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night?"
    "That would be good." Healing drained him. Delaying the healing drained him more. "Did you see that in my colors?" he asked, suddenly curious. "That I need rest?"
    "Not the colors so much as the way they're behaving. Droopy and sluggish."
    He nodded. That made sense—his thoughts felt sluggish. "Thank you. For the offer of your couch, and for helping."
    "You're welcome. I'll get you a pillow and a cover." A yawn caught her, and she stretched.
    Long-buried feelings stirred inside him. He had to be stern with his body in order to quiet it before she noticed. "A sheet would be welcome. I don't need a blanket. Is it all right if I remove my jeans? They're wet."
    "Sure." Her smile came a shade too quickly, a tint too bright. "I'll get you that sheet."
    He didn't remove his pants yet. He'd do that after she was in bed. Kai couldn't regulate her body the way he did, nor could she hide her response from him. He couldn't hide his response from her, either, for that matter—she'd see it in his colors if he allowed himself to become aroused. So he hadn't. He didn't want to raise expectations. But he allowed himself the rare indulgence of enjoying the way her body moved beneath her loose pajamas as she left the room. Maybe…
    He wouldn't rush things. But he knew her now for a friend, so… maybe.

Chapter 4
    IT was still dark when Nathan woke to three bars from the William Tell Overture . He rolled into a sitting position, reached for his jeans, and pulled his cell phone out of the pocket.
    Six-oh-five, he noted. And the call was from dispatch. "Hunter."
    The phone had woken Kai, too. She drifted out to stand in the doorway to her bedroom while he listened, acknowledged his instructions, then disconnected. He stepped into his jeans, which were clammy and damp still. She didn't ask any questions, but they hung, suspended, in her eyes.
    "There's been another killing," he told her, running a hand over his chin. Bristles. He'd have to shave. "The body appears to have been exsanguinated, like the others. It's about three miles from here, just off County Road 60."
    Her eyes widened. "But that—that's our road. Nathan, who was it?"
    "I don't have an ID." She'd had friends over last night. Gifted friends. She'd worry that the victim was one of them, and with reason. Last night's party and the proximity of the body might not be coincidence. "All I know is that the victim was male."
    "Pete… Pete was with Meagan. They wouldn't have gone that way. Neither would Ryan, but Mark—he and Andrew live in Odessa. They might have taken 60. It runs into 1788, which would bring them back to 191, so—but you know all that." She scrubbed both hands over her face as if trying to rub sense in, sleep out. She dropped her hands. "I'm babbling. You know all those roads."
    He could see the fear swimming in her eyes, could all but feel the cold breath of it on her neck. Impulsively he reached out, took her arms. She was warm beneath the flannel. He didn't want to let go. "I don't know when the killing took place. The body could have been there awhile. I don't know yet."
    She nodded, mute in her fear.
    "I'll call. As soon as I'm able and have an ID, I'll call."
    "That's right—you'll be investigating, won't you? That's outside city limits."
    "Yes." The sheriff's office would handle this one. He'd be able to hunt openly. Eagerness burned in him, a cold fire since he lacked a target. But not, he hoped, for much longer.
    Reluctantly he released her. He seldom touched her, as touch made things harder for both of them, but he couldn't regret it this time. He paused at the door. "We don't know that the killer only strikes at night. Be careful."
    She shoved her hair back. "You, too."
    "I'm not in the kind of danger you are."
    "You may not be Gifted, but you… whatever you are, you're of the Blood. It might want your blood, too."
    He couldn't argue with her logic. "Of the Blood" meant one of the inherently magical races, and he surely fit that description.