Twenty-five-year-old Jesse Collins is an enigma: he is half vampire, half Landian, and he was raised by humans. The humans call him a dhampir, an abomination born of a mortal mother and vampire father; they say he should never have been born. Vampires call him a daywalker, a hybrid created to hunt and kill other vampires during the day; they say he should be killed. The Landians believe Jesse represents a power that must either be controlled or destroyed.

But there are also those who believe Jesse could be their salvation-if he can manage his warring genetics and temper his volatile emotions. A war between the Landians and the human Confederation of Planets is imminent, and Jesse may be the only one who can stop it. He is torn between his three worlds, unable to commit to only one. He longs to be normal, but he can't deny his vampiric nature or ignore the telepathy and empathy he inherited from his Landian mother. To complicate his life further, Jesse is being trained by the humans to fight the Landians as part of an elite military unit called the Shadowmen.

Opposing loyalties weigh on Jesse's heart and mind as he heads into battle to save the Confederation of Planets in this gripping science-fiction adventure.

Chapter One

The last thing Jesse Collins had expected on the night he walked home from his engineering class was to be attacked by a werewolf.

            It was a beautiful night, cool even by Freetown standards for the first week of spring. The city, located on the coast in the southern region of Sparta's only continent, was usually temperately warm. That night, there were no clouds to hide the stars that managed to shine brighter than the city's lights. There wasn't even a breeze to ruffle the palms, but the smell of the ocean managed to make its way through the city anyway.

            Jesse was twenty-five, a senior at the Freetown Institute, studying physical engineering. He was six feet two, a little thin for his height at 180 pounds, but he was solid muscle. Everyone told him he would bulk up as he got older, but it hadn't happened yet. His hair was such a dark brown that it was only one step away from black, and it hung nearly to his shoulders, curling slightly at the ends. His eyes were almond-shaped and of a pure shade of violet that, in the right light, made them look like amethysts. His cheekbones were high, his lips thin, and his skin naturally tanned. His features and coloring were the hallmarks of his half-Landian heritage. His lean form belonged to his other half—his vampire half.

            He hadn't been able to concentrate in class, thanks to the communication he had received from his commanding officer and foster father, Col. Jackson Saerseen, an hour earlier. The com had caught him totally off guard, so once class was over, he had left the room quickly, declining an invite to go have a late meal with two of his werewolf housemates and fellow engineering students, Tiko Ikita and Angela Nichols.

            It was dark by then, and the air had almost seemed oppressive with no breeze to stir it. He stuffed his class disks into his jacket pocket so he could download them into his system at home. He had several tests the following week and needed to study.

            But, then again, the colonel wanted him back in Provine.

            He reached down his shirt collar to pull out his cross on a chain. He rubbed its intricately carved surface with his fingers, a nervous habit. He didn't know how he could wear a cross or enter a church, but he could. The colonel had assumed it was because he had been born a vampire rather than made one through death, but they really didn't know.

            He walked on, glancing around as he instinctively searched with his empathy even though he was deep in thought. Telepathy and empathy were gifts from his Landian mother.  They were instinctual.  He wasn't sure how they worked, only that they did without a second thought on his part.

            A hover car horn sounded, and Jesse jumped. He took a deep breath and quickly exhaled, chastising himself. He needed to pay attention to his surroundings. He needed to be aware of every sound and to keep track of every living creature around him because a murderer was roaming the area.

            In the last three weeks, four people had been murdered on the campus. All four victims had been young men. News reports claimed the men had been slashed to death, but rumors said each had been mutilated into a bloody pulp. The police's Special Crimes Unit was on the case. The SCU, based in Freetown, investigated all crimes dealing with werewolves or vampires. Freetown was full of wereanimals and vampires.

            Jesse had seen the most recent news conference and had been impressed by the young woman who had spoken for the SCU team, Shannon Marshall. She had admitted that she was a werewolf and was also the unit's vampire expert. When questioned by the press, she had stated that the nature of the murders was classified and that just because a werewolf was suspected didn't mean the murderer was one. When accused of protecting one of her own, she reminded everyone that human beings, such as Jack the Ripper, the Son of Sam, and the Market Reaper, were more than capable of such violence too. Jesse knew this. He had the scars to prove it.

            Jesse had been intrigued by Marshall. Unlike his two female werewolf housemates, who were a little submissive by his standards, Marshall had stood up to every question thrown at her, even the ones questioning her integrity. And she had looked beautiful doing it, too.

            Jesse had questioned one of his housemates, Mikhail Russo, about the murders. He had wanted to know what would make a werewolf want to kill a human. Mick had chuckled and tilted his seat back off its front legs, keeping his precarious balance as if it were a normal feat. He was as tall as Jesse but had twenty pounds on him. His dark brown hair fell just past his shoulders, and his blue eyes were tinged with gold.

            "You mean besides jealousy?"

Jesse had nodded in response to Mick's question. He'd heard his housemates talk often enough about how strong emotions, such as jealousy, could cause a werewolf to lose it.

"We're wolves, Jesse. Deep down inside, we're beasts. What do you think wolves eat?" The amused look on Mick's face had made Jesse chuckle.

            "Anything you want."

            "Be more specific."

            "Meat."

            "And what are humans?"

Jesse had suddenly wondered if he really wanted to hear the answer to his odd question.

            "That's not funny, Mick."

            "We're not human anymore, Jesse," Mick had gone on. "Once a month, we're beasts that are governed by the moon. We leave behind our humanity to hunt and satisfy our blood lust. But we still have families; we have parents, siblings, spouses, and children. We strive at all other times to be human. At least most of us do. Once in a while, there's a werewolf who doesn't want to be anything but the wolf. All he wants to do is hunt and kill. Hunting and killing a deer is easy, but hunting and killing a human ..." Mick had raised his eyebrows, set his chair back down, and left the room. His implication had been chilling, and, even now, thinking about it sent a tingle down Jesse's spine.

            It was Jesse's nature to be arrogant, but he was not so arrogant or stupid that he could ignore that he was in the target group of the killer. His constant dwelling on everything but his surroundings was a sign of lack of concentration. Maybe Saerseen was right ... maybe he needed to get back into training full-time. Maybe his time in Freetown was making him soft.

            He sighed and almost hoped that whoever or whatever was committing the murders would take him on. It would at least take his mind off of having to return to Provine.

            The campus was unusually quiet, and Jesse could sense only a few people out and about. Even the local wildlife seemed subdued. The murders had everyone on edge, and most were opting to use their hover cars even for short trips. Since they didn't have his training, Jesse had a hard time explaining to others that, if someone wanted to kill them, then being in  one of those puny, personal two-passenger hover cars generally wasn't going to help them. That was especially true if the killer really was a werewolf; a rampaging werewolf could tear a small vehicle to shreds and could easily bench-press a small hover truck.

            Jesse was coming up to the park that separated the main campus from the rest of the city. His house was just on the other side of the park. He considered which way to go: through the park, which was poorly lit but the shortest route, or down the street, where the lighting was better. Jesse preferred the lights. It wasn't that he wanted to stay in the lights—his night vision was superior to any human's—but he wasn't going to have any privacy at his house, so he opted for the longer route so he could walk some more.

            Jesse felt a tingle in his head. He started, having lost his concentration again. A moment later, a familiar medium-toned voice was in his head.

            When was the last time you talked to the colonel? The telepathic voice belonged to his captain and older foster brother, Anton Saerseen.

            Jesse smirked and projected it in his response. Why, hi, Anton. How are you? I'm doing great. Thanks for asking.  Jesse couldn't help the sarcasm.  He purposefully omitted Anton's title in his response, choosing to ignore the fact the telepathic communication, or 'path, was official. He should have known that Anton would be in touch next.

            The colonel just had a long meeting with President Morgan and has called a meeting for us in a few minutes. When did you talk to him last? Anton asked.

            Jesse sighed. For some reason, the colonel had told him first and now was going to tell the rest of the team. He wasn't about to let on that he knew something that the captain of Shadowmen didn't. All information was supposed to filter down from the colonel to the captain, Anton, and then to the rest of the team. Why had Saerseen told Jesse first?

            A few hours ago, he admitted, deciding that Anton could do him a favor. I forgot to ask him to refill my plasma pills. Could you tell him?

            You all right?

            Jesse felt Anton's concern and nodded to himself. I'm just running low.

            I thought you had enough to last through graduation.

            I thought so too.

            Jesse was still scanning his surroundings when he felt the local animals scattering in fear. His presence shouldn't have disturbed them, so he stretched his senses out further. He was surprised to find he was being followed.

            His empathy, coupled with his natural vampiric senses, made him extremely sensitive to his surroundings, and his training for the team had sharpened those natural senses into finely tuned weapons. During training sessions, he was always the first to know something was amiss or to feel something threatening. The team jokingly called it his "sixth sense for danger." The fact he was only just now noticing the tail wasn't good.

            I've gotta go. I've picked up a tail, he sent. I'll get back to you.

            He didn't give Anton a chance to respond before pulling up his mental shield against his telepathy. One of the first things he had had to learn was to separate his telepathy from his empathy so he didn't accidentally broadcast what he was feeling to anyone around him who was telepathically receptive. It wasn't easy to close himself off from one of his abilities, and it was draining, but he'd learned the hard way it was definitely a necessity.

            He stretched his empathy and hearing. He heard one set of footfalls behind him. He could tell from both his empathy and the impact of the steps that it was a man and he was about fifty pounds heavier than himself.

            Jesse continued walking, not wanting to give away that he knew the man was there. He roughly estimated that the man was about thirty feet behind him. He wasn't close enough to be an immediate threat, but Jesse's empathy was now identifying him as a werewolf. That meant he was already too close. He warned his symbiote telepathically to be ready. The tiny creature living in the base of his neck vibrated an acknowledgment down his spine.

            Jesse shoved his hands into his pants pockets and extended his claws, wanting to hide the fact that he wasn't human. At least it was dark, so he could call upon his vampiric powers without giving away his hybridism.

            "Boy," he thought to himself, "this guy's in for a rude awakening."

            Whoever the werewolf was, he was getting lighter on his feet. Stalking.

            Jesse began to sense another presence and heard a second set of footfalls. These weren't as loud; they were made of sharp clipping noises like those from high heels. They were coming from behind the man. A woman.

            Jesse took a deep breath and blew it out. Two of them? He doubted it, but then his empathy confirmed that the woman was a werewolf too.

            His instincts were zeroed in on the man, but if the man were intent on murder and heard the woman, he might change his mind and go after her instead, whether she was a werewolf or not.

            Jesse could sense that the werewolf wanted to kill him, but he couldn't take the chance that the man would go after the woman as well, even if she was a werewolf and could probably take care of herself.

            The woman was walking fast and would overtake the man in just a few minutes. Jesse tensed. He was going to have to do something and do it quick. If he was right, it was the only way to protect the woman. If he was wrong ... he'd worry about that later, while waiting for someone to bail him out of jail.

            Jesse stopped and started to turn around when he heard a sound he was all too familiar with: a bullet being chambered into a gun. It surprised him. Most people carried blasters rather than guns, but he preferred guns. He'd found them to be more accurate.

            He finished the turn, dropping into a fighting crouch, hands extended and claws ready. He could order his sym to morph him into his battle armor in a flash—but not just yet.

            The man behind him also stopped, now only fifteen feet away. He was about Jesse's height but was, as Jesse had sensed, much heavier. His hair was pale blonde and straight, falling past his shoulders. He was staring at Jesse with glowing, yellowish-brown eyes. A low growl emerged from his lips.

            Even though he had been living with werewolves for years, Jesse had only seen them in their full wolf form and had never witnessed one shift between forms. They had been reluctant to show him, and he had never pressed the point. He'd wanted to respect their feelings. Even Kendra Phillips, his girlfriend, hadn't wanted him to see her in her wolf form.

            But now he was facing a werewolf that might have murdered four men. What was he going to do? Would his claws have any effect on a werewolf's hide? He didn't know. Could he control a werewolf with his empathy? He could control small animals, but he wasn't sure if he could influence a werewolf. Would he have to become completely vampiric or use his symbiote to morph to his armor?

            The fact of the matter was he'd been trained to fight Landians and space-bound battleships, not other preternaturals.

            The man's low growl turned into a hellish howl that made Jesse jump. He watched in a combination of awe, surprise, and fascination as the man began to shift. The man grew taller even as his body bowed over, the sounds of tearing cloth and popping bones reverberating down Jesse's spine. His empathy picked up on the pain the shift was causing the man, so he put up his shield to keep it out. He didn't care how much pain the guy was in if the werewolf's aim was to kill him.

            He watched the man's body turn in on itself, as if the skin were turning inside out to reveal dark brown, coarse fur. He did take an involuntary step backward and almost vamped right then. The arms and legs turned hairy and claws grew out from his fingers that were longer than Jesse's claws. The face was now muzzled with teeth that any natural wolf would have been envious of.

            "Shit," Jesse whispered, as the black lips of the muzzle pulled back into a snarl. He'd heard debates before about who would win a fight between a vampire and a werewolf, but there had been no definitive conclusion. It looked like he was about to find out.

            He had the sudden urge to pull out the silver cross hanging around his neck, but he was facing the wrong kind of monster for that, unless he planned to shove it down the werewolf's throat. Getting that close and personal wasn't part of his game plan.

            "I've got to get me some silver bullets," he muttered, as the werewolf took a step toward him. Jesse, likewise, took a step back, wanting to keep the distance between them.

            "Get down!"

            Jesse had forgotten about the woman and was startled by her voice. She was behind the werewolf, and when Jesse dared look at her, she had raised her arms and was pointing a semiautomatic at the werewolf. Her feet were planted apart as wide as her shoulders, her knees slightly bent. She pointed the gun with both hands. Hers was the gun he had heard chambering a bullet. He quickly registered that she was tall, maybe five feet nine or ten, her darkish hair pulled back from her face, falling to the bottom of her jacket. She was in a short, dark leather skirt, blouse, and short leather jacket, with thigh-high dark boots that had two-inch heels. Jesse caught sight of her face and flashed back to the news reports of the SCU—Shannon Marshall.

            She was the police, so he didn't argue. He dropped completely onto his stomach on the sidewalk as she let loose, careful to exhale so the air wouldn't be driven from his lungs, leaving him vulnerable.

            The werewolf howled in pain as the bullets tore into his furred hide. Jesse watched as he turned to face her, his massively muscular arms extended out from his body, the two-inch long claws glistening in the streetlamp light. Marshall didn't seem to be the least bit afraid. She was also a werewolf. She actually looked pissed beyond belief.

            "Keith told you, Taylor, and you wouldn't listen, you stupid son of a bitch," she snarled in a throaty growl. Jesse frowned. She knew the guy?

            The beast snarled back at her as she shot him.

            "Get out of here!" she commanded Jesse.

            Jesse was transfixed by what he was seeing and sensing and was wondering if Marshall could handle the werewolf herself after all. He didn't know if female werewolves were smaller than males, as the sexes generally were in the human world. He had trained for years to help people, and he sure as hell wasn't going to leave her alone to fight a crazy member of her own kind.

            The air was permeated with a musky smell like wet dog fur and fresh blood.

            She had used her first clip and had expelled and reloaded expertly. As she did, the werewolf turned and charged at Jesse, ignoring her even as she started shooting again. Jesse only had a moment to wonder why she wasn't shifting to fight the werewolf.

            "I said, move!"

            Jesse already was. He leaped backward, the werewolf snapping his jaws to try to bite him, spittle flying from his muzzle at the speed of the turn, murder in the glowing ocher eyes. Jesse kept his eyes on the werewolf and on Marshall's position as he moved.

            Jesse leaped straight up, aiming for one of the tree branches twenty or so feet above him, out of Marshall's line of fire, but the werewolf was much faster than Jesse had thought possible.

            The werewolf caught him by the ankle and yanked down. The change in momentum caught Jesse off guard, even as he tried to reach the hand to slash it with his own claws, with Marshall still shooting.

            The werewolf swung him like a bat by his ankle at an incredible speed. Jesse saw the tree trunk coming. Time slowed. The werewolf was trying to kill him, but he wasn't ready to die yet. Jesse twisted and started to order the sym to morph him, thinking it wasn't going to be good to hit the tree even in armor. He directed his empathy at the beast.

            Before the order was completely out of his mouth, he hit the tree with a cracking noise, and pain exploded in his head and left shoulder. The way he had twisted had at least saved him from hitting it square on. The werewolf released him as he hit, and he slid down the bark painfully, landing on the exposed tree roots, his nearly numb left arm trapped under his body. The arm wasn't so numb that he couldn't feel his left wrist almost snap. He tried not to pass out from the sickening pain radiating from his head down his spine into his upper body. His vision blurred.

            The sym couldn't morph him without his verbal command. Jesse's training and sense of self-preservation tried to kick in. He had to get up and either fight or escape. If he didn't, he'd die.

            In the darkness, no one but the werewolf saw Jesse's violet eyes change, the color totally enveloping the pupils and the whites as his features thinned to reveal his vampiric nature. He tried again to use his empathy to keep the beast away. He pushed up off the ground, using his right arm, fighting his suddenly too acute vision, as the werewolf stopped its advance. The werewolf stared at Jesse as if he were confused, drool dripping from his enormous fangs, his barrel chest pressed out, tiny rivulets of blood running down through the dark brown fur from his multiple gunshot wounds.