed hard. Her and her big mouth.

"Be sure to wear something sexy," he whispered, then vanished right before her eyes.

She glanced around to see if he had reappeared behind her. Or somewhere in the woods. No, he was gone. He knew she couldn't hunt without her stakes. Wear something sexy. Was he going to appear in her apartment tonight? Maybe she shouldn't go home.

Maybe she should.

Damn him. He was messing with her mind. It was supposed to be so simple. Vampires were evil and deserved to die.

But he had refused to hurt her during the fight. In fact, he'd tried to protect her. Was it all a game to get her into his bed? And then what? Would he drain her dry like the bastards who'd killed her parents?

Slowly she wound up the rope she'd used to trap Angus MacKay. This much was clear. He meant to keep interfering. He meant to seduce her. The safest thing to do was a preemptive strike. Kill him. After all, it was self-defense.

Last night, that decision would have felt good. Now, she felt hesitant. Even sad. Damn him. His psychological warfare was already working.