“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” he managed to reply, though his face had gone numb and the insult wasn’t up to par. His head felt as if it was going to split apart. It had been a long time since he’d communicated through a blood tie, but he remembered what it felt like, and it sure wasn’t this. He tried to respond to her, focusing his thoughts through the haze of pain reverberating in his skull. What are you doing to me?

Simple mind invasion. Bella didn’t go far. She’d hear every damn word we’d say. This is the only way to communicate without her listening.

Dahlia kneed him in the groin and he doubled over with a groan.

We need to make it look like we’re fighting, so she doesn’t get suspicious. But that was for forgetting my name.

“Fuck you,” he wheezed out loud. How did she know where to find you? And what did she want?

I don’t know. Maybe she looked up all area vampires who aren’t aligned with your stupid club. I’m sure you all keep a record somewhere. Dahlia didn’t roll her eyes, but Max imagined it to go along with her tone. She wanted to know where your bookstore friend went. I don’t have a clue. I told her to try the cemeteries, but I suggest you follow her because I might not have been far off.

Dahlia leaned her face dangerously close to his and transformed into a snarling, angry vampire. It might have intimidated him if she wasn’t idly stroking the hair at the back of his neck with her fingernails.

“Listen up, bitch. You tell me what’s going on or I’ll slit your throat from ear to ear.” He pushed his hand into her coat and found the buttons of her blouse, deftly popping a few to reach inside.

She shifted her face back and leaned in to trace his ear with her tongue. God, how great she’d been with that wicked tongue. “I’d like to see you try, once I rip your fat head right off your shoulders.”

Fat head? he shot back mentally, though the strain of responding sent up a buzz of feedback in his ears.

Don’t take it personally. She punctuated the telepathic message with a physical shrug. I heard Cyrus is in Nevada.

Who’d you hear that from? “Get your hands off me,” he growled aloud, but as her hands had found the zipper of his fly, he shook his head vehemently to signal she should disregard that instruction as play-acting.