He’d been a centuries-old vampire with unlimited financial resources and powerful charm at his disposal. There had never been a time when he could not have what he wanted, and he’d certainly never wanted to comfort a sobbing woman through the dark hours of the night.

You would have for Carrie.

He grabbed his—no, the dead priest’s—shirt from the end of the bed and pulled it on, reminding himself to be annoyed with the cheap fabric. He didn’t remember taking it off, had only a dim recollection of shrugging out of it and turning over to enfold Mouse in his arms. She called after him as he stalked into the bathroom, but he ignored her and slammed the door, needing space and peace and a way to block the horrible dream from his mind.

But he’d dreamed of her. As in all things where Carrie was concerned, he couldn’t so easily forget. In the dream, he’d held her. Not a salacious embrace. He’d actually held her. She had let him stroke her hair and kiss her. She had told him she loved him. When Carrie had been his fledgling, she’d always hovered on the edge of revulsion when she’d touched him. In his dream, she’d loved him the way he’d wanted to be loved.

When he’d opened his eyes, he’d held the bleeding, heartless corpse of his beloved Elsbeth. He’d shaken her, as desperate to revive her as he had been the night she’d died. Her auburn curls and delicate features had morphed quickly into Carrie’s pale blond hair and strong-boned face. That’s when he’d woken, screaming, to find the Mouse beside him, and for a horrible moment, he was certain he’d killed her, too.

I’ve got to get out of here, he told himself as he turned on the tap and splashed cold water on his face. I’m losing my mind.

He shook the thought off. Too much had occurred in his past, too much horror, too much death, to lose his mind over a simple girl like the Mouse. If he was going to lose his mind over anything, it would not be her.

Not if I have anything to say about it, that is. His own voice sounded like his father’s in his head, and it pleased him. Finally, he was becoming like his old self again.

Why did that thought sicken him? Why wouldn’t he want to reclaim that part of himself his traitorous, human body wanted to erase?