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 to offer Vivianne’s brother a little payback. But if he had to pass on, why wasn’t it happening? Why was he still hanging around?
And although it was every werewolf’s ultimate fantasy to drive a vampire nuts, the notion that Vivianne thought she was going a little batcrap crazy because she could see him when nobody else could—well, it made him feel a little guilty. He wasn’t a figment of her imagination. He was real. Well, as real as a ghost could be. Vivianne was a strong woman, vivacious, clever, confident. Regardless of whether she was vamp or lycan, no guy wanted any woman in his orbit to feel “less” because of her dealings with him. That didn’t make you a man, it made you a bully. Sure, he’d take on a vamp, male or female. But he’d do it face on, in a fair fight. He’d seen Vivianne in action enough times to know she was nobody’s “girl,” that she could defend herself in a fistfight just as well as a war of words. Hell, his own alpha prime was a woman. One of the attributes of a vampire was their physical strength, and he’d fought against a number of them. But he was always brought up to respect women, and to protect those around you. Making a woman doubt herself, or scared to tell the truth because of how it might make her look, or fearing she’d lose her position because of her association with you didn’t make you a legend, it made you a douche.
And damn it, it was just one more thing to hate Lucien Marchetta for.
Dave reached for her hand, and Zane saw the tendril of light stretching between himself and Vivianne glow. Warmth encompassed him, and his frown matched Dave’s when he glanced up.
“Well, I’ll be...” Dave murmured.
“What?” Hunter asked.
“Who are you?”
Zane’s eyes widened as he realized Dave was speaking to him. “You can see me?” The witch’s lips quirked, and Zane wished he could see behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses.
“I see a lot of things...” Dave responded. He lifted his hand, and the tendril of light dimmed. Dave frowned, then touched Vivianne again, and the light ribbon glowed. “Interesting.”
“Who are you talking to?” Ryder asked, and Hunter squinted as he glanced around the room.
“Vivianne’s not hallucinating.”
Zane nodded. “Thank you. I’ve been trying to tell that to anyone who can hear me.”
“If it’s not hallucinations, or delusions, or a very creative imagination, then what are we dealing with?” Hunter asked, and folded his arms. The light in the room ebbed.
“She’s picked up a passenger.”
“What?” Ryder asked, perplexed.
“She’s haunted,” Dave explained.
Hunter started to stroll away from the gurney, looking into every shadow of the room. “As in a ghost?”
Dave tilted his head as he gazed at Zane. “I’m not sure...”
“Can you help me?” Zane asked Dave.
Dave shrugged, his own expression puzzled.
“So what do we do with a ghost?” Ryder asked.
“An exorcism?” Hunter asked.
Ryder turned to his brother. “Since when do we do exorcisms?”
“Hey, there’s a first time for everything. I’ve never had a patient haunted by a ghost before.”
“You want to experiment?” Ryder asked in disbelief.
“No,” Zane said, shaking his head.
“Hell, yeah,” Hunter said.
“And how do you think you’ll sell that to Vivianne Marchetta?” Ryder asked, gesturing to the still-unconscious woman.
Hunter grimaced. “Good point. She’s already going to be pissed when she wakes up...” He brightened. “So why not give her something she can be really pissed about?”
“No,” Zane repeated, louder.
“Exorcisms work on demons, not ghosts,” Dave interjected, then shrugged. “I think.”
“How do we know this is really a ghost, and not a demon?” Hunter asked.
Zane put his
