side of his arm with her left arm. Hitting the nerves to try and numb the limb.
But not cutting him. She realized with a dizzy sense of horror that she didn't want to use the sword on him.
"You are going to die, idiot," he told her, and for an instant she wasn't sure if it was him saying it or the
voice in her head.
She tried to push him away. All she could think was that she needed time, time to get her survival
reflexes back. She shoved at him--and then her bare hand brushed his, and something happened that was completely beyond her experience.
Chapter 6
What she felt was a shivering jolt that began in her palm and ran up her arm like electricity. It left tingling
in its wake. But the real shock was in her head.
Her mind exploded. That was the only way she could describe it. A noiseless, heatless explosion that
shattered her completely. All at once, Rashel couldn't support her own weight anymore. She could feel
Quinn's arms supporting her.
She had no sense of the room around her. She was floating in a white light and the only solid thing to
hang on to was Quinn. It was something like the terror she'd felt before... but it wasn't just terror.
Impossibly, what she felt was more like wild elation.
She realized that Quinn was holding her so tightly that it hurt. But even stronger than the sensation of his
arms was the sense she had of his mind.
A direct conduit seemed to have opened between them. She could feel his astonishment, his shock, his
wonder. And she knew he could feel hers.
It's telepathy, some distant part of herself said, trying desperately to get control again. It's some new
vampire trick.
But she knew it wasn't a trick. Quinn was as astounded as she was-she could feel that. Maybe he was
even worse off. He was breathing rapidly and shallowly and a fine trembling seemed to have taken over
his body.
Rashel held on to him, thinking crazy things. She wanted to comfort him. She could sense, probably
better than he could himself, how frighteningly vulnerable he was under that frozen exterior.
Like me, I suppose, Rashel thought giddily. And then she suddenly realized that he was feeling her
vulnerability just as she had felt his. Fear welled up in her so sharply that she panicked.
She tried to find a way to shut him out, to resist the way she resisted mind control-but she knew it was
useless. He had gotten past her guard already. He was inside.
"It's all right," Quinn said, and she realized that he had stopped trembling. His voice was almost
dispassionate, and at the same time madly gentle. Rashel had the feeling that he'd decided that since he
couldn't fight this thing, he might as well be as insane as possible.
Strangest of all, she found his words reassuring.
And there was fire under the ice that seemed to encase him. She could feel that now, and she had the
dizzy sense that she was the first one to discover it.
They had fallen to the floor somehow, and they were sitting just at the edge of the light. Quinn was
holding her by the shoulders, precisely, and Rashel was astonished at her own response to the clinical
grip. It stopped her breath, held her absolutely motionless.
Then, just as precisely, every movement deliberate, Quinn found the end of her scarf and began to unwind it.
He was still filled with that mad gentleness, that lunatic calm. And she wasn't stopping him. He was going
to expose her face, and she wasn't doing a thing about it.
She wanted him to. In spite of her terror, she wanted him to see her, to know who she was. She wanted
to be face to face with him in that strange light that had enveloped both their minds. It didn't seem to
matter what happened afterward.
She said, "John."
He unwound another length of the scarf, preoccupied and intent as if he were making some
archaeological discovery. "You didn't tell me your name." It was a statement. He wasn't pushing her.
She might as well write it out on a death warrant and hand it to him. Quinn could reveal himself to
humans-but then Quinn could disappear completely if he wanted, hole up in some hidden vampire
enclave where no human could search him out.
Rashel couldn't. He knew she was a vampire hunter. If he knew her name and her face, he'd have every
power to destroy her.
And the scariest thing of all was that some part of her didn't care.
He was down to the last turn of the scarf. In a moment her face would be exposed to the air... and to
vampire eyes that could see in this darkness.
I'm Rashel, Rashel thought. She couldn't quite get the words to her lips. She took a deep breath.
And at the same instant a light blazed into her eyes.
Not the ghostly light that had been in her mind. Real light, the beams from several high-power flashlights,
harsh and horribly bright. They cut through the dark cellar and threw Rashel and Quinn into stark illumination.
Rashel gasped. One hand instinctively flew to her scarf to keep it over her face. She felt as if she had
been caught naked.
And she was horrified to realize that she hadn't heard anyone come into the cellar. She had been
completely absorbed, oblivious to her surroundings. What had happened to all her training? What was
wrong with her?
She couldn't see anything beyond the light. Her first thought was that it was Quinn's vampire Mends
come to save him. He seemed to think it might be, too; at least he was standing shoulder to shoulder with
her, even trying to push her back a little.
With an odd pang, Rashel realized she could only guess what he was thinking now. The connection
between them had been cleanly severed.
Then a voice came from beyond the terrible brightness, a sharp voice filled with outrage. "How did he