"I'm not afraid of her. And where are you taking me?"
"There's an emergency exit behind the stage."
Vanda tried to dig her heels in, but her stilettos merely wobbled. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
He shot her an amused look. "Afraid of me?"
"Hell, no." Hell, yes. Whenever she was alone with him, she lost all self-control and ended up kissing him.
He pulled her through some swinging double doors into a deserted hallway. "This way."
"Don't even try to kiss me again. It's forbidden. I could tattle on you and get you in big trouble."
"Or I could give you such mind-blowing sex, you would beg for more."
"Ha! I never beg for anything."
He stopped abruptly and pulled her into his arms so fast, she slammed into his hard chest. The air was knocked out of her and her heart rate jumped into high gear.
He leaned forward, his breath hot against her brow. "Never say never, sweetheart. You like kissing me."
"Do not." Oh God, he felt so good.
His lips skimmed along her cheekbone. "You were forbidden years ago, and I obeyed the rules. I was young and foolish. Not anymore." He nuzzled her neck.
"Phil," she whispered, and pressed against him. He was so strong and warm.
"We don't need the rules. We're rebels." He suckled her earlobe.
"Yes." She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Kiss me. Now."
He leaned back, his mouth curling. "Are you begging?"
"No." She glared at him. "I'll make you beg."
He chuckled. "I thought I was. But first we have some business to attend to." He led her farther down the hall.
"What business?"
He opened a door and ushered her inside. "Your first anger management class."
"My what?" She gasped when she spotted her image frozen on a television screen.
"Good evening, my child." Father Andrew stood next to a conference table.
Phil had shown her interview to the priest? How could he do this to her? Rage shot through her.
She picked up a chair. "You want some anger? I'll give you some anger! Manage this!"
"Get down!" Phil shouted at the priest as Vanda hurled the chair across the conference table.
The chair crashed into the wall, denting the Sheetrock six feet away from Father Andrew, who crouched underneath the table. With vampire speed Vanda grabbed another chair, but Phil wrenched it away and seized her by the wrists.
"Let me go!" She kicked at his shins.
She wasn't as strong as a male Vamp, but with her rage in full bloom, she was damned close. Phil struggled to hold on. He could always unleash his inner wolf and take her down in a second, but he refrained. She was upset enough already.
He pushed her back against a wall, pinning her wrists to each side of her head. "As your anger management sponsor, I have to say—"
"You're not my sponsor." She attempted to knee him.
He twisted and took it in the hip. "I have to say you're not managing your anger in a constructive manner."
"Let me go, you traitor!"
"Calm down and I'll release you."
She met his gaze, her eyes a stormy gray. She lowered her voice to the barest of whispers. "I'll tell him."
So, she was threatening to tell the priest that he'd indulged in forbidden kisses with his charge. Phil leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "Do it. Then he'll fire me, and I'll be free to bed you tonight."
Her breath hissed against his cheek. "Damn you." She raised her voice. "I'm okay now. You can let go."
He leaned back. "No more throwing chairs?"
"Only if you're sitting in one at the time."
He released her. "I know you're upset, but we really just want to help you."
She moved away from him, rubbing her wrists. "You call this help? The two of you ganging up on me? I hate this stupid therapy crap. You want to examine all my old wounds and poke and prod at them till they bleed. What is the point? It doesn't make any of it go away."
"Ignoring it doesn't make it go away, either."
"I told you to leave my past alone." She glowered at him. "I trusted you."
"Betrayal of trust," Father Andrew murmured as he removed some papers from a portfolio and placed them on the conference table. "I think that would be a good place to start." He glanced up at Vanda. "I apologize for the…unorthodox scheduling of your first appointment, but we feared you might refuse to attend otherwise."
"You're damned right I would," Vanda grumbled. "I don't need anger management."
The priest looked at the cracked Sheetrock where the chair had crashed into it. "I disagree. Have a seat, please." He sat and put on his reading glasses.
Vanda paced toward the end of the table but didn't sit. Phil could feel the tension radiating from her. She was like a wildcat prowling in a locked cage.
Father Andrew made a note on the top sheet of his stack of papers. "I noticed you called Phil a traitor."
She scowled at Phil. "He is."
"After watching your interview, I can understand why betrayal would be a sensitive subject for you," the priest continued. "Do you believe your sister, Marta, betrayed you?"
"I don't believe anything about her." Vanda strode to the television and turned it off. "She's dead to me, just like the rest of my family."
"She changed you into a Vamp," Phil said.
"No!" Vanda spun to face him. "Sigismund changed me. Marta just bit me and drank from me till I was too weak to fight her off. Then she presented me to her new boyfriend like a dinner entrée."
"You definitely harbor some anger toward her," Father Andrew observed.
"Why should I be angry?" Vanda ejected the DVD from the player. "Marta didn't do anything. She just stood there and watched while her boyfriend changed me, and our little sister lay dying in a nearby cave. She did nothing!"
"Sounds like betrayal to me," Phil said.
"I don't want to talk about it!" Vanda snapped the DVD in two and threw the pieces at Phil. "Leave me alone."
He dodged the flying pieces. "I won't." He strode toward her.
She growled and reached for another chair. He grasped it, holding it down, and while they both leaned forward, he engaged her in a staring contest. She arched a brow and refused to back down.
The priest cleared his throat. "I am truly sorry, my child, for the family members you lost. Do you know if Marta is still alive? Or undead, I should say."
Vanda let go of the chair and turned away from Phil. "I don't know. Who cares?"
"She could be your only surviving family," the priest continued. "I think you should see her."
"No way."
Father Andrew clicked his pen and made a note on one of his papers. "I have a good friend in Poland. A priest who went to seminary with me years ago. I'll ask him to check on the whereabouts of your sister."
"I don't want to see her!"
The priest regarded Vanda sternly over the rim of his reading glasses. "I have an assignment for you. I want you to give serious thought to forgiving your sister."
"What?" Vanda looked at the priest like he'd suddenly grown two heads.
"How old was Marta when you fled to the mountains?" Phil asked.
Vanda gritted her teeth. "Fifteen, but—"
"She was a child," Father Andrew said.
"And Sigismund probably had her mind under his control," Phil added.
"I don't care!" Vanda shouted. "She let Frieda die! I won't forgive her. I can't."
Father Andrew removed his glasses. "Forgiveness doesn't mean that you condone her actions. You don't need to forgive her for her sake. You do it for yourself, so you can put all the pain to rest and start living again."
"Why should I live when they're all dead? Everyone I loved is dead! Next you'll be telling me to forgive the damned Nazis." Vanda ran to the door and wrenched it open. "Leave me the hell alone!" She ran down the hall.