The blood of the Impure male that Gray had rescued from the Paleo ran into his mouth and down his throat, but the memories he desired drifted up like a cache of balloons to his mind. He centered them there, then started popping each one in turn; first the Impure getting his virgin "call" from the Order, then his struggle to find that same frequency a second time. Gray pushed deeper, centered himself. He saw the Impure stretched out on a bed, felt his ease slipping into a relaxed mind state. This was the male's third go-round, and he obviously felt a keen strength as he called out to the Order. Gray watched him as he waited, as he remained open and eager with what he now knew and understood, all the way until the Order's hive answered him and welcomed this new bee inside.

The Impure had learned quickly, Gray mused. He opened his mouth wide, deepened his bite, then reached out and wrapped his thought stream around the male's perfect memory, over and over until it was cocooned. Then he squeezed like a python.

Gray heard the male's sharp intake of breath and he pulled out, then dropped his head into his hands and fought for peace, for his blood to slow, his pulse too.

"Take him downstairs," he ordered to no one in particular, his voice hoarse, his head pounding and swollen. "Get him food, water, blood if he wants it, and let him rest. It'll take a day or two for him to recover fully."

Shit, Gray thought, gritting his teeth against a sudden lightning strike inside his mind. How long would it take for him to recover? Or recover enough so that the three other Impure warriors could go inside and mine for gold, retrieve what Gray had pulled out of their Impure informant who'd been working so intimately with the Order.

A cup of water was shoved into his hand, and he drank it down with the fervor of a desert dweller. Then a second glass. He gulped it greedily. The warriors gave him only a few more minutes of peace before they pounced.

"Did you get it?"

Gray looked up at Rio and grinned through the pain.

Vincent walked back into the room after taking the male downstairs and placing him in the care of one of the Impure guards. His eyes gleamed, and he turned to Piper. "We're in. The Order's mainframe, baby!"

She nodded, gave them each a brilliant smile. "Now on to phase two. Listening in and one: seeing if there's a weak link among the nine members; two: gathering information, secrets, anything we can use as currency; and three: intercepting any and all messages to Impures."

"The listening and sorting information will be me and Pip." Vincent turned to Gray. "So after we take that memory from you, you should shut down for a while. Recharge."

"Yeah, I'll do that," Gray said passively, thinking about how to keep his little trip back to the Paleo tonight under mental lock and eye.

"Don't be a fool, Gray." Piper, with her blond hair and perfect face, looked as close to an angel as one could get, but that disguise hid one tough-as-concrete female. "After we drain you, you're going to be out of it for a while."

"I'll make sure I get a nap in," he uttered drily, his head clearing of the fog from a minute ago.

"You can't go back inside the Paleo, if that's what you're thinking."

Gray's head came up, his eyes narrowing on Rio. "Is that what I'm thinking, Rio?"

"I can't tell. You're too fucking talented at blocking me." Rio shifted to the edge of his seat. "You know there will be more guards in that place than ever before." "It's impossible." He cocked his head to one side and uttered caustically, "You going to risk getting taken by the Order? Blood castrated like Samuel, like all those others, like your dear old-"

Gray jacked to his feet, ignoring the shot of dizziness between his ears, and headed for Rio.

The male was on his feet too, meeting Gray nose to nose, pissed-off male to pissed-off male. "Sometimes I think you just don't care enough about this cause."

A low growl rumbled in Gray's chest. "Are you fucking kidding me? Those Impures in the Paleo are the Cause-and don't you forget it!"

"No, they're the victims," Rio returned. "You need to learn the difference."

The urge to knock the male's head off was nearly irresistible, but Gray forced himself to back up. He found Piper's and Vincent's concerned gazes and said, "Are you two selling and drinking this swill too? Lose some bodies to win the war?"

Piper spoke first. "We're not suggesting abandoning the Impures at the Paleo."

"Good," Gray said tightly. "Because that's not going to happen."

"Doesn't have to be you getting them out though," Vincent said with the intelligent, calm thing he was always working. "Besides, I hear the old way into the Paleo ain't happening. Heard it's crawling with guards. It'd be like walking into a bank that's been hit three days in a row and expecting to get out with anything less than a shot in the leg and a pair of metal bracelets around your wrists."

Though the interior of his skull continued to scream, Gray's eyes narrowed. "Then I'll find another way in."

"How?" Vincent demanded, frustration pumping behind his eyes. "And how will you get there and back? The Pureblood who helped us out before has been taken. He's being questioned by the Order. No car, no gas, Brother."

"I'll help you."

They all turned to see Dillon standing there halfway between the hall and where the warriors stood in the main room.

Rio snorted. "So the cat's lost its fur," he said. "And its way, apparently."

Before Gray could shut the male down, Dillon did it for him.

"Listen, Impure," she said, eyeing the military badass. "I'm here to stay. As a guest of your leader there."

Dropping into the chair he'd occupied earlier, Rio chuckled. "Just because Gray wants you around-or feels sorry for your kitty-cat ass-doesn't mean the rest of us do."

"Maybe save that newsflash for something surprising-and something I give a shit about," Dillon returned, walking into the room. Her eyes remained on Rio. "Now, unless you want to go a couple rounds with a Pureblood veana who's trained to stop a heartbeat in under five seconds-which I'm totally up for, by the way-then let's talk tactic."

"I don't talk tactic with the enemy," he returned.

Her brow lifted. "I thought the Order was the enemy. Maybe you're the one who's forgetting why you're here and what you're fighting for."

"Fuck you, Mutore."

"No, fuck you and the high horse you rode in on." She gave him the finger, then smiled. "By the way, I had it for breakfast and it was damn tasty. Maybe you'll be next. I'd lock your door at night."

Gray grinned-at her, at Rio. He hadn't said a word through the whole back and forth, just sat and watched the show. Hell, the lady needed no help. Not when it came to picking up a cocky male by the nuts and tossing him off a cliff. In fact, he was pretty sure that to even suggest help at this point was an insult to her talent. And damn, the veana had talent. Her verbal takedown was a motherfucking thing of beauty-just like she was. Nothing better, nothing hotter than Death-Blow Dillon.

He stared at her long, lean body with the curves up top and down below, his mouth watering and his dick jerking to life inside his jeans. Oh, damn...And then there was the fact that she was wearing his clothes. A simple white T-shirt knotted against her small waist, showing off that flat, hard stomach. His jeans were way too big on her, but she'd cuffed them at the bottom and rolled the waist. He wondered if she was also wearing a pair of his boxers.

His nostrils flared, his hands closed around the sides of his chair. He didn't know which was sexier-his briefs on her hot little ass and cunt or nothing at all.

Knowing she'd shut up Rio, Dillon turned to face Gray then, her eyes narrowing at the expression on his face-which was no doubt a mask of desperate cavemanlike lust. "I want to help you," she said.

Gray wasn't fool enough to think this was in any way a question. "Me or the Resistance?" he asked.

Her lips parted and she smiled, flashing her fangs. "Whatever gets me out of here, gets my fists up and a gun in my hand." She shook her head. "I can't sit around here all day doing nothing."

Gray stared at her, into those steely hazel eyes. He got what she was saying, what she needed. She'd been caged too long, behind bars and under that animal fur. And not for nothing, but he wouldn't mind having her on the team. If she could manage to play ball.

"She's a mutore," Piper said, no malice to her tone. "If she shifts while she's in the field, the Order will be on it before you have a chance to take out anyone."

Dillon's gaze moved to the female. "I won't shift, honey."

"That easy, huh?" Piper said with a slight grin. "I thought you'd lost control of it."

"She has control," Gray said. He stood. He'd had enough of this play. Dillon had had her fun with Rio and the hostility with Piper was cute and all, but they were acting as though this was anyone else's decision but his.

"She will remain in control," Gray stated flatly. "Just as she will remain here with me." He gave each of his warriors a look that warned them to cease fire. Then he turned to Dillon. "I accept your help, but understand-my mission, my rules. Stray once and you're out, back to my room."

Back to my bed.

Celestine felt her daughter's presence before she saw her, and turned from the window she was staring out of. Blue eyes wide with surprise, cheeks flushed, Sara rushed into the room.

"Mom!"

Celestine opened her arms, and when the veana walked into them, she held her tightly. It felt so wonderful to touch her child. It had been too long.

"It's so good to see you," Sara said, pulling away and guiding Celestine over to the couch. "I have so much to tell you."

Cellie's chest tightened. She was a sham of a veana in that moment, unworthy to even be called a parent. This young female wanted to sit and spend time talking, reflecting on the past or sharing stories of her life now with Alexander and his brothers. And Celestine could think only of Gray and what she must do.

"But first," Sara began, that trademark gleam of curiosity lighting her eyes as she sensed something. "What are you doing here? I mean, I'm glad you are-but no phone call, no warning?" Those beautiful eyes-her father's eyes-narrowed. "Is something wrong?"

Lying to one's children for their own protection was acceptable, had to be. It kept them safe, kept them alive. Celestine settled on the couch and took her daughter's hand in her own. "I've missed you, and I thought, why not come and surprise you with a visit."

For one moment it looked as though Sara was going to question that answer, but then she shook her head and smiled. "Well, I'm glad you did."

"I've tried to reach Gray as well," Celestine continued hurriedly. "I'd love to see him on this visit, if it's possible."

Sara's joy dimmed. "Yeah. It's not an easy endeavor getting through to Gray or pinning him down for anything social. He's good, though. Doing his own thing."

"For the Impures?" Celestine asked quickly. Perhaps too quickly.

A look of surprise moved over Sara's face. "How did you know?"

Celestine forced a laugh. "It wouldn't be all that grand of a leap, my darling. He finds out he's a vampire, an Impure, and goes in search of what that means." She shrugged. "It's what I would've done."

Sara looked momentarily stricken. "Should I have done that too? Am I a bad Impure for not wanting to know more about what that means or jumping into that life, that cause, without truly-?"

"No, no, Sara. Please, honey." This was not how she'd wanted this to go.

"Perhaps I need to think about this some more," Sara said, her face tense with self-analysis. "You and Dad wanted to protect us from the Order, didn't want them to find your Impure offspring. I feel as though I completely understand that." She touched her stomach absentmindedly. "If I had a child someday...I would do the very same thing."

Guilt moved through Celestine like a fish through water, like a fish escaping a shark. Sara knew all she needed to know, all that was important. And she had Alexander and Nicholas and Lucian to protect her now.

But who protected Gray?

"I would really like to see your brother," she said again. "How do I do that? He won't return my phone calls, won't seek me out."

Sara put her hand over her mother's. "If it's that important to you, I'll take you to him myself."

"No, my dear," Cellie said quickly. There was no way she was having the Order on Sara's tail as well. "It's better if he and I meet somewhere. Somewhere private."

Suspicion clouded Sara's eyes. "Why?"

Something heavy and thick rested in Celestine's throat. She thought for a moment about telling her daughter the truth about the Order, about them knowing that Gray was housing a mutore. But what was the point? A moment ago, Sara had been questioning herself, her feelings about the past and her choices regarding the present. She didn't need to know. It was only Gray who needed the truth.

Her gaze rested on her daughter's. "I don't wish to ambush him. Showing up on his doorstep without warning. I'm afraid it would make him even more distant and unforgiving."

The wariness in Sara's eyes worried Celestine. Her daughter had always been so protective, so proactive in regard to her brother. From the moment that fire had destroyed their family and Gray's mind, she'd taken his illness on herself. She'd become a psychiatrist for him, to heal him. Would she relax her cautious nature just this once?

"I think the tunnels below our home would do well for a meeting place," Sara said at last, her expression now impassive as she took control over the situation. "I'll contact him and set up a time."

Cellie smiled. "Perfect." She took a deep breath and squeezed her daughter's hand. "Shall we have that chat now?"

"Later," Sara said, her eyes just a little less bright now. "You go upstairs and get your things unpacked. I'll make us some tea."

"They drained the shit out of me."

"They did warn you about that."

"Not helping, D."

Dillon pulled Gray away from the wall. "Come on, now. Let's get you to bed."

"Fine. But don't think I'm going to be an easy lay," he uttered, leaning against her as they walked down the hall. "I'm not that out of it."

"I'll try to keep my hands to myself."

With a quick burst of energy, Gray took her hand and pulled her close, leaned back against the door to his room. His eyes found hers; his lips were just inches away. "Don't try too hard, okay?"

If Dillon's heart could beat, if it could thump against her ribs with girlish excitement, it would have in that moment-and at jackrabbit speed. She stood there, breathing in and out as he gazed into her eyes and contemplated kissing her.

Do it! she wanted to shout.

What are you waiting for, Impure?

For a second, she thought about leaning in and getting it done herself. Tasting him, maybe running her tongue across that full bottom lip, but then his knees buckled.

"Fuck," he grumbled, dropping his head back against the door. "Those greedy bastards. Took a good twenty pints at least."

"That'd be a clever trick," Dillon said with deep sarcasm, "since the body has, like, only twelve pints in it to start with."

"Don't get technical when I'm about to pass out, Veana."

Grinning, she hauled him toward her, then kicked the door closed behind herself. "Come on, blood boy," she said, helping him inside and easing him down on the bed. She made to stand, but Gray wasn't letting go-no how, no way-and she was forced to land on top of him.

Well, not exactly forced.

She rolled to the side-her side of the bed-and began to inspect his temples. She had watched both Piper and Vincent pull the memory from Gray's mind. It had taken no more than ten minutes, but it looked brutal, and she wondered how often Gray was having them do this.

She touched one of the bite marks. "Kind of a butchering mess here. An Impure's bite. Maybe I need to give some lessons in clean strikes."

"Yeah, they'd be all kinds of receptive to that."

Her thumb brushed against the wound. "Do you want me to give you a nice blow job?"

Gray's head turned, his eyes lifted, and a wicked grin broke on his face. "You already did, and for the record, it was way better than nice."

Dillon's insides stirred at his words, at the look in his eyes. "Doesn't have to be a one-time thing."

His smile softened, and the look in his eyes turned to something far more intimate than sex. "I appreciate that, but if anyone is getting blown tonight, baby, it's you."

She licked her lips. "I may act like a paven, talk like a paven, fight like a paven-I may even fuck like one. But there's no twig and berries down there to blow, Gray."

"No twig," he whispered, his gaze hungry, feral. "But there is a berry, sweet and ripe and buried within the hot, wet lips of your cunt." He gazed into her eyes, no doubt watching to see if there would be shock there, heat there, need there. If he was reading her right, he saw all three. "In fact," he continued, "I felt those lips against my palm not too long ago. Remember?"

She swallowed thickly. As if she could forget. That touch had started it all, cooled her shift while heating her body to a point of desire so worrisome she'd pulled away from him so she didn't have to examine the effect of his hands on her.

Remember? Ah. Yeah.

In fact, her lower half was getting a repeat performance right now. Bitch.

Gray rolled onto his side, which sent Dillon onto her back. He gazed down at her, growled possessively as he noticed what she was wearing. "I like you in my clothes. Shit, I like you in my bed."

Trying to ignore the warmth that moved through her at his words, Dillon nodded at the bit of blood seeping from the wound on his temple. "Let me close those bite marks. Come here."

Gray lowered his head, and Dillon leaned in. She was about to release her healing veana's breath on his left temple when a sudden animal-like instinct took over her and she lapped at the excess blood instead.

Gray hissed.

"Hurts?" she asked, concerned.

"Like a wet dream," he said roguishly.

Dillon smiled, then licked him again.

"You lick me and I get to lick you," he uttered with dark hunger. "It's only fair."

"When have I ever cared about being fair?" But Dillon could hardly deny the lust, the need, the urgency rippling through her body at his words, at the images those words brought to her mind.

She opened her mouth then and blew. First on one side of his temple, then the other, until both wounds were closed nice and tight.

When she released him, Gray let his head drop down to her pillow. His eyes were closed and he looked tired and pale.

"You all right, Impure?" she asked, trying to keep her tone light. But the thread of concern she had for him-that she was having quite often lately-was back again and more intensified.

"I'll be fine in a few hours," he whispered against her ear.

Dillon chewed her lip. If she was smart-if she was the Dillon from a week ago, that hard-ass who cared about no one but herself-she'd get up out of this bed and let the guy sleep it off. He'd be fine; clearly he'd been through this before.

Problem was, she didn't want him fine.

She inhaled, exhaled, then whispered, "Drink from me."

"Oh, damn, D," he uttered, his lips just a millimeter away from her neck. "I don't know if I can handle Beast blood right now."

She shivered. "Don't be cute."

He chuckled softly. "I'm serious. Hot, rich, potent, and highly addictive. I may turn rabid." His hand came up, and he trailed one finger down the other side of her neck. "Do I get to pick the spot?"

"You're being cute again," she said, everything above and below her waist churning with heat.

Gray inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring as though he could scent that heat. "No, baby, I'm just hungry."

Goddamn it, he needed to stop calling her "baby," and she needed to toughen the hell up. Panic was beginning to wrestle with the desire inside of her. The male needed blood, and she was cool with giving it to him. It was just...Shit. She turned and eyed him dangerously. "Take as much of my potent and highly addictive blood as you want, Impure-"

His brow rose severely.

"Gray," she amended with an eye roll. "But there's a condition."

He chuckled softly. "Tell me what you need."

"No memory grabs."

A surprised gleam flashed in his eyes and his mouth hardened just a touch, but he didn't question her. Instead, he lowered his head and whispered into her neck, "Agreed." Then he kissed the vein at her neck, and as he did his hand came to rest on her stomach. "I won't go back in time, D," he whispered into the curve of her ear, "but what about here? Can I go here?"

Dillon sucked in air as he eased his hand over the skin of her belly, down, down until his fingers touched the waistband of her jeans. His jeans.

Mimicking his hand, he grazed his fangs down her neck too, then circled the spot, the sweet spot where she would feed him. "While I take, will you let me give?"

Heat pooled inside her cunt, making her clit pulse with anticipation. She could say no. She could say no and he would take his hand away and leave her be. She could say no and he wouldn't be angry, wouldn't punish her.

She could say no.

So she said, "Yes."

She felt him smile against her neck, lap at it with his tongue; then, with the utmost gentleness, he pierced her skin and sank his fangs into her vein.

A sound escaped Dillon's throat, like pleasure and release and melancholy all wrapped up into one.

He uncurled the waistband of her jeans and pulled at the button. With deft fingers, he eased down the zipper and opened the fabric wide. She felt the air on her skin, on her shaved pussy, felt him shudder as his hand encountered nothing but smooth, hot skin. As he took slow, deep pulls at her vein, drank her rich, pure blood, his hand cupped her possessively.

There was something inside her brain that warned her not to take any pleasure from this male, but her body had other ideas. It craved Gray Donohue; it desired the touch of his long, fire-damaged fingers. It wanted to know what it would feel like to be completely without control. For just a little while. For one climax.

She released a breath, a soft moan of satisfaction and pleasure as his fingers played with her lips, first with the outside, so gently, so softly. She pressed her hips up, hoping he'd get the hint, wishing he could hear her thoughts in that moment. Then again, maybe he did. He dipped one long finger inside her wet slit and stroked her sensitive flesh back and forth. There wasn't anything hurried in his touch. Gray Donohue wasn't trying to get her off, then take off. He was an explorer, utterly gentle and highly erotic.

She didn't need to hear him say it to know that he wanted to feel her, experience her movements, the shake of her lower half when he slid another finger between her soaking pussy lips and circled her clit, urging it to swell.

The slow-moving but powerfully shocking buildup of heat spread through every part of her, and Dillon grabbed the sheets at her sides and fisted them. Her eyes closed, her toes pointed, she listened to him suckle as he played her. For one brief second, the image of the monster, her monster, tickled the exterior of her mind, but she refused it entrance. Instead, she forced her mind on him, on Gray, the one with the magic hands and the fangs that belonged inside her vein and only her vein.

As Gray nursed at her neck, Dillon opened her eyes and looked down, watched as he pressed her lips open with his thumb and middle finger, then circled her shiny red clit with his slick index finger. Though it was highly erotic to watch, there was also something comfortable, stable in his hands. They were so big and scarred and yet they were the kind of hands that wanted to bring only pleasure to her body, never pain.

As his fingers feathered her clit, Dillon felt Gray's other hand tunnel behind her back, then move down over her ass to the slick wet trail that led to the opening of her body.

"Oh God," she uttered, feeling her body release even more moisture as she pumped against both of his palms, begging him to continue, begging him to come in, come in where it was warm and drenched and aching for his touch.

Gray groaned against her neck, pressed his fangs in deeper, then entered her with one long finger, one delicious thrust. Dillon gasped, her fists tightening around the sheet. Shards of electric energy raced through her system. She wanted to move, wanted to attack, wanted to scream-and God, she wanted to touch him. But when she called upon her limbs to respond, they wouldn't. Her body, inside and out, was no longer her own-and yet she'd never felt more in control. She bucked, rolled her hips, moaned his name, and let her head thrash to the side.

Gray released her then, pulled from her vein. But as he did, he slipped another finger inside her.

"I'm inside you," he said hoarsely. "But you're inside me too. Not just your blood, but your jaguar. And it's screaming and clawing at me to give you more."

His thrusts grew quick and intense, and every time he drove up inside of her, he pressed the pads of his fingers against the sensitive spot of her clit.

"Oh God, yes, Gray," she cried out, then whimpered as he gave her clit another flick. "God, yes! Fuck me, Gray, please."

She couldn't keep her eyes open any longer, and she let her head drop back against the pillows. Knees bent, hips pulsing, Dillon let her thoughts evaporate. Gray's fingers were working her over like nothing ever had, thrusting, pistoning inside her as he circled her clit faster and faster.

"That's it, baby," he said, his tone a hoarse, hungry demand. "Come for me. Shit, no. Come for you-you and the tight, hot pussy that's riding my fingers, drenching them, suckling them."

She was dying-or was it living? She didn't know, but whatever was slamming through her right now, spark after spark-whatever it was that had just made her mind and body connect for the first time-she wanted more of it. Her back arched off the bed, and as the walls of her pussy trembled, then clenched around his fingers, she cried out. Again and again. Climax ripped through her, sending wave after wave of delicious, bone-melting satisfaction to her limbs-hitting her from all sides, beating her against the smooth, unmoving rocks of impossible heat and wondrous pleasure. And as Gray rode them with her, his fingers still thrusting inside of her, her hips canted, again and again, as she stretched, trying to hold on, wanting more, until finally, the waves receded and she released a weak, shuddering sigh.

Her hips dropped to the cool sheet at her back, her breath hitched, and she just lay there. Then, through her exhaustion, her haze, she felt that old sense of doom creep in. It was that feeling she'd always had after sex, after orgasm. The need to run. To leave before anything got heavy, serious, intimate.

But she didn't, didn't move. Instead, she lay there, waiting for him to try to climb on top of her, take her, pull down her jeans and get something out of this encounter too.

Would she let him? she wondered, the doom inside her growing. Maybe.

Probably.

Her mind got fuzzy and her skin grew tense, and then Gray Donohue leaned in and kissed her neck, lapped at the spot where he'd bitten her and released her. Not pushed her away or acted as if she owed him something and she'd better get to it, but just released her. He lay against his pillow, opening his arms, letting her know she was the boss; she was in control.

Her breath caught somewhere in her throat, Dillon stayed where she was. She wasn't sure what to do with this, with him-with herself. Especially when the feelings of panic and doom receded and she was left only with a raw and honest need for intimacy. So instead of turning away, giving him her back, as was her nature, she moved closer and curled in to him.

For several minutes, she remained tightly pressed against his side, breathing in and out. It wasn't until she noticed his T-shirt was wet that she realized she'd been crying.

What a fucking pussy, she thought.

What a fucking loser.

And then he pulled her closer and kissed her hair, and she released a mighty breath from her aching throat, wrapped her arm around his waist, and pulled herself tighter against him.