Headlights blinded him. Sherman squinted and shouted when the headlights became too close. He swerved, trying to avoid the other driver and felt the car bouncing, as if the tires had left the road and were now on the frozen dirt.

  Sherman hit the brakes, and thankfully, the car came to a stop. His heart was in his throat as he looked around, but it was so dark out that he wasn’t sure which direction he was turned. When he gently pushed on the gas pedal, the tires spun.

  “Crap!” He slammed his hand onto the steering wheel.

  He sat there, letting his heart return to a regular beat before pulling out his phone and calling Payton.

  “Didn’t think I would hear from you tonight,” Payton said when he answered.

  “Dalton wasn’t home, and I ran off the road. I need help.” Sherman looked around, still feeling spooked. “Can Miller come get me out of this patch of grass that my tires keep spinning in?”

  “Dude, you don’t carry kitty litter in your trunk this time of year?” Payton asked. “It’s as essential as a blanket and a gallon of water, also a flare.”

  Sherman wasn’t sure what his mother had in her trunk, but he didn’t want to be out there alone. He shivered, even though the heat was blowing inside the car. “No, so can he just come help me?”

  A sedan pulled to the shoulder, and the driver got out, heading Sherman’s way. From what Sherman could see in the darkness, the guy was tall and lean with dark hair. He made the gesture for Sherman to roll down his window, which Sherman did.

  “Stuck?” the guy asked.

  “Yeah. I swerved to avoid some jackass who doesn’t know how to drive on black ice.”

  “I can help.”

  “Who is that?” Payton asked.

  “Some stranger who’s gonna help me. I guess you and Miller don’t need to come rescue me, after all. I’ll see you when I get back to the house.”

  “I don’t like this,” Payton said. “I’m still coming.”

  “Why?” Sherman argued. “The guy seems nice enough. I’ll call you when I’m back on the road.”

  He hung up before Payton could say another word. Sherman just wanted to get back on the road and back to his mom’s house. This day had been a disaster, and he just wanted some sleep.

  The guy returned with what looked like a bag of kitty litter in his hands. “Might need your help.”

  God, Sherman did not want to get out, but the guy was nice enough to stop and help him, so it would be rude of Sherman to remain in his car.

  He opened the driver’s door and stepped out onto the hard earth. The grass crunched under his boots as he wrapped his arms around his midsection and joined the stranger at the rear of his car.

  “Pop the trunk,” the guy said. “I think you might have a flat, or at least a slow leak. Your tire is looking kind of low.”

  Sherman knew nothing about cars. To him, the tire just looked sunken into the dirt. He went back to the driver’s side and pulled the lever then rejoined the stranger.

  “I really appreciate you stopping.” The warmth from the car was already dissipating. Sherman was colder now with the wind whipping in the open field. The tips of his ears stung, as well as his cheeks.

  “No problem. I would hope someone would do the same for me if I was stranded.” The guy tossed the bag into the trunk without even opening it or pouring any litter.

  Maybe he wanted to change the tire first, but why would he put the bag on top of the compartment where the spare tire rested?

  “Then again, I don’t get stranded.” The guy gave Sherman a smile. “I can travel pretty damn fast on foot.”

  A compulsion to flee overtook Sherman. His gut told him something wasn’t right. He took a step back, wishing he’d told Payton to still meet him, but it was too late for that.

  Sherman shouted and shoved at the guy when the stranger reached for him, pushing him toward the open trunk.

  “No use fighting, human. You’re not going to win.”

  Human? Sherman’s knees buckled as the guy grabbed him in a bruising grip and forced him into the trunk, stealing Sherman’s cell phone from his pocket.

  Sherman shouted again as the trunk was slammed closed.

  * * * *

  “Do you know how many poisons are out there?” Evan said when Dalton asked for the fifth time if the doctor had pinpointed which poison Raphael had used. “This might take some time, although knowing how slow-acting it is helps narrow down my search.”

  The tingling burn had reached midway between Dalton’s wrist and his elbow. He couldn’t move his fingers on his right arm, and the helplessness was frustrating.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be an irate patient, but I’m worried what will happen if it reaches my heart.”

  “Just stay calm,” Evan said from where he stood by the centrifuge machine where tubes of Dalton’s blood were spinning. “The faster your heartrate, the faster the poison will work.”

  It was late, but as Dalton sat there, he dialed Sherman’s phone number. It went straight to voice mail. Okay, now he was worried. They hadn’t known each other that long, but every time he’d called, Sherman had answered.

  Except today.

  Dalton couldn’t just sit there. He had to know what was going on with Sherman. If his mate had cold feet, Dalton needed to talk to him. “I’m gonna take off.”

  Evan looked over his shoulder. “Do you think that’s wise? We don’t know what poison this Raphael guy used. I’d rather have you wait here until I can find out which one.”

  “And my mate isn’t answering,” Dalton said. “I need to go find him. As soon as I talk to him, I’ll be back.”

  Especially with Raphael in town. Dalton was worried the vampire would go after Sherman. He should have never left his mate’s side today, but Dalton had wanted to give Sherman space, and now all he was filled with was worry.

  He hopped into his truck and drove to Gladys’s house. Dalton didn’t care how late it was. Sherman was going to talk to him. Whatever his mate was frightened of, they could work through it. Mating was for life, and if they were going to have a happy one, Sherman needed to learn that talking instead of running worked a whole lot better.

  As soon as he pulled into Gladys’s driveway, Dalton knew something was wrong. Where was the sedan? And why was there a pickup truck parked there instead?

  With a low growl, Dalton got out and stormed toward the front door. He hadn’t seen what Raphael was driving, and if that was him at the house, Dalton wasn’t holding back this time.

  He didn’t bother knocking or ringing the bell. Dalton walked right in. “Sherman!”

  Was that fresh-baked apple pie he smelled? The aroma made Dalton’s stomach growl.

  A broad guy with dark hair charged Dalton, tackling him at the door. He snarled, showing his claws. “Who the fuck are you?”

  Dalton used his elbow and swung at the guy, knocking the stranger off him. The move made his bad arm feel as if it had exploded with fire, but Dalton got to his feet and crouched, ready to kill the son of a bitch. “Who the fuck are you, and why are you in my mate’s house?”

  “Mate?” The guy’s claws retracted. “You must be Dalton.”

  Dalton stood to his full height. “And you are?”

  “Miller.” The guy stuck out his hand, and Dalton shook it. “I’m mated to Payton, Sherman’s cousin.”

  A skinny little redhead flew down the hallway, a frying pan raised above his head.

  “Whoa!” Miller grabbed him around the waist and pulled him off his feet. “Payton, this is Dalton, Sherman’s mate.”

  “Oh! I’m sorry for trying to clobber you with a frying pan. I had no idea who you were.” He lowered the pan. “Is Sherman with you?”

  Dalton’s stomach shrank. “No, I thought he was with his mom.”

  “Well, he was.” Payton explained to Dalton what had happened this morning, and how they’d spent the entire day at the hospital.

  Why hadn’t Sherman called him? Dalton would have been there in a heartbeat.

  “Don’t go looking like that,” Payton said. “Sherman is still confused about mating. He thinks it’s too soon to pull you into his family problems. I tried to tell him he was being ridiculous and that he should call you, but he refused. He finally left around nine to go see you, and then he called and said he’d skidded off the road and some guy had pulled over to help him.” Payton looked worried. “That was a half an hour ago, and we haven’t heard from him since, though I tried to call him several times. If I’d known where you lived, I would have gone there already.”

  Dalton headed for the door.

  “Where’re you going?” Payton asked as he hurried behind Dalton.

  “To my house. I’ll check the road on my way there.” Shit, shit, shit. Dalton had a sinking feeling that Raphael was somehow involved. There was no other explanation for Sherman disappearing.

  If the vampire touched a single hair on Sherman’s head, Dalton was going to rip the bastard’s spine out.

  “We’re coming with you.” Payton snatched his coat off the hook by the door. “More people searching for him will help.”

  Dalton wanted to tell Payton that it wasn’t safe, that a vampire and his cronies might be behind this. But one look at the stubborn set of the redhead’s jaw and he knew it would be futile.

  Dalton just prayed Sherman hadn’t been taken by the vampires. Raphael wasn’t a forgiving man, and he would torture Sherman just to get back at Dalton.

  With his right hand settled on his leg, Dalton drove down the road that led to his house. He wasn’t going fast, fearing he might miss the sedan or Sherman walking. Besides, the roads were iced over from the sun setting, and that made things dangerously slick.

  The feeling that Sherman was in danger spread when Dalton noticed deep grooves in the dirt half a mile from his house. He wasn’t sure if they even belonged to Sherman, but the headlights hit something shiny when Dalton pulled over.

  Miller pulled in behind him and got out as Dalton walked over and looked down at the ground.

  It was a cell phone.

  “That’s Sherman’s!” Payton snatched it from Dalton and turned it over. “What the hell is it doing on the ground?”

  “I wish Loki were here,” Miller muttered.

  “Loki?” Dalton asked.

  “My German shepherd. He used to be a rescue dog and can sniff anything out.”

  “I don’t think there’s anything to sniff.” Dalton pointed to the ground. “Tire tracks and footprints. The footprints don’t lead anywhere.”

  “Which means exactly what?” Payton clutched the phone to his chest as if it were a lifeline to his cousin.

  “Either he drove away or someone drove him away,” Dalton said.

  “I can’t believe this is happening again.” Payton scrubbed a hand through his red hair. “Did Sherman tell you why he came to Fever’s Edge?”

  Dalton shook his head.

  “He was used as bait,” Payton explained. “He was kidnapped and tied to a chair in an empty building rigged to explode. And it did. I mourned his death until he resurfaced, rescued by Santa Claus.”

  “Santa?” Was Payton on drugs? What in the hell was he talking about? The twink wasn’t making any sense, and Dalton was becoming more and more frustrated by the second.

  “A guy named Nick,” Miller explained. “Sherman barely made it out of the building before it went up in flames.”

  “Some rich, spoiled jackass killed a woman outside Miller’s bedroom window. Chris saw me and shot at me. Sherman said he was leaving town to go visit his mom for Christmas after that happened, but he never made it to Fever’s Edge. Chris had taken him.”

  And now Sherman had been hijacked again. Could his mate catch any kind of break? Too bad the wind was blowing. It erased any scent Dalton could have picked up on. He had no idea where to look for his mate. For all he knew, Raphael could have taken him out of town.

  The thought of never seeing his mate again made Dalton’s bear snarl. One way or another, he was getting his mate back. “I’m calling in reinforcements.”

  “Who?” Payton asked.

  “Bennett Kincaid.”

  Chapter Seven

  Life was one big cosmic joke. Sherman couldn’t believe he was once again kidnapped. If this kept up, he wanted a punch card with frequent flier miles and a prize when five holes were punched. Like a long vacation in a warm climate with drinks that had little umbrellas and a beach with tons of scantily clad men.

  Or a beach with Dalton naked and lying stretched out next to him, feeding him grapes. Anything would have been better than sitting in Dalton’s living room, tied to a chair. Sherman wasn’t an idiot. He’d heard the bodyguards talking, and they were using him as bait.

  Just like the last time.

  “This cannot be happening to me,” he muttered. There had to be more to life than being a helpless human in distress. And he knew the men in the room weren’t human. Sherman had spotted fangs in the mouth of one guy. They had descended when Sherman had been forced from the trunk and he’d cut his hand on the crowbar.

  Why had his mother kept a crowbar in her trunk? It would serve no purpose if she had car trouble. But based on the way the guy in the trench coat’s eyes had lit up and his sharp, pointy fangs had appeared, Sherman could come to only one conclusion.

  He was dealing with evil fairies.

  All three were thin, waiflike, with gorgeous hair and a regal way about them. The only thing missing was their wings. Sherman was pretty sure those were invisible or humans would have discovered them already.

  “How is your hand?” the one called Raphael asked. He hadn’t introduced himself. Sherman had heard one of the other guys call him by name.

  The other two were Morton and Harold. Not very fairylike names, but who was Sherman to argue the point?

  “It would be a lot better if you sprinkled some of your magic fairy dust on it to heal my wound.” It was actually throbbing, and Sherman feared there had been rust on the crowbar. With the way his luck was going, he would die from infection before he was rescued.

  But just like last time, Sherman was going to have to rescue himself. It didn’t look as though Dalton would show. Why would he? He was probably at the station making another pot of his amazing chili, clueless to Sherman’s predicament.

  Worse than his aching cut? The ache in Sherman’s chest because he missed his mate something awful. He had been a sucker for his past boyfriends, had been needy and clingy, but the feeling inside him was much more intense. Sherman actually felt like bawling because he didn’t have Dalton’s arms around him.

  This wasn’t the first time he’d felt that way being away from Dalton. Was that what mating was all about? Becoming obsessed with each other, the need to be so close that you felt insane if you were apart? Was that why Kennedy had given him time off, because he knew how crazy things would get between Sherman and Dalton?

  The evil fairies started whispering to each other, but no matter how hard Sherman tried to hear what they were saying, their voices were too low.

  If only he could get the ropes off. Sherman’s hands were strapped to the arms of the chair and his ankles to the legs. Raphael was damn good at tying rope. He hadn’t left any wiggle room for Sherman to slip out of his bindings.

  “He should have been here by now,” Morton said. “How much longer do we have to wait?”

  “Patience,” Raphael said in a smooth, elegant voice. “This isn’t something I want to rush. Dalton’s demise has been a long time coming, and I want to take my sweet time killing him.”

  There had to be some way Sherman could warn his mate. If Dalton showed, he would be walking right into a trap. Although the strangers were fairies, they were pretty damn strong, and Sherman wasn’t sure Dalton, even being a bear shifter, could take all three down.

  Too bad Nick wasn’t in Fever’s Edge. Sherman could have used a little magic in this situation. He still wholeheartedly believed that Nick was Santa, regardless of what Payton said.

  Nick had been there at the empty building when it had blown up, had rescued Sherman and kept him hidden from the maniac out to kill both him and Payton. He’d even left Sherman a present under the tree on Christmas morning.

  Ugh, he needed to stop thinking about who wasn’t going to rescue him and come up with a plan.

  “Can we at least snack on him?” Harold asked. “I’m starving, and we have a meal right in front of us.”

  Fairies ate people? Since when? Didn’t they like nectar from flowers, sugar cubes, or cream? Since when did fairies like flesh? God, Sherman was going to be sick just thinking about being eaten.

  “As soon as I have what I want,” Raphael said, “he’s all yours.”

  Now he really needed to get out of there. He wasn’t keen on being anyone’s meal. “Don’t I have a say in this?” he asked.

  “Hardly.” Raphael glared at him. “Humans are nothing more than cattle, food for my kind. Would you allow a cheeseburger to have a say in whether it was eaten or not?”

  “I’m not a cheeseburger, buddy,” Sherman argued, though a cheeseburger sounded damn good. Sherman hadn’t eaten since lunch, and now he was starving. Mmm. Some golden fries and a Coke would hit the spot. Maybe even an apple pie.

  “Long pig.” Morton smirked, pulling Sherman from his delicious thoughts.

  “What’s a long pig?” Sherman asked and wished he hadn’t when Harold answered him.

  “Human flesh.”

  That was the grossest thing Sherman had ever heard. He wanted to gag just thinking of them dining on his body, and not in a sexy way, either.

  “Since when do fairies eat people?” Sherman shouted the question as he struggled against his restraints. “You’re supposed to be small, fly around, and wave your magic wands.”

  Raphael frowned. “First, you’re thinking of Tinker Bell. Fairies are far from that ridiculous character. Second, we’re not fairies.” He leaned in close, baring his fangs. “We’re vampires.”

  “The sparkly kind?” Sherman wished he knew fact from fiction. He’d seen one too many movies and wasn’t sure any of that was true now that he knew nonhumans existed. “You’re telling me vampires are real? I thought only lawyers were bloodsuckers.”