Chapter 6

      Zane watched as Hunter lifted the unconscious Vivianne onto a gurney that Ryder had wheeled in. He couldn’t help but be impressed with how quickly and smoothly Vivianne had been knocked out. Hunter had easily bypassed Vivianne’s natural mental defenses, no small feat when dealing with a vampire prime.

      “I’ll take her to my rooms for a scan,” Hunter told his brother. “She’s got auditory hallucinations, but what we saw doesn’t quite gel with a normal PTSD diagnosis.”

      “Schizophrenia?”

      Hunter shrugged. “I don’t think so. She displayed ordered thinking and behavior, apart from the occasional side trip to Crazyville.”

      Ryder nodded as he reached for the phone. “I’m calling Dave in. He was the one to put her into the stasis. He was also there when she came to. He might have something to offer.”

      Zane drifted along, watchful carefully as the older Galen brother, Hunter, rolled Vivianne’s gurney into a well-lit room. A massive hearth took up almost one entire wall of the room. Hunter snapped his fingers, and a fire flickered to life. Zane’s eyebrows rose. Wow. He’d remembered some of the old tales of light warriors, of how they could harness the power of light and fashion it into weapons, or for healing. He never thought he’d see a light warrior in action, though, and settled back to watch.

      His gaze slid to Vivianne. She looked relaxed, but he wasn’t fooled. She’d wake up spitting venom when she realized she’d been rendered unconscious so easily. His brow dipped when he thought about her words back in Ryder’s office.

      She thought she was going crazy.

      He was driving her nuts. The sentiment should have given him some satisfaction, but for once he felt no triumph in causing pain or discomfort to a vampire. To drive a woman to despair—well, that was just one more hit to his ego around this woman. Still, he never wanted to make a woman feel miserable in his presence. It didn’t sit well with him. He shifted. Guilt was not a comfortable coat to wear.

      Hunter stood at Vivianne’s feet, gently clasping her ankles, then closed his eyes. Zane leaned back against the wall, arms folded, and watched.

      Tendrils of light swirled and ebbed from the fire, arcing toward Hunter, as though attracted by a magnetic field. Zane frowned. It was light, though, not flame, that danced across the room to skim and flit across his skin, to eventually snake around his wrists, and flow on to Vivianne’s ankles. There was no singeing of hair, or blistering of skin. It was...remarkable.

      Her body twitched, and Zane straightened. Was Galen hurting her? He strolled forward, eyeing her face, but her features remained calm, relaxed. The light danced along her legs, up over her hips and across her torso. The tendrils gathered close, and became a glowing orb around her body.

      Zane didn’t understand how the examination worked, but could only assume Hunter was working his way along Vivianne’s body as the light changed in color in a slow wash drifting up over her form. It took several minutes, but eventually the orb positioned around Vivianne’s head. Hunter frowned, and released her ankles at the same time that Ryder opened the door and stepped into the room.

      A man followed him, and it took Zane a moment to recognize him. The man wore black boots, black motorcycle leathers and a black T-shirt beneath the leather jacket. His eyes were shielded behind a pair of dark sunglasses, his dark sandy hair cropped short, as was the beard dusting his jawline. Dave...Carter. The name came to him through a fog. He had a murky recollection of meeting the man, but the details were a little hazy.

      “Dave.” Hunter greeted him as he strode along the gurney to Vivianne’s head. He gently threaded his fingers through her hair, and for the briefest moment, jealousy flared within Zane at his familiarity with the woman on the table.

      “Hunter.” Dave nodded. He frowned when he saw the woman on the gurney. “Vivianne Marchetta, huh? What’s wrong with her?”

      “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Hunter said quietly, then closed his eyes once more. A golden glow enveloped Vivianne’s head, bathing her face in a warm light. She looked...beautiful. Zane frowned. He didn’t understand this softening toward her. In the period he’d been with her, he’d seen her feed—and hunt. He’d seen her rule the boardroom with glacial control, and hatch plans for the annihilation of the werewolf breed. Everything a vampire did—the cold, emotionless, self-serving nature of the breed—was repellant to the loyal, family-bonded lycan, and yet every now and then he was caught by an unexpected, inexplicable thawing toward her, a...concern for her that was about as comfortable as mange skin scrapings. Maybe it was a side effect of death. Did death have side effects? Could one of them be abandoning your principles in favor of a pretty face? Well, okay, she had a beautiful face. Damn it, did death result in falling for seductive, destructive charm?

      “What the...?” Hunter frowned, and tilted his head. He raised a hand, and a tendril of undulating light stretched between Vivianne and Zane.

      “What is it? Did you find something?” Ryder asked, leaning forward, his expression curious.

      “Not sure.” Hunter opened his eyes, gazing blankly at his brother. “I can feel something in her mind, but I can’t get past the darkness.”

      Zane’s eyebrows rose. “I’m ‘the darkness’?” Could they not see the ribbon of light? He’d hoped he would be illuminated also, but the two light warriors were oblivious to his presence.

      “Is it a tumor?” Ryder asked.

      Zane rolled his eyes. “I am not a tumor.”

      Hunter shook his head. “It doesn’t feel like a tumor.”

      “That’s because I am not a tumor.”

      Ryder turned to Dave. “Could this have something to do with your spell?”

      Dave’s lips twisted. “My spells are not carcinogenic.”

      Zane glanced at the man. Spells? Dave was a witch?

      Ryder shot the biker an exasperated look. “Seriously, Dave. What do you think?”

      Dave shrugged. “Beats me.”

      “It was your spell,” Ryder pointed out.

      “Believe it or not, I’ve never actually prevented a lycan’s bite from killing a vampire, before,” Dave muttered. “This is new territory for all of us.” He stepped closer to the gurney, and Zane approached from the other side. “So, she said she was having hallucinations?”

      “I’m not a hallucination, damn it,” Zane growled. It was so damn frustrating, watching them try to figure him out. He wished they could see him, hear him. Maybe even help him. Did he need to pass on? Is that what the problem was? He’d had to accept that he no longer had a tangible form, that he was no longer...living. That sucked. Big-time. What he wouldn’t give