Two By Twilight: Twilight Vows

“A tasty, tension-packed read.”

—Publishers Weekly on Thicker Than Water

“Maggie Shayne demonstrates an absolutely superb touch, blending fantasy and romance into an outstanding reading experience.”

—Romantic Times on Embrace the Twilight

“Maggie Shayne is better than chocolate. She satisfies every wicked craving.”

—Bestselling author Suzanne Forster

“Maggie Shayne delivers sheer delight, and fans new and old of her vampire series can rejoice.”

—Romantic Times on Twilight Hunger

“Shayne’s haunting tale is intricately woven…. A moving mix of high suspense and romance, this haunting Halloween thriller will propel readers to bolt their doors at night!”

—Publishers Weekly on The Gingerbread Man

“Shayne’s talent knows no bounds!”

—Rendezvous

“Maggie Shayne delivers romance with sweeping intensity and bewitching passion.”

—Bestselling author Jayne Ann Krentz

“Shayne’s gift has made her one of the preeminent voices in paranormal romance today!”

—Romantic Times

RUN FROM TWILIGHT

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

TWILIGHT VOWS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chicago, 1928

There were only a handful of cops in the area. Just the few who’d been close enough to hear the gunshots. Officer Michael Gray stood in an alley between two buildings, his gun drawn but basically useless, as rival gangs fired at each other from opposite sides of the street. Tommy guns spat fire in the darkness. Windows shattered, and people ran for their lives. A car sped past, only to stop short as its windows exploded and the driver slumped over the wheel.

That was when he saw the boy. He must have been seven or eight years old, and scared half to death by the noise. He came out of nowhere and ran right into the street—right into the crisscrossing storm of bullets.

Michael reacted on sheer instinct. He ran out of the alley, shoving his gun into his holster as he went, knowing he would need both hands. He dove on the kid, pinning him to the pavement, covering him with his own body. Sheer adrenaline drove him, and he didn’t even feel the pain until he was lying still, holding the kid underneath him. And then it hurt. It hurt like hell, from a dozen places on his body. But not for very long.

When Michael woke he was in a hospital bed, in some kind of a daze. He didn’t feel anything. He couldn’t seem to speak, but he could see and hear what was going on around him. He heard a doctor saying there was nothing that could be done. He saw a nurse shake her head and dab at her eyes, but then she slid a sideways glance in his direction and gave him a wink. As if she knew something he didn’t. What the hell? He was lying here, dying, and the nurse was winking at him? What kind of a hospital was this?

That thought fled, though, when he saw his wife, Sally, sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, pale as a ghost, shaking. Then the doctor took her arm, pulled her to her feet and led her from the room.

As soon as they were gone, the flirtatious nurse hurried to close the door behind them. Then she closed the window curtains tight and came to his bed. “About time,” she said. “It’s damn near morning. I thought they’d never leave. Listen, they’ll be back soon. We don’t have much time.”

She was cute, with short dark hair and huge eyes. He tried to move his lips, to give voice to the questions swirling in his mind, but he couldn’t get them out.

“Don’t try to talk,” she said. “Just listen, okay? I’m not a nurse. My name’s Cuyler Jade. I saw what happened in the street, the way you saved that kid, and I followed the car that brought you in. Then I sneaked in, borrowed this uniform from some nurse’s locker.” She turned in a little circle, arms out. “Nice fit for a quick grab, isn’t it?”

He blinked slowly, wondering if this was all some kind of hallucination.

“We have to make this quick,” she said. “You’re a hell of a guy. A hero. You don’t deserve to die, but you’re going to. Probably a few minutes from now. You’ve got more holes in you than Swiss cheese, and I’m not whistlin’ Dixie.”

Was this information supposed to comfort him somehow?

“I can see to it you don’t die, Michael Gray. I can see to it you live. You won’t be like you were before, but you’ll be alive. You’ll be strong. Healthy. But different. Very different. Do you understand?”

He blinked, thinking the woman was insane, and shook his head slightly, side to side.

“Hell, of course you don’t understand. And I don’t have time for the full rundown. Just suffice it to say I went out the same way you did. Cross fire, lots of bullets. And look at me. I’m okay. You can be the same. So lemme ask you this. Do you want to live?”